Category Archives: Other than literary days….

Where have I been? Here. What have I been doing? Creating!

Well, the time has come around (actually, come and gone) when a new post is due, and I have been busy doing other things and not getting anything much read to post on.  Oh, I read three tankas (an Eastern poetic form), but I don’t think it’s a case of “there’s glory for you,” as another character said to Alice about the matter of interpretation, and so I desisted from interpreting a foreign poetical form due to my lack of experience with it.  That needs some explaining, I see.  In Through the Looking Glass, Alice is conversing with Humpty Dumpty, and in re of their discussion, he says, “There’s glory for you.”  “‘But “glory” doesn’t mean “a nice knockdown argument,”‘ Alice objected.  ‘When I use a word,’ Humpty Dumpty said, in rather a scornful tone, ‘it means just what I choose it to mean–neither more nor less.’  ‘The question is,’ said Alice, ‘whether you can make words mean so many different things.’  ‘The question is,’ said Humpty Dumpty, ‘which is to be master–that’s all.'”  Now, since it would be quite immodest of me to pretend to be master of a very ancient poetical form and sets of symbols in a tradition quite different from my own (not that I won’t ever take a stab at things that way, but the tanka form is not like the haiku, which I might be able to be a pretender about), I decided this week to use my time doing some other kind of creating than the critical.  Since I’m on a new diet which is quite successful because it is not a diet but a lifestyle change, a permanent thing, very delicious and fulfilling, I’ve been cooking and storing food and cooking again, and sharing my treats with my family members.  But I’ve also lost 9 pounds in 2 weeks’ time, and though most diet plans suggest that slow and steady wins the race, this diet plan is known to be safe for faster weight loss because it’s just plain good sense and safe all around.

I don’t know if those of you who watch PBS have ever caught Dr. Joel Fuhrman’s programs on the tube, but that is where I first encountered this diet, during one of their periodic and typical fundraisers, where special programs are aired that break occasionally for a fundraiser message.  This is the very type of program which generally speaking most annoys me, and I hate self-improvement speakers and diet plan managers.  But there was something compelling about this guy.  He seems like just an ordinary guy, whom I was ready to dismiss as a bit of a health-food nut until I just somehow got hooked, I can’t explain how.  Of course, I like veggies and most of the foods he was pushing, beans, whole grains, but I like a lot of stuff that’s not that good for me too, so I was at first inclined to be skeptical when he said I wouldn’t miss those foods after a week or so.  For me, it was even faster than that, despite the fact that I’d had potato chips in my mouth the night before:  I had no detox period from “toxic” foods, and took to the diet right away.  And the rest is history.

Of course, everybody has something that’s particularly hard for them to give up, and following a largely vegan diet with occasional “meat as a condiment only” supplements and my daily yoghurt-and-fruit smoothie (and he recommends giving up as much dairy as possible too) sounds grim.  But I actually enjoy it.  And there’s no denying that it works.  I decided at the beginning rather than buying the very expensive fundraiser kit of several CD’s or DVD’s and a couple of cooking guides and books to just pick the two books I wanted most from the admittedly copious list of his publications, and order them cheaper from Amazon.com.  So, after some studying, I chose “The End of Dieting,” his basic guide to the plan complete with a daily schedule and some recipes, and “The Eat to Live Cookbook,” and had them in the mail the next week.

I know this all sounds crazy, but it’s been a real pleasure to eat food again, because not only is it a general health plan for life (i.e., there are many menus not just for people dieting), but I can eat it without feeling guilty, as much as I want until I’m full.  I’ve cooked this two weeks from it and put some food in the freezer, such as a veggie-bean-and-mushroom stew, a baba ghanouj-cum-hummus (eggplant hummus, basically), a mushroom-walnut-Swiss-chard-onion-etc. burger, a bean-turkey-spinach burger, a creamy almond vinaigrette dressing; I’ve also indulged almost every evening in one of two fairly lo-penalty desserts, a fudgy black-bean-and-date brownie (the icing is made partially with avocado–I know, sounds gross, but tastes delicious) or a banana walnut soft ice cream dessert you can make in the blender.

