Hallowe’en, and My Name is Lucy Barton
Hallowe’en in Cabbagetown is THE BEST! The decorations are over the top, but mostly, for the kids, the houses are close together and people are generous. Many hundreds of kids and parents throng the streets, many if not most of them immigrant families from St. Jamestown and Regent Park, wide-eyed at the excitement. This eve was particularly good because it was clear and really mild, no coats needed. A neighbour told me he gave out over 1000 candy bars.
I was knocked flat during the day by the two vaccines I’d had the day before, but later I rallied, with the help of Advil, to go to my handyman Doug’s Hallowe’en party. I put on a white shirt with bowtie under an elegant tailcoat, and black pants with cummerbund, all from Goodwill, added some flashy pins and a sparkly scarf and a moustache. I was channelling the caddish Freddie whom I played in The Club in Vancouver in 1977 at the age of 36, a musical set in an Edwardian men’s club where all the men were played by women. My features — my big chin and questionable nose and unruly eyebrows — helped to make Freddie a handsome man; for the first and only time in my life, I felt like a matinee idol.
My version at 74 was not nearly as dapper or debonaire. Or unlined. Mais c’est la vie. It was wonderful pushing through the costumed throng in the streets wearing my own ridiculous disguise. The mascara moustache should have been grey, however.
Maurice Chevalier, anyone? LOL!
On Friday my son came over for dinner, ordered from House on Parliament, our favourite and a special treat. He’s embarking on something difficult but necessary which I’ll tell you about when it’s happening. Last night another special treat – a neighbour of Ruth’s had two (expensive!) tickets to give away for My Name is Lucy Barton at CanStag, so Annie and I went. Based on the Elizabeth Strout novel, adapted by Rona Munro, it’s a one-woman show starring the amazing Maev Beaty, who was doing the play for the second time that day, i.e. three solid hours alone on stage. Her performance is rightly described as a tour de force, as she inhabits not just Lucy but her estranged, rough-edged mother, come to tend her daughter who’s lying in a hospital bed.
Several people had told me I should see this and I saw why; Lucy says several times, “Everyone has one main story, and they need to tell it.” Which is the theme of my life and work. It’s a play full of insight and compassion as Lucy tells us about her childhood and adulthood. I chuckled when she confided, at the end, that she’s become a successful writer who makes very good money writing. On what planet? If only!
Tonight will be spent mending moth holes again. I’m ignoring the polls and holding my breath that the nightmare of this election will soon be over, although all indicators are the nightmare will drag on and on and on, due to the bizarre, antiquated electoral college. On Tuesday, I’m seeing a matinee of an American play, What the Constitution Means to Me, another one woman show, this one about – what else? And then it’s home to drink a lot of wine and pray.
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