Rachel

Left early for the P & P meeting, so I could stop at Produce Junction first.  Did so and picked up four nice plants for a song, including a Spathe lily for the foyer.
I still had some time, so stopped at Betty's.  She was there, along with a man who, I think, was assessing the damage to her floors.  If the one in the living room is any indication, it's horrendous.  It's "buckled"--i.e., is warped, with the individual boards forming little tents.  I'm afraid all the floors have to be replaced--and that's not nearly the extent of the damage, which  may include walls.  Betty said she has leads on several places to rent, as the house may not be habitable for six months.  I assume insurance will cover the cost.    
Got to the meeting and was happy to greet Louise and other members I like.  There were only thirteen people there, a far cry from earlier days when the room would be filled.  What could be the reason?  Most likely it was sitting there, as usual, front and center...
Rachel really has a screw loose.  She has to comment--at length and often to no point or purpose--on every topic discussed.  Incredibly, considering this had been discussed and rejected months ago, she started pushing again for hiring a Ken Somebody-or-Other to be our "dramateur," as she invariably calls it.  She had some cockamamie idea that he'd direct us in our next presentation, but he would have to be paid.  What?  This is readers' theatre, for Pete's sake, and playwrights can direct themselves.  What we need is somebody to run the meetings, and not least, to keep a lid on Rachel.
Sonda was the facilitator du jour and not a very effective one, I'm afraid, as Rachel held sway.  She comments interminably on every topic and is often very high-handed.  This tends to anger others and, at times, the whole thing degenerates into a shouting match.
Just one example of Rachel's incomprehensible ways: As usual, we took a break halfway through the meeting; Grey and I started chatting about Hedda (I had given him his bound script).  Suddenly, Rachel turned angrily to us and shouted (yes, shouted) that we had some nerve discussing another play while we were there and we should go outside if we want to do that.  We were flabbergasted--we were on break, so what possible reason could there be for a prohibition on any subject we chose to discuss?  Later, Rachel apologized and this is characteristic of her:  first, the outrageously inappropriate action, then the abject apology.  There seems no way, short of mayhem, to rein her in.  Sondra was this month's facilitator and not a very effective one, so Rachel walked all over her, too.
It was fun after.  Louise, Denise, Grey, and I went out for a bite and had a ball together.  We're of like minds on a number of subjects and the talk ranged all over the map.  However, we were having so much fun, I didn't notice what time it was and it was almost full dark by the time we parted.  Got home fine, though.
Ellen surprised me by Skyping last night instead of her usual Sunday, and as ever, we had a good chat.  She got a new manicure--I want to do that tomorrow--and it looks terrific.  Hope I can approximate her color.             

Luncheon And Rogue Government

A very pleasant day.  I walked across the street to Susan's about 1:00 and we repaired to Cuisine On The Green.  I drove with Julie and Sophia, and Susan and Walter followed in their car.
The restaurant was nicely filled--but not uncomfortably crowded--which I was glad to see, as I want the new people to succeed.  I vacillated back and forth--a hamburger, the broccoli and cheese over pasta?--and finally settled on the sesame chicken Aline likes.  It was superb and everybody else liked their lunches: two fish fries, a hamburger, and a BLT.  We also had drinks, of course--Blue Moons for Walter and me, and soda for the other three.  The bill was an ouch-producer: with tip, it came to to eighty dollars and change. However, I was glad to treat, as Susan has been very generous and hospitable to me over many years.
After we got home, I drove to Staples and picked up the scripts.  They came to a few cents short of a hundred and eighty bucks, but hey, I'll be reimbursed.
I called Naomi to see if I had left my umbrella cover in her car on Tuesday and we had a long talk.  She has some long-standing hangups, that's a cinch, but nevertheless, I enjoy her and we made a date for lunch next Friday.
Now I want to relax a bit; Players & Playwrights tomorrow.
WIDER: Sheldon Richman again hits it out of the park with this one:
http://www.counterpunch.org/2014/01/15/americas-rogue-government/

Hedda Scripts

I took the Hedda disk Frank had made to Staples and was told the ten bound scripts could be ready that evening.  I had the idea I could get them, then drop them off at the H.'s where a rehearsal (of a scene I'm not in) was scheduled for 7:00.
Stopped at a bunch of other places for minor errors (oops! I meant to type "errands"--must be some deep psychological significance there), then did stuff at home.
Drove all the way back to Manahawkin after dinner only to be told the scripts weren't yet finished--damn.  Now I'll have to go back today and get them.
Betty called to say she's at the Trop in A.C.  She met with the insurance agent and isn't yet sure when she can get back in her house.  She doesn't know yet if she'll come up here over Saturday and Sunday night, but will let me know before I leave for the Players & Playwrights meeting tomorrow.
I'm taking Susan, Walter, her daughter, Julie, and granddaughter, Sophia, to lunch at Cuisine On The Green.

