This so called disaster, part three

Part three.  Take four.

Yes we are moving.  Probably.  We don’t know where.   Yet.

This has been a difficult post to write.  The board has informed me that it is a political document (thank god for having real board members!) and so the details, the wherefores and whos….it becomes the most public statement of what is going on, and we had all agreed not to do a press release,  to just let word of mouth take it.  Also, the situation evolves daily as our dear Treasurer goes to meeting after meeting and we regroup to figure out what exactly is going on with the new information he has collected.

It is also difficult because how we feel about moving changes on a daily basis.  And I guess that’s where I’m going to keep this–with feelings.  In fact, I’m going to talk about my own life, and then try to draw parallels.

My husband and I live in a house that we love very, very much.  It is warm, insulated, has many updates (as the real estate people say) and a lot of personality, in a good way.  It has parking and a yard, which is hard to come by in parts of North Adams.  But it is small, and it feels even smaller now that we have a baby who is starting to walk.  And it has all these cool features that suddenly feel a lot like  baby death traps (a loft that is accessed by ladder in the middle of the nursery).  We’d like to move to a bigger house that’s closer to where we work.  We’d like  a little less yard.  We found some places that fit the bill, and we’re really excited about them, but we’re terrified too.  We really, really like our house.  It is a warm, warm house, which means a lot during these cold winter months.  We have fixed so many of the things that will need fixing in a new place.  When we think really, really hard, we can fit two kids into it (though reality may prove otherwise).  So I wake up every day with a different feeling about selling the place.  But there is a “for sale” sign in the yard.

It’s like that with moving out of 57 Main.  Some days I think “12 years!  The company has been there 12 years!”  Some days I pop out of the stage and walk to my favorite stores, visit with the proprietors, leave a poster, buy something and think about how great it is to be down town.  To be part of down town.  And the space is so familiar, so intimate.

But moving opens up possibilities that we would never have in the current place–like a space for child care, wings for the stage.  We’d be starting at 0 with dust and grime, so cleaning he space wouldn’t be a fight against several years of neglect and the theatre will feel clean.  Actually clean.

It’s made us think a lot about what we are doing in this community.  What we want to do with the theatre.  Moving means we can’t just go on as we have all these years, coming up with great ideas, doing a third of them, living hand to mouth, hoping that the things we want to communicate are being communicated.  A new space means a new plan.  We get to start over and shape a space to our needs.  I get really excited about all this rethinking (and about a baby room at the theatre!)

But then, sometimes I wake up and think there’s no place like home.

This morning I told my students that plays are about choice, about decision and action.  They happen at a moment of crisis because the stakes are high and things need to happen and the characters make those things happen.  It’s the most exciting part about theatre–with an actual audience sitting there in real time, on real seats,  a play must move forward.  Every scene, every action, every word going forward, forward.

Forward.

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