Last night Scott and the three oldest girls went to see, with a group of our Shakespeare Club friends, a performance of Twelfth Night at the Old Globe Theater in Balboa Park. That’s the very play our group performed last June, so an already Very Special Occasion was made even more so by their familiarity with the play. Afterward, they sat up late in the dark living room, regaling me with their favorite moments: the Sir Andrew Aguecheek / Cesario swordfight; the rather frighteningly realistic shipwreck sound effects; the comic portrayal of the priest.
They all (including Scott) found the ending to be quite grim: Malvolio’s imprisonment played not for laughs but with dark realism. His misery, his hands reaching up through a grate in the floor, cast a shadow on the merriment of the rest of the play. Still, they loved the show, loved the whole experience.
This morning Huck built a railway line across the kitchen floor: the tracks consisted mostly of board books, with a few oddment bringing gaps between Sandra Boynton’s hippos and Byron Barton’s dinosaurs. Rilla mastered the art of the Thanksgiving hand-turkey. I’m surrounded on all sides by Cybils graphic novel nominees. Last week’s heavy rain caused my lettuces to triple in size. Beanie needs reading glasses and is excited because they’re going to be silvery-blue with hearts on the temples. I’ve got “Rocking Around the Christmas Tree” echoing in my head because it’s Rose’s class song for the piano recital. All the shirts I bought Wonderboy for the fall have turned out to be a size too small. Jane finished writing her computer program and is on to the next one. Those are the things happening around here today.
I’m No Jean Grey
Pass the Echinacea
Wednesday: Five Moments
This one’s for the curriculum-junkie homeschooling mothers of 2002
Everyone Knows Potatoes Have Eyes, Not Ears