Grand plans on a distant horizon

So in answer to the question of whether we had good enough karma, whether we had done enough good deeds, is, well, the family that wanted to buy our house has changed their minds. Their inspector told them the same things we told them, but suddenly it seems to have occurred to them that it's an old house. Wish they'd thought of that before we took it off the market and told prospective buyers it was sold. Feels like there's more to the story than that, but they're looking for the contingency that gets them out of their purchase agreement.

They seemed like such nice people, and they seemed in love with the house, and their dog played with our dog, and we imagined such a happy life for them here. I walked around in a funk all day after I got the news.

South America feels far away again, and I'm heading into the marathon part of the Fringe. Tired, sore, stressed out, and behind on my laundry ... again. Getting too old for this.

In better news, my favorite solo performer and dear friend, Rik, done made a great show last night. I'm biased because I directed the show, and three of my favorite people perform it. But still, it rocked. Rik did Glorious Noise, a show about the New Orleans Jazz & Heritage Festival and a quest for a song, at the Fringe last year. It was a good show. Then Katrina hit, which forever changed how anyone thinks of New Orleans.

Rik played pied piper to a little posse of Minnesotans at this year's Jazz Fest, including myself. Found myself walkin' slow, talkin' slow, eatin' crawfish, tappin' my feet in a soulful kinda way, and absolutely in love with the place and the people. When Rik and I started rehearsing his rewritten version of the show, updated to include stories after the storm, I wondered how I could have directed the show before without having eaten Crawfish Monica and been to the Church of Music that is the Jazz Festival.

Anyway, he did the show a week ago, and it didn't click. Good show, and the musicians, they always rock. Good stories. But the whole show, as a journey, just didn't click. Rik knew it, we knew it. But with weekly performances through July, and both Rik and I busy getting ready for Fringe, hard to imagine doing anything about it.

Rik went up north with his girl and jumped in cold water. I had insomnia and sent him a long-ass email telling him it had to be truthful and personal - the latter being his best-ducked form of storytelling.

And then, insanely, he rewrote the whole damn thing. We rehearsed once, and the new version was honest, personal, much darker. Last night he performed the new version. The musicians had one rehearsal, Jake was sick, Allegra's been plenty busy writing her Fringe show, having just popped in off the wait list. Nothing much more terrifying for a performer than performing a whole new script with only one rehearsal, except maybe playing himself telling actual stories from a horrifying and personal experience.

Ten minutes in, I knew he had them. That thing he loves where he knows he can take them with him anywhere. And he took them all the way there. Yeah, like that. I couldn't have been more proud. Made me remember just how much I love art that is a big, brave leap into the sky.

Watching that show with a big silly grin on my face, I forgot all about that house thing. Later, lying awake, with yet more insomnia, I remembered the karmic philosophy that has gotten me cheerfully this far. Which is: fuck karma, fuck grand plans on a distant horizon. Grand plans are the stuff of dreams, sure, but the details belong in the head, not the heart. So I'm happily back on track with my lifelong habit of keeping my heart in the here and now, grabbing the happiness that's right in front of my face, and savoring the hell out of it.

Wow, that sounded kinda Buddhist except for all the swearing. Think I'll take the dog for a walk. It sure is a beautiful day.