Foundling

Every year the Blue Ridge B-B-Q festival parks itself in Harmon field in Tryon for a weekend. We went the first year we were here. $10 to park, $10 to get in the park and for what? Bad music, high priced trinket hawkers, kiddie rides and mediocre BBQ. Sorry, folks, just our opinion. But they did have a fairly nice fireworks display. Of course we were in the shuttle that takes you back to the parking lot and it was raining when we saw it - but it was better than anything else we had seen there that evening.

CUT to dinner two nights ago. I hear the familiar sound of booming outside our windows at 10 pm. Ah, must be the festival fireworks. I made a mental note and determined to go park at the post office nearby to watch the next night.

And indeed, we did do that last night. But as the "works" were slow to start, we decided to walk down the road a bit to get closer to the field for a better view. Ended up in 7th Day Advent church parking lot. Rand began walking around the left side of the church, but something caught my eye on the right side. I suspected what it was and when I got close enough my suspicion was confirmed.

There, hopping about, was a goodly sized baby bird that obviously hadn't mustered it's flying abilities yet. I heard mama somewhere emitting a chirp or two. I went over and picked it up. Just as I did the fireworks display began. Poor thing. I had it gently enclosed between my two cupped palms for the entire display with the loud pops and bangs and booms and bright flashing lights. And I clucked at it and whispered to it, ssshhh ssshhhh, ssshhhh, it's all right. And it's little heart was beating about it's breast and it was trying to get free from my safe hand held hollow. But eventually it calmed down.

When it was all over I was able to hear mama chirp once again. I tried to put him in the crook of a tree from which I had seen her fly (I'm assuming it was mama for birds don't usually talk at night), but he just flopped out of it. And so I let him be. With three cats at home, taking him there seemed a foolish idea. And we watched him hop hop hop off.

I stopped by that parking lot on the way back from church this morning and happily (in one sense) did not see him. I hope he made it.

(Baby Blackbird photo submitted by Jim McGee)

Biker Trash

I have an uncle, Michael, only a few years older than myself. He and his wife, Jeannie, are bikers. Not as active as they used to be, due to bad backs, etc., but still.... One of the places they sometimes hang out is the Cheyenne Saloon in Palatka (their home town). Ah, the tales I've heard...

I've long longed to get on the back of a bike with my uncle. It's been a dream for years. And finally two weeks ago when I went down to Florida to visit, that dream came true.

Too cool. And they took me to the Cheyenne saloon and bought me the tank top you see me wearing.

What a joy. And what a learning experience. Now when I'm in my car and see bikers it's from a whole 'nother' perspective.

Maybank's Pond (Sept. 2006)

I awaken and lazily look out the shuttered window past the porch rail to the pond beyond. A piece of grace upon first opened eyes.



I got back from rehearsal at 11 pm last night. Was wise enough to leave a lamp burning in the house, how else would I ever put key to lock in the gorgeous utter blackness of my first night here.

Worked on my script while cooking dinner, during the eating thereof, then after as digestion took place. The crickets paid no never mind to my rantings. They just sang their hearts out while a distant dog barked.

To sleep around 3 am - a note left saying as much to SHE, who had worked for Mr. Maybank for 42 years was it? and was due at 8:30 the next morning.

The pungent scent of Lysol assaulted my nostrils around noon, I guess. Time has no sense when you’re rehearsing a play. I shuffle out and there’s Wessie in the middle of the kitchen ironing Mr. Maybanks’ shirts.

I make some coffee while she makes talk. She is not a silent one. She gives me lessons in more ways than I can name. Deep learning of the soul variety that’s far from mundane.

But that came later. First was: “Is that your raft?” Not her words exactly, I can’t remember them, only the feeling of them. I had brought my blow up raft with me, for I was told by both He and She that swimming was de rigeur in the “Lake.”

“You’re not going out there with that raft, are you?”

“Well, uh, yes, I had planned to.”

“Uhhh huh, you don’t wanna go out there alone, you might get a cramp.”

I told her that I was a very good swimmer, was used to swimming across lakes.

“You shouldn’t go out there alone!”

Then she regaled me with horror stories of BIG fish - big bass and big carp. If THEY didn’t eat me, there were water moccasins and terrapins as big as cahrtahrs. “Terrapins?” She had such a thick accent I had her repeat that one several times. Actually I had heard her correctly, just had never heard that word before. “What’s a Terrapin?” I asked.

“There’s one on the dock,” she replied. My brain went scuttling. I had walked down to the dock yesterday before rehearsal. There was a metal sculpted turtle on it as I recalled. Ah! “You mean a turtle?” Oh yes. But not just little ole painted turtles - these were as big as cahrtahrs. “What?” “Cahrtahrs!” Ohhhhhhh, car tires.

Ooooohkaaaaay, so if the carp and bass and moccasins and turtles as big as cahrtahrs didn’t get me.... “Don’t walk down there in those things,” she admonished. I had on my flip flops. “You gotta watch out for those fire ants. They kilt a cow in Greenville. One bit me right here...” and she proceeded to show me a rather nasty scar on her wrist.

Yes, Wessie was full of horror stories. But also stories of angels. But more on that later.

Now I’ve been here a week and have paid a certain amount of attention to what Wessie has said. I’m sure there are carp and bass and turtles - moccasins...well, fire ants - yes...but...

So I spend a glorious hour or so in the morning floating on my stomach on the raft. I’m toward the far side when I notice some movement at the pond’s edge. OH MY. Is that? ... Yes. There is a VERY LARGE turtle lumbering into the water. VERY large. Not quite cahrtahr size, but maybe a mini spare tahr size. To give an example, place you hands on your elbows and make a circle with your arms. Uh huh, that’s the size. Oohkeeeydokey. Terrapin. I hope. Let’s hope it not a snapper. I know from snappers.

I watch him/her go into the water on the fahr sahd and then he/she bobs back up. Big head. Big body. Uh huh. Ok. I think, since I just put nice bright nail polish on my toes this morning, I’ll just keep my feet out of the water.

Time for lunch. It’s a bit windy. Not stupid me, I don’t leave my raft on the dock where it might get blown off into the water. No. I lay it carefully up on the lawn. Go up to the house, am eating my sandwich looking out the window and see something odd in the pond. What is THAT? Oh. Dismay sets in instantly. I know what THAT is. Oh swell. Yes, indeedy, THAT is my raft which has blown into the middle of the pond.

After lunch I go back down and sit longingly on the dock in my bathing suit gazing at my raft, trying to will it back to the dock. Where’s Uri Geller when you need him? The wind is blowing it hither and yon. Mostly yon. I have my script with me and am going over lines as I send silent wishes for the wind to change direction. My prayers are unanswered. The raft, most of the time, is hovering right where that terrapin entered the water.

