In case one wonders if DW and I had a nice time away from the animals and farm yesterday, yes we did. Any desire to recount can be partially attributed to the fact that someone googled the orchestra and found this here blog. They might return. Also, there might be an off chance that I write my way into something witty.
The orchestra did well for a small ensemble, perhaps twenty-five members in total, maybe less. The chorus did well for themselves also, and, in that I have been a fan of theirs for several years, must admit that we attended largely to see them perform. Twenty-two voices never filled a hall so well and they did a beautiful job. Finally, the soloists, in particular the alto, tenor and bass handled a very difficult score; however, the alto seemed to have a hard time getting much of her voice past her throat and above the orchestra. Perhaps she was ill, and if that was the case, brava for the effort.
As predicted, I did shed a couple tears of joy, both times at very predictable points in the score. What I could not have foreseen were several irksome people in the audience. For instance, the family of four directly in front of us. Eldest daughter brought her knitting, a constant need to know the time indicated on her phone, and a whisper that carried nearly as well as the alto. She confided to her father, immediately to her right; and perhaps she felt a need to speak up, for it was clear he was enraptured by the performance of a piece with which he had no small familiarity. He conducted both voice and instrument with precision and compassion. I so wanted to nudge the back of his head with my knee. My joy would have been joined by mirth.
Tone change: Man, that was one long-ass concert. Handel sure knew how to drag out a phrase. Don’t ask me why I believe this, for I have no background whatsoever for my assumption, but I think he must have had a thing about Bach. Had something to prove. Still, a beautiful piece, and I cannot do it justice here.
We ate dinner with the Anarchist vegans, and inasmuch, were initially the only customers. The food was good, the service prompt, even though the wait staff, cook and dishwasher were all the same woman. And it was clear that she took great pride in her work, for before she served us, and the young Goth couple who came in shortly thereafter, she photographed the plates of food. I can only assume she is building a portfolio for better opportunities to come.
We bussed our own table, thanked her for the food and said goodnight. The restaurant was not too far from our next destination, the dance club. And since Sunday was Goth night, DW and I speculated that we would see the other couple again shortly. They may have driven by and decided against it, for we did not see them, and it would have been easy to spot them in the nearly empty establishment. Or they might have just had dinner and called it an early night. After all, Monday is a workday.
The small crowd made for a spacious dance floor, and since the DJ was proficient, both DW and I made use of the tiles. Yes, I danced. The music and the sight of DW doing her thing brought back memories of earlier years back in Chicago when she and I would tear up the floor in a very meaningful way. Pitter-putter be damned! We left contented, with only one minor incident, for which not wit can be mustered and therefore I have no real need to relate at length.
Even so, the event was cause for discussion this morning with people who know much more about such things than DW and I. We are going to attempt to duplicate the episode of concern in a linear fashion next week. After that, we will know where and how to get to the heart of the matter.
It is always difficult to wrap a post like the above. I look for a common theme and find only one, and a very subjective one at that, sure to be somewhat lost on the reader: I love sharing this life with my wife.