Guest Blog from Ian Elder about an Unusual Night at the Opera

I have struggled since 2016 to find my way back to being a humorist, and to giving my blog readers a laugh, an insight, and a worthwhile read all rolled into one. I hope to get better at that in the coming year. (Is that a New Year’s Resolution? Uh-oh.) I want to end this dreadful year with something fun and different. I have never had a “guest blogger.” My friend Ian, who lives in England, sent me the following account in an email. It’s just too good not to share, so I asked him if I could put it up on the blog and he gave me permission to do it. (You will notice that there are some “Britishisms” in the language.) Without further ado, here is Ian’s description of an unfortunate performance of Tosca that he witnessed in Prague. Enjoy, my friends.

Tosca was an opera I had never seen and I was really looking forward to it, at the National Theatre in Prague. Unfortunately, the director was determined to impress the production with his own stamp of creativity. Would that he had not.

There is a scene in a church where Tosca prays and asks for divine guidance in her predicament. At this point the set included a statue of the Virgin Mary. The problem was that this was not an inanimate marble statue as such, but a very much alive young woman, wearing a white see-through piece of chiffon. This revealed her very perky bosom which, being naked under the shift, instantly distracted everyone’s attention from Tosca - including mine. Worse was to come.

At the conclusion of Tosca’s prayer, the Virgin slowly descended through a trapdoor. Unfortunately the device which provided the powered platform for her disappearance needed badly to be oiled; it therefore shuddered and jerked. As a result, the perky bosom was jiggling up and down for all to admire, the more so as the trapdoor kept getting stuck, then suddenly released. Whatever it was that poor Tosca was singing, it was to nil effect - since everybody was focused on the bouncing bosom as it left the stage, destined for the crypt (and probably a warm pullover).

Following on from this example of the director's wizardry, as the entire audience tried to switch back to Tosca’s plight, a conveyor belt started up, above the stained glass window. What now?

This was a young man of about twenty or twenty one, I would say, who reminded me of Rocky in the Rocky Horror Picture Show - well built, tanned, and good looking. He was wearing a pair of angel wings on his back and a posing pouch in front. 

Of shining golden hue. 

Nothing else. 

Just a posing pouch. 

Of golden hue. 

Glittering.

Riveting indeed.

Now, I might have admired such a view of youthful athleticism had it been in the “Escape Nightclub” of Prague - wings optional - but in Tosca??? Again, the eponymous heroine was sidelined, as all attention (well, at least mine) was now diverted to the hope that the conveyor belt would not judder and make the angel jiggle. Too much, perhaps. His journey from East to West complete, he disappeared from view, leaving me puzzled, perplexed, and bamboozled. What did all this mean? Did it mean anything? What was the angel doing after the show? 

Of course, I felt sorry for Tosca and in my sympathetic imagination, during the interval, recreated the moment she received the letter from the Czech State Opera asking her to take the starring role. At last, her years of training and acting presence would reap rewards. "DIVA! Moi?" For this? I read in the programme that the director was known for his wacky approach. Indeed, he had won an award for it. From South Moravian Television. Enough said.

Act 2 was more orthodox. Tosca was back in church (her being devout is part of the drama). The audience was on tenterhooks as to whether Mary and Gabriel would reappear. They did not. Tosca was getting the attention she deserved. Until ... the angelic conveyor belt started up.

This time, there was a fat lady making her way across the stained glass window, with all the convenience of the transport assistance. At least she was fully clothed - to everyone's relief, as she was a mature matron. But why was she there? What was the symbolism? Was it that “it is not over until the fat lady sings”? No, it could not be that: Tosca still had a ways to go before thwarting an attempted rape by stabbing her seducer to death, as is the frivolous frippery of an opera libretto. Nor did the fat lady sing, scotching that theory.

The dénoument (Christian woman murders rapist in self defence) was eventually reached. But it was all a blur. I confess - I wouldn't recognise a single note of this opera, were I to be tested. All I remember is the wackiness and the facetiousness of props and personages.

That is the story.

 

And Ian is sticking to it. Thank you for this, Ian. For more laughs, I recommend Dave Barry’s year in review roundup of 2020. Here is a link to it at the Boston Globe, but it’s around at other sources. Now there is a master at humor. Happy New Year all.

What I Learned from Living in the Pandemic

 

Recently, after living in the pandemic these many months, I paused to reflect on the ways in which the pandemic has changed my life. I was already somewhat of a recluse and I have worked from home for more than twenty years. I do like to socialize, but on a limited basis. I enjoy solitude, especially walking in wild nature and reading or writing in the privacy of my home. So my lifestyle has not changed that much, but more has changed than I might otherwise have thought. I have learned a thing or two. 

The most important thing I learned about myself from this pandemic is that l live too far away from my grandchildren. I live in NorCal and they live in Portland. Before the pandemic, I flew to Portland to see them every two or three months. Now, with air flight out of the question, my husband and I resorted to driving, and we have visited only twice this year. In the meantime, we skype with the boys, now ages three and one. I have wondered if the baby thinks we live in a computer and how he reconciles that image of us on the screen with the real people when we arrive at his door. The three-year-old can carry on a complex conversation with me on skype, and we have established a cherished habit of reading stories so when he sees me on his computer he will chat for only a few minutes before he says, “I want a book, please.” I learned from this pandemic that I want to live near those children and I want to be a large part of their everyday lives as they grow up. They are my greatest joy. The logical step is to move to Portland. Follow the gold. My husband heartily agrees. The pandemic brought home to me the realization that after four terrific decades, my time in California has come to an end. 

