From Calgary

I have no idea why I go on these Sabbaticals from blogging, but let’s see if I can put some thoughts together.  I’m here in Calgary, Alberta, doing a four-night run of Leaving Ruin at Val Leiske’s Fire Exit Theatre.   It’s always a joy to get to do the play several times in a row just for the sheer fun of seeing the variety of things that come up.  Opening night the first act went beautifully: I had a strong sense of presence and awareness that frankly took me by surprise, and the whole thing was a joy.  The second act was marked by the moment I go offstage for a moment to get the chalice that is the primary prop of the evening, and I smashed my finger in very heavy metal door.  It made for a very interesting few moments as I re-entered.  Focus destroyed, needless to say, except that it demonstrated that strange power the stage has: we soldier on and the audience is none the wiser.

Yesterday, I woke up with my right ear completely clogged.  Yet another new thing:  doing the show while sounding like I’m underwater.  Understandably, Cyrus was a little more irritated at his situation, and the first act didn’t have as much comedy, but the second act seemed to roll by more smoothly than the night before.  Oh, and the technician running cues blew the end of Act One, which really damaged the whole moment.  Arrrgggg…

Today, on top of the music arranging work that I’ve got to do for the church musical, I hope to get out and explore with my camera a bit.  Tomorrow, I have a full day of teaching a directing workshop that should be fun.  Then the final show tomorrow night and back to Seattle Sunday morning.   When will I do Leaving Ruin again?   Who knows?  It’s been a joy to do over the years…nearly ten years now.

…very thankful…

One Reply to “From Calgary”

  1. How I wish we were there watching you, reliving the wonderful experience of the play. It always touched me in a special way, being the son of a preacher, remembering all the things my own father went through and putting him in the context of the play. My father never spoke about those things much, perhaps because he didn’t feel it was proper for a preacher to show his humanity. The church had such expectations of perfection from their preacher, which explains why preachers never lasted very long.

    God’s blessings on your work, Jeff; may they fall like the rains of Seattle in November, a constant mist surrounding you and comforting you and reminding you of how much you and your family are loved — all across the U.S.!

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