Giving thanks

It’s Canadian Thanksgiving, a day when we are supposed to eat turkey and, you know, give thanks.

Obviously, I give thanks for living in a beautiful place.

And, equally obviously, I give thanks for the blessing of wonderful friends, who’ve shared my joys and, even more importantly, propped me up and supported me during my sorrows.

Yes, I do very much give thanks for these things.

But mostly today, on this Thanksgiving in 2023, I’m giving thanks for the memory. Specifically, my memory. Because it turns out my memory is not, as I had begun to fear, completely shot.

Yesterday was our first off book rehearsal. The day of reckoning. The day you have to give up your security blanket. The day you dread. The day you must face the awful fact that, despite the work you’ve put in, you cannot for the life of you remember your fucking lines. 

In the afternoon I got together with fellow cast member (and one of those blessed friends) Donna and another friend to run lines. Operating on the assumption that we’d be starting with Act One, we focussed on that. First time through I was all over the place, threatening, amongst other things, to flee the country (and the humiliation). Second time through it was fine. Far from perfect, but absolutely fine. Alrighty then.

Turn up for rehearsal to be informed that we were starting with Act Two. Fuck.

However, it turned out I knew more than I thought. Yes, there were a number of corrections from the prompter – lines I got wrong or simply didn’t speak because I’d blanked on my line being next – but  overall more right than wrong. 

By the time we did get to Act One, it was (pretty much) a piece of cake.

Thank you, Dionysus, god of the theatre (and, as it happens, of wine). Apparently I’m not done just yet.