Stage Managment Life – Page 2

Going to work is the break

There was a day last week which, on paper, looked to be almost leisurely. Rehearsal didn’t start until 11pm, so I had the morning to catch up on things, and I had scheduled the kids’ passport appointments to get them out of the way before I headed in to work.

But… it didn’t turn out that way.

For one, I had been up late the night before filling out the passport forms – my own fault for procrastinating. But it did mean that I didn’t get much sleep.

Then the jar of bean soup that I had pulled from the freezer to thaw in the fridge cracked as I was getting it out to pack for lunch. The bottom of the mason jar just fell clean off and there was a flood of bean soup everywhere, even in the little crevices of the refrigerator door. Curses and clean up followed. I was a little sad because the bean soup had been in the freezer for over two years and I was excited to finally eat it in a show of frugality. Oh well. But this was an added level of mess I didn’t need in the midst of packing everyone else’s lunches and breakfasts.

It was also the morning that our County summer camp registration opened and at 8:25a, I was glued to my computer waiting for the system to open at 8:30a. The camp slots go quickly, so this is the kind of thing that goes in my calendar and I set the alarm for. Luckily I was able to get the ten year old into the same camp as her friend from last summer, but the whole registration experience made me realize that there are some inherent equity issues with this system. I mean, 8:30am is an absolutely terrible time for camp registration to open. I was lucky that my mom walked the kids to school that morning, but if a working parent has to do school drop off or what not, they might not be able to log on right at 8:30am. It’s like you need childcare to sign up for childcare. Also – internet.

Anyhow, after that was done, I had an hour to get dressed, eat some breakfast, pay a couple bills, and make dinner in the InstantPot for the family to have when they got home since I had to work late. I actually felt pretty good about that hour. But of course, pride goeth….

9:30am, I had the two little kids in the car on the way to our passport appointment. I pull up twenty minutes early, get out to pay the meter and realize I had left my wallet at home, having taken it out to pay for summer camp. So I get the kids back in the car, drive back home, hit terrible traffic on the way home due to a malfunctioning traffic light, try not to panic, get home, find my wallet after some searching – I had left it in the bathroom of all places – arrive back at the post office only five minutes late for the passport appointment. I get to the passport window, pull out my wallet … and can’t find my ID. I realized that I had taken it out of my wallet the night before to make a scan of it to submit with out papers. I can’t freakin’ believe it.

Well, as long as I was there, I asked the postal worker taking passport applications to look at the baby’s passport photo just to make sure it would pass muster. And it doesn’t. Apparently, the baby giving her skeptical side-eye, was not looking straight into the camera enough. I felt like yelling, “Do you know how hard it is to get a two year old to stand still for a picture, let alone stand and look straight into a camera?!?!” Or maybe it’s just my two year old.

So I guess the appointment wasn’t all wasted, because now I know that her picture would have been rejected and I would have had to come back again anyway.

By the time we left the post office, it was only 10:30am. I was pretty much drained for the day.

This is life though, right? I don’t have a job that I can just take a personal day to do these things. And things do still have to get done. I mean there is plenty that doesn’t need doing, but even still, sometimes the scheduled list just seems packed. (A friend and I joked that next year we should get together on camp registration day and have breakfast and mimosas.) On the other hand, I do have lots of time between gigs that I can probably be better about planning when some things (ahem passport appointments) get done so that it causes the least amount of friction and stress.

And truth to tell, even though I felt depleted at 10:30am on that day, by the time I got to work there was something refreshing about putting on a different hat and solving different problems and shelving the disaster of a morning. Not that my job doesn’t have it’s challenges… But I go to work and listen to people with gorgeous voices sing Mozart. It’s not terrible. And no one whines at me or cries because I won’t let them put their egg in their cup of milk. It’s certainly easier to get fifty choristers onstage with the right prop than it is to put three kids to bed.

I had a text exchange before I started this gig with a friend. She wrote:

How are things with you? Is the job still on or do you have a break now.

And I wrote back:

Oh, man – going to work *is* the break!

Weekly recap + what we ate: putting on hard pants

Work clothes. Nary a sweat pant in sight.

The five year old is in a phase where he only wants to wear “soft pants”, meaning sweatpants or fleece pants. Jean, khakis, cords… these are all considered “hard pants” and not as desirable to wear.

This week, we’ve started rehearsal and I’ve put on hard pants again. I can’t remember the last time I wore my jeans. They feel stiff and constricting, pulling me in and making me stand up straighter. But maybe this is what they always felt like and I just can’t remember.

I suppose I’ve also put my metaphorical hard pants on as well, re-learning how to do my job and interact with people. I’ve definitely stumbled a few times and dropped things that used to be second nature to me. (I forgot to introduce the music staff to the singers at the music rehearsals. It’s a nice formality and no one died, but I’ve written a note to myself to remember for next time.) Part of me is so excited to be in rehearsal again, listening to singers and music and doing my part to bring things to stage. And another part of me keeps wondering if I’m getting things right. I mean it’s not the cliched brain surgery, and no one’s life is in my hands, but there are certainly a lot of moving parts and people to manage.

So how did I do on my “maintaining humanity” goals this first week of rehearsal?

