I first went to the opera when I was in high school. I remember being there in the magnificent building, which I was really impressed by, but the opera itself, not so much. I think that I cozied down into my seat, and, uncharacteristically, took a nap. Years later, again with students, I had the opportunity, and I was thrilled to go, but it had the same effect on me.
What are they singing? Why doesn't anything seem to be happening? Why is it so warm in here? Sleepy, sleepy, sleepy.
But then I discovered Live at the Met on Saturday afternoons. It is the perfect background for mundane tasks. It's theatrical and can move from soft to hard, low to high, in a moment. It matches my breathing as I move from scrubbing to folding to bending over.
I am not sure what it is, but I love the idea that he sits thousands of miles away in his home and does exactly what it is that I'm doing. It's wonderful. And though I knew David for only the hours of a few dinners, I will always have that connection to him. I am tethered to him. It is so much more satisfying than what has become the standard for connection- technology. I much rather my heart feel a pull of the feeling that comes from knowing that I know what he is doing right now even though I can't see him, and will never talk to him again.
How many can say the same for? Many. And in the quiet of an afternoon as I fold towels and listen to the bassoons and tenor play out the scene, my heart is lit up from the strings that hold it around the world.