I am beyond frustration. I make a determination. If that raft has not been blown over to my side by 4 pm I’m going to swim out and retrieve it. Gulp. With moccasins and carp and bass and Big Turtles. After all, Frank has said he’d swum in the pond. And when I’d asked the Mrs., “Can you swim in the lake?” she’d gleefully said, “Oh yes!” YES? At this point I suspected both of them probably swam in that “lake” MANY years ago, perhaps when it was first dredged, before the carp and bass and moccasins and terrapins.

The wind is increasing. The clouds are scuttling and that damn raft is NOT moving in my direction. And tomorrow is my day off and I’ll want to float and it’s now 4 pm.

OK! I put my shower cap on because I don’t want to get my hair wet. So now I’m standing on the dock in a bikini and a shower cap and my accursed raft is not far from where that terrible terrapin tiptoed in. But This is IT! I’m going in no matter WHAT!!

I ease myself down the dock ladder, knowing there’s a spider under one of the rungs because I saw it earlier. I do not like spiders. Yup...there she is. She tries to melt into the rung but I see her.

The rung beneath the water is slippery with algae and mung. Yeah, right, y’all have been swimmin’ in the “lake” a LOT have you? I don’t think so. If people had been going up and down that ladder on a regular basis - no mung on the rung.

I thrust myself away from the spider and the mung into the TERROR. Noooo, I will not let my feet go down any length. Please, God, do not let me touch bottom. Bottom. Oh God. Who knows what lurks on the bottom beneath me? Carp and bass and water moccasins and....

I kick hard, plunge my feet into the murk, hands and arms flailing, creating as much noise and disturbance as humanly possible. No graceful crawl is here, no gentle backstroke, just plunging loud terror. A pterodactyl startled by my noise takes off from somewhere nearby. Well, I suppose it might have been a heron. Who knows what Wessie would name it.



It seems to take forever to get across the pond and the amount of energy spent creating such a disturbance is enervating. I reach the raft...finally...it’s up-side-down. I curse it and right it and desperately attempt and finally achieve getting my body onto it. All limbs out of the water - nothing available any longer for munching creatures, thank God! My heart is exploding in my chest, my breath hard to catch. I’m not in my 20s any more. Double it. No, almost triple it. Am I really that old? Yeah. Pant, pant. But extremities are out of the water. That’s the most important thing. Who cares if I have a heart attack.

Finally my heart returns to normal. The wind picks up, the sky darkens. A storm is coming. OK. Fine. So much for floating blissfully in the lake. Excuse me. No. POND. But...there’s a bit of smugness too at my self proclaimed bravery.

Oh, and yeah, Wessie of course was right about almost everything. I went to snip some pretty wild flowers in my flip flops and suddenly felt nasty stinging on my feet. Yoweee! Ants. And they’re red. But small. Ok. I brush them off. Both feet have been bitten. No big deal, they’re just ants. Mmmm, noooo, these suckers really bite. Fine. I put some antibiotic on them and on the bottom of my foot where I had removed a one inch piece of the dock which had splintered off and lodged itself under my skin.

So we’ve seen the terrapins, experienced the red ants, I’ve watched the fish jump - but please, I don’t need to see the moccasins.

But my this is a glorious place. There’s a lizard that makes his home under the ceramic fox on the stoop where the “not so secret” key is hidden. How do I know? Because whenever I go to the door he scurries under it. And there’s that magnificent heron. Is it? Or could it be some delicious pre-historic pterodactyl that abides in the area Wessie told me the bass spawn. And if Wessie tells me something - I believe her. Because I have seen the terrapins and felt the fire ants. And she has told me stories of love and kindness that have made me weep. And her own struggles she shrugs off emotionless. Even the story of the angel at her hospital bed. It had a skeleton head, but a normal body - with wings. And she recognized it as an angel and knew God was protecting her.

We are given these moments in time. I have been given this play, this cottage and this Wessie. And I am grateful for them all.

Tonight as I left for rehearsal seven wild turkeys fled across the driveway into the field. How precious they were to me in their terror. Reminding me of my own in that pond and the Northern life I left two years ago where the wild turkeys also roamed.

A New Friend

Today I made a new friend.









I was out whipping (my term for weed wacking) in the back yard and came across this little fellow. Yup, he too went in the bug jail for a time. We had a lovely few hours together.

The Bug Jail

April 24, 2008

I was playing tennis at Harmon Field the other day and went to pick up a ball by the back fence. Bent down and HALLO! A snake on the other side by the garbage bin slithered away under it. A goodly size he was (about 2 feet I’d say), but no Copperhead this - just a cute Garter Snake. Two days later when I was back playing again I went to examine the area, but couldn’t find him. Then an hour later there he was, all coiled up sunning himself watching the game. (First photo is on the way to the courts, taken last year...couldn't just leave you with a picture of a garbage can after all...sorry there's no snap of the snake but he was shy.)

Last summer I reached down to turn on the outdoor water spigot at the house. Had my hand on it when I saw the Copperhead lying coiled directly under my hand. I mean he was 4“ away. I very gently moved away and said a very large “Thank You Jesus!” Why that snake didn’t strike I don’t know.

Also last summer I saw my first Black Widow. I’m one who is constantly enthralled by creatures and can spend hours studying them. This lady happened to be right on our front porch by the front door. I noticed her because there was a splash of red on her back, and that made me curious enough to get the Bug Jail.

The Bug Jail, I should explain, is perhaps my favorite gift from my husband. (See photo.) We’ve caught many a creature - large and small - in it. From a wee Walt Disney field mouse that was attempting to leap up the stairs in our house in Millerton, to bats. Yes, you heard me correctly. Bats eventually get exhausted from flying round and round if they get caught inside the house, and they will finally land somewhere. Usually on the top molding near the ceiling. All you do is place the open Bug Jail over them and Voila! My favorite creature that I’ve caught with it is a Luna Moth. Of course all creatures I eventually free.

But back to the merry Widow. She was quite large. I had no idea what she was never having seen one before. And I couldn’t see her belly, just her back. Looked up what she might be on the internet and all descriptions seemed to indicate she was an Australian Redback. That didn’t make any sense. So I called a zoo and left a message for an entomologist.

Meanwhile I kept her in the bug jail. Eventually she created a web and hung up-side-down and I noticed the red hourglass on her abdomen. Yup. Had to be a Black Widow. Quite a specimen she was. After I saw her tummy I decided to let her go. So husband and I drove off with her and HE let her go into the woods far away. (I was too chicken to open the cage top.)

