Three guesses which one I am.
I'm still sitting in my pyjamas, reluctant to get in the shower because it means I must acknowledge my impending departure from this experience, my international debut, my two and a half months in London, my reacquaintance with some really wonderful friends, and my work on a production that has become so incredibly dear to me. And when I say impending, I mean I have to leave this house in a little over an hour. My husband would be pulling out his eyebrows with frustration, were he here to see this.
Now don't think I'm totally unprepared. The bed is stripped, the suitcase just needs to have the toiletries thrown into it, and the clothes I'm going to wear are laid out and ready. It's just me that's not ready. Last night, I got to the theatre nice and early so I could put cards in the rooms of my colleagues. I even stocked up on mindless reading material (a big thank you to Stephanie Meyer, for writing those inane Twilight books - you're keeping the crazy away on those long flights) so I was all set when Eddy came in to do the wig. I gave my dresser and my makeup artist their gifts - large bottles of alcohol always seem appropriate at the end of a long run of a show - and tried hard not to contemplate how many friends and important people were in the audience. And suddenly, poof! they're calling my name over the intercom to get up on the rock, George the birdman tells me thank you and he hopes we'll see each other again, my little dove behaves herself like a good girl should, and then Rob and I just go out there and have a good time. This is the best part of my job. When you're onstage with a colleague and you're both having such a good time, you can flash your eyes at them and they flash theirs back, and you know you're both doing your jobs and enjoying each other's company. Same way in the second aria - I'm shrieking down at SJ, and she's grinning up at me, examining my back molars, and in those little secret moments, we're just two singers on stage, having a fabulous time in really kick-ass costumes.
It's over all too quickly. Some people hate doing the long run. They would rather have their eyelashes plucked out at the root than do a revival of Magic Flute. And maybe the guy from that audition is right - maybe I will have to say no to Queen someday. But that day is not today, nor will it be any time this year, Lord willing and the creek don't rise.
To all of my singer friends, I wish you the kind of happiness and support I received on this production. We should all endeavor to be better colleagues, better stewards of our craft, more generous with our art and our time, and more open to the possibilities that lie in these old productions.
Shit. Now I really do have to get in the shower.
1. for my excellent and estimable colleagues - who made this experience beautiful and memorable
2. for my sweet husband and dog - who were willing to let me go for two and a half months so I could do this
3. for my dear dear friends in London - who came to the performances and were loud and raucous and made me feel as if I might belong here
4. for the opera gods, who smiled on us almost every night, and for George the birdman, who made sure the birds were always magnificent
5. for the gorgeous day outside that makes me wish I had just one more day to walk through the park, to meet my friends for coffee and cake, to go to the theatre
6. (because my heart is swelling a little) to the city of Boston - I'm coming home!
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