WHAT IS THAT AWFUL SMELL?

Good grief!  What is that rotten smell?  I stepped from the third plane of my trip from Gainesville into Monroe, Louisiana, home of many paper mills.  Many, many paper mills, all of which smelled revolting.  I was tired, hungry, dirty and my incision was leaking badly.  None of the ordered wheelchairs had been there and I hobbled from one concourse to another, leaking copious amounts of .....yucky stuff.

Monroe, Louisiana

At last I glimpsed Paul who seemed glad to see me in spite of my ghastly appearance.

"Don't hug me; I really need to change my bandage and I haven't been able to and it's ... leaking."

Paul blanched at this news in spite of having been a medic in the Navy.  We drove to the hotel as I regaled Paul with tales of my lengthy hospital stay.  My father had visited me right after my first surgery and thought I had been decapitated.  (I have the scar to this day.)  Paul told me about the youngest kids playing the King of Siam's many children.  One was three and one was four and they had been cast because they were adorable.  But when they got bored, the little girl did somersaults and the small boy picked his nose.  The resounding laughter these behaviors received from the cast and crew did nothing to discourage our young Thespians.  And yes, the dancer playing Eliza did have huge breasts which did as they pleased.  Paul did not seem unduly concerned by this fascinating display.

Anna and the King

What did concern him was that the custom in Monroe was apparently to hire a professional director with a great deal of experience and then allow anyone in the theatre to give amateur notes to the professional.  Board members, prop people, the costume lady, parents of cast members, the janitor--all were encouraged to give Paul nightly notes based on their complete lack of theatrical knowledge.  Paul was dumbfounded by this custom.

"Why did they hire me if the prop manager knows more than I do?  What about the big-breasted dancer?  Maybe she has some line readings she'd like to suggest.  The actors playing Anna and the King actually have a great deal of experience.  They know what they're doing.  But you don't see them giving me notes every night."

I had grown up in community theatre; I knew that Ego reigned supreme.  The less a person knew about acting and production, the more they felt qualified to give advice.  Mostly dumb advice.  Paul was having a hard time, but I was enjoying myself.  I slept late; I didn't have to work and every night I went to rehearsals and socialized with everyone.  It was exactly what I needed after My Kidney Stone Honeymoon.  And eventually Opening Night came as it always does.  The King and I was a huge success and everyone who had ever given Paul notes took sole credit for its shining glory.

                                                               To Be Continued

LEAVING SHANDS

The kidney stone surgery was over; I was out of Recovery and back in my room.  I was in pain.  A lot of pain.  I felt dreadful.  The phone rang.  I knew it had to be Paul.  As soon as I heard his voice, I burst into tears.

"I feel so terrible and it's an hour until my pain shot and I can't stand it.  I don't want to be brave and cheerful anymore.  I'm NOT brave or cheerful.  I want to go home!"  I went on and on and couldn't stop.  Paul murmured comforting words and I couldn't stop sobbing and sniveling.  We talked for a long time and at last the sweet nurse came in and gave me a pain shot.  Paul kept talking softly until I fell asleep.  The next day I felt no better.  Meals consisted of watery brown soup and Jello.  I hate Jello even now.  I was poking at the green Jello with my spoon in spiteful jabs when someone came in.  I looked up and saw my husband who had taken three different planes to get from Monroe to Gainesville.  My husband who hated to fly and said the Rosary many times when in the air.

"You must really like me," I said.  He smiled.

We spent the day together.  Paul regaled me with stories of rehearsals and Paul could always tell a good story and make me laugh.  The show had already been cast before he got there and not always wisely.  The beautiful Tuptim who sang the show's loveliest songs with her forbidden lover was being played by a very plain girl in glasses who couldn't sing very well.  Several blond teenagers had been cast as the brunette wives of the King of Siam and would all have to dye their hair.  The dancer playing Eliza was so buxom that when she leaped from one ice floe to another, her gigantic breasts bobbed up and down in a most distracting fashion. By this time I was laughing so hard I thought I would burst my stitches

"But most dancers are rather flat chested," I said.

"Not this one," said Paul.  "Not this one."

Late that night after Paul had left to begin his long, long return trip to Monroe, I lay awake thinking that soon I would leave this place, cured, and I would never have another kidney stone in my life.

And that is exactly what happened.