Yesterday Judith and I went kayaking in South Sound. That is to say that Judith drove up from Portland loaded with gear and expertise and I showed up with gum boots and a kayak paddle that wouldn't go together (frozen apparently) and lunch and willingness. The day began foggy, so foggy we couldn't see across the bay. While trying to wiggle into her very narrow boat, I slid off into the water so I started wet, very wet. And cold. And I looked like I knew what I was doing, obviously. So we started out. It was...beautiful, quiet, lots of seals and sea birds. We stopped for lunch and by that time we were so cold we were hopping around like fools, hallucinating hot tubs, fluffy robes, big fires, etc. I took off whatever wet clothes I could. Then, miraculously, the sun came out and we were saved.
Today Ramey and I went to hear the Mozart Requiem. The lady next to me had symphony Tourrettes. She alternated between sighing, clutching her chest, tapping on her program, and groaning in time with the music. I closed my eyes and that helped. I realized that soloist singers get to wear big dresses that look like curtains. Where to they make such dresses? I don't know.
2 comments:
I think you were sitting next to my mother. (She also sings with a very tremulous tremolo.)
It was comforting that when she swooned, she leaned way over on her friend. I once attended a concert and a guy passed out and lay there under the stage while everyone continued to play. The ushers were so discrete..
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