On the #29, going past the Renaissance Hotel, I suddenly remembered the evening last year that I spent hanging out with (technically babysitting, but she was such a mature 8-year-old it felt more like hanging out) August Wilson’s daughter. Yes, that August Wilson. I was working for the Goodman, it was during previews for Radio Golf, Mr. Wilson’s final play in his epic 10-play cycle, and I spent the evening with this young lady with a wise soul who was delightful and smart and excellent at pretending (of course she was). I had completely forgotten about this evening. Completely; the night I ate pizza and ice cream with the daughter of a giant of the American theatre hadn’t crossed my mind for months and months.  Plus – stuff like this never happens to me; so how come the one time something like this did happen to me, it was able to slip my mind so easily?

And it got me thinking – what else have I forgotten? What do I remember incorrectly? How do I know if I’m remembering the things that are most important? Is there anything about my memory that I can trust as objective – is there such a thing as an objective memory? Thinking about it, it’s easy to start spiraling into a pool of second-guessing and fruitless evaluating. Which is a pool I tread around in quite a bit anyway. Think about all the relationships we build on an assumption of shared experience – but what if the way I remember the experience is diametrically opposed to the way that you remember it? Or think about moments in your life that were formative to who you are today – do the other people that were around even remember that conversation, that look you shared, that time you did that thing? And what does it say about the importance of that event if they don’t? Does it matter what other people remember if it’s something that was important to you?

One of the reasons I’m really excited about Goldfish Bowl is that we’re seeing this world colored by one character’s memory of it. And I think that our crack design team and our lovely director and dramaturg are really running with, around, and through that idea (our cast will too if we ever get back into our rehearsal space… Sigh). I hope that we can get Michelle on here soon talking about her concept for the set, because I think it’s hella cool and I don’t want to give too much away. Also, the podcast that Dan is working to put together is dealing thematically with the production team and their memories of the last moments of childhood; something our show’s protagonist also grapples with. It’s a hard question to think about, when your childhood came to an end. I already gave Dan my answer and I’m still not sure if I’m happy with it – if my memory is telling me the truth or not.

And then we were told that we weren’t allowed to “congregate” in our home, the LPCC.  “Congregate.”  Something about that word being applied to the well-nigh spiritual experience of a first rehearsal is really getting under my skin.  ”Congregate” you say?  Humph.  We were not allowed to “congregate” because of a miscommunication with our contract, and the restrictions to do with insurance that said miscommunication imposed, etc. etc.  I won’t bore you with the details. 

In my own life, I was never kicked out of my house.  My parents never even threatened to kick me out; I know that’s not the experience of everyone my age.  I have friends who were kicked out of their house or even disowned because they were “trouble,” because they were gay, because – get this – they wanted to study theatre.  I have been blessed with the world’s most supportive families, both biological and urban.  I am very lucky indeed.

But I feel tonight a little bit like I’ve been kicked out of my house.  Only I’m not really sure what I’ve done wrong.  I mean, I understand that there’s a paper that needs to be signed and then everything will presumably be forgiven and life will go on much as before.  But for right now, I have a sick, unsettled feeling in my stomach.  It’s not the same as the countless men and women without an actual home, the ones who are suffering even as I write this from my cozy studio – complete with heat and running water – and I don’t presume to know or even to be able to conjecture what that feels like.  I think it’s just going to make me even more grateful for our home when we get to move back in. 

Something else to be grateful for is a cast and production team that rolled beautifully with this sucker punch of an evening.  We sat in Stanley’s (delightful food, excellent & understanding service), had some snacks (and drinks) and read the play.  We had a reading to wake up the play last December – which was awesome – but there is already such a great deal more nuance and depth.  I cannot wait to see what’s next.   

And I am reminded yet again, renewal does not guarantee you a bump-free ride to an undisputedly happy ending.  For the plans of mice, men, Jessie, and New Leaf, renewal just promises us the chance for a new beginning.