Introducing Georgette

Marky and I walked past the produce section this evening when a pro-veggie poster caught our eye.  The sign read, "Sneak A Snack!"  It's the kind of catchphrase you can't help but verbalize. 

We walked to the bread aisle muttering "Sneak A Snack.  Sneakasnack," and I had deja vu. 

"Snicker Snack.  One two, one two, and through and through, the vorpal blade went snicker-snack!"  I recited. 

"What is that nonsense?!" Marky demanded. 

I'm not much of a poem reciter.  But I know me some Jabberwocky.  It's the heroic nonsense poem from from Alice in Wonderland, and I not only performed an arrangement of it in the Highland Concert Choir, but Turtle (our commando theater director/narcotics agent, who really preferred to be addressed as "John," but for the purpose of this colorful story, he shall remain "Turtle") also inserted this poem throughout a night of one-act plays.  The one acts were sadly forgettable.  I have zero recollection of the plotlines, much less the names of the pieces.  However, Georgette, I, and another actor performed Jabberwocky in various styles between them. 

I opened the night as a hunched over, frail, old woman.  Following Turtle's strict direction, I silently hobbled through the darkness toward center stage at a snail's pace.  Once I finally arrived, I exploded into storytelling, leaping about, and wielding my walking stick as the aforementioned vorpal blade.  Maintaining the hunch, my little old lady was powerful and boisterous.  After the final borogoves and mome raths, the little old lady weakly retreated with the aid of her trusty walking stick. 

Georgette possessed the amazing ability to defy gender onstage.  Don't get me wrong--I say this in the spirit of admiration.  She is really be a lovely flower (I have super girlie pics of us from prom), but she had the theatrical fortune to strip down and pass for a dude.  George stood behind a pulpit and preached her Jabberwocky as a vestment-clad southern preacher man.  It was funny and stirring.  This was the gem of the evening.  She banged her fists, thrust her finger in the air, wiped the sweat from her brow.  Royal purple raglan sleeves danced as she lunged to and fro.  Not a single performance went by without at least one "Amen" or "Hallelujah" from the audience.  Against Turtle's insistance, everyone sneaked out from backstage to watch George in all her Carrollian majesty.  Her performance never got old.  You never knew how the audience would react, so every night was a little different. 

Of all of the plays, choir pieces, guitar etudes, and trigonometric equations I memorized in high school, Jabberwocky is what I took with me.  And it is largely due to Georgette.  I hope she still remembers it, too.   Hopefully she recites it to her baby, who will undoubtedly inherit her mother's wonderful sense of humor.