On Ash Clouds and Oleanna

I am two performances through our six performance season of Oleanna. I still have not performed with my co-star.
It's a little ridiculous. By which I mean, of course, that it is COMPLETELY ridiculous.

We are a cast of two. Two people on the stage. One person is missing? and half the goddamn cast is gone.

On Monday CoStar flew to Australia for work. Of course he managed to get there just fine. The Ash Cloud only wanted to fuck my shit up, obviously. He was due back at midnight Tuesday. We organised to have a run through on Wednesday night, the night before we opened, so that we could erase the shambles that was last Sunday's rehearsal from our minds.

Mid-afternoon Wednesday we heard he would not be back for that night's rehearsal. The ash cloud was cancelling flights left right and centre. Our esteemed director took up the mantle, and a script, and read the lines for me.

CoStar thought he would be back mid-morning Thursday. So I arranged to take half the afternoon off work, to meet up at the performance site, to run the play before that evening's opening night.

I think you can see where this is going. Mid-morning Thursday we heard he would NOT be back for that evening's performance.
Still, we met in the afternoon, and it was decided that we couldn't just cancel. The director, thankfully a very skilled actor in his own right, would do as he had done and read the lines. We would have to offer refunds or rainchecks to another night. But it was the best we could do.

The performance ran without a hitch. Despite the moment when I skipped half a page of script. Oops. But most importantly, noone asked for their money back, or to attend on another night. The director is really just that good. It didn't matter that he had a small paperback in his hand 90% of the time.

Last night was the second performance. Again, CoStar was a no-show.
I'm being uncharitable. I'm sure he would have been there if he could. But the ash cloud ...

I woke this morning to news that he is in the country. He is IN THE COUNTRY. He has only missed 1/3 of the performances.

Now I'm just hanging out to hear what time we are meeting for a run through before tonight ...

365 in 2011

This week's 365 will be one day short. Not because I forgot a day! But because it was my darling Sister's wedding day and I took ... about 3000 photos. Then today, I had about 17 minutes free.
Next week. Next week will have an extra day.


Sunday
Sun breaking through the clouds as I head home from yet another rehearsal.


Monday
I love the teeny little heart shaped leaves on this bush.


Tuesday
Dinosaurs and a teddy bear caught my eye from a window in Eastbourne.


Wednesday
It was crisp and the moon was full on Wednesday. And I was home before dark.


Thursday
The ash cloud from Chile made for some beautiful dawn skies.


Friday
Charlotte, the Bride-to-Be wearing her trial wedding hair (a beehive a la Sarah-Rose) and stringing lace as decoration for the ceremony. It was getting late.


&

Oleanna

My play opens in 6 days. SIX DAYS.
We only have 3 rehearsals left. I feel a little faint when I think about that.
There is so much pressure. SO much pressure. When there are only two of you on the stage? so much pressure.

But I think it's going well. I get moments when even I, always my harshest critic, think I'm pretty okay at this acting business.

Then I read, in the latest Troupe newsletter, this:

Sarah-Rose brings a complexity to Carol that I haven't seen her achieve before. We see naivety and lack of confidence mixed with girlishness, flirtation, and the suggestion of a dangerous side.

SO MUCH PRESSURE.

Ain't nothing but a family thing

Today will be a very very good day.

365 in 2011

Sunday
Coffee with Mama between rehearsal and family dinner.


Monday
I was still trying to comprehend this letter. Naturalisation.


Tuesday
These butterflies on the bus were already odd enough before I realised the hidden faces in their wings. Creepy.


Wednesday
All of a sudden I'm seeing London everywhere.


Thursday
I figured since I was getting passport photos I may as well renew my NZ passport as well - it expires in October anyway.


Friday
I've been looking for a copy of this book for a while now (just absent-mindedly of course) so jumped at the chance to get a copy with a cover design I loved.


Saturday
Grey and grey. Tony Bianco boots and Skull and Glossbones by OPI. Getting my outfit together for Craig's cocktail party that night.


