Sundown, my poor 13 year old black lab, who is mostly deaf and going blind, covered in tumors and walks regardless of possessing no ligaments in his back legs, no longer barks at the door bell. He now barks when nobody is at the door. Or when nobody is walking by. Or when the tone of my computer turning on goes "ding ding DING". Because he thinks that's the doorbell. But he still goes for walks and eats and plays, so the vet says there are no signs that he's ready to go yet. Sigh.
Steel Magnolias. Wow this town is small. "Annelle" was a student at Green Mtn while I subbed there 2002-2004. The set designer went to CU Denver with me. "M'Lynn's" husband is friends with the guy who has been hired to replace me at LHS. "M'lynn" studied with people who studied with Quintero.
PAA this summer, I have posted the fun NUT moments, but I still find myself giggling when I can see one of the squirrels smiling at me as he pretended to eat his styrofoam nut. I said "What are you doing? You cannot eat your nut." He said "She told me there was chocolate inside." To which I had to respond "No, dear, there is no chocolate inside your nut." The same kid got a chunk of nut in his eye and and to have his mom remove it.
The cultural switch from Highlands Ranch to Littleton High School was more than the team anticipated. Except me, I knew, those are going to my kids in 7 years. Ok, I will admit to being a little surprised at the difference. I didn't realize that Broadway north of C470 was a different planet than the south side. There was a huge learning curve, but a few funny/sad/funny moments did ensue.
* "Kevin" (all names have been changed to protect the goofy) was a shaggy, clearly intelligent little guy who took his time getting anywhere: to class, getting dressed, on stage, etc. He would take his time walking to class, sort of meandering along the hall. He knew the words and choreography but didn't always do them, he'd roll around. Once during notes I said "OK, Criss Cross Applesauce" which meant to Keven that he sat down, crossed his legs, and then rolled backwards, leaving his legs crossed. I said "Kevin?" and he said "Yes?" so I kept going, he was listening.
Sometimes he would exit, sometimes he would not. I told the cast that if they miss an entrance, they are NOT to run on stage late. Also worry about yourself, not anybody else. Just let it go. At the next rehearsal, Kevin decided that before the finale was over, he was going to dive into the wing and hide behind the bushes. Three other kids decided they needed to drag him back out again, completely disrupting everything on stage. So at notes I revised our "worry about yourself" policy to "Kevin is a safety hazard, you have to worry about where he is, BUT do not move him or drag him or anything, leave him alone but don't trip over him."
At our dress rehearsal, Kevin took off his costume half way through the song, and the other baby dinos appropriately ignored him. He then laid down on the stage. He was supposed to exit with his "mom" dino, but somehow she missed him, probably interpreting my "don't grab him" rant to include doing her job and herding him off. Realizing he had the whole stage to himself, he chose to commando crawl on his elbows to the wing. Slowly. With feeling. The music is on CD, so the scene change happens and the next song begins, with or without Kevin cleared from the stage. What was epic was that I could see his internal story on his face. He was definitely in a play, just not this one. And he was not a dinosaur. And it was hilarious and glorious, but I couldn't let anyone know that. So we had to revisit "If Kevin doesn't exit, keep going". I said "Kevin, do you understand you were supposed to exit with the moms?"
"Yes."
"Why didn't you?"
Shrug.
"Tonight is the show. Will you do it tonight?"
"Yes, my grandpa is coming. I don't want to do it wrong with my grandpa here."
Which he did, but not before taking his costume pants home and leaving them there. Because he had been told to put them in his costume bag, and he forgot. He also had no idea where he had left them at home. But he made his entrances and exits on time!
* "Chuckie", who did resemble the Rugrat in that he wore thick black glasses with one lens sort of fogged up, didn't talk much, but he was easily distracted. When we first did costumes, I took just the second graders, by themselves, to show them how to change into and out of trees and dinos. The boys all weirdly crammed into the boys bathroom, the girls were fine in the art room. Five minutes later, most of them had returned. After ten minutes, I sent another student in to find Chuckie.
The fetching student returned, a weird smile on his face that I did not want an explanation for . "He's coming" he giggled. Oh Joy. A few minutes later Chuckie emerges, his dance shoes are untied and have clearly been put on before his costume pants, as the pant legs are (they are leggings) stretched over his shoes. They are also inside out. "Chuckie, you're killing me. What took so long?"
" I can't tie my shoes."
"That's OK, buddy, just come out here and I'll do it."
I later pieced together that he had taken so long because he had tried to take his regular pants off before removing his shoes. Apparently he cannot untie them, either.
That night at costume call, one of the girls brings me leggings that have "Chuckie" clearly written in the band. She says "These aren't mine, I can't find mine, these were in my bag. " So I say "Go back to the girls dressing room and I'll figure it out." I wander the boys room, the girls room, the bathrooms, backstage and even ON stage saying "Chuckie? Chuckie?" while holding his pants out, fully expecting him to come running in his boxers. I finally locate him, in the wing, silently staring at me but not answering. He is wearing a pair of costume pants. I shake my head, return to the girl, hand her Chuckie's pants and say "These are yours now. Cool?"
