In the midst of all this Times Square bomb threat madness, I’ve been working/living/breathing in a sac of amniotic New Orleans. The thing about New Orleans is: the humidity has its own personality here. Sure it can make you feel slimy or make you shine brighter than Abe on a new penny, but it’s also kind of comforting. Maybe it’s just me, but it feels like it holds onto you, like it’s your Mom giving you a hug after a long day.
Do you know the medical value of hugs? I don’t know how legit she is, but according to Virgina Satir, family therapist, We need 4 hugs a day for survival. We need 8 hugs a day for maintenance. We need 12 hugs a day for growth. Well maybe the reason people feel so good in New Orleans (when we’re sober, even!) is that we’re living in a constant hug.
Mid-rehearsal, the sound of a steamboat whistle carries into the theater. I think of that day along the river at French Quarter Fest, Morgan gushing, “It’s the best sound in the world!” It really is the little things, isn’t it?
Like today, Angela, the rehearsal stage manager for the show I’m working on made an excellent point when talking about relationship length. Totally gave me a new spin. She talked about a five year relationship she’d been in and said, that was a successful relationship. I like that. Even if something ends after a year, five years, especially ten or twenty– that doesn’t mean it wasn’t successful, that means: hey, it ended. Yes, I’ll say it, I know you’re probably all thinking it: all good things must come to an end.
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On that note, I give you this postcard.