It’s a full moon. I pay the sitter and see her out. I undo my bra and pace back and forth trying to get more air in my lungs. Then without warning, I let out a sound from somewhere deep. It keeps coming and I can’t stop it, I stick my face in the rubbish bin so I don’t wake up the boys and howl and howl and howl and howl.
When I said the story begins here I was lying.
Really the story begins several years ago.
Really the story begins as a love story.
Picture if you will me on a trapeze flying through the air singing a song about freedom.
I’m performing in a London theatre and in the audience is a kind Englishman.
He has a wide pupillary distance and uses big words I have to look up.
Soon after, I become pregnant and my life does a 180 and I find myself living in the middle of nowhere rural Kent on the edge of a marsh surrounded by nothing but green fields and sheep 3613 miles away from Jewish Immigrant Parents in Toronto.
An intimate and absurd one-person exploration of motherhood, exile and transformation. Part storytelling, part standup, part myth, it asks the question: How does an urban Canadian raising children in rural Kent with declining parents back home learn the codes of survival?