Last night, Rena and I christened the kitchen by having a dinner party. I am proud to say our tandem entertaining skills bode well for a long happy future together as roommates!
The idea of a dinner party started because Kevin was in town for a visit on his way home from Bregenz, and we wanted to do something festive before he left for the USA today (by the way, Kevin, we miss you already). Of course, it did briefly occur to us that we have been in Basel for five minutes and might have trouble finding people to invite...
So, Rena asked her two friends and I asked two new acquaintences and Voila! Instant party of 7. Normally, I don't like odd numbers at dinner parties--but Rena and I have only 7 dinner plates, so it was meant to be.
Because we wanted our food to match our furniture, we served swedish meatballs from Ikea--which, are incidentally, fool-proof and delicious. Rena made some roasted potatoes that were coated in a yummy garlic paste. I was responsible for the salad (with home-made honey ginger salad dressing). Kevin provided the dessert. It was truly a family effort.
Our guests were kind enough to bring wine, which we tore through with gusto. The atmosphere was convivial and the conversation flowed without effort--mostly in English, but sometimes in German and Spanish. It truly did my heart good. There's something so wonderful about throwing a good party.
I love my place in Philadelphia, but that's one thing I regret about my little studio. My condo is the perfect size (and mortgage payment!) for me. I can squeeze in one guest, MAYBE two, if we really like each other. But 7 people for dinner? We'd have to spill out into the hallway all the way down to the elevators. We'd have to have hors d'oeuvres on the bed and dessert on the windowsill. The maddening irony is that in Philadelphia, I have service (on matching plates, no less) for 8.
So, while I'm here in Basel and have both a roommate who is an ex-chef (you should see her dice a head of garlic!) and an apartment big enough to entertain in, I'm going to milk it for all it's worth!
Friday, August 27, 2010
Sunday, August 22, 2010
Bregenz, Rena and Zen Master Pete
This has been a pretty good week.
Mom left to go home to Philly on Tuesday, but before she braved the 9-hour trek across the ocean, we went to Bregenz to see Aida. I loved every minute of it! Of course, it helped that my two friends Arnold Rawls and Kevin Short were singing the night we saw the show, but honestly--it was good. Despite all I'd heard about the show, it was still a spectacle for which I wasn't prepared. The stage was built for this production from the ground up--or, from the water up, actually, since the stage sits amphitheater-style on Lake Constance. The singers are often asked to swim to their entrances! As one might imagine, the demands that these conditions place on the performers are extreme--but the cast rose to the challenge and delivered an exciting evening of opera.
After spending the weekend with Kevin and Arnold, and then seeing Mom off in Zurich on Tuesday, I had about a day and a half in Basel on my own before my new roommate, Rena arrived. It's been wonderful to have (English-speaking!) company to brave the new world of Basel with, and we are getting along swimmingly. She's here working with the Theater Basel, so her life here will no doubt become way more hectic in the next few weeks--but for now, we are both lounging in the living room, enjoying a lazy Sunday afternoon, and typing away on our respective computers. I think they call this parallel play.
Rena has a dog. His name is Pete (or Petey) (short for Pitufo, which means Smurf in Spanish, Rena tells me). He is a Shih-Tzu. Here he is, in all his glory:
Besides a little jet-lag which caused poor Rena to have to walk him at 4am Thursday night, Pete has settled into his new life in Basel like a real champ. He takes real joy in life, and has (thankfully) incorporated me into his definition of home quite quickly.
He does lots of cute little dog things. I could spend five or six paragraphs telling you all the cute things he's done since Thursday--but I think this one example will be the best proof of his fantastic nature:
Friday night, the household was getting ready for bed. Rena, I think, was in the bathroom taking a shower. Pete found himself without a friend, so he padded his way into my bedroom and looked up at me. I was in bed, studying Adriana Lecouvreur, which is something I seem to be doing constantly these days. He put his front paws on the bed and made a half-hearted attempt to jump up, which was, I now believe, his way of asking me to pick him up. I did. He pawed at the covers, leaned up against my right thigh, lay down, and promptly curled up into a furry doughnut and fell asleep. All this took less than 10 seconds.