Lunch At My Childhood Home

Picked up Aline and we drove to 15 South in Ventnor.  Dee was frying up a big pan of potato wedges, then took chicken cutlets in an egg wash out of the frig. She dredged them in bread crumbs and fried in a hot pan.  Aline and I agreed it was the best chicken we had ever tasted.  Dee told us she first soaks them overnight in salt water, a procedure new to me.  I contributed the salad--to which I had added dried cranberries and herb croutons--and it was a delicious meal.
Of course, we gabbed away--Dee is a big talker and Aline and I are no slouches, either.  I showed Aline around my old home, we had coffee and talked some more, then finally left a bit before 4:00.  I stopped at Betty's, but she wasn't there.  I called her and found she was holing up at the Trop.  She asked if she could stay over at my place on Saturday and Sunday nights, so I'll pick her up after the Players & Playwrights meeting.
I no sooner got home than I had a Skype call from little K., in Tokyo.  How he's growing and how alert and engaged he is with his parents!  He chews everything within reach, especially his fingers, coos and smiles, and is such a pleasure to see.
Frank came over with a CD of Hedda, which I can take to Staples.  However, the pages aren't numbered, which could be a problem for Desi, but it can't be helped, I guess.
Elva called later, and we again had a long, enjoyable talk.  She had been asked by another classmate how Joan had died and forgotten what I had told her.  I told her I'll take Naomi up to her Lambertville art gallery once the weather warms.

Memorial Service

Wayne and Naomi picked me up at 11:00 for the "viewing"--which wasn't really a viewing, as the remains of the deceased weren't there.  An autopsy was to be performed because she had died in her bed at home and alone.
All day, there was a driving rain, which may have cut down on the number of attendees, but there were a fair number there.  The only other fellow St. James, class of  '50, graduate there--as far as I could see--was George W., who with his son, runs the funeral home.
At noon, there was a brief service conducted by a minister from the Somers Point Methodist Church.  I was interested to see she was a large, African American woman.  Later, I asked one of Joan's two sons if Joan went to that church.  She didn't; in fact, didn't attend church at all, he said.  I suppose the pastor was there there to add a vague patina of religiosity to the proceedings.
After, we went to the luncheon at the Point Inn.  Very tasty buffet and I felt the usual, half-hidden relief at being still among the living.  Naomi and her two nephews spoke warmly to each other and promised to keep in touch.  She had been estranged from her brother's family for some time, so this was significant for her.
There were a number of easels here and there with pictures of  Joan and  her family, some from years ago when I knew her.  On a table in the front room, I was startled to see a snapshot of Joan with--could that possibly be Donald Rumsfeld? Yes, it was.  Of all things, the mass murderer had been Somers Steelman's roommate at Princeton U.
We got home about 4:00, still in heavy rain.  Almost immediately after, my new microwave was delivered.  It'll have to wait until Sunday to be installed, but no matter.
I called Jeanne P., who had left a message earlier.  She didn't go to St. James, but she and Joan had been Miss Atlantic City contestants at the same time.  Another bond was that, interestingly, Joan's future husband, Somers, had introduced her (Jeanne) to her first husband.  As we spoke, Jeanne was in Florida having a pedicure, a fact that tickled me.
I then called Elva G. to give her the news.  Her sister had already let her know, but we had a good talk reminiscing about the vanished days that an ever-dwindling number now remember.  She filled me in on two other SJS classmates: Gail George, with whom she's in touch occasionally and Mary Beth Cosgrove, who has died.
Joan Fiore was arguably the prettiest girl in our class and was crowned Miss Ventnor when she was about 16.  She married at 18--Somers was 21 and fresh out of Princeton--but by then, I no longer had contact with her.
I'm always bemused by the mystery of time passing.  That my have something to do with being unable to see Joan as a great-grandmother well into her seventies.  I can't fathom the idea that I can truthfully be described that way, too.    
     
   

A Viewing And Rehearsal

Got in touch with Naomi P. about the viewing and memorial service today for her former sister-in-law, Joan Fiore Steelman, with whom I went all through St. James. Considering that Naomi and her late brother were not on speaking terms for years, I wasn't sure if she would want to go.  She vacillated back and forth, but finally decided she would.  Her husband will, too, and they'll pick me up at 11:00.
Had rehearsal last night and oh, boy, was it tough.  It seems to me Director Desi has mis-read the play and come up with an absolutely boneheaded idea of my character, Aunt Julia.  According to every line Ibsen wrote, she's a typical maiden aunt, fussy, but sweet, who defines herself by her care of others.  I could point out all the signposts-- practically her every utterance, her exchanges with others--by which the author makes this clear, but Desi seems to have missed or misinterpreted them all.  He insists that I play her as a bossy, annoying, rather stupid bore.
Okay, he's the director, so I'm going to have to do that, but it's wrong, wrong, wrong.

A Secret

Lots of household chores, computer stuff, and line rehearsal most of the day until late afternoon.  I then drove up to my friend's house to see--and experience--their latest acquisition.  Wow, it's incredible!
But I'm sworn to secrecy, and can't reveal what I'm talking about, so maybe I'm not making a lot of sense.  Anyway, I declined their dinner invitation in order to get home before dark, but had a great time.
Ellen called to say that, as usual, when she Skyped me, it didn't go through, so I had to Skype her.  I used the Tablet to do it, and it went through immediately, but for some reason, my picture didn't show up.  She called me back on the desktop and--not sure why--but this time it went through.  Mysterious.
Had a good chat and was also able to say hello to Gregg, who walked in during our call.