Some Angel/Transition

My other character in "Judas" got rather short shrift, I'm afraid. What with the costume and the accent, Mother Teresa consumed most of my attention. I kept referring to Gloria as "some angel," which was a throwback to "The Best Christmas Pageant Ever." Here she is with Loretta (I kid you not), who was her fellow jury-member. The reason she looks like a zombie is because "back on Earth, she's on life support."

I must say, though, that I had entirely too much fun backstage during the run of this play. Being surrounded by a lot of young men was a bit of a shot in the arm, as they say. I did NOT (repeat, NOT) want to be treated as an old lady by them...I was the oldest person in the cast. So, I sort of...well...lets just say that my veneer of ladylike behaviour slipped a little. When they got crude, I got crude.

(Damn kids...think they invented sex, drugs and rock and roll!)

I actually said that to one of them, and he shot back with, "We didn't invent it; we just perfected it!"

Uh-huh.

Anyway, Dearly Beloved, it's past time to don again the persona of a lady--yeah, that one that my mom tried so hard to impose. The cast of "Secondary Cause of Death" has several new people...ladies...who are not used to the sort of language that was coming out of my mouth last night. One or two of them were looking at me a little askance. That's how I figured out that it's time to lay to rest the backstage character from Judas...the one that never was on stage.

It was fun to relax and be that person for a while though...I haven't been her for decades!

Thanks, guys!

The Last of Judas Iscariot

~photo courtesy of Mollie Francis

I haven't really said much about "The Last Days of Judas Iscariot." Not compared with the way I usually wax loquacious about whatever project I'm working on.

In the beginning, I didn't know what to think. I just had to trust Rob and do as I was told to the best of my ability. The further we got into the rehearsal period, the more fun I was having, and the more relaxed I got with this very peculiar character.

Of course, every character in this play is peculiar, and it became a question of playing on each other's peculiarities. Acting is such a trip, anyway. You have to say the right words, looking out of the eyes of your character, and still maintain enough of yourself to keep track of what's going on. Remember, there is always the possibility that something can go horribly wrong...you can forget a line, or get the wrong cue, or your bra strap can pop open...and you have to deal with that and go on. You come to trust the rest of the cast to give you the right cues, and trust your own ability to give the right cues, as well. Still, you have to have enough of your attention invested in your character to make it all real. Not just look real, but be real. In this play, especially, every actor needed to maintain total loyalty to his or her character, and commitment to go where they might not really want to.

This play seemed to weave itself in gossamer, building a structure as light and delicate as a cobweb, and as fragile. I guess I was afraid that talking about it might jinx it, or some such nonsense.

In the end, the gossamer was very strong, and we all (I think) came away the richer for the experience.

As Frank always says: "The theater is magic. There's magic in this theater, and truly blessed are those who share their talents with others."

A Little Fuzzy

Miscellaneous Backstage Shots

Facebook Comment About "Judas"

A friend just posted on Facebook:

[I] just saw "The Last Days of Judas Iscariot", a stunningly articulate, thoughtful, brave & challenging play about the nature of remorse, despair, forgiveness, truth, and the human mind & heart. It was brilliantly directed. The characters were mesmerizing; the actors spot on. I thought, questioned, laughed, cried...hell, I wept. It is one of the best plays I've ever seen and will stay with me for a long time.

We had a hell of a show yesterday. Too bad you missed it. Still, we will do our best to make the last performance the best, ever!

What Goes Around Comes Around

Today, we had a matinee, with a cast party to follow. I am six days out from pay day, have less than a quarter of a tank of gas, and need to take Brendan to the airport early in the morning. So, I decided not to go to the party.

Lo and behold, not only did Chandra offer gas money, she even made me a batch of cookies to take to the party!

Is she becoming the parent and I, the child?

Success!

Aidan is now the proud owner of a saxophone! Tara got us the name of a store that was happy to sell one to Chandra at a reasonable price!

Look out, neighbours! Sax Prax is about to ensue!

