Getting set.

[tedwords]

"Those were the days, my friend..." Mary Hopkin

For me, Memorial Day weekend always has one special meaning, something that will probably linger with me for the rest of my life: set construction.

I haven't had a set to build in three years, come this week. The group I am involved with hasn't done a show at the college we performed in since the start of the pandemic. We are hoping that changes next year.

But before for that, for four years straight, Corb was in charge of putting together the set for our shows. And if I have communicated anything about Corb through all my writings, anything at all, I hope one thing has come through: he's a big guy, and perhaps as a result, he likes his sets big, too. And that's why all four of those shows...Jekyll & Hyde (he actually was assisting with that one, not leading the effort), Young Frankenstein, Scarlet Pimpernel, and The Mystery of Edwin Drood had huge huge huge sets.

That of course meant a lot of work, and even though we would start in March, Memorial Day invariably was crunch time, since after the Monday was over, we'd be moving into the college the very next day and we had better be ready. No time to waste.

The last show we did was a heck of a lot easier, because we had an actual real professional space to build a set. Before that, we would be building and painting and cutting and grinding in our friend Tim's backyard, and more often than not, Memorial Day would bring with it rain. Torrential rain. Which meant, the paint wouldn't dry very well and we'd be working under tents. It made the process even more intensive. One year, Corb and I were at Tim's house so often his young daughter actually thought we lived in his backyard. 

Right now, as I type this, it's about to rain. And even though I have no set to build, part of me still feels anxious.

All four shows were wonderful, crazy, stressful but lovely memories, and the heavy-duty part of the process always started around Memorial day. Even before that, I had been directing for 12 years with the same group, so Memorial days, even without Corb doing set, still meant a lot of pitching in, preparing, hard work grabbing last minute stuff and intensive conversations, and getting ready for the big move in Tuesday.

Which may be why Memorial day week-end always feels kind of different to me. There's just something in the air. It always represents the start of summer, to me. Even with the rain. It's the start of the best part of the year. That breath of anticipation.

And yet, as I look back on the past twenty years, and then, think about the future, one thing stays in my mind: I loved doing it. But the thought of doing it all over again? That urge doesn't exist in me. Not at the moment.

I'm not sure why. I do think the pandemic changed things. It's become a muscle that's atrophied and I'm not sure whether I want to get back on that proverbial treadmill again to get the muscles back in shape. Maybe in a few years, when I'm retired from my current job. Maybe then. Right now, my job is so hectic I cannot possibly imagine rehearsing three nights a week, or getting ready to give my all and focus all 100% attention on a play for two weeks straight, headed into opening night. 

I'm not sure my job would allow me the luxury anymore. I'm not exactly sure how I did it, back then, to begin with.

And also...well, the world doesn't seem as joyous a place, right now. I am not sure I could be in the mood to create with the thought of what happened in Texas this week weighing so heavily on my mind. And with the sides so divided, and no real hope of a solution in sight. How does one create music when the music around you is so bleak? It just seems...a difficult for that sort of thing right now. Hard to get the mojo going when you are crying inside.

I would be very willing to help other people take over, however. It's time to turn those reins over, I think. Give other people their chance to shone, you know? At least, until I feel that urge again. And I say to myself, Ted, do it gladly, okay? (I need to keep telling myself these things, sometimes.)

But you know what? Life still goes on. I have always been, and will always remain, an optimistic person, at heart. Things change, but new things take their place, new methods of creativity shoot up, take the place of what was. Even now, Corb is still putting together sets. Only his latest set work involves the expansion of his chandelier booth at Shiplap and Chandeliers. Things have been going so well that he needs more room. And that's a good thing, I suppose, and something that benefits us financially. 

So, for the past few weeks, he's been working hard creating the set for his expansion and guess what? Opening night is the same as it even was. Two weeks after Memorial day.

The more things change, the more things stay the same. That breath of anticipation still exists, just in different ways. That Memorial day magic remains.