* Banana Face. We'll call her Banana Face, we discovered during costume training that she does not and will not wear a second layer, and does not and will not care which room she disrobes in. She undressed the first day and stood in her unders asking loudly if there were any boys around who could see her? At performance we had to force her to change in the girls dressing room instead of backstage in front of everybody. She's seven. Standing next to the music director, waiting for her to put her shirt on so we can walk to the girls', which is taking her much too long and she's pivoting every which way to ensure she can be seen from any angle, I leaned over to him and whispered "Get her a pole".
He had to leave the room.
CUTENESS . There were 14 second graders (remember we started with 58 kids in this show) who were all Dino babies. They had a great costume piece made by props (shout out MEL), which was a headband with the "cracked" egg top, and a bib that fit over the front of their body. When they bent down, they were hiding behind an "egg", and then they would pop up and be hatched. UBER CUTE. But useless with 14 seven year olds who cannot sit still, or hold the bib steady, or manage to not try and see around the egg to watch the show, or "hatch" early to watch, or scratch an itch, or poke their neighbor,or take off the egg or or or or or.But the parents did not seem to care that the babies were ruining the show. The chorus of "awwwe" when they hatched told me we were fine.
CULTURAL. So we are holding 54 7-11 year olds in the art room, in full costume, awaiting places. It is taking a while, for some reason, so to keep them quiet we recommend story time. The kid who is the STUMP has filled this role before and proven that he can retell Star Wars and Jurassic park with great success. After he finishes Jurassic Park, we still have time, so one of the Hispanic girls raises her hand. She's usually really quiet but always participates, so sure! Tell us a story. She says "This is a story from Guatemala, a horror story." I stop and ask the kids if they're OK with a horror story. SURE. They think it's great. Ok, continue. The young lady tells a tale of "The Weeping Woman", who has murdered her children, and killed herself, and can be heard in the swamp in Guatemala to this day. She tells in in the cultural tradition, so there is no indicating that this is fiction anywhere in her tone or demeanor. One of the tinniest little blonde girls looks up at me with tears in her eyes and says "I'm scared. Is that real?" I said "It's story time, it's a story." The Storyteller begs to differ, as it's a legend passed down through generations in Guatemala. It's real, she says. Her abuela told her.
Two more girls start to freak out. I shoot the storyteller a look-not mean, just to let her know we need calm- and she nods sits down quietly. She's a great kid and I smile at her. This is not her fault.
I stop everything, and get silence. "Dudes, this is a cultural misunderstanding. In many cultures, they tell these stories through generations, they are legends. They are stories, folklore, passed down from grandparents. They are not the nightly news. I'm sorry if you weren't aware of this tradition, but now you are. So chill. " All the Mexican kids heads' are nodding hard, affirming that they all know such stories and want their turn, but I shake my head no. A few of the older girls stepped in and sat next to the scared little white kids to calm them down.
That I did not see coming.
And the FINAL GREAT STORY OF PAA AT LHS. On the last day we play games. I was the boss of Ghost in the Graveyard, pretty much a tag game. TAG. Meaning you get TAGGED by the ghost and you are running away from the ghost. I had Kevin's group, explained the rules, go! Kevin got tagged. Kevin burst into tears. We start another game while I assess any injuries, as is my job. Kevin manages between sobs to tell me " He tagged me, he touched me, it was mean! HE PUSHED ME."
"Kevin, he didn't push you, dude. I was right there. He tagged you. Do you understand "tag"?
He violently shakes his head no. "Do you have any plastic bags?"
"Are you hurt? Do you need an ice pack?"
"No, I'm hysterical. I need to breathe into a bag."
I stifle a laugh. "Not in a plastic bag, dear. You want paper but we don't have any. Just breathe with me."
Kevin then looks at the paper towel dispenser, pulls out three towels, folds them into a "bag" and begins breathing into it.
He's 7.
I can't.....
Steel Magnolias. Wigs are in, a few photos done and first off book rehearsal lived through. The set is going up really fast, my costume pieces are hilarious and I cannot believe how much fun it is to not be in charge.
Sundown the Aging Black Lab mostly lies here and pants. He has little patience for Marty, who persistently demands attention from me only when I'm petting Sundown. Sometimes Marty has these spaz attacks and he runs circles around the back yard, turning sharp corners at an unreasonably high speed. Sundown will watch for about two laps, attempt to catch him for a lap, and then resolve himself to just sitting in the middle, barking at Marty while he runs circles around him. If Marty gets sideways with one of the cats, Sundown will randomly side with the cat and woof at Marty. I am not sure if this is senility or if he really does not like Marty. My summer with dogs and cats and children.
Scene.
