May 12, 2008

Stormy morning. The furnace kicked ion. I ran to look at the garden, but there are 30 degrees between the furnace kicking on and freezing, and all is well, if chill.

Sick to my stomach, partially in dread of what is happening in Atlanta to my father, partially in anticipation of what might happen in New York. It is a sensation I don’t like very much.
Sidney phoned to say that I might not want to come to the rehearsal Tuesday, as it is a cue-to-cue. The tone of the call was rather preparing-me-for-the-worst, though I wasn’t too frightened, as the cast was pretty good last year even with the scripts in their hands. Unless there’s some tech or set disaster, I don’t see how things can be too bad if they just get out the lines. MC phones to say he has a ticket for opening night.

Stephen Kurtz, Principal of Exeter during my year, has died. So far as I could tell, he was a man in whom there was no shadow.