This has been my second week at my new job. I am finding the job to be very rewarding. The work is stimulating and the people at the office are top-drawer. It is a first-class law firm in every way, filled with first-class attorneys and first-class people. I like it very much.
Tomorrow night, Andrew and I are going to attend a performance of David Mamet’s play, “Speed The Plow”, at the Jungle Theater. Neither of us has seen this play, and we don’t quite know what to expect. All we know is that it is a three-character play lasting ninety minutes.
I have never seen a David Mamet play. Andrew has seen a couple of Mamet’s plays, but they were early Mamet, and probably not typical of mature Mamet. We are both sort of curious to see what we will think of “Speed The Plow”.
On Saturday, I think we will go over to Andrew’s parents’ house and do some yard work and watch college football games. We will be able to switch back and forth between the two activities as we like, depending upon our interest level in individual games as they unfold. One game or another will be on continuously between 11:00 a.m. and 11:00 p.m.
I love autumn Saturdays, and so does Andrew. We both love to do yard work in the fall, and we both love to watch college football. On top of that, we will be very well fed, and we will get to rumpus with the dog. It will be a great day.
On Sunday afternoon, we will all go to Saint Paul to attend a performance of Verdi’s “Un Ballo In Maschera”. This Minnesota Opera presentation received mixed notices in the local newspapers. However, musician friends of ours have informed us that the presentation, musically and theatrically, is far worse than a mixed result. Apparently Minnesota Opera’s “Ballo” is more or less a disaster on all counts. If we did not already have tickets, we very well might plan to skip it.
Andrew and I are currently reading four books about Russian history. We are reading “Dances In Deep Shadows: The Clandestine War In Russia 1917-1920” by Michael Occleshaw; “Moscow 1941: A City And Its People At War” by Rodric Braithwaite; “Stalin’s Guerrillas: Soviet Partisans In World War II” by Kenneth Slepyan; and “Krushchev’s Cold War: The Inside Story Of An American Adversary” by Aleksandr Fursenko and Timothy Naftali. A year ago last summer, Andrew and I spent the entire summer reading from Russian history, and we both decided to return to this subject after a year’s respite.
To provide us with some variety, we are also reading “Thermopylae: The Battle That Changed The World” by Paul Cartledge; “Panorama Of The Enlightenment” by Dorinda Outram; and “An Illustrated History Of The First World War” by John Keegan. The latter two volumes are dangerously close to coffee table books. The Keegan is mostly a rehash of his earlier books on the subject, all of which we have already read, but the photographs, maps and illustrations are marvelous and make for a beautiful and artful publication.
None of these books is a masterpiece, but these books are providing us with a rewarding reading program, since we can switch volumes as our interest in each waxes and wanes.
On Monday morning, very, very early, Andrew must travel to Louisville on business. He will remain in Louisville until late Wednesday afternoon, when he will fly back to Minneapolis.
Consequently, on Saturday morning, Andrew and I are going to decamp and move over to his parents’ house, where we will remain for a week.
We will both stay there Saturday and Sunday evenings.
Andrew will have to rise at 3:30 a.m. Monday morning and leave for the airport at 4:30 a.m. He will drive our car to the airport, and I am going to remain at Andrew’s parents’ house on Monday and Tuesday evenings and ride to work on those days with Andrew’s father.
Andrew will not return to Minneapolis until late Wednesday night, so he and I are going to stay at his parents’ house that night, too. Since we will all fly to New York on Friday afternoon, Andrew and I decided that we might as well stay at his parents’ house on Thursday night, too.
This will keep things simple and avoid a week of nonstop back-and-forth maneuvering between our apartment and Andrew’s parents’ house. In addition, I will have lots of company while Andrew is gone and I will get the world’s best food for six days and six nights! Can’t beat that!
Thursday, September 27, 2007
Monday, September 24, 2007
Plans
We had the dog with us yesterday after church because Andrew’s parents were spending the day with his mother’s relatives and we did not want the dog to have to stay home by himself all day.
It was fun having him again, because he is very amusing and very affectionate. He is also very good company (if you can stand having him up in your face all the time).
When we were away, we all missed him a great deal. He’s an integral part of the family and it was painful to be separated from him.
When we picked him up a week ago Saturday, he was so excited to see everybody that he barked uncontrollably and jumped in circles (and lost control of his bladder). We were excited, too, and we had to spend half an hour settling him down before we could take him home in the car.
Andrew and I did lots of cooking yesterday, but we managed to find time to take the dog to the park and run with him and play games with him. He had a fun day.
Last night Andrew’s parents joined us for dinner and helped us eat some of the mountains of food we had prepared. The dog helped us eat some of the food, too.
We seem to have a lot of things coming up in the next three weeks. Next weekend Andrew and I plan to see David Mamet’s play, “Speed The Plow”, at Jungle Theater. We also plan to attend a performance of “Un Ballo In Maschera” at Minnesota Opera.
The following weekend, a three-day weekend because of Columbus Day, we will be in New York visiting Andrew’s older brother and family. While in New York, we plan to catch a performance of the Mascagni/Leoncavallo double bill at New York City Opera.
As soon as we return to Minneapolis, we will see The Royal Shakespeare Company’s performances of “King Lear” and “The Seagull” at the Guthrie Theater, which is hosting the RSC. Tickets to the RSC performances in Minneapolis have been sold out for months, and we are eagerly looking forward to the performances.
I can’t believe it is almost October.
Even though it seems that July was just last week, we are already in the midst of making holiday plans. Andrew’s brothers are talking about coming home for a full week at Thanksgiving instead of coming home only for a long weekend. They are thinking of making a week of Thanksgiving this year because Andrew and I will be gone for part of the Christmas holidays (Andrew and I plan to spend part of the Christmas holidays in Oklahoma with my family).
When I look at the calendar for the rest of the year, I cannot believe that it is almost full. We have something scheduled for practically every weekend between now and January.
I get exhausted just looking at it.
It was fun having him again, because he is very amusing and very affectionate. He is also very good company (if you can stand having him up in your face all the time).
When we were away, we all missed him a great deal. He’s an integral part of the family and it was painful to be separated from him.
When we picked him up a week ago Saturday, he was so excited to see everybody that he barked uncontrollably and jumped in circles (and lost control of his bladder). We were excited, too, and we had to spend half an hour settling him down before we could take him home in the car.
Andrew and I did lots of cooking yesterday, but we managed to find time to take the dog to the park and run with him and play games with him. He had a fun day.
Last night Andrew’s parents joined us for dinner and helped us eat some of the mountains of food we had prepared. The dog helped us eat some of the food, too.
We seem to have a lot of things coming up in the next three weeks. Next weekend Andrew and I plan to see David Mamet’s play, “Speed The Plow”, at Jungle Theater. We also plan to attend a performance of “Un Ballo In Maschera” at Minnesota Opera.
The following weekend, a three-day weekend because of Columbus Day, we will be in New York visiting Andrew’s older brother and family. While in New York, we plan to catch a performance of the Mascagni/Leoncavallo double bill at New York City Opera.
As soon as we return to Minneapolis, we will see The Royal Shakespeare Company’s performances of “King Lear” and “The Seagull” at the Guthrie Theater, which is hosting the RSC. Tickets to the RSC performances in Minneapolis have been sold out for months, and we are eagerly looking forward to the performances.
I can’t believe it is almost October.
Even though it seems that July was just last week, we are already in the midst of making holiday plans. Andrew’s brothers are talking about coming home for a full week at Thanksgiving instead of coming home only for a long weekend. They are thinking of making a week of Thanksgiving this year because Andrew and I will be gone for part of the Christmas holidays (Andrew and I plan to spend part of the Christmas holidays in Oklahoma with my family).
When I look at the calendar for the rest of the year, I cannot believe that it is almost full. We have something scheduled for practically every weekend between now and January.
I get exhausted just looking at it.
Saturday, September 22, 2007
Settling Back In
Yesterday, to mark my first week at my new job, Andrew planned a special day.
We drove into downtown Minneapolis yesterday morning instead of taking the bus, because Andrew told me we would be doing something downtown after work.
The first part of Andrew’s celebration was to take me to lunch—but he had something special planned for lunchtime, as it turned out, which took me completely by surprise.
He took me to Orchestra Hall to hear the second half of the Minnesota Orchestra’s opening week of subscription concerts. The concert actually began at 11:00 a.m., but Andrew timed it so that we deliberately missed the first half of the concert and arrived at intermission.
The second half of the concert featured a performance of Gustav Holst’s “The Planets”, and Andrew knows how much I like the music of Holst (a throwback to all those years of playing Holst pieces in high school and junior high school bands).
I was thrilled to be able to hear “The Planets”, which I had never heard before, and I was thrilled to be able to hear “The Planets” in the middle of the day, at lunchtime. It is perfect “daytime” music, and I was so startled by Andrew’s midday surprise that it was all I could do to keep from smiling like a fool the whole time.
After “The Planets” we grabbed a quick sandwich and returned to our offices.
We both left our offices at 5:00 p.m. and Andrew took me to Ruth’s Chris for a magnificent early dinner (we both love steak, and we had had none in London). It was the first time Andrew and I had been to Ruth’s Chris since I moved to Minneapolis.
After dinner, Andrew took me to Theater In The Round to see a performance of Ronald Harwood’s play, “The Dresser”.
I had never seen “The Dresser” before. I also had never seen the film.
The play was a lot of fun, actually, and it is a good play in a very old-fashioned way. The success of the play rests with the actor playing Norman, and the actor playing Norman at Theater In The Round was convincingly nebbish. The play worked.
Andrew had seen a production of “The Dresser” before. Andrew and his brother had seen a West End production of “The Dresser” in 2005, directed by Peter Hall, starring Nicholas Lyndhurst and Julian Glover. Andrew said that that 2005 London production had amazed him, mostly because Peter Hall and Nicholas Lyndhurst had found all sorts of subversive undercurrents in the text that made the play much, much richer than the screen version.
I don’t think the Minneapolis production was rife with richness, but I thought the play and production were highly enjoyable. I am glad we went. It was a beautiful way to end my first week at my new job.
This weekend we are not going to do anything. We have to catch up on mail and laundry and other things, and I think we are just going to stay home.
Since we returned from London, we have been listening to two Italian operas: Verdi’s “Un Ballo In Maschera” and Leoncavallo’s “I Pagliacci”. We have been listening to these two works because we will go hear “Un Ballo In Maschera” at Minnesota Opera a week from Sunday and because we may attend a performance of “I Pagliacci” the following weekend, when we will be in New York for Columbus Day weekend.
I am unfamiliar with both works, and I like to familiarize myself with the music in advance of a live opera performance. Thus far, I really like the Verdi opera, which has surprised me, because I am normally not much of a Verdi fan. I have NEVER attended a stage performance of a Verdi opera in my life, so next Sunday will be my first exposure to Verdi in the theater. Andrew says that “Un Ballo In Maschera” is an excellent first Verdi opera to attend.
The score to “I Pagliacci” is nowhere near as good as the Verdi. After three listens, the score strikes me as weak and uninteresting, but I am going to give the work a few more serious listens over the next several days.
We are listening to the Maria Callas recording of “Un Ballo In Maschera”. I have never listened seriously to Maria Callas before, so this is my first genuine attempt to appreciate her artistry. Andrew has not listened exhaustively to Callas, either, because he seldom listens to recordings of Italian opera.
However, Andrew says that this is his favorite Callas recording of a complete opera. He says that the role of Amelia, and not Riccardo, is the central figure in the drama, and that Callas turns the character of Amelia into a full-blooded, full-dimensional person.
Andrew says that the turning point in the drama is Amelia’s aria early in Act II, and that Callas understands this better than any other soprano that has recorded the part. Andrew cannot listen to this set of discs without stopping and replaying that aria six or seven times before proceeding to the rest of Act II. He says that Callas breaks his heart in that aria.
Andrew points out to me things of interest while we listen. He is absolutely fixated, for instance, on Callas’s entrance late in Act I. He says that the character of Amelia is only given a few conversational utterances at first, and that Callas takes over the proceedings with those very first lines, declaiming them with the most profound imagination and insight and musicality. Andrew says that it was hearing Callas sing those few lines that first revealed to him the genius of Callas. He says that he has never been able to get those lines out of his mind after first hearing them.
Andrew says that his love for this recording is a minority view. Apparently the Callas recording of “Un Ballo In Maschera” is not supposed to be one of the greatest Callas recordings and apparently this recording is not supposed to be among the very finest recordings of “Un Ballo In Maschera”. Callas made this recording before singing the role of Amelia onstage, and she only sang the part five times in her entire career. Amelia was not one of her signature roles. Further, in this recording the score is cut, and the conducting has been criticized for an absence of imagination and drama.
Nevertheless, this recording is pretty pleasing to me, and the sound is good, even though it was recorded in mono. I’m growing to like this recording more and more, and I’m growing to like this opera more and more.
The “I Pagliacci” recording we are listening to is the Karajan recording. Unlike the “Un Ballo In Maschera” recording, this recording of “I Pagliacci” is supposed to be the finest version of the opera ever recorded. This is so, not because of the singing, but because of the conducting, which is considered to be a marvel. Andrew says that Karajan does amazing things with the score and with the orchestra, finding all sorts of details that other conductors pass over, and that Karajan uses those details to shape and enrich and propel the drama. The sound in this recording is superb, which is almost unbelievable, given that this was recorded in 1965. It is one of the finest-sounding recordings I have ever heard.
Herbert Von Karajan was virtually one of the house conductors at La Scala from the late 1940’s through the late 1960’s. This recording was made with the forces of La Scala, and it was made in conjunction with a series of stage performances. However, Karajan did not conduct the La Scala series of “I Pagliacci” performances in the theater. He conducted only the recording.
Before this recording was made, Karajan had never conducted the score of “I Pagliacci”. The recording sessions were his first ever experiences with the opera. In fact, Karajan conducted only one performance of “I Pagliacci” in his entire career. Three years later, on June 11, 1968, Karajan conducted a single performance of “I Pagliacci” at La Scala.
One odd and interesting fact about Herbert Von Karajan is that he made many famous recordings of works that, in his entire career, he never once performed in the concert hall. He made two very famous recordings of Rimsky-Korsakov’s “Scheherezade”, a work he conducted only in the recording studio, and never in the concert hall. He made two very famous recordings of Holst’s “The Planets”, another work he conducted only in the recording studio, and never in the concert hall. There are numerous examples of other pieces he only touched in the recording studio.
Andrew’s father met Herbert Von Karajan a few times, and twice he had dinner with him (but not just the two of them—they were two of a party of six or eight). Andrew’s father says that Herbert Von Karajan was a genius of the highest rank—and that Karajan knew he was a genius, and never let anyone forget it. However, Andrew’s father also says that Herbert Von Karajan was one of the most insecure persons he ever met, and that one of the causes of his insecurity was surely the fact that Karajan was extremely short. Andrew’s father says that Karajan’s very short stature must have grated upon him his entire life.
Karajan was also a horribly mean man. He would say truly terrible things about people with whom he actively worked, whether those persons were agents, recording company executives, singers, directors, designers, instrumentalists or others. No one was immune from his evil tongue. Of those with whom he did not actively work, Karajan was even more vicious.
And yet, according to Andrew’s father, Karajan could also be a fountain of wisdom when it came to the nuts and bolts of conducting. There was nothing about the field of conducting, in theory or in practice, Karajan did not know. There was nothing about other conductors he did not know. There was nothing about the scores that fascinated him he did not know.
Karajan could be a very thoughtful man on those occasions he wanted to be. He also could be incredibly self-indulgent, expecting others to sit and bask in his presence as he held court, speaking about non-musical matters. He liked to talk about yachts and airplanes and skiing and technology—subjects about which his audience generally had no interest—when his listeners would have much preferred hearing him talk about music.
Karajan had conflicting views of Americans. On one level he appeared to loathe Americans and on another level he appeared to have the highest respect and admiration for Americans. This view, I am told, is and was quite common among Germans who lived through World War II.
I wish I could have observed Karajan in performance. I also wish I could have observed Callas in performance. They are only two of many artists, now gone, that I wish I could have had the opportunity of experiencing. At least recordings give listeners some idea of these artists’ work.
On Sunday night, Andrew and I may have Andrew’s parents over for dinner. Andrew is in the mood for some serious cooking, and he says that he has a powerful taste for a special homemade chicken noodle vegetable soup, and for a special pork loin, and for some special stuffing, and for some homemade stewed tomatoes, and for cheddar potatoes, and for lima beans, and for glazed carrots, and for homemade bread. He also says he has a bizarre hungering for a homemade spice cake. I think we may have some fun in the kitchen on Sunday afternoon!
On Sunday after church, Andrew’s parents must spend the day with Andrew’s mother’s relatives, but they will be free on Sunday evening, and I think we will want to share all this food with them, and probably send some of it home with them after dinner.
We drove into downtown Minneapolis yesterday morning instead of taking the bus, because Andrew told me we would be doing something downtown after work.
The first part of Andrew’s celebration was to take me to lunch—but he had something special planned for lunchtime, as it turned out, which took me completely by surprise.
He took me to Orchestra Hall to hear the second half of the Minnesota Orchestra’s opening week of subscription concerts. The concert actually began at 11:00 a.m., but Andrew timed it so that we deliberately missed the first half of the concert and arrived at intermission.
The second half of the concert featured a performance of Gustav Holst’s “The Planets”, and Andrew knows how much I like the music of Holst (a throwback to all those years of playing Holst pieces in high school and junior high school bands).
I was thrilled to be able to hear “The Planets”, which I had never heard before, and I was thrilled to be able to hear “The Planets” in the middle of the day, at lunchtime. It is perfect “daytime” music, and I was so startled by Andrew’s midday surprise that it was all I could do to keep from smiling like a fool the whole time.
After “The Planets” we grabbed a quick sandwich and returned to our offices.
We both left our offices at 5:00 p.m. and Andrew took me to Ruth’s Chris for a magnificent early dinner (we both love steak, and we had had none in London). It was the first time Andrew and I had been to Ruth’s Chris since I moved to Minneapolis.
