THE PASSING SEEN

CPR 2009

2011-09-06T19:05:00.005-04:00

Husband and I took a CPR course here yesterday offered by the Red Cross. All chapters give it for free once a year. And if you’ve never taken such a course I highly recommend it. We did it about 15 years ago and things have changed quite a bit since then. Instead of five heart thrusts and two breaths, you do thirty to two.

The majority of folks taking it was up there in years, including the ones who volunteered to give it. Perhaps because we live in an area with a higher aged population. I hope it’s that, because it’s really the young folk who should be learning these skills for their children and all us old folk.

There were two sessions - one in the am one in the pm and two groups of about 18 in each. First you watch a seemingly ENDLESSLY BAD video. Endless because it wasn’t working right (or perhaps our dear leader was not savvy to the ways of DVD machines.) It seems whether it’s a DVD or home movie, the end results are always the same...gnashing of teeth. Being a professional actor also helped make the video experience excruciating. Watching industrials (as we call them in the trade) is almost as boring as acting in them. First, they’re horribly written, second they’re terribly directed and third they’re terribly acted. That don’t leave you with much entertainment value. However we’re not watching them to be entertained. I might venture to say that we might learn more if it WERE entertaining in the process but....

So we’ve got the requisite pc multicultural group on the film taking us through our paces. They describe what must be done AS they are doing it.

1. Check the surrounding area. Which makes sense. If you were to walk in and see a bunch of snakes eating someone you might run in the opposite direction.

2. Assuming all is safe and the guy ain’t lying in a puddle of water with an electrical cord dangling in it, you go over and assess the situation. Give him a good poking and shout “ARE YOU OK?” If he were OK he probably wouldn’t be lying there looking like he was dead, but ya never know!

3. Call for help - assuming you have a cell phone (which we never use) or maybe there’s someone nearby (like the rest of the world) that has one happily radiating into their ear. You would instruct them by saying loudly, “CALL 911! HE’S UNCONSCIOUS!” Why you have to add the “He’s unconscious” provider - who knows. I’m just explaining what we were seeing on the video.

4. Care. Put your ear up against the guy’s mouth (after you’ve tilted his head back to open his airway) and see if you can hear any breathing as you simultaneously look down at his chest to see if it’s moving up and down at all. Wait 10 seconds. Count them like this: one-one thousand, two-one thousand, three-one thousand. (I have a recollection of this same counting method when I was taking parachute lessons. One-one thousand, chute should open, two-one thousand, chute should open, three-one thousand, something wrong, four one-thousand, look up to determine what’s wrong..., five - one thousand - oh oh....but that’s another story.) I’m thinking this guy could have been lying here for 10 minutes and I’m supposed to wait another TEN SECONDS? Ten seconds can be one heck of a long time. Especially when you’re dropping through space or on your way to dying. Which are probably both one and same. But whaddo I know. If he seems dead, he probably is, but you carry on nonetheless.

You then get out your trusty CPR mask and put it over his mouth. Or your trusty mouth barrier against any and all diseases. Yeah, right. By the time you’ve fished it out of your pocket (should you actually HAVE one) opened it, inserted it into his mouth - probably another 60 seconds have gone by. If you’re a woman and have it in our purse, the guy will probably be long gone by the time you fish it out between the lip gloss, hand desanitizer, rat comb, mascara, candy bar and calorie counter.

So, you’ve got the mask on and you’ve tilted his head back. Now pinch his nose closed and give him two breaths lasting about a second each. If you’re too forceful with your breath or do it too long, the air may go into his stomach. And if THAT occurs he’ll probably throw up. NOT a pleasant prospect to then put your mouth back on his (assuming you don’t have the necessary mask/barrier). As I’m sure one of my fellow actors discovered when I ‘d had a bit too many martinis the night before a matinee and did not do well. Turning upstage and actually barfing as unobtrusively as possible into my purse. He was playing my fiancee’ and had to KISS me shortly thereafter. But that’s another story too....

If the breaths you are putting out don’t go in, i.e. you don’t see the chest rise (my CPR doll did not have that capacity, some do), you check to see why not. Could it be that their false teeth have been knocked halfway down their throat? Or perhaps they’ve inhaled an apple and it’s stuck in their craw. A cannibal spear through the throat maybe? Whatever the obstruction, remove it and try again. Assuming air now goes in....

Give 30 quick heart thrusts in 18 seconds. That’s at a count of “one and two and three and four.” Or about two per second. It’s ok if in the panic of the moment you lost count. The guy’s probably way dead, so it won’t matter much. Chances of a revival using this technique are slim. But hey - ya never know, right? And how grateful would you feel if you actually managed to jump start somebody. And how rotten when it doesn’t work.

So you continue giving 30 pumps to 2 breaths until either help arrives or exhaustion occurs. Or the guy starts breathing. HA! Fat chance. And that’s why it’s real important to call 911 so help is on it’s way. ‘Cause you’ll be so exhausted after about five minutes of this you’ll be about ready for CPR yourself!

We also learned the Heimlich Maneuver, which they can no longer call the Heinlich Maneuver because his estate apparently now CHARGES money every time the name is mentioned. I don’t know, but if I were Mr. Heimlich, I’d prefer that the technique I created to save lives had my name on it - even if it were for FREE!

THE SADDLEBACK

2011-09-06T13:19:00.006-04:00

August 7, 2011

So I’m out there happily weeding in front of the house. I say happily because it rained yesterday and the ground was pliable. Not like a clay ROCK baking in the sun, which it usually is. Clay soil in the sun is just like molding clay in a kiln. It’s HARD. And since every day is 90 degrees and a million particles of humidity, breaking through sun-baked clay is not a whole lot of fun. But today it was. Until I encountered a new friend. Actually, this guy was definitely NOT a friend.

I’ve got one glove on and one glove off. If you’re weeding tricky small areas between plants you really need an unarmed hand. It requires the delicacy of fingers unencumbered. Oddly enough, that wasn’t the hand that got into trouble. So I’m weeding along and I suddenly feel a burning sensation on the back of my gloved hand. I figure - well, I’ve gotten pricked by ...whatever. Probably the Barberry shrub nearby. I ignore it and continue on. Then I get another prick. Only this time I think, “Ah, ok, it’s a bee. Kinda feels like a bee sting now that I've experienced it TWICE. Where is it coming from? I look under an iris leaf because that was the only thing nearby that could possibly have been the culprit.

Aha! What is THIS creature? It’s a very small caterpillar with many colors and hairs. Mmmmmm, this is not a good thing. I know most dangerous critters are very flamboyant and give you as much warning as possible. And he is definitely FLAMBOYANT. But HE was under a leaf. Flamboyancy hidden is NOT FAIR! So I tear off the leaf and put him in the bug jail (see another post long ago about the bug jail) and determine to look him up later. I figured he was one of kind and not around a lot.

I wondered how bad my reaction would be. I washed my hand with soap and water thoroughly and then wiped it with alcohol. And went back out to continue weeding. The sting (it was more like burning sensation, actually), lasted about an hour. I kept checking it periodically to make sure my skin wasn't falling off. Less skin reaction than a chigger or a mosquito bite, but hurt a LOT more. So I’m continuing the weeding in other areas and then go in back of the iris (the same iris where he had been hiding). And I’m hunkered down on all fours and my face is - well, in the weeds. And I suddenly feel another stinging sensation by my left eye. Only this time I recognized it right off the bat! Yes indeedy. And then I looked under another iris leaf and — well hello, there are TWO of those suckers hanging out there. Great. Before, I at least had on a glove to protect the back of my hand. This time - nothing. Just my face and the hairs.

I thought “YOU BUGGERS!” But I couldn’t kill them. They’re so beautiful. Truly. They are just amazingly unique. So I ripped off that part of the leaf and took it to the other side of the lawn and dumped it. At that point I took the time to go in and look him up on the wonderful, world wild web. Because he looked like he had a brown saddle on, I queried caterpillars with saddles and BINGO. There he was. A saddleback (aptly named, I’d say) caterpillar.

Sibine stimulea - oh yeah, he definitely stimulates the pain sensors in your skin, though he be very small. That paper clip is not a large one.

“Wikipedia: These caterpillars have a pair of fleshy "horns" at either end, and these, like much of the body, bear urticating hairs that secrete an irritating venom. Stings can be very painful. They can cause swelling, nausea, and leave a rash that can last for days. Individuals with sensitive skin are cautioned against coming into contact with them as the reaction can be more severe than the typical reaction.”

A couple of responders said take some scotch tape and put it over the wound and it will pluck off the little hairs. I did that by my eye (after wiping it off with alcohol too), and the pain didn’t last nearly as long. Live and learn. I then spent the next 30 minutes studying other centipedes and brown recluse spiders. These guys are definitely nasty, but nothing (from what I’ve studied) about the recluse. And I really don’t want to get bitten by one of them, and would have no hesitation whatsoever about killing one. They ain’t pretty like this guy.

A few days later I came upon the monster below. Now he was BIG - about 2 inches. And FAST. Fortunately I found him before he found me. You know, it's funny. I was talking to my uncle the other night and he said he saw a really interesting bug by his front door and thought of me! I was delighted! If my friends and family think of me every time they see a bug - well, there'll be a whole lot of thoughts coming my way. HA!

It's a Boy, It's a Girl, it's Mothra

2010-08-30T23:35:00.009-04:00

Missed the actual birth I'm sorry to say. (Though I've kept it's "shell casing.") I came out the other morning and there he/she/it was. Looked exactly like a leaf.
Only reason I could identify her/he/him/she/it was that he was clinging to the side of the aquarium/terrarium. Even though I had left up branches for that purpose. How does one crawl and cling to glass? If I had that answer I'd be Spiderman. But if you notice the first picture you'll see one little foot extended to hold itself there.

So I then watched. And waited. And watched. And waited. Just as I have for the past week? Two? Expecting some fabulous other transformation. Nothing seemed to be happening. Except that after hours and hours it might change it's position.

And so it went from clinging to the glass side to "another part of the forest"...the bottom of the terrarium actually. I took a twig and tried to gently open it's wings. And low and behold there were marvelous orange dots present.

If you look at the last photo it looks like there's fur on it's body.

Not the most spectacular colorations - but to go from a green caterpillar to this air born contraption - hey - it was worth the wait.

RIDDLE OF THE SPHINX

2010-08-17T12:20:00.006-04:00

So I go out to our vegetable garden the other day and notice, to my horror, two tomato plants are half eaten. By what? I wonder. Upon studying them I discovered these humongous green caterpillars chowing down on the leaves and nibble marks on the fruit. Even though the things are 4" long and about the circumference of a Sharpie permanent marker, they have pretty perfect camouflage. Duplicate color extract as the plant. I plucked five off and threw them way over the fence. Didn't want to kill them. Stupid. Soft hearted.

Then I got on the internet and looked them up. Tobacco Hornworms they are. In the North they're called Tomato Hornworms and have a slightly different coloration. Down South, however, they have the former name. They eat tobacco, and any member of the Nightshade family. Like Irish potatoes, peppers and eggplant. And of course tomatoes. They become Sphinx moths. One of the larger species of flutterers.

Next day went to check again. Five more. I tossed all but one over the fence giving the last two a good talking to. "This is it!" I said. "Last chance. Come back again and I'm cutting you in half. So Beware!" The last one I took and put in my trusty bug jail. I thought it would be fun (well interesting at least) to watch his transformation. Of course then I was FEEDING him my tomato leaves. (I must be nuts. Don't answer that.) And he had an insatiable appetite. But I found him quite enchanting. The most amazing shade of green and with fabulous eye spots all along his sides leading right up to his eyes themselves which were almost indistinguishable from the false ones. And the brownish red horn on his rear end. Really quite fetching.

After a couple of days I realized I couldn't just keep him in a tiny bug jail. So I went down to the root cellar and brought up the aquarium I bought at a tag sale a zillion years ago which I've hauled through every move. The only thing I ever had in it was a bunch of what I thought were frog eggs. Turned out to be salamanders. Half of them cannibalized each other because there were too many in the tank, I guess. Which was rather alarming, to say the least. Once I realized what was happening I put the majority back in the pond from whence they'd come. Only kept a couple. One of which had a leg missing. I figured I owed him. And several weeks later I was surprised to see that the leg had grown back. Pretty neat. Wish we could regenerate body parts like that. I knew spiders could do that in the molting process, but didn't realize efts could too.

Anyway, back to Mr. Hornworm. My research told me that he would go into a "wandering" stage and begin to shrink. (Sort of like where I am at this age - mind wanders and I get closer to the ground every year. Only my next stage isn't as glorious a transformation to a wing-ed thing. Well, who knows - maybe it will be. One can hope, eh?)

Sure enough the other day he stopped his gluttonous consumption and began to crawl aimlessly around the tank like an Alzheimer patient. I then went and got a small bucketful of the forest floor (dried grass and leaves and such), dumped it in and he immediately buried himself under it. And every day after that I uncovered him to see what was what. And indeed he got smaller and small and less bright, duller and duller in color. Until now where he is the color of a dark brown tightly rolled leaf about an inch and a half long. His horn looks longer and is partially curled around his body instead of standing flaglike on the end of his rear. He's extremely active if you disturb him, wiggling like mad. Much more so than is original self which was rather torpid in nature.

I'm assuming they don't need to eat nor drink in this stage. Otherwise I will have nurtured this creature to his slow death.

Birth of a Sphinx Month coming soon to a theatre near you....

Another Visitor

2010-02-08T12:28:00.006-05:00

(I wrote this back in Feb. 2010)

We have two cats. One I think is autistic. Well, according to my lights. Or is that lites - these days? Spelling has gone out the window along with everything else. Anyway, the other day I walk into my office and Butternut (so named because he's an orange tabby - NEVER GET AN ORANGE CAT), is in there. He NEVER goes in my office. In the two months we've been here he is either on the couch or under it. Mostly under it. When he does get brave enough to come out and lie on it, should you walk by a little too close, he'll jump off and slink beneath.

Anyway - I see him in my office and find it mighty strange and follow his gaze to the top of the window. And there is a bird. Yes, a BIRD on my curtain rod. A rather terrified Wren I believe it to be. We had the garage door open, and yes, the door to the house too while unloading stuff from the car. Uh huh. I get Butter out of the room simply with a glance in his direction, and then proceed to try to catch the BIRD. HA! The Tommy Dorsey song begins to haunt me: "....The music goes 'round and around, Whoa-ho-ho-ho-ho-ho, And it comes out here." I make a grab here, whoa-ho-ho-ho-ho and the bird goes there. After about five minutes of that nonsense I enlist the aid of my better half. He proceeds to get out a pair of heavy work gloves (well, after all, you never know WHAT diseases these wild creatures may have!)

