Thank you all for the good wishes about Dad. The surgeon said he came through the operation wonderfully. Now we wait for the pathologist report on Friday. Fingers crossed!

Pink Armchair inspired me with her hilarious blog. Mine isn’t anywhere near that funny . . . but it did bring back memories.

I went to Performing Arts HS (remember Fame?) and then was a theater major in college. When I came back to NY I continued to study at Carnegie Hall and I had an instructor who was a Cuban refuge. He had been a fairly famous director in Cuba but left with nothing to come here. He was wonderful and when he left the school at CH (not Clack house) he opened up a school and a tiny theater on the Upper West Side of Manhattan. His wife, a terrific actress, joined him to teach and direct.

Our theater seated 40 people when the place was full. That meant adding an extra row right on the edge of the stage. You could enter the stage from the hallway where the green room/dressing room was – and we also shared the hallway with the Chinese laundry back door. The other entrance onto the stage was from a small bathroom (not used) at the rear of the stage. We’d cross in the dark before the play started if you needed to make an entrance from there. Once there, you had no escape . . . so if you entered late in the first act, you spent many nights sitting on the toilet seat waiting . . . .

Sometimes, the director would stage an entrance from the lobby through the audience onto the stage. For that you had to take the elevator or stairs from backstage – out a door onto the street – and then turn the corner to the theater and walk through. Since we did playwrights like Moliere, Ibsen, Shaw, Chekhov, etc. – walking through the street would usually mean a caseload of giggles.

Because we were a small theater, we really couldn’t afford royalties for plays. So we did plays from the “public domain”. Back in those days it meant the life of the author plus 50 years. That’s changed a bit now. Of course, it also meant that I got to play some of the greatest parts ever . . . Hedda Gabler, Nora, Mary Stuart, The Country Wife, Miss Julie.

One of the lead actors was my darling dearest friend, Carlos. Carlos was also a Cuban refuge. He was an upcoming actor in Cuba before he left. He came here with nothing, spoke no English, and made a life for himself. He passed away a while ago – but he is such a huge part of my life that he is always whispering in my ear. Carlos and I acted together in so many plays. Our directors felt everyone should be able to do the classics, with no emphasis on race, ethnicity, etc. So we had Cuban accents, Brooklyn accents, Southern accents, English accents. We had blacks and whites playing brother and sister. It was a great idea that worked most of the time – and sometimes not at all.

Carlos and I had the same taste in men. We stood in line together the first night that the movie Turning Point opened just so we could see Baryshnikov in his first acting role. We went to the ballet together and when Baryshnikov finally showed up one night in a bar we hung out at, Carlos was on the phone to call me and say in his wonderful accent “Nanjeanne . . . he’s here.” Boy you should have seen me fly out of the house and race all the 10 blocks to the bar. It was late and a couple of waiters who knew us from the bar were leaving work. They saw me running up Broadway and told me I could slow down . . . he was still there! When MrNan came to the theater to audition for a role, we looked at each other and said . . .may the best person win. I did!!!

Anyway, we did an Oscar Wilde play together called “Lady Windermere’s Fan”. Carlos played Lord Darlington, the best friend of Lord Windermere and in love with Lady Windermere. Now, Carlos’s accent receded a bit over the years. But he still had one and when he got excited, it would get worse. In one scene, Lord Darlington takes Lady Windermere by the shoulders and implores her “Choose my love, choose.”

Well, we did that play for a number of weeks, every Friday, Saturday and Sunday. On the last night, we’re sitting in the bar toasting ourselves . . . . and the guy who did the lights turned to me and said. “You know, this has been one of my favorite shows. I really love your relationship with Carlos in this play. There’s just one thing I have never understood. Why does he mention your shoes?” “What?” I sputtered. “My shoes? What are you talking about?” “You know, that moment when Lord Darlington takes you by the shoulders and says ‘Shoes, my love, shoes’.” This story is for zaraone.

All these years and it’s been more than 25 . . . whenever I’m with my friends from those days back in our little theater . . . and we need a good laugh, all we have to do is look at each other and say “shoes, my love, shoes”.

Today's Quote of the Day: "The play was a great success, but the audience was a disaster." Oscar Wilde

ETA - For Corabeth - we were doing Miss Julie by Strindberg. MrNan was playing Jean, the valet. The play opens with Christine, the cook, alone on stage, standing at the stove with her back to the audience. Jean's first line as he enters is "Miss Julie is mad again tonight". So MrNan goes through his intense preparation, works himself up, and bursts on the stage with energy to spare. He opens his mouth . . . and his eyes roll back in his head. Pause crickets chirp.. Finally, he sputters "Miss Julie is off her rocker tonight". I'm in the wings watching and shove my fist in my mouth to stop from laughing. All you can see are the shoulders of the actress playing Christine going up and down, and up and down, and up and down - before she can even turn around to face him. Now, I know the original was in Swedish. And we are doing a translation - but I guarantee you that no one has ever translated the Swedish into Miss Julie is off her rocker!

Another quickie 'cause thinking about the actress playing Christine made me remember this one - and I'm giggling now. We're doing Mary Stuart. She's playing Queen Elizabeth and I'm Mary. It's our one scene together (invented by the author since they never actually met). It's very dramatic. And at the end, Queen Elizabeth puffs herself up in all her royal, regal splendor and declares in rich voice "Take the tater to the tower". Well, this "traitor" got off to that tower so fast my head was spinning and I bust a gut as soon as I was off stage.

Baryshnikov . . . that's a story for another blog.