Wind Chimes

April 18, 2008

I love ‘em. But they need constant attention. Or seem to. Either the clapper falls off or the metal tube falls off or the part that wafts in the wind and makes the clapper bang against the tubes falls off or the whole bloody thing falls off the hanger onto the ground.

I have about six or seven outdoor chimes and several indoor. The outdoor ones range from a single bell with a huge clapper, to the gorgeous Woodstock Chimes with precisely tuned tubes.

Yesterday I began the process of fixing two of the latter. The wood is very weathered and I first sanded them down and then put spar varnish on . Really a fun task when you do it without first removing the tubes. They get in the way JUST A BIT. One had fallen off it’s hanger AND lost a tube. The other had lost it’s flapper and banger. Clapper and flapper? I’m sure these things have proper names but I don’t know what they are.

So. I had already bought string that I thought was more or less the same width as that on the chimes. First I tackled the one that had lost it’s flapper and banger. I got a very large needle and eventually managed to get the damn string through the eye. At the top center of the circular wood part (from which hang all the tubes) is a drilled hole. (From this hole dangles the clapper and flapper.) I tried to get the needle down through it. The needle eye was too large and it got stuck. I attempted to force it. The hole was too small. I got a pair of pliers and pulled. And pulled. The needle eye was TOO LARGE and the hole was TOO SMALL! Okay. It really WON’T GO THROUGH. I get it. Now I have to try to push it back out. Swell. I did. It wasn’t easy as I had really jammed it in there good and hard.

I then proceeded to get the battery operated drill in order to make the center hole large enough for the needle eye to pass through. Slapped the battery onto the bottom and began to look for the correct bit. Odd. I THOUGHT we had drill bits for it but I guess not. I only found phillip and flathead heads for screwing. Screw it! Then the battery fell off and knocked over an open jar of paint remover which I had used to clean the varnish off the brush. Aaargh! I knew this entire procedure would take patience. I just didn’t know how much. So then I wiped up all the terpentine.

Back into the garage cubby to get the extension cord and the electric drill. Figured out what size bit I’d probably need and proceeded to drill the hole larger. A wee bit larger. Finally got the needle with the string down through. Now - how to secure it at the top? Contemplated just making a big knot to keep it from going through the hole but opted to tie it around a small nail first. Not terribly pretty but functional. Had kept the old string so I had a template of sorts for the new one as far as length and where to tie the middle knot under the banger (clapper).

Then had to drill through the center of the banger (another round piece) to increase it’s size so I could get the string through IT, tied a big knot under it to keep it in position and tied the clapper on. Voila! That only took about half an hour.

Onto the next one. This was a bit tougher. The whole cording system at the top was different. So once again I drilled a larger hole so I could get the needle through, then added a new hole. But I could NOT get the needle eye through. So instead I managed to poke the string down through, then threaded the needle, pushed it through the tube holes and then poked it up through the other hole at the top. Make sense? Of course not. Ya had to be there. Then I found some old carpet tacks, put them in the holes, wrapped the string around them and hammered them down. Voila! That took about a half an hour.

So. I spent at least an hour and half sanding them, staining them, varnishing them and an hour fixing them. Think they might make it through the summer?

Oh, and PS - Husband told me of course we have drill bits for the battery operated drill. Yup. I just didn’t see ‘em.

Mrs. Warren Closing

Feb. 17th CLOSING

Spent the day packing up before and after the matinee. Pussies will be glad to be home and able to go outside once again.

I am sad to be saying goodbye. Even though I won’t particularly miss doing this role, I’ve met some good people here and it’s a wonderful place to work. Our director, Preston, was just a joy and a hoot - self effacing, dry wit, a laugh riot, incredibly bright and wonderfully wacky. He’s multi-talented, thoroughly professional, and a tremendous supporter of the arts in the community. Greensboro is lucky to have him, and I feel fortunate to have worked with him

I believe we are the second highest grossing show for a three week run. And this was the first time a Shaw play has ever been presented at Triad Stage. A credit to Mr. Shaw and our production I daresay.

I was rather teary when I got to the theatre today. Nothing like trying to put on false eyelashes when you’re crying. In Act III, during my long absence from the stage, I took down all the photos and cards, dangling beads, etc. from around my dressingroom mirror, washed up the makeup brushes and put away most of the makeup. It looks so barren when you do that. The entire room loses all persona and goes back to being a blank.

The staff and crew are gearing up for the next show (they have been for the past week). You’re about to be part of their past. And you really feel it. There’s a huge psychological change that occurs. You’re not only saying goodbye to everybody you’ve been with for the past 7 weeks (in this case), but you’re saying goodbye to the character you wore six days a week. Long runs are particularly hard to let go of.

You’re off to - who knows what. If you’re lucky, another job. If not, back to being unemployed. I can count the number of jobs I’ve had consecutively in this business on one hand. That statistic is not changing in this instance. It is said that 90% of professional actors are out of work at any given time. We must be nuts to be in this business.....

Ta.

The Story of Rebecca

The Story of Rebecca
2/16/08


Some twenty-two years or so ago, when I was a regular as Marsha Talbot on “As the World Turns,” I received various fan letters addressed to me in care of the studio (ABC). I always personally answered my fan mail. Not that I got that much of it. Some actors actually have services which handle all fan mail, as I guess they get mail bags full on a weekly basis. My popularity was not such that I needed to hire such a firm. Having the role of a killer I’m sure did not endear me to many. And I was short lived on the series because of my evil ways.

Anyway, I once received a letter from a young girl by the name of Rebecca Hockman, who lived in Russell, Kansas. (I’ve still got all the correspondence between us in one of the boxes in the basement which we’ve never unpacked. When we move, if we can ever find a house we love, it will have a place once again.) She included her picture and was very enthusiastic about my performance as Marsha. She saw everything I was trying portray in the character, and understood that this was a case of unrequited love. Wish I had all the correspondence at the ready, then I could track it better, but... as I recall I responded and thanked her. I don’t know how much time went by, but then she wrote me again and sent me her college thesis, which happened to be on George Bernard Shaw. I thought it very odd that someone would send me their thesis - what the heck was I supposed to do with it? But once again I wrote her back and I can’t remember what I said, but I suppose it was complimentary. Never having gone to college myself, and never having writ a thesis, who am I to judge? The fact that somebody thinks I’m worthy of examining their learned material is enough to elicit a pleasant response in my book.

We had moved (my husband to be and I) to Millerton, NY - a small town 90 miles north of New York City, but had kept our NY apartment at the time. One couldn’t live that far away and commute in every day to do a soap. The previous letters I had sent to her I mailed from the city sans return address, natch. But this last letter I dropped in the Millerton post office.