Pete is a revelation, especially for someone like me who is trying desperately to live in the moment, to trust, and to experience life with complete abandon.
Thank you, Cosmos, for sending me this consummate example of Zen living! I can't wait to see what other lessons you have in store for me.
Mom left to go home to Philly on Tuesday, but before she braved the 9-hour trek across the ocean, we went to Bregenz to see Aida. I loved every minute of it! Of course, it helped that my two friends Arnold Rawls and Kevin Short were singing the night we saw the show, but honestly--it was good. Despite all I'd heard about the show, it was still a spectacle for which I wasn't prepared. The stage was built for this production from the ground up--or, from the water up, actually, since the stage sits amphitheater-style on Lake Constance. The singers are often asked to swim to their entrances! As one might imagine, the demands that these conditions place on the performers are extreme--but the cast rose to the challenge and delivered an exciting evening of opera.
After spending the weekend with Kevin and Arnold, and then seeing Mom off in Zurich on Tuesday, I had about a day and a half in Basel on my own before my new roommate, Rena arrived. It's been wonderful to have (English-speaking!) company to brave the new world of Basel with, and we are getting along swimmingly. She's here working with the Theater Basel, so her life here will no doubt become way more hectic in the next few weeks--but for now, we are both lounging in the living room, enjoying a lazy Sunday afternoon, and typing away on our respective computers. I think they call this parallel play.
Rena has a dog. His name is Pete (or Petey) (short for Pitufo, which means Smurf in Spanish, Rena tells me). He is a Shih-Tzu. Here he is, in all his glory:
Besides a little jet-lag which caused poor Rena to have to walk him at 4am Thursday night, Pete has settled into his new life in Basel like a real champ. He takes real joy in life, and has (thankfully) incorporated me into his definition of home quite quickly.
He does lots of cute little dog things. I could spend five or six paragraphs telling you all the cute things he's done since Thursday--but I think this one example will be the best proof of his fantastic nature:
Friday night, the household was getting ready for bed. Rena, I think, was in the bathroom taking a shower. Pete found himself without a friend, so he padded his way into my bedroom and looked up at me. I was in bed, studying Adriana Lecouvreur, which is something I seem to be doing constantly these days. He put his front paws on the bed and made a half-hearted attempt to jump up, which was, I now believe, his way of asking me to pick him up. I did. He pawed at the covers, leaned up against my right thigh, lay down, and promptly curled up into a furry doughnut and fell asleep. All this took less than 10 seconds.
Pete is a revelation, especially for someone like me who is trying desperately to live in the moment, to trust, and to experience life with complete abandon.
Thank you, Cosmos, for sending me this consummate example of Zen living! I can't wait to see what other lessons you have in store for me.
Friday, August 13, 2010
Unknown Quantities
Most of the time, I love the variety of my life. Sometimes, however, it can be very disorienting.
I'm having one of those weeks. Not bad, actually--just surreal. This time last week, I was firmly tucked into a tour of an opera I know like the back of my hand. I was required to sing my part in that opera 3 or 4 times per week. I spent every day with the same people, who were likewise employed to perform on (or manage) the tour. I had a schedule. I knew exactly what was expected of me and how to fulfill those expectations. I got paid regularly. Life was simple.
Now, less than a week after the tour is over, I am suddenly living in Switzerland. I am writing this from my new bedroom in Basel, which is sparsely but lovingly decorated by me with items bought two days ago at Ikea. I have made plans to live for at least the next 4 months in a city where I know nobody, have no contacts or job, and don't speak the language. My life is no longer simple.
What am I doing???
I should admit that all this madness was planned by me, and has a kind of method. I've moved into my friend Kevin's apartment. Kevin is away singing alot, so he's sublet a bedroom to me at a price I can afford, and I will forever be grateful. He and my mother both were here to help me move in on Monday. I've moved to Basel with the hope of making musical contacts in Europe. My goal (necessarily so, I think) is vast in its scope, nebulous and open-ended. I don't have the foggiest idea where this adventure will lead me or how long it will take (or even what it will look like if I ever achieve it!). All these unknown quantities are freaking me out a little.
