April 7, 2014

A load of whites tossing in the washer downstairs makes an unexpected harmony with the rain on the roof. I wish Linda’s visit could be longer, but I had too many things to do here and she too many in Atlanta. Huge cheap breakfast at 5 Points. We both noticed the spongy quality of the soil in the backyard, which I coupled with the fact that nobody knows where the graywater pipes lead, leading to the conclusion that one should not inquire too deeply for now. Our director came backstage yesterday to tell us the day’s performance was “low energy.” Since I have the first two lines, and most of the opening scene, I take blame for setting the course. The experiment was to see if I could do the lines without going over them in my head while waiting backstage for my cue, which is usually all the reminder I need. Not a good idea. We ran over the usual time; I refused to stay for the cast photo (because of Cantaria; someone must announce these thing beforehand), Will S was late for work. I am never in the cast photo. I have gone through my life undocumented. Exhausting Cantaria rehearsal, then a celebration of Steven’s birthday at Avenue M. Awake part of the night with bile eruption, which I blame on the wolfish consumption of birthday cake. Troubled dreams, involving a cave or a long corridor made of stone.

April 6, 2014

Eventful Saturday. I rose early, and though it was bitter cold & windy, I was determined to do some gardening. Planted pink dicentra and all the lily bulbs that had been gathering here and there waiting for their time. I hope it was their time. Linda arrived from Atlanta. We visited the old house briefly, and DJ, lunched, and then it was time for the play. Linda said she enjoyed the play and that it didn’t seem overlong. The Saturday audience was wholly attentive, responsive, delightful. The audience should realize that when it does its part, everybody has a better time. I’d never gotten a chance to ask anyone about my performance before. Received no notes after the first few days of rehearsal. The cast doesn’t discuss each other’s performances (this is well) and to corner somebody and demand “how am I doing?” is just too needy. Apparently I’m doing just fine, and people around her were nattering about my acting skills and remembering when they’d seen me on stage in this and that. In lieu of an actual review–ever–this is good enough. Pinot grigio at home, and then a bottomless sleep. Untimely, I dream of having an evil sister. Breakfast and then a drive to seek baby chicks, which we, providentially, did not find. Now it is almost time to return to the theater. I will be elevated this afternoon, knowing I am doing well.

April 5, 2014

Lively performance last night, buoyed by the liveliest crowd we’ve had yet. An entire row may have been filled, but with theater people, such as Trinity S, and that makes the difference. One loud woman cried “Bravo” or “Brava” implacably as each man or woman took a bow. I wanted to suggest “Bravi!” Our review in the C-T was by a man who had not seen the whole show (he was there, but it is long and he is old) but who had diligently researched details of Shaw’s life online. Asheville actually demands no better, so–

Great dark bird flying outside my tiny attic window, circling to stay in the span of the window. Dark and rain-squally, I think, which may compromise my plans for planting.

Woke in a bad mood without knowing exactly why. The last dream was of my beautiful spring-green sports car being in a fender-bender, and my having to hire a kind of wreck-narrative performer to sing the story to my insurance company. I hired Trinity. She had to wear a costume the same color as the car.

April 4, 2014

Planted white dicentra. The guy who owns the nursery (or who was at least driving the tractor) is heroically handsome, like some old Viking chief.

Did my best performance yet, before an audience of nine. The human energy cost of doing a three hour performance of Shaw for nine people is too great, and I would have pulled the plug, I think. No one complained, though: not even I at the time. Some policy–perhaps choice of play, or venue-- should be reconsidered. I appreciate a chance at the repertoire, of course. Stopped at the hotel for a vodka afterward in my spiffy tie and vest. Met T at the bar. He followed me home, but I was exhausted, and so he watched TV until I don’t know what hour. Still trying to figure out how he locked the door behind him without having a key. Maybe he left through a window. Many dreams of travel.

Writing goes well. Having opened a new door, I find that the corridors are endless.

Gossip at rehearsal last night made me realize that I had passed a notice on the university listserve by without full comprehension. Our not-beloved provost is likely heading out to be President of Guilford. Though that’s good news for us, it amazes me that she could have done such a horrendous job here and still get what I assume is a kind of promotion. It’s like the Catholic church, where child molesting priests were passed on to new venues rather than defrocked. The upper echelons of university administration is a caste which perpetuates itself without reference to how good or how bad a job an individual has actually done. Poor Guilford, though.

April 3, 2014

Too many cosmopolitans last night. The other interpretation is exactly the right number of cosmopolitans.

Excellent classes on the pre-Socratics. It’s a shame Brian wants to fire me, because I really am very good at this.

Linda coming to be the first houseguest.

Sleeping with the windows open. Friendly rumble of the town around.

April 2, 2014

Taking delight in my new house, as I was almost afraid to do, lest some jealous spirit be watching. I think that I’m not superstitious, but then things like that come up. . . . Sitting in the sun on the front porch. A few windows open a crack last night, the furnace off. The week before, rehearsal was called on account of blizzard. Gobbling up my time off from the theater like a glutton.

April 1, 2014

Between classes I opened the accumulated cartons and took out of them and planted hellebore and sanguinaria. There is a backlog of lily bulbs waiting, but I fear it is still too early.

Realize that the humanities war is pointless. We will be digging a hundred holes five feet deep, when the water lies at ten feet, and we will be congratulating ourselves on breadth. This could have been avoided had the new chairman conferred rather than rashly ordained. He is in a position where there will be no going back, except after failure. My certainty faded a little before a lecture he gave yesterday on philosophy which, though thinned out by his own precepts, was brilliant. . . . but brilliant if you already know the entire historical and contextual background, which is what the new plan insists on leaving out. We’ll see what the students think.

Loud crying of birds in the trees between my study and the street.

Tolkien class thrashing through the Silmarillion.

When I came home a mockingbird was in Lawrence’s pool. I ran to save him from drowning, but he had judged rightly that Lawrence’s rocks is less than an inch below water, and he can drink from the great and fishy pool whenever he wants. How does a bird judge these things? Does he account for refraction, for illusions wrought by the water? I imagined fish and bird chatting from their separate worlds.