I am waiting for Mr. Moon to come home. I have homemade chicken pot-pie leftovers and fresh, just-picked greens from the garden washed and put in the refrigerator. I've washed the sheets and made the bed up fresh. Not much left to do.
The audition went nicely. I loved seeing so many faces there, some easy and relaxed because they have been there before, some nervous and worried because they were in a new place, doing a new thing and that takes a lot of courage. There was one girl I'd bet my ass is in some sort of acting school. She had legs eight feet long and her skirt did not interfere with the view. (Perhaps I have been reading too much Chandler.) God would have approved that skirt, the better to see his handiwork. She'll get a part. I betcha.
I saw a woman there I hadn't seen in a long time. In fact, since I first auditioned at the Opera House myself about five years ago. We both got cast in a play but she discovered she had breast cancer before we really got going with it and she had to drop out. She was glad to see me too, and we talked. Her partner, I think, also got breast cancer in the last few years and died just this year. Before she died, she made this woman promise she would go back onstage.
And she would be a perfect Ousier. I told my friend Pat that until I saw this woman, I wanted the part of Ouiser but that I'd rather not be in the play at all than not see her get that part. I also told Pat that I meant it too, and wasn't just saying it because I'm a good Christian woman, which made Pat laugh. She's the wife of a minister and I love her because she IS a good Christian woman and a wicked one, too, in her own good way and she knows I'm not a Christian woman at all, but we probably agree on far more things than we differ on. I would love to be in a play with her again. We've been in several together.
So it was fun. Jack and Jan are directing and I always love working with them and will love it again if I get cast. I hope I do. Maybe that would get my head out of my ass. But if I don't, life will go on and god knows I'm busy enough as it is. But I always know that no matter what, my time spent at the Opera House is always good time. Always healing time. Always a bit magical.
He's coming home. That man is coming home. And here I sit and wait. I should go put the rugs on the floor that I have washed and dried, hang up his towel that I laundered. It's always a bit of a shock when he's been gone and comes back. I have to readjust to the reality of someone else being here, of another person in the house, having another person's needs to consider.
Since that person is my husband, it works out.
I will be astounded, once again, at how tall he is. I know- after almost twenty-seven years of knowing him, that should not surprise me so much anymore, but you know it does.
So many things surprise me that should not. And that's just the way it is.
I am waiting for him to come home. I wonder what surprises he will bring me besides his height.
His love always surprises me. Never ceases to amaze me, too.
And isn't that a wonder?
I think so.