January 9, 2018

Looked out the window to see a blaze-head pileated woodpecker drinking at my pond. It would have been worth it only for that. He refused to drink along with the crows, but flew away when they arrived, and came back later.

I’d had anxiety about my physical ability to complete the work necessary for my art show. But, coming to the hour, I hauled all the frames up into the studio, and spent the morning- a happy morning, actually–framing. Bought the wrong frames for some pieces, the wood of which is far too thick. Those can be painted on the side and look just as well. As soon as I came to that realization, out came the acrylics, when I quickly learned the pipes in the building were frozen and, for the moment there was no water and acrylics could not be used. I left it for later. While I was eating salad at Asheville Pizza, K phoned me. He said, “I have some bad news.” The bad news was that a pipe had burst in the Arts building at Mars Hill, destroying the gallery. “The walls are buckled, the floor is buckled, Shannon can’t get into her office. . . “ I think I was understanding, though I couldn’t keep the words, “But I spent $700 on framing!” from coming out of my mouth. He said he’d probably need to cancel all the shows this semester. I went home and lay down, which is how I handle such things. The argument in your head is interesting: you outline all the ways in which the event is absurd or wasteful or unfair, but then realize it’s already happened, and the superiority of your interests turns out not to matter. I think this is how people must feel when their houses burn down: well, that was unfair. Rose from my nap to take another call from K, in which he outlined the ways in which this might yet turn out well, or less catastrophically. Whatever happens, I know he spent his day fighting on my behalf, which is well and joyful even if nothing else is.

Went to rehearsal in the evening. Two of the cast are already excellent. One is working too hard (I found myself wishing he would throw away a line here or there). Chris is an excellent director, detailed and precise, though she makes the mistake of working beats hard and neglecting the flow of the scene. Most beats will fix themselves if the scene is allowed to take shape.

The actor who is supposed to have the nice singing voice has the bad one. Can’t be helped.

M hauled out the keyboard I had given to the theater. She said, “it’s time to use our crappy keyboard.”
“Why do you say it’s crappy?” I inquire.
“Because someone gave it to us and it can’t be very good if someone gave it to us.”
“Well I gave it to the theater, and I wasn’t aware that it was crappy when I did so,”
She tried to walk her original comment back, but I didn’t make it easy.