Of course, I’m getting 80 minutes a day of exercise most days too, but I haven’t started strength training yet, and that 80 minutes consists mainly of stretching and walking at a moderate pace inside a carpeted hallway (many people in our condo walk inside to avoid the weather and bad sidewalk conditions outside, or for other reasons of their own).  Life is good.  I’ve even been able to supplement my food plan (it’s hardly fair to call it “diet plan”) with recipes from some of my older vegetarian cookbooks, making sensible substitutions where necessary.  So far, I’ve got a recipe for a chunky dill borscht (we had it last night and it was quite delicious), an eggplant-and-onion-and-red pepper-and tomato sauce dish with whole wheat pasta or brown rice, a whole wheat pita bread, and a braised celery with walnut dish (this last is actually from FreeAmericanRecipes.com).  [The borscht and the pita recipes come from Julie Jordan’s “Wings of Life,” a cookbook from Cabbagetown Café in Ithaca, NY].

One thing that of course has to be considered is the cost of eating this way, but it’s not as bad as you might think, though things may get a little tighter as the cold weather sets in.  We haven’t regularly bought processed foods much for quite some time already, and were already eating mostly poultry and fish and eschewing much red meats or salted ones.  The grocery costs have skyrocketed almost everywhere in the U. S. and probably elsewhere too in the last year, with several rises having happened almost in a row, but many grocery chains are now trying to follow Market Basket’s exemplary lead and pay more attention to the customer’s needs and costs, so we’ll see what happens.  It’s always possible, once you get the hang of things, to figure out which ingredients you can’t do without and which recipes you need to substitute on because of cost of ingredients; this allows you to take advantage of store sales that you may not know about when you leave home.  You can be inventive, and make up your own recipes, too, once you know the very-easy-to-follow rules.

Dr. Fuhrman and his colleagues of course discourage cheating, but they allow a lot of leeway for experimentation, and allow for occasional backsliding, simply warning that you can’t let it become a habit once it has happened, but need instead to start back in your fairly easily acquired good habits.  I’m so happy on this plan, and it’s quite true as far as the claims that are made for it (clearer thinking, better sleeping, lighter feeling, better body, etc.).  At other times, even on a Weight Watcher’s diet for a while, I had convinced myself–even though I’ve always liked vegetables–that people who claimed they could entirely or mostly go without meat had probably starved themselves so silly that they were digesting their brain tissue in desperation.  But now I find that an ice cream scoop size serving of salmon salad (made with only 1 tablespoon light mayonnaise for the whole batch, technically a “cheat,” since regular vegetable and olive oils are supposed to be used only rarely) is enough to keep me happy, and I’ve not eaten chicken for quite some time.  I usually have the salmon on my daily vegetable salad at lunch, and whatever fresh vegetables and even some fruits (like apples) I have which can be eaten raw go in this as well, along with some cooked beans.

So, when I say that I’ve been creating this week since I last posted, I have:  it’s just been creating in the kitchen instead of on the page.  And now that I’ve thoroughly bored and exasperated you with my fervor and enthusiasm for something you yourself might not especially like (though in my zealot’s glee I can’t imagine that possibility particularly well), I’ve told all.  For now, anyway–see you in a few days, I hope with another literary post.

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Taking a brief sabbatical from posting, back soon!

Hi, there readers!  I realize that I’m overdue for a post now, but I’ve been having problems with my WordPress.com site, and in the process of trying to deal with them, problems with my browsers and operating system and security company cropped up as I did what I think of as my valiant best to cope.  Yesterday, I was on the computer all day trying to get things straightened out, and have more than accepted that I will never be a computer expert but (like Blanche in “A Streetcar Named Desire”) will always have to rely on the “kindness of strangers” at the chat rooms who helped me out.  As of today, the WordPress.com problem is still unsolved, and I’m “all in” (tired) of being on the computer, so though I will continue to respond to your posts and comments, I won’t be posting again myself for at least a day or two, maybe more.  But then, I’m sure you have plenty of other excellent things to read on WordPress.com, so ta! for now.  See you again soon!

