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Out through the field and the woods and over the wall I have wended
I dreamed last night that I was calling waves against a sea-wall and a little jetty; three of them, each greater than the last. The water sloped up green and by the last wave, the old mortar in the stones was shifting. There was a salt marsh where the water flooded in. I do not remember why I was doing this, but I know there was someone else in the sea. There always is.
Last night I went with a reasonable conglomerate of people to see A Midsummer Night's Dream on Boston Common. We were far enough from the stage that what we could see was mostly the weather-balloon moon and the costumes, handily bright white for the Athenians, neon day-glo for the fairies, but their voices were good, even if the recurring presence of drum machines and synthesizers occasionally made my eyes cross. ("It's the Glam-Bam." —![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
weirdquark) The rude mechanicals were awesome. This was not quite the best death scene of any Pyramus I've seen—that was two years ago at Long Wharf Theater—but the mime of drop-kicking his spleen made it a close second. There were blankets, tangelos, blueberries, milk tea: and no mosquitos. This always improves outdoor theater.
Today, I help my father put in a ceiling in the summer kitchen. Naturally, it's ninety degrees.
Last night I went with a reasonable conglomerate of people to see A Midsummer Night's Dream on Boston Common. We were far enough from the stage that what we could see was mostly the weather-balloon moon and the costumes, handily bright white for the Athenians, neon day-glo for the fairies, but their voices were good, even if the recurring presence of drum machines and synthesizers occasionally made my eyes cross. ("It's the Glam-Bam." —
weirdquark) The rude mechanicals were awesome. This was not quite the best death scene of any Pyramus I've seen—that was two years ago at Long Wharf Theater—but the mime of drop-kicking his spleen made it a close second. There were blankets, tangelos, blueberries, milk tea: and no mosquitos. This always improves outdoor theater.Today, I help my father put in a ceiling in the summer kitchen. Naturally, it's ninety degrees.
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Yes, well, you do generally want the ceiling perpendicular to the wall. Some places like the vaulted ceiling but I can't really see it working in your kitchen . . .
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If you were closer, I would hit you with this six-by-twelve.
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Midsummer Night's Dream sounds like fun, although it's a pity you weren't closer, to the sound of it. And hurrah for no mosquitos.
Roxanne O'Connell once said that she married her husband Robbie (one of the innumerable Clancy nephews, author of, amongst many other songs, "How Does Denis Do It?" (in honour of Denis Thatcher).) on account of him being such a mosquito magnet that she only has to stay near him in order to be unbitten. Which seems a little cruel, but very practical. ;-)
Putting in ceilings is always interesting. I hope it went smoothly. Do you have a summer kitchen separated from the house, then, as in old Southern houses?
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We have serious amounts of the Clancy Brothers on vinyl; with or without Robbie O'Connell and Tommy Makem. I grew up on them.
Do you have a summer kitchen separated from the house, then, as in old Southern houses?
No, I think it started out life as some kind of outdoor patio which the previous owner then walled in; my parents were the ones who converted it into a kitchen with a sink and a grill and cabinets full of stuff like petrified wood and Erlenmeyer flasks, because that's my parents. The old ceiling was plaster, which rotted out from rain and mice. We're putting up panels of pine.
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Somehow I'm not surprised. ;-)
Have you heard Robbie by himself much?
Himself and Roxanne are amongst the core people of Arts Week. She doesn't sing much (and isn't recorded, as best I know), but she's quite a nice singer herself, especially in French (her parents were from Québec, I believe).
No, I think it started out life as some kind of outdoor patio which the previous owner then walled in; my parents were the ones who converted it into a kitchen with a sink and a grill and cabinets full of stuff like petrified wood and Erlenmeyer flasks, because that's my parents. The old ceiling was plaster, which rotted out from rain and mice. We're putting up panels of pine.
Sounds lovely. Not the rotting out of the plaster part, but the new ceiling, and the idea of having a space like that for a kitchen.
Are the Erlenmeyer flasks and petrified wood used for cooking, or just for atmosphere? Your parents sound brilliant, in either case. ;-)
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You have my full permission to steal.
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Sort of reminds me of a cross between Bjork's "Violently Happy" and the Disney "Sorcerer's Apprentice" short. I find there's a very accessible underlying emotion in your dream.
Today, I help my father put in a ceiling in the summer kitchen. Naturally, it's ninety degrees.
It's hotter there than here? That's just wrong.
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. . . ?
It's hotter there than here? That's just wrong.
This planet is broken.
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I can't seem to find my copy of the album right now, but here's the video on YouTube (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=38UrRpYsPjw) (the video relates considerably less to your dream than do the song's lyrics).