TIME AND SPACE: ON STAGE

I go through long, dry spells when it comes to writing for my blog. This dearth of sitting down and formally putting together a polished blog has nothing to do with the ideas and thoughts running through my head. I have plenty of those.

I record all of my daily gratitude, angsty vents, and general 'how is my life going?' insights in my daily journal. I don’t polish those or even bother to edit. Those are for me. My blog, Time and Space, is also for me, but I enjoy sharing it with anyone who wants to stop by for a quick read, whether that's one person or one hundred. But, even if no one ever reads it, whatever I have created always remains there for me.

When I write a blog, I step onto a stage of my own making, a place where I channel my energy and creativity. The blog is a stage on which I engage with the world, holding a mirror up to reflect what I am seeing or experiencing back upon itself.

I drove to Wellsburg on this warm mid-August evening to visit another stage, one snugly housed inside an old barn in a park nestled in the hills of Wellsburg, West Virginia.

This trip marked the third time I visited Brooke Hills Playhouse this summer. I should have bought season tickets. I came for the final show of the season, the first one directed by my friend Bill since he and his wife, Heather, moved back to Weirton from San Diego after he retired from teaching.

If you have never been to a Brooke Hills production, you may be somewhat shocked that the entire production is in a converted barn. Over thirty years ago, when I first heard about Brooke Hills Playhouse being in a barn, visions of cows standing beside the audience with hay stuffed in lofts above the stage confused my young mind. I have always had a strange imagination.

The Playhouse is old, yes. You cannot help but notice that driving up for the first time when you see the wooden steps that lead you to the theater itself. When you sit down, you can see the braces and inner architecture of a barn. The seats and stage appear to be magically dropped into the middle of this odd setting, creating a uniquely fascinating and memorable experience.

If you have the chance to talk to anyone who acts in the plays, works the concessions, or takes the tickets, I am sure they will have their own personal memories of the 54-year-old tradition of Brooke Hills Playhouse. Bill has shared his tales of working there for twenty-five dollars a week throughout the summer in between semesters at West Liberty State College.

“Shags,” Bill smiled as he greeted visitors at the bottom of the wooden steps leading up to the theater. “I didn’t think you were coming this weekend.”

I shrugged my shoulders and said it seemed like a good night. “I hope this is good. Did you work out any issues from opening night?”

“I hope so,” he laughed and brushed off my usual sarcasm. “We can talk after the show.”

I grabbed my ticket, then glanced over to the concession stand where a popcorn machine was situated. I knew the aroma of fresh and hot popcorn would waft throughout the barn by the end of the first act. Simple things, like freshly popped popcorn, make me happy.

I made my way to my usual seat, up the stairs to the right, and second row from the back. My seat had a great view with a tad extra leg room, nearly underneath the ceiling fan. I rumbled through the program, reading the actor bios and the community advertisements. Soon, the lights dimmed, and the play began.

A woman came over the speakers in the barn, welcoming everyone to the Playhouse and to the last show of the 54th season. She reminded people of exits and the importance of not using photography. Of course, the final message is the best: please refrain from unwrapping candy during the show, as it causes a distraction. I am sure there is a good anecdote related to this in the Playhouse’s storied tradition.

Back in May, I sat in the same seat while watching Steel Magnolias. The air was so crisp and cool back then; many people wore jackets or hoodies. A month or so later, Brooke Hills Playhouse presented a hilarious musical, 9 to 5, during one of the summer's heat waves. The cast’s passionate performance only added more intensity to the barn. I was so glad I brought a cheap fan to hang around my neck. I reminded myself to sit still because I could stay cooler then. God blesses those actors up there performing their hearts out in full costume and make-up.

This last play of the season, Always a Bridesmaid, had a perfect night with temperatures in the mid-60s. I followed the play, recognizing the stage blocking technique that Bill and I had learned from John Reilly when we were Hilltop Players at West Liberty. At least, I hope that I recognized what I saw. I asked Bill about the technique during intermission. He laughed and said, “Yeah, Shags. That’s it.” I think he was messing with me, though.

Seeing these three plays over the summer triggered some long-forgotten memories from my time on stage. Thirty years ago, I found the theater as a place to channel my creativity. The stage was a place where I could be part of a cast telling a story about life, one that would transport both actors and audience to another place beyond the present. Back then, I fed on that energy, developing the confidence to be in front of an audience and to make them feel a part of the playwright’s vision, just as I was while standing on the stage.

I dug a little deeper into the memories, relating so many ideas to the actors I had seen on stage all summer. I felt the joy in their performances, the commitment to memorize lines, to rehearse after long days at work, leaving family, pets, and a comfortable bed at home for over a month. I am well past stepping on a stage like this again. However, actors continue to do so year after year in community theaters all across the country, especially here in a barn deep in the hills of the Northern Panhandle of West Virginia.

We all need them to continue being part of our world. We need stories about losing a loved one unexpectedly, the nurturing value of rich friendships, the challenges of standing up for ourselves for the first time, and the feeling of being okay with our own life choices. When the actors embrace their own creativity, they give us a window to view a world similar to one we have experienced, but this time, from the outside looking in. They give us a chance to escape the daily dose of discontent with the world in which we live now.

That’s where creativity is multifaceted. As I said earlier, I write for myself when I write for my blog, just as I enjoyed being on the stage back in college. Just like the actors take their stage for themselves because it is cathartic, fun, and a means of creative expression. The musician and the painter do the same thing. Sharing what we have created is about offering our voice to an audience. The play, the blog, the song, and the painting are what we feel, what we think, what we want you to understand as part of the great expanse of the human heart.