But over the last few weeks, I certainly have felt grateful. I generally feel lucky to be living in New York City, but the theater can make me feel downright blessed — especially when I end up breathing the same air as Meryl Streep, Tyne Daly, Jane Lynch, and Anna Deavere Smith.

I can barely wrap my head around this embarrassment of riches, so I’m just going to relive them in chronological order. First, Meryl Streep. On Nov. 2, she appeared with Kevin Kline in The Lover and the Poet, a benefit for The Acting Company.

At first I couldn’t believe I actually shelled out the money for this one — I am not in the same tax bracket as people who go to these things — but now I’m glad I did.

They acted out some choice scenes; took turns reading sonnets; and sang — sang! — a few standards and show tunes.

On the surface, the whole thing was a tiny bit slapdash and a lot too short. Streep seemed unrehearsed, and Kline got lost in the sound of his own voice. But these "flaws" only made it all feel more real; they only deepened my appreciation for that Streepy something that has dazzled audiences worldwide. She has that thing, whatever it is, even when she hasn’t fully prepared or when she’s relaxed and just having fun — she has that thing that makes you feel like you’ve just been hugged or healed or had some important understanding imparted to you.

And then there’s her beauty and sensuality. It too is "flawed" — she’s not always graceful, not always picture-perfect. Her hair fell into her eyes; she made an awkward gesture or two; and, again, all of it only made me love her more.

I guess the "thing" is honesty. Sometimes she’s honestly channeling something, taking in unfiltered pain or joy and radiating it back to us with some finer thread weaved into it, and sometimes she’s honestly struggling or shrugging. She’s true.

A couple of weeks later, I bought last-minute tickets to Love, Loss and What I Wore, the Nora Ephron play that’s sort of like The Vagina Monologues but centers on clothing instead of on, um, coming. I didn’t think I’d like the material much, being an average lesbian who favors comfort over fashion, but how could I resist Tyne Daly and Jane Lynch?

(Meryl saw the same cast — here she is with them, but not the same night I saw them. That would just be crazy.)

The show turned out to be much funnier than I expected. Tyne was head and shoulders above the rest dramatically, and Jane was head and shoulders above the rest physically — wow, is she tall! I’m glad they were sitting next to each other, because it was really difficult to decide which one to watch.

In an interview with New York magazine, Jane sounded thrilled to finally be making her (off-)Broadway debut. I think we’ll probably see her on the boards again, because she seemed to belong there. At the same time, she too seemed more real — not always quick with a joke, not always getting the last word. And she seemed perfectly OK with that — even slightly relieved.

A mere three days later, I saw Anna Deavere Smith’s one-woman show Let Me Down Easy. I’ve been a fan of hers since The West Wing, but I’m a little befuddled by her current role on Nurse Jackie: is she supposed to be the comic relief? If so, whose stupid idea was that? Surely not hers. So when I bought the tickets, I was hoping the show would redeem that silliness, or at least let her be silly in her own way.

The show is based on interviews Smith did with 20 people who were dealing with illness or age or death — end-of-the-road stuff in general. It’s an impressive piece of work: 20 people brought to life by one woman. But as the review in The New York Times notes, "Ms. Smith is not the kind of performer who wholly disappears into the people she is portraying; she is too forceful a presence for that." (Though even her forcefulness can’t subdue that goofy character on Nurse Jackie; the stories do matter as much as the storyteller.)

Just as with Love, Loss, I didn’t really expect to like the subject matter of Let Me Down Easy, but I was wrong again. It rattled around in my head for days; once you start thinking about how you’d like to look back on your own life, it’s hard to stop, especially when you find yourself staring at cubicle walls or otherwise wasting your precious time.

And there was the "real" factor again: Smith worked hard on that stage. We don’t get to see the labor behind film and TV, so when all the sweat and exertion of acting is right in front of you, it’s kind of astonishing. Combine that with the whole contemplating-your-own-mortality thing, and you end up feeling more grounded, more aware of what your own senses are telling you.

I wouldn’t have expected these three shows to have anything in common, but for me they did: each woman, up there under the lights and yet not so very far away, conveyed (intentionally or not) a simple, profound message: we’re human. So are you. And isn’t that great — shouldn’t we be grateful?

So at the risk of tempting fate, I’m giving thanks for the theater this year. And even for what Shakespeare called "this wide and universal theater." I’m happy to be a "mere player" these days.