As I recall several months went by. I was upstairs in our bedroom one afternoon and the phone rang. It was Rebecca. “How did you get my number?” I asked rather horrified that she had. “I saw the postmark on your last letter and it said Millerton, NY and I looked you up in the phone book.” Aaaaahhh. I’m beginning to get a little creeped out. Could this be a weird star stalker? She’s smart enough to get my phone number. Hmmm. She thanked me for my responses to her communique and then went on to inform me that she had just taken a summer job as an au pair to a couple in a town, oh, I don’t know, about 25 minutes from me. Ooooooohkaaaaaay. All red flags at that point went up. I was still gracious as I recall, but told her the truth: that this news was rather disturbing to me and that I did not appreciate the fact that she had called and to please NOT call me again.

My husband (to be) was HORRIFIED and immediately had our phone number unlisted.

OK. Years go by. Not sure how many. Then suddenly a letter comes - again from this same girl. Only she’s older now. I don’t remember much about this letter except that she said she was all grown up now and wanted to apologize for her youthful ways and thank me for my several kindnesses. I seriously considered writing her back but thought I’d just open up a can of worms. AND then she’d know I still lived in Millerton. The very fact of my response would indicate such - because that’s where she sent it - so I decided against replying. But it always bothered me that I did that because....well because that’s the kind of person I am. Because I know what it’s like not to have a response.

So now here I am in Greensboro doing “Mrs. Warren’s Profession” and a PACKAGE arrives one day addressed to me in care of Triad Stage. Return address says Rebecca Jamison in NYC. What on earth? I open it up and there is a letter from, yes, this same girl (who has changed her name). She says she has always fondly remembered my kindnesses to her and always hoped to see me on stage one day. She has enclosed a copy of her first book, a biography of Grayson Hall. http://www.graysonhall.net/

It happened that she has friends in Lexington (about 20 minutes away from Greensboro) where she was going to spend some time in writer’s seclusion working on her second book, and they learned of the Triad Production and saw my name.

She said she was planning to come to see the production!

Fate was obviously throwing us together once again and how could I not now embrace it? - twenty-two years later. I wrote her back saying I would meet her in the lobby after the show - that I’d sign her program if she signed her book that she sent me. I really didn’t know what to expect, but not being an idiot I “googled” her and found out a certain amount of information before I responded saying I’d meet her. She currently works for the EPA. At this point in life I didn’t really think she was a star stalker. That and the fact that she managed to get herself published (no mean feat) told me she was legitimate.

I had told several people of this prospective meeting. I mean it’s quite a story - how could one not desire to share it. And they were all curious as to how it would turn out.

So many things were running through my mind. And no doubt hers as well. I would love to have known hers. My thoughts were: how should I present myself? Should I be the “actress” and flounce about, leave my false eyelashes on from the show and be oh soooo theatrical dahling? Or should I just be myself - which is anything BUT that. I never do well attempting to be someone I’m not, but I did opt to leave on my base makeup from the show (tissued off as much as possible) and put on a little eyeliner and mascara. For there is always the fear that being one’s self will disappoint.

We had invited our director over for a drink before the meeting with Rebecca was set up, so Rand went home to be there for Preston. Obviously I had allayed his fears, for he felt no need to come to the lobby to check her out first. But dear Trent did. Just to make sure nothing amiss would happen.

And thence I headed down the elevator to the lobby. I recognized her immediately with her red hair because I had seen pictures of her (while googling). She was with two friends.

I would love to be able to tell a wild tale now of how she was totally weird and groped me and then pulled out a gun and attempted to fire it, but the firing mechanism went awry and so I wrestled her to the ground....

But no. It was just a very nice, normal meeting and she’s a lovely, ingenuous person. Her friend Kivi (I think that’s her name) assured me that she wasn’t some nut case. We had a pleasant chat for about 20 minutes or so. Kivi asked if I minded if she took a couple of photos of the two of us. Of course not. I put my arms around Rebecca and noticed she was trembling with excitement?/nervousness? at finally meeting me I assume. I made a joke about it - trying to ease her nervousness. Gee, I’ve never had anyone tremble in meeting me before. Let me tell you, it’s rather special. I suppose “Stars” must experience this sort of thing all the time. Feeling totally unworthy of generating such a response I then began to wonder whether I could possibly live up to her expectations. Nothing could be worse to my mind than ruining an image someone has of you. Maybe that’s why Garbo was so mysterious. Better to keep the mystery than reveal the reality of the mundane. Sort of like a bar a closing time when they turn on the lights....

Anyway...I led them up the back way to the parking garage through the theatre administrative hallway after our get together. And as we parted I expressed the above-mentioned fears. For in my parting words I said: “I hope I lived up to your expectations.” Twenty-two years is a long time....

Rebecca's blogspot by the way is: http://rjadventuresinnewyork.blogspot.com and if you want to learn all about Grayson Hall read her very informative book: Grayson Hall: A Hard Act to Follow. (In many ways Grayson's career reminds me of my own....the struggling part anyway.)

Mrs. Warren February 15th

Feb. 15, 2008

Nelda and Marie, two tennis playing friends from our town, came to see the show tonight. And they treated us to a fabulous 11 pm dinner at the Green Valley Grill. If you’re in Greensboro, I highly recommend it. The food is fantastic and we just had a splendid time.

On another note: audience members who arrive late to the theatre are usually seated at an appropriate moment during the play, not in the middle of some important scene. It’s to insure that neither the actors nor the audience is disrupted/interrupted. In this particular theatre we were told that they were not put into the seats they paid for, but some seats set aside for late comers at the back of the house. They could always move to their regular seats after intermission.

Anyway, on one or two occasions the ushers did not have them wait in the back of the house but on the sides. Which wouldn’t be too bad if we didn’t have to make entrances from the voms (Vomitorium: A passageway to the rows of seats in a theater.). But Rand and I came down from the dressingrooms for one of our entrances and there were two or three people lined up against the wall watching from the vom area.

How can I describe what an actor does prior to making an entrance and why it’s so important NOT to be confronted by audience members at that time? There is a little ritual we go through - some of us - not all, prior to making an entrance. It’s a very personal moment and very private. You might think of it in terms of those athletes who cross themselves before beginning a game or an event. It’s a prayer to the Muse in a sense, and in such you open your soul to all vulnerability of expression. You are about to abandon your “self” and dive into another “self” instantly. You are preparing your emotional being to become another. You are altering your own mind set and putting on the clothes of another soul. It’s a secret that can’t be described. It’s like you have to change the molecules in your body to dance to a different rhythm that is not you, but that OTHER creature. And you do all of that preparation in those moments before entering.

