Eugene Onegin at The (other) Met
My appreciation for opera owes more than anything else to the Saturday afternoon Texaco broadcasts on CBC 2 (long before it was called that), Live From the Met. My mother was a regular listener, and as children hours of opera was a penance we had to pay if we wanted, say, riding lessons on Saturdays (not that I particularly did, but I had a pony-mad sister). When I left home, I found the habit had become ingrained and puttering about my home with the opera on in the background was a pleasant way to spend Saturday afternoon.
So many years after that, and some slight increase in listening sophistication, it seems natural and inevitable that I should take my mother to the the
Metropolitan Opera here in New York. The Met has a special program for
rush tickets, and since I have the time these days, I lined up before the appointed time and snagged two tickets to
Eugene Onegin for $20 each (since these seats normally start at $110, it's a pretty terrific deal).
Mum in the lobby of the opera house at intermission
The MMA with Mum
My mother is visiting for a short period, and we returned to the Met together. This time for the old masters, and while the crowds were considerably more manageable than during Janet's and my visit at New Year's, this was offset by some of the galleries being closed. I didn't bring a good camera, only my phone, but I did manage to add to my collection of
Dogs in Art.
Chris Howard
I made a sudden trip back to Toronto last weekend. A friend of mine, the husband of one of my best friends from high school, fell off his roof while adjusting his satellite dish. For most people undertaking this in February would have been beyond foolhardy, but in Chris's case - as an experienced and respected film industry gaffer (here's his
IMDB entry) used to performing miracles of electrical contrivance every day - I would only have said beforehand that it was perhaps a little unwise.
His wife used the web to tell his friends and colleagues about his coma, removal from life support, and eventual funeral details. With more than 1000 members, the Friends of Chris Howard group on Facebook proved a very effective tool for getting the word out. I don't know how many people there will be in the Friends of Miles O'Reilly, but it won't be anywhere near a thousand.
While many of those friends were in Hollywood and elsewhere in the film world, that many people and more attended the memorial service. It was held in a sound stage at Filmport Studios, and was standing room only.
Chris was a person so warm, kind and gregarious that fifteen minutes after you've met him you want to say "oh stop trying so hard"; but eventually you realize there's nothing forced about it, that really is his personality. Chris's sudden death has been an earthquake event, a revelation that solid things we take as for granted as the ground under our feet are insubstantial and ephemeral. My closest friends are shaken and reeling; I can't imagine what this experience has been for my dear friend and her daughter.
Mum in the lobby of the opera house at intermission
