Argyle Socks with High Heals

My show at the Montgomery Theater opened this weekend and it was described as "So funny", "Delightful", and "Smart" by my roomate Becca, an expert in giving great compliments. She also said that I have nice calves. I don't own cows so I'm assuming she means my legs.

There's a scene in The Quiet Man with John Wayne where he drags his stubborn wife (played by Maureen O'Hara) 5 miles back to their house. She falls a couple times, loses a shoe, hits her head on the ground and struggles to keep up. All the towns people are watching with bated breath to see if their hero will succeed in calming the storm that is his wife. Aren't we all victims? Maureen O'Hara has strength that she is unable to display but at the same time John Wayne is living up to the tough guy stereotype when maybe all he really wants to do follow.

Dramedy

I've recently joined an improv tragedy group. "What is improv tragedy?" you may ask. I suppose it's not so different from improv comedy. It's hard to tell the difference between tragedy and comedy sometimes anyway.

Aunt Doris stood there in Aunt Connie's bedroom a few years ago. Her trip from Indiana went well. No real complications. We chatted lightly as I tried to avert my eyes away from the new flatness on the right side of her nightgown. The loss of symatry is so painful. We talked of her grandsons, her impending move to North Carolina, fond memories of grandma. My mind tessered to a time when I'd visit the town house she shared with Aunt Peggy and we'd all go trick-or-treating or swimming in the community pool. I quickly forgot about her missing breast. She was a survivor. A person who lived richly. She lived in Michigan when her husband was alive. She moved to Ohio when we needed her. Her grandchildren in Indiana had her for a few years and grandchildren in North Carolina were blessed with her pressence until she died on Wednesday. She was a sort of Mary Poppins I suppose. She'd pop in and bring a spoonful sugar then move on to the next house in need. I will miss her.