May 26, 2011 | News Item, Postings

I promised my daughter I would write her a play. The promise has been floating in the air for several years already, sincere but vague and open-ended. A few weeks ago I trotted out the promise once again because she’s coming home for a week in early June. “This time I’ll have something for you in draft form.”

Probably it’s ill-advised, a mother writing a role for her daughter, particularly when the mother doesn’t have a clue how to write a play. But I see the struggle of a young actress trying to find work and it reminds me of the Great Depression when lack of opportunity led to such frustration and bitterness. All that creativity and no outlet. If I could, I would finance a theatre company on condition that my daughter get all the starring roles.

Whatever I write will probably embarrass her, either by not being very good or by being too personal. Still, it’s worth a try simply because it might lead to something we can’t yet imagine.

I went out into the garden last night and turned in circles as I always do at this time of year. The garden works so fast. A week ago the cherry blossoms were on their way out, while coming up from behind, like a hot pink moon, was Shirley’s crabapple tree. Now those petals are gone too. It’s like being surrounded by a gang of big confident boys roaring in from all sides and yelling green, green, green.

Loud boys in the garden.
Soft rain in the night.
And my daughter coming home.