February 7, 2010
Tired of unending winter. Sleet and rain alternated yesterday. This morning is too dark to see whether it is sleet or rain blocking the sky. But I resolved my circuit breaker problems and worked at the studio all Saturday, painting through most of it, but also reading through the balance of the scripts that had been sent to Black Swan. There are so many playwrights, so many plays, and few of them what you would call bad. There are reasons for not producing most of them, but clear and obvious reasons for having written them. I hope some angel keeps track of all the honest effort that goes unrewarded in the world. Jolene was also persuaded to change the location of the router, so the building is now flooded with WiFi capability. Hurrah all around.
Cantaria board meeting this afternoon, where it may (or may not) leak out that I am no longer singing with the group, at least for this semester. We are crossing too many lines at once– from concert choir into show choir, from fun into camp–and I’m not going along. I’ve fought the battle before, but now I feel that my heart is no longer the group’s heart. I don’t mind being outnumbered. I do mind being stubborn and out of step. If I’m not those things, the tide will turn.
Sunday, February 7, 2010
February 5, 2010
Stormzilla fizzled a little here at its southern rim. We had an hour of freezing sleet blasted away by gale-like winds, and then hours of miserable, penetrating rain. The electricity flickered just enough to crash computers, so here I am on a battery-driven laptop to ease around the frustration.
Joy in The Beautiful Johanna and associated linguistic exuberance have led me to begin a new play, which I’m calling Voices.
Went briefly to the studio, but it was too cold, and I had thrown too many breakers to get enough light.
Crawford’s hyacinths fill the rooms with fragrance.
Stormzilla fizzled a little here at its southern rim. We had an hour of freezing sleet blasted away by gale-like winds, and then hours of miserable, penetrating rain. The electricity flickered just enough to crash computers, so here I am on a battery-driven laptop to ease around the frustration.
Joy in The Beautiful Johanna and associated linguistic exuberance have led me to begin a new play, which I’m calling Voices.
Went briefly to the studio, but it was too cold, and I had thrown too many breakers to get enough light.
Crawford’s hyacinths fill the rooms with fragrance.
Thursday, February 4, 2010
February 3, 2010
Unsurprisingly, I took a dive into phlebitis on Monday morning, responding, I suppose, to the stress of the play. Caught it in time, and spent only one afternoon class and one night on the rim of unconsciousness. The chills cause muscle spasms the next day, but it has been a thousand time worse, so I go about rejoicing at dodging a bullet.
Cast and crew at the playwriting class Monday night, brilliant and expressive. Continue my joy in being associated with them. I don’t quite miss it (remind me never to produce again), but I’m overjoyed that it happened. All was well. The negative comments come from people who would scorn a cure for cancer if I’d discovered it. I do provoke people. My defense is that I seldom mean to.
We have a day between a storm and a storm. I intend to make the most of it.
Afternoon. Satisfying hours at the studio. I kept throwing breaker switches trying to run the lights and the space heaters at once, so finally I gave up, but I was happy with what I had accomplished. Painted over “finished” paintings to start again, as if I were Jason.
Unsurprisingly, I took a dive into phlebitis on Monday morning, responding, I suppose, to the stress of the play. Caught it in time, and spent only one afternoon class and one night on the rim of unconsciousness. The chills cause muscle spasms the next day, but it has been a thousand time worse, so I go about rejoicing at dodging a bullet.
Cast and crew at the playwriting class Monday night, brilliant and expressive. Continue my joy in being associated with them. I don’t quite miss it (remind me never to produce again), but I’m overjoyed that it happened. All was well. The negative comments come from people who would scorn a cure for cancer if I’d discovered it. I do provoke people. My defense is that I seldom mean to.
We have a day between a storm and a storm. I intend to make the most of it.
Afternoon. Satisfying hours at the studio. I kept throwing breaker switches trying to run the lights and the space heaters at once, so finally I gave up, but I was happy with what I had accomplished. Painted over “finished” paintings to start again, as if I were Jason.
