If music be the food of love, give me hot sauce.

Sure, now, and I hadn’t expected to be reading Shakespeare with my morning coffee… But there it is! I seem to have suddenly become costume designer (and wardrobe) for a young company’s production of Twelfth Night.

Well, yes, the TD had mentioned to me back at the end of June that this show was upcoming, and had asked me if my schedule was such that I might want my name suggested. (I’d done another show with her earlier in the year.)

And then, in mid-July, their production manager had called to ask if I was still interested, and I had a vision of my name being added to a list.

Then, time passed. And since we kind of reached the point where they’d been going to be starting, with no further word, I said Oh Well, and put it out of my mind.

Imagine my surprise on coming home from a postal run to town yesterday to find a message from the TD asking if last evening or tonight would be best for a production meeting with the director!

It does seem that a few wires got crossed. They eventually chivvied the PM to get back to me with the offer and confirm the whole thing, and I hightailed it off to the meeting. And yes, it seems I’m not just coordinating the costumes, I’m designing them! Within the parameters of the director’s vision of course. Cuba, in the 1950’s. Hmmmm….. And of course, young people, and more girls than boys, and a shoestring budget, and only enough money for me that it won’t cost me to do this…. Oh well. No-one ever said I had a head for business.
I just hope there’s SOMETHING in the theatre’s costume stock to start us off!

the philosophy of blogging

I’m being nagged, ever so nicely, by my audience of one, that I’m not really yet getting into the spirit of blogging.

I replied that I haven’t yet wrapped my head around the idea of something which may or may not be read, depending on who I tell about it, and the ever-present concerns about being boring or tedious or whiny (how DO you spell that?), not to mention trying to remember WHO I give this address to, supposing I do, and not to say anything I will regret…

I never was a diarist in my life. It was a great idea, but between having nothing much to say, and being lousy at sticking to deadlines or schedules….

Occasionally I have concepts or ideas or theories, or experiments that it would be nice to set down somewhere, even if no-one reads them. But they don’t happen in any kind of predictable fashion.

Maybe I can just wax poetic about the inability to think of things to say?

Mind you, out of this exercise, I have at least figured out how to FTP things with the programs I currently have, so that’s a kind of achievement, isn’t it?

the sky is falling! the sky is falling!

So, there we were, in the wasteland that is summer television, watching a dvd of Pirates of the Caribbean…
And we got to the spot where the maid servant fills the warming pan with hot coals and sticks it under the covers next to the tender feet of her young Mistress Elizabeth. And I exchange glances with my Spousal Object, and we both mutter a comment or two, along the lines of: “it’s Jamaica, who needs to warm the bed?” and “and you wouldn’t put it in the bed with someone, and you wouldn’t leave it there, you’d swoosh it about to warm the linens, not leave it to scorch them”….

And then we carry on watching. And was it just incredible suspension of disbelief? I sniffed. Sniffed again. I was sure I could smell burning…. He leaps up and heads down to check the shop. I wander to the kitchen. Then back to the door onto the deck. I sniff again. And again. And then notice the soft white fallout. And my black cat lying comfortably on the deck. Going grey. With ashes….

Yup, it’s just Larry the Lawnmower man next door, finding more forest to burn. I’m surprised he has anything left over there to chop and burn. He’s cleared out so much that you’d never believe it was a landscaped wooded lot before he got his hands on it. Sigh.

Sorry, Chicken Little, it’s just Larry again.

can it be done?

Greetings.
If all goes well, at some point this may become the blog of Anti-V, aunt, fairy godmother, obsessive proofreader, cook, textile-worker, re-enactor, cat-lover, and aging warped mind.
But then, you never know. I'm a bit short on unblemished black goats this season...