Sleep – pretty good. I think I went to bed t 12:30am one night but all other nights I was in bed by midnight. Which is huge for me. Of course, there was the one night that the Husband fell asleep in the five year old’s bed during bedtime books (the man is definitely working above and beyond in the “unpaid labor” department these days). So the five year old decided to sleep in our bed. And some time around 1am, the Husband came to bed and then around 3am the baby also found her way to our bed. So… not a great night for sleep even though I was in bed for a good number of hours.
Outside Time and Exercise: I did manage to go on a 20-30 minute walk on each of my lunch breaks. And I did wake up early enough to do a 20 minute yoga podcast, though one time it was interrupted by the kids so it was more like 15 minutes.
Plan/Journal/Read – not exactly daily habit, but managed to do this three times this week. I almost forgot about the five year old’s appointment for his second COVID shot – we were about to walk to school when I remembered. Oops.
Meal Plan/ Healthy snacks – Well, it was Valentines Day week, so there was an explosion of chocolate in the office, which I didn’t even try to resist. One colleague brought in these dark chocolate Reese Peanut Cup thins, which were really really good. But I also managed to bring in healthy snacks – fruit, veggies, and string cheese. As for meal planning, the Husband and I split dinners and it turned out pretty well balanced eating week. The InstantPot was definitely the week’s dinner MVP.
Water – did better on this than last week!
Communication – Not great this week. I had to work later than I had anticipated most nights, so I missed dinner more than I had planned and wasn’t great about keeping the Husband updated as to when I would be home. It’s definitely a work in progress. Will continue to try to be better about this.

Some good moments:

The five year old did indeed get his second COVID vaccine shot! Hooray! I also managed to get a parking ticket while at the pediatrician’s office because the appointment went long and I am the Luddite who still actually uses coins in meters as opposed to pays with the app. So funny story, though, is that there were two tickets on my car when I returned, and as I went to read them, a wind came and blew the one ticket away – just snatched it and carried it off, leaving me holding the yellow envelope. I had visions of never being able to pay the ticket and the fee just building and building… I called the Husband in a panic and he said, “Just call the number on the envelope!” Which of course was the solution. Turns out my tags were expired. Like by a year. January 2021. Cue more panic and bemoaning the difficulties of adulting.

Okay, turns out I hadn’t forgotten to renew the registration. I had just forgotten to put the sticker on my plate. I got home later and dug through the mail bin and found the registration and sticker. This sticker has been sitting in the mail bin for. a. year. Yeah… major adulting fail. Expensive adulting fail. But hey, at least the COVID shot was free.

-One of the great joys about going on a walk on my lunch break is that I work in a really fun a quirky neighborhood. Some highlights this week:

A random swing on an urban tree next to a parking lot. One day I sat on the swing and ate my lunch. The sky was so blue and it was thirty degrees outside. There was something really soothing about lunch on a swing on a winter’s afternoon.

This cheerful, colourful house – bright yellow against the blue sky.

One windy windy day as I walked by a music store, I heard music. I looked up and there were windchimes buffeted in the gales, making music. I stopped to listen and savour, even as the same chilling wind that made music with the windchimes bit into my skin.

– One night (actually the aforementioned night of EVERYONE in our bed), I realized that the book I was reading (Colson Whitehead’s Harlem Shuffle – a very very good read), was due the next day, and since it was a Libby ebook, I couldn’t renew it. To add to that, it’s a pretty popular book right now so it took forever to get it off the wait list. The app said I had two hours left to read and twelve hours left in the borrowing period. So after I came home from work, put the kids to bed, and ate some dinner, I put on my pjs and climbed into bed with the book, determined to finish it. It felt so indulgent to just sit in bed an read. I don’t think I’ve ever done that before. Sure, I often read before I go to bed, but that’s often only 15 minutes or so. This was almost two hours. I tried not to feel guilty about the dishes not done or the laundry not folded. Maybe I’ll get to the point when I’ll be able to sit in bed and read the evening away and not feel guilty. Well, that might be what vacation is for.

In the end, I didn’t finish the book that night, but I woke up the next morning and finished reading it just in the nick of time for the book to disappear back into the Libby ether. The kids maybe had to fend for themselves for breakfast. But that’s what cereal is for.

-I’ve been taking part in the Wordle craze – it’s been a great brain break. I can tell when I’ve had a long day when I don’t remember if I’ve done the day’s puzzle or not, and it turns out I have. This week’s puzzle had a couple that definitely challenged me:

Both these involved random guessing and maybe some Googling. I don’t necessarily think of that as cheating. Actually, as I inch closer to that sixth try, I tell myself, “Well, at least, if I break my streak, I’ll have learned a new word.” So this week, I learned two new words!

For the record, an agora is an open space used for gatherings and markets. Pupal is the adjective version of pupa.

-The baby had managed to lose her mittens again. The other day, we were getting ready to go outside and she said, “Mittens!”
Then she ran downstairs and came back with two mismatched socks that she had clearly pulled from the mismatched sock bin and stuck her hands in them. How adorably innovative!