So together we attempt to corral the creature. "...the music goes round and round, whoa oh oh...." going back and forth to get implementa (like a towel, etc.) from the other room. Mugwump (the other cat) joins in the fray. I take him out of the room. The bird flies round and round and round. And we chase him round and round and round. Poor thing had it's beak open, gasping for breath. I figured, like the bats we've caught, it's just a matter of time until we wear them out.

Eventually he lands yet again on one of the three desks I have in the room, and very slowly I turned, step by step, inch by inch, I move up on him, clicking my tongue in bird speak (this actually works for many different kinds of animals) and slowly raise my hands on either side of him. I've used similar techniques with frogs but that's a one-handed deal in a slow, circular motion. In this case my two open palms gently, slowly close in on him and voila! FINALLY GOT THE BUGGER! And flushed the damn thing down the toilet. Of course not - I let him go.

I recalled after that, the son of the owner of this place saying something about birds coming into the garage and being a pain in the butt. The next morning I went into the garage and there were TWO more Wrens. SO, I guess this is going to be an ongoing THANG.

Winter/Summer

2010-01-11T15:23:00.020-05:00

Beautiful at any time of year...

Pre Christmas Adventure

2009-12-26T19:14:00.001-05:00

Friday, Dec. 18th found me on my way back to our new home with a car loaded with things the movers couldn’t/wouldn’t/didn’t take. Like all the house plants. Which was primarily the reason for my going back to NC the Sunday prior. That and a few other tasks, like cleaning the oven, cleaning the fridge, scouring the kitchen floor, scouring the sunporch floor, raking the ditch leaves, picking up sticks and setting fire to the pile that’s been sitting there for three months. Plus going to the skin doc and the chiropractor. And I even managed to get in a game of tennis.

The heat in the house was not acting right. Had noticed it before we left but tried to believe it was just my imagination. I’ve never known heat pumps to produce much heat to begin with so it’s difficult to determine when they’re not. But after a couple of nights on the air mattress on the floor and feeling cold air blowing on my head all night long, and the unit never shutting off, I opined that, yes, something was definitely not right. I was hoping it was just a thermostat problem.

Wednesday I had a plumber over to fix the hot water faucet to the washing machine. When the movers took the unit out, the hot water tap kept dripping. Fortunately the entire valve didn’t have to be replaced, just the washer. And he did both.

Thursday the heating guy came over. Nope, not a simple thermostat problem. An expansion valve problem. Which means they have to order the part. Which means the heat will be on emergency until then. Which means we’ll be running off the heat strips and it’ll be costing an electric fortune. Think I’ll invest in Duke Power. He sets the system to ‘emergency’ and leaves. I notice after a while that it’s still not getting any toastier in the house. I call Waldrop. “Uh, it doesn’t seem to be getting any warmer.” “Well, give it a half an hour and if it’s still not warm call us back,” came the reply. It had already been about an hour, but I did as told.

Half an hour later the thermostat indicates the temperature has DROPPED a degree. I call again. The guy who came originally has gone home. A new one is sent out. He arrives about an hour later. Is in the basement a LONG time studying the unit. Then comes upstairs and looks at the thermostat. He determines that whomever put the thermostat in didn’t hook it up so that it could use the emergency setting. How is this possible? Who knows. Anyway, we chatted at the folding bridge table in the kitchen until he was satisfied that there WAS heat coming out of the vents. He said they’d let me know about the part and how much it would cost the next day. That night I got a cold.

Snow was predicted for the next day, Friday. It was coming up from the coast and expected to get worse throughout the day and into Sat. Especially in the higher mountain regions which was exactly where I was heading. I really didn’t want to spend two more nights on an air mattress on the floor. Husband and friend advised me not to leave. I left anyway. I’ve always enjoyed an adventure. HA!

It’s normally a four hour trip. But because of a rock slide on I 40, one has to go all the way up North to Johnson City on I 26, and then take I 81 South to re-connect with I 40 to get into Knoxville. Which takes another hour.

North of Asheville the road gets worse and worse. Somewhere after Johnson City everything came to a standstill. Two hours later there was a little movement and I managed to sneak my way ahead. People of this region just don’t know how to drive in this stuff. Cars were in the ditch on the left and off the road on the right. Finally managed with a great sigh of relief to get to an exit and a convenience store bathroom. I think it was then around 6 pm. I’d left at 12:30. Some other stragglers came in. They had been stuck for SIX HOURS. I was lucky with my two. Talked to more people as they came in. The highway ahead was a parking lot. A local cop came in. He said there was a jack-knifed tractor trailer up ahead. How long before he thought it would be cleared? His guess was at least three hours. Called husband. I gave him the info. Told him I’d keep him posted.

Went off to find something to eat. Burger King had just closed. There was a grocery store open, Food City, I was told. The road was ice and slush. The plows must have all been on the highways. Managed to slip and slide my way into the parking lot. They had a deli, which was closed, but had some tables and chairs at which to sit. I had brought some sliced ham in a cooler, bought a loaf of bread and made a sandwich. Most of the pre-packed warm food had already disappeared, like the rotisserie chicken, etc. There were a couple of salads left, which were unappealing. I kept inquiring about the roads. The local state trooper was of little help. He didn’t know how he was gonna get home himself.

There are no motels in Gray, TN. If I had stopped in Johnson City, I probably would have been nice and snug by now. Food City closed at midnight. I managed to get my car over to their gas pumps where there was an overhang. At least I’d be out of the way of the plow which was attempting poorly to plow the lot. And the overhang would keep the snow off my windshield so I wouldn’t have to scrape it. My cold was in full bloom. It was 28 degree out. Christmas music was coming out of the speakers around the pumps.

I listened to this music for six hours. Every half hour I turned on the car to get some heat so the plants wouldn’t freeze. I nibbled on peanuts and carrots and drank Dr. Pepper. But not much, because I didn’t want to have to get out my sheinal (a woman’s urinal) which I’ve learned to carry in the car. It’s not the easiest of items to use under spacious conditions (like in a tent). When you’re behind a steering wheel and have on long underwear...let’s just say it’d be better to HOLD IT!

My poor husband was so worried. At 6 am the store re-opened. I walked across the lot ‘cause I was afraid that I’d get stuck if I tried to drive. The plowing job was a joke. One of the gals had crossed over the freeway on her way to work and said it looked like there was one lane open and cars were moving. I had a cup of coffee. “What time does dawn arrive,” I queried one fellow. “Around 7:15,” he said. God. Another hour and a half to go. I didn’t want to attempt leaving until I could at least see the road ahead.

Finally things started to lighten up. Still snowing and grey, but it was now or never. Grabbed another cup of coffee and a banana and prayed that I’d managed to get out of the parking lot.

I did. I was two exits from I 81. Within that stretch of road there were over 100 cars on either side. They looked like tinker toys. Seven in a row on the right, four on the left, then more...and more...and more. What happened to all those people I wondered? And how long will it take to haul their cars out.

The snow continued until Knoxville, where it became a sleety rain. I got more coffee. I was getting mighty sleepy. As the elevation rose in the Highland area it turned back to snow. It seemed like an endless drive. Took four hours. I finally pulled into the driveway at 11:30 am. And walked into husbands arms. Then unloaded the car, took a shower and crashed ‘til 6 pm.

The heating company did not call. We had to call them. Estimate is $650. The heat in our new home I noticed was acting similarly to that at Tranquil Lane. Naw - can’t be. But...why is there cold air blowing in the bedroom? Get a heating guy over the 22nd. There’s a problem with the defrost board. Need to order a new one. Fortunately it’s still under warranty. Unfortunately we’ll now be running off the emergency heat strips in this house too. And being Christmas week, the part won’t be ordered ‘til next week. Now gonna also invest in Upper Cumberland Electric. My portfolio will be overloaded in the energy sector......

But the cows are back in the back field. And that’s what really matters.

Moving

2009-11-28T23:30:00.010-05:00

Before:

After

Before:

After:

Before:

After:

It only gets worse from here......

There's nothing more to say. And no time to say it.

Moving is DREADFUL!!!

Another Lady

2009-07-30T00:16:00.004-04:00

So I'm out on our front porch a couple of weeks ago and up in the corner is another spider of questionable descent. Looks exactly like the one I saw last year on that same porch. Last year I made a couple of inquiries but got no specific answers but more or less assumed it to be a Black Widow or (according to the descriptions I read, an Australian Redback spider which made no sense as to why it would be here in North Carolina. I mean that's a LONG swim.) She was quite unique looking. That's what caught my attention in the first place. Like someone had splashed three drops of blood on her back. But there are NO descriptions of Black Widows with red on the back, so it was most curious to me. Husband caught her in the bug jail and we took her FAR away. I didn't have the heart to kill her, as she was really quite a remarkable looking lady.

And now here's another one. And I'm equally curious to find out what she is. So I find a site on the internet. The correspondence of which follows.

July 23, 2009 (Spider Question)

To "Peter Bryant"

Dear Mr. Bryant,

You have a great spider page on the internet. And since you seem to be quite knowledgeable I was wondering if you could answer this question for me.

See attached photo. This is the second one of these I've seen at our house. I'm assuming it's a Black Widow, because the abdomen has that red hourglass shape. (At least I assume it does. The one I found last year that I caught in a bug jail, had it.) But I've never seen a description of a Black Widow with red drops on her back? So is this indeed a Black Widow? Makes a very sticky web. From the description of an Australian Red Back spider I would have thought that's what this is. But I live in North Carolina, so that doesn't make any sense.

Any help would be appreciated.

You've got fabulous spider shots!

Giulia Pagano

(His:) Hi! Please contact my friend Lenny Vincent at Atypoides@aol.com < mailto:Atypoides@aol.com>, who knows a lot more about spiders than I do.
Thanks!

Peter J. Bryant, Ph. D.
Developmental Biology Center
University of California, Irvine
Irvine, CA 92697-2275
Phone: (949) 824-4714
Fax: (949) 824-3571
e:mail: pjbryant@uci.edu

July 23, 2009 (Spider Question)

Dear Mr.l Vincent

I was advised by your friend Peter Bryant (Please contact my friend Lenny Vincent) to contact you regarding my spider question. So this is all HIS fault. This is what I sent to him:

"...since you seem to be quite knowledgeable I was wondering if you could answer this question for me.

See attached photo. This is the second one of these I've seen at our house. I'm assuming it's a Black Widow, because the abdomen has that red hourglass shape. (At least I assume it does. The one I found last year that I caught in a bug jail, had it.) But I've never seen a description of a Black Widow with red drops on her back? So is this indeed a Black Widow? Makes a very sticky web. From the description of an Australian Red Back spider I would have thought that's what this is. But I live in North Carolina, so that doesn't make any sense.

Any help would be appreciated."

So, since he says you're the one in the know, I pass the question on to you. I have a love/hate relationship with spiders. They fascinate me and I have spent many hours studying them. Really. And taken many photographs of them. However, when vacuum day comes around - that's it! But I have gleaned much knowledge and appreciation of them over the years from observation of their amazing capacities. How many of us could grow a new leg in a molt had we the capacity? (Or if molt is not the right word, you know the one I mean. I'm not an entomologist, just your normal every day bug lover. And especially the Peter Ustinov documentary taught me the brilliance of the creature. And if you're unfamiliar with that documentary - find it!)

Anyway, if you could view the photo in the attachment and give me your words of wisdom, I'd appreciate it. Because I'm still trying to learn what a Black Widow looks like. If this is SHE - she's a real handsome lady.

Thanks for any spider wisdom you can impart.

Giulia Pagano

(His:) From: Atypoides@aol.com
Subject: Re: Spider Question
Date: Friday, July 24, 2009, 7:04 PM

Hi Giulia,

Looks like a black widow to me. Many of the immatures have the red along the dorsal surface. Yours looks like an adult which would make this an unusual case. I agree that it looks like an Australian redback. It would be interesting to know if you come across another individual with the same coloration.

Cheers,
Lenny Vincent

(Mine:) Re: Spider Question
To: Atypoides@aol.com

Lenny,

Thanks so much for your response. If this is an "immature" I'd hate to see what a grown up looks like! 'Cause this one's pretty hefty. As I said, this is the second one of these I've seen. The one last year, that I put a LONG way away across the road and into the woods, was exactly the same and both were found on our front porch. I guess they like to welcome guests.

Hey, I'd be HAPPY to sent her to you, postage paid. HA!

Take it easy.

Giulia

(His:) Hi Giulia,

Hey, if you are serious, I'd like to have it. I stick spiders in small vials filled with alcohol and placed in altoid tins. Those go in mailing envelopes. Let me know.

Cheers,
Lenny

(Mine:) Lenny,

Spiders in altoid tins - now THAT's a novelty. Hope you don't grab the wrong tin and pop one in your mouth by mistake!

Well now I have only two problems with sending her to you. One is - I really hate to kill her for no reason at all. Though if it would serve the purpose of scientific study....

BUT

There ain't NO WAY I can put this large lady in some little vial even if I had one. She's much to vial to put in a vial small enough to fit in an altoid tin. A big jar - yeah, maybe. Unless I squashed her first and then, what would be the point.... How do YOU get them in little vials?

So, unless this is probably the most unusual spider found in North America and needs to be examined for posterity, my tendency would be to take her off down the road across the stream, where I put the other one last year.

What do you DO with the spiders you have? Are you an entomologist? An arachnidologist? Or just bug crazy, like me? With an email address of atypoides I guess you're a specialist in them?

Giulia

(His:) Hi Giulia,

Yeah, I do specialize in spiders, when I'm not teaching. Yes, just let it go. and, in any case, I now know what it. It is the Nothern Black Widow, Latrodectus variolus. They always have a row of red spots.

Cheers,
Lenny

(Mine:)
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Lenny!

Thanks for the Latin name. I looked her up and came across some great photos of her: Pippin Widows (http://www.google.com/imgres?imgurl=http://www.duke.edu/~jspippen/arachnids/nblackwidow080314-3006gate48z.jpg&imgrefurl=http://www.duke.edu/~jspippen/arachnids/blackwidow.htm&h=470&w=600&sz=59&tbnid=op8KK1y1J27SbM:&tbnh=106&tbnw=135&prev=/images%3Fq%3DLatrodectus%2Bvariolus&usg=__5NXJkxWF6HAL8sU26eAl87KQZWw=&ei=NMFwSqGOBJCNtgfaoqH-DQ&sa=X&oi=image_result&resnum=7&ct=image).

