The Small Town Metropolitan

The Uses of Imagination

When we were children my sister and I pretended all the time.  We didn't let the fact that we were living in a small house in a small town hamper us in anyway.  With a few discarded clothes from the "dress up clothes basket" and a few simple household items to aid us, we could be anywhere at any time doing anything. 

We could be French aristocrats in the days of the Revolution, dodging the guillotine with the help of the Scarlet Pimpernel.  We could be flappers solving mysteries in 1920s New York.  We could be members of Robin Hood's merry band.  We could be much more mundane things too (grocery store clerks, waitresses, bus drivers).

My mother says that we were a joy to watch.  (She always tried to observe us discreetly, lest we become self-conscious).  She says that we seemed to believe so completely in the reality of what we were pretending that our belief was infectious - she could always tell exactly what we were supposed to be  (antebellum Southern belles, say) even though we were really just  little girls with old bathrobes tied around our waists.

So why do I mention all this childhood play?

Off the shelf

There was much worse drama when Linda, aged twelve, told the daughters of neighbours, who had come to tea, what she supposed to be the facts of life.  Linda's presentation of the "facts" had been so gruesome that the children left Alconleigh howling dismally, their nerves permanently impaired, their future chances of a sane and happy sex life much reduced.

- The Pursuit of Love, Nancy Mitford

In which the worlds shabbiest blogger apologizes yet again

All my resolutions to post daily crumble to dust at my feet.  In my defense we go from crisis to crisis here at the Small Town Theatre.  None of them are fatal crises, so I can't really complain.

Nevertheless, I think we are in need of a little divine intervention to solve some of this week's problems.  And really, how hard should that be?  As I pointed out to my mother  yesterday, how many professional theatres were founded by Benedictine monks?  How many are run by faithful Catholics?  How busy can Saint Genesius really be?  Maybe, like a good man of the theatre, the saint is simply biding his time, waiting for the most dramatic moment to come to our aid.

As a director, I have a few thoughts on when that moment would be.  But I'm sure he knows best.  I'm sure of it.  Absolutely. 

Off The Shelf

"I could easily go on writing all night but I can't really see and it's extravagant on paper, so I shall merely think.  Contemplation seems to be about the only luxury that costs nothing."

- Dodie Smith, I Capture the Castle

Quick Shots

• The fam and I watched Room With A View on PBS's Masterpiece the other day.  Masterpiece was formerly Masterpiece Theatre and the name was changed because.... I have no idea actually, and can only venture a guess.  Was "theatre" considered too stodgy?  Was Masterpiece Theatre too long a phrase for stunted contemporary attention spans?  If so, I fear the change demonstrates a lack of understanding of their core demographic: people (even relatively young people, like myself) who yearn for the stodgy and have abnormally long attention spans.  But I digress.  The film itself was a joy: lovely to look at, marvelous performances.  The whole thing felt much more grounded in life, more warm flesh and blood than the Merchant-Ivory film of two decades ago.  I wasn't sure about the non-canonical book ends (I will not spoil, have no fear), but there is no doubt they add another level of poignancy and I quite warmed up to them by then end. 
• We're holding auditions for the theatre this weekend.  My father is pissed that they conflict with the NFL draft.  (We are an odd family, I've always known that).  Still, he plans to check in on the Steelers' progress during breaks.  If they aren't focusing on the offensive line, he's not going to be pleased. 
• From the Carbolic Smoke Ball: The Steelers combine all my father's interests by drafting Bill Shakespeare. 

I planned to get so much done today...

...but today was one of those days when everything takes longer than it should.  I am bone weary with very little to show for it.  I am now off to knit up my raveled sleeve of care.  More tomorrow...

I have been to my first mass...

...since returning to The Small Town.  And I will post a few thoughts on it when I have a more rested brain.  Nothing like this happened there. 

Via

"There are two ways of getting home...

...and one of them is to stay there." - G.K. Chesterton, The Everlasting Man.

But I have chosen the other way (it involves walking the whole way round the world until returning to the place where you started) and now I sit at my old desk in my old room amid the ghosts of childhood past.  For the first time in 10 years, I am spending the summer at home.

I have been here less than a week, but it feels longer.  (This is no reflection on my parents' company .  It is rather a tribute to the number of things we have managed to accomplish in the past few days). 

The Small Town seems pretty much as it always was, though I am assured that things have changed. 

My father's health is improving, though still not all one could wish.

We have done a great deal of work on the theatre's summer season, though the number of things we still must do makes my head spin.

No sooner did I accept that he was out of my life for good, than I got a call from The Impossible Man.  We have traded voice mails.  Part of me is happy to hear from him.  Another chunk of me wishes he would leave me alone.

I have just re-read this post and come to the conclusion that, even at the disgracefully early hour of 8pm, I am too tired to blog in any but boring fashion.

More tomorrow...

The last few weeks...

...have been madness, madness.  I have been running around like the proverbial decapitated chicken, trying to get done everything that needs to get done before I head back to The Small Town for the summer - my first summer spent there in 10 years. 

Rest assured that I will have much to say once I arrive and settle in.  My plane leaves tomorrow morning at 6:30am.  Yes, indeed.

I have window seats confirmed for both my flights and I am hoping for a cloudless day so I can see a bit of the fruited planes. 

More soon....

Sorry...

...for the light posting.  I have had a busy and draining few days.  I will have more to say in the near future, but for now here's what's up:

• My father's health isn't good.  There is no immediate danger (in fact, there is much cause for hope).
• Nevertheless, his health problems have impacted his ability to work, just at the time of year when things start to get busiest for him and my mother.
• Should my father take a turn for the worse, my mother and the family business would be, to use my mother's phrase "totally screwed."  (I love a sweet mother with a dirty mouth).
• Therefore ,I will be heading home to the Small Town to spend the summer helping out with the theatre.  This will include directing at least one show.  It will also include lots of other things TBD.
• I am leaving LA in less than three weeks.
• I made a list of everything I have to do before I leave.
• I ran from the room screaming in horror.
• I recovered.
• I am now slogging through the list.
• There will be more later....