Have I Left a Mark?

 I try not to write when I am feeling funky, but in the absence of therapy (which I have never undergone, by the way), I feel the need to talk myself out of this,

I'm not the center of anyone's life.  There were only brief moments when I was.  Jefferey (my first husband) loved me to death for a time, and I was probably the center of his universe then.  But I treated him very badly - thought he was not smart enough or clever enough or sophisticated enough, I guess - and then that was over.  And for David, I was an exotic flower, and he loved me, as much as anyone could have.  By the time I met him, I had learned more about what was superficial and what was real.  He was the real deal, and I honored him, and was lucky to have had him.  But he has been dead for 15 years.....

But, you will say, you have so many friends.  And I do.  And I do understand how lucky I am to have them.  But they all, first and foremost, owe their first loyalty to others.  I honor that.  I do.  But it makes me feel, well, untethered.  Was it Bob Dylan (or someone else from the 60's?) who said "freedom is just another word for nothing left to lose..."?   I am, indeed free.  I have no obligations to anyone - no parents, no siblings, no spouse, no children - and my friends don't need me.  I would love to be of use to them, but they have other people to call on, I guess, although I keep offering.

So, I am adrift.  Don't get me wrong.  My life is pretty benign - a lovely place to live, good food (most of the time), good books, good music, good bridge, good conversation....

....but.....

....so, you will say, if you are not feeling useful to those you know, make yourself useful to others.  But there's the rub.  I don't much like the great unwashed out there (still a snob, I guess - I come by it honestly, my parents were both snobs in their different ways...), and would be just as likely to smack them on the side of the head and say "get a life" than to serve them soup.

And why am I such a snob, you might ask.  It is not like my attributes, such as they are, are in such high demand.  That is part of the funk, I suppose.  Now that I am spending more time here, I have been trying to reach out here and there, to expand my circle, with very little success.  Oh, people are friendly enough when I call, and a few Scrabble games and dinners have resulted, but no real connection.

But it has often been thus.  I am still acutely hurt by attempts past - far in the past.  I so looked up to Suzanne and Karen, and wanted to be part of their circle.  But in spite of the fact that they were - are - educated and cultured, they preferred the company of Carolyn, neither cultured nor educated nor even a high school graduate who wouldn't know opera from rap....  the current example have less hero worship, but just as much feeling of exclusion.  Now that I think of it, I am just like my father in his later years....

Maybe I'm just too needy.  People don't like people who are needy.  I try not to sound or act needy, but I guess it shows.  And why am I needy?  Here's the rub.  I've never liked people wo blame their parents or their genes or their upbringing for their circumstances.  But here I am, feeling like damaged goods - or maybe a sociopath - because I can't connect on any real level with other human beings.  Oh, I am polite - sometimes charming even, I like to believe - but not connected.  

Back to the title of this post: have I made a mark?  I am reading a book called "The Invisible Life of Addie Larue (by Victoria Schaab).  It is about a girl in rural, medieval, France, who, in effect, sells her soul to the Devil to escape the prison of the world she was confined to as a young girl in that time and place.  The price extracted by the Devil is that she will live forever, but never make a mark; noone will remember her.  And, frightened and alone, that is what I feel like.  (In spite of the fact that it has obviously depressed me, it is a good book....)

Okay, enough of the pity pot....  I'm 75 years old, for god's sake, it is time to stop caring about whether anyone likes me or not, and acting like a moody teenager.  My life, superficial and self centered as it is, is quite enough, thank you very much.  Things don't have to be that intense; life isn't opera, after all.  (I've always said that opera spoils you for real life,  Maybe I wasn't wrong....)

Please forgive the outburst of self pity.  I will no doubt be over it by the time you read this.  And, in spite of it all, I do very much realize how lucky I am, and am still grateful for whatever part of their lives my friends are willing to give me.....

Back safe and sound

This time the delay was deliberate - I wanted to wait to make sure I hadn't caught anything yucky on my trip before I wrote again.  I seem to be okay, so am reporting in.

The trip to San Francisco was as it should be, uneventful.  Until I got to the San Francisco airport, that is, when my limitations became apparent.  I usually take BART (Bay Area Rapid Transit, for the uninitiated) from the airport to town.  This time, though, by the time I finished the airport sprint, through miles and miles of airport corridors, masked, I could barely breathe.  No, make that I couldn't breathe at all.  It was all I could do to make it to the taxi.  Luckily, the price of a taxi doesn't seem to have gone up at all (at the time that I arrived, Uber was twice as expensive), and by the time I got to the San Francisco Suites, I had my breathe back.

