"Nighttime in Gilgamesh"
It was great to see this show have a sold out house for its final performance.
I was sorry to see a great many people, friends among them, turned away. They missed something special.
Even being an usher for this show was a privilege. (And I say that about... uh, pretty much nothing else I can think of)
One of the things that pleased me most was my Mom getting a seat right down in front where she could see the tiny town of Gilgamesh being built. (Crappy seat for me? Who cares? I already know what's going on. I got a full vicarious thrill via Mom's report of it afterward.)
Like all good moms, she was quick to say, "You've written plays that good, too." (Oh, to continue to live up to that compliment)
Of course, while waiting in line, it was when Mom made a quick run to the ladies room that the Gilgamesh troupe walked through the front door. I could only wave sheepishly. They weren't really expecting to see me yet again. "Sure your mother's here. Right. Likely story."
"No. Honest. She's a six foot invisible rabbit" (which, considering the fact that my father's name actually happens to be Harvey, was an unusual bit of vamping on my part)
Then one of the nicest theater family type moments I've had in a long time caught me completely off guard - Scot, the playwright; and Tim and Jonah, the actors; each walked up to me in turn and gave me a hug.
It occurred to me that I'd been there at the beginning, and now at the end, of their Fringe run.
The show was great, as always. And Mom and I still had three shows ahead of us. But that moment was closure on the Fringe for me. I was reminded why I value being a part of, and not just watching, the creation of theater. My experience, my immersion in that mad rush, was complete.