Aidan Needs a Saxophone

Last year, at Burnet Middle School, Aidan played First Chair saxophone in the 6th Grade Band. At Burnet, the school supplied instruments for those who didn't have one or couldn't afford one. At Chisholm Trail Middle School, not so much. We have to supply one for him.

Of course, we don't qualify for a rent-to-own...we have rather poor credit.

So, if there is anyone out there who has one lying around that I could rent or borrow, or buy at so much a month, please let me know.

It's very hard to disappoint a 12-year-old, and we all know how important it is for a child to have something they know they are good at. For some, it becomes a reason to stay in school when social issues become challenging.

Fingernails

Last week, at the theater, somebody told me I had nice fingernails. I looked at my hands with a bit of a "huh?"

I guess they are nice, by modern standards. With all the emphasis on artificial nails these days, people don't cultivate the natural nails they used to. After one has had French tips or whatever artificial nails women have going on, one's natural nails will deteriorate from being covered by epoxy or acrylic.

I remember doing "Ladies at the Alamo," back in 1987. "Ladies at the Alamo" is basically a five-character, two-act cat fight. It is a battle among the women for control of a community theater. Of course they are all wealthy women, which, in 1987, included perms and long nails. All the other actresses in the show spent good money to get artificial nails. I couldn't afford that. In spite of making a living cleaning houses, I grew nails that were really long and good. I had about 3/8" of tip on each finger. I hate nail polish, but I had to wear it for that play. I put it on when I got to the theater every night, and took it off right after the meet-and-greet. On closing night, I broke a thumbnail. Apart from that one performance, you couldn't tell my nails from the expensive ones...and I do mean expensive! Back then a set of salon nails cost $60.

Now, age has set in, and my nails don't grow that long. They curl over the ends of my fingers instead. They seem a bit rough and pitted, as well. I think they must be rough on the underside, too, as I keep getting black stains under them that just won't come off, no matter how much I scrub or scrape. I notice them particularly after working with fabrics that shed fibers...vintage velvet, or that polyester stuff that made me choke for a few days. Whatever it is, it won't come off, and the only solution seems to be to soak my fingers in bleach. You can imagine, Dearly Beloved, how much I enjoy that!

So I must divest myself of past glories and accept that my nails, while not looking as good as they did 23 years ago, are still doing all right!

Thank you very much for the compliment!

Theater=Life=Theater

I was almost 35 when I discovered that I loved the stage. I had screwed my courage to the sticking place and auditioned for a play at our local community theater. The part required a British accent, and I knew I could do that. Still, my performance background consisted of public speaking, and the director had a difficult time getting me to come around from behind the couch. I was used to a lectern, you see, and felt very exposed without it.

My second show changed my life. The focus was no longer accent, but acting. The character was a woman who had been bullied in high school, and who, ten years later, stands up to her bully. Something I had never done in school. Suddenly, a huge weight was lifted from my shoulders, and I began standing up to bullies in my real life...beginning with SSS. That marriage survived for another year, as I came to realize that a husband who has been bullying for 13 years fully expects to do so for the rest of his life.

Over the years, I have played a lot of characters...housekeepers, nuns, prostitutes, neurotics, duchesses, shopkeepers; each has presented its own challenge.

Presently, I am playing Mother Teresa. The next one is a rather butch parody of Miss Marple. After that, I'm hoping for a role in "Steel Magnolias."

I'll let you know how it goes.

Occasionally, I am hit with the scathingly brilliant idea that I can direct a play. To tell the truth, I'm still a bit giddy over the success of "Waiting for Godot" from last season at Sam Bass. I have filled this season with work, including directing "A Company of Wayward Saints" in the Spring. This presents its own challenges, as does "The Tempest Project," which I will be costuming.

I guess I learn a little something from every show, and take that cumulative experience to the grocery store, the costume shop, and everywhere else I go in life.

Beats hell out of being bored!

I Love This Play!

Satan (Ben Weaver)

Here's the judge (Frank Benge). Two more of Kevin Scholtes' shots. Costume courtesy of A Cut Above Costumes (natch).

