May Day

 

May 1, 2021

Sweetboi very loud today. I’m thinking his chicks hatched and he is screeching fatherhood to the world. When I came into the kitchen this morning, he was waiting on his limb, staring fiercely into the window, patient as only the tumultuous can be. 

Planted a huge box of daylilies yesterday in the cool & bright. I think I thought I was ordering three of each, whereas I was ordering, apparently, twelve. 

So last evening was one of those rarities: I stepped on stage at Montford as a modern dancer. The dance was affecting, and people who saw it wept. I think pathos was what A was going for, and the fact that it had the effect she wanted made me think I did all right, or at least didn’t impede. She actually made the mistake– forgetting a whole passage and having to look over at me to see what I was doing. It’s not that one gloats, but that one is so relieved not to have marred another’s creation. Didn’t see the other dances, but heard and liked the music. Also, one observes that one’s memory is intact, though I note from this brief exposure that it’s not the same kind of memory that propels a scholar or writer. It is far more like painting, a memory almost semi-conscious. She said, “it’s wonderful to be paired with an actor instead of just a dancer.” I figured acting is what I could bring to it. Enjoyed this. A is a good enough choreographer to include only action that this imperfect body could actually do. 

A bit of scenery interfered with where Ann thought she wanted the choir to stand, and in an instant she stood center stage pointing and declaring, “That must go now!” The boys in the organization looked at one another, knowing that it was bolted to the floor and getting it on and off would be awkward and time-consuming. I found somewhere else for the choir to stand, but what was running through my mind was that I would never have said such a thing or used such a tone. She studied under Balanchine and Martha Graham. I had no such mentors. Or mentors of even remotely equal rank. Not knowing them, I had no impulse to become them.

The weather for May Day was the most perfect in the history of the world.

My step counter sends me a message saying I did not meet my steps goal last month. I want to answer, “I was learning a dance. I revised five plays and wrote another one whole. “It suggests that I might want to revise my goal, so I’m not disappointed all the time. 

Hunter the Barber’s wife read the copy of OBN I sent. Review: “She liked it. She blew through it.” I have at least one fan living in a trailer.