The San Francisco Suites is new for me, so let me explain.  Since Hank died several years ago (Peter's place has been off limits for sleepovers for decades) staying over in San Francisco has been catch-as-catch-can.  For a while, I was staying at the Hays Valley Inn, a b & b a few blocks from the opera, but that has gotten way too expensive.  Enter friend Geoff, who is on the board of the Suites.  It is a time share of sorts; I won't bore you with the details, but a share entitles the owner to a suite for $200 a night, or sometimes less, depending on the circumstances.  That passes for cheap in San Francisco, so I recently "adopted" a share.

The location is great (Powell and Pine, for those of you who know San Francisco), and the rooms are delightful.

The people are great too, more like a b & b (without the breakfast) than a hotel, and I am already looking forward to staying there again.

Friend Geoff happened to be staying there as well, and after wine and cheese in his room, we met friend Peter (previously often mentioned in these pages) at Kokkari for dinner.  Kokkari has been voted best restaurant in San Francisco by the critics, and it is our favorite too.

There's Geoff, below....

... and, of course, Peter

Peter and Geoff are from different parts of my life, but have a lot in common, and get along famously.  And, of course, I love them both.  Great conversation, and, of course, great food...  Generally speaking, I am not one to take pictures of food, but...

..... those are smelts, an appetizer I had been looking forward to since my last visit a number of years ago.  They were even better than I remembered.  The main course was lamb (did I say it was a Greek restaurant?).  All yummy.  Too expensive for regular visits, but still my go-to place for a special occasion.

The next day, Peter introduced me to West Edge Opera. a small opera company which he supports.  With good reason, it turns out (not that I doubted him).  They don't have a permanent home, so it is catch-as-catch-can with venues.  This one was in a small outdoor theater in the East Bay, specifically, Orinda.  They were performing Eliogabalo, by Cavali.  No, I hadn't heard of it either, but as early music operas go, the music was quite wonderful.

As you can see, the location was spectacular...  and the staging - nudity and all - actually worked.

The next day, we headed off for Santa Fe, the main reason for the trip.  Because of the timing of the opera on the subsequent four nights, the first night was the only night we were going to have time for a serious dinner.  We did, at a Mexican restaurant called La Cena.

As you can see, lovely spot...

... and here I am, taking pictures of food again...

....couldn't help myself.  The presentation was so lovely, and yes that is caviar....

The fly in the ointment?  Although I have been to Santa Fe many times before, I forgot about the altitude - 8.000 feet or so?  I couldn't breath during the day, and couldn't sleep very well at night (although the hotel, Drury Plaza was quite adequate).  It slowed me down, but didn't stop me.  Luckily, having been to Santa Fe numerous times, I didn't have any touristy agenda items, just the opera, which we managed quite well.  More about that below.

We did see the cathedral (again), and a number of the museums and galleries in town.

.....spent some time in the plaza....

..... and met up with Stephen, an old college buddy of Peter's, for lunch.

Mexican again, but I have to say that the Mexican food in Santa Fe is very different from the Tex Mex we get in California - much spicier, for starters....

And now, the opera....

As you can see. open air. masks required, and distancing enforced with empty seats between bubbles, so felt quite safe...  The four operas were Mozart's Marriage of Figaro, John Corigliano's The Lord of Cries (a world premier, more about it below). Tchaikovsky's Eugene Onegin (the big draw for me; a favorite  not performed all that often in North America) and Benjamin Britten's Midsummer Night's Dream (not my favorite of Shakespeare;s plays, but you know me - anything Shakespeare will do...).  

The singing was uniformly good - it always is at Santa Fe, the staging mostly so.  The exception, unfortunately, was Eugene Onegin.  The director was American, but otherwise met the definition of Eurotrash - the director getting in the way of the story and the music.

Re The Lord of Cries, the story was a mash-up of Dracula and The Bachae by Euripides - sounds just like something I'd like, right?  (NOT)  Turns out, it was quite wonderful story, music and staging.  I would see it again if it were on offer - although perhaps not too often (too intense).

Going to the opera with Peter is always magical - not only the opera, but Peter's knowledgeable conversation about the opera, the singers, and, of course, music world gossip.  

We flew back to San Francisco the day following the last opera.  I stayed one more night at the Suites, and flew back to Palm Springs the next day.  The visit was undoubtedly a success, but I was happy to get home.  I felt very fragile out there....

The following week included a return to bridge (considering how much I had been playing before the trip, it is amazing I didn't go into withdrawal without it), and dinner at Sami G's with Sue...