If I find any more unique visitors, you'll be the first to hear.

Have attached a photo of one of my favorites, the black and yellow argiope. I'm particularly fond of her trampoline act.

Thanks for the many responses.

Giulia

--------------------------------------------
Here's the photo I attached to that email.

And I wonder why I don't have a lot of friends...... HA!

Comcast Episode

2009-02-02T23:32:00.006-05:00

This event took place in 2005.
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An Actor’s Life Part XXX

We get a call from our agent in Knoxville to go for a Comcast audition in Nashville Nov. 22nd. They wanted real married people. They’d already gone to NY to look there, but wanted a "southern" type. They're too stupid to realize that NY actors can do southern accents. We’re told it’s supposed to shoot in LA on Dec. 15th.

So we go in half pretending to be southerners. And slow southerners at that. Cute, dry copy. “Frank & Janet Slowsky, DSL Customers.” He: “We come from slow. We like slow.” She: “With Comcast you download music and photos and bam, they’re right there.” He “I mean we’re not hares, we’re tortoises. Give me a little spinning ball time, a stuck loading bar, something...” She: “I mean his middle name is slow.” You get the idea.

They said there weren't call backs which was good, as it's a 7 hr. drive to Nashville. Arrived at the hotel and check in. As I'm making up and Rand is changing, guy comes to give us a mini fridge which was supposed to come with the room but wasn’t there. Timing is everything and we don’t have a lot of it. Get to audition 3:30. They have a lap top which is playing the auditions that were held in NY for all of us “southerners” to see. They all looked bad to me. Our audition goes well. Back at hotel, notice there are bugs in the room. Not good. Go to dinner. Come back, more bugs. Change rooms at 11 pm. Drive the 7 +hrs. home the next day in horrendous pre-Thanksgiving traffic.

Following week we are told there ARE call backs and they want to see us again. Great. Told to wear the same outfits we were in originally. They send new copy of scripts. Now the characters are turtles. “Open on a turtle and his wife in their living room.” Visions of having to wear hideous turtle outfits come to mind. Why does it matter that we wear the same outfit we did for the first audition? Hmmmm? We’re turtles! Leave Wed., another 7 hr. drive. Spend night in non-buggy hotel. Audition next day (Thurs.). Swedish director about 29 years old and about 4 other various sorts - the obese casting girl, the scruffy, un-shaven 25 year old, the young girl, etc.. They spend half an hour having us ad lib into the copy. They seemed to like us. Another 7 hr. drive home.

Get home around 8:00 pm. Phone rings. Agent says they have 6 Nashville couples they're interested in - we're at the top of the list. She says the production company may be calling later - if they’ve chosen us. We then find out it's a demo. And a voice over only . Turtles are gonna be animated characters like the Budweiser lizards. We’ll be doing the voices. Whomever gets it has to go to NY tomorrow (Fri). Rand tells our agent he doesn't fly. Calls back and forth. We're already exhausted. No calls from the production company. We figure we didn’t get it.

Friday morning we awake to find our digital thermostat - and hence the heat - is not on. Call a heating man. He comes. Says we have a bad circuit breaker. He doesn’t have any in his truck. He can’t get the old breaker back in. He shows me how to re-wire a new one. I say that’s all fine, but if YOU can’t get it in, how am I supposed to. He doesn’t answer and leaves. I go to Landrum to get a new breaker - the only place nearby that carries them. The guy there tells me how it should snap in once wired. I spend a LONG time and finally manage to get the thing in. This on a ladder in back of the heating unit in the basement with a trouble light and zero room to move. Thermostat’s now on but heat pump isn’t working. Maybe it’s a fuse I think. Rand goes off and gets two fuses. Meanwhile I call another heating place. Guy says he’ll stop by later.

4 pm Agent calls and says we got the job. One train out of Spartanburg (20 min. away) at 11 something. Calls back and forth. Packing. Trying to arrange for 3 cats should we be gone longer than expected. With these people ya never know. Meanwhile I put the new fuse in and the heat seems to work. The other heating guy calls, I tell him it’s working, not to come.

Train sleeper is booked by them. 11:40 out of Greenville (an hour away). Great. We wanted to leave from Spartanburg which is closer. We have to find out about parking at the station. Never been there before. Station is supposed to be open at 9:30 pm. No answer. Many calls to Amtrak. Short term parking is only 24 hrs. More calls. Eventually find out "short term" parking is for up to 2 weeks. Main office didn't know that. Still no answer at the Greenville station. We manage to cook dinner.

Find out the train is running two hours late. Well, at least that gives us more time. Get there at midnight. Station is locked up, no stationmaster there. And you have to get the ticket before you can board the train (even if it’s pre-paid - which this one was by the prod. company.) One 76 year old woman had been sitting there since 9:30 in the cold. Eventually station master limps in - literally. He had just gotten out of the hospital. His relief never showed.

Get on the train, it leaves at 1:40 a.m. A sleepless night. Arrive 4 pm Sat. Jason, a typical young man of these days with no brains, says he'll meet us at the 34th St. entrance to Penn Station. He'll be wearing a baseball cap and have a BRIDGES sign. We look for the 34th St. entrance. There is none. Call him on his cell. Oh, he meant 33rd St. “Do you have the BRIDGES sign so we can find you?” No, he forgot it . We finally find each other. He cabs us to the studio. They're currently taping the NY couple they’ve chosen. We sit around for an hour. They call me up to read with the NY actor. I thought they wanted real married couples? Rand falls asleep on the couch. I spend an hour taping, then they bring Rand up. The director has to fly back to Sweden, he leaves as Rand comes in. We two tape 'til 9 pm sans director. Then a cab ride with Christmas music blaring on the radio and a ride over the worst cobblestone street in NY - I thought my teeth would crack. Arrive at Grand Soho ($300/night). Live music blasting in the lobby. Can't hear yourself think. We're totally exhausted by this point. Go to check in. The room is not paid for. Whadda ya mean the room isn't paid for?! They need a fax from someone saying something..... Fortunately the bright girl at the desk eventually found whatever it was that was necessary. Gave us a couple of free glasses of champagne.

Head out for dinner at 10:30. I could barely walk. Go to Italian restaurant and have one of the best meals I've ever eaten. Finally sleep - without motion. 2:15 train out the next day (Sun.). It’s drizzling. We find out they had booked a smaller room on the train for our return. Swell. They're small enough to begin with. Picture, if you will, my 6'6" husband on a small train sleeper. They ain’t what they used to be. Arrive Greenville 4:55 am Mon. Driving home in the pouring rain my speedometer stops working. Swell. Get to bed at 6:30. Sleep for a few hours, then I head off to unemployment in Hendersonville for my monthly review. And later in the day I get a call from our other agent saying I have an audition in Wilmington the next day for a Denzil Washington movie. Probably a one-liner. It's a 7 hr. drive. No thanks....

If this ad runs, and if they end up choosing us and not the NY couple or whomever, (they said they might want us back in mid Jan. to shoot the real deal) we could be sitting pretty because it's a huge campaign and will be shown across all venues, national, regional, cable, internet, etc. And it’s three different spots. If it doesn't - we’ve had one heck of a story to tell.....

Meanwhile I just took the car in to check the speedometer problem, heat pump stopped working again and we had the other guy in to fix it, and we’re waiting for four days in a row without rain so we can stain the decks which we power washed over a week ago now and are already dirty again. Never a dull moment in the Bridges household.

THE MOREL OF THE STORY

2008-09-27T13:02:00.003-04:00

For the past several weeks I have been doing a Mushroom study, because it has been so damn HUMID down here, and what else can one do outside except take photos of things that grow in humidity. Like mushrooms. While being chewn alive by the thousands of miniature vampires (i.e. mosquitos) that inhabit the same woodland area. I consider it worth the numerous blood suckings that took place upon my person to get these incredible photos. Like Alice, I drank the liquid that made me shrink and walk amongst them. I had no idea of the diversity of the shroom population until I ventured forth. Some of them are rather sexual in appearance (many, in fact). I could imagine Georgia O'Keefe painting the insides of several. Can't tell you a thing about them, the names nor whether they're poisonous or benign. All I know is that they are incredibly beautiful. And have a very short life. Because like Dracula, once that sunlight comes out and dries the air, they wither. I call them forest flowers. (And all praise to Canon for their brilliant little miracle of a camera the 610A Powershot.)

INTERNET FUN AND GAMES

2008-08-27T11:09:00.004-04:00

July 23, 2008
INTERNET FUN AND GAMES

Face it, the home computer/ethernet tech world is too complicated for us. A typewriter, file cabinet, plain old push button phone (remember those?) gives one far less headaches. So do paper, envelopes and stamps - in my book.

I’ve been having a great deal of difficulty getting on the internet lately and I’ve been on the phone a LOT with Bombay. First it was with the Dell people, now with the Windstream folk. One great thing about the latter is that they speak English VERY WELL. Unlike the former. And the Streamers really listen to you. Unlike the Dellies.

So I can’t get connected and I call the Streamers. I already know how to do a diagnostic test on their modem (the BLACK BOX). You don’t need an internet connection to do so. As long as you can bring up the browser window you can put in their ISP address. It takes you to their - I don’t know what it’s called...router page? It has a System Summary. There are two main Connection Summaries. They should be green. RED mean BAD. So if you see BADNESS you click on Tools and then Reboot. And you have to put in the code and then your modem lights up like a Christmas Tree with pretty flashing lights. You are re-setting the modem to factory defaults. (This is known as a soft re-set.) Why they would become un-set is not a question I’ve asked. (Of course there’s also a hard reset with a sophisticated pointed implement [pen tip] poked into the little hole in the rear. No comments please.)

After you’ve done that you click on Diagnostics and put in the appropriate Connection to Test parameters and it gives you the results. There’s the Connections in the Home; Connections at the Carrier; Internet Service Provider; and Internet Connectivity. Within those sections are a minimum of two and a maximum of four results. You want to see them PASS in pretty green. You don’t want to see the red (BAD) FAIL.

Since I would rather NOT have to talk to Bombay on a regular basis, I have written all these instructions down so I can do them myself. But it doesn’t really matter. There’s always something new wrong, or something new to learn to do.

So last week I can’t get connected and I run the tests and it says FAIL and I call. And it turns out that my Firewall (Zone Alarm) was suddenly blocking the internet . Why? Because they put in a new update, but the rest of the tech world hadn’t been informed and the update was not compatible with something else - Microsoft? I think. I’m told that a patch will be due out shortly. Swell. Meanwhile I’ve now learned if my service is down to first shut down my firewall, then my virus sweep and finally my spy protection. Which of course leaves me TOTALLY VULNERABLE TO ALL THE BAD PEOPLE OUT THERE.

That problem eventually gets solved. I think. Then once again I can’t get on the Net. I’m getting to know these guys real well by now. They use fake American names because they think we’re all too stupid to be able to understand, let alone pronounce their real names. I’ve talked to Kevin and George and Thomas. Whose real names were probably something like Kailash and Gobardhan and Jhareshwar. (The reason I know they’re made up names is because I asked and actually got an honest answer). Now before I call I first disengage all protective programs. If that doesn’t work I do a diagnostic test. One guy actually told me I knew more than he did! Fortunately most of them seem to believe and trust me when I say I’ve already done the test and give them the results. Perhaps they have notes on my file that say ATD (meaning this one Ain’t Too Dumb)

Well then I was told to go to Start and select Run and type in “cmd” and then ping Google. (I guess if you ping a known site and IT comes up, things should be working fine.) If this all makes absolutely no sense to you - WHY SHOULD IT? That’s my point. Why do we have to know all this STUFF??? It’s too complicated!

BUT, I now know it. And so I try to troubleshoot my own internet connection. Yeah. Everything starts to work fine again. Then it’s down. I run the test. FAIL. I call Bombay. I get a PASS. Great. Then it’s down again. Then it up. I feel like a boxer in a ring and I’m getting trounced. I begin to think I’m losing my mind. What is happening here? When I CAN get on it’s like molasses. So they tell me to do a speed check. Great. I learn a new bit. Got my very own internet Radar Gun, oh boy! Radar Gun says the speed is great. REALLY????? I put in one trouble ticket, then when they fix it, they close the ticket, only to have me open another one.

Meanwhile this is costing me HOURS AND HOURS of my time. And for what? So I can get some sappy “You’re my friend for life and if you don’t pass this on to 150 people in the next 45 minutes you’ll DIE!” forward???!!!! Or those reeeeeeaaallly cute Youtube rocking the puppy to sleep videos. AAAAaaaargh!

Finally we get a call from a local God bless America Southern drawling Streamer. He says “they’ve” been having some kind of trouble between Charlotte and Arkansas. He wishes he could get his hands on it to fix it, but it ain’t in his territory. But he THINKS it’s fixed now.

And you wonder why I’m afraid to leave my computer illiterate husband home alone with the computer when I go on a trip? He can’t even grasp the concept of a document being on the screen and still inside the computer at the same time, let alone what software vs hardware means. The fact that he can search for houses for sale on the Internet and compose and send a missives is a miracle.

These machines are miracles. When they work. But when they don’t.......

A Small Miracle & a New Friend

2008-08-10T14:49:00.015-04:00

A couple of nights ago I was in my office and I heard a squawking. How odd, I thought. What creature would be squawking at 11 pm?

I opened the door to find Harlie, our black and white killer, under my office window and I figured I'd then find the squawker, which I assumed was a mouse. Wrong. It was a bird. Oh swell. Don't know what kind. Not a baby, I think, though small, maybe a Sparrow? Wren? But it had no tail feathers at all. Which could mean that they were all plucked off by the Killer. (What is it with me and birds this year? Is there a Chinese Year of the Bird?)

It was standing upright when I picked it up. It got out of my hand, briefly, Harlie went after it, I grabbed it again and brought it inside to examine. It lay in the cupped palm of my hand on it's back. It's chest was heaving and there was what looked like a pretty good hole right in the middle of it. Swell. Just swell. If you've ever had the misfortune to watch a cat with it's prey, they usually give it one nice chomp. Not enough to kill it outright, just enough to slow it down so that it can be "played with." God. Well, I thought, I'll just sit here with it, and hold it tenderly 'til it breathes it's last. I really didn't think its "last" would take too long. The breathing got shallower and shallower, the chest no longer heaving in spasming gulps of air. I've held wee creatures in my hand that were dying before. If you own cats, it's bound to happen. And always it's heart wrenching. The little eyes were closed, it's little feet motionless. But it continued to breathe.

