Posted tagged ‘Cape Playhouse’

“Without writers, stories would not be written, Without actors, stories could not be brought to life.”

June 17, 2017

Last night it rained and the wind blew and bent the boughs of the oak trees. I noticed a feeder or two down this morning so I have to go out later and put the deck to rights. Right now it is 65˚ and showers are predicted. Given the darkness of the day, I’m thinking it is an accurate prediction. The wind, though, is gone.

Last night Gracie’s frantic howls woke me up around 2:30. She had rolled off the couch and was on her back between the couch and the table and couldn’t right herself. I managed to lift her, and she was able to slide her legs from under the table and then was able to stand. I gave her plenty of hugs and reassurances so she jumped back on the couch and went to sleep. I, however, was awake for an hour or so. We both slept in this morning.

I  saw the first play of the season last night at the Cape Playhouse. It was called Art. I hadn’t heard of it before, but the play had won a Tony, and this production had gotten excellent reviews in the two local papers. I was struck, as I always am, by how wonderful live theater is. The stage is close to me, and I get to watch real people interact. Their faces and body movements reflect their feelings. The silences are weighty. Two chairs, a couch and a table were the only set pieces, but the plot and the characters developed around a prop, a piece of art, a white canvas, which affected each of the three characters and their relationships to one another. The play was 90 minutes long and had no intermission. It couldn’t. An intermission would have disrupted the plot movement and the changes in the characters, and the audience’s attention would have been interrupted. The cast would have had to pull us back in the hope of reconnecting us to the characters and what was happening; instead, our attention never wavered.

Gracie and I will be out and about today. I have three stops. They’ll be quick.

Last night I watched 20-20 about Watergate. I remember that whole summer. Every day was spent watching the hearing. I really how excited I was by Butterfield’s revelation that Nixon had taped his conversations, his downfall. Some years later he was asked if he was sorry he didn’t destroy the tapes. He said,” Yes as they were private conversations subject to misinterpretations, as we have all seen.”

I do believe in deja vu!

“There are no foreign lands. It is the traveler only who is foreign.”

August 26, 2016

Today I’m back behind closed windows and doors. I went without the air conditioner for about an hour. The house went up 4˚ so on went the air. Last night it rained. I was in bed in that not quite asleep not quite awake stage when I thought I heard raindrops. I lifted my head from the pillow to listen and heard drops against the window. That was the sound which lulled me to sleep.

Th Mousetrap is the last play of the season at the Cape Playhouse. I saw it a couple of times in London so I’m not all that excited to see it again, but the play got a wonderful review in the Cape Cod Times so I’m back and forth about going tonight. Right now I’m in my cozy clothes and comfortable and cool. I’m even contemplating a nap. I figure laziness will factor into my decision as will a pizza delivery for dinner.

It is getting darker and cloudier. The sun has disappeared. The breeze is greater but is still hot. There is only a possibility of rain, but I’m hoping. I read an article this morning about how easy it is in Europe to recognize American tourists. Hoodies, running shoes, fanny packs, t-shirts with graphics, big tips, North Face, good teeth and water with meals were some of the identifiers. When I was young, I had a backpack which, back then, was probably screaming American. I wore sneakers and jeans. I couldn’t afford a big tip. When I was older, I used suitcases and dressed better.

I read an article this morning about how easy it is in Europe to recognize American tourists. Hoodies, running shoes, fanny packs, t-shirts with graphics, big tips, North Face, good teeth and water with meals were some of the identifiers. When I was young, I had a backpack which, back then, was probably screaming American. I wore sneakers and jeans. I couldn’t afford a big tip. When I was older, I used suitcases and dressed better. A red Marimeko bag I had bought in Finland was slung across my shoulders and carried what was important like money, my passport in a case I had made in Ghana and my camera. I still didn’t tip well.

My last three trips have been to Africa: one to Morocco and two to Ghana. It doesn’t matter what I wear or what I carry as my skin color is enough of an identifier though in Ghana they think I’m a European.

Now I bring one suitcase and a carry-on which has adapters, medications, my iPad, a change of clothes, a notebook and my camera. I still carry the Marimeko bag I bought in 1972 and it still carries what is important including the passport case made in the Bolga market in Ghana in 1970. They are the only continuity when I travel.

“I’m flying… / Look at me, / Way up high, / Suddenly, / Here am I, / I’m flying.”

July 9, 2016

Today is another cold, damp, overcast day. I have shut all my windows, and I’m about to go get my sweatshirt. Rain is predicted for the afternoon. This is the sort of day which makes an afternoon nap sound inviting. I’m already tired thinking about it.

Peapod came this morning. I was told the delivery would arrive between 7:30 and 9:30. He knocked on my door just before 7:30. Luckily I was awake. The larder is full again.

Last night I saw a wonderful production of The Music Man at the Cape Playhouse which is starting its 90th year of continuous entertainment. I have been going there at least 35 years. I remember when every play was sold out. That’s not the case anymore. I’m thinking that live productions don’t appeal to the Netflix, Amazon Streaming, YouTube generation as I see so few of them at the Playhouse, but for the first time in a while there were several kids last night. I was glad they were being introduced to a live performance. None of the ones near me looked bored. That’s a good sign.

The library in my town had records you could borrow. I remember bringing home Camelot and playing it so many times I memorized most of the songs. A live version of Peter Pan with Mary Martin played on television when I was a kid. It was wonderful. My mother bought the records of the musical for us. They were 45’s. We’d load them on the middle piece you put on the hifi so we could pile three or four 45’s at once. I still remember most of the words to all the songs. My sister took my niece when she was young to a revival of Peter Pan. She loved it as much as we had only she was lucky to see it in person. She got to watch Peter fly. I never thought it strange that Peter Pan was always played by a woman when it was staged. My niece saw Cathy Rigby, but for me, Peter Pan is always Mary Martin.

