Raw, adjective: 4. painfully open, as a sore or wound.

A weird few days.

The show opened last night, to a full house. It's pretty much "Waiting For Guffman." If you don't get that reference, go rent the Christopher Guest DVD, and laugh until you cry. That's what I've been doing all week (well, along with a lot of cringing). Musically, the show's solid, and I'm digging my songs; but the direction is absolute shit. Mediocre, uninspired, vaguely embarrassing. And awful choreography. Like a bad dinner theater cabaret. Thank god(dess) for the singing, because at the end of the day, I figure, it was all about just wanting to get the ol' voice back in shape, so that's all that matters, right? Now, if I can just figure out how to disinvite the hordes of groupies I'd encouraged to come...

On a much more serious note, my grandmother died last night. She's the last one for me, having lost the others while I was a child, and she was my father's mother, my last connection to him. A difficult loss for many complex reasons. But she was sick, and 94, and had been withering slowly for the last several years, and in some ways, it's time. So life suddenly means last-minute adjustments and scrambling for plane tickets and an unplanned (but not altogether unexpected) trip to the heartland for a dose of big sky and silence, and a lot of memories as I see the extended family gathered for one last occasion.

The City's buzzing with preparations for the Folsom Street Festival this weekend - do you have your assless leather chaps ready? I'm wearing mine now. Gotta break 'em in, you know. It's grey and cool and the air is fresh; the fog should burn off by noon, but in the meantime, I'll take the moody weather.

It's funny; "Songs for a New World" is all about those moments, the in-between times when you could step this way or that and the decisions are never easy or clear and nothing seems to come handily. And yet, at the end, the show closes with a riff on the words "Hear my song," and calls out on three clear monotonic unison notes: "We'll be fine."

Seems apropos today, of all days.


LutheranHusker said…
Rach, discovered your blog this past week through a link on your sister's. so sorry to hear about your grandmother. Know that you and the fam are in our family's prayers. God bless, and safe travels.
Bacon Dad said…
Sorry to hear about your grandma!

There's nothing like being in a good crappy show. You may recall my turn as George Washington last fall; same kinda deal, except that the show was written and composed by our local impresariatrix. ::shudder:: Luckily I followed it up with, you know, "Carmen," which renewed my faith in professionally staged productions of all kinds.
ped said…
Sorry about your grandmother, but she, as you say, is not your last connection to your father. your siblings. your mother. I'm sure you can see him in them. you're in my thoughts

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