February 1, 2010
The weather allowed us a Sunday matinee, which had a lively audience and perhaps the best performances yet. The weight of anxiety was off me, and I enjoyed the play for the first time thoroughly, breaking into tears in Reiner’s soliloquy and not stopping before the end. Strike went liked greased lightning. After strike we shambled down the street and met at Jack of the Wood for drinks and darts. My cast and crew was happy. I was happy. Major success with or without the weather, though now it will be harder to blame people who didn’t show, because they can say, “Well, I TRIED to come Saturday night . . . “
Sound on the street last night–almost constantly– of tires spinning on ice. I watched a white pick-up try to escape from the parking lot across the street. The passenger got out and pushed. It finally, after a last running start from the very edge of the pavement, made it out onto the street.
The weather allowed us a Sunday matinee, which had a lively audience and perhaps the best performances yet. The weight of anxiety was off me, and I enjoyed the play for the first time thoroughly, breaking into tears in Reiner’s soliloquy and not stopping before the end. Strike went liked greased lightning. After strike we shambled down the street and met at Jack of the Wood for drinks and darts. My cast and crew was happy. I was happy. Major success with or without the weather, though now it will be harder to blame people who didn’t show, because they can say, “Well, I TRIED to come Saturday night . . . “
Sound on the street last night–almost constantly– of tires spinning on ice. I watched a white pick-up try to escape from the parking lot across the street. The passenger got out and pushed. It finally, after a last running start from the very edge of the pavement, made it out onto the street.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
January 30, 2010
The great snow that finally came upon us was solemn and beautiful. I decided to walk in the midst of it, and found myself at the Usual, sitting with John and Blake, and later a woman who is living with Blake. It was exactly the right happenstance, for I was inclined to be gloomy because of the play, and because of my fear of winter, but their talk was lively and different from the talk I normally hear. All three were outdoorsmen with stories to tell of the wide spaces of the West. All three loved the snow, and planned to use today “to play.” Blake had never taken his daughter sledding, and that was the center of his plans. They made me feel better about it all, and when I took a moment to complain about the cancellation, it seemed irrelevant. Called DJ when the party at the Usual broke up, and spent the rest of the night admiring his new bathroom, watching an atrocious vampire flick, and then the winter X games, where long-haired boys on abbreviated surf boards fly way up into the air and turn and flip, Concentrated on the lingo of the commentators, who affirmed that one lad must “up it up” and remarked on everyone’s “amplitude” and enumerated who had “platformed.” Laughed myself sick over something. Did not have the night I wanted, but had, finally, one plenty good enough.
We did not lose, or have not yet lost, power, and that has made the difference. One does not have to curl in the dark and silence and cold like an animal in its cage.
Evening. Used the day to prepare manuscripts. Have not stepped outside the house except to refill the bird feeder. Can stand one or two such days a year. I’m actually happy and quiet in my heart for a while. Renaissance music from the computer. A stack of submissions to be mailed Monday morning. Cats lazier than I. Barely thought of Johanna more than eight or ten times.
A strange sound brought me into the kitchen, then to the washer, where Maud stood nose to nose with a handsome mouse, who was standing tip-toe on top of the agitator. They were well on their way to becoming friends. The great days of mousing ended with Jocasta, and now the Peaceable Kingdom spreads beneath my roof.
The great snow that finally came upon us was solemn and beautiful. I decided to walk in the midst of it, and found myself at the Usual, sitting with John and Blake, and later a woman who is living with Blake. It was exactly the right happenstance, for I was inclined to be gloomy because of the play, and because of my fear of winter, but their talk was lively and different from the talk I normally hear. All three were outdoorsmen with stories to tell of the wide spaces of the West. All three loved the snow, and planned to use today “to play.” Blake had never taken his daughter sledding, and that was the center of his plans. They made me feel better about it all, and when I took a moment to complain about the cancellation, it seemed irrelevant. Called DJ when the party at the Usual broke up, and spent the rest of the night admiring his new bathroom, watching an atrocious vampire flick, and then the winter X games, where long-haired boys on abbreviated surf boards fly way up into the air and turn and flip, Concentrated on the lingo of the commentators, who affirmed that one lad must “up it up” and remarked on everyone’s “amplitude” and enumerated who had “platformed.” Laughed myself sick over something. Did not have the night I wanted, but had, finally, one plenty good enough.
