In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “A Mystery Wrapped in an Enigma.”
When I was young, as with most young children, I hated opera….the music was foreign to my ears,the sounds were over powering, the language incomprehensible and the story was so bizarre…the fat lady never dies. It was just not my thing. My father always loved Pavaroti but when I was a child I would run and play the Beatles. Rolling Stones or whatever other music I thought would annoy him. I played violin and cello in school but it was never cool to be in that cliche so when I finished school I continued on with my life enjoying music as a side interest. My adult life was typical: work, John my partner, traveling, a home in the suburbs, a cottage to escape to on the weekends.
Then one night everything changed. I was at our cottage, the wind was calm. the moon was full…shone on the lake as in a dream, AND I was alone. John was away on a business trip and I was spending some ME time when I decided to play one of my Dad’s CDs. Honestly I can’t even remember what I played or what they were singing about but the sound was engulfing. I was captivated and could not get enough. I played almost every CD I had until late into the night and woke up on the couch with the sun peeking into the room.
I have been to be to a number of live operas, a couple on my own, even a few generic ones with John, the odd simulcast but my favorite experiences are when I am alone. I love turning the lights down, feeling the sounds echo around room, drinking a glass of wine, closing my eyes and singing at the top of my lungs.
But this can only happen when the moon is right, the lights are dark and there is no one in ear shot to hear me. And that is what I love most about opera…but don’t tell anyone.