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A topic ramble, a meditation, or a whatchamacallit, and a thank-you

Well, here it is, another day after days of not doing a post, and I know I’m long ovedue for one, but to confess up front, I’m reading about seven books all at once, and have nothing to show for it yet.  When you once convince yourself that the best way to read a book is to read a plethora of them at a time, your soul (or at least your time before the online library sites recall the books) is not your own!  Added to that is the fact that I’m not only reading books I want to read, but also some books I “should” read, and you may understand my dragging feet attitude and my slow and sorrowful apologia.  So here it is, a topic ramble, or a meditation, or a whatchamacallit, and a sincere and earnest “thank-you” to all my readers for sticking with me and checking in when it seems I might be getting ready to croak something else out.

When I first signed onto the library sites (two of them), I was like a kid in a candy store, to make the much overworked simile do service here too; I kept clicking on books I had no hope of reading in two weeks’ time with all the others I had selected, and at first, I was totally enchanted with the little descriptor at the bottom of the page which told me just how much (percentage-wise) I’d read of the book, and how many pages there were in the chapter.  But now, I’m just longing for a traditional page-count to tell me how many more pages I have to suffer through in order to finish (yes! for a confirmed reader to say that of numerous books is shocking, I know).  But it’s spring-time, finally, and I want to go outside and wander and go out for coffee with people and enjoy the sun and the air.  Even more than that, I want to work on my stubborn novel which is refusing to be written.  I’ve got around 100 pages done, but for some reason, it simply will not be written the way the others were:  it balks regularly, only lets me write about a sentence a day sometimes or do a bit of timid revising, and in general will not show me the next turn around the bend.

Now, I know that I promised a sort of meditation, and so far this has sounded like a whinging complaint of the kind I occasionally write, so perhaps I should tell you that I have developed the complaint into an art form (in case you didn’t think so at first sight), and can (even if not achieving the greatest quality in my complaints) go on for quite some time lengthwise with my kvetching and yammering.  Surely someone somewhere gives out an award for how long a person can complain, even if it’s assessed as a sort of performance art in a gallery, where people gather to listen to the neverending (or so it seems) spiel and spate of words.  Only, of course, writing a post has the advantage that I don’t have to bestir myself from my easy chair or stand or sit in an uncomfortable gallery position so that people can stare at me properly without impeding each other’s sight lines.  And here I can refuel with coffee and food, and really derive the additional advantage that I don’t have to see the possibly disgusted faces staring back at me or hear (audibly at least; imagination is another thing) “Oh, c’mon!  Get off your duff and do something already!  At least try to write or think productively about something you’ve read.  Go for that much-vaunted walk and clear your head and then come back and be an extrovert compositionally instead of a bitching introvert who mumbles constantly under her breath about all the ills of life!”  So far, however, none of my sermons to myself have worked, so I have to offer my readers a heartfelt apology (and after all, the word “apologia” is related to the word “apology”) and try to go on from here.

As to the “thank-you,” I have had much better fortune than I deserve in my followers, who have been generous in their comments and in continuing to read.  And now, on the issue of having trouble communicating, I can do no better than to quote the famous musical funnyman and satirist Tom Lehrer (in paraphrase at least):  “We hear lots these days about people who can’t communicate.  Husbands and wives who can’t communicate, children who can’t communicate with their parents.  I feel that if a person can’t communicate, the very least he can do is to shut up!”  Couldn’t have said it better myself!

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“Why can’t I do anything right today?”–The curse of spring fever

This morning at 7 I thought I would have an early breakfast and then do something smart, beautiful, or fun.  At first, I had the idea to work on my newest novel, which until about the end of January had been stalled for almost a year.  I suddenly started working on it again then, and have worked on it every day or so ever since.  So, what’s wrong with today?  How is today different?  Dunno.  But I didn’t work on the novel.

Then, I thought that I would watch an opera on Met Opera on Demand on my computer.  But I left it too long to start, and when I calculated how long I had to listen and watch before an important call comes in early tonight, I knew I would get interrupted if I started it, and so bailed on that opportunity as well.

Oh, well, there’s always that computer game I like to play, I thought.  Maybe I should go through the dungeon and defeat a few more monsters and villains.  But frankly, enthusiasm was lacking.  I was bored with the easy battles and didn’t have the interest or energy for the hard ones.  Besides, my characters needed to buy more equipment and change some things, and I was bored with them too.

