One of my favorite parts of working for a company that's looking ahead to what's next is the atmosphere when something special is on its way.

Don't get me wrong - different folks at the company are excited for different facets of every show we do. For instance, the cast on our current production is PHENOMENAL and hilarious. The amount of dance parties backstage alone...

However, there's something specific about the enthusiasm when talking about 'that show.' In years past, it's been Silent Night, or Peter and the Starcatcher, or The Shining (not all at the same company, of course). Whenever that show was mentioned, the energy would heighten, the intensity would sharpen, and you could feel everyone leaning in slightly in anticipation. And goodness gracious were the products good. 

Currently, that show is Edward Tulane. Based on the children's book by Kate DiCamillo, the new opera tells the tale of a toy rabbit's journey to learn how to love. The story is beautiful, and heart breaking, and special. And goodness gracious are the folks in the production department excited about it. We are 2 productions out from starting rehearsals for Tulane, yet every day is filled with excited conversation with the Props Master about the prototype for the doll version of Edward, or with the Costume Director about amazing fabrics for jellyfish. 

And even though we know the show is going to be huge, and hard, and an awful lot of work, it feels like we've been entrusted with something precious, and you'd better believe we're going to do our best to take care of it. 

Early in my career, I was told that survival meant finding something to love and appreciate in each show - the music is beautiful, the company is made of lovely people, the design is gorgeous, props include a giant stuff monkey, there's a chorister dressed as a cupcake - something. 

Every once in a while, the elements align and I find myself working on THAT show. The one with exactly the right company, story, production, and people - the one that makes me excited to get to work everyday and finds me talking non-stop about the work we're doing.

That's where I'm at right now. 

In the midst of a stunning design, gorgeous music and words that capture incredible emotion, a company that quickly became family (in all their goofy glory), an insanely well-choreographed battle scene, and a story that is important and heartbreaking at exactly the right time, you find Silent Night. 

An opera by Kevin Puts and Mark Campbell, Silent Night focuses on the Christmas truce of World War I - the story of soldiers who had been trained to kill each other suddenly finding peace and common ground in the middle of hell, and the aftermath of what it means to see the enemy as human. 

At a normal time, it's a stunning, beautiful, important piece. 

Getting to perform it on Sunday, November 11, 2018 - 100 years after the Armistice - and prefaced with the orchestra playing and audience singing the National Anthem? Words fail to describe the pertinence. 

We fly through shows so quickly in this business that they all start to blur together. However, I have no doubt this one will stick with me long after we close on Sunday. 

So often, I try to explain to friends and family what it is I do for a living. Some of it is very quantifiable - cueing artists onto the stage or lights and deck moves, running rehearsals, problem solving when things go wrong - these easily have relatable stories attached to them that people who have seen a live show can understand. 

And then there are the stories that make no sense if you've never sat behind a tech table or in a design meeting. How do you explain the conversation about the prop lobster aspics made of ballistic gel molding because everyone wants to poke them and see them jiggle? Or doing so many performances of La Boheme that you start putting a joke of the day on the door behind which the men's chorus waits before they're called backstage in the midst of the major scene change to Cafe Momus? Or being in charge of 23 children dressed as Nibelungen, and gathering in a circle before their first entrance from the depths of the orchestra pit to whisper a battle cry of 'For Narnia!' (my choice) or 'Tator Tots!' (their choice). 

Perhaps my favorite of late was during Don Pasquale. A month ago, I stage managed Chuck Hudson's Don Pasquale for Minnesota Opera. Set in the 1950's, Pasquale is cast as a washed up silent movie actor in the midst of a changing Hollywood. Scene shifts were covered with projected films of Pasquale's work - including a sci-fi thriller that features an octopus attack. One morning, as we're working through cueing, Chuck turns to me sitting behind the tech table and asks, 'do you know if there are extra movie props backstage?' I grin as I tell him I know for a fact some of the movie props were sent, and he asks to have them set onstage. What followed was my favorite headset conversation with my ASMs:

Me: Do we have any tentacles backstage?
ASMs: Yep!
Me: Can you have props set one on the highest shelf?
ASMs: Will do.
Me: Suction cups out. 

And then most of the headsets went live with quite a lot of laughter. 