Unfortunately, Rose’s Turn closed a couple of years ago, and I didn’t really think about Terri White again. That is, until this week, when an article about her appeared in The New York Times.

Not just an article: a fairy tale come true.

As it turns out, Terri’s sadder-but-wiser aura was no act: she’s hit rock bottom and then some. Last year at this time, she was homeless, and now? Well, now she’s wowing the crowd in Finian’s Rainbow on Broadway and making plans for a commitment ceremony. Good times and bum times — she’s seen them all, and my dear, she’s still here.

I could say more, but it’s best to refer you to the article again (and the video that accompanies it — you have to hear Terri sing!). It’s not just a great story; it’s a very well-written story. If Terri’s tale is a testament to both human will and human kindness, then the writing of it is a shining example of both careful reporting and caring about your subject.

The daughter of traveling performers, Ms. White has been performing in musicals since she was 8, and the language of the medium infects her life narrative.

That’s just plain good. What’s more, the lesbian "angle" is both incidental and integral to the article. That’s probably the best way to handle anything gay, and it’s not easy to achieve. (And bonus: we’re talking about lesbians of a certain age! That’s, like, the polka-dot unicorn of feature topics.)

Best wishes to you, Terri. Maybe it was Rose’s Turn once, but it’s your turn now. And thank you, Susan Dominus of the NYT, for reminding us all to keep on keeping on, preferably with a song on our lips and a tambourine at our hips. There’s gold at the end of that rainbow — even a cynic like me can see it shimmering.

I’m just glad I don’t live in a trailer.

But I’d like to live in these two trailers! Ba-dum-bum.

The Young Victoria

Just the other day I was saying that I wish Emily Blunt could find some roles worthy of her talent. (I’m looking at you, Sunshine Cleaning.) And that’s why I’m already grateful for The Young Victoria.

She is stunning. And it will be so nice to hear her speak in her native tongue!

Bonus: Rachael Stirling (Nan from Tipping the Velvet) is in it, though probably not in drag. Pity. And a side note: Sarah Ferguson is the producer? Really? So meta.

Nine

No, not 9, nor District 9, but the new musical-turned-movie from Chicago director Rob Marshall.

I. Cannot. Wait! Goosebumps.

My expectations were pretty high, simply because I’ve loved her for so long, but she exceeded them. The New York Times calls her wit "brut-dry," and I think that’s perfect. It’s so dry, it leaves you thirsty for more. She’s had a remarkable life, and she sees it clearly. I hope she continues to share the view with the rest of us.

(The Times has a clip of the show here.)

Wishful Drinking includes a riff about Fisher’s recent struggle with the mean things people say online, particularly about "fat" women. I got to thinking about this after the show (while walking the dog, which is always a good setting for analyzing pop culture. And poop culture, incidentally.). It seems to me that if the camera adds 10 pounds, the stage takes off 10 pounds — or, more accurately, it turns a blind eye, emphasizing mirth over girth and preferring substance to surface.

And that means I’ve had the privilege of seeing some phenomenal women onstage — women Hollywood deems too old, too fat, too whatever. Here are some of my recent favorites:

Janet McTeer

Even theater critics can’t help but remark on McTeer’s "unfeminine" features — they use adjectives like "strapping" to describe her, which of course just makes me think of "strapping" as a verb. Followed by a preposition. Anyway, she’s simultaneously beautiful and handsome, and I’m glad we get to witness that on stage (and occasionally in Emmy-winning miniseries). Her performance in Mary Stuart was breathtaking, especially when her character (the imprisoned should-be queen) tasted freedom and rain.

Stockard Channing

Channing played the MILF to end all MILFs in Pal Joey. The show itself wasn’t that great, but Channing oozed sex and wisdom — and she hasn’t been allowed to do that on film since The Business of Strangers.

Allison Janney

Yes, Hollywood still loves Janney, but mostly as a character actress. In 9 to 5, she was the undisputed star. Not too tall, not too old, and perfectly suited (suited! get it?) to run a corporation.

Tyne Daly

Well, I haven’t actually seen this one yet, but Daly is part of the rotating cast of Nora and Delia Ephron’s Love, Loss and What I Wore. I have been in love with her since 1982, and she’s getting more and more gorgeous by the year. In Love, Loss, she plays the same character at several different ages, from girlhood on up. Yet Grey’s Anatomy could only see her as a grandmother. Bah.

