The Show must go on

I'm really tired.  This is a tough week with an extra choir concert/adjudication thrown in last night.  Dave had a really tough night with the boys, [Note the written apology from Donovan] and now as he cranks into his final week for Troy Women, he's hardly ever here (that's how it feels.)  Trying to find the head space and sense of calm or quiet to write is almost impossible and I get angry fast with the boys for being reckless and loud, or when they're slow to respond in a positive way.  They're shouting right now in the background as Davey is still gone and there is a tent (yes, a tent) set up in our family room.

I'm really troubled about other things too.  The choir "concert" last night was part of the local festival competition for musicians.  It was so sad to me that everything felt formal, sterile, and lacking in warmth, purpose and... AUDIENCE.  I hate taking away the chief reason to sing: the enjoyment of the listeners.  This performance was for an adjudicator the other Rosebud choir who was participating, and the two Russell boys on guitar.  Three groups in the whole competition and they made up the entire audience as well.  How sad.

At the end I was near the adjudicator-lady as we were putting on our coats.  "I think it's sad that there is such a small turnout." I said.  "Yes" she responds, "Singing in choirs takes a big commitment; I guess people would just rather watch TV."  This really sobered me.

When I got back home I learned that the theatre had only sold 36 tickets for today's show.  36?  36.  36 does not even begin to cover our costs in the dining room.  My heart fell.  Then I was told that Dave's show Troy Women has only 28 tickets sold for the entire run and they open April 3rd!  All that work and sweat into a powerful, risky story, and only 28 tickets?  Why aren't people coming out to theatre right now?  Are they scared?  Are they really too busy?--Really?

Today when I got to the theatre after my drama ministry class, Brad (our stage manager) was having troubles with the sound.  Every cue was playing at half speed and it sounded awful.  We weren't sure what to do, then all of a sudden it started working normal again and they don't know why.  Wierd.

Then during the show, Samm's briefcase somehow got locked shut (it has a combination lock on it).  That suitcase HAS to open so she can get out the tape recorder to record Lettice's story and it is instrumental with Lotte's entrance and it becomes the chief obstacle for Lotte later in the scene, so we HAD to have it.  "I can't open my briefcase," says Samm to me on stage, hopelessly.  Silence.  "Well..." I say slowly, my mind racing.  --Normally I would make hay out of this situation and send it up a bit while staying in character and quickly call Brad the locksmith or something while I brilliantly entertained the crowd.  But all through rehearsal Morris EXPRESSLY commanded me not to comment on my performance or spontaneous moments.  "It actually pulls me out" he said.  So every time something unexpected happens, I try to solve the solution as quick and small as possible.  --But this was BIG!

"Do you want an old-fashioned pencil and paper?" I ask her, again slowly and with a smile.  "Sure" she says, and I promptly stand up and start looking for some.  But where are they?  She's still fumbling with the lock, and I?  --I have wandered off stage right to look on the prop shelves, but all I can find is an envelope -- no pencil!!  Then I see the headphone box... I could disconnect the wires and take a "contraption" back on stage to use as a tape recorder... yeah!  So I yank and yank but I can't get the stupid wires to disconnect in time... so I carry the measly envelope back on stage and try looking in my "kitchen area" for a pencil... but I know there isn't one to be found.  I actually consider asking Samm to use the Quaff (our brown water "cordial") and write with the liquid on her fingertip!  But then I see the trunk:  "I know..." I say loudly to a confused silent audience, "I bet I have something in HERE!"--and I fling open my trunk very dramatically.  --The trunk is empty.  No, wait, ... there is a little black circle, no bigger than my palm... like a small coin purse.  "Hummm... " I say turning (Samm is still fumbling with her lock...) "I have THIS!" holding it up victoriously.   Of course I was about to ask Samm, myself, and everyone in the audience to do the darndest bit of imagining by endowing this little black circle as a discarded appliance of Lettice's that actually would turn out to be a modern recorder!  Before I could announce this, (thank God!), I see Brad in the wings... and he's tugging at something...? oh yes... the headphones are not connected adequately to their box... (oops)  But wait... there's something else.  [The silence is deafening and these 20 seconds feel like two minutes.]  I disappear off stage right again, smiling to the audience to the last, then I turn to Brad.  "7,2,1" he breathes to me hoarsely.  "What?!"  "The combination: 7,2,1"  "Oh!  Thank you."  Instantly I'm back on stage, wondering if I should try opening the briefcase myself in a feat of victorious magic, --but one look at Samm tells me she needs something positive to do.  So I let go of any attempt to hide our predicament.  "721" I say, gesturing with my fingertips toward the combo lock, "a ghost told me."  --I know, I know... but when you're in the middle of it, you can't think as clear as later.  Thankfully, Brad was right and Samm got it open and we were on our way... well, pretty well, we were all a bit shaken and our already tiny audience felt even quieter still from our stage.  Suddenly I felt like a failure;  like this was theatre not working.  No wonder people don't come out when things start to fall apart!  I wanted to leave the stage and just go lie down somewhere in a little ball with a soft blanket.

But I knew better... there was Samm, my scene partner, and there I was in my beautiful robe, --and breathing out there in the darkness... was 36 people who had paid good money to eat a meal and then sit in this cavernous theatre and hear a story about women picking themselves up from their bootstraps and going on --even though everything around them says they no longer fit in this modern world!  How dare I give up?  How dare I comment any further on that mishap and let it shape the rest of my performance?  I locked eyes with Samm, "grabbed some courage out of the air" as Donovan says, and off we went.  It ended fine... as ever.  Thank God.  ...I even had a woman clutch my arm after the show: "I loved the bit with the briefcase!" she said, "I didn't even know at first that you were improvising!  Brilliant!  And thank you so much!"  --Wow.  I have to shake my head.  What felt awkward and embarrassing and totally confining... was a treat to her.  Ha.  Ha. Ha.

The show must go on.

The show must go on... or we'll lose all the color.

The show must go on, or we'll lose the relief of story and inspiration.

The show must go on... even if it's just for 36 people.