My Thighs Are Sore, but Work Was Terrific

I went to the Theatre today because a new shipment of lights and lenses came in today, which need to be unpacked, tagged, lit, and focused. It's a pretty menial and time consuming task, but it's honest work. Until Gary asks, "Warner, are you afraid of heights?"

"No," I reply definitely. In my most naive of fashions, I thought he would be sending me up to the pick rail or catwalks. What actually happened was the arrival of our safety harnesses, ordered by decree of OSHA because they don't have enough to do during the day. They are going to be cumbersome and awkward, we will have to train every person who wants or needs to go into the box booms (sort of upright catwalks on either side of the audience) on how to put them on, adjust them, attach them, and what to do in case of a fall.

My irritation at the new regulations aside, we still needed to adjust the "little person" harness for a small girl of my general stature. It took a lot more tugging and pulling than I had anticipated. Gary knows where the straps are supposed to hold after a fall, but the challenge was in finding where they need to lie when in the rest position. The chest strap ended up being too high on me, while the back was too low. By trial and error, we finally came up with a suitable range for the rest position.

So how does one go about trying to find where straps will end up after a fall? Why, by being lifted into the air, of course. After the guys did all the pulling and tugging to get the harness small enough for me, I was hooked up and raised into the air for short amount of time to observe where everything settled. The first time, everything was so loose I ended up almost flat on my stomach, Superman style. That is not at all safe for the small space we'll be working in. A round of tugging and pulling later, I was upright. That's when the "safety" talk began. Did you know that a person can only stay in that position with the leg straps cutting off an artery for 15 minutes before they start experiencing blood toxicity? And after about 20 minutes consciousness is lost? If I fall, I'm supposed to start yelling for help right away.

Being strapped in a harness and raised even a foot in the air, I began getting a little homesick. I really miss rock climbing. I need it in my life. My destiny is to open a climbing gym.

What Childhood Taught Me

I decided that today was the last day I would pull into the driveway and see a flowerbed full of weeds. I've told myself for the entirety of the summer that I will go buy some flowers and soil to fill the empty beds. Today was the day, and nobody could tell me otherwise.

I went to babysit my 7-year-old, who I will be babysitting for two more weeks, and tried to dress her and shoo her immediately into the car. We had a blowout because I wouldn't tell her the secret adventure we would be going on. In the car, she said, "Okay, but if it's a boy store, I'm not going in." Lowe's isn't a store just for boys, but we still had a lot of pouting and griping before getting out of the car.

I let her pick out flowers for my garden. Of course, she had a taste for the expensive ones. I mostly curbed it with, "Those are pretty purple ones, but I think I like these purple ones on the bottom, better." With one exception. I fell in love with the orange Asiatic Lilies. I knew they had to be in my house.



Claire was a real trooper for such a young tyke. It's hard to judge how she'll deal with some situations, but she was all for rescuing worms from my dirt pile and digging holes. She may have ended up with more dirt on herself than in the flower bed, but at least she had fun.


Sometimes she'd throw the dirt into the holes, sometimes she'd throw it on the sidewalk, sometime she'd throw it on me. I've been waiting for it to dry out a bit so I can go sweep the steps.

After a full morning of work, I have 4 types of annuals in my garden. One large yellow, one large purple, two small reds, and two small purples. I can't remember the exact types, but at least 3 of them had tags that said, "Attracts butterflies." I've already seen a few hanging around out there.


If there is one thing I will never understand about Claire, it's how she can pick up twenty worms, talk soothingly to them, play in the dirt all day, and still scream about a harmless daddy long legs on the curtain. I'm not sure why, but she made me take a picture of this fella, who only had 5 legs.

Cruel Humor

I believe in Karma, but in a much more logical sense. I do good to those around me, and they are more willing to do good for me. Much of the time, the relationship is direct; I cook for the boys and they take me bowling. Sometimes, it is a much more roundabout and obscure way.

I worry about money. A lot. I like to think to myself, "Everyone has money problems." I worry about not being able to find a full time job and not having enough work so I can earn a living. People know my problems, and I have people around who can help by throwing in an extra meal or mowing the grass once in a while.

But today I was thrown for a big loop in the eternal mechanization of good deeds and rewards. My supervisor, Tom has three girls, the youngest being 7 years old. He and his wife both work at the University and have a babysitter to take care of his little girl during the day. His babysitter requested a large chunk of time off, about 3 weeks.

