whose woods these are i think i know
his house is in the village though
he would not mind me stopping here
to watch his woods fill up with snow
my little horse must think it queer
to stop without a farmhouse near
between the woods and frozen lake
the darkest evening of the year
he gives his harness bells a shake
to ask if there is some mistake
the only other sound's the sweep
of easy wind and downy flake
the woods are lovely, dark and deep
but i have promises to keep
and miles to go before i sleep
and miles to go before i sleep

-robert frost-

Robert Frost has always been my favorite poet. Much like Jackson Pollock has been my favorite artist, I am constantly amazed by Frost's work. By his words. They are so delicate, so perfect; they round and curve and drop like apples, each one crisp and sweet. I envy and admire his dedication, his ability to follow the words like a path leading onto the unknown.

More and more I find myself craving a return to art and a return to my first love, theater. I don't know why. My passion for helping kiddos and families is deeply rooted in my heart; it drives my mornings and afternoons, keeps me running and writing and breathing. For now that is enough. It is, in fact, more than enough, and I count myself lucky to be able to go to work every damn day and love what I do. But there is something about the mystery of being backstage, alone after a show, waiting for the techs to be done or replacing props, wondering what ghosts are going to come around the corner. There is something about starting a show and seeing people you admire and adore sit at the table for readthrough, laughing and talking; there is something about a family where once there was none. There is something about creating worlds out of air. There is a need for immense faith in the art of theater. It is not an easy business. There were more third week rehearsals where my mentor and director would look at me and go, "it's gonna get there, right?" And we just held on to the belief and the knowledge that it would. It always did!!

I learned more doing theater than I ever thought I would. And there are more memories from those days than I can ever imagine. From the first show as an ASM to the last as an SM, and all the load-ins and load-outs and early calls and production meetings and long rehearsals and crises and opening night galas and closing Sunday tears in between, those six years (was it really only six) hold so much of who I am. My work there informs my every day actions and keeps me dreaming. Every so often I think I'll go back. I'll always be a stage manager. Deep down, I know I can always do it again if I want to. But choices lead on to choices and, for now at the very least, I don't think I ever will.