That eliminated smart, beautiful, and fun.  What was left?  By the time I’d finished lunch, that left doing something by rote just to pass the time.  So, I went for a walk.  And suddenly, I knew what was wrong.  It’s 56 F today, gorgeous sunny weather, and yet another big storm is expected to hit tomorrow (one hopes the last of the season, but then who can tell?).  I had spring fever, as plain as the nose on anybody’s face.  And I still have it.

So, I thought, what can I do until dinner time?  Write a post.  But I just started another book and haven’t had a chance to prepare anything literary yet, so what am I supposed to post about?  What are other people doing?  Are they enjoying the same break from the winter blahs while realizing that it’s short-lived and that snow or at least rain in buckets is back with us tomorrow and Thursday?  And then, I just decided to write about that.  Nothing, really.  Just a post to say “hello readers, I hope you’re reading my site, and won’t mind too much if I cause you to waste a little time today on ‘nothing, really.'”

Or, you can talk to me.  If you’re in a different part of the world, your weather may be different, and instead of trying to last out the tail-end of a miserable winter, you may be whinging and complaining about the last of a hot, arid summer.  Or maybe you’ve already had the rain and snow that was predicted, and are just stepping back in from shovelling out or are wringing out your clothes and taking off soaked galoshes.  Whatever your situation, feel free to drop a line if you want, just to communicate with the great outside world.  That’s all I’m doing today, after all.  And now it’s time for iced coffee, one of the first of the season (we live in hope); ta for now!

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Begging your indulgence….

Dear Readers,  Here am I, more than a week from having done my last post, and with nary a one in sight so far.  I need to beg your indulgence for a while longer, however, as I am busy with a novel and with making “something special” for a couple of friends who have had some health issues recently.  Though I mean to post soon, it may be a few days yet before I take the time to do so, so until then, I’ll just politely ask you (as my grandfather would say when someone complained of not having a comfortable place to sit and wait for some event or other to transpire) to “sit on your fist and rear back on your thumb.”  Though on first encounter this doesn’t sound polite at all, I realize, it’s a way of saying to the impatient ones (often us children) that there’s no place to sit right now, and one is better employed in ingenious ways of amusing oneself than in complaining.  Not, you know, that I’m so self-flattered as to assume that everyone is awash with agony because I’m not writing right now, but I have to provide alternative entertainment just a little, so I thought I’d just share the dialectal expression my grandfather used as a way of bringing a temporary grin to your faces.  And now, farewell until the next post, coming ASAP, shadowoperator

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…And a Happy New Year! You having one, I wish, that is….

Does my title sound a tiny bit discombobulated?  As if perhaps I had been partaking too generously of the Christmas and New Year feasts and imbibing too much of the wines and spirits of the same?  Well, you caught me; I have.  And it has made my New Year’s post, such as it is, a few days latte.  I mean, that is, a few days late (will I ever recover from such treats as the delicious but perverse Bolthouse pumpkin spice latte my brother treated me to for the second holiday?  Likely not for a while).  And, as befits life in a cold climate (which is what this part of the temperate zone feels like now, going down below reasonable temperatures entirely), I am trying to finish up my first cold of the season, which started before baking time in November, let up or went away entirely in time for Christmas baking, then returned or resumed or just plain started all over again once I was on vacation.

At any rate, this is just a short season’s greetings post to acknowledge that I’m still alive, despite chills and phlegm, and have successfully made my way into a new year, with the help of close family and friends.  I hope you have done the same (without the chills and phlegm), and I’ll be trying to finish up my sixth novel in the New Year (a novel which technically is the fifth of my non-sequential sequentially oriented novels, but the sixth one actually came out first, last year).  As I explained at the time I published the true sixth novel, the novels are symbolically sequential, but not parts of a series which must be read in a certain order, so cheating in such a way was really only cheating my own expectations and goals.  As well, I will be continuing articles and reviews of books, poems, stories, and etc. in the New Year, and trying to get back to a more regular posting schedule.  Those of you who have been following my site for some time know that I have promised this once or twice already, but have been derelict in my duty thus far, often waiting more than a week lately between posts.  This holiday season has so far been the longest hiatus in my memory since I first began posting in July 2012.