After dinner, Andrew took me to Theater In The Round to see a performance of Ronald Harwood’s play, “The Dresser”.
I had never seen “The Dresser” before. I also had never seen the film.
The play was a lot of fun, actually, and it is a good play in a very old-fashioned way. The success of the play rests with the actor playing Norman, and the actor playing Norman at Theater In The Round was convincingly nebbish. The play worked.
Andrew had seen a production of “The Dresser” before. Andrew and his brother had seen a West End production of “The Dresser” in 2005, directed by Peter Hall, starring Nicholas Lyndhurst and Julian Glover. Andrew said that that 2005 London production had amazed him, mostly because Peter Hall and Nicholas Lyndhurst had found all sorts of subversive undercurrents in the text that made the play much, much richer than the screen version.
I don’t think the Minneapolis production was rife with richness, but I thought the play and production were highly enjoyable. I am glad we went. It was a beautiful way to end my first week at my new job.
This weekend we are not going to do anything. We have to catch up on mail and laundry and other things, and I think we are just going to stay home.
Since we returned from London, we have been listening to two Italian operas: Verdi’s “Un Ballo In Maschera” and Leoncavallo’s “I Pagliacci”. We have been listening to these two works because we will go hear “Un Ballo In Maschera” at Minnesota Opera a week from Sunday and because we may attend a performance of “I Pagliacci” the following weekend, when we will be in New York for Columbus Day weekend.
I am unfamiliar with both works, and I like to familiarize myself with the music in advance of a live opera performance. Thus far, I really like the Verdi opera, which has surprised me, because I am normally not much of a Verdi fan. I have NEVER attended a stage performance of a Verdi opera in my life, so next Sunday will be my first exposure to Verdi in the theater. Andrew says that “Un Ballo In Maschera” is an excellent first Verdi opera to attend.
The score to “I Pagliacci” is nowhere near as good as the Verdi. After three listens, the score strikes me as weak and uninteresting, but I am going to give the work a few more serious listens over the next several days.
We are listening to the Maria Callas recording of “Un Ballo In Maschera”. I have never listened seriously to Maria Callas before, so this is my first genuine attempt to appreciate her artistry. Andrew has not listened exhaustively to Callas, either, because he seldom listens to recordings of Italian opera.
However, Andrew says that this is his favorite Callas recording of a complete opera. He says that the role of Amelia, and not Riccardo, is the central figure in the drama, and that Callas turns the character of Amelia into a full-blooded, full-dimensional person.
Andrew says that the turning point in the drama is Amelia’s aria early in Act II, and that Callas understands this better than any other soprano that has recorded the part. Andrew cannot listen to this set of discs without stopping and replaying that aria six or seven times before proceeding to the rest of Act II. He says that Callas breaks his heart in that aria.
Andrew points out to me things of interest while we listen. He is absolutely fixated, for instance, on Callas’s entrance late in Act I. He says that the character of Amelia is only given a few conversational utterances at first, and that Callas takes over the proceedings with those very first lines, declaiming them with the most profound imagination and insight and musicality. Andrew says that it was hearing Callas sing those few lines that first revealed to him the genius of Callas. He says that he has never been able to get those lines out of his mind after first hearing them.
Andrew says that his love for this recording is a minority view. Apparently the Callas recording of “Un Ballo In Maschera” is not supposed to be one of the greatest Callas recordings and apparently this recording is not supposed to be among the very finest recordings of “Un Ballo In Maschera”. Callas made this recording before singing the role of Amelia onstage, and she only sang the part five times in her entire career. Amelia was not one of her signature roles. Further, in this recording the score is cut, and the conducting has been criticized for an absence of imagination and drama.
Nevertheless, this recording is pretty pleasing to me, and the sound is good, even though it was recorded in mono. I’m growing to like this recording more and more, and I’m growing to like this opera more and more.
The “I Pagliacci” recording we are listening to is the Karajan recording. Unlike the “Un Ballo In Maschera” recording, this recording of “I Pagliacci” is supposed to be the finest version of the opera ever recorded. This is so, not because of the singing, but because of the conducting, which is considered to be a marvel. Andrew says that Karajan does amazing things with the score and with the orchestra, finding all sorts of details that other conductors pass over, and that Karajan uses those details to shape and enrich and propel the drama. The sound in this recording is superb, which is almost unbelievable, given that this was recorded in 1965. It is one of the finest-sounding recordings I have ever heard.
Herbert Von Karajan was virtually one of the house conductors at La Scala from the late 1940’s through the late 1960’s. This recording was made with the forces of La Scala, and it was made in conjunction with a series of stage performances. However, Karajan did not conduct the La Scala series of “I Pagliacci” performances in the theater. He conducted only the recording.
Before this recording was made, Karajan had never conducted the score of “I Pagliacci”. The recording sessions were his first ever experiences with the opera. In fact, Karajan conducted only one performance of “I Pagliacci” in his entire career. Three years later, on June 11, 1968, Karajan conducted a single performance of “I Pagliacci” at La Scala.
One odd and interesting fact about Herbert Von Karajan is that he made many famous recordings of works that, in his entire career, he never once performed in the concert hall. He made two very famous recordings of Rimsky-Korsakov’s “Scheherezade”, a work he conducted only in the recording studio, and never in the concert hall. He made two very famous recordings of Holst’s “The Planets”, another work he conducted only in the recording studio, and never in the concert hall. There are numerous examples of other pieces he only touched in the recording studio.
Andrew’s father met Herbert Von Karajan a few times, and twice he had dinner with him (but not just the two of them—they were two of a party of six or eight). Andrew’s father says that Herbert Von Karajan was a genius of the highest rank—and that Karajan knew he was a genius, and never let anyone forget it. However, Andrew’s father also says that Herbert Von Karajan was one of the most insecure persons he ever met, and that one of the causes of his insecurity was surely the fact that Karajan was extremely short. Andrew’s father says that Karajan’s very short stature must have grated upon him his entire life.
Karajan was also a horribly mean man. He would say truly terrible things about people with whom he actively worked, whether those persons were agents, recording company executives, singers, directors, designers, instrumentalists or others. No one was immune from his evil tongue. Of those with whom he did not actively work, Karajan was even more vicious.
And yet, according to Andrew’s father, Karajan could also be a fountain of wisdom when it came to the nuts and bolts of conducting. There was nothing about the field of conducting, in theory or in practice, Karajan did not know. There was nothing about other conductors he did not know. There was nothing about the scores that fascinated him he did not know.
Karajan could be a very thoughtful man on those occasions he wanted to be. He also could be incredibly self-indulgent, expecting others to sit and bask in his presence as he held court, speaking about non-musical matters. He liked to talk about yachts and airplanes and skiing and technology—subjects about which his audience generally had no interest—when his listeners would have much preferred hearing him talk about music.
Karajan had conflicting views of Americans. On one level he appeared to loathe Americans and on another level he appeared to have the highest respect and admiration for Americans. This view, I am told, is and was quite common among Germans who lived through World War II.
I wish I could have observed Karajan in performance. I also wish I could have observed Callas in performance. They are only two of many artists, now gone, that I wish I could have had the opportunity of experiencing. At least recordings give listeners some idea of these artists’ work.
On Sunday night, Andrew and I may have Andrew’s parents over for dinner. Andrew is in the mood for some serious cooking, and he says that he has a powerful taste for a special homemade chicken noodle vegetable soup, and for a special pork loin, and for some special stuffing, and for some homemade stewed tomatoes, and for cheddar potatoes, and for lima beans, and for glazed carrots, and for homemade bread. He also says he has a bizarre hungering for a homemade spice cake. I think we may have some fun in the kitchen on Sunday afternoon!
On Sunday after church, Andrew’s parents must spend the day with Andrew’s mother’s relatives, but they will be free on Sunday evening, and I think we will want to share all this food with them, and probably send some of it home with them after dinner.
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
The Proms
I did not want to write about the four Proms concerts we attended.
I am still reluctant to write about music. Andrew is too busy, trying to catch up at work this week, to write about our Proms concerts. That is why I asked Andrew’s father to write about the Proms concerts we attended.
Those concerts were important to me. For the first time in my life I heard a great performance, and I heard it at the Proms.
I now know what a great performance is. Until I attended the Leipzig concert, I was not sure what a great performance was, and I was not sure I would ever hear one, and I was not sure I would recognize a great performance if I DID hear one. Now I know the answers to all those questions.
A great performance is a wonderful thing to witness and experience. It was thrilling. It gave me chills. I was elated for two full days after the performance.
What ended my elation? Hearing James Levine conduct Brahms two nights later. That brought me down to earth.
I am still reluctant to write about music. Andrew is too busy, trying to catch up at work this week, to write about our Proms concerts. That is why I asked Andrew’s father to write about the Proms concerts we attended.
Those concerts were important to me. For the first time in my life I heard a great performance, and I heard it at the Proms.
I now know what a great performance is. Until I attended the Leipzig concert, I was not sure what a great performance was, and I was not sure I would ever hear one, and I was not sure I would recognize a great performance if I DID hear one. Now I know the answers to all those questions.
A great performance is a wonderful thing to witness and experience. It was thrilling. It gave me chills. I was elated for two full days after the performance.
What ended my elation? Hearing James Levine conduct Brahms two nights later. That brought me down to earth.
Proms Concerts
I have a guest writer for this post.
With reference to the four Proms concerts we attended in London, I convinced Andrew’s father to write a description of what we heard. He agreed to do so, on condition that I never repeat my request.
The Royal Albert Hall is so large and so cavernous that the listener, entering the Hall, cannot help but be skeptical that the Hall will prove satisfactory for an orchestral concert.
And the acoustics of the Hall are not good. In some parts of the Hall, such as the stalls, the acoustics are very poor, perhaps fatally so. In other parts of the Hall, such as the loggia and second tier, the sound is much better, but reverberation time in the Hall is problematic no matter the seat location. Reverberation time is too long, and reverberation time is different in different parts of the Hall. One can never be certain that listeners in different parts of the Hall are hearing the same thing. In truth, the Hall should not be used for orchestral concerts.
Nonetheless, as happens in any hall, suitable or unsuitable, the ear quickly adjusts. The four orchestras we heard in The Royal Albert Hall sounded much the same as they do in other concert venues, lacking mostly “presence”, which suggests that I should not make too much of the Hall’s deficient acoustics.
The two American orchestras we heard did not make a good showing, but neither did the Vienna Philharmonic. Only the Leipzig Gewandhaus Orchestra managed to cover itself with glory, and that glory was not unqualified.
The Vienna and Leipzig orchestras both played on weeknights, but—other than day tickets—all tickets to their Proms appearances had sold out long in advance of their concerts. The San Francisco and Boston orchestras both played on weekend nights, but their concerts did not sell out. The American orchestras played to nothing approaching full houses, and much of the audience in attendance on both nights concentrated not on listening to the music but on spreading tubercular material.
__________________________________________________________
The San Francisco Symphony’s performance of Mahler’s Seventh Symphony simply had to be written off. The playing was rough—a good youth ensemble would surely have offered a more accurate presentation of this score—and the orchestra never mustered the full array of sound required by Mahler, from fully-supported pianissimos to fortissimos filling the hall with splendor. The orchestra provided one of the least satisfactory Mahler performances I have ever heard. I have no idea what Michael Tilson Thomas was trying to do in this score, and I have little doubt that Michael Tilson Thomas had no idea what he was trying to do, either. By any standard, this was a provincial performance by a provincial ensemble and it should never have left the confines of Davies Hall.
__________________________________________________________
The Vienna Philharmonic can play Schubert’s Symphony No. 5 and Bruckner’s Symphony No. 4 in its sleep. Awake and under Daniel Barenboim’s guidance, however, the Vienna Philharmonic had trouble negotiating its way through either work. I note this despite the fact that some members of the orchestra appeared to be slumbering through much of the performance.
It was clear that the members of the Vienna Philharmonic did not like Barenboim and had no interest in playing their best for him. There were some entrances so ragged that they had to have been deliberate, and others so shockingly late that they had clearly been mapped out in advance, created to raise Barenboim’s hackles.
The Vienna Philharmonic does this sort of thing whenever it dislikes a conductor, or has any kind of grievance against him. This behavior is very disrespectful toward its audience.
Years ago, I swore that I would never again attend a concert of the Vienna Philharmonic on tour. In the early 1990’s, I heard the orchestra intentionally undercut Claudio Abbado in a performance of the Bruckner Fourth on the U.S. Eastern Seaboard. After that tour concluded, Abbado swore never again to tour with the orchestra, and he has kept his vow.
I have been unable to keep mine, however, because the sound of the Vienna Philharmonic is so beautiful that I cannot resist the opportunity to hear the orchestra in person, no matter how slovenly the playing may be.
And the playing under Barenboim was pretty slovenly when it wanted to be, and pretty impressive when it wanted to be, although the latter was in rare evidence. The members of the orchestra roused themselves to provide a satisfactory finale to the Bruckner after marking time through the first three movements. It was a case of too little, too late. The Schubert did not work, and it did not work because Barenboim was too interventionist. He should have simply let the players play.
The Vienna Philharmonic on tour bears little resemblance to the Vienna Philharmonic at the Musikverein. When touring, many of the finest players remain in Vienna. Tour programs do not replicate programs the orchestra has played in Vienna. Tour conductors are seldom the same conductors who appear with the orchestra in its famed subscription concerts.
On tour, the Vienna Philharmonic plays for money. It selects high-profile conductors who may or may not have any association with the orchestra in Vienna (Barenboim does not) and tours the world for several weeks each year, always playing typical Viennese fare. The orchestra plays far more concerts on tour than it plays concerts in Vienna, and it does so because these tours are highly profitable for members of the orchestra.
The Vienna Philharmonic’s Proms appearance delivered what the orchestra generally delivers on tour: lots of sweet sound amid sloppy ensemble and disinterested music-making. The concert was pleasurable and irritating in equal measure.
__________________________________________________________
The Boston Symphony concert was too long. There were two extended works on the program, either of which would have provided a satisfactory centerpiece in its own right: Bartok’s Concerto For Orchestra and Brahms’ Symphony No. 1. Preceding these two works was a ten-minute work by Elliott Carter, Three Illusions For Orchestra.
The Proms audience became restless during the concert, and not solely because of the concert’s length. James Levine has never been an effective conductor of Bartok or Brahms, and neither work showed him or the orchestra to advantage. The orchestra did not play at a high level of ensemble, and the interpretations were heavy and dull, unimaginative and undramatic, lacking personality and tension. I have never heard less compelling renditions of either work.
The sound of the orchestra was not pleasing, but I hesitate to blame the orchestra, because I no longer know how this orchestra sounds, having not heard the BSO in its own hall since 1997 and having not heard the BSO in Carnegie Hall since 2001.
It was obvious that Levine was going for a richer string sound than Seiji Ozawa, but I hesitate to judge the quality of that string sound from a single hearing in The Royal Albert Hall. It was clear, however, that the string ensemble overwhelmed the woodwinds and brass, which did not succeed in penetrating the massive wall of sound provided by the strings. This is consistent with the sound of Levine’s other orchestra, the orchestra of the Metropolitan Opera, which is similarly string-dominated. This sound picture proved fatal in music of Bartok and Brahms. (There being empty seats, we changed our seats at intermission, but the orchestra’s sound did not improve.)
By any measure, the Boston Symphony is no longer an impressive orchestra. In terms of sheer technical achievement, the Boston Symphony of today plays at a lower level than the current Minnesota Orchestra. If someone had told me, 25 years ago, that such a state of affairs would ever occur, I would have laughed.
The decline of the Boston Symphony from greatness to mediocrity is the most significant event in the world of music over the last thirty years. Longtime concertgoers in Boston—indeed, longtime concertgoers everywhere—seethe at the loss of such a great orchestra.
When the Meiningen Orchestra deteriorated and fell from prominence in the late 19th Century, the Berlin Philharmonic rose simultaneously to take its place. No American orchestra has risen to take the place of the Boston Symphony. If a replacement materializes in coming years, which is unlikely, it will occur in Dallas, under Jaap Van Zweden.
__________________________________________________________
I have never believed that the Leipzig Gewandhaus Orchestra matched the excellence of the Berlin Philharmonic or the Dresden Staatskapelle, both of which have unique sound qualities and a unique way of making music that Leipzig has never been able to duplicate.
Riccardo Chailly may be on his way to changing that.
From a single Proms hearing, it was clear that the Gewandhaus has been invigorated, almost beyond belief, compared to the Kurt Masur and Herbert Blomstedt years. Under Masur and Blomstedt, the orchestra had a very cultured but slightly anemic sound and a very reticent way of playing. The strings were always the orchestra’s glory, famed for lightness of articulation and homogenous sound. The woodwinds were always variable, with unpredictable intonation, and the brass generally reluctant to make its presence known.
The Gewandhaus of Chailly has a more robust sound. The strings retain their meticulous phrasing, but the string sound is richer and warmer. The woodwinds are more confident, and more willing to allow themselves to be heard and to dominate when called for in the score. The brass ensemble has been completely transformed and now plays with great brilliance when required. The entire orchestra plays with a muscularity and freedom it never had before, and yet the old-world transparency, blend and refinement have somehow been retained.
This is a mighty impressive orchestra, and it is an orchestra with a mighty impressive sound.
Its sheer musicality is its greatest asset. The musicality of the Leipzig Gewandhaus Orchestra puts our U.S. orchestras--the fabled Cleveland Orchestra aside--to utter shame.
If Chailly remains in Leipzig long enough, Leipzig will replace Berlin in Germany’s orchestral pecking order, joining Dresden at Germany’s orchestral summit. Some European musicians believe that this in fact has already occurred.
Everything is not yet perfect with the orchestra. The clarinet players are not as fine as their flute, oboe and bassoon counterparts. The trumpets, horns and trombones do not have the spine-tingling virtuosity (or power) of the Chicago Symphony brass section. The timpani player made sure that his timpani strokes were seen but not heard (such timidity is common among percussionists in German orchestras).
All that aside, this orchestra is unmistakably going places, and the players unmistakably know it, and so did the Proms audience. This was the only Proms concert we attended in which the audience response was whole-hearted gratitude and admiration from beginning to end. The prolonged audience cheers were fully deserved.
