I did it! What? Survived the last month- pumpkin patch, Studio 58 rehearsals and all. Now it's the 9th of November already (how did that happen?) and of course I'm totally behind on my next project: writing music for Medea, the Greek tragedy I'm doing at UBC. It'll be interesting to see how these acting students stack up to the ones I just worked with, who were delightful. Even though I had doubts about my work at times, rehearsals with the 6 musicians in the show were always super-fun and as usual, I learned as much as I taught. Last night was the well-received opening night, and I can now start letting that show go and move on to the next. J and I are also taking off to the Sunshine Coast (faint hope of actual sunshine, though- it'll probably rain all the time) later this week for three delightful days- a much-deserved break.

Watching the show last night and breathing a sigh of relief as the music cues came and went, I realized that my biggest lesson learned on this show was that I am allowed to trust myself a little more. A friend sent me a wonderfully encouraging email last week, just as I was doubting myself, and I am going to remember her words and try not to get so knotted up about my abilities and my (often imagined) failures. I will try to learn to be both confident and still humble. We'll see how that works out for me in the months to come...

Getting Away With It.

Reading Alan Bennett's Writing Home for at least the 5th time. It's the perfect diary: a glimpse inside the life of a wonderful, understated and very funny writer. So modest ("I know so little that writing is like crossing a patch of swampy ground...trying not to get my feet wet or egg on my face"), and yet he never lets himself get away with his seeming modesty either: "...I prefer to be liked and thought a nice man. But I'm not. I'm just as bad as the rest of them, only I don't like to show it." An introvert, liking to lurk on the sidelines, happily morose. Hard on others, hardest on himself. I wonder what he would think of blogging (having published several volumes of his diaries for the world to read, he can hardly be too judgmental, one would think). He talks about a friend calling him to congratulate him on one of his plays, "...but really to congratulate you on getting away with it again." That's how I often feel when I've finished a project- as if I've dodged a bullet and somehow no one's guessed the truth: that I have no idea what I'm about. But I know that somewhere, someone knows, and it helps to keep me humble.

After a run-through at Studio 58, where some of my latest work will be performed in The Merchant of Venice; Kathryn Shaw, the head of the school, gives me notes and I quail as generations of actors have before her gimlet eyes. I feel as if I have squeezed in my work for that show between days at the Pumpkin Patch and various other chores, and it's not my best stuff. Watching Antony Holland direct and act (as Shylock) at the age of 88 is several lessons in itself: I was nearly moved to tears watching him in the run-thru. Approaching his nineties, he is spry, sharp as a tack, and has every line memorized: the stage manager only has to prompt him twice. For the first time yesterday I was truly aware of the honor of working with someone who is literally a living piece of theatre history. His delivery is simple, stripped down; none of the histrionics or mannerisms that sometimes characterize an actor of his generation. The meaning of every line is crystal clear. At 88 my grandmother was already sinking into dementia; this man can still recite Shakespeare, for god's sake. The lottery of aging is so random.

The curse of my kind of life: afraid of turning down work I accept it all... and then end up feeling resentful that my time is not my own, and scared that I'm not good enough at all these jobs I take on. A friend of mine blithely takes all kinds of jobs he knows next to nothing about and executes them competently enough because he has no doubts that he can pull them off. But I am more like Alan Bennett: knowing how little I know I can only wait until I am rumbled by someone who's onto me: congratulations on getting away with it again.

Bedtime

Alright, Buddy, I say. I'll read you one story if you promise to be a big boy and go to sleep or read to yourself after, ok? He agrees, and we read a French book about bathtime, his French already so much better than mine. As we read together, his parents put his baby sister in her crib and sneak away for their night out. The story ends, and tears threaten: I don't want to go to sleep! he protests. But we had a deal, remember? The deal was all of 10 minutes ago, a lifetime to a toddler. I cave. I'll turn off the big light and hang out with you for a while, alright? We lie together on his big-boy bed, lit by the blue night-light. His head on a pillow, mine resting on a pile of his books, my feet dangling over the end of the bed. He is giggly, not quite ready to close his eyes. I am giggly too, having sampled a bit of pumpkin wine* at a friend's before my babysitting duties began. We talk, as only a 3 year-old and a slightly tipsy 34 year-old can. I'm a monster. I'm gonna eat your nose. I'm gonna be a pirate for Halloween. So's my boyfriend. How's school? No, I'm a monster and I'm gonna eat your ear!
Finally, adulthood asserts itself and I get up; time to go to sleep, Monkey. We've been "chatting" for a good 30 minutes.
I blow him a kiss and tiptoe out, spending the rest of my time fighting sleep and poring through the weekend Globe & Mail. The baby sleeps like a log; so does her brother.
I remember evenings with him as a baby, as young as his sister is now. I am enchanted, lulled by what has undoubtedly been a super-easy evening of childcare, but I'm so glad they're in my life. I can't wait for more silly conversations as they grow.

