April 26, 2004

Yesterday started out as another stupid day. Though it was great to sleep in, getting up past noon often leaves me feeling guilty; no matter how hard I try, I just can't catch up with the day. Sam and I cleaned the living room and dining room (man, Murphy's Oil Soap is an evocative smell) and then I just kind of did nothing and felt bad about it. I sat in the popasan and watched the floors dry. Woo hoo.

The day got a whole lot better when Sam and I drove over to Danielle's to take Walter out for a walk. Walter is a lab/shepherd/doberman mix with a really big heart and even bigger ears (they almost named him Radar). He's just about three years old, and he's big and funny and lovable and cuddly.

Walter dragged Sam down the street while I trotted behind. The air was sunshimmery bright, and I felt my mood lighten with every block we walked. Eventually we came to a dead end street with a path that veered off to the right, through a greengreen field dotted with low trees. Walter bounded onto the path, and we had no choice but to follow. And in moments we were out of the city and into a gentle wilderness, with streams and mosses and high grasses and old footbridges. Sam looked at me in bewilderment, as if to say where are we? while Walter happily munched on grass and pulled us along. We let him off of his leash and he bolted up the path about twenty feet, and then obediently stopped for us to catch up before making another mad dash. He whimpered at squirrels and slogged through the mud and took long sticks on short walks. We, meanwhile, stopped to breathe the air and feel the bark on the trees and tie our sweatshirts around our waists. Together we made one really happy dog and two quite contented humans.

After a lovely adventure through the woods, we came upon a small amphitheater, where a young man was sitting eating a sandwich. As Walter eyed the sandwich, we asked the young man the name of the magical place through which we had been wandering. He replied, through a mouthful of sandwich and with great disinterest, "You're in the canyon at Reed College." The canyon, we thought. What an exquisite place to stumble upon.

On our walk home, Sam put his arm around me and I leaned into his shoulder. Apparently Walter felt left out, because he looked back, whimpered, and then cut in between us. We stopped to give him affectionate pats (though not too vigorous, as he was quite wet and thoroughly muddy), and then continued back to Danielle's.

Today we readied the theater for Frogs, which opens for a six week Portland run on Thursday. We spent the day sweeping out long-forgotten corners, hefting lumber to the shop, pulling spike tape from the floor, laying cable, etc. It felt good to lift and carry and climb and sweep and clean. I have become accustomed to a certain amount of physical exertion every day at work. While I of course prefer rehearsing and performing the show to vacuuming out the dressing room, I nevertheless enjoy a day of movement, be it dancing or dusting.

Sam had to stay late to hang duvetyne, and so I went home to munch on a Subway sandwich and watch Mona Lisa Smile, which is way too much of a chick-flick for my boyfriend. Then I read some of my new book and took a long hot shower. It wasn't until 11:00 that Sam called me for a ride home, so I threw on a tee-shirt and cut-offs and drove to Imago, barefoot and clean, Allman Brothers up and windows down, toes gripping the pedals of the Jetta.

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