Not much is brewing since I last wrote in this blog. I went on a lovely hike on Sunday, up to the Vedanta Monastery, up and up a steep hill covered with poison oak. I huffed and puffed, and was utterly last, except for the cautious hike leader, a curious fellow from India named Harish. He always has interesting stories. That day, he told us about growing up in India, where the cows slept with his family. I thanked my parents for being Jewish and for living in the U.S., where the worst kind of stuff I had to clean up as a child was dog poo. Imagine the constant hassle of having a cow, nay, half a dozen of the blighters, in your house? I do.
But Harish said he had a favorite calf. I forget her name, and he would paint her face and put bangles on her legs. He said she was very vain and very intelligent, turning her big ears toward the speaker whenever she heard her name.
Last night we went to a Shakespeare festival at a local theater. After I found it (I had to drive around for quite a while before I did), we chose seats in the front row, overlooking the playground/stage, where the play would be put on.
It was Taming of the Shrew. I never felt this way about the play before, though it is famously sexist, but I found it hard to watch, even though the casting was perfect, the use of the playground clever, and the improvised bits of physical business brilliant, creating a constant subtext in the play. I am sure it was thus during Shakespeare's time.
Richard got to play a small part in the play, despite or probably because of the fact that he had said before the play started that he hoped this wasn't one of those interactive plays, where the audience had to take part.
A bit player ran straight to him and shoved a sword in his hand. He had to get up and fight, though we never could figure out why. Everyone was quite amused, especially me.