That day, it was actually my job to say, with all seriousness (and a lot of laughter in my voice), 'suction cups out.'

What a silly, wonderful way to make a living. 

Sometimes, an ASM's book just needs some humor:

Tosca 2016 - the P.A. used a large staff to knock on the ground 3 times under a staircase on my cue.

Rusalka 2015 - Kelly Kaduce and I would dance backstage before her Act 3 entrance.

Diana's Garden 2017 - I cue a carpenter to hold a door while Doristo knocks on it. I also may be currently reading the Game of Thrones series....

And so there's no concern, the first and the third both had notes under or near them clarifying due to the 'hit by the bus' clause. 

I've been stubborn.

Throughout the years I've stage managed The Nutcracker, I've held onto the idea that I could continue to call projection cues by their rightful name. Even in the battle, even in the big transition to Land of Snow, I stubbornly clung to 'Projections 5 Go.'

And then this year happened. 

One of the wonderful things about working with the Champaign-Urbana Ballet is their dedication to continually making their productions better. Each and every remount year something has been added, redesigned, or improved. This year, the Battle was reimagined and the amount of new projection cues in those 8 minutes alone caused the total number to double. 

The result is amazing, and exciting, and a whole lot more to call. 

I found myself sitting at the tech table after first dress, combing through the Battle for ways to make my call cleaner, easier to understand, and more efficient. As I sat there with the video playing, trying to rehearse the windup for a large transition, I realized it was time to drop 'projections' for something shorter. 

I struggled to make numbers connect with 'Pro.' 'Vid' got stuck in my mouth too often. 'AV' was only losing one syllable. 

With a sigh, I texted my fellow stage manager, Josh, to tell him the news. 

As it turns out, it's a change I should have made eons ago. I love the simplified call, the ease of the word, and the fact it doesn't sound like any other department. 

Plus, the response of the crew when I warned them of the different call they were going to hear was pretty hilarious. There were requests for it to be changed to 'best,' 'fav,' or 'fab' (I almost said yes to that one...), as well as guesses as to what I was actually meaning with tab (the best being the number of drinks on my tab for the crew that evening).

The moral of the story being, I'm a new convert to Tab and am unsure why it took me so long to get there. 

At three-years-old, my parents tell me I was a hellion. They couldn't take me anywhere without a tantrum and a quick exit.

So, when they decided to get tickets to a play - my first - they had exit strategies and contingency plans for the inevitable hurricane of sound I would become.

Imagine their surprise when I sat enthralled with my mouth hanging open the entirety of Peter Pan.

This summer, I had the opportunity to return to Neverland serving as the stage manager of Peter and the Starcatcher at the Illinois Shakespeare Festival.

The script, the cast, the direction - it was a summer of utter joy - of getting to play and call it work.

​There are plenty of words I could say, but I think this video pretty much takes care of it:


https://www.facebook.com/IllinoisShakes/videos/10154250662198419/

Minnesota Opera's world premiere of the 'The Shining' opera received quite a bit of press, so much of it incredibly positive and excited about this new piece of American opera. After NPR's piece aired, I got countless texts, emails, and calls from friends, family, and former coworkers, asking what it was like to work on the show, wanting to know if I could send them photos, and asking if it was actually good. (One of my favorite texts was something like 'you can tell me...is it as corny as it is in my head?')

My constant answer fell somewhere along the lines of, 'It's the largest, hardest, most complicated show I've ever worked on. Backstage is bonkers. And it's good. Really, really good.'

There's more to say, but I'll let the photos speak for themselves. Working on this world premiere was an incredible journey, and I can honestly say I enjoyed spending a couple months at the Overlook.

Production photos from Minnesota Opera: Music by Paul Moravec, Libretto by Mark Campbell, Directed by Eric Simonson, Conducted by Michael Christie, ​Scenic Design by Erhard Rom, Animation and Projection Design by 59 Productions, Costume Design by Karin Kopischke, Lighting Design by Robert Wierzel, Sound Design by C. Andrew Mayer, Choreography by Heidi Spesard-Noble.

A couple months ago, a video of a Trex ice skating went viral in a big way. I gleefully shared the video as soon as it came across my Facebook newsfeed, and was soon watching the videos of the many Trex adventures.