Jon, the lad playing the juvenile male lead would do push ups against the wall prior to our entrance to pump himself up. I would giggle and say “You’re not going to get me!” in a soft ad lib as we ran on stage together. Toward the end of the run I teased him by doing a couple of push ups against the wall myself. Prior to our entrance, Rand and I would just look at each other in a special way that had 21 years of marriage behind it and all the internal thought processes of the characters we were playing. I would twirl my parasol and he would smirk. That’s all it takes sometimes, and you’re there, in the moment in that instance.

But my point here is that it’s a PRIVATE moment. And it’s not for strangers’ eyes. And when strangers are there - it’s totally off-putting, very upsetting and unsettling because it disturbs your routine. You can’t be YOU. You aren’t free to contact the Muse. I would liken it to watching a magician set up his magic trick. If you see how it’s done it destroys the magic. And what we do is magic.

It’s the same reason I lost sleep over having to greet the audience every night at CentreStage. After the curtain call they demanded that you stand in a receiving line of sorts and meet and talk to your audience. Still in costume! NOOOOOOO. It smacks of community theatre and destroys the magic. Not that there’s anything wrong with community theatre. Not a bit. But it is NOT professional theatre. There is a great distance between the actor and his audience in professional theatre. In community there is less of one, where you’re slapping your friend on the back and saying, “Hey, Bob, that sure was a great job ya did!” It just ain’t the same and there’s no way you can explain this to a layman. You might say it’s the difference between someone doing it for fun and those that make their living at it. The difference between playing pro basketball and playing it in the back lot.

Would you go up to a pro ball player and say, “Yeah, I played ball in college. Boy, I remember that game where I...” As if your experience in any way could equate with theirs. No. You don’t do that with athletes. But you DO do it with actors. The minute you tell someone you’re an actor they say one of three things. Usually at least two. They say, eventually, “I used to act in college. I was in X...production, playing...X role.” (They are attempting to identify with your experience here.) Or - “I have a nephew in NY who’s done very well in theatre. His name is X...do you know him?” Or - “What famous person do you know?” Frankly I don’t care about your college experience in “You Can’t Take it With You,” I don’t know your nephew, and I’m insulted when you ask me what “famous” person I have worked with.

People who aren’t in the theatre - laymen (civilians we call you) - haven’t a clue. Maybe this will give you one.

Mrs. Warren - February 14th

Feb. 14, 2008

Allan stuck his finger out at me tonight on one of his lines and I responded by making a fake chomp at it with my teeth. Wonderful! You never stop discovering new things. Even up until the closing performance. That’s part of what makes it all worthwhile and keeps the fun going. Else you “phone it in” as I have seen man an actor do, and the audience knows when you’re doing that.

At this stage - with only three performances left, one begin to think about things a little differently. If you loathe the show you’re in, you can’t wait for it to be over. And many a time you actually mark Xs on your calendar with glee. A countdown to the end of misery. I’ve done that on occasion. But usually it has to do more with when you’ll be rid of a miserable director, than the play itself. You can’t WAIT for him to be out of your hair. Usually directors leave the day after opening. Though there are times when some wretch will come back and give you periodic notes in a long run. Usually that’s left to a competent stage manager to do. And some of THEM can be pretty obnoxious too, when they want to play director and think they ARE. But that’s another story. Our Stage Manager, Catherine, is just a joy.

Anyway, one tends to start cutting up a bit more when you know you’ve only a few performances left. You suddenly take more chances. This is, after all, your last opportunity to perfect it, or try something new. For in a few days it will be history. The waves will roll in and high tide will demolish your pretty sand castle. It will only be a memory in the minds and perhaps the hearts of those who witnessed it.

Thoughts also stray to those regions of: “I wonder when I’ll work again? Will they have me back? Have I made any difference?”

I always used to think that I had made lifelong friends during a show. For the camaraderie is not terribly unlike that of a soldier in a war, I would imagine. Intense times and emotional revelations and sharings. You allow yourself utter vulnerability on stage with a stranger and that tends to bond you. Or so I always thought.

I was one that often fell in love with my leading man because when I was on stage with him I WAS in love with him. (My character was.) It took me many years to realize that I was simply in love with the character he portrayed and not the actor himself. It also took me many years to realize that the camaraderie I felt with fellow cast and crew did not create a watertight bond as I would have wished. Oh you can pick up where you left off should you work together in another show or meet them on the street. But rarely does anyone get a permanent place in the address book.

Mrs. Warren February 13th

Feb. 13, 2008

A lovely treat for Rand and me tonight - our real estate broker, Dan, and a friend from his office in Knoxville came to see the show. It always pumps you up to have friends out there, raises the stakes and changes the dynamics of the ether on stage. Your heart beats just a little faster and you internally dedicate that night’s performance to them.

Student Matinee

STUDENT MATINEE

Feb. 12, 2008

Up at 8 am for a 10:30 student matinee. One never knows how the little monsters will react. Will they chatter and rustle about? Will they throw things? How many cell phones will go off? Will there be a computer baby crying? (Don’t laugh. I was in one production where there was such a thing.) Thoughts like these can keep one awake the night before. Even the sleeping pill I took was insufficient to drown them out. But the monsters were all angels this day. Actually they were too quiet - they hardly laughed or responded to anything at all. Even when Sir George put his hands on my, ahem, breasts. I had the feeling they had been given the standard “theatre lecture” from their teachers prior to the show and suspected they thought they would be severely beaten if they acted up. Though I’d rather have it quiet out there than obstreperous. And not one cell phone chirped. Not sure whether they enjoyed it or not.

The standard theatres lecture given to students goes something like this: “Please be aware that everything you say can be heard by the actors on stage and can be very disruptive to their concentration.....” Actually there’s a grown up lecture, the “curtain speech,” that some poor member of the Triad staff had to give, live, ever night. There is a similar speech given (unfortunately) in every theatre across this country - either live or taped. “There is no taking of photography or taping allowed, please turn off your cell phones, if you feel a need to have a piece of candy or cough drop please unwrap it now - the loudness of it makes no difference if you do it slowly or quickly - and please be aware that actors make entrances and exits from both sides of the audience so if you’re in the front row, please keep your feet tucked in, or you may become a PART of a Shaw play...” But there are those dolts who pay no attention and cell phones do go off during the run, and candy and cough drops ARE opened, and people DO stick their feet out in front of them.

Where was I? Ah yes. Came home after the student show and cleaned our two apartments as we have guests coming tomorrow, Fri. and Sat..


