I’m getting to the point now where everything I do is “the last” one I will do in America. My last Super Bowl, my last spring, seeing my doctor and dentist for the last time. I’m probably down to my final three hair appointments before we leave. You might remember that my stylist was also the one who encouraged me to write before I started.
So far, I haven’t been feeling the pangs of sorrow for these “lasts” until this weekend. I’m in the last season of shows at the Walnut Street Theater in Philadelphia. It’s the oldest continuously operating theater in the entire country, founded in 1809. I’ve had season tickets for the past 15 years with two of my girlfriends. There are 2 more shows to go and that will be the last for me. They will find someone to take my place next year.
As I stood at the counter of the gift shop in the theater lobby on Sunday, buying myself a little something by which to remember the theater, I actually welled up with tears. I have loved this place, loved these shows, Broadway productions: the singing, the dancing and the serious plays. Andrew Lloyd Webber, Cole Porter, Noel Coward, Oscar Wild, Arthur Miller, Rogers and Hammerstein and Lin Manuel Miranda…
I hope I find a new theater in Galway. I’m sure I will. And I hope I get as attached as I am to the Walnut.
Photos courtesy Philadelphia NBC 10, Neals Paper, and The Delco Times.