Tom has picked his daughter up from school several times and had to bring her to work for a few hours because there weren't any other options. His daughter takes to Wiki almost immediately, because he's always nice to her without treating her like a toddler and because he is always there and has been for years. Occasionally, his daughter will tire of Wiki and come hang out with me. She spent most of the last crew picnic playing games with me.

I'm glad that Tom knows the kind of person I am and what character I hold to allow me into his home and influencing his children. I'm especially grateful for the opportunity to work and earn a little more spending money for the end of the summer. But does Karma have to be so cruel as to send a 3rd job to help make ends meet? What about 1 full time job, for a change, Karma?

Angry At The Boys

I had to walk two miles this afternoon in the heat of summer to pick up Jacob's bicycle from the roommate he had over a year ago. There wasn't anyone around to give me a ride there, and especially no one with a vehicle big enough to throw the bicycle in and just drive it home. His old roommate had a specific time frame, so I cut my sleep short to meet up with him. It's an uphill ride almost the entire way.

All this came after spending the week moving James's and Jacob's "valuable items" out of their old apartment and into my garage until their new lease starts. This was in addition to working two jobs all week. It's now Sunday evening, and I am exhausted.

Those boys owe me big.

I'm Sorry, but I'm Dumping You

I am angry this morning. I have spent the last three years in a wonderful relationship, and it has fallen apart in the last two months. I've laughed, I've cried, shared all my personal secrets, spent the entire time inseparably together. But today, I've come to realize that it is over. There is nothing left to do but throw it out the window and start fresh. I'm depressed, but hopefully something better will come along this weekend.



I am, of course, talking about my old Motorola Krazor cell phone. I've had it for three years now, and it has been very reliable. Can you guess how many times I've dropped it or crushed it? The numbers are nearly all worn through on the keypad and I'm missing two buttons on the top.

Lately, the phone has been disagreeing with the battery. It started out with the diminished capacity to hold a charge, then the charge times grew longer and longer. Yesterday, I took the plug out and sent a grand total of three text messages to James before the "low battery" signal came on. This week, it has decided to randomly stop recognizing that there is a battery in the phone at all. The phone will suddenly quit, die, disconnect, stop charging, not begin charging in the first place. It's getting frustrating. This morning, a new element was added to this downward spiral of anger and hate. Freezing. Every thing is perfectly fine, a text message comes in, I click to open it, and BAM, I'm not doing anything. I'm waiting until the phone decides to start working again, because it won't even let me shut it down in this state.

When I get paid on Friday, I'll go down to Verizon and see what I can get. I don't have anything in mind, and will probably get the cheapest one that is on sale. I will miss my old phone.

Legal Love Versus Free Love

Coming from Utah and being raised in a very big, very Mormon family, I put up with a lot of crazy questions and arguments about the validity of my family's religious beliefs. I'm at a point in my life and in my relationship where marriage is becoming a big deal. All the friends I grew up with are engaged or married and starting families of their own, but all the friends I have made here on the east coast think I should have another 5-1o years to wait before even considering such a big step.

One person in particular is adamantly opposed to the idea of James and I starting a life so soon. She like to tell me how brainwashed I've been by the evil Mormons, and states the same facts of "such-and-and such a factor makes you more likely to get a divorce." My offending factors; wanting to marry young, wanting to have children within 5 years of marrying, knowing my future spouse for less than 5 years, among others. I take what she says with a grain of salt because of some of her offending factors; living with a man before marriage, wanting a childless marriage, she doesn't smile for photographs, among other factors.

Our discussions of religion and/or marriage always come back to the early Mormon practice of polygamy. I read a blog post from a crazy woman condemning the polygamists of the Eldorado, Texas compound when Child Protection took more than 400 children out of their homes back in 2008. What she failed to acknowledge was the fact that every single child taken from the compound was returned to his or her parents because there wasn't anything illegal about the compound. The children were well fed, educated within U.S. laws, given adequate space to live and grow, and by all accounts were just as happy and healthy as any other middle class family in America.