Sometimes, when I'm emotionally strong enough, and I think the animal is going to experience a long, slow, painful death, I will put it out of it's misery myself. Don't ask the various means I've used, they're all hideous but mercifully quick. But I haven't been too chipper of late and was not up to that task on this night. Rand suggested putting the creature in Pam's head, and I thought what better place to put it then in the little nest that had recently been vacated by a family of baby birds (see blog below). I considered taking a picture of it when it was in my palm, but it was all too depressing and I considered it rather dishonorable to do such a thing to the poor creature. That much of a ghoul I am not.

I got the step ladder out and climbed up to peer inside Pam's head, and the nest had a HUGE spider web in it. One of those really messy funnel webs made by one of those really LARGE funnel spiders? - wolf spiders I think they are. Husband handed me a stick and I gathered up the web like a wand of cotton candy and then gently laid the bird in the nest. It opened it's eyes and looked at me. Did it understand I was trying to be kind?

I prayed for the little creature but didn't hold out much hope. Had visions of climbing the ladder the next morning and finding it all limp necked, probably with some hideous eight-legged monster gnawing on the hole in it's middle. Very depressed I went to bed.

The next morning came and I couldn't face the consequences, because the images I had conjured in my brain were just to awful to confront first thing. So I asked Rand to look at the remains. He stepped up on the ladder and looked inside the head. Said he couldn't see it very well, to please get him the flashlight. I did so. He said he still couldn't see it. WHAT?!!! I practically thew him off the ladder and bound up there. Peered in and... NOTHING. Blessedly NOTHING was there! Just the empty nest. I cannot tell you how grateful I was. How it could have survived the night, I don't know. It was surely a little miracle.

Now my only fear is that I'll find it somewhere nearby on the ground under a bush. That maybe it had managed to fly just a bit but landed under my Mums or something. And maybe Harlie will catch it again. But then maybe God wanted this little fellow to live for a while longer yet.

One must keep the faith, eh?

******************************************************************

On another note: another visitor stopped by the other day.

More Gifts

2008-08-02T23:52:00.007-04:00

July 1, 2008 More Gifts

The birds were squawking outside the front porch. Why? Well, the cats were around. Or one cat in particular - our black and white, named Harlie (short for Harlequin.)
She’s a killer. Skinny as a rail - she looks half starved (though gets as much to eat as she wishes), and is faster than a speeding bullet. Has brought down many a bird, and THAT takes skill.

Something about this particular bird squawking caught my attention. It seemed more urgent than normal. Very insistent. Then my mind latched onto a happy possibility. A nest full of babies in my sister’s head.

This needs a brief explanation. My half sister, Pam, was a sculptress. Not as a professional, she didn’t try to make a living at it, though I think she could have. But she was married to an artist and just enjoyed drawing and sculpting. Constantly took classes in both. (We shared the same father, but she was 40 years? older than I. Another story - another time.) Anyway, she did a sculpture of herself which had hung on a tree outside their kitchen for many a year. And when she passed away, I asked to have it and was granted the privilege. It currently sits against our front porch wall. The top of the head is hollowed out. Last year there was a nest in it and so I was hoping that that might be the case again this year. (I had cleaned it all out at the end of last season.)

So I get the step ladder and climb up and look inside the top of the head. And sure enough there are four wee baby birds. They looked like they had just hatched. Have never seen babies this small.

I got to watch the growth process for two weeks before leaving on a trip North. Harlie practically lay up-side-down under the head with her mouth open just waiting for that first flight and the potential of a fluttering failure.

I figured they’d be gone by the time I got back. And they were. But these are the shots I managed to capture beforehand.

New Chiropractor

2008-07-27T00:48:00.011-04:00

July 21, 2008

I’ve never been Rolfed. But I understand it’s quite unpleasant. Something about digging deeply into tissue. Something Ilsa, She Wolf of the SS, would dole out as a pleasant past time treat. “You Vill Tell Me Ewvreting I vant to know!”

No, that never appealed to my idea of alleviating pain. But currently I’m being Grastonated. Not merely satisfied with using one’s hands to do a deep massage, some skier who'd hurt himself, named David Graston, came up with state of the art stainless steel torture devices. The object is to break down scar tissue - which is bad for you because it inhibits movement and causes pain. But nothing like the pain of going through this process. Imaging someone taking the backside of a strong steel hunting knife - the EDGE, not the flat part - and rubbing it fast and as hard as they can at a 45 degree angle over various portions of your body. Which are already sore, because that's why you're going to get treated, right? Sound like fun to YOU?

The chiropractor, a sweetheart of a guy named Daniel Becker (828) 817-5524 (if you live in NC), told me that the pain level should be kept at 7 or under. Now I can take a lot of pain. We women have much higher pain thresholds then you men (generally speaking). After all, you faint when a needle goes in your arm. We open our pelvises and human beings pop out. But pain like this I have never experienced. Then again, I’ve never given birth, but I think I might prefer it.

He told me I might bruise from his work. That when tissue has been in a trauma state for a long while, capillaries pool around it. (I also have heard blood tend to pool around certain areas of a dead body - but what of that.) And when you press on this scar tissue those pooled capillaries tend to come to the surface. Well, yeaaaaah. If you press hard enough on your skin tissue, it’s gonna bruise. I looked like I should go to the battered woman shelter down the block when I got out of there. Thank goodness he wasn’t working on my face. I can imagine attempting to audition looking like my husband clobbered me with a baseball bat.

Buy hey, this guy was recommended (as was this technique) by two people I know. I’d call them “friends,” but now I’m beginning to question that. And they were helped by him. So it must work. Right?

He wants to see me two days later. TWO DAYS LATER? Oooookay. I am so sore when I walk into his office that I tell him he is not laying hands on those bruised areas. Oh he has no intention of doing that. Today he’s going to do manipulations. Ah. Good. I’ve had that done before. Doesn’t hurt at all. YES IT DOES. I’m not sure what he did to my neck, but it felt fine before I went in. Maybe after the Ibuprofen kicks in I’ll be able to sleep tonight. He took the shoulder that was bothering me (with the bruises now all over it) and manipulated my arm in ways that only a contortionist should know.
Let’s see if we can slowly rip it out of it’s socket! Ilsa, She Wolf, has NOTHING on this guy. This, apparently is known as Active Release.

He finally finishes and I’m not sure where my body went. I try to grin. It’s a bit lopsided. “Well, I guess you’ll want to see me again next week,” I say. “Friday,” he replies. “THIS FRIDAY???” “Yes.” Shouldn’t there be some healing time here? The bruises probably won’t even be gone by then. “It’s better to do it all up front. Otherwise it’s maintenance, and this is not maintenance.” He’s a sadist. Right? Gotta be. I must be mad, but I say okay. Well, this is as it should be. He’s the sadist, and I’m the masochist. Can’t have one without the other.

I ask him if I can play tennis after, assuming that I can’t. I mean every other chiropractor that has ever worked on me has told me to take it easy for the rest of the day. Not Herr Mengele. “Yes, go, it’s good to keep working muscles and tendons.” I almost cried.

Am SO looking forward to my next visit. What new and wonderful torture will he have in store? Read it all in the next chapter!

Chapter II

As you might imagine I was not particularly looking forward to my third visit. What new torture was going to be perpetrated by Dr. Mengele this day? I figured there wasn’t much left that could be considered new. WRONG!

He was running a bit behind by a fellow masochist and so told me to lie on what I call the Tsunami. Looks like one of those typical chiropractic manipulation beds where they do their adjustments. (Actually called an Intersegmental Traction Table

He told me to lie on my back and then kindly put a pillow under my head. Most people who put a pillow under your head do so in attempt to make you feel better. Not Dr. Mengele. Showed me where the adjustment dial was, which in order to reach I had to bend my arm out of it’s socket. “This will open the joints of your spine,” said he gleefully. Oh? Uh huh! Can’t wait! “Each time you press this switch up, it will increase the wave. (not his term). If you want to decrease it (why on earth WOULD you I could hear him thinking) press the switch down. If you start to hear a grinding noise you know it’s at it’s upper limit.” Or I am, I thought. And he’s gone.

OK. Imagine a ball, the size of a big man’s fist, rolling under your spine from your lower back to your neck. A hard ball. A very HARD ball. And each time you press the up button the ball gets bigger and thrusts your spine in more of a convex wave. I began to feel like I was on my back in a small dingy in a Force 7 Gale with a cannon ball running under my back. I thought, well, gee, then if this opens my spine I guess he won’t need to do any more adjustments. WRONG.

At this point I don’t remember the order to the torture. But I still got to kneel on the “beheading chair” in the guillotine position. That’s the only way to describe it. It might be considered a praying position but your butt’s sticking out too much for that. At least I don’t tend to pray with my butt sticking out, although your back is kept in a flat position. At least I think it was flat, before he mashed it into submission.

I kept trying to relax, but after my previous visit my neck was none too happy and an actor’s sense memory is very keen. So I was awaiting the disintegration of every vertabra in my back and that, yeah, kinda tensed me up. Snap Crackle Pop rice crispies!

I made the mistake of telling him my elbow was hurting. Stupid. I now have a new bruise going the entire length of the underside of my arm (that’s the soft part) to my elbow. I think that occurred AFTER he tried to manipulate my ulnar by bending my elbow BACKWARD. Great if one were double jointed. Perhaps now I shall be?

I didn’t really think he’d re-work any of the areas he’d already Grastonated because they were still bruised. HA. WRONG. The thing that really puzzles me is that I LET him???!!!!! Obviously I have a deep need for abuse somewhere in my psyche. I must feel guilty about having a happy childhood.

So now I’m sitting on the “bednch” (well it’s not really a bed, seems more like a bench don’t it) and he’s digging into my right ankle and it’s HURTING LIKE HELL. And I’m trying to distract myself. So I start singing. LOUDLY. I think he was rather surprised. His eyes looked rather bright. Was that surprise or glee? I’m sure mine were too. Bright with pain.

But there was more fun to come. He puts me on a wobble board. No, not one of those manual disks with a ball underneath that YOU can control. Are you kidding. That’s child’s play to this guy. No, this is an electronic cutie known as the I Joy Board . I’m telling you, all these devices were thought up by people who are into whips, chains and blindfolds. At least they had the decency not to name it the I Enjoy Board.

He asks me if I have a sense of balance. Stupidly I say yes. (I think I’m just beginning to learn that you want to lie to this guy whenever possible.) How can I even begin to describe this machine. Thank God I did have a sense of balance, is all I can say, else I’d be on my ass on the floor and he’d be manipulating THAT next. It’s your basic two foot long teeter totter that sits eight inches off the floor. You know, you put your feet hip distant apart and lean right and left and.... Only in this case you don’t do anything. Except hang on for dear life. He hands me the remote (not dissimilar to a car lock remote) and says, “This button controls the wobble, and this one is the emergency shut of. Make sure you point it down toward the ground if you want to shut it off.” Oh. Ok.

Yowza and we’re OFF! Holy Cow. Give me a hula hoop and I wouldn’t have had any trouble keeping it up on my hips. I mean I’m being WOBBLED. Well, big deal, you might say. Yeah, well, Dr. Mengele has only just begun. WHILE I’m being wobbled, he’s got his happy stainless steel hunting knife and he’s rubbing it as hard as he can on my ankle - I think it was. At this point all I remember is pain. AND then he asks me to do slow squats DURING the process. “If I want.” IF I WANT???? I’m not kidding here. Honest to God. I wonder if he’s as demanding on the octagenerians? I don’t even what to imagine what he does to folks thirty years of age and younger.

Well of course, being the patsy masochist I am, I do nice slow squats while he's scraping on my wobbling ankle tissue with all his might. I’m not sure I actually fully grasp the concept here, but I think it has to do with the wobble board and the squats making your muscles work in certain ways that he can only torture with his device that couldn’t be reached else.

Then he proceeded to work on certain of the areas that he’d previously worked on that were already bruised. I could easily now walk into the local battered women’s shelter and have my husband arrested should I so desire.

I hope I don’t have an audition soon. Because I’d have to wear pants and a long sleeved shirt. Really.

I asked him, (because he’d made the comment when I’d told him I’d had physical therapy elsewhere and they’d used sonar on me and it had hurt like Hell....actually burned, and he'd said if it were done properly it shouldn’t hurt) I asked what I thought was a very logical question given his previous response: "Why should one turn black and blue and suffer enormously during your technique then? Hmmm?

That was when he handed me the butcher’s knife and said, “Here, feel for yourself. The instrument will tell you. Scrape along here.” And he placed it against the lower part of my wrist. And I scraped. Then he moved it up eight inches to my forearm and said, “Now do it here.” And I did. “Do you feel the grittiness?” Oh yeah. Oh yeah, I did. And he said, and proved it by rubbing against the lower part, “if the tissue is well, it will not bruise. It is only when there’s scarring underneath that you’ll find the capillaries coming up.”

I asked him if HE knew what this all felt like. He said indeed he did, because when they were learning and practicing the technique they did it on each other. He was not looking forward to the arm pit area. I didn’t want to go there so I didn’t inquire about that. I just pray I don’t have any symptoms that lead me to that area.

The bottom line for all of this crazy agony is....it seems to really work. I may only feel this way at present because the pain of the techniques he’s using oer’pass the pain of my original complaints. Sort of like if you have an ache and you hit yourself in the head with a hammer you no longer feel the original ache. But I don’t think that’s the case. I may have discomfort because of the bruising but the interior parts of my body that were bothering me actually feel better.

Time will tell. And you can be sure I’ll relate it. I expect to end up with the ability to be able to do this. Well, at least pain free. Which one wonders if these contortionists are, eh?

Making a Hanging Decorative Cage in 42 Hard Steps

2008-07-18T16:57:00.004-04:00

............
Do not attempt this if you are Bi-Polar, suffer from ADHD, AADD, have quit smoking or drinking recently or are contemplating a divorce.

Tools:

Tape measure
Marking pen
Jig Saw
Extension cord
Drill
Small nails
Hammer
22 small sticks
Patience.

