“People Plan. God Laughs!” In hindsight, this was the theme for the New Year (2010) … and beyond. As MSI moved toward its closure, there were a lot of details to be dealt with now and in the few months remaining. The payrolls had diminished to a trickle as the last shows on our roster finished up, some sadly, others not so much. I’d already sent off the tax forms to the musicians who had worked for us in the previous year and now, as each show ended, I enclosed their current T4A’s with their final paychecks. The last show, a regional production in Calgary, closed at the end of May and, simply and quietly, after an astonishingly eventful 20-year adventure, we were done! It was tough. Really tough, mainly because I was all by myself. The morning-after-blues set in for a bit, but I eventually shrugged it off and started to think about the future. I knew there was a danger of falling into a depression, not that I’m prone to doing that, so I sat in the sun for a while, mentally listing all the possibilities I’d not followed up on, and vowed to get something happening.
I don’t know why, but as a little experiment, I got out an old sketch pad one afternoon and started to draw my hand, just to see if I could do it. The result wasn’t great (the colour in the photo opposite was added much later), but the attempt struck a chord somewhere deep inside. I found myself thinking about where this was coming from and how I did what I had just done. It baffled me and for the next few days I couldn’t get it out of my head … not the drawing itself but the “act” of drawing, the physical connection between what I saw through my eyes (my hand) and the translation of it into the lines I had made on the paper. There was some kind of need to understand what this was, and I had to investigate further. And I did, as it turned out, in spades!
With all this time on my hands, I intensified my dive into finding things to do. I had noticed that the Royal B.C. Museum had been picked as one of three North American Museums chosen to host The Terra Cotta Warriors Exhibit from China next year. I decided to get myself involved now rather than later, so set up an appointment for an interview to become a Museum volunteer. I was “spoken to” by a tart woman after explaining to her why I was interested in getting involved, and was told that I would start my “probation” in the Gift Shop (a thought that turned me off right away) and then perhaps move into doing Tours in the ”Behind The Scenes” Program starting in early Summer. My Saturday mornings were now filled.
My Musical Theatre Performance Class at UVic now had an enrollment of 17 students and registration was still open! I was stoked. But Warwick (Dobson, Department Head) thought 20 would be better. It would mean that he wouldn’t have to “argue” the case with the Dean for the class to go forward. I had also sent an introductory letter and resume along with the Course Outline I’d done for UVic to the CEO of the Victoria Conservatory of Music about doing the same sort of class there, but I’d not heard anything. Then out of the blue, the head of their Voice Department (Ingrid Attrot) asked me to meet with her. At exactly the same time, UVic pulled the plug on the Performance Class! Warwick had gone on vacation so hadn’t been around to fight for the class. “I’m so sorry to have to tell you this” began the e-mail from the Department Secretary … and I knew what the rest of the message would be. “Where one door closes, another opens” got me through some depressing days and also bolstered me to not let it go. I found out that it had been the Associate Dean who had made the decision about cancelling “my” class and I decided to appeal to Sarah Blackstone, the Fine Arts Dean. I told her that I would even be willing to volunteer to teach the class – an act of heresy that would certainly send the powers-that-be into a tizzy. She was back to me immediately telling me that she’d known nothing about the class as she had been in contract negotiations and, if I “could be patient”, she’d “find out how we could take advantage of (my) generous offer”. So I waited.