-Valentines Day! I don’t usually go all out for the kids’ Valentines day at school, but it’s been such a weird 23 months that I felt like I wanted to do something special. So for the ten year old, we ordered some fun animal post its for her to hand out. For the five year old, I ordered pop bracelets and made little valentines that said “You Make My Heat Pop!” I sat with him and we thought up of a nice thing to say for each of his classmates and wrote it on the card. I was really touched and impressed that he could think of something specific for each of his classmates. Though for one kid, he said, “I like E—- because he is not funny.” Which apparently caused some consternation on the part of E’s mother.

-Book props. In our show there is a book that we use as a prop. I love book props; they are usually supposed to look plain and period and you never know where they come from or what might be in them. It generally doesn’t matter what’s in them as long as they are the right size and look appropriately of the time. I like flipping through them; often they’re something dry yet flowery from many years past. The prop book in our show is from 1913, written by a man named James Whitcomb Riley who was a poet and writer and also responsible for creating Orphan Annie and the inspiration for Raggedy Anne. apparently he was quite popular in the late 1800s and early 1900s. What I found particularly interesting about this book was that most of the pages of this book are still unopened. I was originally going to say “uncut” but then I went down an internet rabbit hole and discovered that “unopened” is the correct phrase for this book with its pages still joined together at the edges. It’s There is something a little sad to me about a book that’s over 100 years old, and still unread. I did enjoy, however, getting to indulge in some poetry reading during a slow moment in rehearsal.

What We Ate:
Saturday: I wasn’t home in time, but the Husband made dumplings and green beans and saved some for me to eat when I got home.

Sunday: Super Bowl Sunday! In honour of the teams, the Husband made Cincinnati Chili and Orange Julius. Friends brought veggies and other snacks.

Monday: The Husband made Stuffed Pepper Soup. It was supposed to be a casserole, but didn’t quite turn out that way. Really tasty nonethless.

Tuesday: Green beans and tofu stir fry eaten with rice.

Wednesday: Pasta and meatballs in InstantPot. Made ahead in the morning so that there would be dinner ready when everyone got home. I really love making spaghetti and meatballs in the IP. It’s a little soggier than making everything separate, but so much easier to cook and clean up; everything just goes into the pot – sauce, noodles, meatballs on top – cook high pressure for 8 minutes. All done. I was pretty happy with the meatballs too – I didn’t have enough meat, so I threw about a cup of mushrooms in the food processor and then added that to the meat – it turned out really well!

Thursday: Black Bean Soup in InstantPot. Another make-ahead meal since I wasn’t going to be home in time for dinner. It turned out a little thick so the Husband put it in wraps and the family at it as burritos.

Friday: Pizza and Aladdin. The Husband made pizza. I made it home in time to eat leftovers, though I missed the actual movie.

Weekly recap + what we ate: off balance

This was my first week back at work. Prep week, where we get things ready on our end for rehearsals to start. It was a little bit of a struggle because there were some childcare issues so the Husband and I had to split our time watching the baby for the first three days. Oh my goodness, huge hugs and props to all the working parents who juggled kids at home whole working… it’s all kind of a mess, and continues to be, I know.

I did make it back into the office. My desk was pretty much as I left it 23 months ago, including the above pictured joke pad that one of my colleagues left me. The last time we worked on a show together, we would read a silly joke page after every rehearsal day, one of those things we did so we would remember to laugh at least once a day. The pictures of my kids were still pinned to my cubicle walls, though they were all two years younger, the baby only five months old when we were all sent home from work. My pencils and post-its were where I had left them in March 2020, the binder of the show I never opened sat next to the groundplans for the shows that opened but never finished their run. My hot water kettle, waiting to be filled with water and be set to work burbling hot water for my afternoon tea. It was almost like stepping back and picking things up right where we left them, only we are now all wearing masks and a new sense of fragility and gratitude.

Working in theatre is not a normal 9a-5p job, and over the past months I’ve thought a lot about how I can do better at balancing the inconsistent hours with some consistency in the things that make make me feel human and not like a worker bee. The hours can be long and odd, and there is this notion that people should make sacrifices for their art, but I think that saying art is about humanity is pointless if I’m sacrificing my own humanity to help create it.

