the potential in mess

just a quickie. because i walked into the house, with a gorgeous outfit, freshly splurged on and ready to dazzle for justine and ricky's engagement party come saturday night, and i was feeling rather put together. we're talking, matching shoes and belt, ladies and gents. i got serious at chadstone. anyway. i fashion paraded it for the mother (mandatory in my family), and we were both feeling quite chuffed with my selection. and as i journeyed home, i mused over this new sense of sophistication and how sheer black pantyhose can really make you feel grown up and ladylike. i was, indeed, so busy musing over this fact in wonderment that i felt rudely and abruptly interrupted when i walked into this:



and this:


and this:

the kind of mess that stops you in your tracks. where loungerooms have become a giant drying rack and studies are merely a storage facility for gig gear and kitchens are covered in freshly washed dishes (turns out, these things don't put themselves away...)

anyway. after my horrified face returned to its previous state of put-togetherness and sophistication, i had a giggle. and i took some pictures. and i looked at the bench in the study and saw the potential for a clean, immaculate situation there. i mean, the books are stacked in height order, and the filing system in the shelves works (but for that we would use it a bit more...).

and the mess in the lounge? all those clothes? i saw the potential for a drawer full of clean, fresh-smelling socks. and the potential to be choosing my favourite pair of undies come morning, instead of the bottom-of-the-pile dregs i've been dealing with for the past two days.

anyway, you get the picture. i'm dragging on. the kitchen mess means we can make good food again, we get it. shut up now. ok i will (but stop being so rude please).

seriously though, every now and then, it helps to be able to look up from the mess and see the potential of what lies within the mess. sometimes literally, like tonight, but moreso in a metaphorical way, ya know?

and that, my friends, is how you turn a quickie post into a very very long one.

sayonara. (ok really, stop now.)

-- R.

what a week for friends of mine

victoria goldberg. if that's the name she ends up using. is going to be famous. and she's my friend.
justine gaitz. whose name will definitely change. because she's going to marry the man of her dreams. within the year.




and the lesson to be learnt here? it's easy. no matter where you are, here, today, now, it could all change. tomorrow. tonight. in a moment or in the blink of an eye. when the mundane seems to have settled in and you're sure that it's just not your week or your year or your lifetime. it turns. it happens. and suddenly you're the lead actress in a romantic comedy about a destination wedding in nicuragua or else you're an actual bride planning a destination wedding in thailand or south africa, the choice is yours.




life is like that. the banality of the everyday is there only to allow the good times, the pure happiness and joy, to act as punctuation. and my two special, beautiful friends? well, this week has been an exclamation mark, baby. and i'm there. buzzing. ready to join in with the exclamation-marking of their lives, just as they've done for mine. this is joy, happiness, pride, excitement, satisfaction, and belief in the goodness of the universe. it is absolute, pure, unadulterated. and i am going to bed, heavy with love and full of light. these girls are the most deserving.




everybody wins. (except the fact that tori lives far, far away in la so i can't just snap a quick pic of her... but i have her face solidly etched into my mind and right now, she is smiling. hard. for herself and her friend.)

-- R.

the other side, the things i've learned

well it has been eleven long days of bump in. and if a girl is looking for answers, proof that she's grown, that she's grown up and is learning hard and good, then just throw her into an eleven day bump in.

the show opens tonight. and production 'week' (in the one-week-is-definitely-not-a-seven-day-period scenario) has been really full on. so much hard work, sixteen hour days, pushing the boundaries of our skills and knowledge, learning on the job, keeping the balance between an incredible quality show and the perspective of it's just a musical (still hurts me to say that). keeping people happy and loving on my cast, maintaining the healthiest, most loving husband-and-wife situation, proving that teamwork really does make the whole experience better and stronger and happier.

i had a moment about a week ago now. when the seating bank, god bless it, wouldn't come out the way it is supposed to. there were five grown men grunting and hawing and huffing and swearing over it. and it still would not budge. they tried over and over. and they stole rob, who needed to be working hard elsewhere, for the better part of two hours. and i felt my panic levels a-risin'. and i was aware of the feeling of anxiety as it entered my stomach, and then lifted to the bottom part of my chest. but i made a decision. i decided that i would not allow it to preside over me. i squashed it back down. i told it who was boss. i beat panic. the tally is still in my favour, today, ten hours before we open to our first audience.

and it turns out, the seating bank is okay. and yes, we may have lost a couple of hours, which meant that yes, we had to stick around late that night, but at night, (o, at night!) all is quiet in the theatre. and there are not fourteen children named josh calling your name every three seconds to ask what's next, when, in fact, they haven't completed a single one of their other tasks proficiently (not-a-one). and late at night, we laugh and bond and marvel at our work and enjoy the team's company.



and i take time to reflect in my quiet working on how far i've come. i am drilling holes. i am threading rope. i am taking things in my stride. i am pleasant and i smile and i climb ladders and eat some food with nutritional value. i reflect on how far husband and i have come. not one single fight. only playful arguments, at best, about tempos and messiness and balances.

and i gape in awe at the wonder that is rob.



he conceived and designed the set. he knows every corner, every crevice, every little birdie that sits, perfectly angled, awaiting its designated moment to shine upon a cast member's face. he turned a glorified basketball court into one of the most exciting spaces i have every worked in. he rigged and patched and ran cables and focused and plotted the most surreally beautiful lighting design. and he remained calm. and nice. and funny. and he has a really cute jewish brooklyn accent that he absentmindedly speaks with when he is up eight metres in the air on the scissor lift. and we like him. 


and how does this lengthy rant all tie together? well, girlfriend looks back on the many, many hours she has spent working for peanuts in the theatre. not just this 'week'. but for the last seven or eight years. a lifetime of bump ins (or is it bumps in, bunny?). and i have had the most incredible realisation this week about how much i have changed, and grown, and grown up, in the theatre. it has made me a better person. and no matter how many peanuts i work for, i will cherish the skills and knowledge i am always gaining in this place. 


o, holy theatre. you are a challenging, stressful, scary place. but i love how you have changed me. and how that time i learned to squash the rising anxiety back out of my lungs will transfer itself to the classroom, and heavy arguments, and every other corner of my life.


the biggest chookas to my beautiful cast, my perfect artistic team, and all who worked on this gem of a show. i am so in love with it. it is easily the largest-scale production i have ever worked on. and it's only supposed to be a little shop of horrors.


-- R.