"Second Samuel" was Super!

The play was wonderful. The young guy who played "B. Flat" talked and emoted practically throughout both acts, with a real or assumed speech impediment thrown in. Ramey was the prettiest lady--she played Miss Ruby who worked in the beauty shop. I was fascinated with the players' given names--Omaha Nebraska Madison was the cute blonde who ran the beauty shop. Her husband was Frisky Madison, and one of his kinfolks named their baby after him: Madison Wisconsin.

I was so proud of Ramey--told everybody, "That's my baby sister, you know!"

Jed couldn't come, and India was feeling puny, so I went to the play by myself. Saw George and Sue and Rev. Lynette and everybody whose names I didn't remember. Yes, I feel guilty for not going to church. But crowds confuse me and I can't think or do anything except try to keep a frozen grin on my face. Funny, I've never had that problem when I was on a stage or at a desk and the crowd was in front of me. But when they're all around me everywhere, I'm lost. Maybe because everybody else is so tall.

Just before I left home to go to the play, I had a stomach upset, then I had to scurry to get ready, and forgot my camera. The "playhouse" was cool, but the narthex of the church was hot, and of course it was hot outside. All the temperature variations gave me the "swirl and ache" again, so when the play was over, I high-tailed it to the Tracker and came home.

Sister Susan and Niece Andy were the only other family in the audience. Susan has a synopsis of the whole play on her blog today (Blackberry Creek), with pictures and everything. But no picture of me in my four-year-old summer dress I had never worn before but put on because it made me look taller. But I  understand: Why photograph the "Old Party" in the family, when they're always there and you have to look at them occasionally, whether you want to or not?

I had occasion this week to ponder that theory, and it may have a few holes in it. On Tuesday, I called the clinic and asked Marie (the secretary) to get Onae (the nurse) or Dr. Gruman (the giant) to call me with the results of the tests I'd had the week before. A bit later, Marie called me back and said Dr. Gruman had "written me a letter." A letter? Too mystified to think, I muttered, "Thanks." Then I walked the floor for a day or two, wondering what they found that the M.D. was too cowardly to tell me about on the phone. Always before he has phoned within a couple or three days and told me something, sometimes reading last year's test results.

Based on the tests they did last week, all I could think of was AIDS or a brain tumor. I still haven't received the letter, but have had time to get over the terror.

Last week at the clinic, I had the satisfaction of noticing that he's getting gray-headed.
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A funny thing happened when I found my seat, B5, at the play. Each seat had a removable cover on the back with the seat number written on it. In my row, the numbers ran B1, B2, B3, B5, B4, B6, B7 and B8. I sat down in B5, and the lady who came and sat in B6 said I had to change because someone had switched the numbers. She was quite officious and seemed to know what she was talking about, so I got up and started changing the covers on the seat-backs. The man in front of me remarked it was strange that "the House" couldn't count to 4, and the bossy lady hinted that I should have figured it out for myself. I said, "I just thought it was some local custom that I'm not familiar with."