SECOND SHOW

Very tough for me and Rand. Easier to do two shows with only a couple of hours in between rather than a seven hour lay off. Was doing pretty well ‘til the last part of the last act and then could NOT get the words out of my mouth. It wasn’t so much that I forgot the line as I just couldn’t get my tongue around Shaw’s words. At one point I started to salivate (who knows why?) And was trying to contain my spit. When you’re driving a scene you must dict like crazy, especially with Shavian language - for you are not only dealing with an accent, but language that is uncommon to a modern ear. So you must use every inch of your mouth and tongue to get those words out so that they’re understood as much as possibly by an audience. And when you’re really enunciating and pushing those words (those consonants forward), you tend to spit. Can’t be helped.

But I got to a point where I was almost foaming at the mouth and felt I had to draw back and take a swallow or two - which I did.

It’s amazing that you can do this night after night and still - suddenly - blow a line or two or three. Well, when you’ve this many lines perhaps it’s understandable. Shaw ain’t easy. And when you’re tired, who knows what will come out of your mouth. Or won’t.

The Zoo

Trip to the North Carolina Zoo Feb. 11, 2008


Went to the NC Zoo this afternoon. It was grey and 40 degrees and some parts were closed for refurbishment and there were hardly any people there. But we had a moderately nice time. Arrived too late in the day to see it all, but got to the bird house, the prairie, the swamp and the desert. Bison weren’t too exciting - they’re better eating than viewing, but the male elk had a fantastic rack. And we saw a couple of gorgeous cougars, many snakes, fish, poisonous frogs, fabulous flamingos and an owl. Owls sure are strange looking creatures. Then thrift shopping briefly where I bought a much needed necklace and a pair of earrings NOT, and Rand got some video tapes.

Mrs. Warren February 10th

---- Feb. 10th ---

After the matinee. One nice, but very odd house today. They were very responsive and thought I was a laugh riot. Even laughed at my ranting at the end. And applauded as the slip set went back and the lights started to dim at the end of the play. But by the time the full blackout came, they had stopped applauding altogether. So the actors had to begin their curtain call just to the music.

Husband had made 15 bean soup the other day which we had for dinner between shows. He’s a master soup creator.

Last night in the last scene there was a black mustache on the floor by the down left bench. I kept glancing at it and wondering if it really WAS a mustache and what it was doing there. Rather a distraction to say the least. You’re going along talking and..talking and....talking, (this IS Shaw don’t forget), and reacting, and you have your normal character inner monologue going on, and at the same time an entire part of your brain is doing a mustache querying dance. “Is that a mustache? How could it be? It sure looks like one. That’s absurd, it can’t be. But it is. How did it get there? Am I losing my mind....?” Turns out they had some high school play reading on stage earlier in the afternoon yesterday and apparently some youth sat on one of our set benches backstage and there removed his fake mustache. Nobody noticed it when the benches were set up in Act IV for our show, and one of us must have sat on it and then swept it off onto the stage floor when we got up. Truly amazing how such a little thing can turn your focus.

The trouser hose I wear in the show are so tight they leave a mark around my calf for several hours after the show. This afternoon in an effort to relieve the pain, I stretched them around the light cages in my dressing room. (The lights that circle the mirror in the dressing room are surrounded by cages. Who knows why. To protect one from burning oneself?) Doubt it will do a thing. Very tough nylon it is.

Two more good reviews came in. I blew several lines this afternoon. Why? Not enough sleep last night? Only 7 hrs. Funky audience off putting? Strange audiences can mess up your timing and your focus. As can black mustaches.....

Mrs. Warren February 7th

I am so grateful to be doing this show, as much as I dislike doing Shaw (at least if you’re doing a lead, because you NEVER shut up. Sorry Bernard.) This morning jackhammers and sledges were breaking up the sidewalk outside our apartment. Charming. Periodically they have someone with a LOUD leaf blower (is there any other kind???) blowing the construction dust around the breezeways. Don’t put your head out of your apartment then (especially with newly washed hair) or you’ll get it full of filth.

I got my hair chopped to a length I haven’t seen since I was 9 years old prior to departing for this gig. I told the hairdresser to leave me enough hair to put up in pin curls for the wig. She did. Barely. One always pin curls their hair with bobby pins prior to putting on a wig for a show. (Takes a LONG time.) Gives the hair pins going through the wig something to latch onto. Also neatens up the underpinnings so that none of your hair is hanging out in a non-professional way. Actually to ensure not one itty bitty stray hair escapes they throw a stocking cap on over it all. Dreadful things. (Imagine your basic bank robber photos.) They’re incredibly tight, uncomfortable and half the time you can’t get a damn hair pin through them without a struggle. In poorer theatres they often just cut off a woman’s panty hose leg end and throw it over your head. In more recent times, however, they have less onerous methods. A nice mesh web. Those are my favorite. Trent had a version I’d never come across before, however. He wrapped the circumference of my head with an ace bandage. Tan Badge of Courage?

When one is wearing a wig on stage, depending on the role and the amount of “activity” and the style, one may need to use the hideous spirit gum to keep the side lace close to the face. I’m speaking of wigs with “lace.” The wig you buy at the corner of 42nd street and Broadway or at your cheap wig store around the corner ain’t exactly the same. Those wigs don’t have “lace.” Mustaches and side burns also are stuck on with spirit gum. The only thing wrong with using spirit gum (aside from the fact that it stinks) is that you have to take it off. And the substance used to remove it is essentially acetone (nail polish remover). It’s one thing to use that on your nails, another on the soft skin of your face night after night.

We began by using spirit gum and Trent gave me a “new” remover which was a little pad infused with some removal fluid that was supposed to be less harsh than acetone. It wasn’t. After five days or so the side of my face was raw. The other option was double stick tape. It doesn’t work quite as well as spirit gum, but it’s a heck of a lot more gentle. You’re only ripping off some peach fuzz, not eating away your skin. And after a few days all the peach fuzz has been ripped off so it’s much nicer then. We opted for the tape.

The difficulty with the tape is trying to separate the stick from the non stick parts. You need a fine fingernail for that and a lot of patience. Trent managed most nights but sometimes the muse was not with him. I’d then say, “Give it me!” And I’d have a go at the separation. Eventually, between the two of us we’d manage to get the damn tape stuck on.

Trent was “fussing” like crazy tonight. I think it’s because “Mikado” opened (which he has been designing) and now there’s nothing for him to do. He was nitpicking at various things on my costume. I slapped him, fondly, and said, ”Stop it!” He is just a joy to work with.

Audience tonight - few, not terribly responsive. Some college ball game kept most away. But they gave us a standing O. (Ovation). We got more standing ovations in the beginning of the run then later. Why? Have we gotten worse?