Be these things as they may, I’m taking this opportunity to wish all of you the best on what some people find the second most depressing day of January (January 2nd being the first).  Don’t worry, though, there’ll be plenty of other days in January and February for those in the Northern Hemisphere temperate zone to get depressed, with the help of various weather systems still to come.  Those of you in the Southern Hemisphere temperate zone can’t even gloat, because you’ll have your winter coming up as well!  Still, we’ve all celebrated at least one New Year’s Day this year, maybe more for people who participate in more than one culture, so let’s look forward with happy anticipation and hope as best we may, since the saying goes that what you get is what you expected to get (otherwise known as the “self-fulfilling prophecy”).  Happy New Year!

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The Scroogiest time of year….and here I thought it was the season of joy and peace!

Hello, my (I hope) loyal readers!  Though I have been away from posting for about two weeks now, and have nothing literary to contribute today, I nevertheless have something to say.  I was at my brother’s in Vermont for an extended period of time over the Thanksgiving break because we were working as a family unit to plant garlic and build a greenhouse and cook meals and watch a young misbehaving (sweetheart) of a dog, and enjoy youthful games with a ten-year-old family member, and other chores and duties.  We were looking down the road to a happy if more economical Christmas holiday break again three weeks from now in Vermont, when we got home today to a nasty surprise:  sometime during our absence, someone had super-glued our condo door, and we couldn’t get in.  We had several days’ groceries with us including frozen foods, which we had picked up on the way back home from our trip, and two large carriers full of luggage and vacation bedding, and we were outside our condo in the hall for nearly two hours while we waited for the locksmith to come.

We found what people’s tried and true selves were as we confronted our dilemma, but not everyone is playing with a clean hand (and some not with a full deck, apparently).  The probable cause of our situation?  There has been for several years now an intimidation factor going on in our condo building, and other people have had packages from the postal service stolen, items on cars damaged, things wrecked, mailbox and now (with us the evident first) condo doors damaged with superglue, among other acts of vandalism.  There have been additional sorts of outrage going on which are harder to pinpoint, and no exact culprit or culprits has been located, because even though the building has several times discussed getting security cameras in the common areas, nothing yet has been done.  This time, because our door was damaged from the hallway (which is a common area) the condo board was gracious enough to take the charge of payment for us.

The root source of all this, in an apparently middle-income to upscale building (depending on how high up you live)?  It’s hard to pinpoint too, except that for several years now there have been two factions in rivalry for the unpaid positions of being on the Board of Trustees, and the additional hired jobs that are decided by the board.  The pot is on the boil, and things have gotten steadily worse.  How did we get involved?  My roommate, who is my mother, a conscientious, highly intelligent, and tactful person with many friends, merely stood up in a meeting and said that we should all try to get along better the way we used to do, and that it would have been odd if the newest elected board members were the ones doing the vandalizing (or any of their contingent friends, or allies), because why would they?  They had gained power by a legitimate election.  She wasn’t taking sides, she was just using her noggin and voicing an opinion.  This was all she said, and someone bided their time and waited until we went out of town and vandalized our door.  Now, it’s useless to point fingers.  In even the best communities, there are people who do damaging things because they are just wacko or wired differently from other people, and each person who has heard about it (with the exception of the one or ones who know they did it themselves) has a slightly different take on who’s guilty.  The police came to take a report and were able to verify that many other incidents had happened in our building in the last few years, and that it wasn’t entirely unusual to find such situations even in otherwise “nice” buildings.  We are finding sympathy everywhere, and empathy among some who’ve had the same thing happen to them.  And this situation is why–despite my mother’s strong and ebullient recovery from the negative surprise–I call this the Scroogiest season.  This is the atmosphere not of fairness and equity which is supposed to obtain in a community like this one, but an atmosphere of special patronage and thuggery.  We don’t live expensively, and had the Board of Trustees not guaranteed my mother repayment of the damage repair costs, it would have been a hardship which hadn’t been figured into the monthly amounts.