I’ve made a list of things that I want to make sure I find time for even when things get busy.
– Sleep. I’m a huge revenge bedtime procrastinator. Lately, though, I’m finding that maybe because I’m getting older or maybe because of the rhythm and demands of pandemic life, I really feel it when I only get 4-5 hours of sleep several nights in a row. One night of 4 hours might be okay, but more than that, and I crash hard on the subsequent nights. So yeah, asleep by midnight is my goal.
– Time outside. I don’t know that I’ll be able to make the 1000 hours outside goat of 2.75 hours outside every day, but I do want to find at least 30 mins a day to be outside. Hopefully I can still walk the kids to the bus stop and school, so that’s at least 40 mins. But the days when that doesn’t work out, I can take time at lunch. Last week on my lunch break, I sat outside to eat lunch and then took a walk around the block, which I thought worked out well.
–Communication with family/ the Husband. I think the person who feels the most pressure from my awkward hours is the Husband who is at home with the kids every single night. A lot of our stress comes from the evening hours being inconsistent – some weeks I’m home two nights a week, some weeks I’m home for dinner, some not…. I want to make sure I communicate with him ahead of time the expectations for that evenings and weekends. Also we need to set time to sit down and look at the calendar so that things don’t fall through the cracks. (hello, upcoming tax season!) And then remembering to call home on my dinner breaks to check in since the Husband is often asleep when I get home from the evening rehearsals.
– Meal plan and stock up on healthy snacks. We haven’t been great about meal planning the past few weeks, and I want to be more deliberate about it – particularly meal planning dinner with the Husband so that the burden of dinner doesn’t fall completely on him. Whenever possible, prep dinner before I leave for work so that dinner is simple when he gets home. Also having healthy snacks in the office for when the hours get long.
– Exercise – even if it’s 15 minutes of yoga in the morning, I want to have a more consistent plan. I also want to see if I can get a short run (not that I do anything but short runs) in when I have long breaks between rehearsals.
–Drink water – I realized last week that because I have to wear a mask all day, I’m not drinking as much water as I normally do. So I just need to remember. Maybe I can make it some kind of automatic behavioral thing…
–Making time to journal/write/plan/read. Activities to clear my head and help me keep things in perspective. Sometimes I can lose track of the world happening outside of the rehearsal room or the theatre

So that’s the aspirational plan to stay human.

This episode of the Happiness Lab about anger popped up in my feed Wednesday evening as I was making dinner. Somewhat ironically… I had had a tough ten minutes involving noodles and grocery resentment. The moment resulted in me throwing my favorite kitchen spoon in frustration and anger. And my favorite kitchen spoon broke. It was not a great moment and now my favorite kitchen spoon is irretrievably shattered. Something about the directions on the noodle being only in Japanese and then them turning into a gelatinous clump in the pot and dinner being jeopardized (of course my mind spun and catastrophized) and not being able to go to the store and choose my own noodles and n0 one coming to help me (though I don’t know rationally what anyone could have done to save the clumpy noodles)… anyhow. Not my finest moment of zen and calm, I am somewhat ashamed to say.

And you know what, it all turned out fine. I rinsed the noodles, pulled them apart by hand and they were delicious. I apologized to the Husband for yelling and looked sadly at the broken spoon. The Husband, very sweetly was already trying to find a replacement, but I’ve been trying to find a replacement for ages and have been unsuccessful. And this is actually the second time I’ve smashed a kitchen utensil in anger. So there is that.

Afterwards I was listening to that Happiness episode on anger, and something they said stood out for me – on the podcast, the therapist/expert Faith Harper said that holding in your anger is like pushing down a beach ball under water; eventually it will pop up and hit you in the face. So the trick is being able to take a step back and figure out what your anger is telling you because emotion is your body and brain trying to tell you something. I’m going to sit with that for a while. Because I think often I try to rationalize away my anger, and really the emotion can be more useful if it is accepted than if it is dismissed.

Two quotes from Harper that I really want to remember when I need to be forgiving of myself and of other people:

“You’re not responsible for your first thought. You’re responsible for your second thought and your first behavior.”

“We’re not perfect… I don’t know that we get better so much as we get better at it… Nobody has this down; we are all works in process”

Some hodge-podge bits from the week:

This lost doll at the playground, waiting for her owner. Kind of creepy, kind of whimsical:

It was the Husband’s birthday this past week. He has said he didn’t want a cake, or any celebratory dessert. But I couldn’t just let his birthday go by like that. So I made him a key lime pie. It’s one of his favorite desserts and it’s so super easy and only takes about 45 minutes to make. The ten year old made a slideshow presentation for him where she asked me and her siblings our favorite things about him and then compiled them into slides. It was so super cute and thoughtful and made me laugh.

I found myself downtown one day last week, and decided to pick up Chinese take-out from this place where we used to eat all the time when we were young urban city dwellers. The kung pao chicken is the Husband’s favorite, so much so that we ordered a tray of it for our rehearsal dinner even though we had moved into the suburbs by then. Much to our surprise, the owner himself drove the food all the way up to us in wintery rush hour traffic.

Anyhow, as I was waiting for our food to be ready, I wandered down to the used bookstore down the block. It’s the kind of place that has carts of books out front for $4/each. I found this book among the piles and it immediately took me back to my childhood:

It’s one of those books put forth by National Geographic in the 80s. We had a copy of this book when I was growing up, and I loved looking at the glossy yet raw pictures of life in the various parts of China. Even though in the book, Taiwan was included as part of China, I never felt any kind of kinship with the Asian faces in the pages; it all seemed so different and exotic. There was something odd, too, about my parents, who have always been staunchly pro-Taiwanese Independence, having a book that celebrated China.

For some reason the first line of the introduction have always stuck with me:
“When I was a child my mother warned me, as I dug a large hole in our backyard flower garden, that if I kept on digging I would end up in China.”
As a child, this idea was fascinating- digging a hole to emerge in a place so different from where I was… it seemed not like the introduction to a coffee table book, but rather the beginning of an adventure story.

And this week- the first glimpse of Spring. Is it too early? Will they make it? Stay tuned to find out….

What We Ate:

Saturday: Grilled veggies and pork chops using a bulgogi marinade. There is something really fun about grilling in 30 degree weather. I was always a charcoal grill person, until I got at gas grill and realized how much easier it was.

