For God's sake, get me to the church on time!

The weekend before my first chemo session I had written a 20-minute play about the first 50 years of my church's 150 year history. The minister's daughter, who is active in theater, had done the casting, but asked if I could direct the play as she was performing in her theater group the same night as the church performance and wouldn't be able to attend. Coordinated with the play was the anniversary kick-off dinner. It was going to be a big night with several hundred people in attendance.

I had written the play so that some cast members would be seated in the audience -- popping up with comments. Hopefully that element of surprise would work to encourage laughs.

I'd never directed anything before, but what the heck, I'd written the play, so if anyone should know what its intended rhythm should be, it would be me. We did a read-through after church the previous Sunday, but some cast members were missing, so the first real rehearsal in the hall, on stage and with microphones, would be the Saturday morning of the dinner. It was a good two weeks after my second chemo session, so I was feeling fine. The rehearsal went reasonably well, despite some initial microphone feedback and some pacing issues. We'd meet back at the church at 5:00 and the play was to begin at 5:30, followed by dinner.

I had just enough time to run to the Dollar Tree that afternoon, pick up a few Valentine bag stuffers for my granddaughters, and still squeeze in a nap before "showtime". What I hadn't counted on was being held captive by a 94-year-old woman at the Dollar Tree. I had just picked out two big red bags with white feathers across the top as the goodie bags for the girls. I never even saw my impending tormenter approach. Just heard her as she sidled up to me and said, "Don't they have the cutest things here!" Good old female intuition should have warned me to just smile, nod and move on, but I suspected she was lonely for conversation. She probably lived close enough to walk to the store and made it part of her daily activities. Go visit with strangers at the Dollar Tree. I replied to her that yes, indeed, Dollar Tree was a great little store. It was the last time I was to hear my own voice. She wasn't hungry for conversation. She was desperate to tell her story to whomever would listen. If I took a step, she took a step, yet never took a breath in between sentences. It was kind of astounding actually. She told me that she was 94 and that her memory was still perfect, and she was right. Because she repeated her story, word for word, over and over again. Yep, that memory was flawless. Thirty minutes later, I could see my afternoon nap slipping away from me. Worse yet, when the church play began, it was not beyond the realm of possibility that I would be on the 50th round of this woman's life story. And so far the only shopping I had done was to pick out the two bags that dropped me like a fly into the spider's web. Finally, desperate (and embarrassed to admit this), I played the chemo card. I flat out lied to her. I held up my hand to indicate someone else wanted the floor and it worked. She paused and took a breath, and I told her I'd just had chemo and I was quickly running out of steam. I had to leave! She said something about "oh, poor thing" and I nodded and backed away. "Yes, poor thing. Goodbye now." And I cut and run. I'd be in church again in a few hours and could ask for forgiveness for lying to a poor old lonely lady. But -- I was free!

I did manage to snag a quick nap before we headed to the church. We sat at a table closest to the stage so that I could direct from there. I have to admit I was nervous. I'd never written a play for a church before. What if no one laughed? Worse yet, what if they laughed in all the wrong places?

But of course they didn't. This was an audience of church-going people. They were kind and generous with their laughs and the play and dinner went well -- with more than 300 hundred people in attendance. I could relax and enjoy the rest of the evening.

But I'm not sure I can ever go back to the Dollar Tree again.