Il Trovatore

A few highlights from date night. First, dinner at Shiki Sushi in Queen Anne, then to the top floor of McCaw Hall for Il Trovatore at Seattle Opera.

I won't attempt to synopsize this complicated plot. I'll just note that the story hinges on a gypsy's fateful mistake when she tosses the wrong baby into the fire, a few plot twists, then finally (spoiler alert) the requisite dead lovers, left lifeless on stage as the curtain drops.

We shared the evening with a number of enthusiastic opera fans. The couple behind us found Il Trovatore to be a rauckous comedic romp, in spite of the subtle scenic clues, such as bodies hanging over the stage. And the dude next to us took every opportunity to emote and cheer. But it's good to see such a passionate, engaged audience. The performance culminated, as is the case with so many Seattle arts events, with a standing ovation (deserved or not). The soprano was quite pinched in the upper registers, but the audience loved her nonetheless. We reserve our highest praise for the mezzo-soprano (my fav), and the tenor (Greg's).

[disclaimer: the audio here is not from Saturday's performance; it is from a lush recording featuring Rosalind Plowright, soprano, conducted by Carlo Maria Giulini, Coro e orchestra dell'Accademia Nazionale di Santa Cecelia, 1984.]

Delicious chili mac

Although I'm ambivalent about uttering aloud the phrase 'chili mac', it was, in fact, delicious. It was another desperation dinner based on avoiding a trip to the grocery store, but this is a good recipe to riff on and integrate into your culinary vocabulary, thereby eliminating the need for a Delicious bookmark. Though we didn't follow the recipe religiously, we did meet the spirit of the dish, which turned out very much like something we would have called 'goulash' in grade school. And on a chilly, damp evening, that's more than good enough for me. Bonus: leftovers for lunch for both of us.

Making Delicious stuff, round one

I'm making stuff that I've bookmarked in my Delicious account, but apparently, that doesn't mean that it will all be delicious. This I learned in my first make, a recipe for roasted carrot spread. I know, I hear a couple of you lamb-eating, bacon-grubbing friends out there groaning already. And you would be affirmed in your skepticism, because on a scale of 1-10, this recipe gets a 'meh'. Think hummus, but with carrots instead of garbanzos. Might have been better with a little dried tomato or something acidic to bring out the sparkle in the carrots. Oh well, there's one link I can delete from my Delicious account (good thing, cuz I just added three more).

My Make Delicious Stuff Challenge

Holy crap, I haven't posted since 2008?! Oh well, I don't believe in apologizing for not blogging, unless you're in charge of keeping the nation informed about the flu epidemic or have a cookie-of-the-week blog or something like that. But it's the start of the new year, one that I'm starting out with a cold, so I am looking for something to do, besides eat, while stoned on Alka Seltzer Plus. But I'm also filled with that new year spirit of starting something new, and hoping to create more balance in my life through creative pursuits.

I feel like making something. I often do. Something pretty, usable, useless, small, giftable, edible, glittery, something, anything. But I tend to get in my own way by researching, planning, collecting, contemplating, rather than making. My Delicious account is evidence of this. So my little project, for as long as I feel like it, at whatever intervals I feel like, is to make stuff that I've bookmarked in my Delicious account. Cookies, granny squares, paper garlands, pincushions, handmade books...who knows what I'll manifest into material world from those 1300+ bookmarks? I'll post my productions, small, stolen, improvised, failed or gorgeous. Wanna join me? What's in your Delicious account, forgotten inspiration, waiting to emerge?

Mark Mader, 1948-2008

I met Mark for the first time in his temporary apartment near the Space Needle. He was living at Pete Gross House, an apartment building for people receiving care at Seattle Cancer Care Alliance. He was about to undergo an experimental treatment for multiple myeloma, a type of blood cancer. Greg and I were meeting with him to learn about the treatment, and how we would support him as his 24/7 paid caregivers over the next several weeks.

Mark was tall. Really tall. He said he was around 6'5", but had shrunk since he had been ill, originally measuring in at 6'9". He had that shrugging, curved posture of the very tall, compensating for everyone else's depleted altitudes, often shining up there with a bright, welcoming, open-mouth smile.

Mark was a lifelong friend of my partner's mother, and brother to Gregory. My partner, Gregory Mark, is the namesake of this brotherhood of dry-land farmers in the Palouse in Eastern Washington. Now, what comes to mind when you think "farmer"? Overalls and pitchfork? Well, replace those overalls with a Speedo, add a bald head, lean frame, and that big smile, and you'll get closer to the picture.