Sunday: Leftovers.

Monday: Chicken Katsu and Cabbage Salad from Dinner Illustrated

Tuesday: Breakfast Sandwiches

Wednesday: Orange Tofu and Sugar Snap Pea Stir Fry.

Thursday: The family had tortellini and red sauce and salad. When i got home from work I had half a pack of olives, croutons, and the leftover tofu from Wednesday. Eaten standing up in the kitchen while trying to urge the kids to get ready for bed.

Friday: Pizza and Frozen. It was the baby’s turn to pick the movie so we lined up all the animated dvds that we had and let her choose one. I think she picked Frozen because she loves snowmen.

Stage Management Skills in Real Life: resetting for the top

The other day I turned my back and the baby dumped a box of Cheerios on the floor. I snapped a picture and sent it to my friend. “Cheerios are my version of Nutcracker snow, ” I wrote.

For those who don’t work backstage, let me explain. At the end of the first act of the perennial Christmas favorite The Nutcracker, there is a huge snow scene. Vast amounts of snow is dropped from above the stage, blanketing the stage, drifting into the wings, coating the dancers. So much snow also means intermission clean up. I am forever finding little white bits of Nutcracker snow somewhere backstage, even deep into spring. But it is huge part of the show. So every performance snow gets showered on the floor. And every intermission the crew sweeps it up so they can set for the next act.

(I guess the opera version of Nutcracker snow would be Madama Butterfly flower petals. And there was a recent production of Eugene Onegin that featured a leaf drop with similar pervasiveness.)

And so it is with that box of Cheerios. It starts on the table. The baby dumps it on the floor. I clean it up. It gets dumped on the floor again. The cycle begins again. And for the rest of the day, I will be finding Cheerios in all obscure corners of the dining room.

Putting up a show is often an exercise in creating and then dismantling then restoring in order to create again. A scene moves forward, props get used then discarded. Costume pieces get worn then removed. Scenery shifts. Then you get to the end of the show and then everything gets returned to it’s starting place so you can do it all over again. And the same things happen again. The same props move, the same costume pieces are put on and off, the same scenery changes position. Then the crew scrambles to put it all back together again.

We call it “Re-setting for the Top”, this act of putting everything back to where we started so that we can do it all over again.

But in reality, it’s not always the same. Particularly in rehearsal. Things change, singers find new nuances in their portrayal. Directors change traffic patterns to clarify the story they are trying to tell. Dancers, adjust a position or a movement. Even stage managers, who are supposed to be the soul of consistency, even we find subtle ways to make things better or more efficient – perhaps that prop should be preset facing the other way for ease of pick up. Or maybe this entrance order needs to be adjusted to get those who sing first onstage at the front of the line. Or maybe I need to move that post-it in my book so that I see it sooner and throw the cue on time. There are always big tweaks and little tweaks that can be made.

The second act of La Boheme, despite being one of the busiest scenes in all of opera-dome is actually quite short – usually kissing twenty minutes. In a three hour rehearsal, even with thirty minutes of chorus breaks, you can run Act Two at least five times, maybe six or seven if you’re fast at re-setting. That’s a lot of re-setting. But at the same time, it’s a lot of chances to figure out how to make things better.

There is a saying that life isn’t a dress rehearsal, the implication being that the curtain is up and we are living our one shot in front of an audience. But I think, the people who say this don’t truly understand rehearsal. Or life. I think, perhaps life is indeed like a rehearsal. Despite this being our one precious life, I don’t think that we are here to get it right on the first take; it’s a process. It’s a process of learning and trying and failing and clarifying and then trying again. Perhaps we need to be more forgiving of ourselves and of others and realize that everyone should get an opportunity to reset for the top, another chance to try things again until one arrives where one wants to be.

This includes that baby and the box of Cheerios. I’ll keep resetting that box, and perhaps one day, instead of dumping the Cheerios on the floor, she will finally figure out how to pour it into her bowl and get herself breakfast.

Stage Management Skills in Real Life: green sticky dots

I very much love this use of green sticky dots.

Earlier this week, I got the call to schedule my vaccine appointment. While I feel like I had waited forever, in truth, it was just last week that eligibility had only opened up for me – under 65, no health conditions or qualifying employment. I had been feeling antsy and impatient, but I had been ready to wait. I had heard through the neighborhood listserv that there was one particular vaccination site in the next county that had plenty of availability, so I switched my site preference on my pre-registration to that site rather than the one in my own county. And actually, when I looked at the map – this other site was actually closer to me than the one in my own county. Then I just waited.

Monday evening, as I was clearing up dinner, I got a phone call. The automated call put me into hold que. Around twenty minutes into waiting, I started to despair, thinking that it had just been a bug and I’d gotten my hopes up. But I stuck it through. (I tend to be the person who stays in their original checkout line at the grocery store even though it is the slowest one.) And after thirty minutes, someone picked up. They had appointments for the next day, and I said, “Yes, Please!” I was booked for both shots right then. I’m really grateful to all the people working the phone lines, scheduling appointments.

