Jane's Second Post (with help from Sheri!)

September 18, 2008.

Hope you can wrap your heads around a little time shifting, because rather than catch you up chronologically on what we’ve been doing, I have laundry on my mind, and that’s what I’m going to write about. We arrived at the Garage (with the stress on the first syllable, as the Irish and Brits pronounce it) in Monaghan early this afternoon, and it’s now about 4:15 and I’m doing laundry. Again. Or still. Or whatever. Sheri and I seem to be doing laundry 24/7—not continuously, but it is always a major part of our day—the planning, the execution, and inevitably a lot of praying. Laundry is a challenge. Every theater has its own version of laundry facilities—ancient machines whose workings are mysterious and known only to the chosen few who actually use them. Those chosen few are often nowhere to be found. We jump for joy if we find separate washers and dryers, because the most daunting of all is the evil washer/dryer combo. TOTALLY INCOMPREHENSIBLE!!! The only way to work them is to pretend you’re Tommy—blind, deaf, and mute--and operate them on sheer intuition. So mysterious is the all-in-one, that at the Roscommon Arts Center the technical manager, who had no clue how to operate the thing, seeing that we managed to get our laundry done asked us to write down the instructions for him, so he could explain it to other groups that came in! (Of course, the secret was to find the chosen one at that theater who got the thing running for us.)

The unpredictability of how the machines work, how long it takes form them to work (the all-in-ones can take days to do a single load, it seems—and they’re inevitably tiny!), and when and for how long we have access to the theater, have required me and Sherri to exercise great creativity (and they say ACTING is an art!). So each night we do the dance—can we put a load in after the show and get into the theater early enough to dry it? Can it wait ‘til the next venue that might have (oh, please, oh please) a separate washer and dryer? Ok, let’s just do the really wet, sweaty stuff. How about just the scrub tops, and not the bottoms. … Don’t even get me started on the ironing. (Note from Sheri: Jane is the Queen of ironing! I hate ironing. In fact, I hate doing laundry. How did I get this JOB?!!! Though I admit we are the lucky ones – we don’t have to put the set together or hang lights or all of those other “techie” things – it’s a girl job, what can I say?)

Enough already with the laundry, and back to Roscommon. That place really gets a bum rap. Everywhere we had traveled previously, the mere mention of Roscommon elicited sneers, chuckles, or just pity. Well, I’m here to tell you, it’s a lovely little town. And I do mean little. There’s not a single traffic light. But there all the necessities. The best accomodations we’ve had, so far—a newly renovated guest house, where, as in Dun Laoghaire, we were the only guests, attached to a really first rate restaurant. We ate lunch there the first day, Unfortunately, it was closed for dinner on our one night off, but some of us did lunch there a second day, as well. There was a great pub next door, complete with pool table, and because the town was so small, this was one place we really spent a lot of off-stage time together as a group. The people of the town—hotel, theater, pub—were all amazingly welcoming. Though the pubs there are not late-night establishments (last call is at “half-eleven”), they went above and beyond for us. And in keeping with our good fortune, one of the patrons of the next-door pub who came to see the show treated us to a round afterward—he was not actually there when the drinks were bestowed upon us—he had simply left instructions with the bartender. (Another note from Sheri: Yes, I love the people in this town, but I have to mention the Slaughter House right next to the theatre. When I first heard the cows “crying” I wanted to rush in and save all of them. I know they weren’t reallly crying. They were hungry, right? I don’t think I will eat red meat again – seriously.)

Small though it is, saw some very interesting sites in the off-time. As we first drove into the town, I noticed a small stone building with a Star of David stained glass window. What? A synagogue? Not likely—as some of you know, I did some research on synagogues in Ireland because I will be here for Rosh HaShana (in Cork, actually), and I discovered there are precious few synagogues in Ireland, and certainly none in Roscommon. In my first jaunt through the town I discovered that the building is currently a tourist office/museum (tiny, like the town). The “curator” told me it had been a Presbytarian church—built from a prefab kit that was available—church and manse—and the kit included the stained glass window (he had an old newspaper article about it). He speculated that the Star of David would not have been unusual in a Protestant church because of the strong connection of those denominations with the “Old Testament.” Who knew?

Another interesting site in Roscommon is the surviving walls of Roscommon Castle (doesn’t even get mentioned in my Fodor’s guide—it’s just basically one of the gazillions of castles in Ireland, and I guess they can’t mention them all!). But the highlight of the trip was a tour arranged by our theater hosts of the site of an archaological dig at Tulsk (that’s about to be closed up, because they’ve run out of funds) and the Oweynegat Cave—which was believed in ancient times to be the entrance to the underworld. During the uprising in 1916 it served as an IRA hideout. Hard to describe the experience—the entrance is just big enough for a single person to get into, feet first, followed by a long narrow passageway down into the cave. Needless to say it was DARK down there—we only had the light of one or two flashlights and a cell phone or two for the eleven of us that went in), and exceptionally muddy (remember all my previous allusions to RAIN????), and the wonderful photos we took belie the feeling of total isolation because the flash did a good job of lighting the place up (I love my camera). Yes, one day I’ll get someone savvier than I to get some pics on the blog… My own experience of the descent was not without anxiety. You have to understand that this is something that draws a certain type of person, but it is by no means a big tourist destination that has been vetted for safety—even the major tourist spots that have some hazards associated with them are not subjected to the same kinds of warnings and protections that we would see at like attractions in the U.S. So as I’m descending, and telling myself that generations of people have descended into this cave to ward off an anxiety attack (and just before I stupidly bumped my head on a rock in front of me—like I said, it was dark), I couldn’t help but hear the opening strains of “The Ballad of Floyd Collins” running through my head (if you’re not familiar with the musical or the events on which it’s based, it’s worth looking up). Once we were all well in, we tried to have a few moments of silence in the dark just to be able to experience whatever there was to experience down there. If you know the players, you can imagine how successful that was (NOT!). We did try some low toning together which did create an interesting effect, though. We came out covered in mud—except, oddly enough, Em Kozem (Mike Kozemchak) who plays the fastidious Dale Harding in the show—he went in in jeans and a pristine white t-shirt, and came out looking every bit as clean as when he went under. Hmmmm.

Anyway, though I started this on September 18, I had to abandon it and it’s now September 19, and our opening performance here in Monaghan has just begun (I can hear the Chief’s opening monologue). Time for me to start getting into costume and make-up--my brief but pivotal (in my own mind!) appearance doesn’t happen until late in the second act.

Stay tuned for my next installment—Monaghan and beyond…

Cheers.

Jane