Here’s hoping the Christmas season brings the notion of concord and graciousness back to people’s minds, when true friends can be true friends, and enemies can bury the hatchet somewhere other than in each other, and we can all re-learn joy and peace, not just for a short time or a cold winter season when people are lethargic anyway, but for a permanent part of our lives and living arrangements.  And here’s hoping you yourselves are enjoying or are preparing for a lovely holiday of whichever one is yours this year:  may it be a comforting and enlightened one!

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“The greatest pleasure is relief from pain.”–Anonymous

Recently, I’ve had an opportunity to devote some intense thought to the saying in the title of my post, i.e., “The greatest pleasure is relief from pain.”  And while I know that there are many great pleasures in life, some so fine and worth pursuing and enjoying that it’s hard to imagine what could be greater, yet when one is in deep pain from emotional causes or from physical injury, the devout prayers one sends up to whatever being or force one happens to believe in, or the simple secular longing for equilibrium and away from the extremes of pain are so strong that I begin to agree with the anonymous author of my quote.

Now, first of all I must say that no one else is responsible for my quandary vis-à-vis pain.  About a month ago, I over-stretched a muscle or tendon in my left hip, and instead of putting ice and then heat on it in the recommended fashion, decided (or rather simply neglected decision-making altogether) in favor of waiting it out.  It was only a minor mishap, and it would heal, as all my previous mishaps had before.  Only then one night in an equally stupid fit of hubris, I leaned out sideways and down from my new high bed to pick up something I had dropped, and raised myself back up by the inflamed muscle without other support.  My hip had never given me any trouble much before, or when it had–and I had to admit to myself that occasionally I’d felt a twinge when sitting too long in my easy chair–the twinge had always disappeared again.

Loyal to me and my purposes, the hip only fussed a little at me in the next two weeks, but I just ignored it and assumed that it would stop after a while, if only I stayed active.  But then came the real test:  I went on vacation and exerted myself and slept with a heating pad on my back in intervals all night long–and contrary to what I had supposed, and what seemed at first to be working, I should’ve been using ice–until one fine night, after gradually getting worse and worse, the hip and my lower back and waist all combined to overthrow my dominion over pain:  I was actually crying aloud with pain from every movement, however gentle, and could not get up out of bed without it taking me at least ten minutes to do so.  I kid you not.  I sat up for hours at night on the most comfortable couch it’s been my good fortune to meet, with the heating pad still on my back, and yet I had aggravated my anatomy to such an extent that every movement still brought pain.  When my host (my brother) arose the next morning, he asked me “Are you ready for those pain-killers yet?”  He had offered me a strong dose of over-the-counter meds the night before, but I had been too afraid of taking so many pills:  but by the next morning, my whole body was crying out, “F— that, I want those pills!”

It was time to come back home anyway, so I dosed myself up with as much pain medication as was available and I was able to travel for the requisite 3 hours in the car to get to an emergency room near home.  Not that it was pain free:  every jolt and bump and sudden stop on the road was another agony, but luckily I was doped up enough with the pain meds that I didn’t scream out with pain and distract the driver or cause an accident.  Then came the next part of the ordeal:  the examination to make sure that it wasn’t actually my liver or my spleen or my kidneys or my gall bladder or etc.–I knew what it was, but doctors like to hedge their bets (and mine), so I put up with it.  They ended by giving me some stronger prescription muscle relaxant and pain meds, and discharged me.

This story has several morals, the most significant one of which is that as we get older we can no longer assume that our anatomies are going to keep tolerating various abuses as they did when we were younger.  Another is that when you’re in pain, ignore the “stiff upper lip” routine and admit you’re not a superheroine and do something about it.  Finally, when someone offers you relief from pain, unless they are a known felon and pusher (which my brother with his pain pills was not), seriously consider taking the pills the first time they’re offered.  And remember:  every time your vacation to Jamaica is cancelled, or you have to pass up the champagne with dinner because you have a headache, or you don’t get to go to the amusement park as you’d planned, there’s always one pleasure greater than all those things rolled into one that you may someday experience, though at some cost–“The greatest pleasure is relief from pain.”  You can quote me on that!

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What is it about opera? It’s so over-the-top!