My appointment was at a state site. It was a series of large temporary structures set up in a parking lot and run by FEMA, though I also saw people from the Coast Guard there too. There was directional signage and arrows on the floors and friendly knowledgeable people. In fact, it kind of reminded me of the first day of tech in a new space. I was asked for my appointment QR code and ID and then pointed towards a door and sent to another station where I was again asked for my QR code and ID.

And then, to my delight, amidst all the scanning and vetting and iPads and what not, I saw something very familiar: at each station was a pack of green sticky dots and a pack of orange sticky dots.

These are the very same sticky dots that I use to put spot light cues in my score. Seeing these sticky dots delighted me to no end. They are such a staple of my stage management kit that I feel almost possessive of them – silly, I know. But my sticky dots, aside from one or two homeschool/ preschool art projects, have been languishing unused for over a year. It gave me great joy to know that someone somewhere (or many someones) were using sticky dots.

So after asking me questions about allergies and my current health, the nice young man doing my intake put a green sticky dot on me. I guess it meant that I was low risk for immediate side effects.

I moved on to the next station, where I rolled up my sleeve and very nice person jabbed me in the arm, handed me a vaccination card and I was then directed into yet another tent.

Here in this tent, I sat with all the other green dots on the left side of the room, where there were rows of chairs spaced six feet apart. I was told to have a seat and wait for fifteen minutes before I could leave.

So I chose a seat and sat there, six feet from my fellow vaccinated. Kind of like the graveyard scene in Our Town.

The white canopy of the tent made for a soft, diffuse natural light filled space – all bright and airy. It was the most well lit and quiet place I had been in a long time.

I might have stayed for more than fifteen minutes.

The Husband texted: Are you coming home?

I replied: I don’t know. It’s quiet and well-lit here.

–I have a 2pm meeting

–Fine, okay.

I’m already looking forward to my second shot.

Stage Management Skills in Real Life: Tape, Cardboard, and Creativity

On the radio the other day, there was a discussion about recycling, and they said that cardboard recycling has gone up during COVID. We are no stranger to this phenomenon, having more than done our part to contribute to Jeff Bezos’ wealth. The real cardboard goldmine, however, came courtesy of the new fridge we bought for the basement.

“Make sure to tell them to leave the box!” I said to the Husband when he told me that the fridge was being delivered.

The day the fridge arrived, as the delivery people were trying to figure out how to take the door off the fridge, I waved them down, pointing at the box. “Can you please leave it?” They delivery guy looked at me and laughed.

“Yeah, sure,” he said, and dragged it to the far end of the driveway.

Immediately the kids were entranced and set up shop inside, among the Styrofoam and packing materials. It made a shady little hideout from the 90 degree weather.

“We can’t just leave it here,” I said. “Let’s have a plan.”

The next day, I was playing in the backyard with the two younger kids when I heard scraping and thumping and heaving. I looked around the house, and saw the eight year old trying to heave this box, this very big, refrigerator box, over the front gate and into the back yard.

I wasn’t quite sure what the plan was. Just that it was a big box. When I was little, I read a book called Christina Katerina and the Box by Patricia Lee Gauch. It tells the story of a little girl’s endless adventure with a large cardboard box. Ever after, I saw cardboard boxes as full of infinite possibilities and mutations, and even now I have a hard time throwing large boxes out. “It is going to be something!” I tell myself. After all, the cardboard box was inducted into the National Toy Hall of Fame in 2005.

The eight year old decided that the refrigerator box was going to be a clubhouse/ lemonade stand. We painted it with some leftover paint from painting her bedroom (turquoise) and the dining room (yellow). Holes were cut to be the service window. The kids moved in and started to play in it, running in and out, serving lemonade, using other boxes to be a pretend counter.

Then rain was forecast and the box was brought inside, much to the Husband’s chagrin. I mean the thing is huge. We folded it up and tucked it in the play room, and the eight year old continued to plot and design. Eventually she fashioned a drink dispenser out of a smaller box and some paper and we slotted it into the side of the larger box.

Inside of a lemonade stand. Yes, our living room is impossible to navigate these days.

The cardboard creative bug was unleashed.

A few weeks later, I saw this DIY large object permanence box on a Montessori website, and decided to make one for the baby. Mine is not as neat and tidy as the one featured, but still, the baby has really gotten into dropping a ball into the hole and looking for it at the bottom where it comes out. She has actually now moved on to dropping cars in the hole and watching them come shooting out the doors. The three year old, too, has really gotten into this.

“More! More! Cardboard creations!” a Gollum-like voice inside me insisted.

Which brings me to yet another stage management skill that has been languishing during COVID: making rehearsal props out of tape and cardboard.

I remember during my first stage management internship at a regional theatre – a production of Agatha Christie’s Ten Little Indians – the props mistress was so excited to have found a set of ten carved Indians on eBay. She was rhapsodic about the ease with which she was able to find these things, and now we just had to wait for them to be shipped to us from across the country. The idea that she could find such a specific prop without having to visit fifteen antique stores or hand make it herself was intoxicating.

The patience and wonder we had with the way the internet made propping a show much easier has worn off a little these days. Now we take it for granted sometimes that things can be clicked upon and delivered the next day. Like on those days when a director demands that the prop he added five seconds ago should have been in rehearsal yesterday.