In spite of Mark's 'be here now' presence, he would have always rather have been in the water. When the crops lay fallow in the winter, Mark was happily swimming in the warm ocean waters of Kona. He was a world-class swimmer in college, and continued coaching young swimmers for the rest of his life. Greg and I were appalled when he told us that he scuba dived solo, a no-no for divers who follow the rules. But Mark would have rather died out there than here on land, unencumbered by a buddy, washed out in the tepid seas. My theory is that Mark decided to live long enough to catch the swimming events of this year's summer Olympics. Only then could he rest.

Mark liked the Toyota RAV-4, which could accommodate his height while hauling a load. He liked the organic yogurt that he got at the co-op, the one with active cultures. He like pretty women, and he always knew what the weather was in Pullman. He liked to be prepared and equipped. He liked a good soft-boiled egg. Once, not long after his second round of treatment began, I made him a lunch of canned chicken noodle soup and saltines. You would have thought I had just perfectly grilled a grass-fed steak from his favorite rancher. At that point, he was just happy to have an appetite and the facility to eat and enjoy it.

I didn't know Mark well at all. I'm hardly one to write a remembrance. But so many people around the country did know and love him well. As Greg and I stayed with him during his treatment, we spent much of our time listening to him on the phone, updating his vast network of friends who devotedly checked in on him and wished him well. I'm grateful that Mark didn't suffer for long, and I'm sorry for the loss that his friends and family must endure.

Mark died in his home on September 4, 2008.

Cork in it

When I started a blog, I vowed to never apologize for lapses in blogging, a pet peeve of mine as an avid blog reader. I'm not gonna start now. But Tasha said she was tired of rereading the Tosca post, yo, so I'm dusting off my Blogger password.

This month's hobby, and for a few months to come, is sorting through my belongings and paring them down to the essentials. We may be moving in the fall and after living here for eight years, longer than I've ever lived in any home, I'm not underestimating the scale of the task at hand.

Today's disposal: wine corks. As a crafter, I harbored the believe that something aesthetically fascinating would eventually come from these bite-sized beauties. But no such project has revealed itself. So when I read about this company in Missouri that makes tiles from wine corks, I knew my orphan corks had found their destiny. I'll send off my little shoebox-o-corks on Monday, but I'll hold on to the memories, fuzzy as they may be, of the many bottles we consumed to make those tiles.

Tosca

We were fortunate to take in another highly anticipated evening at the opera this week. This time, Puccini's Tosca at Seattle Opera.

We thoroughly enjoyed the performance, which featured Lisa Daltirus in the title role, and some dude in the orchestra who really got to blow his trombone. Not quite the light-hearted romp that was La Boheme, which was sweet and funny in spite the whole fatal illness thing, it nevertheless delivered with drama and exceptional musicianship. Tosca is an opera singer, and as in La Boheme, the lead tenor plays an artist. The drama features the requisite gruesome twists to the evening's entertainment: there's murder, attempted rape, prison torture, execution, and suicide, followed immediately by giddy applause as the curtain falls. It's a lot like headline news, but with fabulous costumes and beautiful music.

My only complaint was the two 25-minute intermissions. Perhaps the $8 glasses of wine and $2.50 "honor coffee" comprise an important revenue stream, but these long intermissions seemed excessive. Granted, my attention span is large, as is my bladder, so perhaps I'm better suited evolutionarily to endure the long performance. But perhaps the second intermission could be a bit shorter, say 15-minutes, especially considering that the third act was shorter than the intermission.

In any case, all this quality time allowed us to brainstorm innovative alternatives to intermission, revisioning them as halftime activities for fan interaction. We've both served stints in the world of non-profit development, so we're sensitive to the monetary challenges that face arts organizations. Greg offered that the opera might employ halftime entertainers that we enjoy at NBA games. Anyone who has seen Red Panda at a Sonics game can testify to the spellbinding entertainment she provides by balancing bowls on her head while straddling a Yao Ming-height unicycle.

But our key contribution to solidifying the allegiance of Seattle Opera-goers is the t-shirt cannon. It's just what the doctor ordered for an audience wearied by arias of tragedy. The man-beast for the job, of course, is Squatch, who may be looking for work soon. Furthermore, the t-shirt cannon, in addition to delivering exhilaration, can also deliver any soft promotional item, from hot dogs to logo lap blankets, all the way up to the nosebleeds, I mean, the second tier. Add some pumpy "hooked on Wagner" music and young dancers in Spandex, and you've got a recipe for maximum donor excitement.

(BTW, if anyone at Seattle Opera is listening, offering tickets to a young blogger might provide an innovative approach to attracting the interest of new audiences while generating discussion about opera as a vibrant, contemporary art form. Just an idea...)