The Beethoven in the first half of the program was not particularly impressive. Chailly began the “Coriolan” Overture at too high a degree of tension, at too high an emotional temperature, and the overture had nowhere to go. The Beethoven Violin Concerto that followed was under-characterized and almost diffident. The announced soloist, Sergey Khachatryan, had been replaced by Viviane Hagner, and she did not grab the concerto and make it her own, which made it difficult for Chailly to develop tension and interplay between soloist and orchestra. The Concerto offered some beautiful playing and little else.
The Brahms Fourth that followed, however, was sublime. It was the finest Brahms Fourth I have ever heard, and I have heard some pretty impressive conductors in this work, including Herbert Von Karajan. Chailly had to concede nothing to Karajan in this work.
Chailly’s conducting maintained a suitable level of tension throughout and yet it was never inflated. The work was dramatic where required, but the drama evolved organically from the music—it was never lacquered on with a brush. It was a deeply emotional performance, and the emotions evoked were sincere.
The culmination of the first movement was shattering, intellectually and emotionally, but it was in no way overdone. The andante was noble and deeply felt, but it was attractively understated, too. The scherzo was not overplayed. Chailly built tension in the passacaglia slowly, almost imperceptively, and he timed the climax perfectly before the symphony wound down to its quiet and unsettled conclusion.
The Brahms Fourth is not an easy work to conduct, and I have heard innumerable acclaimed conductors come to grief in this difficult score. Chailly’s Brahms Fourth was an unforgettable experience. It was, quite simply, a great performance.
If anything, even greater was the unexpected and generous encore, Brahms’ “Academic Festival Overture”, another very difficult piece to bring off. It received the finest performance I have ever encountered, on record or off. The audience response was volcanic.
With reference to the four Proms concerts we attended in London, I convinced Andrew’s father to write a description of what we heard. He agreed to do so, on condition that I never repeat my request.
The Royal Albert Hall is so large and so cavernous that the listener, entering the Hall, cannot help but be skeptical that the Hall will prove satisfactory for an orchestral concert.
And the acoustics of the Hall are not good. In some parts of the Hall, such as the stalls, the acoustics are very poor, perhaps fatally so. In other parts of the Hall, such as the loggia and second tier, the sound is much better, but reverberation time in the Hall is problematic no matter the seat location. Reverberation time is too long, and reverberation time is different in different parts of the Hall. One can never be certain that listeners in different parts of the Hall are hearing the same thing. In truth, the Hall should not be used for orchestral concerts.
Nonetheless, as happens in any hall, suitable or unsuitable, the ear quickly adjusts. The four orchestras we heard in The Royal Albert Hall sounded much the same as they do in other concert venues, lacking mostly “presence”, which suggests that I should not make too much of the Hall’s deficient acoustics.
The two American orchestras we heard did not make a good showing, but neither did the Vienna Philharmonic. Only the Leipzig Gewandhaus Orchestra managed to cover itself with glory, and that glory was not unqualified.
The Vienna and Leipzig orchestras both played on weeknights, but—other than day tickets—all tickets to their Proms appearances had sold out long in advance of their concerts. The San Francisco and Boston orchestras both played on weekend nights, but their concerts did not sell out. The American orchestras played to nothing approaching full houses, and much of the audience in attendance on both nights concentrated not on listening to the music but on spreading tubercular material.
__________________________________________________________
The San Francisco Symphony’s performance of Mahler’s Seventh Symphony simply had to be written off. The playing was rough—a good youth ensemble would surely have offered a more accurate presentation of this score—and the orchestra never mustered the full array of sound required by Mahler, from fully-supported pianissimos to fortissimos filling the hall with splendor. The orchestra provided one of the least satisfactory Mahler performances I have ever heard. I have no idea what Michael Tilson Thomas was trying to do in this score, and I have little doubt that Michael Tilson Thomas had no idea what he was trying to do, either. By any standard, this was a provincial performance by a provincial ensemble and it should never have left the confines of Davies Hall.
__________________________________________________________
The Vienna Philharmonic can play Schubert’s Symphony No. 5 and Bruckner’s Symphony No. 4 in its sleep. Awake and under Daniel Barenboim’s guidance, however, the Vienna Philharmonic had trouble negotiating its way through either work. I note this despite the fact that some members of the orchestra appeared to be slumbering through much of the performance.
It was clear that the members of the Vienna Philharmonic did not like Barenboim and had no interest in playing their best for him. There were some entrances so ragged that they had to have been deliberate, and others so shockingly late that they had clearly been mapped out in advance, created to raise Barenboim’s hackles.
The Vienna Philharmonic does this sort of thing whenever it dislikes a conductor, or has any kind of grievance against him. This behavior is very disrespectful toward its audience.
Years ago, I swore that I would never again attend a concert of the Vienna Philharmonic on tour. In the early 1990’s, I heard the orchestra intentionally undercut Claudio Abbado in a performance of the Bruckner Fourth on the U.S. Eastern Seaboard. After that tour concluded, Abbado swore never again to tour with the orchestra, and he has kept his vow.
I have been unable to keep mine, however, because the sound of the Vienna Philharmonic is so beautiful that I cannot resist the opportunity to hear the orchestra in person, no matter how slovenly the playing may be.
And the playing under Barenboim was pretty slovenly when it wanted to be, and pretty impressive when it wanted to be, although the latter was in rare evidence. The members of the orchestra roused themselves to provide a satisfactory finale to the Bruckner after marking time through the first three movements. It was a case of too little, too late. The Schubert did not work, and it did not work because Barenboim was too interventionist. He should have simply let the players play.
The Vienna Philharmonic on tour bears little resemblance to the Vienna Philharmonic at the Musikverein. When touring, many of the finest players remain in Vienna. Tour programs do not replicate programs the orchestra has played in Vienna. Tour conductors are seldom the same conductors who appear with the orchestra in its famed subscription concerts.
On tour, the Vienna Philharmonic plays for money. It selects high-profile conductors who may or may not have any association with the orchestra in Vienna (Barenboim does not) and tours the world for several weeks each year, always playing typical Viennese fare. The orchestra plays far more concerts on tour than it plays concerts in Vienna, and it does so because these tours are highly profitable for members of the orchestra.
The Vienna Philharmonic’s Proms appearance delivered what the orchestra generally delivers on tour: lots of sweet sound amid sloppy ensemble and disinterested music-making. The concert was pleasurable and irritating in equal measure.
__________________________________________________________
The Boston Symphony concert was too long. There were two extended works on the program, either of which would have provided a satisfactory centerpiece in its own right: Bartok’s Concerto For Orchestra and Brahms’ Symphony No. 1. Preceding these two works was a ten-minute work by Elliott Carter, Three Illusions For Orchestra.
The Proms audience became restless during the concert, and not solely because of the concert’s length. James Levine has never been an effective conductor of Bartok or Brahms, and neither work showed him or the orchestra to advantage. The orchestra did not play at a high level of ensemble, and the interpretations were heavy and dull, unimaginative and undramatic, lacking personality and tension. I have never heard less compelling renditions of either work.
The sound of the orchestra was not pleasing, but I hesitate to blame the orchestra, because I no longer know how this orchestra sounds, having not heard the BSO in its own hall since 1997 and having not heard the BSO in Carnegie Hall since 2001.
It was obvious that Levine was going for a richer string sound than Seiji Ozawa, but I hesitate to judge the quality of that string sound from a single hearing in The Royal Albert Hall. It was clear, however, that the string ensemble overwhelmed the woodwinds and brass, which did not succeed in penetrating the massive wall of sound provided by the strings. This is consistent with the sound of Levine’s other orchestra, the orchestra of the Metropolitan Opera, which is similarly string-dominated. This sound picture proved fatal in music of Bartok and Brahms. (There being empty seats, we changed our seats at intermission, but the orchestra’s sound did not improve.)
By any measure, the Boston Symphony is no longer an impressive orchestra. In terms of sheer technical achievement, the Boston Symphony of today plays at a lower level than the current Minnesota Orchestra. If someone had told me, 25 years ago, that such a state of affairs would ever occur, I would have laughed.
The decline of the Boston Symphony from greatness to mediocrity is the most significant event in the world of music over the last thirty years. Longtime concertgoers in Boston—indeed, longtime concertgoers everywhere—seethe at the loss of such a great orchestra.
When the Meiningen Orchestra deteriorated and fell from prominence in the late 19th Century, the Berlin Philharmonic rose simultaneously to take its place. No American orchestra has risen to take the place of the Boston Symphony. If a replacement materializes in coming years, which is unlikely, it will occur in Dallas, under Jaap Van Zweden.
__________________________________________________________
I have never believed that the Leipzig Gewandhaus Orchestra matched the excellence of the Berlin Philharmonic or the Dresden Staatskapelle, both of which have unique sound qualities and a unique way of making music that Leipzig has never been able to duplicate.
Riccardo Chailly may be on his way to changing that.
From a single Proms hearing, it was clear that the Gewandhaus has been invigorated, almost beyond belief, compared to the Kurt Masur and Herbert Blomstedt years. Under Masur and Blomstedt, the orchestra had a very cultured but slightly anemic sound and a very reticent way of playing. The strings were always the orchestra’s glory, famed for lightness of articulation and homogenous sound. The woodwinds were always variable, with unpredictable intonation, and the brass generally reluctant to make its presence known.
The Gewandhaus of Chailly has a more robust sound. The strings retain their meticulous phrasing, but the string sound is richer and warmer. The woodwinds are more confident, and more willing to allow themselves to be heard and to dominate when called for in the score. The brass ensemble has been completely transformed and now plays with great brilliance when required. The entire orchestra plays with a muscularity and freedom it never had before, and yet the old-world transparency, blend and refinement have somehow been retained.
This is a mighty impressive orchestra, and it is an orchestra with a mighty impressive sound.
Its sheer musicality is its greatest asset. The musicality of the Leipzig Gewandhaus Orchestra puts our U.S. orchestras--the fabled Cleveland Orchestra aside--to utter shame.
If Chailly remains in Leipzig long enough, Leipzig will replace Berlin in Germany’s orchestral pecking order, joining Dresden at Germany’s orchestral summit. Some European musicians believe that this in fact has already occurred.
Everything is not yet perfect with the orchestra. The clarinet players are not as fine as their flute, oboe and bassoon counterparts. The trumpets, horns and trombones do not have the spine-tingling virtuosity (or power) of the Chicago Symphony brass section. The timpani player made sure that his timpani strokes were seen but not heard (such timidity is common among percussionists in German orchestras).
All that aside, this orchestra is unmistakably going places, and the players unmistakably know it, and so did the Proms audience. This was the only Proms concert we attended in which the audience response was whole-hearted gratitude and admiration from beginning to end. The prolonged audience cheers were fully deserved.
The Beethoven in the first half of the program was not particularly impressive. Chailly began the “Coriolan” Overture at too high a degree of tension, at too high an emotional temperature, and the overture had nowhere to go. The Beethoven Violin Concerto that followed was under-characterized and almost diffident. The announced soloist, Sergey Khachatryan, had been replaced by Viviane Hagner, and she did not grab the concerto and make it her own, which made it difficult for Chailly to develop tension and interplay between soloist and orchestra. The Concerto offered some beautiful playing and little else.
The Brahms Fourth that followed, however, was sublime. It was the finest Brahms Fourth I have ever heard, and I have heard some pretty impressive conductors in this work, including Herbert Von Karajan. Chailly had to concede nothing to Karajan in this work.
Chailly’s conducting maintained a suitable level of tension throughout and yet it was never inflated. The work was dramatic where required, but the drama evolved organically from the music—it was never lacquered on with a brush. It was a deeply emotional performance, and the emotions evoked were sincere.
The culmination of the first movement was shattering, intellectually and emotionally, but it was in no way overdone. The andante was noble and deeply felt, but it was attractively understated, too. The scherzo was not overplayed. Chailly built tension in the passacaglia slowly, almost imperceptively, and he timed the climax perfectly before the symphony wound down to its quiet and unsettled conclusion.
The Brahms Fourth is not an easy work to conduct, and I have heard innumerable acclaimed conductors come to grief in this difficult score. Chailly’s Brahms Fourth was an unforgettable experience. It was, quite simply, a great performance.
If anything, even greater was the unexpected and generous encore, Brahms’ “Academic Festival Overture”, another very difficult piece to bring off. It received the finest performance I have ever encountered, on record or off. The audience response was volcanic.
My New Job
Yesterday I started my new job. I already know I will like it.
My new job is in downtown Minneapolis, and my building is not far from Andrew’s building.
My assigned hours are 8:30 a.m. to 5:00 p.m.
At my old job, I worked in a nearby suburb. I always drove our car to work because there was no other efficient way for me to get to work. Now I can travel to downtown Minneapolis reasonably well via public transportation.
To get to the nearest bus that will take me downtown, I have to walk about a mile-and-a-half, which is a nice walk when the weather is good. Whether I will want to make this walk in rain or brutal cold is another matter.
Andrew has always taken the bus downtown to work because he had no choice. We only have one car, and Andrew always had to walk to and from the bus stop each day because I needed our car to get to my old job. On days involving pouring rain, Andrew would try to catch a ride with his father. On days in which the cold was at its worst, however, Andrew would simply bundle up and he would make the walk back and forth between the bus stop and our apartment twice, once very early in the morning and once in the evening.
At his firm, Andrew has always worked from 7:00 a.m. until 5:00 p.m. or 6:00 p.m., but this week he decided to change his hours. Andrew has been working from 8:00 a.m. until 6:00 p.m. this week and he changed his hours so that he and I could go to work together and come home together.
I sort of like taking the bus to and from work each day, and so does Andrew. I also like the fact that we get to ride the bus together. Andrew has always used this time to read the national news magazines. Now I do the same.
This schedule gets me to work half an hour early, and keeps me at work an hour beyond the official end of my day.
Depending on the day and my mood, I can remain at work until 6:00 p.m. and collect overtime, leave the office at 5:00 p.m. and do something downtown until 6:00 p.m., go home by myself on the bus at 5:00 p.m. or catch a ride home with Andrew’s father at 5:00 p.m.
I have lots of flexibility, and I can make a different decision each day, and I can make a decision at the very last minute each day. I like that.
In addition, since I am no longer driving our car to a nearby suburb each day, Andrew and I now have the option of driving our car to the bus stop on rainy days or on days of severe cold. This is good, because bitter cold bothers me much more than it bothers Andrew.
Andrew and I also now have the option of driving our car all the way into downtown, an option we can use on evenings in which we plan to do something downtown after work.
We are going to do that very thing this Friday, for instance, because Andrew says he has something special planned for me for Friday to celebrate the end of my first week at my new job. He will not tell me, however, what that something is, which I think is incredibly mean of him! All I know is that he taking me somewhere for lunch on Friday, and that we are going to do something downtown Friday night after work.
The people at my law firm are very professional and very polite, and I like the atmosphere at the office a lot. Everyone there is first-class in every way.
My boss has told me that I may work as much overtime as I want, which is good. I welcome the money, and I can tailor my schedule to Andrew’s if I want to, including going to work on those Saturdays on which Andrew must go to the office. I think everything will work out very well at the new job in every possible way.
Now if only I could find out what Andrew has planned for me for Friday! I called Andrew’s mother and asked her if she knew, and she said she had no idea—and she was telling me the truth.
I may have to torture him to discover what he has in mind!
My new job is in downtown Minneapolis, and my building is not far from Andrew’s building.
My assigned hours are 8:30 a.m. to 5:00 p.m.
At my old job, I worked in a nearby suburb. I always drove our car to work because there was no other efficient way for me to get to work. Now I can travel to downtown Minneapolis reasonably well via public transportation.
To get to the nearest bus that will take me downtown, I have to walk about a mile-and-a-half, which is a nice walk when the weather is good. Whether I will want to make this walk in rain or brutal cold is another matter.
Andrew has always taken the bus downtown to work because he had no choice. We only have one car, and Andrew always had to walk to and from the bus stop each day because I needed our car to get to my old job. On days involving pouring rain, Andrew would try to catch a ride with his father. On days in which the cold was at its worst, however, Andrew would simply bundle up and he would make the walk back and forth between the bus stop and our apartment twice, once very early in the morning and once in the evening.
At his firm, Andrew has always worked from 7:00 a.m. until 5:00 p.m. or 6:00 p.m., but this week he decided to change his hours. Andrew has been working from 8:00 a.m. until 6:00 p.m. this week and he changed his hours so that he and I could go to work together and come home together.
I sort of like taking the bus to and from work each day, and so does Andrew. I also like the fact that we get to ride the bus together. Andrew has always used this time to read the national news magazines. Now I do the same.
This schedule gets me to work half an hour early, and keeps me at work an hour beyond the official end of my day.
Depending on the day and my mood, I can remain at work until 6:00 p.m. and collect overtime, leave the office at 5:00 p.m. and do something downtown until 6:00 p.m., go home by myself on the bus at 5:00 p.m. or catch a ride home with Andrew’s father at 5:00 p.m.
I have lots of flexibility, and I can make a different decision each day, and I can make a decision at the very last minute each day. I like that.
In addition, since I am no longer driving our car to a nearby suburb each day, Andrew and I now have the option of driving our car to the bus stop on rainy days or on days of severe cold. This is good, because bitter cold bothers me much more than it bothers Andrew.
Andrew and I also now have the option of driving our car all the way into downtown, an option we can use on evenings in which we plan to do something downtown after work.
We are going to do that very thing this Friday, for instance, because Andrew says he has something special planned for me for Friday to celebrate the end of my first week at my new job. He will not tell me, however, what that something is, which I think is incredibly mean of him! All I know is that he taking me somewhere for lunch on Friday, and that we are going to do something downtown Friday night after work.
The people at my law firm are very professional and very polite, and I like the atmosphere at the office a lot. Everyone there is first-class in every way.
My boss has told me that I may work as much overtime as I want, which is good. I welcome the money, and I can tailor my schedule to Andrew’s if I want to, including going to work on those Saturdays on which Andrew must go to the office. I think everything will work out very well at the new job in every possible way.