This is less of a legal issue and more of a social or moral issue. The United States Government does not legally recognize the second or third marriage of a polygamist, only the first marriage. It isn't legal for a man to keep multiple families in a dwelling, so long as there aren't any cases of neglect or abuse stemming from inadequate space and/or resources. But here's where the moral issue come in. So many people are willing to berate a man who wants to care for and love multiple families while bearing the title of husband to both/all at the same time. However, those people can condone a man who leaves his first wife, with whom he took vows to honor and love for the rest of his life, to marry another woman, with whom he will share those same vows. The only difference is whether or not he chooses to uphold the original contract, and the winner is the man who defaults on his commitment.

It's unacceptable for a man to have 12 children by two wives, but perfectly fine if he wants nearly 20 children with one wife. But then again, it is okay for a man to have 12 children by two women so long as they aren't both his wife at the same time. And who decided that it is wrong for a man to take responsibility for multiple women he loves, but that he is justifies if he abandons one family in lieu of another?

Quite frankly, I wouldn't want to be a part of a polygamist marriage myself. Living with other women is awful, let alone having to share with them. James would not be well suited to multiple wives, either. He has enough trouble keeping me, alone, happy most of the time.

But I suppose with the Eldorado, Texas compound, the issue lies in allegations of forced marriage and marriage to children. I know a girl who could shout and wave a banner for days protesting the marriage of a 16-year-old, but she will sit down and watch a two day marathon of the MTV series 16 And Pregnant without batting an eyelash. In her world, is it amoral to allow a 16 year old to reproduce within the confines of a marital union, but tolerable for that same 16 year old to bear an illegitimate child?

I just finished reading The Man Who Had Been King, a history of Napoleon Bonaparte's oldest brother, Joseph, throughout the imperial rule and his exile in America. Napoleon disagreed with the marriage of his youngest brother, Lucien, to a woman with absolutely no noble blood and attempted to have the marriage annulled by decree of the Pope. Lucien fled to Rome with his wife to protect his marriage, saying that is was ordained of God and could not be broken. Lucien stayed faithful to his wife for his entire life, but was disowned by his family for his choice in marriage. However, Joseph married a noble woman of Napoleon's choosing and had two children with her. He also had at least 6 other children by 4 other women, including an American 2 years younger than his oldest daughter. The family still loved and accepted Joseph.

If I keep going, I will end up with a book ranting about the discrepancies between legal, moral, and everlasting marriages. I'm starting a new blog which I will dedicate solely to my quest to find a happy marriage that will last long after I am dead. http://www.marriagequest1397.blogspot.com

I'd like to invite everyone to share ideas for posts. I have a lot, and I'm sure I can get a lot more as I go, but I've not experienced a loving marriage as of yet and will need help from those who have/are.

Hypnotized

Last Friday, I was the lucky recipient of a rare summer work opportunity at the theatre. As great as that sounds, it was even better when I discovered that I was working the famed hypnotist show. Seriously, like every single person who has ever worked this in the past decade still raves about how great it is.

I'm just going to throw this out there, but I would make an excellent hypnotism candidate. If I didn't have to do something during the show, I would have been all up on that stage stealing a valuable experience from some snooty high school kid. Some of my qualifications; constant sleep deprivation, active imagination, ability to fall asleep in an upright sitting position, sleep talking, little to no recollection of past events, and the willingness to look like a fool in front of large amounts of people.

He wasn't some second rate amateur grad student either, they fly the guy in from Florida every year. He really does tours, professionally, around the nation to hypnotize people. I know his name was Tom, but I can't remember his last name. Anyway, I was struggling not to get pulled in while he put all the participants to sleep. I was sitting next to a speaker with weird psychotic music playing, within earshot of everything that was happening. I kept having to stand up and walk away to stay awake. Totally worth staying awake, though.

Highlights

There was a young man Tom convinced to be a defender of fruit. The boy was told that fruit has feelings, too, and it was his job to protect it. Later, Tom apologized for not having eaten before the show and pulled an apple out of his pocket. "STOP," the boy yelled. "Don't eat that apple. It has feeling." Tom argued with him about how a person can know that an apple feels pain, and finally handed over the apple. So Tom pulled a banana out of his pocket (that pocket had to go all down the length of his pants, because he pulled so much stuff out of there.) The boy snatched it from him, and said, "All fruit has feelings."

The boy harbored the fruit for near a half hour. During the next round of hypnotizing, Tom made the boy believe he hadn't eaten for two days and was starving to death. It took a few minutes of staring down the apple, the boy said, "I'm sorry," and took a big bite. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" Tom yelled. "That apple had feelings." The boy cursed, fell to his knees, and started sobbing about what he had done. Tom coaching him through some apple CPR, he revived the poor apple, and started eating the banana. After resuscitating the banana, he became a certified Fruit Hero, and continued to harbor the apple for the rest of the show.

