Working two productions at the same time sucks…a lot. I am Assistant Stage Manager for a student production. The play is called Fur by Migdalia Cruz, and we are flying the playwright out here for production week, so everything must be perfect. For the past week and a half I have also been the Master Electrician for a play on the main stage; Uncle Vanya by Anton Chekov. Now, you might think both of those titles sound very important, and they sort of are, but really being an ASM means I am a runner bitch for the PSM and the director. Being an ME is not all that cool. I do dimmer checks, which means I turn the lights on before the show and make sure nothing is burnt out, and no gels need to be changed out. There are some other small responsibilities, but nothing all that important.
I may bitch and complain and whine about having to work both of these shows, but ignore me. I love it. I love being a part of something. We put on a performance for others; we let them escape their reality to enforce a new perspective of reality. These are the first performances where I have actually been involved heavily with watching the shows from their beginnings and see them evolve into magic. That is the way one of my professors put it, we create magic for people for one night of their lives. The crew, not so much with the actors, but the crew tends to have this amazing sense of community. We never really get to see the production they way audiences see it, but we put in long hours, lots of sweat and heart into it for them.
It is tough though. I am never home. Ever. Just ask my roommates, they really haven’t seen me in a month. Okay not really, but it has only been in passing. I didn’t even know G-fresh had been sick for a couple days, a while ago. I get home after most of them have gone to bed, the only exception is when Linus and Flynn are up playing Halo into the wee hours of the morning, or they are working on the comic they forgot about.
It has been a weird season around these parts. We are used to the leaves turning color in a week, and then all of them in procession one after the other tumble to the ground in a day. Not this year. The trees are relishing in the heat, taking their time to drop their colors. Biking through the crunchy-ness of leaves with a slight crisp to the air clears my head of heavy thoughts. Normally this time of year I fall into a deep depression, but hope has been found lurking around the corners. A week of hardships and name calling, are soothed by little remembrances of love. I find comfort in the smell of patchouli this week and slight whispers on the wind, when reminded of dead loved ones, birthdays.
Talking to a good friend last night about moving forward and moving on with life, I am reminded that change is not bad. She tells me it brings growth. I tell her change is the only thing we can count on, the only thing really we can rely on. “How true. How wonderful.” She says.
In a season of change, becoming dormant, and the smell of pumpkin pies, revel in the hopes, in the movement forward, in the laughter of family, in the ties that connect us all, and in knowing that change is our only constant.
"On The Radio"
This is how it works
It feels a little worse
Than when we drove our hearse
Right through that screaming crowd
While laughing up a storm
Until we were just bone
Until it got so warm
That none of us could sleep
And all the styrofoam
Began to melt away
We tried to find some words
To aid in the decay
But none of them were home
Inside their catacomb
A million ancient bees
Began to sting our knees
While we were on our knees
Praying that disease
Would leave the ones we love
And never come again
On the radio
We heard November Rain
That solo's really long
But it's a pretty song
We listened to it twice
'Cause the DJ was asleep
This is how it works
You're young until you're not
You love until you don't
You try until you can't
You laugh until you cry
You cry until you laugh
And everyone must breathe
Until their dying breath
No, this is how it works
You peer inside yourself
You take the things you like
And try to love the things you took
And then you take that love you made
And stick it into some
Someone else's heart
Pumping someone else's blood
And walking arm in arm
You hope it don't get harmed
But even if it does
You'll just do it all again
-Regina Spektor, Begin to Hope
