We took the early morning train from Providence, using coupons from past Letters from Farklempt to the CEO of Amtrak. What can I say? The bathrooms were clean, the train was on time, we had good seats. Nothing to complain about.
We went directly to Lincoln Center, had some great (but pricey) sushi across the street at Sushi a go-go, and went to the City Opera's new production of Britten's The Rape of Lucretia. It's set for only 8 actors (one man and one woman sit on a sofa as the chorus) and 13 instruments in the orchestra. It was planned as a chamber opera over which Britten could maintain full control, without having to deal with the management of a large opera house. At the City Opera, they use mikes, which are not intrusive, but allow a production like this to work. We had 4th row seats, so the action, music, and sentiment came across easily. Costumes were 1930's, the Etruscans dressed like Nazis. No tunes here to hum on the way home. The melodic lines are full of strange intervals. Trios and quartets offer some interesting writing. The acting was gripping. All right, I slept through most of the first act (too much sake), but the second act held my attention. It was a tour de force for the company, but it was a tour I could have done without. And I can now tell the New York literati that I have seen it.
A short cab drive took us to 3rd Street. Jonathan was planting in the yard, teaching Josie the names of all the flowers and herbs.
Jonathan and Marjorie went out for the evening, and we played with Josie, who is entertaining, funny, and now verbal enough to make all her wants known. She knows all the colors, she counts, she names all the vegetables. The most amazing thing is her memory, she will associate to and recall events and people, and tell you about them in her pidgin English, with two and three-word sentences.
We gave her supper, including her first taste of Daniele mortadella, which she sniffed, savored, and smooshed into her mouth.
On To Sunday