Two a.m. random thoughts after dinner: I wonder if there’ll be construction going on outside our apartment tomorrow morning? So much noise here. Trains, sirens, sledge hammers, leaf blowers, 3 am parties with kids peeing off the balcony (I witnessed it - no joke). We asked the housing management NOT to have their handymen come into our apartment before noon to fix whatever needs fixing here as we get home from the show at 11 pm, eat at midnight and need three hours to digest. And when you’re having trouble enough sleeping due to trains and sirens and the demands of the show, you don’t need someone knocking on your door at 8 am to re-do kitchen and bathroom lighting fixtures that were put in incorrectly to begin with.

Tomorrow an “after talk.” I hear they've met their budget nut for the show already and we have another week and a half to go, so this is good.

Went to bed at 2 am. It was 68 degrees or so today, and I brought all the wrong clothing. I put the AC on in the apartment I’m sleeping in with the pussies. The other one, where the two of us are - is 73. It’s FEBRUARY for heaven’s sake! Going to thrift shops to buy clothes suitable for this type of weather because I brought things for a colder weather clime. What can I say, I’m still a Northerner at heart.

Mrs. Warren Continues

Feb. 5th

Ah yesterday a needed day off - to do all the chores one couldn’t get to opening week. Laundry, shopping, cleaning the apartments, etc. (This is what we actors call a day off. Ha!)

My two fabulous uncles and aunts drove all the way up from Florida to see the show over the weekend along with my cousin and her husband from GA. It was quite a whirlwind. A LONG drive for a very brief get-together. But a real treat for us. Rand and I so very rarely get to act together in a show and when we do it’s always out of town so not many friends or family can always make it. As a matter of fact one of my uncles and spouse had never seen me on stage before (see photo), so this was a special treat for both of us. No time to get together on Sunday because we had two shows. Boy do I have a great, loving family.

Photo Call tonight after the show went well. Stephen (Triad’s Marketing Director) asked if I’d go to Raleigh Durham with Rebecca to do another NPR (All Things Considered) interview at some ungodly hour of the morning tomorrow. I thought about it and opted not to. A one hour drive each way, early in the morning (well, relatively - for us) after a late photo call the night before? Noooooo. I think not. We don’t eat dinner ‘til after we get home every night which means we don’t get to bed before 1 am usually and I haven’t been sleeping anyway. I sound stupid enough on radio interviews with normal sleep. Can you imagine what I’d sound like with a sleep deprived brain???!!! Steven had been trying to get them to do such an interview for ages and naturally they let him know at the last possible minute. I asked why we couldn’t do a phone patch interview and he gave me some explanation which I think had to do with them patching in our Dramaturg (Elizabeth) from New York City AND Preston (who was, as I recall, by the beach somewhere for some much needed R&R and to finish writing his new play), and not wanting to do a third patch with Rebecca and me at the theatre. I thought, well, Rebecca’s more interesting to listen to anyway - she can go alone. Turns out the whole thing ended up scrapped because there were problems with both Preston & Elizabeth getting patched at the same time. Poor Steven was NOT a happy camper after that. (By the way - for your laymen out there - a phone patch is essentially an interview done over the telephone. I had one way back when, right after I did “Masada,” and they work very well indeed. My interviewer, as I recall was in LA and I was in NY. And this was a call in show, so there was a “patch” to yet another stranger. Think of a three-way conference call over the radio air waves. Ideally it’s always better if you can see the person, but it’s not necessary to be together in the flesh.)

Mrs. Warren Reviews

Greensboro News-Record Review:

http://www.news-record.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20080203/NRSTAFF/344103750

Charlotte Observer: http://www.charlotte.com/arts/story/481499.html

The Times News: http://www.thetimesnews.com/entertainment/kitty_10058___article.html/vivie_mother.html

Winston Salem Journal Review:

http://www.journalnow.com/servlet/Satellite?pagename=WSJ%2FMGArticle%2FWSJ_RelishArticle&c=MGArticle&cid=1173354463290&path=!entertainment!stage!&s=1037645508991

OPENING NIGHT

OPENING

Feb. 2nd.

Our director wisely and blessedly gave us the day off today. We were a wee bit tuckered out after tech/preview week.

Had accomplished much prior to this day, so I was actually able to relax - a bit. Only had a few opening night notes left to write. When did I finish husband's hat? Was it yesterday or today? I think yesterday. I bought him a black hat, not quite a top hat, and decorated it with rather garish trim. A "Sir George" hat. Saw a card I was debating on getting way back in the second week of rehearsals at the corner "antique cum hippie store." Wasn't quite what I wanted but I never found anything better in the ensuing time so I went and picked that up. Has a picture of a victorian woman lounging on a settee. Depending on how you hold it, she's either clothed or naked.

Had already taken the majority of the gifts over to the theatre yesterday, and one of the two choices of dresses I'd wear for the opening night party. Didn't know how warm it would be where we were going. So I had two possibilites. Generally speaking I brought many too many cold weather clothes here. I still haven't adapted to the fact that winter here is in the 50's most days. Even a heavy cotton turtleneck can be too hot.

Got there at 5:30 to put little notes and gifties around and still leave me'self enough time to become emotionally incorporated into the show. Very difficult it is on opening nights to gather ones thoughts and focus on the task at hand. Many distractions. There's a totally different energy level back stage on openings. Generally these days the "critics" come during previews so your opening night is really the first night of previews. The nerves on that first audience night cannot compare to the opening night. The former is far more exciting. Though if you're on Broadway - where an opening night reviewer can make or break you - that's a bit different.

There in my dressing room was a lovely card and gift from my husband (who had dropped them off much earlier in the day) - a pair of gorgeous earrings which I love and can be worn with any number of disparate outfits. The man has good taste.

Began the pre-show procedure: put on the tape I made of my cues and go through the show with all my lines while putting on the make up. Several interruptions during the process with various people wanting to come in for various costume reasons...stop the tape, then pick up where I left off. It takes about 40 minutes to go through the two hour show doing just my lines. I usually grab a cup of mud coffee which I heat up in the microwave to give me a caffeine boost prior to curtain. Go down to the stage prior to them opening the "house" (that's where the audience sits) a few minutes before half hour call to check my props. Then back up to the dressingroom.

Last night I was a bit frazzled as we had a heck of a time getting the d*mn corset on and it took longer than normal, so I requested a change of schedule by five minutes. Start the corset at 10 minutes after the "half hour" call and the wig at 15 minutes. But Lila, the poor intern that must truss me up (AND move set pieces) got corset lessons from our costume designer (Kelsey) sometime between yesterday and today and plumped me into that thing lickety split.

Anyway, I wasn't nervous. Got through all my lines and then went through my two major monologues once again. One can never go through their lines too much. Especially with a Mr. Shaw play.

A card was slid with expertise under my dressingroom door. Lovely note from Allan (our Praed).

