Opera and Baseball

Opera first. Brian Thorsett and Katie Calcamuggio had their recitals at the Otesaga Hotel yesterday afternoon. These were the two young singers for whom I staged a Britten Canticle. I felt more involved in this rectial than I did for the others because I had such a stake in the staging and presentation. It was kind of fabulous to be so entrenched.

The recitals went very well. I sat in one of the deep, bright windowsills along the back wall and continued to wipe my palms on my pants as they became sweaty through the hour and a half of music. As always, I felt like a mother hen watching and crossing my fingers that everything went well. I was so proud of them at the end. They had a lovely reception with hoots and hollers and an endless receiving line of hugs, photos and cheering outside of the hall - very well deserved. Brian tried to get me to come up and bow with them and I just didn't feel right. I blew them kisses from the back of the house - my contribution seemed small and I was more than happy to give them that moment. My need for fame and recognition has dissipated as I've gotten older. I think it's when it's not even offered that I become sore about it.

The recital was the last big moment I have here. From now until Wednesday it's only two more shows. One has a chorus member missing but we've solved most of the problems surrounding that and so I think it will be minimal maneuvering to make it all work.

Home is looming large and lovely.

Now baseball. Earlier in the day I finally succumbed to the Baseball Hall of Fame in Cooperstown. I've been here two summers and never gone and I'm actually really glad that my roommate suggested it. I forget how much baseball figures into every Midwestern American life. I knew more names than I thought, was fascinated by the history and had many flashbacks of my brother's Little League games, Jim Eisenreich signing baseballs at the Royals field, beer and hotdogs at Wrigley Field and spending an entire summer in Aspen watching Braves games with my bunhead roommate, Maggie.

Particularly fascinating were the Negro League exhibit, the Women in Baseball exhibit and the little pass-through room on Babe Ruth, who is so mythic at this point that he exists for many of the younger generations as a Paul Bunyan-esque creature. And I think that was what was so fascinating about the museum itself. Baseball persists because it is entrenched in myth and "whopper" stories that kids still hear and tell. Whether fans or not, most people have heard of Shoeless Joe, Babe Ruth, Lou Gherig and so many others. Not many other American sports have that kind of cultural spread.

A worthwhile morning.