April 10, 2012
yes, my mom still makes and sends me an easter basket every year. I keep the box sealed until easter morning and then I pad out and open it and yell "THE EASTER BUNNY CAME!"
you can go ahead and tease me about it but I know you're just jealous.
this foam bunny kit was in the bottom of my easter basket. apparently my kid sister saw it in the store and said, "I think jess needs a craft." she was right. I totally did.
I feel pretty awesome about him.
a weekend: got a sunburn, finished my book, rode 20 miles on my bike, weeded the garden, went barefoot, ate a lot of kale. drunk on sunshine, I got home from my bike ride, hobbled into the house (the last mile is all excruciatingly uphill), took off my bike clothes, changed into light shorts, and sat on the back of my car in the parking lot, my feet propped on the bike rack, to read for half an hour. it was warm back there, and protected from the breeze.
saturday night we closed galileo. the footswitch on the synthesizer decided at the eleventh hour to work sporadically, sometimes skipping two patches, then none at all. that synth was just the gift that keeps on giving, right? our frantic keyboardist paced around the back hallway as I tried to sort it out. when I couldn't get it to stop misbehaving, I had a moment of miraculous clarity, unplugged the sustain pedal (which he wasn't using) and plugged it into the footswitch hub. bingo.
in the production office, anne, our conductor, found me. "you've done such a wonderful job," she said, "I left you a little gift at your desk." we sat and looked at each other shyly. "well," I said finally, "have a good show?" "you too," she answered. when the show started I felt such a profound sense of loss about her leaving that it took me two full scenes to get into the swing of it. I started crying in scene 6 (pictured above) and cried clear through the end of the opera. afterwards, I ran frantically down the steps to catch her before she left. "I just had to give you a hug," I said. "oh, good," she replied.
when we had packed up the production office, five of us went down the street for a drink. we sat around our table in near silence, too tired to talk. "sad to see it go," one of us said. and another: "wow -- when is the last time we felt that way?" even when we love the shows, it's a relief to be done. and yet there we sat, momentarily bereft.
I awoke saturday morning, feeling deliciously, fully rested. I thought idly, "I bet it's 10:30," only to discover that it was 7:53. that rates among the best tiny gifts of the universe.
at 11:31 PM