Now if only I could find out what Andrew has planned for me for Friday! I called Andrew’s mother and asked her if she knew, and she said she had no idea—and she was telling me the truth.
I may have to torture him to discover what he has in mind!
Sunday, September 16, 2007
Home
We have returned.
We had a wonderful time. It was the best trip I ever experienced.
London is an amazing city. London is so large and there is so much to see and do in London that it is simply overwhelming.
I think we were wise to focus on only one portion of the city’s geography. Doing so eliminated wasteful travel time and allowed us to focus on and savor the heart of Westminster and surrounding environs.
We visited everything we planned to visit. Nothing disappointed us. The churches and palaces and museums and landmarks we had selected were as fascinating as I had hoped, and I would go back to everything in an instant except for Tate Britain, which I have now seen in its entirety.
I’m glad I visited Tate Britain. Like Andrew and his brother, I think its collection of British art is more interesting from an historic perspective than from an artistic perspective. Much of the art on display I intensely disliked, and I would not want to spend more time at Tate Britain anytime soon. There are many magnificent paintings in the collection, a good portion of which are by American artists who worked in Britain. There are also innumerable paintings that are not of museum quality. I can also say, having now seen the world’s largest collection of Turner paintings, that I am not eager to rush out and see more.
Before our trip, I had been a little worried that Andrew and his brother, having already seen almost everything on our list, would become bored. I was fearful that Andrew and his brother were willing to return to so many attractions only because I had never seen them before or because their parents had not seen them for many years.
I need not have worried. The attractions we visited were of such abiding interest that serious travelers may visit them over and over, with no fear of boredom or fatigue.
I came closest to visitor fatigue at Tate Britain. Andrew’s mother came closest to visitor fatigue at The Wellington Barracks Guards Museum (as Andrew had predicted). Andrew’s father came closest to visitor fatigue while walking around Covent Garden and Seven Dials and Neal’s Yard (“once you’ve seen a couple of these shops, you’ve seen them all”). Andrew’s brother came closest to visitor fatigue at The National Army Museum (he had simply seen everything there too many times). Andrew came closest to visitor fatigue at Westminster Abbey (he already knew every single niche and stone and monument and grave by heart, having been there so many times—yet he gave us a better tour of the Abbey than the verger did).
Some attractions were more interesting even than I had anticipated. The churches we visited were marvelous. They were fascinating for their architecture and their art and their histories. I am glad I read about them before our trip. That made my visits to the churches more meaningful and more enjoyable.
The British Library was also more impressive than I had expected. I never thought that I would find examining illuminated manuscripts from The Middle Ages to be so rewarding. The workmanship and artistry on display in some of the ancient illuminated manuscripts were staggering.
Our evenings were not as rewarding as our days.
The four nights we spent at the theater were not fulfilling. None of the plays we attended was particularly good, and none of the performances was mesmerizing. According to Andrew and his brother, this was the luck of the draw, and they were overdue, or so they said, for some duds. In 2005, they had gone to the theater ten times in eighteen nights, and everything they saw that year had been excellent. In 2004, they had gone to the theater eight times in eighteen nights, and everything they saw that year had been excellent. In 2003, they had gone to the theater seven times in seventeen nights, and everything they saw that year had been unremarkable if not poor. They were due for an unremarkable year, they said, and they got it handed to them this year. I saw nothing that made me think that London theater was any better than anything we have in the U.S. Perhaps I will change my mind after our next trip to London.
We made a mistake in attending four orchestral concerts in six evenings. We were at the mercy of Proms scheduling, and tried to take advantage of that, but four concerts in six nights was too much for all of us. The fact that all four concerts featured late-Romantic German repertory—Brahms, Bruckner, Mahler—did not help matters. We would have welcomed more varied programs, I think. I am glad I had the opportunity to witness Riccardo Chailly in action, because he is a star in every sense of the word. He had the audience in his hands from his first step onto the concert stage. Compared to him, Michael Tilson Thomas and Daniel Barenboim and James Levine were trolls and troglodytes, with all the charisma and glamour of plumbers. In person, all three were far more unattractive than their photographs suggest. I gasped when I first saw each one. They were frightening, especially Levine. That man should not be permitted to go out in public.
I could not help but compare our trip to London with last year’s trip to Hamburg. Hamburg was a beautiful city, and I’m glad that I went to Hamburg, but London has at least fifty times as much to see and do as Hamburg. We pretty much saw everything there was to see in Hamburg in thirteen days. We did not even scratch the surface of London in fifteen days. It would take a full year, maybe two, to see everything London has to offer.
The residents of London, however, do not compare favorably with the residents of Hamburg. Londoners do not appear to be as healthy or as well-dressed or as prosperous as the citizenry of Hamburg. Compared to Hamburgers, Londoners are often ill-behaved and boorish, and appear to be positively poverty-stricken.
London also has an enormous population of what the British themselves refer to as their “slatternly” class, and this slatternly class was on prominent display practically everywhere we went. We do not have anything comparable in the U.S., at least on the same vast scale.
Everything in London was outrageously expensive. For Americans, London must be the most expensive city in the world right now. Everything costs roughly two-and-a-half times what it costs in the U.S.
Some admissions we paid were scandalous. For the five of us, it cost us $175 to visit The Buckingham Palace State Rooms. I had no idea that Queen Elizabeth was living so close to the poverty line! Maybe we should organize a benefit.
It cost us another $150 to visit The Queen’s Gallery and The Royal Mews. Queen Elizabeth did quite well by us, all in all, especially since we also acquired this year’s edition of the guide to The Buckingham Palace State Rooms as well as the catalog for the special exhibition of Italian painting at The Queen’s Gallery (setting us back another $100 between the two of them).
It cost us $125 to visit The Cabinet War Rooms And Churchill Museum. It cost us $110 to get into Westminster Abbey and, once inside, we had to pay another $55 to take a verger tour. It cost us $80 to get into Apsley House and The Wellington Arch. Even Banqueting House, which is visited only because of its one remarkable room, cost us $50.
The art and military museums, at least, were free, except for the Courtauld. Whether the museums in London will continue to be free much longer is an unresolved question, as many officials in the British government believe that admission charges should be re-instituted.
London is not a city to visit if cost is an issue.
I did not think that the food in London was particularly good. In general, food in U.S. restaurants is much better, I think, than food in London restaurants. However, I was not impressed with the food in Hamburg, either, although everyone else seemed to have no problem with the Hamburg food. Perhaps I have become spoiled by the cooking of Andrew and his mother.
What was the single most magical experience I enjoyed in London? It was strolling Pall Mall, which I believe must be the most fascinating street in the world.
What was the least magical? It was exploring the performing-arts buildings of The South Bank Centre. All of the buildings were minor architectural disasters, compiled of cheap materials and anachronistically dated before their constructions were even completed. These buildings are so bad that they actually ruin the otherwise beautiful view from the other side of The Thames.
Andrew and his brother were perfect guides. They know London so well that they did not even need to consult street maps or subway maps as they made their way around town.
Andrew’s parents had a wonderful time. They enjoyed seeing so many wonderful things that their sons had seen so many times. It was fun for us to watch them have such a good time. They both said that this had been their most enjoyable vacation in over thirty years.
London was so stimulating that, now that I am home, Minneapolis seems drab and dull in comparison. My only consolation is that practically all other cities in the world seem drab and dull, too, in comparison to London.
I want to go back as soon as possible.
We had a wonderful time. It was the best trip I ever experienced.
London is an amazing city. London is so large and there is so much to see and do in London that it is simply overwhelming.
I think we were wise to focus on only one portion of the city’s geography. Doing so eliminated wasteful travel time and allowed us to focus on and savor the heart of Westminster and surrounding environs.
We visited everything we planned to visit. Nothing disappointed us. The churches and palaces and museums and landmarks we had selected were as fascinating as I had hoped, and I would go back to everything in an instant except for Tate Britain, which I have now seen in its entirety.
I’m glad I visited Tate Britain. Like Andrew and his brother, I think its collection of British art is more interesting from an historic perspective than from an artistic perspective. Much of the art on display I intensely disliked, and I would not want to spend more time at Tate Britain anytime soon. There are many magnificent paintings in the collection, a good portion of which are by American artists who worked in Britain. There are also innumerable paintings that are not of museum quality. I can also say, having now seen the world’s largest collection of Turner paintings, that I am not eager to rush out and see more.
Before our trip, I had been a little worried that Andrew and his brother, having already seen almost everything on our list, would become bored. I was fearful that Andrew and his brother were willing to return to so many attractions only because I had never seen them before or because their parents had not seen them for many years.
I need not have worried. The attractions we visited were of such abiding interest that serious travelers may visit them over and over, with no fear of boredom or fatigue.
I came closest to visitor fatigue at Tate Britain. Andrew’s mother came closest to visitor fatigue at The Wellington Barracks Guards Museum (as Andrew had predicted). Andrew’s father came closest to visitor fatigue while walking around Covent Garden and Seven Dials and Neal’s Yard (“once you’ve seen a couple of these shops, you’ve seen them all”). Andrew’s brother came closest to visitor fatigue at The National Army Museum (he had simply seen everything there too many times). Andrew came closest to visitor fatigue at Westminster Abbey (he already knew every single niche and stone and monument and grave by heart, having been there so many times—yet he gave us a better tour of the Abbey than the verger did).
Some attractions were more interesting even than I had anticipated. The churches we visited were marvelous. They were fascinating for their architecture and their art and their histories. I am glad I read about them before our trip. That made my visits to the churches more meaningful and more enjoyable.
The British Library was also more impressive than I had expected. I never thought that I would find examining illuminated manuscripts from The Middle Ages to be so rewarding. The workmanship and artistry on display in some of the ancient illuminated manuscripts were staggering.
Our evenings were not as rewarding as our days.
The four nights we spent at the theater were not fulfilling. None of the plays we attended was particularly good, and none of the performances was mesmerizing. According to Andrew and his brother, this was the luck of the draw, and they were overdue, or so they said, for some duds. In 2005, they had gone to the theater ten times in eighteen nights, and everything they saw that year had been excellent. In 2004, they had gone to the theater eight times in eighteen nights, and everything they saw that year had been excellent. In 2003, they had gone to the theater seven times in seventeen nights, and everything they saw that year had been unremarkable if not poor. They were due for an unremarkable year, they said, and they got it handed to them this year. I saw nothing that made me think that London theater was any better than anything we have in the U.S. Perhaps I will change my mind after our next trip to London.
We made a mistake in attending four orchestral concerts in six evenings. We were at the mercy of Proms scheduling, and tried to take advantage of that, but four concerts in six nights was too much for all of us. The fact that all four concerts featured late-Romantic German repertory—Brahms, Bruckner, Mahler—did not help matters. We would have welcomed more varied programs, I think. I am glad I had the opportunity to witness Riccardo Chailly in action, because he is a star in every sense of the word. He had the audience in his hands from his first step onto the concert stage. Compared to him, Michael Tilson Thomas and Daniel Barenboim and James Levine were trolls and troglodytes, with all the charisma and glamour of plumbers. In person, all three were far more unattractive than their photographs suggest. I gasped when I first saw each one. They were frightening, especially Levine. That man should not be permitted to go out in public.
I could not help but compare our trip to London with last year’s trip to Hamburg. Hamburg was a beautiful city, and I’m glad that I went to Hamburg, but London has at least fifty times as much to see and do as Hamburg. We pretty much saw everything there was to see in Hamburg in thirteen days. We did not even scratch the surface of London in fifteen days. It would take a full year, maybe two, to see everything London has to offer.
The residents of London, however, do not compare favorably with the residents of Hamburg. Londoners do not appear to be as healthy or as well-dressed or as prosperous as the citizenry of Hamburg. Compared to Hamburgers, Londoners are often ill-behaved and boorish, and appear to be positively poverty-stricken.
London also has an enormous population of what the British themselves refer to as their “slatternly” class, and this slatternly class was on prominent display practically everywhere we went. We do not have anything comparable in the U.S., at least on the same vast scale.
Everything in London was outrageously expensive. For Americans, London must be the most expensive city in the world right now. Everything costs roughly two-and-a-half times what it costs in the U.S.
Some admissions we paid were scandalous. For the five of us, it cost us $175 to visit The Buckingham Palace State Rooms. I had no idea that Queen Elizabeth was living so close to the poverty line! Maybe we should organize a benefit.
It cost us another $150 to visit The Queen’s Gallery and The Royal Mews. Queen Elizabeth did quite well by us, all in all, especially since we also acquired this year’s edition of the guide to The Buckingham Palace State Rooms as well as the catalog for the special exhibition of Italian painting at The Queen’s Gallery (setting us back another $100 between the two of them).
It cost us $125 to visit The Cabinet War Rooms And Churchill Museum. It cost us $110 to get into Westminster Abbey and, once inside, we had to pay another $55 to take a verger tour. It cost us $80 to get into Apsley House and The Wellington Arch. Even Banqueting House, which is visited only because of its one remarkable room, cost us $50.
The art and military museums, at least, were free, except for the Courtauld. Whether the museums in London will continue to be free much longer is an unresolved question, as many officials in the British government believe that admission charges should be re-instituted.
London is not a city to visit if cost is an issue.
I did not think that the food in London was particularly good. In general, food in U.S. restaurants is much better, I think, than food in London restaurants. However, I was not impressed with the food in Hamburg, either, although everyone else seemed to have no problem with the Hamburg food. Perhaps I have become spoiled by the cooking of Andrew and his mother.
What was the single most magical experience I enjoyed in London? It was strolling Pall Mall, which I believe must be the most fascinating street in the world.
What was the least magical? It was exploring the performing-arts buildings of The South Bank Centre. All of the buildings were minor architectural disasters, compiled of cheap materials and anachronistically dated before their constructions were even completed. These buildings are so bad that they actually ruin the otherwise beautiful view from the other side of The Thames.
Andrew and his brother were perfect guides. They know London so well that they did not even need to consult street maps or subway maps as they made their way around town.
Andrew’s parents had a wonderful time. They enjoyed seeing so many wonderful things that their sons had seen so many times. It was fun for us to watch them have such a good time. They both said that this had been their most enjoyable vacation in over thirty years.
London was so stimulating that, now that I am home, Minneapolis seems drab and dull in comparison. My only consolation is that practically all other cities in the world seem drab and dull, too, in comparison to London.
I want to go back as soon as possible.
Sunday, September 9, 2007
Only Five More Days In London
Hi, Mom! Hi, Dad! Hi, Shelby! Hi, Jason!
We sent you a postcard on Monday. The Royal Mail said you would get it yesterday or tomorrow.
We got something for you (no, not the crown jewels).
Back on Saturday. Talk to you then.
We sent you a postcard on Monday. The Royal Mail said you would get it yesterday or tomorrow.
We got something for you (no, not the crown jewels).
Back on Saturday. Talk to you then.
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
The Second Day I Knew Andrew's Mother
This is the text of an email message I sent to a friend of mine recounting what happened on Saturday, March 4, 2006, the second day I knew Andrew’s mother.
That day was a beautiful, beautiful day for me.
As is clear from the message, Andrew and my father were not getting along at the time.
That is another long, long story.
____________________________________________________________
On Saturday morning, we first woke up at 7:00, when we heard Tim crying.
Andrew said to me, "I'm going to get up now, but why don't you sleep a little longer, Josh."
"No, if you're getting up, I'm going to get up" I said, and Andrew and I went into the kitchen and Andrew made coffee. While the coffee was brewing, Andrew went to the door, opened it, retrieved the newspapers and brought them back to the kitchen.
Soon we were joined by Andrew's father, in pajamas and robe, and then by Alec, in pajamas. Alec wears the same thing to bed that Andrew (and now I) wear to bed. They are unmistakably brothers, and if I met them on the street for the first time, I would immediately know that they were brothers. If I had never met Andrew, and if Alec were gay, Alec would be my choice as the person with whom I would most want to spend my life, I have decided.
The coffee was soon ready, and Andrew poured everyone coffee and we all sat down and flipped through the newspapers. Lizbeth, in pajamas and robe, soon brought Tim in and began heating him his bottle. Alec held him while the bottle was heating--and of course Tim was fussy.
In about another thirty minutes, Mrs. Van came in, also in pajamas and robe, and she sat down. So here we all were, gathered around the kitchen table again, just like last night.
"How about a little something to eat before breakfast?" Andrew asked.
"Sure" Andrew's Dad answered. "Lizbeth and your Mom could go for some fruit, I expect, and we could have some cereal."
Mr. Van turned to me and asked "Cereal, Josh?"
"Sure" I said.
Andrew then said "Ladies, melons, berries or banana nut?"
"What does that mean?" I asked.
"Would they prefer a plate of cantaloupe and dew melon and watermelon, or a bowl of strawberries, raspberries and blueberries in cream, or a dish of bananas, walnuts and honey?"
Mrs. Van said she could go for a plate of melon and Lizbeth said she could go for a bowl of berries.
"Josh, what about you? Something to go with your cereal?" Andrew asked.
"That banana nut concoction sounds good" I said.
"Alec?"
"Banana."
"Dad?"
"Berries."
And Andrew went to work, and made his Mom a melon plate, and two bowls of berries and cream for Lizbeth and his Dad, and he made three dishes of bananas and walnuts and honey for Alec, me and himself.
He passed these all around, and then he brought out shredded wheat with skim milk for his Dad, and granola and whole milk for Alec, me and himself.
And this was just "a little something to eat before breakfast"? Yes, it was, as the "real" breakfast was to come soon enough.
But the "pre-breakfast" breakfast wasn't done yet!
After he had had his bowl of berries, Mr. Van thought he could go for a little melon, too. After Mrs. Van had had her plate of melon, she thought she could go for a bowl of berries, too. After Lizbeth had had her bowl of berries, she thought she could go for a little melon, too. After Alec had had his bowl of banana-nut-honey, he thought he could go for a bowl of berries, too. I, after my bowl of banana-nut-honey, thought I should do some berries, too, just to stay in the swing of things with everyone else. Andrew made himself a berry bowl, too, to eat along with me and Alec as we ate ours.