Not long after, the head of the MnOp costume shop pointed out that the Trexes were local (as evidenced by one of their videos in the Walker Art Center sculpture garden), so perhaps we needed to go dino hunting. I asked how we would go about inviting them to Minnesota Opera, and everything spiraled from there.

A week ago, the geniuses behind Trex Tuesdays visited the opera center to play with us for the day. Spending a day stage managing two dinosaurs and their videographer was unexpected, but a huge amount of fun!

​

A couple weeks ago, I had the incredible privilege of returning to Krannert Center for the Performing Arts to stage manage The Nutcracker for Champaign-Urbana Ballet. 

I could gush about the stunning new scenic design Cory Rodeheaver pulled off, the joy of working with lighting designer Kevin Gawley again, the adventure that was putting the new show together in a very, very limited amount of time, the phenomenal IATSE crew I LOVED working alongside of and bantering with again, or the amazing feeling when the show came together and every sold out, encouraging, enthusiastic audience applauded, gasped, and cheered.

But instead, so much of what I walked away with had to do with spending a week in the city I still call home. 

The Familiar:

Walking back into Krannert after 6 months away was weird. Falling back into old patterns and paths like no time had passed was even weirder. The week was filled with double takes, yells of my name down the long Level 2 hallway, and so many hugs I lost count. Coffee dates, dinners, Merry Ann's pancakes, late-night karaoke, and even a trip to the grad colloquium class had me both overwhelmed and greatly missing my time in that building. And yet....

The New: 

While sitting in Steak 'n Shake late one night with a dear accompanist friend, discussing the last few months, sharing thoughts on news and world events, and bantering about pretty much everything, I had to take a moment to realize just how incredibly grateful I am for all of it. That I have an army of talented, passionate, soon-to-be professionals in the arts as my people. That so many of those who are dearest to me are also blindingly talented musicians, performers, designers, and technicians who are about to change the world. That already I'm finding constant connections between the people I'm working with and those I've worked with before. And that soon, I'll be hard pressed to work somewhere without knowing at least one person in the company. There aren't words for how exciting that is.

The Oh-So Improved:

By the end of the week, as full as my heart was from seeing and working with so many wonderful people, it was really great to leave again. Throughout the week, I discovered that countless aspects of the job and even personal interactions were easier. After 2 shows at Minnesota Opera (which I've lovingly been referring to as opera bootcamp), the music of The Nutcracker came eons easier. Feeling the show, understanding the ebb and flow of the cues, and anticipating our Maestro's conducting style all became things I didn't need to think about (which was great as there were TONS of other new aspects demanding my attention). Even communicating with our designers about lighting and projection placement was easier and more efficient (it's amazing what happens when you start hearing music in a different way).

Add in how easy and enjoyable it was to talk with my former professors and mentors throughout the week about what I've been up to, as well as getting pulled into a class to review current students' portfolios as a professional, and my mind is still spinning a bit at how much has changed - how much I've grown - in such a short period of time.

The morals being: I am so grateful for the opportunity to go back, work with this amazing company, and conquer the The Nutcracker once again. I am equally grateful to return to MNOp, begin prepping Rusalka, and look toward the next 4 shows (3 operas and a cabaret). But more than anything, I'm grateful for my peers - the people I got to know through grad school, and get to spend the rest of my career chasing around the globe.

​As one of the wonderful MNOp shop guys said to me during Magic Flute rehearsal one day, it really is quite the silly way to make a living. And I wouldn't have it any other way.

When intermission is coming to a close, places have been called, and the PSM is waiting on you to have your one performer in order to begin the second half, you know what's unhelpful? 33 people all dressed the same.

When we were in dress rehearsals for The Magic Flute, there was a day when the stage right ASM said she was missing one chorister for places. Our PSM asked if she knew which one, and the response over headset was filled with laughter. See, in Komische's version of Flute, the full chorus (16 men and 16 women) are all dressed as Sarastro doubles at the top of act 2 - complete with top hats and beards. 

As I was currently looking at the real Sarastro in that moment, I explained to him what was happening on level 1 and we had a good laugh.

2 weeks later, standing at the railing of the second level on the back of the wall that make up the set, having my PSM ask to know the moment I had eyes on the real one so we could start the second half, and staring down into a sea of Sarastros, I couldn't help but continue to laugh.