At one point, Tom had everyone onstage believe that the audience members were all in their underwear. There was laughing onstage, some awkward looks at the floor, and a few red cheeks. One girl got up, and tried to walk off stage to join them. ... ??? ... Then Tom turned the joke, and made the participants believe that they were the ones in their underwear. One girl ran off stage, two or three tried to hide behind Tom's assistants, the girl who tried to join the naked audience and the boy next to her proudly posed onstage. Everyone's favorite, though, was the boy who screamed and tried so desperately to get away that he knocked over his chair and ended up hiding underneath it.

There was a boy who was made to believe he was a spy with a trick gun (a water gun) that could only shoot his target when the gun was pointed at himself. There was a boy who gave a different name every time he was asked. There was a lot of panic when a "badger" escaped on the stage, resulting on one of our stagehands practically being tackled by a girl running to get away.

Tom had a boy disbelieve Tom was a magician, but any time Tom said, "Freeze," the boy would would go back in the trance. Tom used this to make the boy believe a girl in the front row was an escape artist, and she disappeared from right in front of him and reappeared behind him. It was great.

I had a good time at work, and hope that someday I get to participate in one of these performances.

Meringues

I found an awesome recipe for Meringue cookies in my magic cookbook, and though I'd share what an amazing desert I made. I whipped 3 egg whites, 1/4 tsp cream of tartar, and 1/2 cup brown sugar until stiff peaks appeared. If you desire, you can fold in some pecans, but I did not desire. Spoon into 8 or so globs and smooth with the back of a spoon. It is best to put them on parchment paper, because they are very sticky when baked. Bake at 250 for one hour, then turn off heat and allow to sit in warm oven for 2 hours.



Fill the completed meringues with a fruit of your choice. James's choice was peaches.




Top with a scoop of ice cream, or a dollop of whipped cream.



And you will have the best dessert ever. Also, we ran out of fruit and put some Nutella in the grove with a scoop of ice cream. Not as healthy as the fruit, but just as tasty.

James Needed a Haircut.

My New Friend

The warm weather has brought out all sorts of wildlife in my own backyard. We have enough bees to start our own farm, and there is never a shortage of squirrels. However, there is one little fellow that seems to have befriended me. Many of you may remember my escapades with trying to capture him in the shower.

Well, I'm most positive this is the same little critter from before. Every day, he sneaks along the deck right up to the back door, lifts himself up on the step, and spends a few moments looking around inside. He must be searching for that darn cat that caught him last year. When he is quite satisfied that there is nothing to fear, he scuttles along his way and picks up the crumbs we drop when we barbecue. I think I need to name him.

My Cake Wreck

I had everyone over for a barbecue at my house to present James with his birthday present of a new charcoal smoker and grill. Because it was an unofficial birthday celebration, I made a cake. James requested a strawberry cake with kiwi icing. The internet gave me a recipe, and we ate one delicious cake.

Leah posted a photo of her cake, which looked something like this:


Expertly frosted, garnished with fresh strawberries and a dollop of cream. Probably tasted delicious.

I have never been very good at cakes. I'm finally at the point in my life where I can get it out of the pan in one piece. These are the reasons my cake came out something like this:



I'll work on that. For now, I'll stick with cupcakes.

A Summer Garden

Spring has sprung in the rolling hills of Central Pennsylvania. I spent my entire weekend out in the yard, preparing for all the big plans I have for this summer.

To begin, I dug a hole that was intended to be large but turned out quite small. It is my intention to gradually fill this hole with my organic food waste so I may turn it into the beautiful black soil I discovered underneath a large pile of leaves next to the house. A project that I anticipated taking an hour turned into three. The first part was easy, digging the grass out in clumps. The six inches below that was easy, lifting solid shovels of dirt. Then I hit the layer of rocks. I spent way too much time leveraging fist sized stones out of the ground. To make matters worse, the nice rich soil turned to yellow clay. It was hot out, the shovel was getting heavy, the rocks seemed to get bigger, the clay more dense. I would have like to dig another half foot down, but I am happy with my organic compost hole.

