And She Was Singing

obviously.... There's the woman who is in choir just for the purest fun of singing. Her simplistic bliss infectious. Another is trying to dirgedly lead others in her section to the Path of Right Notes. The second-in-command is haughtily bored, while the littlest chorister in front closes her eyes in obvious self-rapture. There are those who are COMPLETELY clueless (tenors consist the majority of this group), and those who wish they were. A leader tries, in vain, to show his tiny 2-man section a glimmer of a hope of an idea of what is going on. The blind girl rolls her non-existent eyes at the mistakes her trapeze artist comrade leads her into, getting more frustrated at every misjudged leap. Her face, now frozen because of so much scowling, will make her laugh later. Now however? ...the spicy Latina Grama in the first row, though, I think has finally come to a musical catharsis, where everything now makes sense. The leader behind her smiles pontifically, at least outwardly inatt

PART TWO "5 minutes to the end of Act 1, 5 minutes to the end of Act 1. Thats places for chorus, Childrens' Chorus, and Supers. Places for Chorus, Childrens' Chorus, and Supers. 5 minutes to the end of Act 1." We hear Mary Yankee Peters call over the intercom. The scrape of chairs and laughter at how stifling it is fill the air. We smile and encourage each other on, dirty jokes and friendly "pats" not withstanding. As we all file in to the main hallway and onstage, the Supers and Childrens' Chorus swarm up from the basement creating a melding of people, all dressed and ready for Christmas Eve in Paris 1800-and-something. I slip out to onstage, since my shopping basket is sitting out on the prop table for me. The children are lined up right in font of the door, just in between the prop table and where a very large piece of set will go during the scene change. I walk around their double line, and meet Ned, the Prop Master on the other side of the tabl

PART ONE   I say "Hey!" and "Hello!" and "How ya' doin'"'s to the various backstage people I come across. The costume personnel are some of my favorite people, as well as the make-up crew and the stagehands: they have stories up the wazoo about everyone and everything. As I pass through the small hallway, I look at the posters that advertise the past shows, with pictures and signatures adorning the framed collage. "Kiss Me, Kate," "Dosholvy Ballet," "Jesus Christ Superstar," "San Diego Opera 1997," "Oliver!" and "Sweet Charity" line the walls everywhere. I recognize most of the names, and file others away to look up at a later time. As I round the corner and climb the 15 stairs to my dressing room, the humming of the "OFF LIMITS!!" vending machines greet me, filled with snacks, treats and goodies that are STRICTLY off limits when in costume. I smile as I read the intimid