I have to say that one of my favourite scenes is the one where Judas' defense attorney, Fabiana Aziza Cunningham (Amy Lewis) has "reconjured" Satan (Ben Weaver) to the stand and is questioning him about the nature of God. "Is God powerless or spiteful? I order you to answer!"

Kevin Scholtes' Shots

Here are a couple of Kevin's publicity shots from "The Last Days of Judas Iscariot."

Come and see the show!

Life Has To Go On

Three years!

For three years, I've been putting one foot in front of the other and surviving.

I have stayed off the cigarette wagon, which I consider a major victory. I am, however, 50 lbs overweight. It would take a lot of energy to lose those pounds. Sometimes I want to, but the thought of all that exercise is daunting.

Sometime in the past three years, I began to look old. I suppose that would have happened anyway, but the tears I have cried haven't helped.

I've kept busy. That first play I did after Jim died, I had to be talked into. "Shakespeare in Hollywood" was a life saver! Thanks, Lynn! I've worked on half a dozen or more shows in the past three years. I've faced theater challenges I never thought I would, such as directing "Godot," and singing a bit in a musical...

I've gone to parties. I've taken long drives. I've learned to go out to dinner alone.

I've been sad, angry, bored, terrified...but also satisfied, triumphant and, frequently, happy.

I guess that when the positive feelings outweigh the negative, that will be as good as it gets.

If it has taken three years to get this far, my life may not be long enough to completely recover. So, that may not be the prize I should keep my eye on. However, this plodding pace is really getting my goat.

As sung by Sugarland, "I need a little less hard times; I need a little more bliss." Is "bliss" really a thing of the past, to be consigned to nostalgic memory?

I suppose I shall have to wait and see.

Opening Night!

This show rocks, people! If you can come and see it, please do!

No reservations; $10 donation at the door. If you can donate more to help get this fledgling production company up and running, please do so.

I feel so honoured to have been asked to play with this incredibly talented cast and crew of young people. The effort that has gone into this is prodigious. From producer to director to actors to sound tech (who stepped in today, when the guy who had been rehearsing with us had to drop out), every single one of you deserves an ovation!

Which we got tonight!

Thanks for letting me play!

Hell Day of Hell Week

Today was Hell Day. It must have been, because I feel like Hell.

For a start, I am sewing both edges of wide lace onto taffeta at work, and had to unpick it all the way around a skirt. The skirt was lined with net, and I somehow got the idea I could sew through both layers. Not so...the net slides, the taffeta puckers and the lace bunches up. Fortunately, it's possible to do it over.

The only suit at a thrift shop in the entire city of Round Rock that will work for Amy's character is four sizes too big, so I have extensive alterations to do on it. Plus, the actor who said he had a 32" inseam is probably right, but the pants have a very long rise, so they are still too long. Neither of those things is a disaster, except that I lost a screw out of my glasses at the theater this evening. I am hoping that the optician will fix it without charging me anything, for, of course, I can't find an eyeglass-fixing kit. I guess I'll find out in the morning.

It's a long way to the end of the month, and I have no money. I have a slow leak in my right front tire, a quarter of a tank of gas and we're out of cereal. Hopefully, I can scrounge up a few dollars worth of books to sell at Half Price Books tomorrow. I'm still working only half days, as the director who has measurements for her theater's next show hasn't brought them in yet.

On top of that, I flubbed my lines at rehearsal tonight...and, on top of that, I stubbed my toe backstage and it still hurts.

And the crowning glory of my day? Some cast members are unhappy with their costumes. Y'all know how that makes me feel!

So, here's to a better tomorrow!

Nunderwear

I've played nuns before. A couple of them, anyway. I played the Abbess in "A Comedy of Errors" and the Middle Nun in "House of Blue Leaves."