After digging, I went up on the deck and swept the leaves out of all the corners and crevices. A nice little five minute project, and nothing too special. I noticed when I swept the leaves off the deck, there was a huge piling of leaves all around the deck and house. My original plan was to leave them and allow them to decompose and mulch the lawn naturally. But this is not Utah, and things don't dry up and break apart in a matter of days. The leaves were beginning to kill the grass, so I decided to pull out the rake and go to. Plan B was to take all the leaves and put them in the unused flower bed next to the garage so they could decompose there and make that beautiful black soil I saw them becoming. Then I realized just how many leaves were in the yard. It was three times as much as what I used to collect in Utah throughout the entire fall, and I was only halfway through the back yard. My neighbors came to the rescue with a large tarp so I could rake the leaves onto it and drag them to the curb. This is why Pennsylvania has curbside pickup.

Throughout the day, curious neighbors kept observing my work from their decks. I guess it's been a while since anyone really took care of this rental property. I'm going to dig up an 8-foot by 10-foot patch in the front yard and begin a garden next week. I love fresh food, and I love gardens. Being in the sun all day sure made me happy.



Today, I went out after breakfast to empty my peels and stems into my new compost hole. I leaned over and poured out the bucket, shaking rigorously until the last little stems left the bucket. When I straightened up, James was on the deck watching me, a big grin on his face. "I'm staring at you like a creeper," he said. Said I, "Oh, you like watching me dump the compost?" To which he replied, "I like to watch you in your natural environment." "Where, the wild?" "Yes, the wild."

I look forward to a summer of grilling and barbecuing at my deck parties, and James watching me take care of my wild. It's going to be a great summer.

The Best Kind of People

At my job, I meet people of all sorts from all walks of life. We've seen celebrities, musicians, actors, directors, cast, crew, poets, singers. I always welcome an opportunity to speak with those traveling through our theatre. Occasionally, I am blessed to meet that "rainbow in the clouds," as Maya Angelou put it, and see the true worth of an unknown man.

This past week, I was enticed in conversation with a man who introduced himself as simply "C.W." He is a 57 year old colored man from Virginia, working for retirement and nearing the end of his road. The animation with which he told his story was matched only by the enthusiasm of Gary, a Washington, DC man himself. I am humbled in the presence of a great character such as C.W., and would like to relate what I can of his story so you may know a little about one of the most special people to walk this earth.

C.W. was born in Virginia, and there he stayed. He's been in love with his wife since the day he met her, and his gaze has never strayed. They married, and both attended college despite having a baby girl and little income to speak of. "There were times when we was so broke we couldn't even afford the tears to cry with." I let him know that I understood the feeling, as I am going through the financial struggles of college and adulthood. He said, "Sugar, you just gotta look at the good times and know that they'll never stop no matter how broke you go." C.W. and his wife managed to both graduate, rotating classes so that one of them would always be home to take care of the baby and building up a close group of friends to support each other when times got too hard.

His wife is a lawyer, and he's been through his share of careers. He owns a bus driving company that hauls celebrities for cross-country tours. He's taken care of all the big name celebrities, including personally driving the bus for Barak Obama during the Presidential campaign. C.W. has been through the entire United States, but was barred from driving Maya Angelou to one of her lectures in Canada because he fought a few Canadians and a security guard at the border patrol when he was 17. His partner had to take over for the night.

Having built his company from scratch, he take great care and pride in his work. Gary asked whether C.W. and his partner would be waiting in the bus or going to the hotel during the lecture. "No, sir," replied C.W., "I stay with Miss Angelou from beginning to end." His heart is as big as the bus he drives, and he put forth the greatest love and respect for his aging and ailing client. I only wish I could match it.

"I been working for 37 years or more now," he said. And work is putting it lightly. Five years ago he built his dream house for his wife, who swiftly through him out of his man cave because she didn't like the men smoking their cigars in the house. He's currently fixing the room above the garage so he can still have his personal space in the house without upsetting his wife. He's never stopped working to make her happy, and I don't believe he ever will.

Much like my own mother, C.W. is finished raising his own babies and has been reaping the benefit of being the Grandaddy. His oldest granddaughter is a senior in college, studying to be a specialized nurse. She goes to school full time, works more than 30 hours a week to support herself, and asked C.W.'s help in purchasing a conservative older model car so she could get around. He told me he was so proud of that girl that he went out and bought her a brand new Volkswagen bug. "My son was so upset about me buying that car, but I just told him that girl is workin' hard and she deserve that brand new car when all she asked for was a little help with an old piece o' junk." That granddaughter must be his one pride, because only his wife gave him that same twinkle in his eyes when talking about her.

