Nilly! It's so wonderful to think of you being a mommy. As Fay says, bless.

Happy Birthday, birthday twin Benno! Did you get good presents?

Trudes, did I wish you well on your surgery? 'Cause I do.

Aww, you guys are sweet.

For David (but the rest of you can read, too):

We were doing our first production of the year, Tennessee Williams' Camino Real. Cast of thirty bajillion. We only had 52 students in the department, seven of those our tech director nabbed and refused to let the director have them even for walk-ons. Even with draftees from Dance, (musicians not considered) people were doubling and tripling on roles, most of which, granted, were inanimate corpses or crowd scenes. Still, costume changes and ready-cues and what-not.

There was the scene in Act One where Kilroys heart ("solid gold and the size of the head of a baby"), played by a gold spray-painted bouncy ball, between a softball and volleyball in size, got thrown into the pawnshop set by mistake. The Act Two scene where it would need to be produced from the chest cavity of an onstage cadaver was coming up, and the pawnshop proprietor was already in costume as a Streetsweeper and couldn't nonchalantly wander into set and retrieve it. As propmistress, it was up to me. Never having actually been inside the miniscule set since I'd helped build and raise it into place onstage and it was dressed, crawling in below windowsill level to remain unseen by the audience and feeling around till I found the ball was...fraught, considering Act Two was proceeding just six feet on the other side of the set wall. From the tech booth high in the girders over the audience, the stage manager, who could see into the set, whispered into the headset, "To your right, no, behind the chair. Now, downstage about a foot--you're almost there, another--no! the vase is gonna fall, stop! Okay now go..." as I was blind and freaked, my fingertips searched like little live creatures for the smooth round surface--there! Got it! Then all I had to do was back out without dislodging anything, stand up, race around the back of the set, crawl onstage behind the platform where the "doctor" was improving lines and the cadaver was smothering laughter that shook the sheet covering him, and smuggle the ball up into the doctor's downstretched hand. And then I had to race back around the back of the set to adminster the usual steadying, consoling hug to the Casanova actor before he went back on. He was looking a little ragged when I got there. I may have squeaked, but I don't think they heard me onstage.

Wow, Nilly! Baby's almost here!!

(Oh, and HI!!!!)

I'm in the midst of refiguring my most-hated household task, because I used to hate to do everything because I couldn't stand up long enough to do things relatively quickly. Now that I can, vacumning, dishes, and bathroom scrubbing isn't such a pain, literally. I think that I stil hate mopping the kitchen and bathroom floors, though.

Today has been pretty lazy--I was still in my nightshirt (with my sweats on my legs) until a few minutes ago, when I finally stirred myself from my couch to change into a sweatshirt and eat a very belated lunch (finished off the Boston Market meatloaf I bought nine days ago). However, I spent the afternoon on that couch finishing off one cross-stitch ornament and starting another, that I'm already about a third of the way done with! I should have that one finished either tonight or midday tomorrow--yay.

I do have to do my dishes and clean out my fridge tonight, so that's something other than stitching.

Oh, and Happy Birthday, Beverly and Benno!!!

This bathroom-cleaning thing is turning into a juggernaut. It's so easy to overlook the gnarly stuff, like when dust gradually accumulates in the edges of the cabinet doors, and then suddenly you look at them and HOLY CRAP NASTY. So there's been a lot of scrubbing beyond sink-toilet-bathtub. I also vaccumed the walls. Seriously.

Happy Birthday Bev and Benno!

Your theatre story made me cry.

That is an awesome fucking story, Bev. Thank you for that wonderful present from you on your birthday.

Aww, that`s a marvelous story! That and the Nilly awe aww and for some reason, all y`all`s housekeeping is making me all smiley. You guys is cute.
 
You all know my nemesis task, the Putting Away of the Laundry, esp. re: Socks. I grew up in a one story house but my best friend lived in a classic split level of the era. They had a laundry chute, which I adored and was mystified by, imagining that somehow it led to unthinkably complex machinery that did and put away the laundry. It was a disillusioning day when I discovered it was just a tube, and there at the other end, was a perfectly ordinary washing machine and you still had to Do the Laundry.

That is a classical representation of theatre life, Beverly. Good on ya for turning disaster into delight.

I had a similar experience doing Carnival.

The community theatre in Stockton, CA had a resident alley cat. A really mean cat. I had to take the jack rabbit cast as a bunny in the show home because the house cat could surely have eaten it. Mean cat. We had also rented a python named Monty (not making that up) who was also a little nasty because the woman playing the snake charmer thought it was funny to let him slither along the makeup table so as to freak out the other castmates. Sadly, he burned his mouth on a light bulb. I have no idea how reptiles process pain, but it could not have felt good.

During the last scene of the last show, the two leads launched into the show's most romantic number. Mean!cat decided to walk out onto center stage and begin to yowl incredibly loudly.

I was already dressed for the curtain call, so I grabbed my character's sewing basket and strolled nonchalantly across the stage, paused by the cat, flipped open the basket and unceremoniously crammed the cat into it. I sauntered of, stage right.

It was sad that the audience laughed like drains while the leads soldiered on, trying to be romantic and noble.

Once backstage, I dropped the basket and ran through the dark clutching the spitting Mean!cat at arms length. I couldn't see where I was going but intended to cross behind the stage and toss the cat outside.

As I rushed to back, stage right, since I was first in line for the curtain call. Just as I neared my destination, I inadvertantly crammed the spitting cat into the face of the cranky python. Monty opened his mouth, showing roughly 200 clear, razor-sharp teeth and made a shockingly threatening sound.

I screamed OH FUCK and tossed the cat immediately to the right. Thank god, the costume shop door happened to be opened, or it would have been Mean!cat pancake.

Everyone shrieked, so all my efforts to maintain a quiet final scene were for naught.

I should have let the stupid cat have his moment in the spot light!

It's so easy to overlook the gnarly stuff, like when dust gradually accumulates in the edges of the cabinet doors, and then suddenly you look at them and HOLY CRAP NASTY.

This is me today. Blech.

Cats will be cats, it's true. Like humans in that regard. I'm sure he was confused at momentarily being cast as Toto, and then almost immediately in the stage production of Anaconda.

You know what I miss? The community here bans clotheslines. I know there are reasons for that, and the reasons are good. But damn, I miss snapping line-dried towels hard to soften them before folding. And the wonderful, not checmically reproduceable smell of sun-dried sheets and pillowcases. I love the fact I no longer have to peg wet socks one by one on the line in freezing weather, or take them down one-at-a-time. I'd almost--almost--put up with that for sun-dried sheets and towels.