The chain link of the fencing pressed into my back, as I bent over double....hand grasping the knob of the old red door. My eyes and nose were pouring. Fortunately, I had a kleenex in the apron pocket of my costume. Great spasms of laughter racked my body, but as I stood outside, between the snorts and guffaws, I could feel the sun on my face...smell the green of spring, mingled with the perfume of the dumpster that resides behind the Theatre. How many times over the years have I stood in just that spot - smelling the spring - watching thunder storms roll by - freezing in the winter wind.
It started off like any other Tuesday Matinee....pushed and prodded by the impatient senior citizens behind me in the buffet line (One of the perks of working Dinner Theatre? Free Food!), a meal shared upstairs in the green room with my castmates, too long of a lingering at the table with stories, news, and a few photographic highjinks, rushing to jump into costume at 5 minutes till places.
All was well, until the top of the second act, when in what can only be described as a momentary brain malfunction, I misplaced a couple of words. Where they went, I can not say.....but the words I replaced them with came haltingly, and were mostly of the made up variety....As rarely happens....ok, as sometimes happens.....fine.....as often happens, those of us onstage got tickled - me, I am ashamed to admit it, most of all. Thankfully, I was scripted to exit the stage fairly quickly, where I was met by the stage manager....we dissolved into fits of laughter. A quick moment back on stage - only to leave again with another actor, where once safely offstage,we resumed the laughfest (hopefully inaudibly!) Back onstage, I managed to finish my dialogue AND a song, and then finally - a few minutes to go outside and compose myself, before my next entrance - which is how I found myself wedged between the chain link and the door. I have, for Thirty years with regularity (other than the 5 years I lived in Florida) worked at this Theatre. It is as intrinsically linked to my life as are the homes in which I have lived, the Church in which I worship (and work), the corner shop where I purchase my coffee....For over half of my life, I have parked my car in the back lot, walked up the actors stairs, and "done my thing". And standing there today, in the sun and the liquid mirth - I had a moment of great clarity.
Now, there are those in the Thesbian world that might look down upon Dinner Theatre, and truly enough, it is not Academic Theatre...nor is it highbrow....You would be hard pressed to find a Pulitzer Prize winning script being performed on a stage in the Dinner Theatre Circuit. But that being said, I would offer up that the Shows and performances that are typically found in such venues are no less valid....no less art.
Is not the goal of the Drama to offer up a slice of life? To move people to both ends of the emotional spectrum....laughter, tears....highs, lows, and every place in between - to allow the story to envelope the audience, to the point that they become a living, breathing part of the story? I have been blessed over the years, to tell many stories, sing many songs...I have been blessed to have a place to work, to hone my craft, to work with incredibly talented actors and musicians. I have been blessed to bring a much needed paycheck home to my family....to be the working actor I aspired to be, when I was a young woman.
Well, I finally pulled it together, and went back onstage. The song at the end of the show, is about a quilt, given to a young Mother, by the 3 Church Women (One being her Mother) who have loved and nurtured her for the entirety of her life. The harmonies are glorious, the lyrics thoughtfully written. As I sang it today, I looked at each of my fellow cast members - men and women that I have known and worked with for years, and was deeply moved by the role they, and all of the other folks I have shared that stage with in days gone by, have played in my life. The tapestry of art and life that they have helped me to weave.
After the curtain call, we gathered in the Lobby, for the Traditional "Joyed It Line" (you know, where the audience members come out, shake your hand and, and murmur "Joyed It") I was hugged by Grandma's who still had tears streaming down their faces....I was slapped on the shoulder by old men with craggy faces and misty eyes, and for a moment, connected by the art - by the story - by the song, we were not strangers, but a part of each other's lives.
"Put a piece here, Put a piece there, the picture comes alive.
And row, by row, the story grows, and through each tale we survive.
Hands have stitched this quilt together, knowing the tales of your heart
And love has stitched our lives together, so tightly they won't come apart"