When we were all done with this round, Andrew asked if anyone wanted some more melon, as the melons were already cut open. All of the men said yes, so we men all ate a plate of melon, too. That meant that Alec, Andrew and I all got some of each.
When this was done, Andrew said to me "I'm going to go get cleaned up now, Josh, so I can get a head start on breakfast." Then Andrew said "Everybody, just leave your dishes in the sink, and I will wash them when I come back. What does everybody want for breakfast, so I will know what to start?"
Everybody looked around, as if they didn't have a clue.
"No requests?" Andrew asked.
No one said anything.
"How about Eggs Benedict, then?" he asked.
"Yeah, that sounds good" everybody but me said all at once, and Lizbeth turned to me and said "Andrew makes his own Hollandaise sauce from scratch. He can do it without lumps."
And Andrew asked me "Josh, can you go for Eggs Benedict?"
"Sure" I said.
So Andrew went to get cleaned up, and I was left alone with his family. I wondered if they would take advantage of this opportunity to ask me anything, and I did not have long to wait.
"Well, now, Andrew cooks for you, doesn't he?" asked his mother.
"Yes, all the time" I answered. "I cannot believe how good Andrew cooks."
"Well, he does breakfasts best" said his mother. "If he offers you fried chicken, run."
"Or that shrimp-tomato-rice dish" said his father.
"Or Swiss steak" said Alec.
"Yes, we don't want to forget about that Swiss steak, do we?" said his father. "Better to turn that down, Josh. Stick with Swanson."
"He still doesn't 'get' meat loaf" said Lizbeth. "Of course, neither do I."
"And I can't understand that" said Mrs. Van. "I have provided him with four fail-safe recipes for meat loaf, and I can't understand what he does wrong. Generally, if it is something that goes in the oven, he does fine. It is when something must be cooked on the stove that he seems to have problems. And that's why I can't understand why he can't do meat loaf. That's such a puzzle to me."
"But Andrew does excellent Wiener Schnitzel, and that is cooked on the stove" I said. "I've had it, and I thought it was superb."
"Yes, he can do Wiener Schnitzel" said Mr. Van. "When he cooks, it's like there is no midway point--it is either superb or . . .or . . . or . . .inedible. There is no in-between."
"I cannot do soufflés well, but HE can, and I cannot understand that" said Mrs. Van.
"You, Josh, will have to learn to cook the things he can't" said Lizbeth. "I am sure you will both work things out."
"I have thought that everything he has cooked has been wonderful" I said. "There has been nothing, not a single dish, that I did not find perfect."
"Then he's been leading with his strengths" said Alec. "Give it more time."
"And absolutely no fried chicken" said Mrs. Van. "Never."
"Josh, do you like to cook?" asked Lizbeth.
"I really never have" I said. "But I am going to learn, because I think we would enjoy cooking together. I enjoy being in the kitchen with Andrew when he cooks, and I like to wash and dry dishes with him. So I want to learn to cook, too."
"Joshua, there is a question I have to ask you" said Andrew's mother. "What's going to happen after graduation?"
Mr. Van immediately came to my rescue. "They are in the thinking stage about that, and not ready to decide anything yet."
"Yes, I know that" Andrew's mother said to Mr. Van. "You mentioned that." But then she turned to me and she said "But we are so curious to know. Does Andrew plan to relocate to Boston?"
"You know, we just don't know yet" I said. "We have discussed that, but nothing is firm. We're just not sure what to do."
"Do you know what you will be doing this summer, Joshua?" she asked.
"That's probably up in the air" said Mr. Van.
"I just wanted to know what he thought he might be doing" said Andrew's mother. "That's all."
I thought I at least needed to mention what Andrew had suggested for the summer. "Andrew has suggested that I spend at least part of the summer in Minnesota" I said. "But, again, that is entirely tentative."
"We would enjoy having you, Joshua" said Mrs. Van.
"Thank you, Mrs. Van" I said. "I know I would enjoying being there. But everything is still unsettled."
"We need just to let them mull things over" said Mr. Van. "I'm sure they are just focusing on getting through the school year for now."
Then Mrs. Van went in for a killer question, although I am sure that she did not do this purposefully or with any realization of what a can of worms she was opening.
"Joshua, do you think that Andrew will be able to get along with your father? Andrew's Dad says they are a case of oil and water."
"Well" I said. And I could not think of anything to say that would be both accommodating and truthful.
Mrs. Van paused for a moment, and said "That doesn't sound promising."
I was trying to think of something nice, and not worrisome, to say, and I still could not come up with anything truthful.
"If Andrew doesn't like someone, he doesn't like someone. He doesn't change his mind" said his mother. "And that can create problems. He shows them that he doesn't like them. They suffer under no misapprehensions--he lets them know what he thinks about them. He has always done that."
"And he saves up" said Andrew's Dad.
"Just like he did against [the former fiancé of Andrew’s middle brother]" said Alec "when he gave her everything at once."
"And that can create problems" said Andrew's Dad.
"And he won't budge" said Andrew's mother.
"Lose credibility with him, and you lose it forever" said Alec.
"Once Andrew has decided that a person is not worthy of attention, he ignores them or, if he has to have contact with them, he plays games with them" said Lizbeth.
"As in the case of [the former fiancé of Andrew’s middle brother]" said Alec.
This is sounding eerily familiar, I thought to myself, reflecting back on Andrew's phone conversations of Monday and Tuesday nights with my Dad.
"One thing I can say, with some confidence, Joshua, is that you and Andrew should probably never move to Oklahoma" said Andrew's Dad. "I don't think that would be a good idea."
I smiled, but I did not say anything. That probably told them everything they needed to know.
I knew I had not offered a proper response, so I thought I should say something.
"Our family is different from yours, Mrs. Van. Everyone sort of goes his or her own way. We don't look to each other for closeness or moral support. We are a collection of individuals who happen to spend part of our time under the same roof."
Mrs. Van looked hurt when she heard what I had said, so I added "But we are all happy in our own way. We just don't have the same kinds of bonds you have."
She still looked unhappy, so I added "Not everyone is as fortunate as your family, and stays close and loving and together. 'Things Fall Apart', as the poem says. 'The Centre Cannot Hold' ."
Then I realized that I had probably made things even worse, and that I should just shut up and quit while I was ahead, and leave Keats out of this entirely.
"Isn't it time for everyone to get ready for the day?" asked Mr. Van, and I was glad that he had come to my rescue once again.
Alec and Lizbeth stood up and Andrew entered the kitchen at that very moment.
"You're all still here!" he exclaimed. "You must have taken advantage of my absence to grill poor Josh to death!"
"You hit that nail on the head" said Mr. Van. Then he looked very kindly at Mrs. Van and added "But only out of an excess of concern for you both."
Andrew turned to his mother and asked "What's wrong, Mom? What's got you concerned?" And he walked over to his Mom, who was still sitting at the table, and he placed his hand on her shoulder.
"Oh, I didn't ask anything any other mother would not have asked" she said. And she got up and she kissed Andrew and she said "And we all need to get ready for the day. It's 9:00. Goodness!" And she and Alec and Lizbeth all left the kitchen.
"Everything OK?" Andrew asked me and his Dad.
"Yes" said Mr. Van, and he got up and left the kitchen, too.
"Everything OK?" Andrew asked me.
"Yes" I said, and I got up and I walked over to him and I kissed him. "And I'm going to put back the sofas now and get cleaned up."
"I already took care of the living room" said Andrew. "All you need to do is to get cleaned up."
And I went and got ready for the day.
When I came back to the kitchen, the dishes had been washed, the table set, something was baking in the oven and Andrew had assembled everything he needed for the Eggs Benedict, ready to get started as soon as everyone re-congregated.
"What's in the oven?" I asked. "It smells good."
"An apple-walnut coffee cake" said Andrew.
"You're determined not to let anyone starve this morning, aren't you?" I asked, and I laughed and Andrew laughed, and he put his arm around my neck, and we stood and leaned on a kitchen counter, waiting for everyone else to return.
Soon everyone else came back into the kitchen, and Andrew gave everyone glasses of orange juice and milk and he got started on the Eggs Benedict. We played with the baby and engaged in idle chitchat during this "real" breakfast. The Eggs Benedict were perfect, and so was the coffee cake.
After we were done eating, Mrs. Van announced "OK, I am going to do the dishes. Why don't you boys all join Mr. Van for his walk?"
Apparently Mr. Van takes a morning constitutional, and Alec and Andrew and I got our jackets and we joined him.
We walked for about an hour, just strolling along, on the streets. Alec and Andrew walked side by side in front of Mr. Van and me, who also walked side by side. We really did not do much talking, but just enjoyed a nice leisurely stroll.
I could not help but notice, watching Alec and Andrew in front of us, how incredibly close they are and how easily they can communicate with each other, without the use of words. They always seem to know exactly what the other is thinking and planning to do. They would change directions without so much as a word between them, and not lose half a step between them.
Occasionally they would turn back to us to say something, or point out something, but otherwise we just walked.
Halfway through the walk, Andrew traded places with his Dad, and Alec and Mr. Van walked in front, with Andrew and I behind them.
It was a nice, almost-but-not-quite bracing walk, and I enjoyed it very much.
When we returned to the apartment building, Alec said to his Dad "Why don't you go on in, Dad? We may continue on for a bit."
And Mr. Van went back into the building, and we three walked around some more, but in a different direction. We walked three abreast, with me in the middle, between these two incredibly handsome and sweet brothers. We did not talk, but just walked. Once in a while Alec would point out something, but otherwise no one said anything. I was completely happy and content the whole time.
It was almost 1:00 when we returned to the apartment, and I was very glad just to have had this chance to walk around the city with both Alec and Andrew, and enjoy their company. It was a very pleasing walk.
"What time do you think you will want lunch?" Mrs. Van asked us as soon as we returned.
"We're in no hurry, Mom. I'm sure no one is hungry yet" said Alec.
"Then let's shoot for 2:30" said Mrs. Van. "We'll have a late lunch since we didn't finish breakfast until 10:30."
And we all went into the living room and joined Mr. Van, who was watching television. He was holding Tim and watching basketball, just as Andrew had predicted. Lizbeth was sitting next to him, and Mrs. Van then sat down next to Lizbeth.
Alec and Andrew and I sat down on another couch, with me in the middle, and we just watched the games.
At 2:00, Andrew's mother got up and went into the kitchen, and Andrew turned to me and said "Let's go help Mom" and we followed her into the kitchen.
"What's for lunch, Mom?" Andrew asked and she said she was going to grill some fresh tuna steaks and make a salad.
"What do you want us to do?" asked Andrew.
"You really want to help?" she asked.
"Yes" we both said.
"Then I'll have you make the salad, but I want you to do exactly what I say" she said.
And, step-by-step, she told us both exactly what she wanted us to do while she herself prepared the dressing for the salad and started preparing the tuna steaks. She told us how to wash each ingredient of the salad, and how to tear or to cut each vegetable, and her instructions were extremely precise.
While we were working, I said "Now, what's this about fried chicken, Andrew? Your Mom said never to allow you to make fried chicken for me."
And Andrew and his mother both laughed, and Andrew said "I don't know what the problem is, but I cannot get it to turn out right. However, I have learned to fry chicken in the oven now, and that works."
"Yes, he CAN do it in the oven" said Mrs. Van. "And it is OK. But it would be even better if he could learn to do it on the stove."
"In the oven? You're talking about Shake-And-Bake, you mean?" I asked.
"No. I fry it in the oven, in butter and shortening. I season the chicken, and fry it in butter and shortening in the oven for 45 minutes, and then I turn it and fry it for another 45 minutes. It works."
"What happened when you tried it on the stove?" I asked.
"Well, it didn't work" said Andrew, and he and his mother laughed again.
"It was perfect, if you were going for a blackened, burned taste on the outside, and red on the inside" said Mrs. Van. "With blood still oozing" she added, and she laughed, and Andrew laughed, too.
When lunch was almost ready, Mrs. Van told Andrew to alert everyone in the living room.
Lunch was nice, the salad was excellent--a bit different and a bit piquant--and the tuna was very good. Mrs. Van said the excess "fishiness" had been seeped out through multiple soakings in ice-cold water, and then prepared in a lemon and white pepper baste.
Andrew and I washed and dried the dishes, and cleaned up the kitchen. When we were done, we returned to the living room and Andrew asked Alec and Lizbeth whether they were going to go somewhere this evening.
"No, we decided we didn't want to" said Lizbeth. "But you should go somewhere if you want to. Go alone, or take your parents. You should try to do something while you are here."
Andrew looked at me and said "What about taking my Mom and Dad to see 'Light In The Piazza' tonight? My Mom wants to see that show." And Andrew turned to his mother and asked "You still want to see that, don't you, Mom?"
"Well, I wouldn't object" she said. "But you might want to go alone."
"The show closes sometime this summer, Mom, so this may be your only chance" said Andrew. "If you want to go, we will go. If you don't want to go, we will not go."
"Let's go see that with the boys" said Mr. Van to Mrs. Van. "You want to see that, I know, and Andrew is right--this may be your only chance."
And without further ado he turned to Andrew and said "We'll go."
"Is that up at the half-price booth?" Mrs. Van asked Lizbeth.
"Normally, but this is a Saturday night, so it may not be" said Lizbeth.
"Well, it might be sold out on a Saturday night" said Mrs. Van.
"No, that show does not sell out" said Lizbeth. "It has not managed to attract a substantial audience."
Andrew turned to me and said "Josh, let's go down to Times Square and check the half-price ticket booth. We'll get tickets there if they are on sale. If not, we'll walk up to Lincoln Center and get tickets at the theater. And you'll get to see some more of New York. Will you go?"
"I'll go!" I said.
"We'll take the subway. And Dad, I'll call you if we get tickets, and then we can just meet you at the theater. It's already 4:15, so we won't come back here before the show."
"What about dinner?" asked Andrew's mother.
"Josh and I can get a snack before the show if we need one, and then we all can have dinner after the show" Andrew said. "We can go out to eat after the performance, and not have to bother Alec and Lizbeth."
"That's a good idea" said Andrew's Dad. And, turning to Mrs. Van, he said "Let's do that."
"We can if you want" she said. "But I did have a dinner planned for here."
"Is it something that won't keep?" he asked.
"No, I guess not" she answered. "If you guys want to eat out, then let's eat out."
"Then let's do that. Dinner out after the show."
And with that Mr. Van got up and reached for his wallet.
"We've got it covered, Dad. You can pay for dinner if you want to" said Andrew.
And, turning to me, Andrew said "Josh, let's go." Then, turning to his Dad again, Andrew said "We'll call you when we get tickets." And, wishing Alec and Lizbeth a nice evening, we left.
We took the subway to Times Square, and we went to the Tickets booth and we saw that tickets for "Light In The Piazza" were listed on the board, and we got in line and we bought four tickets to the show. Andrew called his Dad and told him that we had obtained the tickets and he told his Dad that we would be in front of the theater, waiting for them, no later than 7:30, and that there was an 8:00 curtain.
"You want to walk around for a bit?" Andrew asked me after we got the tickets.
"Yes, of course" I said, and Andrew took my hand and we held hands and we walked around the Broadway theater district and examined theaters and theater marquees for quite some time. Andrew had never held my hand before in public, and he held hands with me, nonstop, as we walked around for the remainder of the afternoon and early evening. He was very subtle about it--we walked shoulder-to-shoulder with our hands down at our sides (at thigh level, in fact), between us. No one would have noticed unless they were paying very close attention to us. He held my hand very gently some of the time, and very tightly some of the time, and some of the time he would massage his fingers in and out of my fingers. It was very exciting and very beautiful. Every time we arrived at a street corner and had to stop, Andrew would turn to me and look into my eyes and smile and squeeze my hand.
After we were done walking all around the theater district, we walked down to 34th Street and walked around The Empire State Building, and then we reversed course and headed toward Lincoln Center. Andrew stopped and showed me Carnegie Hall along the way, and in front of Carnegie Hall he asked me if I was hungry. I said "No, not in the least" and he asked me if I needed to eat before the show. "No" I said. "OK" he said. "I was only asking because there is a good delicatessen near Carnegie Hall."
We did stop to have coffee shortly after that, just to sit down for a bit and get a jolt of caffeine, and then we continued walking up to Lincoln Center, going out of our way to see the Plaza Hotel and a couple of other notable buildings Andrew wanted to point out to me. When we arrived at our destination, we walked around Lincoln Center for a while, just killing time as it approached 7:30.
We were standing at the fountain and just getting ready to head over to the Vivian Beaumont Theater when Andrew saw his parents get out of a cab in front of the plaza. We went over to them and escorted them to the theater.
At the theater, Mr. Van sat next to Mrs. Van who sat next to me who sat next to Andrew. Mr. and Mrs. Van had changed clothes, and they were very nicely dressed, which gave the event sort of a sense of occasion.
The show was interesting, but not completely successful. The book was not good, and the show was not properly shaped. A good writer needed to have been called in, and to have re-shaped the show and re-written the book. A few moments were near magical, but most of the show fell entirely flat. It was easy to see why the show only appeals to a specialist theater audience. Everything was just ever-so-slightly off key, but the serious intent of the authors was never in doubt.
Over dinner, we talked about the show, and practically nothing else. Mrs. Van, apparently a great lover of theater, said "interesting but flawed", Mr. Van said "a total failure, but a dignified failure" and Andrew said "no one associated with the production had the talent level to sustain their vision, including Adam Guettel, whose musical range was not wide enough to encompass the show." I said I withheld judgment on the music, needing to hear the score a few more times. Andrew said that he would get me the cast album and that we would listen to the music again--and make it a memento of our first evening in the theater together.
Dinner was at a Mexican restaurant near Lincoln Center, which was supposed to be highly regarded but which was over-priced and not very special, and after dinner we took a cab back to the apartment. It was after midnight when we returned. Alec and Lizbeth were already asleep, and everyone went straight to bed.
It had been a wonderful and very special day in New York City.
That day was a beautiful, beautiful day for me.
As is clear from the message, Andrew and my father were not getting along at the time.
That is another long, long story.