&

I pledge allegiance to the Taoiseach

 
 I have been trying to write this entry for a week.
Every time it becomes all too much. I have too much to explain. I have kept so much from you. This is the resolution to TWO YEARS of waiting and hoping but mainly two years of trying not to hope.

I will start at the beginning.
 
My Mother grew up with an Irish grandmother. She was the Rose for whom I am named.
My Mother, wise in so many ways, did not get the Irish passport to which she was entitled until years later, 2009, years after her children were (mostly) grown. This small little slip precluded my darling sisters and I from getting Irish passports.
 
Since the mid 1990s my family have been involved in the local Irish Society. I consider the members to be my extended family. I feel connected to my heritage through the club.
In 2007 before we left the country they presented me with two charms - a shamrock and a St Christopher medallion - for luck and safe travels. Thinking about that still makes me a little soft-eyed. They are lovely people. They are a second family.
 
Ireland is a wonderful place.
In a spectactularly Irish move, they allow people to petition to become naturalised Irish citizens through "Irish by Association". You make your case that you are Irish enough to be a citizen and, if they like you enough (I'm guessing - I don't know the criteria) then you can become a naturalised citizen.
 
My darling Mother started this process for all three daughters early in 2009.
Copies of birth certificates and marriage certificates, letters explaining why we wanted to become Irish citizens, explaining the bonds we felt to our Irish heritage, three Irish citizens approved each of our applications. So many papers, each in triplicate - one for each daughter - sent away to Tipperary.
In June 2009 we heard that our applications had been received and placed in the queue. The average processing time was 24 months.
 
24 torturous months.
I knew it was only the slightest chance that we would be approved. It was our last ditch effort. We lived in the mindset that we would be New Zealand citizens and New Zealand citizens only for the rest of our lives.
 
24 months is a long time to come to terms with something.
Craig and I made other plans. To stay in New Zealand, perhaps, to move to Australia, perhaps, to move to Canada, perhaps.  Always including the little phrase "but maybe, just maybe, if the Irish thing comes through we can ..."
 
Last Friday my Mother was acting squirrelly. Insisting more than usual that she should pick me up from the station.
Of course, I was oblivious, and spoiled all her plans. Instead she broke the news thus:
 

 
I was floored. I had spent so long preparing myself for the letter saying that I had been declined that the approval caught me off guard. It took the better part of a week for my to wrap my head around the idea. The implications. Changing the plans I had worked SO hard to be okay with.
 
Ireland is part of the EEA. Citizens of countries in the EEA have the right to live and work in the UK as they please*.
 
Becoming an Irish citizen means a formalisation of the ties to my heritage but it also means that Craig and I can move back to London if we so choose.
 
Did you catch that? I know this is long and detailed and, admittedly, rather boring, so let me say it again:
 
Craig and I can move back to London
 
Now we just have to decide if we want to (and I'm pretty sure we do). But there are so many things to take into consideration.
Our jobs, family, money, the olympics (yes, seriously). The fear I have that I will no longer be in love with the city.
 
At the moment we are testing out the idea that we will move to London sometime early next year. We will begin living like paupers and saving every spare cent. Turning this pebble idea around and around in our minds to see if we like it**.
 
But mainly, lastly, most importantly, I am proud to be an (almost) Irish citizen.
 

síorgrhá
 
 
* I'm pretty certain. Only so long as you're not a drain on the state.
** I think we do.
 

365 in 2011

Sunday
Bear beer. Tui. A recycle bin full of zoonic beer bottles.


Monday
Work was not-the-busiest so I took advantage of the slow moments to learn Act 3 of Oleanna.


Tuesday
In the Village before rehearsal - I don't think Piranha is the best fish after which to name a fish and chip shop.


Wednesday
My tattoo is still itchy and scabby. But I love catching glimpses of it.


Thursday
I was earlier than usual when I made it round to Eastbourne. I took a walk in the dark out to the beach.


Friday
The day dawned pink during my walk to the train. It was cold but clear. A beautiful morning.


