Antony & Cleopatra
Lately I had been taking advantage of recent summer mornings – these last couple of weeks of freedom – by sleeping in whenever possible. Puck didn’t mind; this only meant extra time on the iPad before I served breakfast. Sometimes he beats me to it, however. By the time I joined him, Friday morning’s plate already included a bag of baby carrots.
Linnea-Irish and I make a habit of getting down to The Glen about five hours early to establish squatter’s rights up front for the big play. We secured tarps in the grass, then walked to the Art Museum as usual, to beat some heat, despite the stormy cloud cover. A sandwich and Perrier at the cafe, sifting through a pot of metal buttons with witty sayings at the gift shop, and back to our reserved seating. A little sun, rain, and jazz band.
They began trickling in after awhile, each family member – Dad refusing to join the riff-raff amongst the blanket seats, so he and Mom sat in chairs in the shade – to participate in the pre-show feast, Oxbear’s Trader Joe’s selections: South African potato chips, white cheddar puffs, baked green pea snacks, triple ginger snaps, yogurt stars, peanut butter cups, and Linnea’s new favorite: gummy tummies.
During the performance, Francis bounced the box of peanut butter cups on his gut, stretched out flat on the blankets. He momentarily became the side show as Antony and Cleopatra brandished their ill-fated love story all over the stage, sometimes with a little more gusto than an eight year-old could handle.
Kiss, kiss, kiss.
“I hate it when they do that!” Puck wrinkled his face in disgust.
He always listens more carefully than I realize. Some of these passages are easy. Any eight year-old boy is going to laugh after this one:
“The barge she sat in, like a burnish’d throne,
Burn’d on the water: the poop was beaten gold…”
What am I saying, though? All my siblings chuckled at that one. And sometimes they’re slightly more subtle:
“The gold I give thee will I melt and pour
Down thy ill-uttering throat.”
Puck’s eyes grew wide as he tried to keep his reaction to a loud whisper, “COOL!”
Joe texted me right before the intermission: “storms coming in”.
Turning around – huge light show in the west. Most of us packed it up; hit the road home before ten. About five minutes before arrival: brief deluge.
When we walked inside, Oxbear had an early birthday present waiting for him: the A/C was out.