April 21, 2018

Those inexplicable spirits that move the hearts of men have bread rising in the oven downstairs. I rose determined just to buy something for the department pot luck, but before I knew it was elbow deep in flour. The lawn outside the kitchen windows is dramatic with the lights and darks of dawn.

Sam and I went to the Magnetic last night to see B’s take on Ibsen’s The Doll’s House. It was exactly and only that, point by point, “updated” to 1962, I think, and the tarantella changed to a mambo. I think Nora is given more time to explain at the end than she was by Ibsen, but that is a flaw. It was a well-made play because Ibsen made it. After the first five minutes I wondered why B had thought she should do it and why the Magnetic thought they should produce it. Sam, who didn’t know the original, was intrigued by it, though questioned whether the relationship between male and female in the household rang true even in 1962. Too much in the “modernization” simply didn’t work. Why not just put on Ibsen’s play if you want to make those points? I congratulated her heartily. Cocktails afterwards at Vivian’s.

Department party at Anne’s. I survived. Came home and took down the vine trellis ahead of the replacement of the fence.