Nice note from our director on the call board.

Goodies from the Board and Drew in the..oh what's the name of that room? Can't remember. The theatre is undergoing changes. Fruit and candy. Yummy.

The audience was a bit of a let down from our preview houses. More of what I suspect the norm will be. Nice, but didn't "feed" us as the other groups did. And by that I mean didn't give us a whole lot of energy. The show was okay.

Curtain call comes and Rebecca and I are last out. She headed toward the front and took her bow and then I, and suddenly someone is coming down each vom towards us and darling Amanda hands me an incredible bouquet of flowers and dear Lila does the same to Rebecca. Well, naturally I burst into tears and the curtain call from then on went all to hell (because we all are supposed to watch one another so we can bow in unison , but I was hardly concentrating I was so overwhelmed, so I not only didn’t follow the person I was supposed to but messed the timing up completely.)

We all then depart the stage and get into the small back stage elevator which lifts us back up to our dressing room area. I’m still crying and say, “I can’t believe it! These are Soooo beautiful. Where did they come from? Who did this?” I’m trying to parse it out in my brain. Would management do something like this? Very unusual if they did. This kind of thing isn’t even done on Broadway any more to my knowledge. Maybe in the old days. Maybe in operas. But???

I hear a well known voice in the elevator quietly say, “Now who do you think they’re from?” Oh MY. OH MY. Of course! How could I NOT have known. They’re from my eternally loving, chivalrous, and full of class husband. I cried harder then and gave him a big kiss, which everyone in the elevator seemed to enjoy. Golly. He sure knows how to make his wife feel like a star. In private, later, he said that this sort of thing used to be done in the old days - it was a grand tradition - and that this was an old piece of theatre and I was playing the title character and so he felt I deserved such an accolade. And I thought I’d already gotten my opening night present from him with the earrings. (And of course he had the class to not only give me flowers, but our ingenue lead as well. Now that’s class. )

The only other time I have ever been presented with a bouquet of flowers at a curtain call was when I had my final performance as Willy in Passion of Dracula. But that’s another story...

And there was a lovely opening night party at Ganache just a few blocks down from the theatre. Sushi, calamari, crudite', etc. Most gracious hosts the owners were.

So - now we’re on our way....

Mrs. Warren - Last Preview

Jan. 30th. Last preview. Another fabulous audience. When my costume was removed tonight I realized I'd left my own black skirt on underneath it all!! How was that possible???!!! So how many layers did I have on? The bustle petticoat, the black underskirt, the salmon skirt, the salmon overskirt... Amazing.

During the last scene I heard something fall onto the stage floor. Ooooh. We operate on so many levels when we're performing. Talk about multi-tasking....I saw my "daughter" react to it too. Was it an earring, I thought? So I'm babbling on and wondering whether it's an earring and if it is, would it be logical for me, as this character, to be aware of it and pick it up somewhere in my speech, or not - and if I don't pick it up, what are the chances that someone will tread upon it and break it during the curtain call? All these thoughts are going through my head AS I'm speaking. I did manage a glance or two at the ground and saw nothing and thought my character at this moment wouldn't give a d*amn about an earring, if she had lost one, and I personally couldn't be concerned at this point if someone DID tread upon it. I mean this was a VERY heated moment. So I chose to do nothing.

Never did find out what it was. When I got back up to my dressing room I thought it might have been a button that fell off my costume - but no, all were in tact. Trent, our fabulous wig man, suggested it might be a hair pin. Maybe so. The mystery remains such.

Poor Vivie had a brain burp in the first scene and danced with a couple of lines. Ah, but she and Praed'sr faces were wrapped in the error when we made our first entrance. He got off stage and didn't know if it was his fault or hers. So terribly off-putting when you do that. Upset everything for quite a while. I've been there - done that. I know it well. It just makes you feel ICKY all over. And then you tend to worry for the rest of the play (depending on how egregious the mis-step was). Makes you very nervous. Just an awful feeling. I tried to make light of the situation by telling her it was only a preview and that this was all part of the learning process. Is it ever NOT a learning process?

Mrs. Warren First Preview

January 27, 2008

Passing thoughts - stream of consciousness. New ruffle at the bottom of my bussel underskirt - very odd feeling when walking. A whole new thing in weight shifting. It actually changes how I move - something new to deal with.

Bonnet in Act IV going to be placed higher on the wig. Wonder how that will go? Last night I kept thinking it was falling off. It wasn't, but it was placed so low on the back of the wig it hit against the back of the dress collar (which is very high) and made me think it was coming off. Parasol - they added 8" to the stem. Initially I had to hold it very far above my head so as not to have it hit against the hat and I'm sure it looked ridiculous. Now it's longer and there's also a wrapped tassel on the bottom. Ooooh, all sorts of new things to deal with on our first preview.

As we were rehearsing some of the director's work notes this afternoon I got caught on the bloomin' rug. Never in my life have I been on a stage with rugs that weren't tacked down to the floor in some way. And although I much admire our set designer's work, I want to STRANGLE him for designing a show with representational set pieces that may actually kill us. I have - let's see - how many things to be cognizant of?: bussel and floor length dress (a costume that makes the audience gasp when I enter), gloves, parasol, fan, hat, getting in the right position for the lights, ENDLESS LINES, and with all that attempting to have some emotional reality going on and there's a d*mn rug that's also supposed to be in my cavernous brain recepticle to remember not to trip on. AAAArrrgh.

I told our director jokingly that if I tripped on it and knocked my teeth out on the bench I'd sue the bloody theatre! But it's my job to make it work and make it look like it's not even thought of. For this - I should get paid more money. Ha!

What a spectacular audience they were tonight. I said to Preston, "Please hire them to come every night." They really listened and got the jokes, they laughed and were with us. As Allan (who plays Praddy) said, "they seemed an audience that really wanted to be here."

An oh how much they taught us: what worked and what didn't work and what work we need to do. A VERY gracious audience they were. And how awful we'll feel when we don't have the same sort - as this is the benchmark. And how we will either curse them or blame ourselves for the lack of what we experienced tonight in response. Tonight was our first test. And the test went very well indeed.

Thoughts - on my entrance - the little gasp of delight at the outfit I was wearing. Did they hear anything that was being said for the first few minutes or were they just ogling the magnificence of Kelsey's costumes? One doesn't get to see such clothing like this often and it is quite spectacular. How do you even begin to describe such? As soon as I'm back home with my own computer I'll download all sorts of pretty pictures.

After the preview husband and I went back to the apartment. He cooked dinner (as he does every night - he enjoys it and I'm a lousy cook) while I made notes on the show re things I wanted to either work or comment on for tomorrow's note/work session.

Sleep is hard to come by.