Tasting my first opera

I spotted my seat. There was only one woman sitting in the row, an 80 year old lady wearing a old black sweater with a smattering of sequins towards the top. I sat down and said hello. She answered quietly back. I looked around to see if she was waiting for someone. I wondered if she didn't want to talk.

Being the total American that I was raised to be, (especially with Kathy "I can have a stimulating conversation with a brick wall" Schultz for a mom) I couldn't keep mum for long.

"Have you been to this before?" I was trying to imply "La Boheme" but was afraid I would botch the pronunciation.

"Lots of times, in different countries. My father was Italian." She had a soft voice with a thick accent, kind dark eyes behind her bifocals and faded short, dyed black hair. "Is this your first opera?"

I said it was. I'd tried to go when I was a student but it was a dress rehearsal, so they didn't sing fully. I fell asleep. It's taken me about 8 years to give it another try.

The seats filled in around us. Barely a spare to be seen.

She talked about the trains in Switzerland where she grew up, then moving to Africa and losing two children there. Next, she and her husband were off to Holland, where they didn't last because it was too full of tall people and buildings, and she couldn't see. She suggested New Zealand to her husband. That was 35 years ago, when there were no tall buildings and the coffee was like swamp water.

The lights dimmed. The orchestra finished tuning.

The stage curtain came up to reveal a modern stage with translation projected above. I'd read the synopsis beforehand so I wouldn't be lost, but it was a simple and overly romantic plot. I don't think I would have been lost.

At intermission the lights in the house came on, and then abruptly went off, so we had to feel our way out of the auditorium. My lady friend said she'd read that they were trying to save electricity. We laughed. She went off to get ice cream and I got a coffee before we ended up back in our seats for the second half. When the final curtain dropped, we went our own ways.

"Good luck in your next few years!" She padded my arm as she walked away.

"It was wonderful talking to you."

I emerged feeling still and peaceful under the streetlights as walked toward the waterfront where I'd catch the bus home.

I love music first for the music itself and later, if it's really good, for the lyrics. I think the opera was really moving for the same reasons- enjoying the beauty of the singing, rather trying to comprehend it. So much can be said without words.

I can't wait for the next one.