In the meantime, I began my Gift Shop “probation”. I had only experienced “working retail” once before – in a teeny tiny “satellite store” at The Bay for St. John’s Music during a week one Christmas selling keyboards and musical knickknacks. And that was Hell, utter Hell … standing about for five hours, alone, waiting for someone, anyone, even by accident, to enter the temporary “store” crammed into a space behind the refrigerators and ovens of the Appliances Department. I tried to keep myself occupied in the face of utter boredom. While the Museum Shop was massive, a going concern, and a lot more interesting, I had been assigned to work in a small section of the store selling little stuffed animals (wooly mammoths and the like) and cards, and out of which I could not go. All the “good stuff”, the pottery, jewelry and art work, was in another part of the shop and out of bounds for me. There were a number of ladies working in other areas and we would wave at each other from a distance, aching to mingle and compare notes about the wares in our charge. Heaven forbid we would approach a customer in another part of the store and ask if we could help them find something. Whenever my “boss” (the lady who had interviewed me) was “on the floor” – thankfully not often – and I had the good fortune to get a customer, she would swoop in, take over the conversation and guide them away into another area. That pissed me off thoroughly. And it wasn’t only me. In the breakroom we would commiserate with each other, and I couldn’t wait for my shift to be over. Three and a half hours went by very slowly.
And so did the two weeks before I finally got notice that I was to attend a four-hour “Museum orientation” session in preparation for taking on an “animation” position inside the Exhibition Halls. As an “animator”, I couldn’t be aggressive in any way and found myself using telepathy to lure passersby, mentally asking if they were in anyway interested in learning about “The Painted Turtles of British Columbia” while standing, forlorn, behind an exhibition cart with some printed information and a turtle or two in a glass aquarium. I’d seen pitiful individuals, now me, when on visits to other Museums around the world doing exactly the same thing, and always felt sorry for them. Rarely had I ever seen anyone listening to them and thought it was a dreadful way to educate folks about any particular subject. It was appalling, but that was what I was about to experience for myself. It would be another month before I was where I wanted to be – the “Behind The Scenes” Tours.
Threaded through all this was taking care of Mom. I arranged all kinds of things for her to do, all shots in the dark as far as what might captivate her and keep her interested for a few hours. The James Bay Community Center offered some group activities, and it was a bit of a boon when I could drop her off in someone else’s charge for a while. Doing some day trips, going to the opera or a play, socializing with folks at her church, doing a writing or art class all passed time, but it became clear that anything without constant guidance wasn’t hitting the mark. She wasn’t big on television. Reading had become a chore. The days would go by, and I was thankful that the weather was nice so she could sit on the balcony in the sun and nap. She seemed satisfied with that. Some visitors were scheduled for the Summer months, and I was happy when she was happy. The fact was that I had grown used to assessing how she was reacting to an activity moment to moment, trying to experience it through her eyes. There was something rewarding about that, almost like it was a game, because I got instant confirmation of whether my approach had been right or wrong. It was making those constant adjustments that kept me going. For how long was anyone’s guess.
I finally got back into some theatre … an emotional and psychic life-line arriving at just the right moment. “The Life Inside” is a musical play written (and Directed) by James Fagan Tate inspired by Maeterlinck’s 1895 played called “Interieur” about a young girl who is found dead in the river outside her house and the reactions of the people in her Village. Thanks to Michael Shamata, I had been called by The Belfry to do a couple of workshops of this new piece, and approached the dates with anticipation and excitement. Except for Michael, I knew no one. The first workshop was a week long and the second, two weeks. The Composer, a patient and gregarious lady name Joelysa Pankanea, was also our Musical Director and played the marimba. She had produced a very interesting soundscape, beautiful, atmospheric music, with some songs that were a bit on the difficult side vocally but a nice challenge. There were 15 in the cast for the first workshop (the largest show that The Belfry had ever staged) and it felt slightly strange to be back in the saddle but in a foreign environment. I made some friends quickly enough, but we didn’t really settle in until the longer and more intense second workshop. I played a character called ‘The Beekeeper’. The piece was very short – one Act, just over an hour – and I had little to say but lots to sing as part of the Ensemble. I came to adore the music and most of it came off the page with a bit of practice. A few new folks came in during the second workshop including one lady who would become the tacit (for the most part) bane of my existence, a nice enough person … but she sang flat. And I don’t mean just a bit off-key. It was Elaine-Stritch-in-the-“Company”-Original-Cast-recording flat! I have an involuntary physical response when someone sings flat. My glutes flex, the muscles in the left side of my neck tense up pulling my head down toward my left shoulder and my left eyelid begins to flutter. It’s a reaction I can’t control, try though I might. It took me a while to gather up the courage to mention something to Joelysa, but she didn’t seem to be too concerned. She thought it added an “authentic” flavour to the group sound! The group sounded incredible so, for me, it was a shame that this lady was allowed to continue to sing. When she was out sick for a couple of days, her absence was noticeable – as if providing proof of her effect on our sound. But she eventually came back, and we soldiered on. James (Jimmy) and Joelysa were always in great form, upbeat and extremely accommodating, and as the orchestra (marimba, harp, violin and bass) was added, the dreamlike, ethereal soundscape filled out the overall feeling of despair and sorrow of the piece. I looked forward to an audience seeing our “Presentation” at the end of the workshop.
