Yeah, I know I’ve been a very bad blogger.  And yeah, I know I have a lot of nerve to just walk back in here and…say stuff.  But here I am.  And I’ve started this post 642 different times in my head, and at least five times on paper.  I’ve literally a stack of phrases and quotes and half-thoughts that I’ve memorialized in scribbles over the past month.  But I just couldn’t finish any one thought.  And no doubt this post will read as a patchwork of these aborted ideas, but at this point, it’s all backing up in my brain and exploding in the same manner a very urgently typewritten message might: jammed.

It’s been a rough month, what can I say.

And now I’ve missed all the predictably important events of which there have been copious coverage, like the new year* and the new administration**.

So let’s just go back to where I left off and see where that gets us, shall we?

If you’ll recall, back at the end of ‘08 there was quite a bit of snow (for us) happening here, and everything was thrown a bit out of whack.  Who can blog when the excitement of unheard amounts of snow is just outside your front door?  And then, who can blog when that snow is still falling and you’re trudging to the bus stop to get to work in borrowed boots five sizes too big for your feet and all you can hear is the ka-LUMP ka-LUMP of your footsteps as you bemoan never having acquired the appropriate attire for said weather?

And then came the holidays, in which everyone’s schedules and plans ran amuck.  And around this time, I landed in a low.  Normally I would attribute it to the lack of light.  But the snow meant less rain, which meant more sun, so I really couldn’t tell you.  Heaps upon heaps of little worries that I’d been shoving to the back of my mind had collected to the point where the back of my mind was now the front of my mind, and my predisposition towards ANXIOUS! got the best of me.  I don’t have any dramatic stories to tell.  I didn’t stab a postal worker or jump off a bridge.  But I wasn’t me.  And maintaining during these times is exhausting.  This is where my fractured mindset began, where my mind became a jumble. It’s like this word I ran across at work: esophagogastroduodenoscopy.  And I’m thinking…ummm…pass?  Which is not unlike a stress overload – too much information.  But I know that if I break it down, it’s really not so bad: something about an esophagus, something about a stomach, something about a duodenum, and a scope. Ok. I can handle that. I get where you’re going with this…  Apply that process to my perspective on life, and you’ll be up to speed.

*Then came The New Year.  And can I just say that New Year’s Resolutions have such an odd effect on the flow of society?  Little, more or less inconsequential tweaks to masses of daily routines, all in the direction of our combined cultural goals meant that there were waves of oddities.  For a day, or a week, the gyms were at capacity and rush hours changed.  On my usual morning bus, we were packed like sardines.  No doubt more people were on time, or early, to work.  This has waned.  The personal blogs in my reader listed a new post daily. This has waned.  Personally, I think giving only one day a year to start afresh with a goal is foolish, because most of these goals inevitably fail.  We need to make little changes, and then more little changes to eventually get where we wish to be (see: esophagogastroduodenoscopy).  But what do I know?

Then I had a couple of wonderfully recouperative trips.  One with the boy:

and one to see my family, complete with photo expeditions:

And then another fabulous flu. I used to be someone who got several colds per season, but rarely got the flu. And for whatever reason, this is the season of repeated flu assaults for me. And can I tell you, it’s been just lovely. The fevers and the hurting bones and skin? Lovely. The fever dreams. I distinctly remember lying in bed, unable to get comfortable, having some delusion about the important choreography of my tossing and turning – how I had to move this way, and then that way. And for some reason it was of the utmost importance that I get it right. And I remember thinking, “Since when was sleeping so complicated!?”

And now, though the snow is still occasionally falling,

it is back to the daily grind.

Back to decoding emails from clients where listens, pasted, and fack really mean license, passed, and fake.  Back to the background drone of conference calls reminiscent of religious sermons set to to slam poetry beats, “Not to give expecting a return, but because it FEELS.  SO.  GOOD.  to give.”  Back to the hum drum.  And so now I am taking the time to figure out the esophaguses and stomachs, duodenums, and scopes of my life.  Once I break it down, I can build it back up…

Lest you worry, one of my non-new years resolutions is to post regularly and often.  So tune in next time for a (hopefully) more coherent and less meandering smattering of Moot.

**Yippee!

Bocce ball

Happy Fourth, Americans.

On Wednesday, we went to Stratford. I guess my camera is done being broken because I had no problems taking pictures.

There were farms

with black sheep

and spliff-smoking ewes.

Flowers

and rain

and more rain.

Keyholes

in heavily latched doors

concealing secret garden parties.

There were crooked tombstones

and menacing pipe organs.

There were knockers,

faces in doors,

long-since carved trusses,

and bottles of wine.

We went to see an amazing production of Midsummer. I could go on forever about it, theater person that I am. But I will limit myself to three comments.

It was a production without pretense. There were no lessons tied to current events nor any themes other than those originally intended. Which is not to say that I don’t enjoy modern twists, just that it is so rare I see a Shakespeare piece acted straight that is concurrently accessible and good. The audience literally roared with laughter. I normally don’t have a taste for overacting, and this was definitely overacted, but it was done so smartly, clearly, precisely, and deliberately that it served to truly convey the meaning of every word spoken. Which is what actors are always striving to do with Shakespeare and, in my humble opinion, rarely ever actually achieving. To boot, the director (a Gregory Doran) must be a genius because the background actions he chose to augment and compliment the text were spot on in almost every instance.

Technically, the show was a lot of fun for me. Titania’s Indian boy was played by a naked puppet, using up to three fairy manipulators at a time. His exaggerated doll-like joints and awe-filled play were completely engrossing. Having worked a show with puppets and knowing the arduous process that is rehearsing them, I was mucho impressed.

The Courtyard Theater is very tall, with three levels of seating and a light op and SM booth on the fourth. As such there is a lot of “sky” to play with. It was filled with a bunch of instruments – specifically bare bulbs with smaller bulbs inside – hanging at different levels that served to shine the starlight. It was so amazing I’ve been unable to sleep the past two nights because I get so excited daydreaming about the endless possibilities.

If you are in Stratford anytime soon (I’m just saying…), go see it.