The terror of opening night looming one week from tomorrow is beginning to subside.  The horror of the publicity photos is another matter altogether.  I loathe photographs of myself.  The mirror tells me such sweet lies; "Not bad straight on!"  "You look MUCH younger than your years!"  All fantasy.  The close ups are an education in humility.  In combination with the subject matter of the play it's enough to make one start actually thinking about mortality.  Or at least about getting a whole lot more serious about Weight Watchers!

Last night we had the first run through in which we were not allowed to call for a forgotten line.  For those of you not into theater, it's a lot like walking a tightrope without a net below.  The theory is that if you had a real audience in front of you, you'd have to find a way to cover or cope or something.  And we did.  Which was a rather pleasant surprise, if not shock, considering the travesty which we tried to pass off as a rehearsal just three days before.  I hung my head in shame after that one.  But it's finally starting to "click".  I'm finding nuances in "Ethel" and playing with them.  All this and I get applause and occasionally flowers, too.  I hope for the former.  The latter is assured because Himself has finally figured out how this thing works.  My friends quietly take him aside and say, "You want to stay married to her?  You want to be able to close your eyes when you sleep?"

I won't be entirely sorry when this is all over, in spite of the ego boost and the delightful company.  It's also been a boatload of work on top of my full time job.  And immediately following the close of this play is Thanksgiving and the beginning of Christmas caroling season, so it's not as though I'll be twiddling my thumbs.  Still, it's nice to feel wanted once in a while, and it's a pleasant change to go from evenings of watching bad television to figuring out where to leave my costumes for which acts, and carving new pathways through my old brain with pages and pages of dialogue and stage directions.  And now I have discovered I really do have a new respect for loons.

Less than three weeks remain to the opening night of "On Golden Pond".  Rehearsals are going well (I'm told) but panic is beginning to set in.  How on EARTH is anyone supposed to memorize all this stuff?  Much less act it out?  Still, I'm loving the challenge and enjoying the company.  It's been so long since I've had anything to do on a weekday night besides watch bad television and iron tomorrow's clothes.

Last night I went to see a friend in a one-man show.  Neil McGarry did a brilliant job as Richard Burbage in "Burbage", who (for those of you who napped occasionally during English class in high school) was arguably the most famous of the actors who made Shakespeare so popular back in the day.  For one solid hour Neil spoke to an imaginary boy who had wandered into the Globe Theatre to join the dizzying world of the stage.  Not one actor was there to give him a cue or remind him of the next line or give him ANYTHING to which he could react.  He was absolutely amazing.  The church hall where he performed was the quietest place I've been in years.  Everyone gave rapt attention to every word.  I sat in awe.

After the performance I told Neil how impressed I was and how I was having trouble memorizing what I had (until then) believed was a ton of dialogue.  He advised me to speak the lines aloud as I walked.  He gave me several hints on locking knees and unlocking jaws and generally just behaving like an absolute loon who would frighten the neighbors for a while, but he swears it works, so I'm going to do it.  I've reached the "everyone else makes it look so easy" part of rehearsing.  I'm sure they're working twice as hard as I have been.  Or maybe it just really does come naturally to some people.  I don't know how that works.  I won't be offended if you see me walking around talking to myself and decide it would be better not to acknowledge that you know me.  Maybe I'll just put on my earphones and tuck the unconnected wire into my pocket so I'll blend in with everyone else out there.  It's mildly terrifying, but damn, it's fun!