1. Go to the woods and find eight small sticks as straight and equal in 2" circumference as you can.
2 Get a marking pen
3. Get a jig saw.
4. Get a tape measure.
5. Measure the sticks 6" long each
6. Cut them.
7. Go back to the woods to get more sticks because you didn’t put them in a vice while cutting them but simply held them in your left hand off the end of the front porch steps which made them very wobbly and uneven.
8. Cut them again.
9. Starting at one end of the sticks, with the marking pen mark four equidistant points along the length of one side. Don’t put the mark too close to the end or you will split the wood when putting in the nails.
10. Get the hammer
11. Attempt to start a small nail through each mark. When that doesn’t work...
12. Get the extension cord and the electric drill.
13. Remove the bent nails from the pieces of wood
14. Drill small holes through each mark
15. Hammer the nails through so that just a little bit of their tips are showing.
16. Go back to the woods and get 12 longer sticks (same 2" circumference)
17. Cut these to a 12" length
18. Mark the center point of each end
19. With the smaller stick as a base, held so that the nail points are facing up, hammer one long stick at a time onto each nail point. When the longer sticks fall off...
20. Go back and hammer the nails further through the base unit
21. Now try again to hammer the long sticks onto each nail point. Once accomplished,
you should have 4 short pieces with 12 long pieces sticking straight up from them
22. Because you forgot to drill a hole in the center of each end of the smaller sticks, do so now. When the longer sticks fall off,
23. Pound the longer sticks back onto their nail posts
24. Because you forgot to drill a hole through the sides of four of the smaller sticks perpendicular to the hole that holds the longer stick, but rather drilled into the end of all of them, go back to the woods and get four new pieces.
25. Follow steps 2-7
26. Follow Steps 10 & 15
27. Drill a hole perpendicular to the ones at the ends of four of the smaller sticks. Make sure they won’t interfere with a nail going through the other hole.
28. Follow Step 16
29. Follow Step 20
30. Now you are going to make two squares with the eight small pieces, hammering nails through the perpendicular holes.
31. Place the top square onto the vertical bars of the base unit and hammer the nails through the pre-made holes. When it won’t lie flush..
32. Go back to the woods and get another piece of wood to replace the one that is slightly warped.
33. Follow steps 2-7.
34. Follow steps 10, 15 &
35. Go to the medicine chest and gets some drugs to calm yourself down

Later:

You’ve finally completed the bottom part of the cage. Now it’s time to work on the top.

36. Get a pruner
37. Go to the woods and find some vines - watching out for the poison ivy and snakes. Bring back a healthy handful. (You’ve learned by now that you can never have too much of what you need from the woods.)
38. Cut two vines to about an 11" length
39. Wrap one vine around one corner of the top then draw it across the diagonal to the other corner and tie it allowing a good deal of slack. Do the same with the other vine.
40. Go back to the woods and cut another vine because you still didn’t have enough.
41. Make a small 2" loop around the top of the criss-crossed four corner vines.
42. As an added artistic touch, trail some of the left over vine around the cage

Voila!

And because you’re not too stupid - get a thin piece of green wire and wrap it around the vines. Because if the vines holding the cage should break, the 5,000 man hours you’ve spent trying to create the damn thing would all be for nought and then you’d have to hang yourself with the vines.

You might wonder why I took it upon myself to attempt such a task. Well because I had a decorative cage for years that I’d found at a tag sale or thrift shop (don’t remember which). But it eventually rotted and I thought, “Well, I can make one of those! Looks real easy! Just a bunch of sticks from the woods.” HA!

Live and learn I say.

Acting and Computers

2008-07-02T21:24:00.006-04:00

Now here’s a typical actor story. Or perhaps it is only typical for us.

Around 2 pm the other day I get an e-mail for Rand from one of our agents (we have one in each of three states) saying he has an audition for the series Army Wives in Atlanta.

"HEY FOLKS,
AUDITIONS ARE THIS AFTERNOON AND TOMORROW MORNING ONLY! THE SOONER YOUR AUDITION GETS TO THE CASTING DIRECTOR THE BETTER. THIS EPISODE BEGINS SHOOTING NEXT WEDNESDAY 5/21/08 AND GOES THRU FRIDAY 5/30/008. PLEASE CALL ASAP FOR AN AUDITION TIME. PLEASE LET US KNOW BY REPLYING TO THIS EMAIL IF YOU ARE NOT GOING TO AUDITION FOR ANY REASON.

THANKS,
ALI (the name has been changed to protect the innocent)

FOR THOSE OF YOU WHO LIVE OUT OF TOWN PLEASE CALL USE (sic) TO DISCUSS HOW TO GET YOUR AUDITIONS TO US."

He has asked them time and time again NOT to send audition notices via e-mail but to call. And to ensure such, he never gave them his e-mail address. That’s why they sent it to MY e-mail address, so I get to deal with it. We do not spend all day at our computers. We have a life. And sometimes, golly gee, the computer or the internet is down for a period of time and you can’t access your e-mail, so we feel it’s important to call your client. Especially when time is of the essence.

Why they insist on doing business this way and not picking up the telephone is....well, it’s apparently the way they do business here in the South. Or, to give the South a break, let us say - smaller markets. Never did we experience this with our NY agents when we lived there. Nor did they send out mass mailings saying HEY FOLKS. Nor did our NY agents tell us to remember to bring a picture and resume to the audition, “dress the part,” and try to memorize our lines. If you’re a professional, you know that - you don’t need a nanny. But I guess the FOLKS down here need nannying and live attached to their computers. The level of professionalism here is - well it’s...just a step above community theatre. (And I mean no offense to the community theatre world when I say that, but professionals know what I mean.) It’s a whole ‘nother world. The majority of the "talent" down is is non-union.

So, where was I? Oh yes. “AUDITIONS ARE THIS AFTERNOON” - well that lets US out. It’s 2:00 and it’s a three hour drive to Atlanta. But then there’s also...”TOMORROW MORNING ONLY!” Well of course he had a 10 am doctor’s appointment in Spartanburg. “FOR THOSE OF YOU WHO LIVE OUT OF TOWN PLEASE CALL USE TO DISCUSS HOW TO GET YOUR AUDITIONS TO US.”

That’s when the trouble began. We call. Normally in situations such as this you can put yourself on tape at home and then send it to the casting director. Neither of us, nor no one of our acquaintance, has EVER gotten a job this way, but hey, we’re actors, we ever live in hope and...ya never know!

OK. So we’re told that the way to GET YOUR AUDITIONS TO US is to send it through the computer. Oh? And how, exactly, does one do THAT pray tell. We’re not in our teens, nor are we Geeks. My husband is more or less computer illiterate, although he DOES know how to work in WordPerfect 5.1 for DOS. I am literate - to an extent. I more or less at least understand the language of today’s technology. And I can send my computer back in time by doing a reset and know how to troubleshoot my high speed internet connection. But fire wires are new to me.

I’m told that it’s very easy. But apparently I need QuickTime Pro in order to make it all work. So I purchase QuickTime Pro over the internet for thirty bucks. Download that, go to plug in my fire wire (which is still in it’s package from when I bought my digital movie camera last year, which the sales rep assured me I’d need for $25) and realize I have no fire wire port on my computer.

Time is rapidly running out here for the submission of this audition. Rand says NUTS to it and decides he wants me to put him on tape anyway and he’ll just mail the thing in to the casting director directly. So I tape him and it looks good. We then call our agent and say we’re sending it directly to the casting office ourselves and to please let them know. We’re told they will do so. They encourage me to get a fire wire port. I tell them I will.

CUT TO: several days later I’m on the phone with Bombay. And even though I was told at Office Depot that my computer did NOT have the capacity for an external fire wire port, I am assured by Dell that that is not the case and so I purchase what I assume will be a device that will enable me to use my fire wire. For $47.97.

It arrives a few hours before I am leaving for a ten day trip to Florida. Swell. I take a quick look at it and come to the conclusion that it is NOT what I was told it would be, and will NOT enable fire wire connection. And I do not at this moment have 45 minutes of extra time to talk to Bombay again to see about getting my money back.

CUT TO: I return from Florida and look at the Dell return policy. It says I have 21 days to return it. So I know I don’t have to rush. I received it May 23, so I’ve got until June 13th. I call customer service in Bombay on the 6th of June. They say their system is down and to call back in two hours. I then decide to call their tech dept. to make sure that I am indeed correct and was sent the wrong thing. Yes, it’s true. They informed me that they had misinformed me. The only way to get a fire wire connection on my three year young computer is to have my internal modem removed and to put in a fire wire card (or whatever the heck it’s called). And of course I could do this by myself...my friends in Bombay are quite happy to help walk me through the process. But first I would need to hire a translator.

By this point I really didn’t want to talk to Bombay again, so I had some Tandoori chicken for dindin and went to sleep.

NEXT DAY: I call customer service which is back up and running. I’m told that my 21 days elapsed YESTERDAY. That the period is based upon the day the item was shipped, not from the day of receipt. It doesn’t matter that I received it the day I went away to Florida and wasn’t here to discover that it was the WRONG hardware piece. I pointed out to them that I did attempt to call them yesterday. “Yes, but you see there is no record of your call.” I KNOW THERE’S NO RECORD OF MY CALL, BECAUSE YOUR COMPUTERS WERE DOWN! “I’m sorry but that’s the policy.” “OH. SO YOU'RE TELLING ME THAT BECAUSE YOU GAVE ME MISINFORMATION TO BEGIN WITH AND SHIPPED THE WRONG ITEM, AND BECAUSE YOUR COMPUTERS WERE DOWN, I'M GOING TO LOSE MY FIFTY BUCKS??!!!! I did make a call to the tech department about it yesterday, PERHAPS THEY HAVE A RECORD OF MY CALL!.” “I will speak to my supervisor, just one moment please.”

I’ve given Dell about $6,000 over the years. And they’re about to lose me as a customer.

“I’m sorry to keep you waiting. My supervisor says they will make an exception this one time....” And I feel happy now. Why do we allow our lives to be run by machines and foreigners.....

They sent me a UPS label so I could return it for free. Only - not really, because they deducted the original shipping fee from my rebate.

So for a five dollar fee I got to talk to strangers in a strange land, learn that my computer does not have fire wire capacity and thus I am not able to send auditions to my agents via computer.

Which means, I suppose, I will soon have to buy a new computer with VISTA (an operating system with which I am unfamiliar and have not heard good things about) and transfer all of my files to IT.

Life was a lot simpler and more pleasant in the old days. And my office was a lot neater because computers take much more time than good old file cabinets and now I must deal with both.

Foundling

2008-06-15T13:27:00.003-04:00

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

2008-06-14T00:56:00.006-04:00

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)

2008-05-22T00:00:00.007-04:00

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

2008-05-03T17:10:00.000-04:00

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

2008-04-24T20:55:00.000-04:00

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

2008-04-18T20:45:00.000-04:00

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

2008-02-17T20:39:00.000-05:00

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

2008-02-16T11:16:00.000-05:00

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

2008-02-15T20:19:00.001-05:00

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

2008-02-14T14:28:00.000-05:00

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

2008-02-13T10:03:00.000-05:00

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

2008-02-12T00:00:00.000-05:00

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

2008-02-11T23:57:00.000-05:00

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

2008-02-10T23:33:00.000-05:00

---- 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

2008-02-07T23:40:00.000-05:00

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

2008-02-05T23:40:00.000-05:00

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

2008-02-03T22:45:00.001-05:00

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

2008-02-02T00:33:00.000-05:00

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

2008-01-30T16:03:00.004-05:00

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

2008-01-27T15:22:00.002-05:00

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.

The Mrs Before and After

2008-01-26T12:23:00.000-05:00

Ah Theatah - ain't it grand!

Mrs. Warren

2008-01-24T15:17:00.000-05:00

Jan. 24, 2008

Oh I love these kids. And I am overflowing with emotion for all of them. And what can I give them? What of me can I give? How can I enrich their life experience? What value can I impart? I'm speaking of the various interns and students working amongst us. Such youth and vitality and enthusiasm. Was I ever that young and enthusiastic? Yes. Of course. Why only yesterday I was 18, right?!!!

Mrs. Warren - Concerns

2008-01-21T12:03:00.000-05:00

January 21, 2008

We start tech week tomorrow. On our day off today I went to the theatre to deposit one load of necessaries to my dressing room: makeup; Equity Deputy Packet; a case of Diet Sprite; wig for between show days; long red sweater. We were happily informed that the theatre will be kept cold during tech so that those under the lights for hours won’t melt like the wicked witch into a puddle on the stage floor. Which means for those sitting in the house, you’d better have something warm to put on for the duration. (Our Stage Manager, Catherine, just stays in her coat the whole show.)

(On the dressingroom doors were our names, in an elegant frame. This is a real classy joint. I later put a photo up under mine. See attached photo.)

I also went down and walked about the set for five minutes or so. The main stage platform is 6" or more off the stage floor, and then there’s a “slip” wagon that is drawn out which is about 4" high. I doubt I’ll be able to draw up my skirts enough with one hand to manage getting up on the main platform as husband and I enter from the vom. So I may have to pass off my parasol to him, or cut the parasol, which would be a pity as I’m sure it will be a pretty image. And that will also be true of our entrance in Shaw’s Act III. I will spend much time endeavoring to make it work, but there are limits to one’s abilities in corset, long dress, with reticule and fan in left hand and parasol in right.

One major concern for me is going up and down these differing platform heights. I had achilles surgery March last and I am barely able to walk without a limp. For the past ten months I have worn only flats and am now in a heel appropriate to the period (lace up boots). It’s difficult enough to maneuver in those, but with the added burden of a multi-level set, it will be an even greater challenge. As soon as we open I hope to get to the gym and continue to try to strengthen that calf and ankle. One of the things I mentioned early on to our director was my concern that the dress might get caught on the edge of the stage. I’ve been in the business 35 plus years and have done enough period pieces to have experienced most of the disasters that can occur. And snags are quite common. I once did Strindberg’s Playing with Fire at the Roundabout and the costumer had me in a frilly silk dress - layers and layers of gorgeous pink silk. I believe it was the first dress rehearsal, where I got up from the wicker couch and the dress snagged on a piece of the wicker. It just tore about a 14" rip in the silk. I thought to myself, “DON’T DESIGNERS TALK TO EACH OTHER???? You have a wicker couch and a frilly silk full length dress????” NOT a good idea, kids. Anyway - I’m a bit gun shy of snagging after THAT experience. Tomorrow will tell the tale. Will I be right in my fears or wrong? And if right, oh heaven help me.

Thinking about the set and costume and boots and platforms kept me awake half of one night. It’s amazing to try to act when you are bound up like a mummy in a corset, bustle, petty coat, underskirt, overskirt, blouse, gloves, wig, hat.....

(Turns out all of my worries were for naught. It all worked out just fine. It usually does. Why don’t I ever remember that?!!! Dumb.)

