|The view outside our window this morning.|
Yesterday was not filled with the luck of the ... there were unfortunate incidents.
While everything eventually worked out, there were difficulties getting the computer to recognize the projector. BBC Belfast cancelled our radio interview. And I seriously bonked my head on one of the low-doorways in our cottage, leaving a nasty egg on my crown.
|I found a fairy princess in the garden.|
There were some seventy people in attendance. I have grown used to audiences not laughing, at all, at anything, during the performances this week. Maybe it is because of the language barrier (that ironic American humor, you know.) Maybe it is because of my delivery, who knows.
Last night, however, they were laughers. Not huge, belly-laughers, no one does that, not that kind of show, but they did laugh appreciatively. I might make some kind of sweeping observation about the Irish knowing something about dark humor, but, well, I guess I just did.
|Feeding the ducks at the nature center at Lough Neagh|
Of course, I knew it was going to be a good performance when Steven introduced it as "Ah Heet Thass - a plee wi'oot tha baybeh."
One of the most interesting questions we received was, "What did you hope to get out of doing this?" Toni and I talked about it later, I think she was concerned at first that it was an accusation, but I wasn't. One thing that was great was that it was a question we could pass onto Steven, who joined us on stage. He had the chance to share the idea SANDS had for bringing me here, to raise awareness of the issue, and of their organization.
Toni also got to speak about the kind of fact-finding work we have been able to do, hearing other people's stories and making observations about the state of health care in different parts of the country - ours and theirs.
And for my part, I took it back to the beginning - what did I hope to get out of doing this, meaning writing it. Which was nothing but my own need to tell this story, as a theater artist. At first, I had no idea that this play would take me to such places. I didn't envision it being used as an educational tool, for nurse and doctors, certainly not to be a touchpoint for the parents of other dead children. I wanted to see if I could make my personal story into a good play.
Zelda came walking into the bathroom with a pair of underpants on her head. "I'm a butthead!" she declaimed.
"Hmn," I mused, "who made up that joke?"
"I did," Zelda proested, leaving the bathroom. "Kelly and I made it up."
If my four year-old is going to use correct grammar, she is allowed the occasional vulgarity.