Proof

Started: 2005-03-27 17:32:55

Submitted: 2005-03-27 18:39:14

Visibility: World-readable

I'm currently sitting on my back porch, having recently discovered that I do in fact have a back yard. (Kiesa and I spent a few minutes this afternoon trying to figure out what to do about our landscaping, which seems to need a bit of work. At the very least we need to replace the dead bushes in our front yard, probably with some lilacs. I'd like to put more trees in our back yard, and Kiesa wants some planters for basil, tomatoes, and anything else we feel inspired to grow. All of this will require the approval of our home owner's association, which Kiesa resents abridging our God-given right to park dead cars on our lawn.) I just discovered I can see Mount Meeker and Longs Peak from my porch; in fact, I'm looking at the twin peaks as I type. It's a bit chilly to be outside, but now that it's official spring I thought I should spend some porch time. Cat5 is distressed to have been made an indoor-only cat; she's now figured out that the porch is outside and she's sitting at the screen door meowing.

Kiesa and I headed to the Longmont Theater Company this afternoon for a matinee of David Auburn's Proof. Kiesa has a long history with this play; after it won a Pulitzer Prize for Drama she did a final presentation for her contemporary literature class. After we graduated, Walla Walla's drama department did the play, which made me wonder how much of an influence she had on the play's selection. A few weeks ago I went Geocaching in downtown Longmont and spotted a poster advertising the play's local production. I text-messaged Kiesa and we decided to attend, our first serious dose of culture and arts after graduating from college.

(Longmont's local symphony is playing my favorite piano concerto next month, which seems to suggest that I should show up for it as well.)

In honor of the play, we're about to have pasta for supper.

ROBERT: Pasta, oh God, don't even say the word "pasta". It sounds so hopeless, like surrender: "Pasta would be easy." Yes, yes, it would. Pasta. It doesn't mean anything. It's just a euphemism people invented when they got sick of eating spaghetti.