____________________________________________________________
On Saturday morning, we first woke up at 7:00, when we heard Tim crying.
Andrew said to me, "I'm going to get up now, but why don't you sleep a little longer, Josh."
"No, if you're getting up, I'm going to get up" I said, and Andrew and I went into the kitchen and Andrew made coffee. While the coffee was brewing, Andrew went to the door, opened it, retrieved the newspapers and brought them back to the kitchen.
Soon we were joined by Andrew's father, in pajamas and robe, and then by Alec, in pajamas. Alec wears the same thing to bed that Andrew (and now I) wear to bed. They are unmistakably brothers, and if I met them on the street for the first time, I would immediately know that they were brothers. If I had never met Andrew, and if Alec were gay, Alec would be my choice as the person with whom I would most want to spend my life, I have decided.
The coffee was soon ready, and Andrew poured everyone coffee and we all sat down and flipped through the newspapers. Lizbeth, in pajamas and robe, soon brought Tim in and began heating him his bottle. Alec held him while the bottle was heating--and of course Tim was fussy.
In about another thirty minutes, Mrs. Van came in, also in pajamas and robe, and she sat down. So here we all were, gathered around the kitchen table again, just like last night.
"How about a little something to eat before breakfast?" Andrew asked.
"Sure" Andrew's Dad answered. "Lizbeth and your Mom could go for some fruit, I expect, and we could have some cereal."
Mr. Van turned to me and asked "Cereal, Josh?"
"Sure" I said.
Andrew then said "Ladies, melons, berries or banana nut?"
"What does that mean?" I asked.
"Would they prefer a plate of cantaloupe and dew melon and watermelon, or a bowl of strawberries, raspberries and blueberries in cream, or a dish of bananas, walnuts and honey?"
Mrs. Van said she could go for a plate of melon and Lizbeth said she could go for a bowl of berries.
"Josh, what about you? Something to go with your cereal?" Andrew asked.
"That banana nut concoction sounds good" I said.
"Alec?"
"Banana."
"Dad?"
"Berries."
And Andrew went to work, and made his Mom a melon plate, and two bowls of berries and cream for Lizbeth and his Dad, and he made three dishes of bananas and walnuts and honey for Alec, me and himself.
He passed these all around, and then he brought out shredded wheat with skim milk for his Dad, and granola and whole milk for Alec, me and himself.
And this was just "a little something to eat before breakfast"? Yes, it was, as the "real" breakfast was to come soon enough.
But the "pre-breakfast" breakfast wasn't done yet!
After he had had his bowl of berries, Mr. Van thought he could go for a little melon, too. After Mrs. Van had had her plate of melon, she thought she could go for a bowl of berries, too. After Lizbeth had had her bowl of berries, she thought she could go for a little melon, too. After Alec had had his bowl of banana-nut-honey, he thought he could go for a bowl of berries, too. I, after my bowl of banana-nut-honey, thought I should do some berries, too, just to stay in the swing of things with everyone else. Andrew made himself a berry bowl, too, to eat along with me and Alec as we ate ours.
When we were all done with this round, Andrew asked if anyone wanted some more melon, as the melons were already cut open. All of the men said yes, so we men all ate a plate of melon, too. That meant that Alec, Andrew and I all got some of each.
When this was done, Andrew said to me "I'm going to go get cleaned up now, Josh, so I can get a head start on breakfast." Then Andrew said "Everybody, just leave your dishes in the sink, and I will wash them when I come back. What does everybody want for breakfast, so I will know what to start?"
Everybody looked around, as if they didn't have a clue.
"No requests?" Andrew asked.
No one said anything.
"How about Eggs Benedict, then?" he asked.
"Yeah, that sounds good" everybody but me said all at once, and Lizbeth turned to me and said "Andrew makes his own Hollandaise sauce from scratch. He can do it without lumps."
And Andrew asked me "Josh, can you go for Eggs Benedict?"
"Sure" I said.
So Andrew went to get cleaned up, and I was left alone with his family. I wondered if they would take advantage of this opportunity to ask me anything, and I did not have long to wait.
"Well, now, Andrew cooks for you, doesn't he?" asked his mother.
"Yes, all the time" I answered. "I cannot believe how good Andrew cooks."
"Well, he does breakfasts best" said his mother. "If he offers you fried chicken, run."
"Or that shrimp-tomato-rice dish" said his father.
"Or Swiss steak" said Alec.
"Yes, we don't want to forget about that Swiss steak, do we?" said his father. "Better to turn that down, Josh. Stick with Swanson."
"He still doesn't 'get' meat loaf" said Lizbeth. "Of course, neither do I."
"And I can't understand that" said Mrs. Van. "I have provided him with four fail-safe recipes for meat loaf, and I can't understand what he does wrong. Generally, if it is something that goes in the oven, he does fine. It is when something must be cooked on the stove that he seems to have problems. And that's why I can't understand why he can't do meat loaf. That's such a puzzle to me."
"But Andrew does excellent Wiener Schnitzel, and that is cooked on the stove" I said. "I've had it, and I thought it was superb."
"Yes, he can do Wiener Schnitzel" said Mr. Van. "When he cooks, it's like there is no midway point--it is either superb or . . .or . . . or . . .inedible. There is no in-between."
"I cannot do soufflés well, but HE can, and I cannot understand that" said Mrs. Van.
"You, Josh, will have to learn to cook the things he can't" said Lizbeth. "I am sure you will both work things out."
"I have thought that everything he has cooked has been wonderful" I said. "There has been nothing, not a single dish, that I did not find perfect."
"Then he's been leading with his strengths" said Alec. "Give it more time."
"And absolutely no fried chicken" said Mrs. Van. "Never."
"Josh, do you like to cook?" asked Lizbeth.
"I really never have" I said. "But I am going to learn, because I think we would enjoy cooking together. I enjoy being in the kitchen with Andrew when he cooks, and I like to wash and dry dishes with him. So I want to learn to cook, too."
"Joshua, there is a question I have to ask you" said Andrew's mother. "What's going to happen after graduation?"
Mr. Van immediately came to my rescue. "They are in the thinking stage about that, and not ready to decide anything yet."
"Yes, I know that" Andrew's mother said to Mr. Van. "You mentioned that." But then she turned to me and she said "But we are so curious to know. Does Andrew plan to relocate to Boston?"
"You know, we just don't know yet" I said. "We have discussed that, but nothing is firm. We're just not sure what to do."
"Do you know what you will be doing this summer, Joshua?" she asked.
"That's probably up in the air" said Mr. Van.
"I just wanted to know what he thought he might be doing" said Andrew's mother. "That's all."
I thought I at least needed to mention what Andrew had suggested for the summer. "Andrew has suggested that I spend at least part of the summer in Minnesota" I said. "But, again, that is entirely tentative."
"We would enjoy having you, Joshua" said Mrs. Van.
"Thank you, Mrs. Van" I said. "I know I would enjoying being there. But everything is still unsettled."
"We need just to let them mull things over" said Mr. Van. "I'm sure they are just focusing on getting through the school year for now."
Then Mrs. Van went in for a killer question, although I am sure that she did not do this purposefully or with any realization of what a can of worms she was opening.
"Joshua, do you think that Andrew will be able to get along with your father? Andrew's Dad says they are a case of oil and water."
"Well" I said. And I could not think of anything to say that would be both accommodating and truthful.
Mrs. Van paused for a moment, and said "That doesn't sound promising."
I was trying to think of something nice, and not worrisome, to say, and I still could not come up with anything truthful.
"If Andrew doesn't like someone, he doesn't like someone. He doesn't change his mind" said his mother. "And that can create problems. He shows them that he doesn't like them. They suffer under no misapprehensions--he lets them know what he thinks about them. He has always done that."
"And he saves up" said Andrew's Dad.
"Just like he did against [the former fiancé of Andrew’s middle brother]" said Alec "when he gave her everything at once."
"And that can create problems" said Andrew's Dad.
"And he won't budge" said Andrew's mother.
"Lose credibility with him, and you lose it forever" said Alec.
"Once Andrew has decided that a person is not worthy of attention, he ignores them or, if he has to have contact with them, he plays games with them" said Lizbeth.
"As in the case of [the former fiancé of Andrew’s middle brother]" said Alec.
This is sounding eerily familiar, I thought to myself, reflecting back on Andrew's phone conversations of Monday and Tuesday nights with my Dad.
"One thing I can say, with some confidence, Joshua, is that you and Andrew should probably never move to Oklahoma" said Andrew's Dad. "I don't think that would be a good idea."
I smiled, but I did not say anything. That probably told them everything they needed to know.
I knew I had not offered a proper response, so I thought I should say something.
"Our family is different from yours, Mrs. Van. Everyone sort of goes his or her own way. We don't look to each other for closeness or moral support. We are a collection of individuals who happen to spend part of our time under the same roof."
Mrs. Van looked hurt when she heard what I had said, so I added "But we are all happy in our own way. We just don't have the same kinds of bonds you have."
She still looked unhappy, so I added "Not everyone is as fortunate as your family, and stays close and loving and together. 'Things Fall Apart', as the poem says. 'The Centre Cannot Hold' ."
Then I realized that I had probably made things even worse, and that I should just shut up and quit while I was ahead, and leave Keats out of this entirely.
"Isn't it time for everyone to get ready for the day?" asked Mr. Van, and I was glad that he had come to my rescue once again.
Alec and Lizbeth stood up and Andrew entered the kitchen at that very moment.
"You're all still here!" he exclaimed. "You must have taken advantage of my absence to grill poor Josh to death!"
"You hit that nail on the head" said Mr. Van. Then he looked very kindly at Mrs. Van and added "But only out of an excess of concern for you both."
Andrew turned to his mother and asked "What's wrong, Mom? What's got you concerned?" And he walked over to his Mom, who was still sitting at the table, and he placed his hand on her shoulder.
"Oh, I didn't ask anything any other mother would not have asked" she said. And she got up and she kissed Andrew and she said "And we all need to get ready for the day. It's 9:00. Goodness!" And she and Alec and Lizbeth all left the kitchen.
"Everything OK?" Andrew asked me and his Dad.
"Yes" said Mr. Van, and he got up and left the kitchen, too.
"Everything OK?" Andrew asked me.
"Yes" I said, and I got up and I walked over to him and I kissed him. "And I'm going to put back the sofas now and get cleaned up."
"I already took care of the living room" said Andrew. "All you need to do is to get cleaned up."
And I went and got ready for the day.
When I came back to the kitchen, the dishes had been washed, the table set, something was baking in the oven and Andrew had assembled everything he needed for the Eggs Benedict, ready to get started as soon as everyone re-congregated.
"What's in the oven?" I asked. "It smells good."
"An apple-walnut coffee cake" said Andrew.
"You're determined not to let anyone starve this morning, aren't you?" I asked, and I laughed and Andrew laughed, and he put his arm around my neck, and we stood and leaned on a kitchen counter, waiting for everyone else to return.
Soon everyone else came back into the kitchen, and Andrew gave everyone glasses of orange juice and milk and he got started on the Eggs Benedict. We played with the baby and engaged in idle chitchat during this "real" breakfast. The Eggs Benedict were perfect, and so was the coffee cake.
After we were done eating, Mrs. Van announced "OK, I am going to do the dishes. Why don't you boys all join Mr. Van for his walk?"
Apparently Mr. Van takes a morning constitutional, and Alec and Andrew and I got our jackets and we joined him.
We walked for about an hour, just strolling along, on the streets. Alec and Andrew walked side by side in front of Mr. Van and me, who also walked side by side. We really did not do much talking, but just enjoyed a nice leisurely stroll.
I could not help but notice, watching Alec and Andrew in front of us, how incredibly close they are and how easily they can communicate with each other, without the use of words. They always seem to know exactly what the other is thinking and planning to do. They would change directions without so much as a word between them, and not lose half a step between them.
Occasionally they would turn back to us to say something, or point out something, but otherwise we just walked.
Halfway through the walk, Andrew traded places with his Dad, and Alec and Mr. Van walked in front, with Andrew and I behind them.
It was a nice, almost-but-not-quite bracing walk, and I enjoyed it very much.
When we returned to the apartment building, Alec said to his Dad "Why don't you go on in, Dad? We may continue on for a bit."
And Mr. Van went back into the building, and we three walked around some more, but in a different direction. We walked three abreast, with me in the middle, between these two incredibly handsome and sweet brothers. We did not talk, but just walked. Once in a while Alec would point out something, but otherwise no one said anything. I was completely happy and content the whole time.
It was almost 1:00 when we returned to the apartment, and I was very glad just to have had this chance to walk around the city with both Alec and Andrew, and enjoy their company. It was a very pleasing walk.
"What time do you think you will want lunch?" Mrs. Van asked us as soon as we returned.
"We're in no hurry, Mom. I'm sure no one is hungry yet" said Alec.
"Then let's shoot for 2:30" said Mrs. Van. "We'll have a late lunch since we didn't finish breakfast until 10:30."
And we all went into the living room and joined Mr. Van, who was watching television. He was holding Tim and watching basketball, just as Andrew had predicted. Lizbeth was sitting next to him, and Mrs. Van then sat down next to Lizbeth.
Alec and Andrew and I sat down on another couch, with me in the middle, and we just watched the games.
At 2:00, Andrew's mother got up and went into the kitchen, and Andrew turned to me and said "Let's go help Mom" and we followed her into the kitchen.
"What's for lunch, Mom?" Andrew asked and she said she was going to grill some fresh tuna steaks and make a salad.
"What do you want us to do?" asked Andrew.
"You really want to help?" she asked.
"Yes" we both said.
"Then I'll have you make the salad, but I want you to do exactly what I say" she said.
And, step-by-step, she told us both exactly what she wanted us to do while she herself prepared the dressing for the salad and started preparing the tuna steaks. She told us how to wash each ingredient of the salad, and how to tear or to cut each vegetable, and her instructions were extremely precise.
While we were working, I said "Now, what's this about fried chicken, Andrew? Your Mom said never to allow you to make fried chicken for me."
And Andrew and his mother both laughed, and Andrew said "I don't know what the problem is, but I cannot get it to turn out right. However, I have learned to fry chicken in the oven now, and that works."
"Yes, he CAN do it in the oven" said Mrs. Van. "And it is OK. But it would be even better if he could learn to do it on the stove."
"In the oven? You're talking about Shake-And-Bake, you mean?" I asked.
"No. I fry it in the oven, in butter and shortening. I season the chicken, and fry it in butter and shortening in the oven for 45 minutes, and then I turn it and fry it for another 45 minutes. It works."
"What happened when you tried it on the stove?" I asked.
"Well, it didn't work" said Andrew, and he and his mother laughed again.
"It was perfect, if you were going for a blackened, burned taste on the outside, and red on the inside" said Mrs. Van. "With blood still oozing" she added, and she laughed, and Andrew laughed, too.
When lunch was almost ready, Mrs. Van told Andrew to alert everyone in the living room.
Lunch was nice, the salad was excellent--a bit different and a bit piquant--and the tuna was very good. Mrs. Van said the excess "fishiness" had been seeped out through multiple soakings in ice-cold water, and then prepared in a lemon and white pepper baste.
Andrew and I washed and dried the dishes, and cleaned up the kitchen. When we were done, we returned to the living room and Andrew asked Alec and Lizbeth whether they were going to go somewhere this evening.
"No, we decided we didn't want to" said Lizbeth. "But you should go somewhere if you want to. Go alone, or take your parents. You should try to do something while you are here."
Andrew looked at me and said "What about taking my Mom and Dad to see 'Light In The Piazza' tonight? My Mom wants to see that show." And Andrew turned to his mother and asked "You still want to see that, don't you, Mom?"
"Well, I wouldn't object" she said. "But you might want to go alone."
"The show closes sometime this summer, Mom, so this may be your only chance" said Andrew. "If you want to go, we will go. If you don't want to go, we will not go."
"Let's go see that with the boys" said Mr. Van to Mrs. Van. "You want to see that, I know, and Andrew is right--this may be your only chance."
And without further ado he turned to Andrew and said "We'll go."
"Is that up at the half-price booth?" Mrs. Van asked Lizbeth.
"Normally, but this is a Saturday night, so it may not be" said Lizbeth.
"Well, it might be sold out on a Saturday night" said Mrs. Van.
"No, that show does not sell out" said Lizbeth. "It has not managed to attract a substantial audience."
Andrew turned to me and said "Josh, let's go down to Times Square and check the half-price ticket booth. We'll get tickets there if they are on sale. If not, we'll walk up to Lincoln Center and get tickets at the theater. And you'll get to see some more of New York. Will you go?"
"I'll go!" I said.
"We'll take the subway. And Dad, I'll call you if we get tickets, and then we can just meet you at the theater. It's already 4:15, so we won't come back here before the show."
"What about dinner?" asked Andrew's mother.
"Josh and I can get a snack before the show if we need one, and then we all can have dinner after the show" Andrew said. "We can go out to eat after the performance, and not have to bother Alec and Lizbeth."
"That's a good idea" said Andrew's Dad. And, turning to Mrs. Van, he said "Let's do that."
"We can if you want" she said. "But I did have a dinner planned for here."
"Is it something that won't keep?" he asked.
"No, I guess not" she answered. "If you guys want to eat out, then let's eat out."
"Then let's do that. Dinner out after the show."
And with that Mr. Van got up and reached for his wallet.
"We've got it covered, Dad. You can pay for dinner if you want to" said Andrew.
And, turning to me, Andrew said "Josh, let's go." Then, turning to his Dad again, Andrew said "We'll call you when we get tickets." And, wishing Alec and Lizbeth a nice evening, we left.
We took the subway to Times Square, and we went to the Tickets booth and we saw that tickets for "Light In The Piazza" were listed on the board, and we got in line and we bought four tickets to the show. Andrew called his Dad and told him that we had obtained the tickets and he told his Dad that we would be in front of the theater, waiting for them, no later than 7:30, and that there was an 8:00 curtain.
"You want to walk around for a bit?" Andrew asked me after we got the tickets.
