Today I got a bee in my bonnet to go over to the little antique mall near my office and buy a vintage Paris souvenir. Like a little porcelein Eiffel Tower or something. Or even a vintage postcard.
I found nothing like that, but did find this fantastic thing.
After asking myself “Does this spark joy?”* (heck yeah!), I bought it and can’t wait to put it to use for its intended purpose (after a bath and getting a certain box out of storage).
*with thanks to Marie Kondo.
Sent via carrier pigeon
Collect All Nine!
This afternoon was the final matinee. I did see them all. All the swans, and princes, and evil sorcerers, and drunken tutors, and other assorted characters of the royal court. Nine shows.
Oh, the swans. So incredibly otherworldly beautiful. The assembled flock, and their tragic queen. Every time.
Last Sunday’s show was the pinnacle of my ballet audience member experience so far.
The last three of the run were also highlights.
Carla Körbes made me cry every time she did that little fluttery thing with her foot at the end of the second act pas de deux. And pretty much throughout her final performance on Saturday. But I thought last Sunday’s was the best, for both her and her prince Karel Cruz,* in every possible way. I am so fortunate to have seen her dance over the past couple of years. My heart breaks a little more remembering that this was the last time I’ll see her in Swan Lake. (She’s retiring from PNB at the end of this season.)
(*Click here for a brief sample of the incredible Karel Cruz.)
And all three of this run’s swan queens made me cry in their final moments floating away on that glorious Tchaikovsky.
I’m sad to leave this enchanted world for a few more years, but also a bit exhausted. That’s 27 hours of Swan Lake right there.
And broke, at least until the escrow money from the sale of my condo comes through. Between the tickets and the house rental, Swan Lake-ation has basically cost a security deposit and first month’s rent for an apartment. But I wanted this experience and I don’t regret it.
So today, for probably the last time, I was in the tiny condominium apartment I purchased almost eight years ago, and for which the sale closure is imminent. I was there for a final wash-up (after emptying my dusty storage unit in the parking garage below) and vacuum. And to say goodbye to the place in which I have lived longest in my life, where Muki and Lila Bean both died, where I had high hopes that were somewhat disappointed, where I packed in as many compact discs and books as one probably can comfortably pack into 516 square feet of living space. Where I loved watching the Bradford pear tree grow, bloom in the spring and green up in the summer. The morning light, that beautiful morning light. And the afternoon light that reflected off the glass of buildings just east and uphill right into my east-facing windows. That always felt like an unexpected bonus. The chimneys across the street. Bus lines #10 and #11. The clouds, especially on a blue sky with cumulus kind of day. Where I did laundry, so much laundry, in the comfort of my 516 square feet. Where I cooked, until forearm tendinitis got in the way. Where I pined for more space, less street noise, and more recently, less neighbor subwoofer thumpa noise. Where I made my own thumpa noise for awhile in the evenings, practicing on an electronic drum kit while doing laundry … until forearm tendinitis got in the way. Where Ella and Lucy came on board. Where I planned my to Paris, and where the cats were well cared for while I was in Paris. Where I packed and packed and then departed for the country, at least long enough to sell it.
So Port Townsend is truly lovely, but the hoped-for housing options haven’t come along, and time is running out in the cottage that my closest family has graciously allowed me to live in during this transition. And it’s very tiny, involves use of a laundromat, and sometimes the coyotes howl at night, and maybe I am more of an urbanite than I thought, so in addition to the move-out deadline, I feel other pressures to look where there are more opportunities than Port Townsend can offer.
This week I am staying with Ella and Lucy in a rented cottage in a much quieter Seattle neighborhood for my Swan Lake-ation and to attend to the final tasks of moving out and closing, and seriously considering returning to Seattle, but in a neighborhood quieter than the one I just left. For now, this rented cottage feels palatial compared to 516 square feet as well as the PT cottage. I’ll be here through Monday morning, making good use of its washer and dryer, and seeing every Swan Lake and shopping around for housing options in a neighborhood like this.
the view from a room 