It is one of our favorite Italian restaurants in town, and neither of us had been for a long time, so great fun.

And, finally, the long promised book list....

I have been reading (and listening to) lots of trash, including popular novels by David Baldacci and Harlan Coben.  For trash, it is actually pretty well written.  The recurring theme, of course, is the past coming to haunt the present.  Resonates with me.  

Other trash, in the mystery rather than the thriller vein, was The Noel Letters, by Richard Paul Evans, and Transient Desires, by Donna Leon.  The latter is part of a series, set in Venice, and I hope to ultimately read all of them.  Also, read Troubled Blood, by Robert Galbraith, aka JKRowling, very good indeed.  

I had read The Silent Patient by Alex Michaelides some time back.  It was his first novel, and a very intelligent thriller.  His second book, The Maidens, was just as good.  I think we have a winner.

There were a number of rejects:  The best of Elizabeth Hand (highly touted short stories, two thumbs down); Whereabouts, by Indian writer Jhumpa Lahiri (couldn't get into it); and Dark Tides by Philippa Gregory (discovered I had already read it).

On a more serious note, The Premonition: a Pandemic Story, by Michael Lewis.  I would read anything he wrote (and have), and in the current circumstances, this was very worth while.  Hemmet, by Maggie O'Farrell.  This was actually a novel, but based on Shakespeare's life, and, more specifically, on the (short) life of Hammet, his son.  (Shakespeare wrote Hamlet - another form of Hammet in Elizabethan English - shortly after his son's death.  I devour all things Shakespeare, as some of you know.  This was a great addition.

Then This is your Life on Plants, by Michael Pollen.  This one was a disappointment.  I used to like his books, but now he has got a been in his bonnet about psychedelic drugs, and it is getting boring.  Thumbs down.  

Finally, I am reading the ultimate biography of Toscanini, by Harvey Sachs.  I love biographies anyway, but this one is particularly fascinating, involving as it does the whole history of modern opera, not to mention the literary and cultural history of the 20th century (it is amazing to me how much of it is familiar, and like revisiting old friends).  This was given to me by Geoff (see above), and I couldn't be more thrilled.

Well, that's all folks.  As we are all going back into COVID hibernation, I don't know how much there will be to write about, but I will keep you apprised....

Another week (okay, 3) and the world has changed

 

Friend Sue and I went for lunch at Billy Reeds.  Twice.  (Actually, the first time was for dinner....)  Sue had never been there before - I actually don't think she had ever heard of it - and it is one of my favourites - so I had to introduce her to it.   She loves it, and it is so fun when you introduce a friend to one of your favs and she loves it too.  It is really only a glorified diner, but it has been a Palm Springs go- to for forever - it is still on the list!!!!

Also went on Thursday to Encina. for a get together with the bunch from the gym....

... we have these get-togethers five or six times a year, and even the heat of the summer can't stop us!

But all that has stopped now.  The bridge club has "paused" face-to-face games even for the fully vaccinated, to see how the new Delta variant of COVID plays out.  The gym and zumba are still open, but I have paused them, discretion being the better part of valour and all of that.  It is sort of fitting that the gym get-together will be my last (local) outing for a while.  Dorothy's (pictured immediately above) 80th birthday party, in March 2019, was the last outing before everything closed down then....

I am going on an outing, though, previously planned and not readily cancelled.  I am heading out to San Francisco and Santa Fe for opera, and any other cultural events that I can fit into 10 days....  I'm going with Peter, my long time opera buddy.  I will be careful of course, double mask on the plane, etc.  Let's hope for the best.

I will probably not write while I'm gone - I am not taking a computer - and the book list will have to wait.  Can't do it now.

Ta ta for now....

Yesterday was my 75th birthday.  Three quarters of a century - who would have thought?  My birthday line for a while has been, "If I'd known I would live this long, I would have taken better care of myself..."  It still applies..... 

I had a lovely day.  Lots of cards - yes, real cards - and calls and Facebook shoutouts and emails.  The bridge director told everyone in the club, it seems like, and my partner of the day even baked a cake.  And neighbor Michael took me to Norma's at the Parker, an exclusive little spot in the neighborhood.

It was a delightful evening, our first celebrating my birthday (this is the first year I have been here in the summer...)

Between Zumba

... and bridge....

... and the gym, my days are getting fuller. I am also babysitting friend Michael #2's cat, which takes some time.   

I promised you pictures of the house, though...

...... and the neighborhood'''

.

.and now, to bed.  But know that I am grateful for all of the good wishes, and am content.

More anon