I was very sad when our conversation was cut short because I was called to take my place for work. I knew there would not be another opportunity to talk with C.W., and I will likely never see him again. He is truly a rainbow in the clouds.

Chicken Noodle Soup

James gave me the cold that he and Jacob had last week. I had hoped to avoid it, but refused to stop kissing him. It's my own fault I suppose. As much as being sick sucks, it does have one redeeming quality: chicken noodle soup.

Now, I've been spoiled my whole life with all these natural ingredients and homemade goodness. But you can get the same thing in the can, right? My roommate had a can of "Healthy Choice" chicken noodle soup, boasting 8 grams of protein, 100 calories, and 460 mg of sodium. I decided to compare the ingredients to what I was making in my crockpot. Take a look at this:

Chicken broth, chicken breast with rib meat, carrots, enriched egg noodles (durum wheat flour, water, whole egg solids, egg white solids, niacin, ferrous sulfate, thiamine mononitrate, riboflavin, folic acid), celery, less than 2% of: modified corn starch, flavor, salt, autolyzed yeast extract, sugar, modified rice starch, rendered chicken fat, potassium chloride, isolated soy protein, maltodextrin, guar gum, xanthan gum, sodium phosphate spice, beta carotene citric acid, disodium inosinate, and guanylate.

If you couldn't tell, that was the list of things contained in a one-serving sized can. In my own soup, listed in order they were thrown in the pot:

Onion, garlic, celery, carrots, broccoli, mushrooms, chicken breast (cooked in butter), potatoes, water, salt, spice, egg noodles( unbleached unbromated flour, eggs, water, salt), peas, and corn.

I could see getting picky and saying that I did, in fact, put the chicken fat in when I cut up the cooked breast and dumped it in and some of my spices (I'm looking at you, sodium chloride) may very well be some of those scientific sounding chemical names. But I still like the look of my ingredients much better. It's just what I need to cure what I have.



I also took the opportunity to bake a new loaf of bread. Fresh baked bread is one of my favorite things in the entire world. When times are good, I'm making some every other week. I still had half a loaf left from a week or two ago, but I figured it would be stale by now and I would pour some broth over it to make stuffing. Imagine my delight when I picked up the aluminum foil package and felt the plush bread give way under my strong grasp. Unfortunately, when I unwrapped the loaf, the top had molded over. I suppose I still get a fresh loaf tonight.

I love bread dough. Most people, especially in my generation and of my age group, have never even seen bread in its raw and uncooked form. When my roommate Angela was in the kitchen while I baked, I implored her to try a pinch of dough. She gave it a disgusted look, turned her nose up, and refused to try. I was very surprised! This is a delight, a delicacy even. Today, my roommate Lisa was interested in learning to make it. I asked if she's ever tried the dough. She said no, so I took a pinch and offered her a pinch. She said it tasted good, but I know she doesn't love it as I have loved it. I grew up eating this stuff! My mom made that dough practically every weekend for the entirety of my childhood. It's like home to me.

I guess that's just what cooking it to me. Home. I am greatly saddened that so many people will never know the happiness I know in the kitchen. A lot of friends say their mothers are great chefs and cook so well, and I get very disappointed when I see these ladies in action, opening cans and dumping bags of frozen veggie mixes. Where did all the magic go?

I solemnly vow to keep the magic of freshness, raw ingredients, wholesome cooking, and love of food alive in my kitchen for now and forever until the end of time. Amen.

Random Acts of Kindness

Following suit after reading Dad's post:

Yesterday started out crumby, but there are too many good people in the world to let it end the same way. At Target, one of the other ladies stopped and helped me roll the empty z-bars into the back room, and the day just got better from there.

The peak of it all was when I got out of my car to work at the theatre. The parking pass I have is for a lot waaaaaay up in the corner of campus, and the theatre sits pretty close to the center. As I was getting out of my car in the middle of the parking lot, I saw the bus pull up. I started "high-stepping" toward it, without much hope of getting anywhere close before the bus pulled away. Another girl dodged from between two cars and started the same. "I don't think we're going to make it." Sure enough, we were about 200 yards away when the doors closed and the bus lurched forward. We slowed down, but just before the bus pulled into traffic, the driver saw us. He stopped the bus and opened the doors for us. We "high-stepped" the rest of the way. When we got inside, the driver said, "I ought to charge you triple for waiting." The bus is free on campus.