Mrs. Warren - Designer Run

2008-01-20T11:57:00.000-05:00

Jan. 20th

Preston is back from his bout with the croupe. We’ve had a couple of run throughs by now and today we did what they call a “designer run” - yes, for the designers: set, costumes, lights, sound, etc. Some of them we hadn’t seen since our first “meet ‘n greet” on day one. And our vocal coach was also out there. And of course you’re trying to impress them all, and it all feels strange with these new faces in the room staring at you, and the acting goes out the window. What we forget (or shall I speak for myself only here) is that each of them is looking at is from his point of view only and not necessarily from an “audience” POV. The lighting designer is mulling over what color gel to use in what sequence, the sound man conjuring pretty set change interludes, etc. But then there is the vocal coach whom you know is sitting our there with bat-like ears picking up EVERY incorrect dialectical stress you make and because of her presence, most of your focus in the beginning of the run is on accent. All emotional reality dissolves when you’re just listening to yourself speak. Dreadful. Fortunately that focus does eventually revert to the background of your consciousness once you’re in the thing for a while.

At the end of the first act I wondered why I had gone into this business and was convinced that I should perhaps take some of Mr. Lane’s college acting classes. And let me tell you, this is not a happy feeling (even though I’ve not doubt his classes are fabulous). Though I know I’m a good actress, when you feel that the muse has deserted you, all faith in your abilities flees. When I can’t believe what I’m saying, how can I expect an audience to believe it?? But that’s where technique comes into play. And that’s what enables you to go on to Act II and not immediately run to the nearest plumbing trade school tuition money in hand.

Mrs. Warrren - NPR Interview

2008-01-19T11:50:00.000-05:00

Jan. 19, 2008

Director down the croupe. Not the one I’ve gone through twice, but the stomach version. Stage Manager had it first, then the Asst. Stage Mgr., now Preston. Rehearsal cancelled. Though Rebecca (the lass that plays me’ daughter) and I worked on our two scenes and then had an NPR interview after.

(Here’s the link if you want to listen: http://wfdd.org/audio/tauc/tauc0122low.MP3.)

I’m much better with visual interviews than audio only. I sound like a bleedin’ idiot when you can’t see me. And sometimes even when you CAN see me. I’m great with the written word, when I’ve time to parse it all out neatly in my mind. (And our written vocabulary is thrice that of speech.) Lousy with impromptu speaking, unless I’ve "had a few" and am loose enough to be m’self. But when I try to sound intelligent on a radio interview - well it’s not dissimilar to the early, youthful, inexperienced auditioning process. (I’m starting to use as many adjectives as Mr. Saw - heaven help me!). When you go in desperately trying to be what you think they want you to be, instead of just being yourself, which is usually much more interesting. Anyway - they can edit to pieces in a way that will enable you to sound much better - or much worse - than what was the reality.

Not having heard the interview as yet I’d be surprised if any editing could have helped me. Ms. Rebecca did splendidly, I thought. I should have just shut up and let her carry the show. One thing I was pleased with, however, was that our interviewer, a Mr. Bradley George (or was it George Bradley - poor soul to be forever caught between equal sounding surnames) said he enjoyed my blog. Never having written for public “consumption” (oh dear I wonder if that word set off the Internet Alcohol Police?) I am genuinely curious as to the merits of my pursuing such a thing. In our day and age, everyone not only thinks he can be an actor, but he thinks that his opinings are of utter fascination to the world at large. This is all due to Oprah and Dr. Phil and dear old Jerry S., no doubt. Where we get to witness the emotional vomitings of the plebeians. And I surely don’t wish to be included in their set. So if my reality show here is of that ilk, please don’t hesitate to inform me by a responsive post. Pressing the delete key on my own vomitings does not distress me in the slightest.

Mrs. Warren - First Run Through

2008-01-16T11:45:00.000-05:00

Jan. 16, 2008

Had our first run through today. Not too bad actually. A bit on a rocky road here and there, a few potholes that need filing, but on the whole I think we did pretty darn good. Lines I’ve never missed before in my life I missed tonight. But it’s ever thus. When you’re in the heat of a new emotion, the lines fly away. You can know them stone cold perfect when you’re doing them at home, but it’s a whole ’nother ball game when you’re actually acting them in earnest.

I found it very helpful today to just calm down and tell my story in Act II and to trust in Mr. Shaw’s lines. And one of the reasons I was able to do that was because I saw Olivier’s “Entertainer” a night or two prior. And he has an enormous monologue of a story. And you just sit there rapt watching it. A good story is a good story and if you tell it truthfully, you can trust that an audience will find it interesting. Of course if you’re an Olivier, you can read the phone book and make it interesting. And I must allow that I have a wee bit of talent me’self and trust in my abilities. But Act II of this piece is truly a daunting experience for the lady who plays the “Mrs.” It’s quite a train ride with many different stations and countries to visit. But an audience must be willing to listen hard to the philosophical discussions being represented. In this age of quick cuts and brief sound bites, we should not fault ourselves too much for gentlemen snoring in the front row. Just hope that you don’t suddenly turn and find yourself looking in their direction. That can be a little off putting.

Speaking of off putting - for years announcements have been made in theatres to turn off pagers, and now cell phones. But there is always some idiot who fails to do so. Hear this - should you be in that category of idiots - you not only jar the actors’ sensibilities and take us right out of the moment and time period of the play, but you also do so for your fellow audience members. You horribly remind us all that we are in a theatre and remove us all from the emotional reality that is going on. And you are a total boor. If I had my druthers I would stop the show and smash your cell phone to bits and bar you from any further live theatrical entertainment. There is a shared intimacy between actors and their audience and you belong rather in a sporting arena where the general cacophony of the event will swallow your cellular rudeness.

Mrs. Warren - Jan. 7th

2008-01-07T11:32:00.000-05:00

January 7th

Monday. First day off was spent locating various stores. A Sally’s Beauty Shop, Target, Party Store, Dollar Store, Food Lion, etc. Bought more opening night gifties.

Tues: Costume fitting first thing. Fabulous, fabulous. Reams and reams of muslin in gorgeous pleated folds. They actually make an entire mock up of the costume in muslin before doing it for real in the fabric of choice. I can’t imagine having to sew such a thing TWICE let alone once. First the corset is laced up the back, then the petticoat/bustle - over the head? Then - oops - always, ALWAYS must remember to put the boots on PRIOR to the corset. Else you can’t bend over to lace them up. (Mental note to put a yellow stickie on dressingroom mirror to remind me of such.) That’s why all those Victorian women had such lovely postures and also why they fainted all the time. One always (if one has any sense) puffs one’s chest out like a startled blow fish when being fitted in a corset - else you won’t be able to take a breath on stage. Costume designers want their outfits to look magnificent, but they oft' forget that one must breathe when wearing them. An actors’ comfort often becomes secondary to the design. I need - above all - to have the ability to project my voice to the back of the house, and I can’t do that if I can’t get a full diaphragm of air. So - I become a blowfish during my fittings.

Prior to the fitting I got myself on the stage to check out the lay of the land. Quite a balcony. Must remember to keep me ‘ed up (my head up), else expressions will be lost. And make sure that the vom pillar is taped or smoothed. It has a bit of a jagged edge. Experience has long ago taught me that when you’re in a floor-length, petticoated, bustled, corseted, hatted, gloved, parasoled costume, it WILL catch, inevitably, on SOMETHING. There’s just too much of you for the allotted space. I expressed such concerns (which kept me awake last night) to our director, suggesting that all edges of the stage platform be made especially smooth. Been there, done that too many times, when you’re walking up a step and you’re snagged. And silk tears very easily for all it strength. I also mentioned this to our costumer. She made a note to keep the hems tight.

Anyway, where was I? Ah yes, the costume. Haven’t worn one of these in quite a long while. They’re quite spectacular looking, but a royal pain to deal with. Once the whole thing was on, I looked like a female centaur - put a tail on my backside and you could ride me with that extension of a bustle. Fortunately Kelsey had a collapsible, accordion-type bustle constructed. So when I sit, I don’t take up the entire length of the bench. So glad she did. It’s my challenge to look like it’s the most natural thing in the world to be in this get up. To make it look easy, when it is anything BUT. And another blessing is that there won’t be any train on it. The set is very constricted (slip stage small) and inevitably people (especially the men) would be treading all over it. I’ve never ever been in a show where I had to wear a train when the men did not step on it. And it occurred to me only recently that perhaps the same was true in those days when this type of clothing was normally worn. If we can rehearse with such gowns for hours and and it happens, it must have happened back then too, no? Or did people just know to keep a natural distance between each other? I don’t know. Anyway, if there is any treading on dresses to be done, it will be by my own self in this case, I think. I must remember to stand up fully before moving, else I’ll step and trip all over my own self.

Worked on the 4th Act today. We need pacing and dynamics and tension and high stakes. At the moment it feels like we’re just talking AT each other, and that’s death for an audience. Well, we’re still struggling with lines, so that’s an excuse. But we’re an amorphous blob that cries out for specificity, and I feel like we’re just repeating the same old blocking. This set is very limiting because it’s minimalist and not realistic and there’s only so much patterning you can do. Everything is somehow too safe. We must create some danger. We must make it ALIVE. Currently it’s just a group of people having interesting drawing-room conversations and we must break through that. If our hearts don’t beat any faster - neither will our audiences.

Actor Housing

2008-01-06T23:53:00.001-05:00

Actor Housing
1/6/08

Tonight little miss plumber went into action. I managed to get the shower nozzle off and removed the hideous water saver. So much water was being saved that I could barely rinse myself off. I mean really. There ARE limits. If it takes you 20 minutes with a drizzle to rinse yourself vs four minutes with a waterfall - what are we SAVING????!! STUPID, HATEFUL, DUMB IDEA water savers. And those hideous new toilets that you have to flush three times to get you-know-what down when the old one-gulpers would do the trick quite nicely. Dumb! Where's Mr. Crapper when you need him? Ah the ecologically minded have wonderful aspirations and no sense whatsoever. Or let's say their execution of the ideas are dreadful. Let's not drill in the Anwar, let's be dependent on foreign oil oh yeah....but don't get me started. That's for another blog called "How Stupid Can You Get" or "The Other Point of View" or actually what I'd call it is "180 Degrees" which is sometimes what my internal temperature feels like when dealing with idiots or water saving devices.

Actors housing: this is a brand new place recently constructed. Cheaply recently constructed - in certain areas. Hollow doors, of course, plastic fake wood floors. Nice kitchen cabinets. But whomever designed the apartments' interiors must have been nuts or should have stayed in Architectural School a little longer. Somebody should have seriously questioned some of the design choices. Two features in particular: The bedroom has a partial glass wall with a door in it. Actually half a wall with a glass door . You enter your apartment and right there on the left or right side (depending on your apt.) is the glass windowwall/door. Ergo no privacy whatsoever. And it's not like the view from your bedroom windowwall/door is interesting for it just looks at the entrance hallway. And you can't put any artwork on glass (unless you want a suction cup frog decal) so it's totally useless and an incredible stupid idea. We tacked up a blanket and a sheet we'd brought to close it off - from the morning light.

But the worst design of all, bar none, is the bathroom sink. Ever so pretty to look at. It's made of hammered copper I believe (and I do think it's real copper), a round sink in a square wooden unit. The unit is higher than normal which must be nice for tall people. But the faucet, which is a very graceful goosed necked thing is positioned too far to the rear, so that you cannot wash your face without getting water all over yourself, the sink unit, and the floor. AND because the sink has no overflow drain hole, no air is getting where it needs to get in order for the sink to drain properly. I bend over the tub and wash my face that way, husband uses the kitchen sink. Whomever designed that sink faucet combo should be forced to live with it themselves for their lifespan.*

The closet is another absurdity. It has the ubiquitous, cheap do-it-yourself plastic hanging racks that look not dissimilar to what you find in your older refrigerators. You know, that lovely open plastic shelving - like an over rack. And because the closets are too narrowly constructed for the placement of the rack units, when your clothes are hanging, the folding accordion style doors mash everything as they are opened and closed. Another 6 inches in depth would have done the trick, but that would have cut into your 9 X 11 bedroom. But then the accordion doors aren't latched correctly on the top of their tracks, which actually helps the situation.

The furnishings - by Triad Stage, aren't too bad. The Board gave us a nice greeting packet of toilet paper, paper towels, tissues, soap, dishwasher fluid, etc. VERY helpful to an actor who has just arrived and is starting all day rehearsals, memorizing script at night and doesn't have a whole lot of time to shop for such. Especially that first day.

Our Company Manager, Jimmy T did a nice job of decorating the place with various pictures and vases filled with strange tall grasses. I understand that Preston's creativity was also involved. Apparently he found some Japanese writing which he framed and put on the wall. It's as homey as it could be.

But "City View" (the name of the place) it is NOT. We look out on the BENNETT water tower and a huge electrical tower (or was it a cell tower?). To the left is the train depot. And trains go through several times an hour (all through the night) with whistles blaring. (An actress moving in as we were vacating said she enjoyed the sound of trains. Good for her.) The place is also not far from the Fire Dept. So you also hear the sirens days and night. AND because the place is still under construction there's constant noise going on. Sleep is hard to come by.

*Sink update: the handyman (a great guy) came over and discovered a piece of wood??? in the faucet which golly gee was slowing down the water flow from the tap. Once he removed it things got a little better. But we still washed our faces in the tub.

Mrs. Warren Set Design

2008-01-06T12:45:00.000-05:00

When I first saw the set design by Howard Jones, I was horrified. He not only had rugs scattered here and there around the set but a platform to have to walk up and down upon (in a floor length skirt). And the "rugs" could not be tacked down to the stage floor as they had to be moved during the set changes. Never have I been on a stage when rugs were not secure. I was not a happy camper. But as usual everything turned out fine. One just had to take extra care in moving about. And how beautiful the set looked from afar.

Mrs. Warrren Costume Sketches

2008-01-04T12:35:00.001-05:00

Kelsey Hunt did a fantastic job with the costumes. Here are a couple of sketches she did of her designs for the Mrs. and Vivie. Color choices ended up changing. Preston (our Director) thought red too obvious a choice for Act. I and II and so I was put in pink instead. (Actually now that I've seen some photos of moi in Act I, do not think that color was at all good with the colors of the set which were yellows and golds and greens. The pink clashed like crazy to my mind. But whaddo I know...) Act III became a gorgeous deep burgundy, with the most gorgeous hat you've ever seen in your life designed by Trent Pcenicni (don't even TRY to pronounce it) and Act IV had an overlay of black lace that was to die for. And all my costumes were made of silk so they had no weight and were lovely to wear.