I had also put in an application to direct something for the Victoria Operatic Society, the only Company in town that did Musical Theatre. Unfortunately, it’s a non-professional organization and holds “auditions” for all of its production’s Creative Teams (including the “Producer”) so I didn’t hold out much hope of getting anything. I eventually got an interview, and the Committee was very pleasant. It turned out that they did pay an honorarium – $1,500.00 max. for a four month rehearsal period – and asked me what shows I would be interested in directing. I told them I wouldn’t say no to “A Chorus Line” or “42nd Street”, both of which I’ve done, and we left it at that. A few days later, I received a very complimentary let-down letter. At least they know who I am.
The time that followed was fraught on a personal level. Mom was erratic to say the least, but I managed to keep things afloat for the most part. I learned a lot about myself in the course of all this, mostly to do with accessing my patience gene. There were times when it was all I could do to hold my tongue … and sometimes I didn’t, which I always regretted afterward. And there was also an evolving situation with Sam’s Family having to do with some money we had been setting aside over the years as a Retirement Fund for me. It became such a contentious issue that I eventually resigned as the Estate Executor and retained a lawyer to represent me in the fight over this Pension Account in the Company’s holdings. That battle would go on for much longer than it should have. Families and Wills apparently do not mix very well.
”The Life Inside” finally went into its official rehearsal period. I found it complicated balancing my life around rehearsal, tending to Mom and Morgan and the unending back and forth with the Estate. But, truth be told, the show rehearsals were a small oasis of sanity for me. The cast had now ballooned to nineteen people, and we were a tight bunch during the rehearsal period. However, once we moved onto the stage, things got a little … well, weird. The Belfry is a small theatre seating about 275 people. It used to be a church and the balcony wraps around the space giving it a very intimate feel, perfect for this show we were doing. But there was one strange drawback for some reason. Our cast’s experience level varied somewhat and that manifested itself in the vocal levels used during the later rehearsals and run-throughs. When we were singing, it was wonderful – full throated and beautiful (for the most part … that flat lady hadn’t improved) – but when it came to speaking the lines, it was something else altogether. I think some folks thought that because the space was so small that one didn’t have to speak up, that the Theatre Schools many of our Company members had attended never stressed this aspect of performance. I can remember years ago walking on stage at the Manitoba Theatre Center for the first time in “The Elephant Man”. My first spoken lines were met with Richard Ouzounian’s stentorian command from out in the house … “LOUDER!!”. My experience had been in smaller theatres which I knew how to fill. MTC’s Mainstage was 800 seats in a vast auditorium, and I learned quickly to speak up for fear of incurring the wrath of Richard again. But now, a new-fangled “naturalistic” delivery was something that drove me nuts. There were points when I couldn’t hear people standing three feet from me, a problem when it was my line and I was straining to hear my cue! I mentioned this to Jim and in his pleasant and gracious manner he would ask for more volume, but the request never seemed to stick. It wasn’t until the talk-backs after some shows during the run when audience members made mention of not being able to hear some performers that things improved, but only minimally.