I learned that one needs "nunderwear. Nunderwear involves some sort of shorts, so that one can flap one's habit in whatever breeze presents itself. Nuns' habits are hot, even Mother Teresa's, thought it's actually a white sari. Still...a sari wraps a couple of times around the waist, plus all those pleats and the long-sleeved shirt that goes under it...and there is a white head-wrap beneath the veil. As well, nuns tend to minimize their...um...assets, so a sports bra is in order. If I wear the darn thing too long, it cuts off circulation in my arms!

Oh well...one must be thankful for small mercies--at least I can go barefoot this time!

"Odyssey" Costumes

I have been asked about my comment that I would like to tweak some of the costumes for "Odyssey."

I have to say that I have the utmost respect for the design choices made by Matt Poitras, the costumer. The overall palette is beautiful, and he has certainly done his research. Most of my criticism is in the mechanics, and all of it, a personal choice.

I like fabrics to be hemmed. In this show, there are a lot of raw edges. I can see making that choice for the "suitors;" theirs have been intentionally ravelled and that works. I do not like the raw edge on the bottom of Nurse's gown, or on the sheer drape she wears over it. I also don't like the edges of the drape closed over her arms. It makes her look confined by the costume. I understand the raw edges on the drapes worn by the Naiads (though I don't like the mauve nylon nightgown worn by one of them)...they are, after all, otherworldly. I also like the cut and rawness of Odysseus' beggar's cape.

I do not like to see a goddess having to adjust her garments in order to move freely. Calypso's first gown is several inches too long It's already dirty around the bottom, and the show has only been open for two performances. Goddesses should never look grubby. A clip on the website shows Calypso in a gown that is open past her breasts. On stage, that gown has been bunched together in the front. I'm guessing that she was falling out of it in its original form. However, a character change has her putting a snug tunic over it, and the bunched part in the front makes her appear bulky while dancing (the dance was brilliant, by the way). I am still trying to figure out why that particular gown is shorter in the back than the front. The only thing I can think of is that it might be made from a round tablecloth. Otherwise, it's a choice about which I'd love to ask the designer.

I like the leather armour very much, but Antinoos has something lumpy under the front of his. I think it is extra length in a stiff leather belt he is wearing beneath the armour. Personally, I would totally get rid of that. He looks as if he has a flashlight in his pocket, if you know what I mean.

I understand that casting in community theater sometimes limits a director...so I can totally overlook the fact that two of the suitors are being played by women. However, they need to wear shorts under their tunics. When they were rolling around on the floor, I saw very skimpy drawers.

Things I loved, besides the leather armour, include the handmade sandals, Odysseus' boots, the helmets, the masks, the oriental-looking costumes in the scene where Odysseus lands on the island where the king and queen wine him and dine him and give him a boat. I also like the fact that the costumer stayed away from the chiton/drape sort of cliche. I really like the reds uniting Odysseus and Telemachus, and the fringed tunics uniting all three members of the royal family.

As I said, I like the costumes over all...there are just a few things I would tweak.

"The Odyssey: A Rock Musical"

"The Odyssey: A Rock Musical" opened last night at the Dougherty on Barton Springs Rd. I went this evening, and thoroughly enjoyed it.

This early in the run, there were one or two glitches, and some of the dialogue seems a bit stilted. The sound system is not the best and the drums are just a tad bit too loud. That's about all I could find not to like. Of course, I'd like to tweak the costumes a little, but that's just me...

The songs are lovely, especially a ballad called, "You Have Your Father's Spirit," which I found really moving. It is sung twice, once to Telemachus and once to Odysseus. I would love to have heard it again.

I think "rock" musical might be something of a misnomer, as most of the songs are ballads. I guess if you put a set of drums behind any tune, it becomes "rock," but such distinctions really don't matter.

The story is well told, and it's a great story. The staging is clever, the lighting, wonderful. I'd go and see it again, if I could!

Richard Dodwell, as Odysseus, is truly amazing, and Andrea Nelson as Penelope rocks the house. Craig Kanne was in danger of stealing the show, with his assortment of off-beat characters. The entire cast is very good.

Freddy Carnes has put together a hell of a show.

I forgot to order a soundtrack, but I want one.

