More Music, Mostly

M declared this morning that this better be a pretty good post since it's been so long. Sigh, I don't think I'm going to live up to that, but here goes.

Last week, my horoscope recommended that I mix things up a bit with my routine. Which I know is good for me, but is sometimes hard--I love me my ruts. So instead of starting last Saturday morning with chores as is my wont, I popped "Veer Zaara" into the DVD player and settled into the TV room for what I thought would be a somewhat depressing tale of love set amid the political hostilities of India and Pakistan. Turned out to be very high quality Bollywood, so I was treated to just over three hours of bright Kodachrome vistas of fields, flowers, and festivals, sparkling candy-colored saris flitting through what must be the North Fork of Lahore, and the stylized duets that fill this film genre. It had more plot and higher production values than most of the other Bollywood movies I've seen, which I appreciated.

One of my favorite things was, during one of the festival numbers, the hero's Hindu uncle asking his wife (in song, of course) to marry him again for the next seven "births" (of course she sings back that he has to give up drinking, cards, and cricket in this life!). Similarly, the heroine's Muslim mother, as she is tearfully bidding farewell to the hero for gracefully giving up her daughter to the arranged fiancé, says that though it is against her religion, she will pray to Allah to give Zaara to him in the next "birth." I've always heard it translated as "life" rather than "birth" and I really like that new perspective, as though it's just the beginning that you receive again--what you do with the rest of it is up to you. It also reminded me about reincarnation, wondering how having the belief that you'd be back on earth for a few more generations would affect your actions in your current existence.

Last Sunday, M and I had free tickets to see a charming Italian pianist, Antonio Pompa-Baldi play at our local "cultural center" as the freeway sign designates the hall, and it was a wonderful event. We had seats in the balcony and slightly to the side, so we had a great view of the keyboard, the polished wood of the instrument was a mirror for his left hand. M giggled through many of the numbers that reminded him of episodes of Bugs Bunny cartoons, but I enjoyed that too.

On Thursday, we took in our first production at our local junior college (what's taken me so long?)--"Guys and Dolls." They did a wonderful job, particularly the singing and dancing by the Guys. There were two songs that weren't in the movie version, so it was nice to hear some new pieces, in addition to my favorites--there are so many wonderful songs in that show! It was pleasant just being in the theater, too--it's a fairly old one, so comfortable seats with enough legroom for M. There were a few students in the audience, but a lot of folks who looked like they may have attended school when the auditorium was new. I do love the energy of live performances. As we left the theater, at nearly 11:00 p.m. on a Thursday (gasp!) night, two enormous owls swept by overhead, their pale wings illuminated by the enormous new campus clock tower.

In other news: We spent several evenings after work this week cleaning the house in anticipation of the appraiser's arrival yesterday morning. She didn't give M any inkling about the results, so we're just going to have to wait until next week for the news about whether or not we can refinance. However, it's a wonderful thing starting the weekend with a clean house. Since it's been a year since my melanoma excision, I went for a visit to my dermatologist on Wednesday. Never a fun appointment, but I am still cancer free, which is always welcome news. As a bonus, he removed a large skin tag, which M had often referred to as my parasitic twin, so I'm feeling a little sleeker, at least externally. These past few weeks have brought out the first round of roses, and Mr. Lincoln in particular is having a very good season. The welcome rain that arrived yesterday has been dashing some of the blossoms into the grass, which is sort of pretty in its own way. We're short on chores and plans for the weekend, so maybe the precipitation is a hint that we should hunker down in front of the boob tube for a couple of days, maybe throw in a culinary project or two.

By the way, did you read that Britain's poet laureate receives, as part of the post's remuneration for the decade-long appointment, a butt of sack (meaning, approximately 600 bottles of sherry)? That's a great phrase to know--can't wait to drop a "butt of sack" into a conversation--in addition to the fact that payment in booze is something that just doesn't happen often enough.

M has proposed a Costco run, so off we go…