April 30, 2011

Had a choice between the roller derby and the theater last night. Chose John’s Labyrinth at MF. The atmosphere in the café is richer each time I go, old friends, new friends. The ensemble of actors is smoother, too, professional, effortless. The backbone of the art of it all is inspired directing. That is not often the case. I say to B who was ushering “How’s it going?” and he says, “Not so well, I went to the doctor and she says the cancer is back, and it’s terminal. I have four months.” Absolutely no line in the world can follow that one. “Alas!” maybe. The play was John’s best-- that I have seen-- and daring in conception.

Ste’s painting arrived, but was slapped with a 25 pound surcharge of some sort, which he cannot pay. It was a bad idea from the first. I felt it, should have given up, but still don’t understand why such a simple operation involved so much thwarting and complexity.

Met M in the Ingle’s parking lot. She had a bag full of rodent poison. She said, “I consulted with my animal medium– I went to her so I could learn to talk to my dog; my dog is the one who first warned me about the mice–and she said that before I poisoned the mice I should give them fair warning, which I have done: putting drawings of death and dark images that mice would understand around the house, so at least they would know what’s coming and be able to make conscious decisions. It’s only fair.” I offered the loan of a cat and of my immense, and possibly hungry, blacksnake, but the dog had already agreed the poison was the way to go; it wouldn’t give him issues about no longer being the only animal in the house.

Day cold but blazing bright. I weeded and weeded, wounding myself in the process of freeing the pink antique rose from its tangle of wild honeysuckle.