There's a website: www.odessyrockmusical.com. Go. Get tickets. Watch clips. Hear songs. Get tickets and see the show. It is only a two week run, and closes on Sept 4, so don't dilly-dally. You'll be sorry if you miss it, because people will be talking about this one for quite a while.

(pssst...it's worth the price of admission to see the normally natty Richard Dodwell looking all unkempt and unshaven!)

Letter to Jim

Dear Jim

It's hard to believe it's been almost three years. All but a week. It doesn't even feel like one year. Maybe a few months...

I know you've been there at the rehearsals for Robbie's (must remember to call him Rob) show. Even the ones at Kayla's house. Don't try to weasel out of it...I can smell you. I know you've been watching, but have you been listening? Have you been listening to that boy give notes? OK, he does tend to go on a bit, but then, so did you. The point is that I can hear your words coming out of his mouth! "Know the story. The story is what's important, and your job is to maintain character, no matter what." How many times did you say that to him? How many times did you say that to me?

You could have been here, Jim. You could have thrown your arm around him and said, "Good job, Robbie!" Have you any idea what that would have meant to him?

But no. You were tired of pain and worry, so you fixed that, didn't you?

I still have nightmares about finding you out there, bleeding and gasping...do you know that? I'm still so angry with you...things happen all the time that we could have shared, if you had just gone to a doctor and looked after yourself a bit! Like this awesome play directed by your awesome student!

Fuck you. I love you.

I miss you...

Ronni

PS There will be ghost hunters in the theater next Friday. Mmh Hmm. The 20th. They got some cool stuff on tape last week...I haven't heard it yet, but I hope I have a chance to. From what Lynn and Frank said, it sounds like that introduction you added to "Laura," back in the mists of time. Other things, as well, but that got me, when they told me.

Don't let them run you off, OK?

A Street is Not a Playground

One of the streets I drive on my way home from work is lined with duplexes. Because of the fact that the houses back up against the high school football field, they are reasonably priced. Families live there because of the lower rent and because the high school, a middle school and an elementary school are within walking distance. The nearest park is not within walking distance for small children, so many of them play in the street.

Yesterday, as I turned onto that street, there were three adults standing in the middle of it, talking. They moved aside, and I proceeded. Down the street, I could see a whole flock of kids on foot, on bikes, on skates and skateboards, revolving in slow circles around each other. There must have been a dozen or more of them. I was driving about 10 mph, and, as I approached the group, one of the smaller children fell off her bike. A bigger girl snagged the bike and was sitting on it, walking it around. She slowly inched toward the curb, as I sat and waited. Just as I took my foot off the brake, the little girl who had fallen, and who had been standing in the middle of the street, examining her knees for damage, ran right in front of me! Right in front! Fortunately, my car had not rolled more than a couple of inches, and she was safe.

Some of the kids had disappeared, but I saw them as soon as I turned round the 90 degree bend in the street. There were about four of them at the intersection where I had to turn right. When they saw me coming, they clustered towards the right hand side of the street, at the intersection. And just sat there, filling most of the lane. I had my turn signal on, and pulled to a stop.

I rolled down my passenger window and explained that Glenda Drive is a street, and that they need to get out of the way when cars are coming. One of the little girls (about eight or nine), told me they didn't see me. I responded that they need to keep an eye and an ear out for cars. She actually gave me some lip, repeating in a snotty tone that they were looking and still didn't see me. I informed her that, while my car is small, it is not invisible.

I was livid by the time I got home, and my front door may never be the same after the slam it got!

The only adults I saw were the ones clear up the other end of the street. There may have been adults watching from the front yards along the way, but my attention was focused on the kids in the street and I didn't see them if they were there. Neither did I hear anyone calling the kids out of the street.

There are a couple of other routes I could take, but this one is the shortest and I am really strapped for funds this month. I am trying to make a quarter of a tank of gas last as long as it possibly can.

Of course they must ride their bikes in the street...there is nowhere else close enough. However, they really do need to scatter to the curb as soon as a car approaches, and not deliberately block the way. I hope somebody teaches them that.