So what is a props ASM to do when the need is immediate and the Props Master needs at least a couple hours to produce something? Well, if it isn’t readily at hand, you decide that, yes, the performers need something to put in their hands. Right. This. Minute. No, they can’t mime it. So, okay. What are we going to give them? (At one theatre I worked at, the Prop Crew had a tongue-in-cheek rehearsal prop request form. One of the questions on the form was, “Please explain why a piece of 2×4 labelled with gaff tape will not suffice in rehearsal.”)

So you root around, take stock of what there is, scavenge a little, do some magic with scissors, some origami with unpliable objects and then wrap it all in yards of tape to keep it all together.

I have crafted many a rehearsal prop in my time. Janky rehearsal prop construction out of minimal materials is definitely a job skill. You have analyze how the “improptu” is needed to function in rehearsal. Does it need to work or move in a certain way? Is it something that has to be thrown? Sat upon? Exchanged between singers? Does it need to just be the right size and shape to fit in someone’s hand?

Next, you have to balance aesthetics with the function. So you don’t want it to look so ugly that it is distracting in rehearsal, but you also don’t want it to look so good that it becomes the real prop. This is where wrapping the creation in black gaff tape is helpful.

Then you look at what is available and get to work.

Things that are helpful to have for optimal rehearsal prop creation:

Tape
Dowels
Handkerchiefs, or fabric
String or Rope
Paper
Cardstock
Wire
Scissors, or Box Cutters
Tape. Gaff Tape, Spike Tape, Clear Tape. A wide variety of tape.

With those things, I figure you can make just about any rehearsal prop you need. I mean maybe not things that are bigger than a house cat, but really most things. It won’t necessarily be pretty, but it will get you through til the real thing comes. Or until the director decides that was a bad idea after all and cut the thing.

“Improptus” I or my colleagues have constucted: jewelery, cigarettes, cigars, globes, reticules, pocket watches, wands, butterfly nets, miniatures in frames, large pictures in frames, brushes, hand mirrors… the list goes on.

So back to COVID present times and the carboard box city growing in our house – or as my husband calls it, “The Warehouse”. I asked the three year old what he wanted. And he said he wanted a UPS truck.

My friend Kristen had recently gifted us a large box. Originally I had promised this box to my husband to use as cover in the garden later this year, but I figured that there would be no shortage of cardboard in our house, and that a UPS truck was a worthy project for such a large box. So I wrestled the box inside the house and started cutting a front window.

“It needs to have a sliding door,” the three year old said.

This is when I have to start breaking things down in my head. What exactly are the essential elements of a sliding door? Well, a door. And a track. And a handle.

A door is easy – a large rectangle. I cut out a window on that as well.

And a handle is easy to fashion out of a strip of cardboard, though it does take a lot of tape to get it to stick.

Which leaves a track. And I think what is a basic track? Well it’s a groove, I guess. So I cut two long pieces of cardboard to run the back length of the box, bent them to form a place for the door to ride, and taped those to the box. I slid the door in and voila!

I drew a UPS symbol on the box… amazing how much authenticity a logo can give a confection of cardboard and tape.

Next, turning out attention to the inside – some knobs and a steering wheel, all made to turn on cylinders made of more cardboard.

“And it needs buttons,” he said.

Well, that was beyond me. But not beyond that other Stage Management magic weapon…. the Sharpie.

He is delighted with it. He sits in it and drives, “pushes” the buttons, turns the knobs. He fills it with more, yes, cardboard boxes, and delivers his packages around the house. I almost need to find him brown pants and a brown polo shirt.

I’m not sure how long these cardboard creations will last. But, as with improptus, longevity isn’t the point. Even though these things aren’t the real thing, they serve their purpose. There is joy and satisfaction in their creation and there is joy and satisfaction in seeing them put to use. They are perfect for the now. They don’t have to be perfect for the forever.

Useful Stage Management Skills in the Real World: Lightwalking

Usually I’m the one who puts the 3 year old to bed and the Husband puts both the baby and the eight year old to bed. Last night we decided to switch and I put the baby to bed. I haven’t done this in a while because it doesn’t go well for me. My method of putting her down involves nursing her to sleep and then being stuck underneath a sweaty sleeping baby because a) she is super sensitive and wakes whenever I move, b) I am too short to reach over the crib railing for a smooth baby touchdown to the mattress, and c) she has my nipple firmly clenched in between her teeth.

The Husband, however, has some crazy daddy magic technique that gets her to go down with minimal amount of crying. Except in the cases where I let her nap too late into the afternoon or she falls asleep during her post dinner nursing session. Then all bets are off and the baby gets to hang out and watch 30 Rock with mom and dad. These incidences are very rare. Dad is that good.

Anyhow, last night, after the Husband explained his flip and settle technique of getting the baby into the crib, as well as his very precise 10 minute walk, 10 minute rock routine, he left me with the baby.

So I got to do something I haven’t done since last October. I got to walk aimlessly around in the dark, trying to keep a little tyrant happy as I watch the minutes of my life tick by. Also known as lightwalking. Okay, so I wasn’t really lightwalking. But it sure felt like it.