"Yes, of course" I said, and Andrew took my hand and we held hands and we walked around the Broadway theater district and examined theaters and theater marquees for quite some time. Andrew had never held my hand before in public, and he held hands with me, nonstop, as we walked around for the remainder of the afternoon and early evening. He was very subtle about it--we walked shoulder-to-shoulder with our hands down at our sides (at thigh level, in fact), between us. No one would have noticed unless they were paying very close attention to us. He held my hand very gently some of the time, and very tightly some of the time, and some of the time he would massage his fingers in and out of my fingers. It was very exciting and very beautiful. Every time we arrived at a street corner and had to stop, Andrew would turn to me and look into my eyes and smile and squeeze my hand.
After we were done walking all around the theater district, we walked down to 34th Street and walked around The Empire State Building, and then we reversed course and headed toward Lincoln Center. Andrew stopped and showed me Carnegie Hall along the way, and in front of Carnegie Hall he asked me if I was hungry. I said "No, not in the least" and he asked me if I needed to eat before the show. "No" I said. "OK" he said. "I was only asking because there is a good delicatessen near Carnegie Hall."
We did stop to have coffee shortly after that, just to sit down for a bit and get a jolt of caffeine, and then we continued walking up to Lincoln Center, going out of our way to see the Plaza Hotel and a couple of other notable buildings Andrew wanted to point out to me. When we arrived at our destination, we walked around Lincoln Center for a while, just killing time as it approached 7:30.
We were standing at the fountain and just getting ready to head over to the Vivian Beaumont Theater when Andrew saw his parents get out of a cab in front of the plaza. We went over to them and escorted them to the theater.
At the theater, Mr. Van sat next to Mrs. Van who sat next to me who sat next to Andrew. Mr. and Mrs. Van had changed clothes, and they were very nicely dressed, which gave the event sort of a sense of occasion.
The show was interesting, but not completely successful. The book was not good, and the show was not properly shaped. A good writer needed to have been called in, and to have re-shaped the show and re-written the book. A few moments were near magical, but most of the show fell entirely flat. It was easy to see why the show only appeals to a specialist theater audience. Everything was just ever-so-slightly off key, but the serious intent of the authors was never in doubt.
Over dinner, we talked about the show, and practically nothing else. Mrs. Van, apparently a great lover of theater, said "interesting but flawed", Mr. Van said "a total failure, but a dignified failure" and Andrew said "no one associated with the production had the talent level to sustain their vision, including Adam Guettel, whose musical range was not wide enough to encompass the show." I said I withheld judgment on the music, needing to hear the score a few more times. Andrew said that he would get me the cast album and that we would listen to the music again--and make it a memento of our first evening in the theater together.
Dinner was at a Mexican restaurant near Lincoln Center, which was supposed to be highly regarded but which was over-priced and not very special, and after dinner we took a cab back to the apartment. It was after midnight when we returned. Alec and Lizbeth were already asleep, and everyone went straight to bed.
It had been a wonderful and very special day in New York City.
London Awaits
Tomorrow we will be off, and we will not be back until late in the afternoon on Saturday, September 15.
Tonight Andrew’s brother will arrive from Denver. He is coming a day early to avoid any potential flight delays tomorrow. He will spend the night with his parents, and Andrew and I will spend the night at his parents’ house, too.
Tomorrow before lunch, Andrew’s mother and Andrew’s brother and I will take the dog over to what will be his home for the next fifteen days. He will be staying with a friend from our church.
She is a widow, 75 years old, and she loves having him with her for a week or two now and then (although the dog would probably be too much for her to handle on a full-time basis). She bakes him sugar cookies and cooks steaks for him and feeds him ice cream, and he loves staying with her. Two neighbor kids will take him to the park every afternoon, just to give her a break from the dog and to give her a chance to rest. Apparently it always works out well for everyone whenever the dog stays with our friend from church. It works out well for her, the kids and the dog.
Andrew’s mother always cries whenever she has to leave the dog. The dog remains at her side most of the day, and she is accustomed to having him with her most of the time, and he is accustomed to being with her. It is very hard for her to leave the dog, and it is probably hard for him, too.
Andrew and his father should be home from work tomorrow at 1:00 p.m. We will have a light lunch, after which we will head to the airport.
The last three days have been delightful. I have had the week off, and I have been spending the last three days with Andrew’s mother, helping her do a few things around the house and helping her get things ready for London.
Andrew’s mother is a delightful woman, and I have always liked her—as does everyone. She is warm and funny and witty and caring, always solicitous of others, always looking out for others, always knowing precisely the right thing to say and do to put others at ease. There are few people in the world with her great gift of social grace. According to her lifelong friends, she has displayed this special and innate gift since she was a small child.
I met Andrew’s mother on the evening of Friday, March 3, 2006, in New York, at the home of Andrew’s oldest brother. I had already met Andrew’s father in Washington exactly one week earlier.
I remember that evening vividly. Andrew and I had driven up to New York from Washington after our classes had ended for the day. Andrew’s parents had spent that week visiting their oldest son and his family, including, of course, the new baby, who was only four months old at the time.
Here is the text of a portion of an email message I sent to a friend of mine early the next week, in which I described the first evening I knew Andrew’s mother.
[There is one item of background information readers need to know to understand one of Andrew’s remarks, a witticism that helped break the ice between Andrew’s mother and me.
Andrew’s middle brother had previously been engaged, briefly, to a young lady from Los Angeles. This young lady had visited Andrew’s family two months before, at Christmas 2005. This young lady did not make a good impression on Andrew’s family, to say the least.
She had been very unpleasant, criticizing everything, complaining about everything, demanding special foods, finding everything unsuitable, staying in bed until Noon each day and expecting to be waited on hand and foot at all times.
On Christmas Day 2005, with about 50 different foods to choose from for Christmas Dinner, she couldn’t find “a single thing” to eat and—in an astonishing and bewildering act of rudeness—had asked to be taken to a Thai restaurant. (Andrew had pointed out to her that Thai restaurants in Minneapolis were closed on Christmas Day—but he did offer to get her a bowl of Science Diet.)
Andrew’s family had been required to change her guest room three times during her visit because she had found each guest room to be unsuitable for some reason or other.
During her stay she had refused even to step foot into the living room, where the Christmas tree had been mounted, because she said the tree might emit harmful vapors.
She was a total pain, and sometime I will tell the whole story. It is a very, very funny story—in hindsight, at least, although it probably wasn’t very funny at the time.
It was a memorable Christmas for the whole family, all the way around, but not in a positive way.
To understand the full story, readers also need to know that this young lady’s third and final guest room was directly across the hall from Andrew’s room. This third room did not please her, either, but by this time she had already gone through all the guest rooms available to her and there were no more guest rooms to be offered (although Andrew had offered to help her move to the basement).
The young lady had objected to the third and final guest room because, she said, Andrew made “strange noises” at night. This would have been virtually impossible for her to know, because the hallway is quite wide and Andrew’s door was shut and her guest room door was shut. She would not have been able to hear anything emanating from Andrew’s room. Nevertheless, she was insistent that Andrew’s “strange noises” were keeping her awake at night.
Ultimately, she left the house. Andrew drove her out, or so the story is now told in his family—which is a whole other funny story in itself, which I also may tell sometime.
The short version: Andrew started making fun of her and mimicking her, openly, in her presence. Finally, she and Andrew had a heated confrontation outside the upstairs linen closet about her incessant demands shortly before 6:00 a.m. on December 31, 2005. This confrontation resulted in her leaving the house—forever.
She and Andrew’s middle brother broke off their engagement not long after.]
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When we were passing New Brunswick, New Jersey, Andrew's cell phone rang. It was Alec, and he wanted to know where we were, progress-wise, on our journey. Andrew told him that we were passing New Brunswick, and Alec said "Oh, good. Then we'll see you in about 45 minutes. Mom will put dinner on the stove now."
"What will we be having?" Andrew asked.
"Mom's special Dutch Chowder" was Alec's answer.
"Oh, swell. I can't wait!" said Andrew.
"Call me when you're ten minutes away" said Alec, and Andrew said that he would.
Andrew told me that his mother's Dutch Chowder was VERY good, and that she probably had made it because it was the perfect dish to make ahead of time, ideal for a situation in which dinner could not be perfectly timed, owing to the uncertainty of our arrival time.
"It is made the day before, chilled for 24 hours, and then heated before it is served" he said.
He said it was made with chicken and dark lager beer and cream and different cheeses and an entire assortment of fresh vegetables, to which are added green onions and bacon bits as it is heated prior to being served. "You'll really like it" he told me.
When we were ten minutes away from Alec's place, Andrew called him to let him know that we were ten minutes away. And, once again, when we arrived at our destination Alec was there to meet us out front, to slip behind the wheel, and to drive into the parking garage of his building.
We did not have as much stuff to carry upstairs this trip as the time before, as Andrew had REALLY stocked Alec and Lizbeth up two weeks ago, so we three were able to make do--just--with only one trip upstairs this time.
Lizbeth met us at the door and held the door open and directed us into the kitchen, where we put down all the stuff, including our bags. Andrew's mother and father were in the kitchen--Andrew's mother was at the stove, stirring the chowder, and Andrew's father was sitting in a chair, feeding Tim his bottle.
After we put down the stuff we were carrying, Andrew took me over to his Mom, kissed her, and said "Mom, this is Joshua. Joshua, this is my mother, Jean."
Andrew's mother shook my hand, and told me that she was pleased to meet me. She did not, however, kiss me or hug me or do anything else I somehow thought she might do. For some reason, I thought I would receive an overwhelming welcome from her, but I did not receive that. She was polite and cordial, but she did not give me an overwhelming display of affection.
I told her I was pleased to meet her, and then I turned to Andrew's father and I told him I was pleased to see him again. "I apologize for not getting up, Joshua, but, as you see, I am otherwise occupied" he said to me, and then he smiled at me. He continued "How have you been?"
"Very well, thank you, sir" I said. "And you?"
"We've been having a wonderful time, all week" he answered, and smiled again. "And I am sure you can guess why."
Lizbeth turned to Alec and said "Why don't you help them take their stuff to the day room, and have them get washed up for dinner", so Alec helped us pick up our stuff and we took it to Tim's room.
"Get cleaned up, you guys, and come right back" he said. "We're almost ready to eat."
So Andrew and I washed up and returned to the kitchen.
When we returned to the kitchen, Andrew went over again to his mother and he smiled at her--he gave her a dazzling, million-dollar smile, bursting with love and affection--and he said "So, now can I have a hug from my girl?" and he gave her an incredibly loving hug, and she gave him one back. He kissed her again, and she kissed him, and then he just held her for a long time in his arms.
While Andrew was holding her, he asked her how she was doing, and how her week was going, and whether she had noticed how much Tim had grown since Christmas (which of course she had noticed) and whether she had had a chance to do any shopping while in New York (she had not--she had been staying home with Lizbeth and the baby). He told her how very much he had missed her since the Christmas break and how happy he was to see her again.
"We're just going to stay here, Joshua and I, and hang out all weekend" Andrew said to his mother, and then Andrew finally stopped holding his mother with both arms. He put his right arm around her shoulder and then he reached out for me, and he drew me to him and he put his left arm around my shoulder. "That will give you a chance to get to know Josh, Mom" he said to her. Then Andrew immediately turned to me and he said "And that will give you a chance to get to know Mom, Josh."
Andrew turned back to his Mom and he said "You will like Josh very much, Mom. I know you will. He is very sweet and very gentle. And if Josh will remind you of anyone you already know and love who is also very sweet and very gentle, he will remind you of [the former fiancé of Andrew’s middle brother]."
At this, everyone burst out laughing, and whatever ice there had been was broken. Andrew's mother laughed, too, heartily, and she said to me, with a twinkle in her eye, and with great mock concern, "I just hope we have laid in enough lime for you for the weekend!" She laughed again, and then she said, again with mock concern, "And don't worry--we'll have breakfast waiting for you at the crack of Noon. But we can only hope and pray that Andrew will keep his 'strange noises' during the night down to a minimum."
And she laughed again, and Andrew kissed her again, and then Andrew left me there at her side and he went over to his Dad, now standing, and he hugged him, very, very hard, and he told him he was very glad to see him again.
Andrew's Dad hugged him back, very hard, and he held Andrew to him. When Andrew's Dad released him, Alec stepped in and hugged Andrew and kissed him and tussled his hair and nuzzled him and patted him and hugged him all over again. Then Andrew went over to Lizbeth and he hugged her and kissed her, and she hugged him and kissed him back.
Then Alec came over to me and he put his arm around my neck and he asked me how I had been doing. I told him I had been doing fine, and Alec asked me whether Andrew had been taking good care of me and whether I had been taking good care of Andrew. I told him that we both had been taking good care of each other. "Swell" he said. "Lizbeth and I are so happy that you guys were able to come up again so soon. We missed you guys after you left. We both hoped it wouldn't be long before you came up again. We're glad you're here." And Alec tussled my hair, and he said to his mother "See, Mom, his hair is really short, just like I told you. It's not even quite an inch long." And Alec tussled my hair again, and he said to me "Of course, we had to tell my Mom everything we knew about you. She was curious, as I'm sure you understand."
"Of course I understand" I said. "I would have expected that."
Andrew's mother then asked everyone "Do you think you will be ready to eat in five minutes?" and everyone nodded, and Alec started seating us at the table in the kitchen. He told Andrew and me to sit next to each other, and he asked his parents to sit next to each other directly across the table from Andrew and me, and he said that he and Lizbeth would sit at opposite ends of the table.
Andrew and his Dad and I all took our places at the table.
Alec poured sparkling cider into glasses for everyone, and Lizbeth and Andrew’s mother put three small dishes at each of the places on the table: one dish of Waldorf salad, one dish of tomato and cucumber salad, and one dish of a carrot and cabbage and onion salad. Then we were each given an enormous bowl of the chowder, which smelled heavenly, and Alec, Lizbeth and Andrew’s mother sat down.
Alec asked his Dad to say grace, and after that we all dug in. The chowder was divine. It was one of the best things I have ever eaten. Andrew said it takes almost six hours to make, and that it does not taste quite perfect unless it has been chilled for 24 hours, a process which somehow allows the flavors to blend. Andrew thanked his mother for making it yesterday and I, too, thanked Andrew's mother for making it yesterday. She said that it was a total pleasure to make, and that she hoped that we truly enjoyed it. I truly enjoyed it, Silvio.
The three totally different kinds of salads were the perfect complements to the chowder, and it was a perfect meal.
The conversation during dinner was very relaxed. Everyone asked us about our drive up, and all four of them told us about their week together, and they told us what Tim had been up to (which was not very much, of course, but every new facial gesture he made was a major event to all of them). Andrew's parents were very pleasant during dinner, although his parents looked at us both keenly the whole time--which is why I suspect they were seated directly across from us in the first place (and a maneuver which I believe was planned in advance).
Andrew and Alec and I each ate three bowls of the chowder, accompanied by fresh servings of each of the accompanying salad dishes each time, and Andrew’s father had a second half-bowl of the chowder. Lizbeth and Andrew’s mother made do with one bowl. When we were done eating, there was still a lot of chowder left, and Andrew’s mother said that anyone could have a bowl at any time during the weekend if anyone ever got hungry--it would take only a few minutes to heat up an individual serving.
"But, Jean, I don't think you have any plans of letting anyone get hungry this weekend, do you?" said Andrew’s Dad, smiling. "It sounds like you've got at least eight meals a day planned for these boys."
"Well, maybe not eight, exactly" she said, laughing "But they will be sure to have more than enough."
Then she got up from the table and she said, "Andrew and Joshua, why don't you clear the table and I will make coffee and get the dessert ready. We'll let Alec and Lizbeth rest."
So Andrew and I cleared the table, and Andrew’s mother made coffee and brought out a homemade lemon meringue pie. And it was TRULY homemade. The crust was homemade. The lemon filling was homemade--completely from scratch. The meringue was homemade.
"Oh, Josh, you will love this" said Andrew. "You will just die when you eat this."
And Andrew was right. It was completely different--and vastly better--than any lemon meringue pie I had ever eaten. The lemon part was almost white, not yellow, and did not even look like the lemon part in pies bought in stores. That is because lemon meringue pies in stores are made with lemon flavoring and food coloring, but not with natural lemon.
Andrew’s mother's pie had a tartness and a natural sweetness and a subtlety of flavoring and a lightness that pies from stores do not have. It was a perfect dessert, and the perfect dessert to top off what we had had for dinner.
When we were all finished with our first slices, Andrew’s mother asked us if we wanted more. I saw that there were only two slices of pie left, and I declined a second slice, thinking that Alec and Andrew would each want another slice of pie.
"Didn't you like it?" Andrew’s mother asked me after I declined a second slice.
"Yes, I loved it!" I said.
"Well, then you must have another slice. These pies will be at their best tonight."
And she pulled a second lemon meringue pie from the refrigerator. She gave Alec, Andrew and me full slices, and she gave Lizbeth and Andrew’s father half slices.
When we were done with our second slices, she asked us "More?" and Andrew and Alec said "Sure, Mom" and she said to me "Let me get you another slice, too, Joshua, so they don't have to eat alone."
Andrew’s father started laughing and he turned to me and said "Yes, these two shy, retiring creatures are always reluctant to eat alone."
And Andrew’s mother laughed, too, and said "I know they will both feel better if they know you are eating, too, Joshua."
And she gave us our third slices of pie. Normally, I could never eat three slices of lemon pie in one sitting, but the flavoring was so subtle and the pie was so good and the lemon filling so light that I had no trouble with the third slice--in fact, I thoroughly enjoyed it.
When we were done, she said "There are three slices left. Do you want them now, or tomorrow?"
We all were completely full by now, and we all said that we would think about eating those slices tomorrow.
After eating, we sat around the table for thirty minutes or so, drinking coffee, and letting the food settle. It had been an excellent, excellent dinner.
Andrew's Dad asked us what we had planned for the weekend.
"You know, Dad, nothing. Nothing is what we have planned. Josh and I talked about that on the way up, and we both decided that we would just like to stay here and spend time with you and Mom and Alec and Lizbeth. That is, unless you have something planned, or unless Alec and Lizbeth have something planned."
