Okay heads up if you who don’t like gushy posts, seek cover. Yea just wanted to take an Instagram second to celebrate my beast of a loving husband who has poured every fucking pore of himself into this little solo show called boy falls from the sky that opens this week. I remember years ago, after either one of my shows or maybe it was his sister’s, the two of us talked about how he had a solo show inside him. How he had stories and perspective and jokes and wild tales that belonged on the stage, and that we’re born(e) on the stage. We started slow. Daring him to tell a story at The Spoke storytelling night with Outside the March. Then he wrote some more. Shared tiny previews at free times cafe, then got a slot at Toronto Fringe. Then got Robert McQueen who is a story whisperer if there ever was one, and the two of them developed these stories into a singular and winding show. Yea. It’s been pretty wild to witness up close. All the rehearsing and changes and exploration. All the incarnations with different collaborators and at different venues and in different towns. And of course the held breath postponements and the shake up of changing venues and the two of us living in partial lock down as we mask up and cross fingers to get him across the finish line. Yea. I know this one demands an exposure of guts that most other shows he’s done don’t. And I know that I love him so hard for reminding me that we all need to tell and trade our stories as long as we live. So hey. Happy fricken opening week to the guy I crushed hard on in high school. And happy fricken broken legs to the guy I bullied into marrying me some 15 years later. Have a great time, you chien chaud. #boyfallsfromthesky 🌭🕸🎭❤️