We had some bad news and some good news on the play front this week. The bad news is, after two weeks of rehearsals, we lost one of the actresses. The good news is that she's fine, but she has a medical issue and her doctor ordered her to stay off her feet. The good, good news is that we found a replacement quickly -- Maria Monti, who happens to be the wonderful director of my last play, "Flavor of the Month", so she has loads of theater experience. But she couldn't come to rehearsals last week, so guess who had to fill in?
Yep. Me. I hadn't acted since I was one of the laughing townsfolk in my 6th grade production of "The Pied Piper of Hamlin", and I was only involved because it was a class production and every student had to participate. It did, however, give me a renewed admiration for actors. To transform yourself into a different character, remember all the lines (heck, I can't even remember them -- and I wrote them!), and do all this in front of tons of people on stage. I think I'll slink back to my computer, thank you, and watch the play unfold in the comfort and relative safety of a darkened theater.
Also this week, Brian and I celebrated our 8th wedding anniversary. I whisked him off to San Francisco on a "mystery" date. The kids had a sleepover at grandma and grandpa's (the first time we had left all three of them overnight). The only thing he knew was that it was in SF, he had to pack an overnight bag, and oh yeah ... he was driving. But the exact destination wasn't revealed until we got there. We checked into our cozy hotel room at the Inn at Union Square; feasted on gnochetti with 5 hour pork and beef sugo sauce, rack of lamb (him), and pork scallopini (me); and went to see Beach Blanket Babylon which was raucous fun. The next morning, we slept in (aaaah, that was heavenly, plus I'd forgotten what it was like to sip coffee and read the newspaper in bed), had a yummy, leisurely breakfast, and hit Fisherman's Wharf for some cracked Dungeness crabs before our 2 hour drive home. It was absolutely rejuvenating. But no writing done this weekend. So, I'm planning on working hard on some overdue projects next week ... er ... in between a couple of important school meetings, working at my daughter's school, play rehearsals, and two T-ball games.
Monday, May 7, 2007
Tuesday, May 1, 2007
MEN ARE FROM MARS. OR JUPITER. OR ANOTHER GALAXY ALTOGETHER
Women are from Venus. Men are from Mars. Or Jupiter. Or another Galaxy altogether.
Last week, play rehearsals conflicted with Parent Night at my daughter's school. Since I've been to every Parent Night this school year, and my husband has been to like--two--he agreed to go in my place. The plan was, he'd take the two girls and leave them at the school's daycare during the meeting. My son is too young, so Brian would ask his dad if he'd watch him (since his mother was out of town). Perfect! Goodbye frazzled, SuperMom; Hello suave, trendy Playwright. It was a foolproof plan. Except for one thing. Yep, you guessed it. Men are from Mars. Or Jupiter ... well, you get the drift.
On the day of rehearsals, I called him at work to see if everything was confirmed with his dad. "He can't watch Quinn because he's going to the same meeting," Brian informed me. What in Jumping Jupiter was he talking about?
"To Parent Night?"
"No, to the blah, blah, blah business meeting."
"Business meeting?" We've been talking about two different meetings the ENTIRE WEEK? "You were supposed to go to Parent Night."
"I told you that I had to go to this meeting for my clients." No, he did not. He left out this very important fact. "They're paying me $200 an hour to attend this meeting."
Yes, but I ... I've got this play. And they're paying me ... okay ... nothing. But, hey, how often do I have a play in the works?
Goodbye suave, trendy Playwright; Hello, frazzled SuperMom. A million phone calls later, I had babysitting, went to play rehearsals, banished my husband to the nether regions of Pluto, and even made it to my daughter's school.
So, All's well that Ended well on the planet of Venus.
Last week, play rehearsals conflicted with Parent Night at my daughter's school. Since I've been to every Parent Night this school year, and my husband has been to like--two--he agreed to go in my place. The plan was, he'd take the two girls and leave them at the school's daycare during the meeting. My son is too young, so Brian would ask his dad if he'd watch him (since his mother was out of town). Perfect! Goodbye frazzled, SuperMom; Hello suave, trendy Playwright. It was a foolproof plan. Except for one thing. Yep, you guessed it. Men are from Mars. Or Jupiter ... well, you get the drift.
On the day of rehearsals, I called him at work to see if everything was confirmed with his dad. "He can't watch Quinn because he's going to the same meeting," Brian informed me. What in Jumping Jupiter was he talking about?
"To Parent Night?"
"No, to the blah, blah, blah business meeting."
"Business meeting?" We've been talking about two different meetings the ENTIRE WEEK? "You were supposed to go to Parent Night."
"I told you that I had to go to this meeting for my clients." No, he did not. He left out this very important fact. "They're paying me $200 an hour to attend this meeting."
Yes, but I ... I've got this play. And they're paying me ... okay ... nothing. But, hey, how often do I have a play in the works?
Goodbye suave, trendy Playwright; Hello, frazzled SuperMom. A million phone calls later, I had babysitting, went to play rehearsals, banished my husband to the nether regions of Pluto, and even made it to my daughter's school.
So, All's well that Ended well on the planet of Venus.
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