The Stratford theatre became part of our lives and our daily routine. Because we moved in January, the new life began early for us: opening night was in June. The whole town responded to that deadline, too: fresh paint, newly planted gardens, new stores, with hopes they would last through the winter. All summer I would tell the kids to come home after supper when the “cannon” boomed” (signalling the start of the play—later then; it booms at 7 pm. now). I think it was a tradition that began with Molière but I can’t find it yet on Google.
Our children were immersed in theatre, but in a different way. None of them became involved in it as a career, unlike our perennial summer guest . The Canadian actress, Martha Burns, and my daughter Kate had been friends since Grade Two and shared summers, one month each, first at our respective lake places and later between Stratford and Lake of the Woods (Kenora, Ontario—I didn’t have to change OHIP details for Kate). That was Martha’s introduction to theatre. Bill used to “write them in” to see the shows. They were small enough and quick enough to be able to sit on the steps to watch when no seats were avaiiable. It had a permanent effect on Martha. She was eleven years old when she went home and asked her father to get her a copy of Ibsen’s Hedda Gabler, one of the shows she had seen that summer. It didn’t take like that with my children. But they knew their Shakespeare.
So did I. It was almost ordained. I had taken a Renaissance course as an honours English student in third year and read Shakespeare, then a full Shakespeare course in fifth year. So I had read the entire canon twice and there I was at Stratford seeing the entire canon over the years four, five, six times, even the lesser known and seldom performed plays two or three times. Familiar lines and phrases became part of my domestic vocabulary.
I have always struggled with my weight. My constant refrain was, “Oh. that this too too solid flesh would thaw, melt and resolve itself into a dew.” I said it to a friend of mine once and she said “Oh, that’s what il’s like to be a writer. You can say something like that.” I explained that I didn’t say it.
Readers of my blog will know I frequently use the word anon.
Anon, Adverb, synonyms: before long, by and by, directly, momentarily, presently, shortly, soon
Shakespeare used it a lot.
You know the story about the boss who took his secretary to see Hamlet. When it was over he asked her how she liked it. “Just fine,” she said “but it was full of clichés”—created by Shakespeare. i’m full of his clichés. We all are.
Anon.