You know, I stood at the railing of the Endless Bridge at the Guthrie on Wednesday at around 12:30, watching the Stone Arch walkers huddled against the bright cold and wondered, "Hmmmm. I wonder if my friend Peg is one of them." I thought about your post of a few weeks back about dancing on the Stone Arch Bridge, and smiled.
Sometimes LJ is a very cool thing.
As for mystery people, this is one from my past: When I was in college, I spent summers performing in a theater that was a converted old barn. Every single Thursday night we had a little old Priest that sat in the front row of the stage left seats. He never missed a Thursday, and it was more fun to watch him than to watch the show. He would rock and hoot and slap his knees in unabandoned delight. The more colorful the humor, the more he'd laugh, and his high-pitched "Hoooooooo hoo hoo!" sailed over the rest of the audience. I always wondered who he was, where his parish was, what he was like to talk to? I would guess that he looked after his flock with humor, compassion and boundless energy. Even the most cynical, black-clad theeeatah major found him as delightful as he found us. I think about him now because a friend of mine from those days brought him up in conversation just last night. We assumed that he is either very, very old or no longer living, but the first Thursday he didn't come back to the Red Barn, they surely must have missed him.
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Date: 2006-12-01 08:13 pm (UTC)Sometimes LJ is a very cool thing.
As for mystery people, this is one from my past:
When I was in college, I spent summers performing in a theater that was a converted old barn. Every single Thursday night we had a little old Priest that sat in the front row of the stage left seats. He never missed a Thursday, and it was more fun to watch him than to watch the show. He would rock and hoot and slap his knees in unabandoned delight. The more colorful the humor, the more he'd laugh, and his high-pitched "Hoooooooo hoo hoo!" sailed over the rest of the audience. I always wondered who he was, where his parish was, what he was like to talk to? I would guess that he looked after his flock with humor, compassion and boundless energy. Even the most cynical, black-clad theeeatah major found him as delightful as he found us. I think about him now because a friend of mine from those days brought him up in conversation just last night. We assumed that he is either very, very old or no longer living, but the first Thursday he didn't come back to the Red Barn, they surely must have missed him.