Everything is suddenly messy: no schedule, nobody to report to, no expectations except my own. I am building the framework of this production as I go, as opposed to being a cog someone else's production. I liked being a cog. The pay was better, for starters!
What am I DOING???
I keep asking myself this question. Over and over again. I began asking it, I think, when I realized that all my friends and colleagues who were on the tour with me are now at home with their families, posting pictures of tour on Facebook, and moving on with their real lives. I asked it at the Ikea as I picked out a new comforter cover, and recognized the fabrics of covers I already own at "home" in Philadelphia. I asked it this morning, sitting at the tram stop with a map in my lap, listening to people speaking German that sounded like Dutch, and Italian that sounded like German, and not understanding a word of any of it.
Being a cog is much less lonely. In a good production, there are lots of cogs to rub up against. So far, my Swiss production is just me.
WHAT AM I DOING???
I guess the only answer I can give is that I'm following that brave kernel of my imagination that can see past the unknown quantities. When I am not worrying about how to meet these people I've come all the way here to meet, all the money I'll spend in the process and how lonely I'll be when Mom goes home--when I'm not trying to write the end of this story before it begins, I can see that this might be a good thing for me. It will make me stronger if I let it. I think that this Swiss adventure has something to teach me--maybe many things.
The first thing I'm learning is that the unknown is scary to me. Maybe this chapter of my life will teach me to enjoy the page I'm on, and not to worry so much about how the story will end. The glory of this story might just be in the writing of it.
I'm having one of those weeks. Not bad, actually--just surreal. This time last week, I was firmly tucked into a tour of an opera I know like the back of my hand. I was required to sing my part in that opera 3 or 4 times per week. I spent every day with the same people, who were likewise employed to perform on (or manage) the tour. I had a schedule. I knew exactly what was expected of me and how to fulfill those expectations. I got paid regularly. Life was simple.
Now, less than a week after the tour is over, I am suddenly living in Switzerland. I am writing this from my new bedroom in Basel, which is sparsely but lovingly decorated by me with items bought two days ago at Ikea. I have made plans to live for at least the next 4 months in a city where I know nobody, have no contacts or job, and don't speak the language. My life is no longer simple.
What am I doing???
I should admit that all this madness was planned by me, and has a kind of method. I've moved into my friend Kevin's apartment. Kevin is away singing alot, so he's sublet a bedroom to me at a price I can afford, and I will forever be grateful. He and my mother both were here to help me move in on Monday. I've moved to Basel with the hope of making musical contacts in Europe. My goal (necessarily so, I think) is vast in its scope, nebulous and open-ended. I don't have the foggiest idea where this adventure will lead me or how long it will take (or even what it will look like if I ever achieve it!). All these unknown quantities are freaking me out a little.
Everything is suddenly messy: no schedule, nobody to report to, no expectations except my own. I am building the framework of this production as I go, as opposed to being a cog someone else's production. I liked being a cog. The pay was better, for starters!
What am I DOING???
I keep asking myself this question. Over and over again. I began asking it, I think, when I realized that all my friends and colleagues who were on the tour with me are now at home with their families, posting pictures of tour on Facebook, and moving on with their real lives. I asked it at the Ikea as I picked out a new comforter cover, and recognized the fabrics of covers I already own at "home" in Philadelphia. I asked it this morning, sitting at the tram stop with a map in my lap, listening to people speaking German that sounded like Dutch, and Italian that sounded like German, and not understanding a word of any of it.
Being a cog is much less lonely. In a good production, there are lots of cogs to rub up against. So far, my Swiss production is just me.
WHAT AM I DOING???
I guess the only answer I can give is that I'm following that brave kernel of my imagination that can see past the unknown quantities. When I am not worrying about how to meet these people I've come all the way here to meet, all the money I'll spend in the process and how lonely I'll be when Mom goes home--when I'm not trying to write the end of this story before it begins, I can see that this might be a good thing for me. It will make me stronger if I let it. I think that this Swiss adventure has something to teach me--maybe many things.
The first thing I'm learning is that the unknown is scary to me. Maybe this chapter of my life will teach me to enjoy the page I'm on, and not to worry so much about how the story will end. The glory of this story might just be in the writing of it.
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