New Story!

Ronni Bennett has been kind enough to publish another one of my little stories at her Elderstories site.

Thanks, Ronni, for your constant encouragement of writing, mine and your other contributors'!

Another Grammar Meltdown

Here we have a couple of words and phrases that deal with numbers. First: "between" and "among." Regardless of my mother's use of "Between you, me, and the gatepost," when referring to a juicy bit of gossip that was to go no further, "between" refers to a relationship involving two things. "Between the blue dress and the teal, she prefers the teal." If there are more than two things, the word is "among." "Among the three of us, we had $23." This rule has pretty much gone extinct, but it still grates on my ear to hear "between" used with more than two choices.

Subject/verb agreement is a...heh...subject...that could take me down a lot of different paths, but today's lesson deals with "none." Now, "none" is short for (a contraction so old that it has lost its apostrophe), "not one." As such, the verb should be "is" (singular), not "are" (plural). "None (not one) of us is going to the store."

Really, a lot of grammar is common sense; it's just that nobody has time to think about it any more. To be honest, I couldn't tell you the names of most of the grammar rules or phrases or tenses. I just got lucky enough to be raised by folks who cared about the English language, and spoke it. They encouraged me to read, up to a point. I admit there did come a time where they thought I was reading too much, but that was much later. I had my mouth washed out with soap for using slang. Cussing was pretty much at a minimum, and I shudder to think what would have happened, if I had been so foolish as to try it.

My dad, who was born in 1908, was of the opinion that the English language had peaked in Edwardian England and had been going downhill ever since. We had many lively discussions, as I tried to convince him that language was a process, not a product. I think he was inclined to agree, but he didn't have to like it!

I don't have to like it either, and I won't go down without a fight!

"Last Days of Judas Iscarot" Poster

What is My Neighbourhood Coming To?

OK, this was weird, and I probably should have taken pictures, but I was on my way out and just needed to clean it up in a hurry.

Yesterday morning, I was headed out with Rob for some "Judas" costume shoppings. Outside my front door was a huge mess. It turned out to be four trash cans (full of what looked like household trash), two road cones and a vacuum cleaner, none of which I had ever seen before.

I called Brendan, who had left for work earlier, and he said it was there when he left. Aidan says he heard some thumps during the night, but didn't look out. I'm kind of glad he didn't, as there is no way to look outside without whoever is out there knowing it.

Now I'm wondering if I should have called police, or the neighbourhood association or something...

I know my back yard is a mess, but the front looks fairly respectable, thanks to my neighbour with his riding mower.

I wonder if it has anything to do with my Obama bumper sticker!

Still, it wasn't flaming poo, so I think I'll ignore for now.

To the person or persons who did this, I have just one thing to say--thanks for the trash cans...mine are pretty much on their last legs!

The Pill Mill

I had never been to a pill mill. When I was asked to accompany someone to Houston to visit a doctor, I had no idea what I was getting into.

We arrived at 7:10 AM, as she told me that getting there early would shorten the wait. We were the first ones. We walked through the spooky deserted office building and sat down on the fake Burberry carpet, out of the line of sight of the security patrol. Didn’t want to be kicked out into the muggy heat of the Houston summer morning.

Soon, two other people arrived, one a woman of about my own age, so we began to compare aches and pains. We had a jolly time, sitting on the floor, chatting, as others arrived and joined the line.

Just before 8:00, nurses (or, at least, women in scrubs) arrived and we were admitted to the waiting room. The patients were asked to submit their folders of medical records through the sliding glass window, and then we sat and admired the room.

The waiting room was an unprepossessing place, with slippery chairs, and a crucifix on the wall, framed under protective glass. A couple of similarly framed bible quotes completed the décor, except for the hand lettered signs that said, “PLEASE DO NOT PRESENT FORGED MEDICAL RECORDS.”

O-kaaaay?

