March milestones are piling up. March 10, I turned 57; March 13, the run of “Guys and Dolls” ended; March 17, St. Patrick’s Day; and, March 20, Spring arrived. Is it possible to connect all of these events? Let’s find out.
March 10, 2022. Myself and the cast of “Guys and Dolls” begin our final week of performance. It is not the first time I have found myself performing on my birthday. I hope it won’t be the last. Fifty-seven is, from this vantage point, a terribly blasé birthday. It’s well past 50, but still far enough away from 60 to not feel like...well, 60. It no doubt helped to be in a dressing room with four older actors, as in older than me. One, upon hearing my age, remarked, “A mere slip of a lad.” And at this point I should add, the idea of mortality has not sunk in completely.
March 13, 2022. The run ends. The last Fourth Saturday (“Some Challenges of Acting Guys and Dolls”) detailed some of the trials and tribulations of mounting a theatrical production in the time of COVID. Fate was not done with this show.
On March 12, as we prepared to go on stage, while our director was giving us one last pep talk, a bat made itself known in our upstairs dressing area. Not a Louisville Slugger, a bat of the order Chiroptera, frantically flying, wondering, why isn’t it in the cool night air chasing insects? A quick-thinking cast member opened the door to the bathroom, into which the creature obligingly flew. It remained there until a member of the kitchen staff, who apparently has dealt with this sort of thing before, retrieved it and set it free, outside. This event now occupies the top spot in my tome of theatrical tales, supplanting the termite hatch I performed through during the first act of, “Dial ‘M’ for Murder,” in 2003.
March 17, 2022, St. Patrick’s Day. The traditional dish for this day is corned beef. However, the slab of cured brisket I had bought for the occasion had been put to use in an entree for the cast party on the 13th. Reuben Sandwich Casserole, anyone?
March 20, 2022. The Spring Equinox arrives at 8:34 a.m., if the app on my phone is to be believed.
So, how do these disparate events fit – or perhaps the better term is link – together? The starting point is the word lucky.
For years, decades, I have considered myself lucky.
As a young Marine, I lost my ID card one morning. No worries, just return to the last place you remember handling it, the McDonald’s just off base. There it is, under the booth you were sitting at with your roommates.
Hit by bus, not a scratch.
Fender bender with a semi-truck, I actually made money on that incident, and drove the car for a few years afterwards.
More recently I met Andra, and life has never been better.
But, as gamblers, gunfighters, and g— (I can’t think of a third one) will tell you, luck runs out. More accurately, we all run out of luck. I have not run out, I just can’t seem to avoid life’s inconveniences the way I once could.
A week ago, I started feeling something odd in my upper back, my left arm, that region in general. A few days later, after returning from a trip to Monterey, I drove myself to the VA hospital, just to see if I should be worried. I needn’t have been worried, I’m fine, I told you I hadn’t run out of luck. Heart and lungs sound good, EKG normal, blood pressure, nothing to brag about, but not high. So what’s with the odd feeling?
Shingles.
Luck that – while I’m not Irish – has been with me, through all sorts of setbacks and seasons, although I don’t need much during Spring or Summer. And being lucky enough to be in the room when the bat appeared, how many people get a story like that to tell?
There’s one other significant date:
He served over 30 years in the Medical Services Corps, and raised five children with his wife of over 50 years, Lucille. He never ran out of luck, just time.
And I’m lucky to have known him.
And I’m lucky to have known him.
| Copyright © 2022 by James Knudsen |
James, how do you do it, Fourth Saturday after Fourth Saturday, year after year after year? Moristotle & Co. are lucky too – to have you!
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