Enter Silently, Part 3: It Takes A Village

Perhaps you’ve seen the t-shirt that reads: “Your village called – their idiot is missing.”  Well, that would be me.

My village faithfully hunts me down and reorients me.  They protect me and care for me and make sure my phone is charged so that I can “hear” them.

As I write this, we are in the throes of tech week – a term that strikes fear in many hearts.  Actors become toddlers just learning to walk … finding their light, chafing against new clothes, and using props and talking at the same time.

Rewind to last year when I dared to venture onstage again with my beloved Marshfield Community Theatre.  The cast and crew embraced me, encouraged me and accommodated my limitations.  They gave me the confidence to say “Well, maybe someday I’ll do this again.”

Here we are at someday.

From first read-through to this very moment, the directorial staff and cast have made every possible effort to help me talk, walk and use props at the same time.  Knowing that I really need to see faces and lips moving, actors have adjusted their blocking and gestures so that I can do that.  This is not always possible.  So here are some workarounds.

I call this my “bob and weave” move.  In order to position myself to see a speaker, I may have to take a few small steps to get there.  I may have to tilt my head, bend my knees, lower my head down and laterally, peek between shoulders or stand on tippy-toe to find that sweet spot.  I would make Muhammad Ali proud. 

I have to actively “listen.”  As I mentioned previously, this is a skill that I am still learning in real life.  Since I cannot hear stage dialogue, it is imperative that I practically memorize other actors’ lines so that I can react appropriately at the right time.  This ensemble is superb at relaying context through facial and body language.  You just watch and see.

We have drilled portions of the script which require rapid-fire dialogue.  Comic timing is equal parts natural timing and learning how many seconds you have to say your line before the laugh magic is gone.  This cast has been giving of their time to help me find those magic moments.

And then, of course, there is what I lovingly refer to as my “dog collar buzzer.”  For many of my entrances, I am unable to hear my cue or see a visual cue.  Allison signals me visually backstage for a standby.  Then, a few words later, she buzzes me.  You see, somewhere on my person is a vibrating receiver that buzzes with anticipation when Allison pushes the magic button, signaling me to “go.”  I think I am now past the stage of jumping or jerking my head when that buzzer goes off.  There are also a few times onstage where the buzzer goes off to cue me to say a line.  You will have to see for yourself if you can figure out where those places are.  (Cue demonic laughter.)

I would be remiss not to mention my Leigh Anne – my onstage sister and my offstage sister (-in-law).  She is my North Star and patient co-conspirator.  Our familial relationship forms the basis of our sisterhood onstage.  But it goes far beyond that.  She kindly cues me for joint entrances, sends me blinks and nods onstage, and is endlessly patient with my fumbled or forgotten lines.

I shamelessly declare that Jesus is my rock.  He has guided me through this process and provided perfect peace and confidence in my walk.  OK, it is tech week so I have to confess I am not always peaceful.  But I’m getting there.  I am grateful beyond measure for every single person involved with the production of this all-time favorite play.  I am savoring every single moment – yes, even the uncomfortable old-lady shoes – because this is a gift.  This is a gift that we offer to you as a send-up of the old classic storytelling with lots of gaffes and physical comedy (most of it intentional).    

Thank you for indulging me as I write this journal and for lavishing grace on all of us as you read, laugh and enjoy the show.  You are a part of my village.  Thanks for calling.