I have flowers needing to be planted in pots and the dead flowers on my front step need to be replaced. Today seems the perfect day to do outside work, but I’m going to have to force myself to be motivated. Being cozy and warm inside is just so appealing.

“I like physics, but I love cartoons.”

July 5, 2016

Yesterday was a perfect July 4th. The weather was wonderful with a breeze strong enough to blow plates and napkins off the table. We had a barbecue which started with appetizers I had brought. One is a favorite, muhammara, which I learned how to make when I was in Marrakech. The other was brand new: a feta dip. It bumped the muhammara as the favorite. We played games, and I was the only one not to win a game. I got pegged the loser. Dinner was wonderful. We had chicken and sausage and pasta salad. A blueberry dessert topped off the meal. During dessert, we watched the Pops at the Hatch Shell. I think John Adams would have loved our celebration.

I woke up to the sound of rain. It was welcomed as it hasn’t rained in so long. At first it was just a few drops then it became a real rainstorm. The house was dark. My papers in double plastic got a bit wet and so did I when fetching those papers from the front yard.

Since then the rain has stopped and it is beginning to get lighter.  It is supposed to be humid today. The heat wave starts tomorrow. Here on the cape we’ll be cooler thanks to the ocean surrounding us.

This is a busy week for me. I actually have a few events on my usually empty dance card. First up is a concert to hear Ladysmith Black Mambazo. On Friday I have another play at the Cape Playhouse. It is The Music Man. I think I’m going to need a few naps!

My first play was at a theater in the round at the Melody Tent in Hyannis. It was The Unsinkable Molly Brown with Debby Reynolds. I was hooked. I found plays amazing. This led to a long time subscription seat at the Playhouse. I think it’s been twenty or twenty- five years.

I remember a Saturday entertainment night at my school in Ghana. The USAID guy had left a projector and a cartoon about food and germs. My students were so amazed by the cartoon they missed the message. They oohed and ahed that the fly looked so real. They didn’t notice it flew from the outhouse to the food on the table. They were as delighted with that cartoon as I had been with my first play. I learned that everything is indeed relative.

“I sing of brooks, of blossoms, birds, and bowers: / Of April, May, of June, and July-flowers. / I sing of maypoles, hock-carts, wassails, wakes, / Of bridegrooms, brides, and of their bridal cakes.”

June 10, 2016

This morning it was 5:30 when I woke up. It was cold, only 57˚. The dog and Fern were huddled beside me. I decided to get out of bed, grab a cup of coffee and read the papers. By the time I had finished reading, it was time to get dressed and meet friends for breakfast. We met at a cafe by the water, an outside restaurant, and it was really cold. The nautical flags were flapping on the breeze, and I could hear the clink of their grommets hitting the pole. That cold wind changed our minds so we opted to find an inside restaurant. Breakfast was delicious.

Tonight is the first play of the season at the Cape Playhouse, a summer theater since 1927. I’ve had season tickets for decades. I remember when I first started going people dressed up for the theater. Men wore suits and ties and women wore dresses. The few tourists looked uneasy and out of place in shorts and t-shirts. Well-known TV and movie stars were in the plays, and we saw a new play every week. Over the years much has changed. Dress is now haphazard, the plays change every two weeks, and the stars are mostly from Broadway, and I really don’t know many. That, however, hasn’t changed the quality of the plays. Tonight is Last of the Red Hot Lovers, and it got wonderful reviews. I always think of the first play as the start of summer.

Rituals change the seasons for me. The first play is the start of summer. The first tree with   its leaves changing color is fall. Thanksgiving is fall’s last hurrah. Winter begins with frost and light snow early in December. It seems to last the longest of any season. Even when the days start to get warmer, the nights and mornings stay cold. Baseball, the game of summer, is played in temperatures befitting winter. Watching the game on television is far better than freezing in a stadium. When a game is played on a warm Sunday afternoon and the crowd is in short sleeve shirts, I’ll start to believe in summer.

“Rarely does one see a squirrel tremble.”

June 15, 2012

Cue the trumpets! It was coffee and the papers on the deck this morning for the first time this season, and the sun was so bright I felt like the Mad Hatter moving from chair to chair to avoid the glare. Gracie came with me and she found the shade. While there, I noticed the deck needs some more sweeping because of the rain storms, and I’ll do that later as I intend to spend most of the day there with book (disguised as my iPad) in hand.

Tonight is the first play of the season, and it is at the Cape Playhouse. The Hound of the Baskervilles is the play, but, according to the review, it,” … is absurd. Ridiculous. Overblown,” but then the critic goes on to say, ” But please, please don’t let that stop you, because those are exactly the things that make it an extremely successful, albeit odd, twist on the old Sherlock Holmes yarn.” I am curious and a bit uneasy. I always think of Sherlock Holmes as a character with whom you don’t meddle, but I will reserve judgment until I see the play.

I woke up when it was almost light, and I heard the chorus of birds greeting the new day. The air was filled with bird songs, and I stayed awake a while to listen. It is a perfect way to start the day, with a joyous sound. I fell asleep again but I think I might have been smiling.

The gray spawns of Satan have not been around. It seems they have been replaced by the evil red spawns who have been known to attack their grey cousins. The red spawns are small enough to fit in between the wires of the squirrel proof feeders, and when I see them at those feeders, I run out to the deck like a screaming mad woman. Well, actually, I am a screaming mad woman with mad having all sorts of connotations. Maybe, once the deck season starts in earnest, the spawns will stay away. I can only hope, but if that doesn’t work, I’m thinking a weapon might be what I need. Maybe I’ll try a potato gun. They can always eat the ammo.