Saturday
My new bag arrived. I put one of my favourite photos (on a business card) in the luggage tag holder.


&



At the moment I arrive at and leave from work in darkness.

Contains coarse language and adult themes. Yes.

Butterfly Creek Theatre Troupe presents

Oleanna by David Mamet

Directed by John Marwick
With Sarah-Rose Burke and Damian Reid

Muritai School Theatre, Eastbourne
8 p.m. 23, 24, 25, 30 June 1 & 2 July

A controversial American adult drama about a university lecturer and one of his young woman students. It’s about how a teacher who misuses his power can seriously damage a vulnerable student. Or maybe it’s about how political correctness can be carried to extremes and damage the lives of well-meaning people. It’s about sexual harassment – or maybe it’s about extreme feminism.

When this piece opened on Broadway fights broke out between members of the audience. Come and see it for yourself!

80 minutes - no interval - latecomers not admitted. 8 pm start - bar open from 7.30 pm.

Contains some coarse language and adult themes - not suitable for children.

Presented in an intimate stage setting - seating limited to 60 each evening - bookings essential.

Tickets: $15 & $12 from www.bctt.org.nz; Rona Gallery, Eastbourne; or call 0832 77790

365 in 2011

Sunday
I've been craving eggs benedict (I used to hate it) so Craig and I headed out to Petone for brunch.


Monday
Putting on my after-work jeans for the last time for a week - I can't wear them while my tattoo is healing.


Tuesday
My pops is mildly Dylan-obsessed and born one day after the Tambourine Man. I bought him an updated biography and made this card. I amuse myself.


Wednesday
My adorable friend Aly sent me a package from J.Crew I had sent to her aunt in California. She included some treats that she'd brought to the USA from London. It was a multi-international package.


Thursday
I wandered through the village in Eastbourne before rehearsal. It was mainly shuttered and dark.


Friday
My tattoo was scabby and tight. Not cool. But I love the colour. I love all of it.


Saturday
Craig organised drinks for his birthday. We borrowed my parents dusty stereo and I made a playlist with a lot of Girl Talk.


&

A confession​, an apology

When I was younger, much younger, and horrible, really horrible, I was in a kitschy store with my mother and at least one of my two sisters.
Somehow I knew that they had just bought me a miniature teddy bear for my birthday.
The miniature teddy bears were a thing at the time and I have always liked miniature things. No idea why, and I hope desperately that I don't become the kind of grown-ass woman who has a dollhouse*, but I always have.

I remember shoehorning into conversation that I didn't mind what [they] got my for my birthday, as long as it WAS NOT a miniature teddy bear.
I don't know why I said it** but it sickens me to this day. I was malicious for no good reason at all. I am ashamed that I ever acted that way*** and it kills me every time I remember. It really really hurts.
It is the first thing to fly out of my pandora's box of my idea of self.

I am sorry.

To whichever of my darling sisters this was: I am sorry.
To both of my darling sisters: I am sorry. This is just one event, and I'm sure you have your own memories of when I was so hateful. I am sorry.
To my darling parents: I am sorry. You didn't raise me this way, I don't think.

This may be why my family seems to find it difficult to choose presents for me. Because deep inside I have it in me to be deliberately, maliciously, embarassingly hurtful.

I am sorry.



* not that there's anything necessarily WRONG with this, it's just not how I see myself. Same with ladies who wear clothes featuring cartoon animals. I can't stomach it.

** I suspect it's tied up with the whole thing of being the eldest child in my family, and therefore the most "grown-up". A miniature teddybear was "babyish" and I was above such things. Like the one time I went to disneyland (1995) and ended up getting a CD of the Lion King soundtrack while my sisters got stuffed animals (bambi and thumper), I had wanted a stuffed animal too but at age 11 was expected to be older than such nonsense.

*** I am sure things like this happened more frequently but this one sticks in my mind. I'm writing this in an email at work, teary-eyed and ridiculous. I should be older than this nonsense.