Observables #58

on Uncle Vanya, butter boards, and the worst kind of bike rage

A production of Uncle Vanya from Crow’s Theatre to celebrate my mom’s birthday. The Davey women have started this tradition of seeing plays together and I think it’s so right for us. It’s heady/intellectual but embodied (theatre!). Maybe we will even repeat our intermission snack: one Snickers bar, one glass of wine to be shared three ways, and one big breath each as we prepare for round 2 of Chekhovian depression.

We did scenes from Uncle Vanya in theatre school and although I could never satisfy my teachers with my rendition of Sonya, I have so much fondness for all the characters. Especially Sonya, as she dutifully goes about meeting everyone’s needs except for her own. Even in the last scene she’s still trying to be the encourager:

We shall rest. We shall hear the angels. We shall see heaven shining like a jewel. We shall see all evil and all our pain sink away in the great compassion that shall enfold the world. Our life will be as peaceful and tender and sweet as a caress. I have faith; I have faith. [She wipes away her tears] My poor, poor Uncle Vanya, you are crying! [Weeping] You have never known what happiness was, but wait, Uncle Vanya, wait! We shall rest.

Death, disappointment and hope in every sentence with Chekhov. I was so happy to wrestle with these paradoxical feelings alongside my mother and sister and have them laughing at the darkest lines too. Oh yeah, they get it. We’re a sombre bunch.

This combo of dress + sneaker.

I’m also noticing skirt/sweater/sneaker trends popping up - which I also like.

Another trend I came across: butter boards, which I don’t even know how I feel about. But basically you slather swaths of butter on a board and add toppings. Gather your team. Bring bread.

The fall wind, which is how I know what season I’m in. I start my bike journey with levity, pulling out of my laneway. Such fun! A bike ride! But pretty soon a gust of wind blows in my face and I feel this wrath descend. Immediately, I start to hate the world and the cold that’s coming and like every Chekhov character all my faith disappears. I feel disappointment in myself for having such an unhinged reaction to a helpful element.

If I’m lucky, the feeling passes. If I’m unlucky (see, I have no control), I turn into a beast and when I glimpse myself in a window reflection, I see it’s no longer me on the bike but a gargoyle.

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