Martha Plimpton

Forget The Goonies — really, forget them. Plimpton would like you to banish that movie from your mind. She’s done so much since then, and she actually outshined the luminous Stockard Channing in Pal Joey (who knew she could sing that well?!). And a couple of months before that, she played both a mannish Pope Joan and a thwarted working-class adolescent in Top Girls. And again, what did she get to play on Grey’s Anatomy? A long-suffering mom. Please.

Dianne Wiest

She’s a bit of an exception in Hollywood — her plum role on In Treatment has earned her Emmy nods and much respect. But what’s the likelihood of her playing a sensual diva in a film or on TV? That’s what she did off-Broadway, in The Seagull. Sure, she wasn’t quite as good as the Olivier-winning Kristin Scott Thomas, but she was more than equal to the material, not to mention the star quality. The word "prime" comes to mind.

Patti LuPone

Remember LuPone in Life Goes On? Her life has gone on and on — to empyreal heights in Gypsy this past summer. It was so good, I saw it three times, and I’d see it three more if I could. The word "sexy" appeared in many reviews, and she channeled a kind of power and madness that’s rarely seen in female roles on screen. It was almost scary.

There are more where those came from, and I’m looking forward to others in the new Broadway season. And of course there are a few exceptions on film and on TV — Glenn and Meryl are the obvious ones — but it would be difficult to come up with a list like this. I think Carrie Fisher would agree that the stage is the true home of real women. Hollywood prefers sex dolls.

(The Princess Leia sex doll shows up in Wishful Drinking too. Of course!)

I don’t know what it is about Carrie Fisher. Somehow, whenever I see her face, I feel like I’m looking at a long-lost friend. I suppose that’s because I was 6 when I first saw her cinnamon-bun hair. A lot of us feel like we grew up with her — while she was growing up too fast.

I felt that way again this week when I saw Sorority Row, in which Fisher plays a shotgun-wielding sorority house mother. As Carrie’s recent blog post makes clear, she may not be as lithe as she used to be, but she’s way more badass. There’s a great moment in Sorority Row in which a privileged coed has just told Carrie’s character an obvious fib. Carrie expertly pulls back the slide on her sawed-off shotgun (whee!), aims the gun squarely at the girl’s face, and says, flatly, "Lie to me again."

A different shotgun scene

So awesome. I think I found it especially gratifying because when I was a kid, I was always losing the stupidly dainty gun that went with my Princess Leia action figure. That never would have happened if she’d had a shotgun.

Sorority Row is surprisingly entertaining overall (and Rumer Willis can actually act. Who knew?!). I think a series of small parts in horror movies is a great way to enjoy the sunset of one’s film career — just ask Margot Kidder — but of course Carrie’s overall career is far from fading. The day before seeing Sorority Row, I bought my tickets for Wishful Drinking on Broadway. I can’t wait to bask in her bracing wit for a couple of hours.

Carrie’s face often makes me feel like I know her, but her words resonate even more — she says things I wish I’d said. I devoured her books Postcards From the Edge and Surrender the Pink the minute they were published, and though I haven’t read Wishful Drinking yet, I’m sure it too offers droll insights tinged with just enough misery to make you love her company. One of her Postcards observations seems to have become her lifelong motto: "Instant gratification takes too long." You can even get that on a T-shirt.

And wouldn’t Liz Lemon love this Wishful Drinking T-shirt?

And speaking of Postcards From the Edge, I’m still thrilled that Meryl Streep played the Carrie role — even if that later proved to be too much for Carrie to live up to.

Whether she’s squaring off with spoiled sorority girls or offering her observations on her long, strange trip through fame and fortune, Carrie Fisher gets to the heart of things.

I’m so glad she’s still speaking her mind!

One last thing, about that golden bikini: Carrie recently revealed that it was even more revealing than we thought:

… it had the tendency to make my now not-so-private privates quite public. Especially for the actor standing behind Jabba playing Bobba Fett … to put it simply and weirdly, [he] could see beyond my yawning, plastic bikini bottoms all the way to Florida.

Oh dear. No wonder that scene has always made me nervous — put the Hoth snowsuit back on, Leia! It makes you look kinda butch.