We did not lose, or have not yet lost, power, and that has made the difference. One does not have to curl in the dark and silence and cold like an animal in its cage.
Evening. Used the day to prepare manuscripts. Have not stepped outside the house except to refill the bird feeder. Can stand one or two such days a year. I’m actually happy and quiet in my heart for a while. Renaissance music from the computer. A stack of submissions to be mailed Monday morning. Cats lazier than I. Barely thought of Johanna more than eight or ten times.
A strange sound brought me into the kitchen, then to the washer, where Maud stood nose to nose with a handsome mouse, who was standing tip-toe on top of the agitator. They were well on their way to becoming friends. The great days of mousing ended with Jocasta, and now the Peaceable Kingdom spreads beneath my roof.
January 29, 2010
Just e-mailed the agonizing & frustrating consent to cancel tonight’s show, in the face of a “massive storm” whose first flake has not yet fallen. All the schools closed early and the groceries are flooded by panicked buyers, so I suppose the night would have been ruined in any case. Sweet that we went out on a full house. Best guess is that we’ll lose Saturday as well. We added a Sunday matinee. Who knows? I think this train is derailed. I’m glad everyone was having fun in the hours before–.
Cathy Smith Bowers has been named NC Poet Laureate. The news report says she works at UNCA, but I’ve never heard of her. That was probably a major point in her favor.
Just e-mailed the agonizing & frustrating consent to cancel tonight’s show, in the face of a “massive storm” whose first flake has not yet fallen. All the schools closed early and the groceries are flooded by panicked buyers, so I suppose the night would have been ruined in any case. Sweet that we went out on a full house. Best guess is that we’ll lose Saturday as well. We added a Sunday matinee. Who knows? I think this train is derailed. I’m glad everyone was having fun in the hours before–.
Cathy Smith Bowers has been named NC Poet Laureate. The news report says she works at UNCA, but I’ve never heard of her. That was probably a major point in her favor.
Friday, January 29, 2010
January 28, 2010
Thursday night Johanna the best one yet, in terms of performance and of audience. Full house. Adam and Casey still trying new things. It is a matter of pride to watch my five actors strengthen their muscles in my gym. . . well, that image sounded better before I typed it out. I was waiting with phone in pocket to see if there is a party tonight, but they didn’t call me. Probably had enough of me with my words in their mouths and ears night after night. Moon rose full in a pale blue sky, softened and blurred by clouds now. Sad because they didn’t call me. . . too tired to go if they did. . . one side of me perpetually making excuses for the other.
Casey said tonight will be closing night because tomorrow the snows will come. Whatever betides, I have a community to thank for this success. The seats have been full; the comments (in my earshot, anyway) laudatory. The internet sniper has been on top of it, of course, he who calls himself Minnehaha and “Theater Fan” and the like, who has something snippy and denigrating to say in those little comment boxes online media provide. Some enemy I don’t remember making. Envy and cowardice about balance in him, hiding behind anonymity and just clever enough to make malice look like a kind of judgment. One must put up with this, even as there are ticks and chiggers in the best tilled garden.
Thursday night Johanna the best one yet, in terms of performance and of audience. Full house. Adam and Casey still trying new things. It is a matter of pride to watch my five actors strengthen their muscles in my gym. . . well, that image sounded better before I typed it out. I was waiting with phone in pocket to see if there is a party tonight, but they didn’t call me. Probably had enough of me with my words in their mouths and ears night after night. Moon rose full in a pale blue sky, softened and blurred by clouds now. Sad because they didn’t call me. . . too tired to go if they did. . . one side of me perpetually making excuses for the other.
Casey said tonight will be closing night because tomorrow the snows will come. Whatever betides, I have a community to thank for this success. The seats have been full; the comments (in my earshot, anyway) laudatory. The internet sniper has been on top of it, of course, he who calls himself Minnehaha and “Theater Fan” and the like, who has something snippy and denigrating to say in those little comment boxes online media provide. Some enemy I don’t remember making. Envy and cowardice about balance in him, hiding behind anonymity and just clever enough to make malice look like a kind of judgment. One must put up with this, even as there are ticks and chiggers in the best tilled garden.
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