You stop remembering the past. You stop imagining the future. You stop just to breathe. A pause. In that breath comes the perfume of the narcissus and hyacinths. Next week, it will be gone, that perfume, the season will pass, like a play.
I was hired in 2014 as Executive Director to bring some kind of meaningful change to what was, even then, a calcified operation. I resigned at the end of 2018 for all kinds of reasons, the primary one being that I was unable to affect even incremental change, let alone meaningful change.
Sometimes I hit a combination of notes in a prelude – a combination so enticing, I have to stop and say, oh, that’s really nice. It’s like walking in my local meadow when the sun is melting the snow through towering pines, and a coyote dashes off in one direction, and a family of deer in the opposite. That much rustling triggers a flock of quail to take flight. It’s just a moment when you say, oh, that’s really nice. Or, when walking the dogs, a neighbor shouts out your name cheerfully and waves, and you say, oh, that’s really nice. A collection of such moments is a kind of photograph album to be brought out when things get too arduous. And through the clamor of a pandemic, the cacophony of lies, the babel, the losses, the disappointment, the disgust with hypocrisy, you can still find some fleeting snapshot, some snippet of music, and say, oh, that’ really nice.
The question is, in some ways, a question of how to survive during cultural climate change: In the midst of a tempest, do you stake your survival on the smaller rafts that have demonstrated some capacity to ride out harsh waves but can easily topple, or on the massive ships adrift at sea, vessels that can be brought down by an unseen iceberg or pandemic.
The death tally from this virus now exceeds 210,000 Americans. That’s if we believe the official numbers. And, frankly, in October, 2020, why should we?
Zoom is responsible for “the death of the pause” says performer-playwright Morgan Smalley. “Whenever there’s a pause, everyone thinks their Internet has gone out.”
"With similar disillusion over the disconnect between cause and effect, between reason and policy, and like so many others, I’ve cultivated what could be called a Covid garden of fruits and vegetables and flowers."
“We used to listen to politicians and laugh at comedians; now we laugh at politicians and listen to comedians.”
“Even through the big recession of 2008 and 9/11 we were all wondering if life would go on, and it did change, and still went on. We are resilient as a tribe. . . Old theater couples are stubborn.”