*BTW, it was only a bit of pumpkin wine; I was NOT babysitting drunk. And no, that was not a typo- it was pumpkin wine. Imagine pumpkin pie in a wineglass and you have a pretty good idea. Wow. Yum. No prizes for guessing where it came from...

Status Update Haiku

Pumpkin Patch sunny
October's nearly over
Feeling kinda sad.

Always feel wistful
at the end of October
Soon to say goodbye

Many 1-month friends
won't be seen until next year
when we start again.

Also, big project
looming on the horizon.
Hope I'm up to it.

Oasis Day...

... and not as in the squabbling Gallagher brothers. No, this was a quiet, restful day in which I got to do exactly what I wanted, with nowhere to be and no demands except the ones I made on myself. Get up. Do laundry. Run. Make delicious food. Start and finish all school assignments for the week. Not super-exciting, but very satisfying, especially with 5 days of Pumpkin Patchery coming up.

I even got time to experiment with something I've been wanting to use for a while: the homemade wide-angle lens! Very fun. Here are two of the results:

The pix aren't great, because I haven't actually made the attachment thingy that will fasten the lens onto my camera, so I had to hold it on while shooting. But I love the look of these...

I also love being able to work at home, although the distractions of the internet are hard to avoid. Why work on a film scoring assignment when I can browse recipes for Crispy Tofu, read the news, enter my meals into the Nutrition Tracker at Sparkpeople, and of course, read all my favorite blogs? Clearly, something I'll have to get under control. So far, I'm scoring A's in all my Film Scoring assignments, but it's only week 4, so I can't get too cocky.

Meaty Goodness

A short day at the Patch today, thank goodness. As I put on my Facebook page: "Alison is having a fight with the lamb she ate for dinner yesterday. The lamb is winning." Blech. 'Nuff said.

I love, love, love being noticeably smaller than I was 2 weeks ago. And I will do my utmost (within reasonable limits) to stay that way. But I'm realizing that my utmost does not include ingesting huge amounts of red meat every day. For one thing, it's hard (and expensive) to buy meat that's safer to eat: non-medicated, free range, etc. Why lose all this weight just to fill my body with toxins, hormones, additives? For another: well, before this low-carb thing started I was toying with the idea of being mostly vegetarian. It just feels like the right thing to do, for my body, for the animals, for the planet. With a carnivore companion in my life, I don't think I can be totally veggie. Also, when it comes right down to it, I like meat. Love it, sometimes. But I walked into Chapters this afternoon and one of the first things I saw was the cover of Michael Pollan's new book In Defense of Food. And this is the slogan on the cover: Eat Food. Not Too Much. Mostly Plants. It was as if it spoke right to me. Of course, life will be easier if mostly plants includes eggs. And cheese. And yoghurt. And maybe some really good chocolate, once in a while. As I've said before, baby steps, people.

I also love drinking 2 litres of water every day. Don't know how I went without doing so for so long. My skin is clear, my eyes are bright... 'course I pee every 5 minutes, but at least that allows me to get off the tractor-drawn wagon at the Patch for a mini-break every once in a while. Yesterday was insane. Working from 10am until 5, no breaks. Seriously. No breaks. Gulping food between wagon-loads of people. For those of my 2.7 readers who don't know what I do there, I sit on a wagon and sings to loads of customers as we ride out from the main gates to the Pumpkin Patch. And then again as they head back, clutching their pumpkins. It's a fine life, for 3 weeks. Any more and you'd go nuts. Being outside all day is actually wonderful, even in the rain, although we all moan and complain when it's wet. The pay is fantastic. The people are awesome. It's the same bunch of starving musicians every year; it's like a time warp. And the same tractor drivers, the same farm and produce store employees too. I'll say one thing about Harry Hogler (isn't that the best name ever for a farmer?): he certainly seems to inspire loyalty. I'll probably still be working there in October 2058, wrinkled and slower, but still singing "Oh Susanna" with all the energy I possess. They don't do breaks there, as I mentioned, but the pay is good enough to almost compensate for that. Oh, and I have a bit of a crush on one of the guys who works there, so that brightens my days there quite a bit.

You know what I would love, though? I'd love to be able to get my hands on a recent list of people who thought I was sexy, or crush-worthy, or whatever. Wouldn't we all? I would love to read that list and go Ohhh. So that's what he thought of me. Hee hee. But I will have to settle for being chatted up on the bus by the wild-eyed man wearing a big silver skull ring. I know he liked me.

The things I do for money, I'll never understand...

This is an actual picture of the costume I was wearing, from 10am 'til 3:30pm, at the Pumpkin Patch yesterday:Need I say more?

Well actually, I have to add that I am verrrrry sore from dancing all day wearing a giant corn cob which was hanging off my shoulders. I shouldn't have danced as hard as I did, but I do love to shake my buns to music, and what better time than when no one can see who you really are? At one point I tripped as I was doing some highland dancing, and fell over. It must have looked hilarious to the people watching. Especially as I couldn't rise without assistance. Good thing I was protected by all that padding!

Low-carb update: feeling much better one week in. Also have lost over 7 pounds, so much incentive to continue...