As I approach my 82nd birthday, I think about so many things. Some of them are the career that I had in the theatre and the grand time I had, and the luck I had. I worked hard, of course and I had wonderful training, first in college, and then on a Fulbright studying in London for a year. That background gave me such useful tools. I loved what I learned, and I loved acting. I loved theatre. It was my everything, the air I breathed, my food. There was a drive in me, and a motor that constantly turned with the desire to work, to act, to do theatre. I loved language. I believe in language. It’s all about clear communication. And the ideas of playwrights. And I had a good run. I had a career that I think would be impossible now. I worked at regional theatres around America; and in Canada, where I got a Canadian green card for 8 years. I did everything: the classics, which I had trained for so much, Shakespeare, the Greeks, Restoration; early modern works by Shaw, Chekhov, Ibsen, Coward, Tennessee Williams; and all manner of new plays. I loved and performed in what a lot of people call “Museum Theatre.” I did the Stratford Festival in Canada on tour; I did the Shaw Festival for two summers. I managed to make it to Broadway, where I had some success, and some Tony nominations. And along the way I got to do some movies, which are not like doing theatre at all. I had a good run. But the theatre I did can’t really be done anymore. Times have changed. The zeitgeist has moved on. Shaw is rarely done, and the others are rarely done. Language is not so revered any more. Beautiful language, spoken beautifully. And over time, as I aged, the energy to work became hard to find. The stamina. The guts I pulled out of myself, and the focus and concentration on speaking well, with breath control, and articulation, and music, and comprehension, was no longer the icing on the cake. I always felt that to act well it must look effortless. And that takes a lot of work. Performing energy should be easy and not forced, the icing on the cake of your personal energy. So, as I grew more tired and began slowly to feel less capable physically and vocally, it coincided with a slowing of that motor that had been turning constantly since I was 7 years old, when I first declared I wanted to be an actress. The motor turned over, and stopped. I suppose if I were another kind of artist, you could say the muse abandoned me. And so, for several years now, I have not wanted to work. And the feeling is so peaceful. The incessant drive is gone. Oh, every now and then I think it would be fun to say some words I read on a page. And I really do miss the camaraderie of backstage, and the team sport of making theatre, the trust that is the cement of magical playing. But I have no desire to do 8 shows a week. I don’t want to go to the same place 6 days a week.  I don’t want that Sword of Damocles hanging over me of knowing there is a stopwatch about to start and I must meet the moment with all I have. I barely have enough just for me and my daily life; I don’t have enough to spare to give an audience. So it is the strangest thing to no longer be blown thru the world driven by this enormous desire to do theatre, to play, to act. I look back on what it has all been and can hardly believe it.  And I go to theatre and am amazed at what the actors do! I did that, but it barely computes. How do they do that! They have to do it AGAIN, tonight! When I see really good theatre, I am amazed, and grateful. But theatre is only a part of my life now. I go to concerts (which I couldn’t go to when I was working all the time), I go to lectures online, I have time to have lunch or dinner with friends. I read a lot. And of course, at my age, I now see people in the medical profession on a regular basis. People ask me if I couldn’t be tempted to do something, but I just feel so deeply that if I can’t bring my best game, I shouldn’t, and I don’t want to. The theatre means too much to me not to do it with control over my instrument, with complete joy and fearlessness. My life in the theatre has been beyond expression. I have deeply loved it. And learned from it, and grown with it and thru it. And I am now comfortable saying it was great, but I don’t do it anymore. I had a good run. Now I’m contentedly coasting thru what remains of my time here, ever mindful and grateful for what I was allowed to do.