Shakespeare the way Bill Cosby intended

In the summer, the city of Toronto holds something called Dream in High Park. It features a theater company performing Shakespeare's plays outdoors, in High Park. They run one play every summer; often, but not always, it's Midsummer Night's Dream, as suggested by the event name. This summer it is. Being avid supporters of theater, fresh air and each other, Rachel and I readily decided to go.

The set was large and ostentatious, with three levels, two staircases, large swinging metal gates, and neat little Christmas lights. We were seated on the ground, amphitheatre style, with booze-smuggling hipsters above us, and a potato-salad eating, baby-carrying extended family below.

The show started promptly, which is the best way for shows to start, with a heavily tattooed Puck running through the crowd with a long bamboo pole, and my suspicion was that things were going to get hot. And hot they got. Trust fund princess lovers, a Junkyard gang acting troupe and a Caribbean fairy cast made me smile, laugh and clap with delight. Further to that, the fairies seemed to have proper training in magic (whatever that means) and were pushing, pulling, spinning and flipping each other with invisible ropes, showcasing Puck's impressive gymnastic abilities.

Two things distressed me, but only slightly. Egeus, as a high-browed suburban mother, consistently talked on her mobile device, in decidedly non-Shakespearean language. And Lysander occasionally babbled and repeated his lines, not just once or twice, but like he was trying all the possible combinations of words in a sentence ("True love, the course, run smooth, never did" and variations thereupon). I don't know why he did that, whether it was deliberate or if he was trying to buy some time for himself or another actor, but it was confusing and distracting, and not consistent with his character.

But these complaints are minor and in no real way detracted from an otherwise enjoyable production. The night was clear and the moon was out, and I could feel a little bit of magic from that haunted grove.

25

I'm having a quarter-life crisis. It's like a mid-life crisis but more efficient. I can't afford a motorcycle. And it's a bitch. I was struck by the impression that I haven't done anything with my life, and have resolved to start working harder. This was after a few choice cuss words and a couple tears. Rachel prayed for me again, like she always does. She has been good for me, interceding for me and bringing my spirit closer to God. I wonder if in another century she would have been a nun, and sat around, just praying. She has let me feel OK freaking out. I don't do it that often, but I know that I could, and recently I have. As I said before about Abraham, I want to suffer, and struggle, and be tested. Maybe God has never tested me because I've never been ready for it. Maybe it would have killed me, at least my spirit. Maybe I'm still not ready, but I have a sense that I will at least start working towards it.