Well, it's been a not-so-quiet week at Lake Crazy.
It's been a long week, a short week, depending on how you look at it, but for all involved, it was a week that marked the culmination of months of planning and preparation for this bunch of fiercely independent theatrical types. All of us gathered together--in assorted capacities but with a single purpose--to bring laughter, to bring tears, to transport Greenfield theatre audiences to a small carport beauty shop in Chinquapin, Louisiana.
It went well. No one said 'chicken' when they should have said 'dog', or 'gun' or 'baby' or 'tomato'. A glass broke, the coffee had enough sugar, and issues with purses, coats, hats, food, doors, shoes, and hair all remedied themselves through the weekend run.
The captain of our ship was all smiles--he and the first mate handing out hugs, notes, flowers, and praise like candy. Our audiences were modest, but enthusiastic. Their laughter and applause--music to our ears--encouraged each of us to bring what we each needed to bring, and in doing so, we earned their ovation at curtain call.
It was quite a week. We all learned something. We learned there's no need to be a high-maintenance diva because the stage crew treats us like royalty. We learned that we enjoy being nice to each other. We learned the chicken walk and that the show goes on--even after a mistake--and that life goes on. We learned that audiences full of the ones we love are the best audiences. We learned that it's what we have inside that matters. We learned how much it takes to do what we do. We learned that it's OUR opinion of ourselves that matters most.
It was an amazing weekend. The Mama brought a year's worth of grief and joy to her performance and left us weeping in our seats and wondering at the strength of the human soul. The daughter left the tatters of a paper bag on the Dungeon floor, broke a glass in her realistic portrayal, and broke through the fourth wall into the hearts of the audience. She had point to prove and did so with no reservations. The mouse showed us that she was ever so much more than Daddy's Girl. She's theatre's child. And even one-word lines can bring a chuckle. The former mayor's wife acted with such a natural presence that if she showed up at your door with a tin of pecan tassies, you'd mistake her for your grandmother and invite her to stay through the holidays. The laughter of the singer turned actress turned hairstylist was the glue that held it all together, as she brushed and teased and primped for two hours and 15 minutes, holding ever fast to her tenet that "There's no such thing as natural beauty". And that grouchy ol' broad in the wacky hat finally learned to relax, delegate, and enjoy the ride. If she's not careful, she'll get too comfortable in that back dressing room.
We all shared. We wept together as sisters on stage and shared hugs as a cast, as a production team, as CrazyLake Acting Company, where the whole is greater than the sum of the parts. That's what we know and we do what we do, and next weekend, we get to do it again. We'll be heading back to Chinquapin Friday night and Saturday. Come and go with us. Get your hair done at Truvy's. Share the love.