After everyone’s documents had been examined, the door to the Inner Sanctum was unlocked, and we were all herded through to the “real” waiting room. At least it had windows, and the chairs were prickly rather than slippery. The nurse-types came through with questions, calling names for people to step out and pay their (cash) “consultation fee.” The question, “Who is here for Xanax?” caused a little stir. A frisson of excitement swept the room. Those Xanax folks were pretty popular!

Naïve as I am, by then even I had to realize that most of these folks were drug dealers and/or addicts. Shortly after, I was evicted to the outer, slippery-chaired waiting room, as the inner one was filling fast with “patients.” Once out there, I was privy to several attempts to see the doctors without the requisite records. “Mine are being faxed over,” was a favourite. “Sorry. We don’t accept faxes.” “I left them in the car…I’ll just go and get them.”

O-kaaaay?

Looking around, I could see that my friend and I had more teeth between us than all the rest of the denizens combined. A discussion ensued about dentures and their general level of inconvenience.

“I put those suckers in one time, and like to threw up! They’ve been in the drawer ever since!”

I declined to participate in that conversation. As a matter of fact, I declined to participate in any conversation. I had my “Judas” script, and was mentally running lines. Probably my lips were moving, and they all thought I was worse off than they were.

The scrawny 65-looking guy who was discussing teeth with the girl who had “baby love” tattooed on her ankle asked the nurse-type if that was her Toyota he had seen in the parking lot. She told him that was confidential information. It occurred to me that, if he thought he was going to hustle the pretty young nurse-type, he could at least put the damn denture in!

They threw out the lady with whom I had been cheerfully discussing aches and pains in the beginning. They said she was drunk. As she had actually crawled through the door when we all first entered, I was willing to accept the possibility, though it seemed pretty hard core for 8:00 AM.

I was glad when my friend emerged, and we were off to find the right pharmacy. Apparently, one can only fill the prescriptions from the pill mill at certain pharmacies. Or maybe the medications are just cheaper there. They gave my friend a coupon. So we drove across town to one of the acceptable stores, and found it in a sad strip center, sandwiched between a weight loss clinic and a store-front dentist. It had bars over the entire front. It was very small, with none of the merchandise usually associated with drugstores. I saw some of my new acquaintances from the waiting room. We smiled and nodded.

I was so glad to get out of there, and back on the road to Austin!

Fait Accompli!

Brendan got his drivers' license today. Fair warning, y'all...stay off the sidewalks!

~just kidding~

He doesn't really want to drive. He just wanted to get his license because Jimmy made it a condition in order for him to continue to help with Brendan's tuition and other expenses. So. Maybe pushing Brendan a bit is not such a bad idea.

Driving has always been a sticky issue for me. My dad was a very timid driver, and my mother in the front seat was Hyacinth Bucket in the flesh; usually with a bit more of an edge--"For goodness sake, John, slow down!" "I'm only going 40." "I don't care! There's something wrong with the speedometer. Slow down! Just because everyone else is in a rush is no reason for us to be!" Mom had a license at one point, back in the 1930s, but was involved in a wreck and never drove again. She never would talk about it, so I don't know what really happened.

Nobody ever taught me to drive when I was a kid, and I grew up before there was Driver's Ed in schools. One's father was supposed to step up to the plate, but mine either couldn't or wouldn't. My friend's dad offered, but was politely refused by mine. I think he thought that, as it was his responsibility, it was better left undone than foisted off onto a neighbour. Yet another instance when my father put me at the bottom of his list.

Anyway, the upshot was that I didn't get a license until I was 45, and it was years after that when I finally began to enjoy driving.

The girls pretty much taught themselves, or got their boyfriends to teach them. I did take them practising...these grey hairs came from somewhere...and they have become good drivers.

Brendan has faced his fear, and emerged victorious! What's a few more grey hairs for Mom?

I was sitting in the waiting room when he came in, poker-faced. I figured all was well, because his poker face doesn't work when he is upset, disgruntled, angry, hurt, or otherwise in the throes of a negative emotion.

It's a good thing I wore a T-shirt, because I would have been busting buttons!