An unthemed blog of thoughts and mutterings. Join me for a few mutterings of your own.
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We're sitting with friends, and someone tells a story. That story resonates, and someone else tells a story. A story about their life. A true story, at least in part. And that story resonates and the next story is told, and the evening passes away in story telling.
Cowbird is like that.
Kathy Weinberg's story about acting out parts of Much Ado about Nothing reminds me of several "stories." Several events or ongoing series of events.
To keep it short, I will mention only this: As children, growing up before televisions, computers, cell phones etc, we regularly planned staged and put on plays, with no adult assistance.
My "best friend" Dorothy was the director, and usually played the male lead, because getting boys to cooperate was difficult. Migget, who was the prettiest, always played the princess, the sleeping beauty, the Cinderella. I always had to play the villain. The wicked stepmother, the wicked witch.
We planned, discussed, practiced, made costumes, and sold tickets for 5 cents each. (I am giving away my age, here.) The stage was Dorothy's garage, the curtain, the garage door.
I always thought Dorothy would grow up to be a great director. Instead, she runs a general store and post office in a tiny town in the Adirondacks. I often still feel like the wicked witch or the ugly step sister.
(Art by me--I've misplaced my stylus (Cintique pen) and drawing with the mouse is even harder.) (Now is when I wrote the story, but the old part took place maybe in in 1955, 1956 etc)