I have had a tumultuous love affair with the theatre. Yes, she's given me confidence, taught me to play, brought me to Chris, and delivered me to New York. But she's also been a cruel mistress. And over the years, I have grown to hate the games she plays. She teases you with unanswered questions and unfulfilled promises. And sometimes, she makes you feel very much alone.
But last week, I rediscovered her grace and beauty. And I found both in the most unexpected of places.
My folks took me to see Annie at a dinner theater in Boulder, Colorado. Now, some of my very chic and artsy friends will balk - but it's true. Theatre does not need to be crass, or political, or even provocative to have a profound effect. And that night, as I heard the overture, I looked over at my father sitting next to me and I remembered things I had long forgotten. Memories I had stored away with scrap books and Madame Alexander dolls. Memories of what it was to be a little girl with little else than a basket of dreams in her arms.