And now comes the time for a full confession.  Recently (my last post, in fact) I wrote a bit about being away from home, travelling, and therefore not doing as much posting as usual.  A few weeks ago, I wrote a little post about Monsters’ Den:  Book of Dread and Monsters’ Den Chronicles, which was yet another of my excuses for not posting on my old regular schedule of once every three to four days.  Now is the time finally to make the third part of my tripartite revelation, and say what else I have been doing (partially on my summer vacation) that has taken me away from the posting screen on my computer at WordPress.com.  And that’s listening to opera (and watching it) on my computer on Met Opera on Demand, which is immensely good and more affordable than full stage or screen opera for someone of my limited income, and which fills my very heart with delight.

That is, sometimes my heart is filled with delight.  At other times, my heart is filled with angst, or with bitter remorse as I recall an old relationship in which I acted much as some opera character acts.  Or perhaps moments of fleeting and evanescent passion or joy take center stage, and I allow myself to be pulled along with them, on wings of song (as the saying goes), loving and hating and sympathizing (or empathizing, if the feeling goes deeper) with the characters I see before me.  Just yesterday, as Magda in La Rondine left her lover, Ruggero, I thrilled with response as the young lover repeated over and over again to her “Love!  Don’t leave me alone!  Don’t leave me alone!”  A couple of weeks ago, the Romany Carmen likewise rejected her lover José (who by chance was the same tenor as Ruggero in that later opera I mentioned a moment ago).  But what a difference in attitude the tenor assumed!  Whereas Ruggero was incapacitated with grief and wept what looked like real tears from a reclining position on the floor, when José was once convinced that Carmen meant it, he leapt to his feet and with a final roar of “Carmen!” stabbed her to the heart outside the bullfight ring in Spain, where Carmen had gone to join her new lover, a toreador.  Do I approve?  Do I acquiesce?  Does it seem like a good idea, to watch people behaving like children and barbarians, weeping at length over what can’t be avoided and killing people who fall out of love with them?  I would just ask, do we ever with any drama apply the same rules we do to life?  And the answer is, “No, we don’t.”  Even with comedy, when the Barber of Seville gets up to his pranks and plots for his favorite customers, do we question their morality, and his?  No, we don’t, because we’re too eager to see him succeed!  We love the characters he’s plotting on behalf of, and hope they get their way free and clear.  By whatever means necessary, as government spies are wont to say.

It’s not, of course, that we don’t apply some of life’s rules to drama:  after all, would there be any way of understanding why Azucena in La Trovatore becomes so overwrought with a desire for vengeance that by accident she throws her own child into the fire, intending this end for an enemy’s child?  Or how understand Rigoletto’s final belief in the curse supposedly hanging over him when he exclaims “the curse!” in the final moments of Rigoletto, unless we saw that, true to life, his own character had caused him, in combination with circumstances inflicted upon him, to fall victim to the curse?  How understand the whole concept of Fate as it rules so many of these strange and outré dramas, and how accept the twists and turns of characters not recognizing someone they know well because the person is wearing a new hat or a cape in the comedies, and the mistakes and hilarious happenings that occur because of these?  We have to see that some of these things have actually happened once upon a time in real life, and upon that tiny hinge of possibility, the much larger door of probability swings open for the composers’ and the librettists’ imaginations.  And of course, we make moral judgements, but these judgements are delayed or attenuated into a last-minute resolution only after we have been treated to a full-scale examination of all the passion and humor and exaggerated emotion which can be extracted.

Because, that’s what opera is about more than any other form of drama–exaggeration, going over-the-top, having the full experience of pain or joy or fun in a concentrated form.  And that’s why music is the central part of opera, why music is at the very heart of drama and why the sets are so lavish or at least emphatic even when minimal, why the costumes, even those of a beggar, are gorgeous and grand and picturesque, because the exaggeration of emotion is central here.  Music of all art forms touches us most intimately, and though we are visual creatures, we hear before we can see, and thus the stunning visual effects here play handmaiden to the ear and its domain.