Mrs. Warren - First Rehearsal

2008-01-02T18:05:00.003-05:00

(Let me preface this post by saying that I cannot now view my last post from this computer at the theatre housing complex. Whatever I wrote upset the internet "content" with reference to "dru gs/al cohol. And believe me I wrote nothing that a 5 year old couldn't read. Anyway, because of it, any reference I now have to such items will either have asterisks in the words or something funky so that I can get back into my blog here. We'll see if this method works.)

Jan. 2, 2008. First day of "Mrs. Warren" rehearsal. What an utter disaster it was. We thought we had arisen early enough to get to the dru gstore for some Clariton D for me. I stupidly left my little packet of 5 at home but managed to bring every other dr*g in our medicine cabinet. Yesterday the Walmart pharmacy was closed (as it was Jan. 1st), and we managed to arrive at Riteaid at precisely 5:05 and they had just closed, natch. But it took us longer to get organized than expected. It's almost impossible for the two of us to dress in the bedroom here at the same time as it's rather close quarters, so we must take turns. We only managed to leave 15 minutes before the 10:30 call. Husband dropped me off at the theatre and went to park the car in the lot (which he'd never seen before.) It seems to take him an eternity to return. I suggested to Jimmy since most everybody else had walked over to the temporary rehearsal hall that they're using (due to construction of several new spaces on the third floor of the theatre), that I should go over and to please let husband know how to get there. He eventually appeared. Apparently he had to park way near the top and then, being unfamiliar with the place, find his way back down.

Upon entering the rehearsal hall I notice it's rather chilly. Today was the coldest day of the year thus far here, a brisk 31 degrees and it feels not unlike that inside. There are a few people milling about. We're told that they're having problems with the heat but that the gas company is due shortly. That's good. We keep our coats on. How I wish I'd worn my long johns, pants and wool socks, but alas I decided to dress like a lady in a skirt and tights. That'll teach me!

We milled around introducing ourselves to each other. "I'm Jon," said one young lad who looked like an icicle in the making. I had brought along my knee-length red sweater which I offered him and he gladly accepted. After 35 years in this business I have learned that rehearsal halls are inevitably too hot or too cold, so I generally come prepared for both. However I was not prepared for no heat whatsoever.

More milling. The costumer wanted my measurements. I was aghast. "I have to take off my clothes in this frigid ice box?" No, thank God. She just plumbed me over my clothing. Meanwhile I've asked our company manager to get me some Clariton D. He's the one who first told me about it. I was shocked to learn you need to show your driver's license and sign away your first born as it's an FDA Danger Drug. If you bought enough of it, apparently you can make m-eth out of it. At a dollar a pill to buy it over the counter m-eth might be cheaper.

Eventually the whole theatre gang arrives en masse (management, artistic staff, designers, props, tech director, etc.). And we mingle more. Our proofs of citizenship are displayed and copied so that we can insure that we're not illegals. As if that ever stopped anyone from getting a job.

The Stage Manager asks to see the Actors' Equity members privately. Oh, yes, must elect a "Deputy." There are four Equity members in this cast of six. Naturally no one wants the job. Oh bloody Hell , I'll do it. sigh.

Finally everyone gets seated at the huge table in the center of the room - the rest of the folk around the perimeter in chairs against the wall. The formal introductions begin. Design sketches had been pinned to the wall - which was a first for me. Makes much more sense to do it that way as one can gaze at them at leisure. Normally they're passed around and you never feel you have enough of an opportunity to really study them. And you want to because it's one of the first character visitations you'll have. It's the beginning of your physical world.

There were Very Brief words from the designers (usually they take a goodly amount of time to show off their work - but perhaps they were desiring to flee to someplace warm). Meanwhile someone handed me a brown bag with the Clariton D in it. Oh goodie, I'll be able to breathe think I. But when I look at it I realize it's not the Danger D*ug with the Pseudo*phedrine in it but the other without it, which does nothing for my nasal passages. Ah well. Then we are suddenly told that we'll be taking a one hour break and that the venue will be moved to the Green Bean, an eatery just up the block which has a WARM conference room. Thank God.

Husband and I rush off to find a drug store (the only one down town closed), so we have to travel a few miles. He goes and gets the car from the top of the lot and picks me up (always the gentleman). We finally find a dr*gstore, I exchange the Clariton, he dashes into Harris Teeter, I to Subway to grab sandwiches, dash back, he drops me off at the Bean and goes to park the car again. All of this took our entire lunch hour.

I walk into the Bean and inquire as to the whereabouts of the Conference Room and am told it's just around to the left. Ah. It's a large closet. There is a table in the center surrounded by chairs and that basically takes up ALL of the available space in the room. It reminded me of Thanksgiving at some of our relatives where you're all scruntched together with hardly any elbow room. But it IS warm.

I squeeze in and try to find a place to put my tote bag, pocketbook and husband's large briefcase. I wonder how my 6'6" husband will fit. But he does, amazingly. There is barely room enough on the table to open our scripts fully. Perhaps if the Pointsettia's were removed from the center?....Nooo....

We begin to read through the play - OVER the music that is blasting through the Bean along with the sound of the espresso machine, for the walls of this cozy closet do not append the ceiling. But it is WARM. It took all one's focus to get through the first two acts. Any possible acting values for myself were out the window. It's difficult to speak and listen under such circumstances.

Though we were all grateful for the warmth, we had to abandon the place for the noise factor. BUT, we were told we have a lovely new place to go to - a real theatre down the block that was WARM, thank God.

So we grab, once again, all our belongings and head out. Husband and I are graciously picked up in an auto so we don't have to walk. The dramaturge's books and SM accoutrement are put in the trunk and off we go to the Broach Theatre. Lug all out stuff in. They had recently closed "Tuna Christmas," and the remains of the set are scattered all over the stage. Stage management, et al, begin moving things to the side and trying to find some surfaces for scripts and chairs for bottoms. We don't all fit around one table but seat ourselves where we can. They miraculously manage to find out how to turn on some stage lights for us to read by.

Gee, it feels a little cool in here. Very cool. Yes, it's definitely cold in here. We once again remain in our coats. Whatever heating was provided was hardly sufficient. Oh cr*p. This is now at the point of absurdity. I got the giggles for a while. That was pleasant. Absolute chaos the entire day. Why is is EVER THUS? Ah Theatuh. I don't remember now which act we began reading here, but we took a little break after it. I went to try to find the bathroom. The closer one they couldn't figure out how to turn the lights on and I didn't relish being in there in pitch black so I went to the one at the back of the theatre.

We begin reading Act III. I thought my husband did brilliantly. I was amazed. How can you be brilliant under such circumstances? But he was and did the whole act off book almost. And he was worried about lines?!!!!

We finally finish our read-through, the dialect coach gives us notes and our director says we're going to adjourn for the day. It's only about 4 pm, but it's just too bloody cold to continue. My legs are like two blocks of ice. One of our members looked like a tortoise hiding in her shell of a coat. ABANDON SHIP!

We got home and I stripped off my clothes and put on long underwear and wool socks. Took me about 2 hours to finally warm up. Husband made pea soup from the Christmas ham bone we brought with us. He provides dinner for us most nights. Am I a lucky lady or what!

Called the rehearsal hot line. Tomorrow at 11 am we're called - same initial place. We're told it's now warm there. I'm going to bring my long underwear, pants, wool sweater and socks, gloves and hat - just in case. I know it can only be up from here. Right?

This was our first working with our director, Preston Lane, who also happens to be the Artistic Director of the Theatre. You can imagine what HE must have been going through. Fortunately he has a tremendous sense of humor, did not lose it, and made us feel as comfortable and welcome as he could under the circumstances.

If none of this had happened - it would have made for a very boring Blog story, eh?

Leaving for the Gig

2007-12-31T17:44:00.001-05:00

(Note: I've had to hyphenate odd words because the computer where I'm staying has a problem with dr ugs and alco hol, the mere words, so I'm trying to work around it.)

So we're getting ready to leave on Dec. 31st for Greensboro. The packing process begins. Being in this business as long as we have, we've developed what I term the OOT (Out of Town) List. A check list of those things we want to take with us that has been honed to a diamondlike perfection after 35 years. We are beyond anal retention here. This list is about five pages long and is divided up into various categories. Of course we drive, otherwise we'd be unable to take the majority of our life with us. We are like snails that carry our houses with us.

OFFICE SUPPLIES - include the obvious from stamps, envelopes, address book to scotch tape, lap top and rulers (29 other items in all). You never know when one of them will come in handy.

HARDWARE/HOUSEWARE - 100 watt bulbs because they ALWAYS give you only 60 watt bulbs and there are usually only two lamps in the place, one of which has a broken switch and a burned out bulb; a bathtub/sink stopper because they never hold water, an extension cord (you generally find you'll need one), etc., etc.

KITCHEN - this is the largest category and takes up an entire page by itself. Theatre housing is notorious for 3 bent forks, a spoon and perhaps the most hideous Dollar Store wine glass you've ever seen. Forget there being a broiling pan available or anything over a six inch frying pan. Do bring your favorite coffee mug. If there IS a potato peeler it definitely has seen better days as has the can opener and the melted plastic ladle. Oh, and unless you're a Brit, do bring along a couple of ice cube trays if you like ice in your drinks and don't expect any there the first night of your stay because inevitably the freezer will have only been defrosted a few hours before you arrive. Well, either that or there will be an igloo inside the freezer compartment which you will need a sledge hammer to break up if you wish to keep anything other than a miniature package of frozen peas.

Of course if you fly this is all a moot point. Though you are allowed to ship a certain allotted Equity enforced free poundage which management must pay for. No doubt a concession which management rues, but does anyone really understand what an actor goes through when leaving his home for seven weeks or three months or, God forbid - a year's TOUR. The latter is beyond my imaginings. I'd need my own train compartment.

Where was I? Oh, the odd kitchen items one may not think of - knife sharpener/ whetstone. Imagine, if you will, how many actors over how many years used that same knife to chip out the freezer igloo. It's never been sharpened nor replaced. Jack the Ripper would have had to take up different employment.

DR-UGS - well in the old days, it might have been psycho-tropics, but these days it ranges from prescriptions for GERD to an ice pack. Getting old is so much fun.

MISCELLANEOUS - things like a camera to a Swiss army knife, ear plugs to a sewing kit

FOOD - all those items in your fridge that will rot 'ere you return, condiments - why not save some money - bo*ze and cookies. Not that bo-oze will rot, but believe me the first thing you'll want to do after unpacking is have a nice cock*tail.

GAMES and TOYS - is really a category that has almost disappeared off the list. It includes books, but as I've mostly played leading roles, there's little time for games in the dressingroom.

THE SHOW - has items that range from makeup to a wig. In the majority of the shows I've done (being a clahsical theeeahtah ahchtress), I've had to wear a wig, which means you must first put your hair in pin curls. On two-show days you can a) remove all the pin curls - which takes forever - and then re-do them prior to the second show, which also takes forever and cuts into your dinner hour b) wear some hideous scarf which makes you look like you're currently undergoing chemo or c) put on another wig. When I was doing "To Kill a Mockingbird" at Ford's Theatre, several of the black actresses wore wigs on a daily basis - just for fun. And we all went around the corner one day, and got ourselves a new look. I bought myself a short brunette thingie that made me look very pixieish. Since then I've always used that wig on two-show days.

The other SHOW items I usually take are certain talismans, baubles, photos I've gleaned from research, accent tapes if appropriate, and a huge vase of gorgeous silk flowers. A long time ago a friend of my mother's gave me on one opening night a check for $75. My mother had then recently passed away. She said it was "from mom." I was rather overwhelmed and thought, how would I spend it? I went to Michael's and chose the most beautiful individual flowers and created a magnificent arrangement. So now I always have not only Emmy, but Ma with me on gigs.

Where was I? Once again I digress. Packing up. Why it is that even though one has this perfect list, it still takes FOREVER to pack? I'm trying to pour the remainder of a large shampoo bottle into a smaller vessel when the top breaks off. What should have taken two minutes now takes 15 for I had to then do it drip by drop rather than a squeeze. What clothes and shoes and jewelry to take? I always take more clothes than I ever wear. I always think I'll dress like a lady and always end up in jeans. I might as well just take two tops and two pairs of pants and be done with it. But I never do.

And why is it one feels the need in these final few precious hours to do things like clean areas of the bathroom one never before considered? Or do desk work that you've paid absolutely no attention to for the past year? Why is that?

Now, if we don't take the Christmas ornaments off the tree, the tree will sag and the ornaments may fall off and break. Aside from the fact that it's positively no fun to take ornaments off a very dead tree. We know. We once left it up 'til almost Easter. What a mess THAT was. So that's another thing that needs be done.

And then there are our three cats. We're told by the local vet that a bit of a human antihistamine will make them drowsy - approximately 1 mg per pound of cat. They already know SOMETHING IS UP because the two of us are off the wall with tension and there are boxes everywhere and we are not at all acting like our normal selves. They sense the change in energy level. And then of course, when the carrying cages come up from the basement - the jig's up. The ONLY time carry boxes are employed are under unpleasant circumstances. They aren't stupid. They know this. It usually means going to the vet for shots, or traveling to strange new, scary places. Their guards are up.

OK. Here we are at the day of LEAVETAKING. Husband says - "Oh, I'll take care of giving the cats the pi-lls. I'll just put it in some wet food..."

Right. Food gone, pi-ll remains. Now we have to finger force it down their throats - IF we can get them. Our big boy, Mr. Docile, is growling and husband can't hold onto him. Ooookaaaay. Time to wrap them in towel like a straight jacket. He holds, I shove down the gullet. Trying to capture our autistic cat (he's gotta be autistic), is a true study in patience. NEVER EVER GET A YELLOW CAT!. Behind the couch, dash to under the chair, by the table, behind the couch. Fortunately he finally realizes that at some point SOON he's either going to be trapped or the WRATH OF KAHN will be upon him and he more or less gives up. I SOOOOO want to strangle the little bugger - my fingers itch - but I say in a soothing voice between clenched teeth(I AM an actress after all), "It's all right sweeeeetie, everything is going to be aaaallll right." And then trying to get him into the carrying cage. Squeeze his hind legs together and force them in first because there ain't no way he's going in head first, then mash the rest of his miserable yellow body into the cage. Ah. Finally. All three cats are in the cars. I'm taking the two boys, husband taking the girl.

