Tag Archives: fireworks

Things That Go “BANG!,” And Mournful Bunting

4 Jul

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Home early from The Fella’s, and In-Laws. Stone. Cold. Sober.

…I’m sure this in not how the Founding Fathers intended America’s biggest party day of the year to end, for me.

But here I sit. 

…Because work is tomorrow, (after a Holiday sales blitz), with the beginning of a weekend full of shows riding it’s ass, like white-on-rice.

I feel I planned well, in-all, as plenty of drinking happened earlier in the day to offset the not-having-any-later, deal. Plus, having eaten half a cow and a lot of pig (with incidental greenery on the side), I think absorbed all the residual alcohol, and/or coerced it into helping break down all the stuff in m’guts, soon after.

…Which is basically a “workout,” if you look at it in some ways. (Like the world where ice cream doubles as your dairy qualification for the day.)

The amount of food I’ve had across these past two days, does worry me a bit.  Not so much in the fact that I won’t fit into my costumes…(that’s what a corset is for)…but that it will be exponentially more uncomfortable to be squeezed into them.

…But I haven’t totally ignored my responsibilities in that realm. I did manage to run lines today with The BFF, (as in days of old), to  keep verbally fit and ready for tomorrow. And as part of my coming-home-early-to prep-for-tomorrow bit, finally fished out my tights from the show-bag, where they have lazily resided all crumpled and stinky, since last Sunday. 

…And now, as I listen to endless pop-rockets, snap-dragons, and gunpowder bangs outside my window, clean black tights hang in their place along the shower rod…drooping like mournful, wet, bunting.

There is something strangely satisfying in my bathroom being taken over by show laundry, hanging to dry. 

Tradition. 

…Harking back to centuries of other show people, from Vaudeville to the legit stage, who have done it before me, and will long, long after I am gone. 

Some things never change:

…The late-night excessive banging of illegal fireworks outside your bedroom window on the fourth of July…and prep, the evening before your next performance, being two of them.

Happy Independence Day, friends!

~D

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The Elephant

3 Jul

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It’s the thing that everyone pretends not to see:

The elephant, in the room.

…The giant neon sign with a number counting down, regarding people you love, and how many days until they leave you.

When you know it is coming, all you want is to ignore the fucking sign.  But you almost never can.  And when people are so constantly reminding you of it, with voiced affections, and party-throwing, and the turning in of keys, selling of cars, liquidating of assets, it is even more present.

…Suddenly, it becomes like trying to ignore an entire herd of elephants.

…I’m pretty sure that’s where The Fella is living right now.  He’s taking it like a champ, but he is an affectionate human who has had a giant impact on a lot of other humans, and that gets messy when people say, “goodbye.”

Lucky for me, I am more than secure enough in my relationship with him and The BFF to know that “goodbye” will never be in our shared vocabulary.  Neither one of us will ever really manage to shake off the other two.  The bond is too indelible. 

…But even if all the hundreds of other silk web strings linking him to every relationship he’s built here over the years, stretch to New Orleans and back again, those relationships will never quite be the same again.  And he likes change roughly about the same amount that I do…which is not at all…so, “life” is about to get a whole lot “woa” for him.

He’s totally “good” for it, but that doesn’t mean he wants to focus on that fucking elephant any more than anyone else does.

…Which I can totally understand.

…But on the same hand: it is rather nice to see a turn out of people, friends you haven’t seen in ages, coming from all over the surrounding cities, counties, years and seasons…some even dropping in from Mars, to wish a person, all the best in the world.

…And to see the happiness of The BFF, at last getting to claim her Fella, for new ‘ventures and life explorations.

The elephant sucks.  But it comes with good memories.  Including the ones we build through this weekend…before two people get on a plane, to start a new life together.

…Which, when they are The BFF and her Fella, is a pretty rad thing.

And now: post-baseball game at the stadium, we’ve split for the night, to rejoin tomorrow in cookings and fireworkings and general family joyness.  Another day to add to the mental scrapbook of the us’s, and all the goodest of good things.

~D

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