Spring Season at the Eisenhower

This Saturday marks my first day back at the theatre for our spring season. After a month away, I've missed it terribly. I've had this job for two years now, and love it so much more now than I ever have. I'm quite excited to be involved once again. This momentous occasion has prompted me to think about all the wonderful times I've shared with my fellow crewmen in the dark backstage area.

On a cold morning in late October, we were unloading a truck stuffed from top to bottom with the usual assortment of production stuffs. Road boxes had shifted and settled during the trip, and a layer of cases was completely jammed. A crewman from the tour was getting frustrated. He climbed up over the jam to try pushing from behind. There was a small space behind the stuck case, but when he went to drop down, his pants were caught on a rail holding some pipes. The entire backside of his right cheek area was ripped completely off his pants. Somehow, his boxers were entangled in the mess and quite a bit was taken with his pants. He stood there with his bum entirely exposed to most of his and our crew. After an awkward second, he turned around and shouted, "No stopping. I'll change later." He pushed mightily on the roadbox and freed it. True to his word, he didn't stop to change his pants until after the truck was unloaded and empty.

We had an easy light hand somewhere in September. We finished very early, but there were a few huge boxes setting out on the loading dock. A shipment of new chairs had arrived, and my supervisors took the opportunity to have us unpack and assemble them. They came with the legs already attached but the backs were separate. For some reason, bubble wrap had been taped over the seat before the legs had been screwed on, pinning tape between the seat and leg assembly. My special job was to peel the tape off the chairs, including what was under the leg area. It was difficult and slow, so Gary came to my rescue. He started mumbling something about the manufacturer having some Freudian issues. Frustrated at the slow progress, he suddenly burst, "This guy must have really hated his mother!"

The season was winding up, it was November, everyone was feeling frayed after a difficult load in. I was at the very back of the audience area, hooking up sound equipment at the mix site. I looked up to see Tom, with a very thick rope draped around his neck, tossing the free end up in the air and yelling in frustration when it missed his mark. A lineset (backdrop) pipe was above him, 20 feet in the air, but his rope was no more than ten feet long. "You can't get out that easy," shouted the sound guy. "Stop trying to hang yourself and get back to work." Tom, in his comedic way looked dejected and turned to walk offstage. A few minutes later, I watched him tie the free end of the rope to the handle of a roadcase on the front of the stage. Everyone was watching. He took a dramatic leap off the edge, landing three feet below on solid ground. "There's no escape," he yelled and trudged off back to work once again.

As long as I've worked at the theatre, Marty has always kept a very thick gruff beard. Two years, and it would vary between semi-trimmed and downright bushy. A few days into November, we were given the daunting task of setting up the sound shell for a musical performance. I figured it was the usual people at work that day, but noticed a stranger in the crowd. A big guy, with slick black hair and a round face. I stared and stared, but it wasn't until he started talking that I realized Marty had a clean shaven face and fresh haircut. It wasn't the mountain man I was used to seeing. He had been Clarke Kent for Halloween and shaved completely for the first time in years.

I'll get this out of the way. I'm used to seeing people in all forms of nakedness at my job. Being one of the few trusted females, I'll always be working wardrobe and costuming during shows. I help people change in and out of costumes. I'm used to it, they're used to it. One day, I was in the unusual position of assisting with the men's costumes. Normally dancers will wear leotards under their costumes, but no Ukranians. I was finishing hours worth of ironing when the performers started shuffling in and getting ready. One minute, everyone was pulling their outfits off the rack, and the next I looked up to see an entire room full of men wearing only the most revealing of speedoes. I immediately dropped my head and turned my ironing board to face the wall. It didn't help, because the one thing I learned about Ukranians that day was their utter lack of shame. The men stayed in their costumes only as long as necessary, and lounged around backstage in their skimpies. Even after the performance ended and our crew started cleaning up, the men were sitting around in no particular hurry to get dressed. Sensing that I had no comfortable place to put my eyes, Gary banished me to a corner of the room "for being such a perv." I was only glad to accept.

I'm looking forward to many more early mornings, late nights, long hours, frustration, venting, and all the good times that come with spending way too much time around the same people. Here goes nothing.