Lightwalking, for those of you unfamiliar with the phrase, is when, during the technical period of a show, people stand onstage so that the lighting designer and the director can have bodies to look at as they create the lighting looks. Now who these bodies are vary by company. Sometimes they are volunteers who come and do it for cookies, coffee, and dress rehearsal passes. Sometimes it’s an intern or two or three. Sometime it’s a stack of chairs. At my home company, it’s the assistant stage managers.

Now, I love my job. But there is one part of it I don’t love to do. Okay there are two: 1) I hate having to tell the chorus to be quiet, and 2) I really don’t love light walking. It is physically tiring to have to stand still for minutes (or hours) on end (though a lot of stage managers are good at letting the light walkers know when they can relax and sit down for a second). Also, while often I bring a book or something, a lot of times I can’t really do much while light walking because someone is looking at you – or rather what the light is doing around you – so if you move, a voice from the darkness of the theatre will say, “Can you please look up?” Mentally you have to keep yourself engaged because once in a while the stage manager will send you on an errand to find the crew, or make some photo copies, or some such. So you stand there, a human mannequin, and just let the thoughts run through your head. It’s usually some monologue like, “Do I need to update the paperwork for this evening’s rehearsal? I should follow up on that note. Did I move that Post-It in my book? What’s for lunch in the Canteen? I forgot to tell the Husband that there are diapers in the wash. I have to pay the bills. Hmmm … what is this spike mark here and do we still need it?” and so on.

Faust groundcloth. Look at all those spike marks! Yes, we need all of them.

So over the years I have learned to embrace the special part of my job that is lightwalking. I’ve learned to enjoy my book one page at a time. Sometimes I’ll bring a crossword puzzle, or my fellow ASM will bring trivia cards which we can read to each other over the special ASM channel on our headsets. That latter is actually a fun bonding experience. I’ve learned how fun it is to get to be on parts of the set and recreate stage pictures (Tosca jump, anyone?), even to pretend to be a chorus of sixty with just two other ASMs. I’ve come to love the quiet of lighting session – this loud quiet of work being done, punctuated by the tapping of buttons as the electrician programs the light board, the gentle murmur of voices as the artistic staff contemplates the visual details, the quiet conversations of the crew as they wait in the wings for one of us to ask them to move a chair, or a wall, the soft scratchy brush strokes of the painter as they do touch up on the set, with their softly apologetic reminders of where not to step . I’ve learned to delight in looking up close at our sets – marveling at how the peeling painted foam looks like beautiful medieval rocks from the audience. I’ve learned to brace myself when someone calls, “Going dark!”, ready to have the lights all go out and be enveloped in velvety faux night. And I’ve learn to be really Zen about standing in the dark, to savor being onstage and looking out and appreciate how fleeting the work we do is. The gentle knowledge that standing on this green spike mark, this is where I am meant to be now, and this is what I am doing now, and there is nothing more important I can be doing for the show right now than standing right there, looking into that blinding light.

And last night, as I was trying to get the baby to sleep, I had this realization that this was my COVID version of lightwalking. This walking back and forth in the dark, the quiet murmurs of night time, this holding something ephemeral yet full of life in my arms, this protective possessiveness, this opportunity to be in the moment, in a walking mediation, even this living in fear of failure and tears while being slightly bored… this was where I was, and this was where I needed to be at that moment.

I guess I’m not going anywhere at the moment.

Off Headset (or why I started to blog)

Last summer, when I was pregnant with our third child, I had idyllic visions of starting a blog to document my pregnancy. I had always felt that I hadn’t been as mindful about the gestating process as I wanted to be. With my first pregnancy, I was five months gone before I admitted something was going on. With my second, I was working a pretty challenging schedule (Ring Cycle, anyone?). As a result, I never really took time to savour being pregnant. So last summer, I thought, “I have time off; I am going to start a blog to document things.” But then life, children, summer schedules, and quite honestly, inhibitions got in the way, and before I knew it, it was September and the pregnancy that I wanted to savour and document was … a baby. And I was back at work. And the next show happened. Then the next show didn’t.

And so here we are. But no time like the present, right? And nothing like a pandemic induced stay at home order to give myself time to “create before you consume.”

“Off headset” is what we say at work when we take our headsets off. Like when we go to the bathroom – because you don’t want to be the person who accidentally drops their headset into the toilet, or the person who broadcasts the sound of peeing to everyone else to hear. And at the end of the day, I say, “Off headset” as I am powering off my beltpack, and hanging up my headset – the signal that I’m are no longer available over headset, that rehearsal is over for me,and that I’m switching gears.

Life in opera can be all consuming. The long hours and middling pay means that one really needs to believe and love what one does to make a life of it. The intense rehearsals, monumental achievements, warm colleagues with crazy stories – these things tend to take up all my time and energy when I’m in production. Doubly so when I travel for gigs; when I’m in a new city, work can easily become the whole world, because throwing yourself into an show is the path of least resistance. But there is always a part of me that says, “This isn’t the sum of me! This sitting in rehearsal, solving other people’s problems, swapping horror stories during lighting sessions…. I have a life outside of this.”

So in that vein, I thought I’d create a space for myself to explore/write about things that occupy me when I am off headset – food, books, articles, thoughts, family, things that make me smile, think, and contemplate.