The show was very well received – as it should have been. Notices were most positive and audience comments centered on how “beautiful it was to watch” and “I was mesmerized” … some maybe a bit too much on occasion! We (the Ensemble) were seated in chairs on-stage facing the audience for the entire show. During the quiet parts (most of the production) I could see people nodding off or in full sleep mode. Slightly off-putting but understandable. The show closed as it had run … quietly. In the last week, the flat-singing-lady had a cold and couldn’t sing … at all. It was at that point that I discovered that I hadn’t been the only one who had complained about her. Vindication was mine!
I probably didn’t realize how subtly stress can overtake you … in fact, I know I didn’t. During the Saturday matinee at the end of the second week, I began to feel odd. I’d felt somewhat drowsy and a bit light headed earlier on, but I kept taking deep breaths hoping the feeling would pass. We were on stage from start to finish so I couldn’t get some water or lie down for a minute. During the last ten minutes we were standing at our chairs to sing the last number and this light-headedness became more obvious and I had to sit down. I began to feel as if I might pass out and I certainly didn’t want to do that on stage, so, as subtly as possible (NOT), I walked off stage and got down on the floor and started to gag and heave, which freaked out the Assistant Stage Manager. I began to feel a little better, but some wheels had been set in motion. I could hear all the stuff happening on stage without me but managed to get to a chair. Jan Wood, who plays the Mother in the piece, comes off stage after learning her daughter has drowned and goes through a very high-intensity mourning process – rolling on the floor, keening and crying and moaning, a routine none of us knew about. She slowly came back to “normal” and put her hand on my knee asking me if I was alright.
At that point the backstage door to the outside opened and there were three paramedics with a gurney about to make their way on stage to collect me during the quietest moment in the play! In frantic whispers I managed to let them know that I was feeling better and directed them through another door into the Lobby. Stage Management still had the show to run so I was on my own. My insistence that I was feeling better was ignored by the paramedics as they began poking and prodding me with needles and taking blood pressure and asking me questions. They insisted I go to the hospital, so I was pulled up on the gurney, rolled out the side door, down the handicap ramp, rammed into the ambulance and we jetted off the Jubilee Hospital! I had not lost consciousness at any point and knew exactly what was going on, but I was really more concerned about getting home to make Mom dinner and taking Morgan out to pee. And there was another show coming up in a few hours! It was all incredibly embarrassing and silly but, as they kept saying during our ride to the hospital, it was better to take care of things now rather than going down again and not being able to do all the things I was listing off to them!
At the hospital, the paramedics wheeled me into a hallway and bid me farewell as a couple of nurses parked me in an alcove in the emergency room and started to ask more questions. Then, suddenly, Michael (Shamata, the Belfry’s AD) was there, looking down at me with great concern holding my street clothes (I was still in the ‘Beekeeper’ costume!) and my stuff from the theatre. What a brick! He stayed with me during the whole episode. The nurses did some more poking and prodding, took some blood samples, did an ECG and put me on a monitor. Then they asked when I’d eaten last. I told them I’d had some coffee and an apple for breakfast and that set them off. It was four o’clock in the afternoon and they tore a strip off me for not taking better care of myself. So guilt was now added to my embarrassment and humiliation. Trudy, a crusty but sympathetic nurse, arrived with a can of Ensure and was followed by a doctor letting me know that there was nothing wrong with me and what I’d experienced was probably due to dehydration or low blood sugar (and the underlying stress about which I told no one).
Michael, upbeat and chatty, drove me back to the theatre where I was given some soup by Stage Management and got ready for the evening show. There were a lot of commiserations from the cast which I appreciated, but I just wanted to forget the whole thing as we sailed into the evening without any further problems. I had called one of Mom’s friends, Sharone, to let her know what was going on, but Kim, our Stage Manager had already called Mom to tell her what had happened. That sort of freaked me out, but Sharone managed to calm the waters with Mom and the evening show went well. I think I heard a little laugh from the heavens.