Friday we did our seventh production of Memory of Water. We are now over halfway through the run. Years ago when I was going to see plays I thought that you saw the play and there it was, exactly as the writer and director intended. What I’ve discovered though is that the play is an organic thing. It changes from night to night. Most nights have run more or less smoothly with just a couple of glitches, some on stage and others behind the scenes.

Last Saturday as I was changing out of my costume after the show I did something dumb. You see, just before final dress rehearsal I had cut my thumb. Sliced the tip off as I was dicing onions for fajitas. I wore a bandage on it for the first week but as it had mostly healed up and the band aid was a distraction, I stopped for Saturday’s show. All went well until I was taking off my costume. I snagged the wound on one of the collar buttons and pulled the cut open. The thing was, I didn’t notice and continued to unbutton the shirt, leaving a trail of fresh blood stains all down the front with concentrations at each buttonhole. I only stopped when Andrew, who plays Frank, noticed and stopped me. Rose, the Stage Manager, took the shirt and worked a miracle. By the next morning it was cleaned, and pressed and perfect with no trace of the gore on the crisp white fabric.

Sometimes we run the lines without interruption. Other times we have to pause when a line gets a good laugh. Most memorable though was the night of the catcall. You see at the end of the play we’re all standing in the room around the casket. Catherine comes in dressed in the shortest black skirt I’ve ever seen. It fits her character though it would not be at all appropriate for a funeral. After some banter she asks “Do I look OK?” One night that was answered from the dark theatre with an enthusiastic “Oh yeah!”. Nobody on stage even broke a smile. We just waited for the laughter to subside and continued as if it hadn’t happened. Afterwards though I was the one that had to admit that the voice was my cousin Mike. It’s OK though, Marsha gave him a dope-slap for his trouble.

Then there was the night when I was sitting in a towel on the bed while the action was going on around me and suddenly I had to cough. I mean it felt like an electric spider in my trachea. But a coughing fit would have interrupted what was going on. I held it in, didn’t make a sound, and surreptitiously swallowed spit to make it go away. It was just fortunate though that I didn’t have to say anything for a few minutes.

The show must go on.

PIX: We know that those of you MN have been dealing with a late winter storm. Marsha watched the Twins game where people were in parkas and they had to shovel off the field before the first pitch.  We completely empathize. We totally understand.  Here are a few pictures of what we’ve been putting up with all week.