My Latest Costume

Ten minutes after the final curtain

This is my blog, right? And I have the right to censor/Photoshop/improve any pictures I put on this blog, even especially the ones that are taken of me, all me, and only me? So why in the world would I lead today's entry with this selfie, which features a tired-looking elderly lady with unbelievable bags under her eyes and clear indication of a bad hair day?

Because it's my second costume! As I mentioned a few months ago, a plain black accompanist outfit becomes a costume when a hat is added, and the latest community theater offering was Hello, Dolly!

This time my hat connection decided I needed more pizzazz so the sparkly pillbox number of my first costume was replaced with a sparkly, feather-bedecked wagon wheel that bumped on my neck when I leaned back to give cues to the bass player. It was fabulous.

Community theater, I am discovering, is a ton of fun. That was not my reaction the first night of rehearsals, when I sat down at the piano to take my first look at the score and discovered there was no musical director. My inner sputterer went into full shout mode.

"But...but...but...but who sets the tempo? Who says 'one, two, three, go? Who cues the singers?? How many ways will I screw this up?"

The answers to these questions turned out to be "I do," "I do," "I do," and "More than I can even imagine."

I even cornered a friend, who has done community theater for years with my concerns.

"What you need to remember is that we're mostly not professionals, we're doing this for fun, so have fun with us," he told me.

So I went with the flow. I quit apologizing every time I screwed up, because that would have meant feeling remorse after every. single. song, and eventually I screwed up less. I began learning the names of the people in the cast I'd never met (how can I live in Small Town for 30 years and never have met them?) and appreciating the hundreds of hours of work they were investing in this project. This cast rehearsed four times a week, and showed up once more each week to work on tech. (I felt like a piker, limiting my own participation to two weekly rehearsals in a nod to the doctor's "take life easier" orders.)

To my utter amazement, I found myself looking forward to rehearsals. I loved reassuring the big-voiced soloist who was unsure of his entrance that he shouldn't worry--I'd find him, and we'd reach the final note together. I laughed every time Dolly pointed out that "This room is positively crawling with men!" and I gave myself a mental high-five when I finished the "Waiter's Gallop" at the same time as the galloping waiters.

It was fun.

The play has been over for a week now, and I find myself humming its songs less often. But I woke up this morning with the lyrics to "Put On Your Sunday Clothes" running through my head, reminding me to "put on my feathers, my patent leathers, my beads and buckles and bows," and I smiled.

Then I put on my hat.