Even prior to the pandemic, and for many reasons, we contemplated moving to a different living situation. The rampant fires in California have had a powerful impact on us. For the past four years, we have remained evacuation-ready for half of the year because we live in one of those notorious urban-to-woodland-interface areas. Our lives are already precarious enough without the added stress of remaining on alert to evacuate at any moment in the midst of a pandemic. There are other compelling reasons to move, such as no longer wishing to maintain such a large house and yard. While we have discussed a move, we never summoned the energy or impetus to do it. The pandemic brought our priorities and vision of the life we want to live in the coming years into perspective and gave us the push we needed to get real and get busy. Does anyone want a lawn mower? 

The pandemic has very much reminded me that people matter the most and belongings are extraneous. As we check in with loved ones regularly about health and financial security, avoid seeing people in person, and watch the death toll rise, we cherish even more all those dear to us whom we may lose to this thing at any time. Because my husband has diabetes and other serious health issues, I have lived with death at my elbow for decades. I lost track long ago of how many times I have saved his life during a severe hypoglycemic episode. Diabetes is no picnic. But loving someone with it makes for an intense and deep relationship because we are keenly aware that we may be parted at any moment. His precarious health helps me let go of the small stuff, and to feel grateful to still have this man no matter what foolishness he manages to get up to. We share the belief that our marriage is sacred and we do not take it lightly. So I already had a sharp awareness of what matters even before the pandemic, but it certainly has a way of reminding me of it every day. 

I love to share the story of my friends Ken and Carol, whose house was struck by lightning and caught on fire. I met them in college where I took a class from Ken (then a graduate student) in romantic poets. They have been married nearly fifty years and have raised two children together. They were at home when the fire started and they grabbed their computers and car keys and fled. While waiting for the fire department to arrive, and watching their home go up in flames, Ken (a Wordsworth man to the core) turned to Carol and said, “You are all the home I need.” The house did not burn down, but required extensive repairs to several rooms. 

As an exercise in finding truth and meaning in the experience of living through a plague, I am working on a list of things I have learned from the pandemic. At the risk of making assumptions about my own self-importance by imagining that you might find my list of interest, I share it with you below. Here it is so far. 

- I’m insignificant in the grand scheme of things, less than a speck in the universe.

- I want to help make the world a better place, but my impact ability is limited. Small things can make an important difference. There is great value in doing small things.

- Walking alone is a gift and I am grateful to be able to do it every day. It’s my meditation and it keeps me balanced.

- I must make an effort to communicate regularly with people dear to me using the technology available because life is fleeting and I may lose them at any time.

- Good scotch whiskey is wonderful.

- I love the sensual pleasure of reading actual physical books.

- There is a massive amount of lousy content available for streaming and trying to find something worth watching is a plunge down a rabbit hole. On the other hand, finding something worth watching is great fun and a delight. So I shouldn’t give up on TV.

- I miss my children and want to spend more time hearing about their lives.

- I can cut my own hair and it doesn’t look half bad. It looks better on screenchat than in person. Cool.

- I don’t need to leave my house for much. If I have food and books then I’m good.

- Almost anything can be bought online and delivered to my door. God help me.

- My house and my yard are too big and require too much work. I would be happy renting (not owning) my home for the rest of my life. The American Dream can go hang.

- My husband and I only need one car between the two of us.

- My luck at cards is rotten.

- Rereading books I loved the first time around is a pleasure.

- I’m relieved not to participate in airline travel and encouraged to see how much reduced air travel has positively impacted the environment.

- Eating sandwiches and snacks in the car during a road trip is excellent and I like it that we reach our destination sooner because we don’t stop.

- My hearing is so compromised that I can’t understand people unless I can see their mouths to read their lips. Masks make that impossible. Accessibility is a huge issue for me and many other people.

- The up side to zoom synagogue is that I can sing along on mute as loud as I like and have a blast without concern for the sensibilities of the other congregants.

- Millions of people would rather die than recognize scientific fact or truth if they think science or truth threatens their political allegiance or sense of self. Go figure.

- Roses continue to be the most extraordinary creatures.

- Politics can destroy families and friendships even though it shouldn’t be that way.

- An awful lot of people eat out a lot of the time and either don’t know how to cook at home or don’t like to do it. This astonishes me. I never eat out. What is the appeal of having someone else make you a sandwich?

- If I could have a superpower I would like the ability to make people laugh. Either that or the ability to know lots of languages, starting with ASL.

- Making love to my husband never gets old. That was not meant to make you laugh but if it did then maybe I’m on my way to a superpower.

- My story is not as interesting as other people’s stories. I need to shut up and listen.

- Health is multidimensional and maintaining health is a spiritual exercise.

- When you are living at ground zero for climate chaos during a pandemic, and the trees are in flames around you, an earthquake is small potatoes.

- It’s astonishing how far a vitamin pill can bounce when you drop it on a tile floor.

- I have so much for which to be grateful and gratitude is the basis for joy.

- My greatest joy at this time in my life is my grandchildren. 

Not everything on my list is something I’ve learned exactly right now in the pandemic – some of it I knew already but it seemed relevant or I feel it more acutely these days. It’s a bit difficult to reflect on living through historic times while right in the middle of living through historic times, a bit like time traveling. I wonder what children and young people will have to say about this time in history when they grow up and look back on it. What will they say they learned? What will we say about how it changed our lives and the world in which we live? What have you learned from the pandemic? 

The more things change, the more they stay the same. Love happens. Grief happens. Death happens. Life happens. Joy happens. Grandchildren happen. Yay for grandchildren.

 

A wee dram of  Scotch whiskey to warm me up and see me through troubled times.