So, that’s what I’ve been doing, and I intend to keep on doing it.  Obviously, the best place to see opera is the venue where it occurs, but not everyone can get to NYC or other famous opera locales, and not everyone can afford a season ticket.  If you’re interested in a huge inexpensive free catalogue of operas to watch and listen to, you can contact metopera.org and either opt for tickets for seeing some of the shows each season at selected movie theatres, or listening on the radio, or watching them on your computer, where as I can attest even those shows which are not in HD are of high quality.  As a novice at this form, however, having seen the occasional opera since my teens on PBS, but knowing little and only learning more now, I prefer to watch what operas I can in order to familiarize myself with the stories and to be able to visualize them; then, when I know what my favorites are, I can elect to hear certain artists I like especially perform on audio alone.  This season, I was able to obtain a subscribership to Met Opera On Demand (viewing and listening on the computer) for only $14.99 a month, and decided it was definitely worthwhile.  I hope you will be interested in doing the same, as opera is one of the few larger-than-life experiences guaranteed, like any art form, to supply drama and humor without personal pain.  I mean, you could be sniffing glue or blowing up buildings, but one would destroy you and the other would destroy other people and landscape, and who wants that, when they could watch Don Pasquale (in the opera of that name) try to work his way free of the toils his new “wife” is winding round him so that she can instead marry his nephew, and hear the nephew’s beautiful and evocative serenade to her from the garden?  There is a certain mercy obtained by living vicariously, and though opera among dramatic forms may not have a total corner on the market of vicarious blessing, it certainly is up there at the top.  What am I saying, though, it’s over-the-top, dramatic, larger than life, all the qualities I’ve discussed above (and now that like many an opera aria I’m beginning to repeat myself, I will just leave off with the coda and hope you may find your way to such pleasures on your own, leaving my recommendation to speak for me).

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Filed under A prose flourish, Other than literary days....

Sorry, no literary post this week….celebrating!

Yes, I know, I promised not so long ago to increase the number of my posts so that I was closer to my original blogging schedule of at least 2-3 posts a week.  But life intervenes, in that inimitable way it has, and right now, I am away from home, waiting for my close relatives to come back from family soccer morning, sharing my solitude with 3 cages full of 8 baby bunnies that my brother and his son–the unforgettable Charles, who earlier if you will recall compared me to “Aunt Josephine” from The Wide Window in A Series of Unfortunate Events because I worry about him–have adopted.  Sad to say, the baby bunnies had sores and worms when they were brought home, which is what occasioned their sympathetic adoption in the first place, but my brother and nephew have treated them and brought them nearly to full health, with only a bit more to go before they can be caged outside in a warm hutch for the winter.

When I was young, I also had a rabbit, and my brother had one, but I didn’t pay much attention to it, or else I’ve forgotten some of its habits.  “The habbits of rabbits,” to coin a phrase, are funny.  They clean their paws, ears, and bodies much like cats, but make a great deal of noise licking and biting the water bottles that are attached to their cages.  They also eat a lot, almost constantly, it seems, though whether this is from boredom or necessity I don’t know:  you’d have to ask the rabbits in question.  They have big appealing brown eyes, and mostly pale, orangish-fawn colored bodies with the usual little white tails, except for the mottled and speckled two of the litter, which have the fawn and dark brown-sepia colored markings.  For some reason, evidently companionable concerns (it can’t be for warmth, since they’re inside the house), they can have a whole cage for space and yet prefer to sleep and cozy right on top of each other when they’re not eating or drinking.  They aren’t big on manners, since often when they’re eating, one or more of them will place both paws in the food bowl, effectively blocking the access of others.

Right now, the males and females are in separate cages, but my brother and nephew aren’t ruling out the possibility of increasing the litter for sale later on.  One thing’s for sure:  rabbits don’t smell like cats and dogs in their “toiletry” habits, which is great, because as long as the cage is clean, they are pleasant animals to keep inside (always barring the noise of their water drinking, which if it weren’t water ingestion would make you think you’d taken in a host of dipsomaniacs).  Another certainly (which my nephew and my brother both assure me of) is that I’m going to have to read Watership Down to fully appreciate rabbit culture.  And there, it’s a literary post in its way after all, with a commitment to read and review later on.  For now, I’m going to celebrate the family birthday we’re here for, and wish you the best until such time as I post again.  Hoppy trails!

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Filed under A prose flourish, Other than literary days....