Ocala?

Hmmm. I seem to spy a trend here.

Ocala was, um, strange. We arrived at our (grey) venue's (locked) loading dock at the appointed time, only to find that our sponsor was nowhere to be found. After we found a custodian and managed to get the door opened, a strange sight greeted us: bright yellow-green drapes and borders. You see, our venue was a high school in the 1970s, and was now a community college. No dressing rooms, no backstage bathrooms, flickering light bulbs along an electric that looked like it hadn't been touched for years, and a very, very, very grey interior. Don't get me wrong: the space was fine and we were able to put up our set without any significant problems. It was just that, well, we were expecting a tad more.

Perhaps the most tense moment, however, came when we hit half-hour to curtain. Usually, by this time, we can hear the kids lined up outside, making excited "we-get-to-see-a-play" sounds. Silence. Utter silence. Deafening silence. So quiet that it made you wonder if (in that our arrival appeared a little unexpected) somebody forgot about our show. After about 15 minutes, the kiddies started arriving and we were able to relax, but it was perhaps the most nervous I have seen this cast prior to a performance.

We packed up (with the help of a dad, who was very sweet), ate at a Panera Bread and started the trek to New Port Richey, where we will be crashing for a few days. It's a beach town that's pretty quiet, but our hotel has a pool, spa and sauna, and there's enough touristy kitsch around to fill a few days. Plus, I'm right in the middle of Life of Pi and it's getting pretty good. So, time to hibernate.

Kid quote of the day: Just before she hangs up the phone, Grandma give Ruby an over-the-phone kiss. To which the kids always, ALWAYS scream: "Ewww."

Call tomorrow: None. And it feels pretty good.