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“Twelfth Night”

Big treats today – it was cold but sunny, so I walked to the Varsity Cinema to have a snack with beloved friend W*yson, getting caught up – he is registering for art classes, intending to turn into Leonardo, that’s the plan.

And then we saw “Twelfth Night,” the Des McAnuff production from Stratford last year, just released on film. What enormous fun. Mr. McAnuff, director of the gorgeous “Jersey Boys” and Christopher Plummer’s moving “Tempest,” among many other hits, is an extraordinary talent – the best director ever at getting people magically on and off stage, and in this production, he even co-wrote the music. Yes, Shakespeare as a rock musical, with all those beautiful Shakespearean songs played on stage, in part by the actors. “If music be the food of love, play on,” indeed.
Some of the songs were funny, some toe-tapping rockers and some melancholy – the ending particularly so, “When that I was and a little tiny boy,” sang Feste… “For the rain, it raineth every day.” In the hilarity, there is sadness. Haunting. A fantastic production. Thanks once more, Des.

On to the next treat – dinner with my children. I’ve been sorting old family videos, and just watched one recently where my son, aged two, is in my father’s arms, naming everyone in the room, including “Gampa.” And then Anna appears, five, with her mysterious dark eyes. And now there they were across the table – my 30-year old daughter’s belly high and hard, my son, 27, towering over everyone in the room and making us laugh. In the middle of the meal, he called his dad in Washington, D.C., and for a few moments, we were all four together again, in a way.
Home to my basement lair; only a few very busy days until I go to visit Mum in Ottawa and then return for one night before my trans-Atlantic flight next weekend. How can I be leaving now, with so much going on? This may be my last long trip for awhile. The cat knows something’s amiss – right now, she’s plastered to my side.
Just noticed as I was packing that my jeans from last year’s trip don’t fit now as they did then; there’s a muffin top. Hmmm. I’ve been getting too much of that food of love.

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About Beth

I began keeping a journal at the age of nine. Nearly fifty years later, I started this online journal, sharing reflections, reviews, updates, and the occasional secret.

Some Blogs I Follow

Chris Walks
This blog evolves. It once was about travels. Now it’s a reason to be at the keyboard that I value.

Theresa Kishkan
Theresa Kishkan is a writer living on the Sechelt Peninsula on the west coast of Canada.

I walk on. With my feet, and in my mind as well.

Carrie Snyder
Wherever you’ve come from, wherever you’re going, consider this space a place for reflection and pause.

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