Angel on a shoestring

I dragged Eduardo off to Lyco on Saturday night for our campus theatre department's production of Angels in America. I've seen the play before--in Houston, at the Alley--and knew the plot well; I've also watched the HBO version at least twice. It was, of course, hard to suspend those experiences during the evening's production: the special effects were basically nonexistent, and some of the performances were jarringly one-dimensional, but Kushner's script (though small parts seemed to be missing) shone through.
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Earlier on Saturday, R & I drove out to the Montour Preserve and walked around the lake. It was a beautiful, warm afternoon: honeybees were prolific in the goldenrod; a single-engine plane climbed and dove in tight loops high above the fields; the sky was streaked in every direction with huge mare's tail cloud formations. The maples are turning quickly now--lots of amber, orange and red--and even though I got too much sun, I was happy to set down all my to-dos and just enjoy the incredible day.
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My stapelia plants are both about to bloom: the indoor one on the dining room window sill has one star-shaped bud about to open, and the outdoor one (which I moved into the laundry room for two cold days last week) has six or seven buds, all sizes. I'll get photos. The flowers are fascinating, lovely in a surreal, otherworldly sort of way. Unfortunately, they stink: one of the common names for stapelia is "carrion flower." I think it's propagated by flies.
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Off to bed. The to-do list resumes bright and early in the morning.