I didn’t recognize him when I walked in, which is remarkable. he’s been in costume since he was 4: pirates, mario brothers, ghostbusters; it’s a long list. but when I came up the wooden steps to the barn’s loft & came around the corner, I couldn’t place his shiny squares & hat. which is funny. I usually have a feel for his flare.
it didn’t matter. he was in one of his all-time favorite places doing what he loves: costuming & setting scenes.
that’s my boy. (who is so obviously an archer, once he picked up his bow. duh.)every summer, our kids spend a day or two at the paper cow theatre, a magnificent wonderland in a refurbished barn, just a few miles south of town. the kids love it there, we love hanging out there to watch their “show” after a day of hard imagining, & the atmosphere — two claps for kris, the heart behind the barn. clap, clap.
thalia, the yellow faerie on a mission with her pally, (wait for it. . .) the green faerie.
while we sat in the front row on refurbished church pews, I studied kris, the director. she owned us, all of us, from the second we stepped into her costumed world, a giant dragon hanging in the rafters & the innards of a piano wallpapering the sound booth. as I watched her, my heart rose. she so passionately loves what she’s doing: guiding the sleuths, fusing drama goodness in to their tiny hearts, encircling them for a day in somewhere else. not only is kris in her absolute element, she’s handcrafted every square inch of it with a palm sander. she bought a dairy barn & turned it into a children’s theatre for crying out loud.
the barn is one of the most wonder-filled places I’ve ever been. wandering around in it, after the last kid takes off his gloves & hangs up his fox ears, gets me thinking about meeting, greeting, & owning my own purpose on this lovely planet. any chance I get to redirect my life, to point it purposefully from the helm, I take. I have one go-’round here. ’twill not be wasting.