We're loaded to the gunnels with two vans. We each let the cats out so they can roam freely and use the litter boxes we've set up in each. The boys howl and howl...and howl. Mugwump, our usually implacable one, is growling and actually barking like a dog. Talk about stressed. He eventually calms down. Butternut, the hideous yellow brat, howls for over an hour and pants. He does not take at all well to car travel. So much for the calming effects of antihistamines.

Finally after three hours we arrive at the theatre where we meet the Company Manager and are taken to our apartments, side by side, one flight up. Jimmy offered to help us load in, but we knew he had a New Year's Eve party to go to. Poor guy, I let him carry the litter box up. He would have preferred to have taken one of the cats, I know, but they were so freaked out I thought it better we take them. I tried to get Mugwump into his cage - forget it. We're given the lay of the land and Jimmy goes off to celebrate. How many trips up and down those concrete stairs did we make? Who knows. We finally finish unloading, carry two of the cats up in our arms but the Yellow? Oh, well, he's managed to place himself under the back seat where only a bat could fit. I manage to pull his head through the small opening and try to squash the rest of his body while reaching under and pushing from behind to no avail. Although I'd like to kill him, I don't want to hurt him. Odd dichotomy three. Finally the little bastard comes out and I grab him by more than the scruff of his thick yellow neck and hold him at a very judicious distance from my person as I walk up the stairs to the apartment. I already have one deep hole in my thigh from earlier in the day, thank you.

5:30 pm and we're IN! We're exhausted. What did we have for dinner? I don't remember. Ah, yes, dear husband found a Harris Teeter and got us turkey burgers, but got lost coming back for there is no street sign for this street we're on.

We had brought some champ*agne and went over to celebrate with the pussies (we're keeping them in the other apt. - do you wonder why?...). They were all in hiding.

Happy New Year!

2007-12-28T00:35:00.001-05:00

I've got the bloody, blasted croup AGAIN. Very debilitating. Had hoped to play tennis tonight at the pick-up games but too tired. Hope I'm well enough by Saturday for our normal match.

Meanwhile we've only got a few days left before we take off for Triad Stage and we're trying to get all that needs to be accomplished by then accomplished. I feel like I could sleep for a month at this point.

Still haven't quite learned all of the 4th Act. Listen to it every chance I get in the car, and in spare moments here - the script is ever at the ready. The Laird is doing well with his lines. He's got a bit of the croup too. What a way to start rehearsals for show.

Oh yes, Mr. Vaughan did give me permission to use six of his photos, which I hope to put on here at some point in the not too distant future.

Mrs. Warren

2007-12-16T23:58:00.000-05:00

Well I've now put the fourth act on tape and have a wee bit of it memorized. Set a goodly speech into my brain while working out on the Nordic Trak in the basement. Got all my hair chopped off a couple of days ago. Shortest I've had it since I was nine. Told the hairdresser to keep it just long enough for me to be able to put in pin curls to hold the wig into place. Now, of course I'll have to get new head shots. Sigh. Well, it was time anyway. I look in the mirror and don't know who this person is. But it sure is easier to take care of.

Been printing out more and more of the victorian photos. There's something that speaks to the muse within when gazing at them. I hope I'll have time to have imaginative play on here. Letters to Sir. George and sister Liz and Vivie. And especially letters to some of the girls in the "hotels" we run. Or more likely - descriptive writings. That's how I create an inner life for the character. If you believe - then so will the audience. If you fake it - they know it.

Mrs. Warren

2007-12-10T11:47:00.001-05:00

I just found some more wonderful photos of the Victorians/Edwardians on the web (http://www.rogerco.freeserve.co.uk/) and have written Mr. Vaughan to see if he'll grant permission for me to use some of them here. I so love the internet. The entire world is at one's fingertips and one can discover so many delights - instantly. AND sometimes make new friends. We won't speak of the negative aspects of the spider's web.

(This is Amelia in the Ostend House. She'll pleasure a man in more ways than can be imagined! And one of the ones who really enjoys her work.)

Mrs. Warren

2007-12-10T00:05:00.001-05:00

Well I managed to rough through the second act in the bath last night. I'm finding that's a great place to learn lines while easing the muscles from two hours of tennis. My brain is tired. And I've yet to glance at the third act, oh boy. Three weeks to the end of the month. Will I manage to get act IV under my belt before we leave? I doubt it. Too much to do. (Here's a snap of one of the girls in our Brussels House. Her name's Sarah and she's worth her weight in gold. Has a great sense of humour, this one!)

Mrs. Warren

2007-12-06T12:38:00.000-05:00

Put the script on tape yesterday in various styles. Once through saying the cues AND my lines, then once saying just the cues. Well - not the third act, haven't gotten there yet. Am up to page50 - only 2 more to go to the end of Act II. YAY! And act III will be a piece of cake because I only have 5 lines, I think. (That's Rand's monster act.) Then back to slogging through the 4th act.

Trying to make up our minds as to whether we want to be in the third floor apts. or second. Third will be tough on my poor ankle (achilles surgery is a one-year recovery period) but we'll have no one above us tromping on our heads at odd hours. Second much easier for lugging up groceries but sleep could be a problem if there are trompers. Decisions, decisions, decisions....

Will be sending off the contracts today with a page of suggestions for script cuts. Trying to trim some of the excess verbiage. And better to do it before memorizing the rest of the script, eh? Our director told Rand he never met a cut he didn't like. (Here a photo of sister Liz before she moved down to Winchester. You can see the ladylike airs already!)

Mrs. Warren

2007-11-30T18:49:00.000-05:00

So I've got this croup which has been hanging on since Thanksgiving and keeping my husband awake a night due to my coughing. Finally gave in and went to the doctor. They're never on time there so I brought along my script to continue memorization work. Glad I did. Got in over an hour of study before they finally saw me. A mere sinus infection. A cycline to knock it out and a suppressant/expectorant/decongestant to save me from drowning. Perhaps we'll both get some sleep tonight.

I have no compunction whatsoever about sitting in public places and babbling lines. I've no doubt people may well think I'm an absolute loon, but what of that. It used to be easier to study in waiting rooms. They used to be fairly quiet, except for the occasional screaming baby. This particular one not only had music playing from an overhead speaker in the ceiling but ALSO a large television which was blaring out some morning game show idiocy. Some multiple choice game where you try to guess the answer and then spin a dial to win money. They may think me a loon but I think them geese for watching such nonsense. Second hand smoke may offend some people - second hand noise offends me.

I stopped at the thrift shop on the way home and picked up a goody to put in my dressing room - a fake floral lei, very gaudy. I normally have a whole bunch of beads and whatnots hanging across my dressingroom mirror or dangling from light bulbs, but that's one of the boxes we've never unpacked since moving here. So....we accumulate MORE! Yesterday I picked up some opening night cards and one opening night gift. One thing I always take with me on gigs- a card that came with the flowers my mother sent me for opening night of Moon for the Misbegotten in Cincinnati. It was typed by the florist in the middle of a plain white card with their logo on the bottom, not even her handwriting. It says: "To my star in the moon. Love Ma" And it means the world to me.

(This shot is of Mary. She's rather too sweet natured for this business and often comes crying on my shoulder.)

Mrs. Warren

2007-11-29T12:55:00.000-05:00

Now into the heavy monologues in the second act. What a bear to learn. If Mr. Shaw can use five examples in a speech, he'll use them all. Not one to edit himself. For example: "The other two were only half sisters. Undersized, ugly, starved looking, hard working, honest, poor creatures." How many adjectives can YOU use to describe someone!!!.... Aaaargh!

And I KNOW, although the director said he didn't think he was going to cut anything, that he probably will. I would if I were directing the thing. And then I'll have to UNLEARN lines. Ain't theatre FUN!

Actually what IS fun is what I did the other day which is to find pictures of the women of the period. I think I got the idea of finding photos of people, places, things to create an emotional reality in my own mind for the character from Zoe Caldwell when I did Medea with her on Broadway. She'd a collection of fabulous pictures which she found that I am sure inspired not only her psychological development of the character but the physical as well. But that's another story.

But it's just grand fun to tape up pictures all over one's dressingroom walls. I flourish in a creative space. One of the most creative rehearsal rooms I've ever worked in was in Indianapolis. Perhaps the ONLY creative rehearsal room I've been in. Most are just large, blank walled, open areas with tape marks on the floor, pock parked with uncomfortable folding chairs. Not dissimilar to dance studios sans mirrors. If I owned a theatre I would make the rehearsal space colorful and full of warmth. A place where creativity was nourished visually and physically. I've never understood why rehearsal rooms are the most barren places on earth. Yes, of course you paint your own landscape during the process, but how much richer it could be with some warmth to start with.

Anyway, this is one of the pictures that spoke to me. Mrs. Warren in her younger days, perhaps? Isn't it just delicious.

Mrs. Warren

2007-11-19T23:05:00.000-05:00

Thoughts: Why don't I want George to know my daughter's age? Because it will give away my own? Because if he knows my age and when she was born he can figure out if he's her father or not? Because if she's "of age" she can make her own decisions? Who is her father? Am I lying when I tell Vivie it's not any of the men she's met? Do I even know who her father is?

Mrs. Warren's Profession

2007-11-15T21:54:00.000-05:00

This blog begins this day. It's all new to me, but why not give it a go. Try it for a while. Since there is no Boswell, one must do it one's self, no?

I thought I’d write down my processes when beginning work on a show. Why not. Initiate a civilian into the working mind of an actor or give a newcomer some ideas and/or perhaps guidance. Then again it might bore them to death....

First of course there’s the excitement of when the job is offered. And then, if you’ve already purchased the script you begin reading it. Or they’ll send you one. Or if you’re really an idiot you wait until you get to the first rehearsal to read the play.

In this case, with Mrs. Warren’s Profession, there are several different versions. Apparently Mr. Shaw saw fit to change the script every so slightly from year to year so that royalties would necessarily continue to have to be paid to his estate.

The theatre first sent an 8X10 unbound script which was printed on both sides of the page. There were many many errors. I wondered who in the world typed the thing. Having gone to Katherine Gibbs Secretarial school in my youth, and having spent many years as an executive secretary, I’m very keen on lack of typos. This script was a mess. Some stage directions were written as if they were the characters’ lines, etc. Being such a one for perfection and being extremely detailed, I made note of the errors on the pages to tell them later.

I read the play through about three times. At first I had many questions about Mrs. Warren. Some of the play didn’t make sense to me at all. Was she still on active duty as a prostitute or merely as a Madam, for example. And who IS the father of Vivie?

I begin to underline certain descriptive passages. Things like what other characters say about her & how Shaw describes her. Gathering as many details as possible about the nature of her character, the setting, the clothing, time of day, weather, etc. Then I begin to jot notes on the page. Things like: “I don’t know who my daughter is, have spent no time at all with her.” “Would I ever have this discussion with him if he were her father? - probably not.” And I put a box around those words with which I’m unfamiliar. Like ‘broomsquires’ and ‘assizes,’ which I later look up. I’ve never understood how an actor can come to the first rehearsal and ask what a word means? Or how to pronounce it. Why haven’t they done their homework? Personally I’d be embarrassed to sit there during the first read-through and mispronounce words. It shows a laziness of mind, lack of intellectual enthusiasm and a palty spirit.

We (my husband who will be playing Crofts, and I) asked for the script well in advance of the beginning of rehearsal because there’s an enormous amount of words to learn. I’m a particularly fast study and usually know the entire script by heart by the time I walk in to the ‘meet and greet’ on that first day. I don’t like working with a script in hand. It’s cumbersome and interrupts the flow of emotions when one has to suddenly look down and grope for a line. Though I keep the script at the ready, of course, during the blocking process.

The theatre told us they would send a corrected version of the script, that they had gotten the original off the internet. Ah, that’s good, I thought. At least the typos weren’t their fault. That relieved me somewhat. About three weeks later it arrived. Many, though far from all, of the typos had been corrected. Ah well. Perfection is hard to come by.

So I began by memorizing the old script and now here’s the new one. And it’s printed only one one side of the page - which is how it should be with lots of nice space to write notes on the blank side. And once again I am amazed to realize how much the memorization process is photographic. You’re used to seeing a line a certain way in a certain place on a page. And suddenly it’s different - higher or lower, to the left or on the next page. And you’ve already set it in your mind’s eye. You actually “see” the line in your mind when you recite it in the beginning. So it makes it a wee bit more difficult to change scripts mid stream.

11/15/07

I’m up to around page 38 now. Soon I’ll be into the heavy monologues. Yesterday I learned all about ‘tripos’ and ‘wranglers.’ Some theatres have dramaturges, but I tend to do my own research. It's part of what I consider "homework." There’s a fabulous blog that Susan Booth did of her production at Alliance which I’ve saved and other wonderful bits and pieces from various reviews of various productions which give many flavors and ideas from which to choose. Seeing the myriad photographs of the actresses who have portrayed her is quite interesting. Some looked lean and gorgeous and upper class, others looked plump and gaudy. Isn’t the Internet a wonderful thing! One can just go anywhere and discover infinite realms of fascinating information.

I haven’t begun to determine who I want this woman to be. Sometimes I know instinctively who a character is inside and out (like Hedda, or Maureen in Beauty Queen). Sometimes I haven’t a clue (like Miss Julie). And sometimes, as in this case, I half know her. I know parts of her, but not all of her. I’m not sure whether to make her a lower class baud, or a nouveau riche type with airs. Shaw specifically states that at one point she drops into her lower class speech patterns, so obviously one must start with a more upper crust accent. The question becomes - how good is her attempt at upper class speech? Is she proficient at it? And if not, where are the nots. One doesn’t want the audience to think that the actress can’t do the accent correctly, which could easily happen if one bastardizes her main way of speaking by jotting in odd cockney words here and there. The other question is WHAT is her street accent? As the Laird (that’s my husband) pointed out (being a master of dialects), there are many to choose from. North Country being one. My inclination is to go with the standard cockney. The main reason being that, although it might be a rather uncreative choice, it will be less likely to confuse an audience. An audience will identify immediately if I drop into a Liza Doolittle accent, but might wonder what the heck’s going on if I suddenly sound like I’m from someplace near Scotland. But there’s a bit of laziness in me too. It’ll be hard enough to learn the cockney. North country would be even harder.

BIOGRAPHY

2007-11-15T13:51:00.000-05:00

(This post has been edited. It was originally my bio, but I've moved that to a different place.)

2007-11-12T12:07:00.000-05:00