The Road East

Determined to overcome all limitations, I pack

 the bulk of my studio into my Honda, remembering warnings like "There will be very few resources up North, it's best to have as much as possible before you arrive."  

The trek from Chicago is mostly wonderful. I take my boyfriend down memory lane at my alma mater and stop to smell the roses in a beautiful little nook of Boston while I still have a chance.  

Saying "See you soon," for two months to the love of my life is hard, but I put him on a train home.

I visit as many family members from my GIANT Irish-Catholic family as possible, including my healthy and witty Nana of 83 years!  "It's so liberal up here, you can go nude if you want," she tells me.

A mix of nostalgia and adventure develop along the drive North.  Rumaging through my Grandmothers basement, I find some old handwork and textile samples she's happy to pass along.  For the last part of my drive, I am accompanied by Laconia bikers, encountering signs reading "Bikers eat free in 4 miles" and "Gear down for barbeque."  I wish I were I biker.  I also encounter some stunning green architecture and extraordinary wildlife.   

1600 miles later at an average of $4.30 per gallon, I'm here.  I notice dancing statues in front of the theater and wait on Rt. 16 for another company member to greet me and show me my housing.  "We're not sure where we are putting you yet," the company manager informs, "Pretty much, we have a stock of about fifty costumes in large, plastic bins."  Just hang tight until we're ready to get your shop up.  The housing is a ski condo stocked with 400oz of maple syrup, many sizes of ski boots, and gators and fleeces folded neatly in my room as though a family of skiers would show up on a moments notice.  

I make my bed my home office.  I haggle with Rental Houses for a few hours and shop on the Internet for makeup and wigs.  Glamor.