One of these days, I am going to exhume my collection of Playbills in the attic. It will be such fun to revisit the incredible theatrical events I witnessed over the years--especially the early years of our marriage. Back then, we were too stupid to save our money, and blew it regularly--not only on rent and food (arguably not stupid expenses) but on plays, especially plays on and off-Broadway. At that time, I still thought of myself as an actress, albeit one with no ambition to star on the Great White Way (which should have tipped me off). Steve was a bona fide actor, and I'm sure he did envision himself trodding the boards at the Shubert Theatre someday. In any event, we'd often find ourselves standing in the freezing cold (it always seemed to be freezing cold there, even in May) in the Times Square half-price ticket line, hoping to score cheap seats for the matinee or the evening performance.
The arrival of the children put a rather abrupt end to our New York theatregoing. Orchestra seats at the Winter Garden = three months’ worth of Pampers (and that doesn’t include parking and the babysitter). No contest. Attending plays was relegated to the archives of my life, something I no longer did. When I was feeling wistful, I’d listen to the soundtrack of Company and pretend I was in Row D, soaking it all in.
I wish we could have swung family trips to the Big Apple to take in some plays, but we couldn’t. But now the kids are at or near the point in life where they have some disposable income to see an occasional show, and I heartily encourage them to do so. Some of my fondest memories involve sitting in the balcony at the Helen Hayes Theatre, and feeling my heartbeat quicken as the house lights dimmed, the orchestra struck up the overture, the curtain rose.