dear Smorgasbord Studios,

it's been a long time.

I have missed you. Really, I have. The stress of lines, the energy of stage lights, the jokes. Makin' Eggs. Even the pancake.

And I have missed your people. Not everyone, all the time, but at least once. All of them at least once. Their faces, their moods.

I am jealous for the new people you have acquired. And the old ones who have mellowed since I was last there. I realize this year would've been easier than any in the past, and perhaps I could have handled it again.

But you understand, don't you?, why I cannot come back. I am old, and older every day, and I see too much now. No matter how endearing, or careful, or mature you become, I cannot look you in the face without my chest tightening. I have forgiven you, and re-forgive you every time I see you, quite gladly, but I do not love you any longer. You are not mine any longer, and you must stop asking. Please, stop asking.

In fifty years, when I am a little old bird-woman, I will still be hunting up good theatre and sitting in the front row, trembling with emotion along with the actors when they don't quite get it. And this will be entirely your fault. Thank you, Smorgasbord, for that much. It was lovely, and Our Town was a very lovely goodbye, and I think it is time.

Goodbye.