And Andrew looked around the table, waiting for any responses.
Lizbeth spoke first. "Well, WE have nothing planned, but we don't want to interfere with anything you guys may want to do. We certainly don't want you to feel compelled to sit home with us all day and night."
"That's why we came" said Andrew.
"Your mother and I have nothing planned" said Andrew's Dad. "The only thing we could think of doing, IF you two wanted to do something AND spend time with us doing it, was to go to a show tomorrow night or to go to the Metropolitan Museum on Sunday."
"Josh and I are totally open and have no plans" said Andrew. "Our only thought at all, on the way up here, was that Alec and Lizbeth might want to take advantage of all the babysitters present, and to go out somewhere on Saturday night. We thought this might be an ideal opportunity for them to do that. Beyond that, we have no thoughts beyond spending time with you. If YOU want to do something, then we will go with you if you want. If you want to stay here, we will stay here with you. We are happy either way."
Andrew’s Dad turned to Alec and Lizbeth and said to them "You know, you SHOULD go out tomorrow night. Andrew is right. This is a perfect opportunity for you to get out for the night. You should take advantage of it."
Alec and Lizbeth looked at each other, and they said they would think about it.
Then Andrew looked at me and asked "I wash, you dry?"
"Sure" I said, and we both got up.
"Oh, now, you boys are NOT going to do the dishes" said Andrew's mother, and she started to get up.
"Yes, we are" said Andrew. "Sit. We'll handle this. We are pros at this. We do this almost every night. You can all just sit back and talk to us if you want to. And anyone who gets bored can go watch television."
And Andrew and I washed and dried the dishes.
And we talked to them the entire time.
Andrew and I did not really have any news to tell--we assumed, no doubt rightfully, that Andrew’s father had provided everyone with a full accounting of the events of last weekend at Westfield.
So we talked about the movies Andrew and I had seen together, and the books we were reading, and we talked about Andrew's roommates and the fact that they seemed to have no problem with the fact that I hung around their apartment quite a lot (and this was a topic in which Andrew's mother was apparently quite interested, for some reason), and we talked about the courses I was taking this semester. The time passed quickly and very pleasantly.
When we were done with the dishes, we sat down at the kitchen table with them, and we all had some more sparkling cider and we talked about basically nothing until it was time to go to bed. But even though we were talking about basically nothing, everyone seemed to enjoy it, including me.
Everyone prepared to leave the kitchen and turn in at about 11:45 p.m.
Before we left the kitchen, Andrew hugged and kissed his mother and said good night, and she hugged and kissed him back. He hugged his father and said good night, and his father hugged him back. He hugged Alec and said good night, and Alec hugged him back and tussled his hair. He hugged and kissed Lizbeth and said good night, and she hugged and kissed him back.
What did they do to me as I said good night? I said good night to Andrew’s father, and he put his hand on my shoulder and said 'Good night, Joshua." I said good night to Alec and he tussled my hair and said "Good night, pardner". I said good night to Lizbeth and she pecked me on the cheek and said "Good night. Sleep well." I said good night to Andrew's mother and she put her hand on my shoulder and said "Have a good night, Joshua."
Andrew and I went into the living room, and Alec and Lizbeth followed, saying that they were going to get the sofa beds ready for us. We told them that we would just do it ourselves, and we did.
We changed into our "sleep gear" and returned to the living room. The living room is very light at night, even with the lights turned off, because of all the lights from the city that flood the room.
I asked Andrew what his parents thought about me, and he said that everything was positive.
"If not" he said "their reaction would have been different."
"How so?" I asked.
"They treated you like family. If they did not think that, they would have signaled that, and you would have known it, believe me."
"How would they have signaled that?" I asked.
"Well, number one, you wouldn't be here. And neither would they" Andrew said.
"Number two, you would NOT have been awarded my mother's Dutch chowder and a lemon meringue pie."
"And, number three, they would have tried to stay as far away from you as decently possible. Instead, they spent the entire evening in your company--they wanted to do that, they enjoyed doing that, and they were glad that they did that."
Andrew paused, and then he said to me "We couldn't have hoped for anything more."
I asked Andrew whether his parents liked me.
"Well, I know my Dad does, because he told me that. And my mother has not had a chance to get to know you yet, but she is obviously pre-disposed to like you because she received favorable reports from Alec and Lizbeth about you. And when she gets to know you, she will like you very much--I have no doubt of that."
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And Andrew’s mother does like me. She likes me very much. She grew to like me very quickly, and I grew to like her very quickly. She is one of the prime reasons why I am so happy to be in Minneapolis.
I have loved spending the last three days with Andrew’s mother. I had never before been alone with her for such an extended period of time, and I cherished the time we spent together this week. Andrew’s mother is remarkable company. She is also a remarkable woman.
Whenever Andrew’s mother and I are alone together, she frequently tells me stories about things that happened when her three sons were boys, and I have always enjoyed hearing these stories. She also talks about her own family, and Andrew’s father, and the early years of their marriage, and interesting things she knows about the history of Minneapolis and Minnesota. She has what must be an unlimited number of such stories to tell, and I always find them fascinating.
My own parents worked for a living and both my mother and father were always gone all day. Moreover, they were separated for a time, and I lived with one of my grandmothers on and off for several years. I never experienced the unadulterated joys of family life and the constant parental attention and devotion and affection that Andrew has always enjoyed. That is probably why I love these stories so much. I get some sort of comfort from them, just as children gain comfort from the deep myths of the unconscious buried within fairy tales.
I think Andrew’s mother has always understood this, because she has always been very motherly to me, treating me as one of her own, giving me as much attention and affection and love as she gives her own boys. She is one of those persons who has unlimited love to give, and she gives of herself freely. I have been a fortunate beneficiary of her love. I have been privileged to have her all to myself for three days this week.
We really did not do much. Andrew’s mother pretty much had everything ready for London before Monday. The only thing for her to do is actually to put the clothes into the luggage, which she will do tomorrow morning.
This week I helped her do some light housework, and I helped her do a load or two of laundry, and I helped her run some errands to the food store and to the Post Office and to church and to the dry cleaners. I took the dog to the park Monday and yesterday. Today I gave the dog a bath, so he would be nice and clean when we take him over to his new temporary home tomorrow. I got as wet as he did during his bath.
I also helped her in the kitchen, which I always enjoy very much. Andrew’s mother is a serious and inspired cook, and she takes every facet of food preparation very seriously. This is a gift she has, and it is a gift she enjoys very much. I don’t know what she would do if she did not have people to cook for.
Andrew’s mother never does any seriously heavy housework, just as Andrew’s father never does any seriously heavy yard work, because Andrew insists upon doing the heavy tasks himself—and I have always helped him. Nothing irritates Andrew more than seeing his parents try to do too much or have loads of work dumped upon them, and his parents pretty much leave the heavy work to him now, and this has been true for the last several years.
One sure way to get up Andrew’s nose is for someone to create unnecessary work for his parents, whether it be houseguests, relatives or, even on occasion, Andrew’s brothers. This is the one thing that will set Andrew off—as the girl who briefly was his brother’s fiancé learned, to her detriment, at Christmas 2005.
After witnessing the girl treat his mother like a servant for ten days, Andrew erupted early one morning and read the girl The Riot Act. The girl left the house, never to return, later that same morning—to the relief of everyone, as it turned out, including her own fiancé.
Andrew’s parents have told me that that morning was the only time that they have ever heard Andrew utter curse words, and that it had been rather alarming to have been jarred awake that morning before 6:00 a.m., hearing Andrew screaming and cursing at someone in the upstairs hallway!
The girl fully deserved what she got, by the way. I really will have to tell that full story sometime. I don’t think Andrew would ever revisit that matter himself.
While Andrew’s mother and I were getting things done the last three days, I asked Andrew’s mother to select a disc of English music that she especially liked—something to get our minds ready for London—for us to listen to.
She made her choice without hesitation. She selected a disc of Edward Elgar’s music, a disc featuring the Enigma Variations, coupled with the five “Pomp And Circumstance” marches. The performances, on the Philips label, were by the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra under Andre Previn.
I have never listened to much Elgar, although Andrew and I had listened to Elgar’s Cello Concerto and Sea Pictures not long ago. I had heard the Enigma Variations on radio a few times over the years, but this was the first time I listened to it intently, over and over, and this was the first time I started to appreciate what a great piece of music the Enigma Variations is.
The orchestration is brilliant. The character sketches are very penetrating and very revealing. The music has the widest possible emotional range and, where called for, the deepest possible sentiment. The music is shaped very well—it has “dramatic and emotional arcs”, as Andrew always says. The central “Nimrod” variation is deeply affecting. It almost inspires weeping. The final variation ties together, beautifully, everything that has come before and closes the piece in a great and fiery blaze of glory. This is stirring music. It touches the soul. This is surely one of the greatest pieces of music ever written.
The recording seemed to me to be a magnificent one. I asked Andrew’s mother whether this was the finest recorded performance of the Enigma Variations. “Probably not” was her answer. She said she had selected this recording because the recorded sound was so fine and because she liked the fact that the “Pomp And Circumstance” marches were the coupling.
The “Pomp And Circumstance” marches were stirring, too. I had never thought of these marches as “serious” music before, but they are as serious as any music ever written, with extended introductions, sophisticated materials connecting the different march sections, opulent orchestrations and very good tunes, subtly altered each time they re-appear. I would like to hear these marches performed in the concert hall sometime. They would have a stupendous impact on an audience. After listening to these marches with my full attention, I was ready to join the R.A.F. of 1940 and blast the Nazis out of the skies above Britain!
Other than spend time with Andrew’s mother this week, I have not done much. Andrew and I had dinner at his parents’ house on Monday night and again last night. We will be having dinner here again tonight, and staying overnight. We have been getting as much rest as possible so that we will arrive in London fresh and energetic and ready to go.
Among the things Andrew and I have done this week is to select our books for the long flights over the Atlantic.
Andrew chose “Earthly Powers: The Clash Of Religion And Politics In Europe, From The French Revolution To The Great War” by Michael Burleigh.
I chose “Moscow 1941: A City And Its People At War” by Rodric Braithwaite.
Andrew was assigned the task of choosing a book for his brother. He chose “Battle For The Ruhr: The German Army’s Final Defeat In The West” by Derek Zumbro.
It is very possible that none of us will do any reading at all on the plane. However, if we want to read, the books will be there to help us pass the time. If one or more of the books is boring, we can pass them back and forth among us.
So tomorrow we head out. Tonight will be our final night with the dog for two weeks, so we will give him lots of attention and lots of fun tonight (and this being Wednesday, this is chicken night for the dog, which he loves). We will also give Andrew’s brother lots of attention tonight when he arrives.
We never did receive that invitation from the Duke And Duchess Of Kent to join them for tea at Wren House. It is possible, I suppose, that the invitation became lost in the mail. However, we have concluded that it is far more likely that the Duke and Duchess have stricken us from their social calendars.
In retaliation, we have resolutely and permanently removed their names from our Christmas card lists. Further, in the unlikely event that the Duke and Duchess ever visit Minnesota, we have decided that we will ignore them completely for the duration of their visit. If by chance we happen to run into one or both of them at the hardware store or at the vet’s office or at the butcher shop, we are going to pretend that we don’t even recognize them!
It will serve them right!
Tonight Andrew’s brother will arrive from Denver. He is coming a day early to avoid any potential flight delays tomorrow. He will spend the night with his parents, and Andrew and I will spend the night at his parents’ house, too.
Tomorrow before lunch, Andrew’s mother and Andrew’s brother and I will take the dog over to what will be his home for the next fifteen days. He will be staying with a friend from our church.
She is a widow, 75 years old, and she loves having him with her for a week or two now and then (although the dog would probably be too much for her to handle on a full-time basis). She bakes him sugar cookies and cooks steaks for him and feeds him ice cream, and he loves staying with her. Two neighbor kids will take him to the park every afternoon, just to give her a break from the dog and to give her a chance to rest. Apparently it always works out well for everyone whenever the dog stays with our friend from church. It works out well for her, the kids and the dog.
Andrew’s mother always cries whenever she has to leave the dog. The dog remains at her side most of the day, and she is accustomed to having him with her most of the time, and he is accustomed to being with her. It is very hard for her to leave the dog, and it is probably hard for him, too.
Andrew and his father should be home from work tomorrow at 1:00 p.m. We will have a light lunch, after which we will head to the airport.
The last three days have been delightful. I have had the week off, and I have been spending the last three days with Andrew’s mother, helping her do a few things around the house and helping her get things ready for London.
Andrew’s mother is a delightful woman, and I have always liked her—as does everyone. She is warm and funny and witty and caring, always solicitous of others, always looking out for others, always knowing precisely the right thing to say and do to put others at ease. There are few people in the world with her great gift of social grace. According to her lifelong friends, she has displayed this special and innate gift since she was a small child.
I met Andrew’s mother on the evening of Friday, March 3, 2006, in New York, at the home of Andrew’s oldest brother. I had already met Andrew’s father in Washington exactly one week earlier.
I remember that evening vividly. Andrew and I had driven up to New York from Washington after our classes had ended for the day. Andrew’s parents had spent that week visiting their oldest son and his family, including, of course, the new baby, who was only four months old at the time.
Here is the text of a portion of an email message I sent to a friend of mine early the next week, in which I described the first evening I knew Andrew’s mother.
[There is one item of background information readers need to know to understand one of Andrew’s remarks, a witticism that helped break the ice between Andrew’s mother and me.
Andrew’s middle brother had previously been engaged, briefly, to a young lady from Los Angeles. This young lady had visited Andrew’s family two months before, at Christmas 2005. This young lady did not make a good impression on Andrew’s family, to say the least.
She had been very unpleasant, criticizing everything, complaining about everything, demanding special foods, finding everything unsuitable, staying in bed until Noon each day and expecting to be waited on hand and foot at all times.
On Christmas Day 2005, with about 50 different foods to choose from for Christmas Dinner, she couldn’t find “a single thing” to eat and—in an astonishing and bewildering act of rudeness—had asked to be taken to a Thai restaurant. (Andrew had pointed out to her that Thai restaurants in Minneapolis were closed on Christmas Day—but he did offer to get her a bowl of Science Diet.)
Andrew’s family had been required to change her guest room three times during her visit because she had found each guest room to be unsuitable for some reason or other.
During her stay she had refused even to step foot into the living room, where the Christmas tree had been mounted, because she said the tree might emit harmful vapors.
She was a total pain, and sometime I will tell the whole story. It is a very, very funny story—in hindsight, at least, although it probably wasn’t very funny at the time.
It was a memorable Christmas for the whole family, all the way around, but not in a positive way.
To understand the full story, readers also need to know that this young lady’s third and final guest room was directly across the hall from Andrew’s room. This third room did not please her, either, but by this time she had already gone through all the guest rooms available to her and there were no more guest rooms to be offered (although Andrew had offered to help her move to the basement).
The young lady had objected to the third and final guest room because, she said, Andrew made “strange noises” at night. This would have been virtually impossible for her to know, because the hallway is quite wide and Andrew’s door was shut and her guest room door was shut. She would not have been able to hear anything emanating from Andrew’s room. Nevertheless, she was insistent that Andrew’s “strange noises” were keeping her awake at night.
Ultimately, she left the house. Andrew drove her out, or so the story is now told in his family—which is a whole other funny story in itself, which I also may tell sometime.
The short version: Andrew started making fun of her and mimicking her, openly, in her presence. Finally, she and Andrew had a heated confrontation outside the upstairs linen closet about her incessant demands shortly before 6:00 a.m. on December 31, 2005. This confrontation resulted in her leaving the house—forever.
She and Andrew’s middle brother broke off their engagement not long after.]
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When we were passing New Brunswick, New Jersey, Andrew's cell phone rang. It was Alec, and he wanted to know where we were, progress-wise, on our journey. Andrew told him that we were passing New Brunswick, and Alec said "Oh, good. Then we'll see you in about 45 minutes. Mom will put dinner on the stove now."
"What will we be having?" Andrew asked.
"Mom's special Dutch Chowder" was Alec's answer.
"Oh, swell. I can't wait!" said Andrew.
"Call me when you're ten minutes away" said Alec, and Andrew said that he would.
Andrew told me that his mother's Dutch Chowder was VERY good, and that she probably had made it because it was the perfect dish to make ahead of time, ideal for a situation in which dinner could not be perfectly timed, owing to the uncertainty of our arrival time.
"It is made the day before, chilled for 24 hours, and then heated before it is served" he said.
He said it was made with chicken and dark lager beer and cream and different cheeses and an entire assortment of fresh vegetables, to which are added green onions and bacon bits as it is heated prior to being served. "You'll really like it" he told me.
When we were ten minutes away from Alec's place, Andrew called him to let him know that we were ten minutes away. And, once again, when we arrived at our destination Alec was there to meet us out front, to slip behind the wheel, and to drive into the parking garage of his building.
We did not have as much stuff to carry upstairs this trip as the time before, as Andrew had REALLY stocked Alec and Lizbeth up two weeks ago, so we three were able to make do--just--with only one trip upstairs this time.
Lizbeth met us at the door and held the door open and directed us into the kitchen, where we put down all the stuff, including our bags. Andrew's mother and father were in the kitchen--Andrew's mother was at the stove, stirring the chowder, and Andrew's father was sitting in a chair, feeding Tim his bottle.
After we put down the stuff we were carrying, Andrew took me over to his Mom, kissed her, and said "Mom, this is Joshua. Joshua, this is my mother, Jean."
Andrew's mother shook my hand, and told me that she was pleased to meet me. She did not, however, kiss me or hug me or do anything else I somehow thought she might do. For some reason, I thought I would receive an overwhelming welcome from her, but I did not receive that. She was polite and cordial, but she did not give me an overwhelming display of affection.
I told her I was pleased to meet her, and then I turned to Andrew's father and I told him I was pleased to see him again. "I apologize for not getting up, Joshua, but, as you see, I am otherwise occupied" he said to me, and then he smiled at me. He continued "How have you been?"
"Very well, thank you, sir" I said. "And you?"
"We've been having a wonderful time, all week" he answered, and smiled again. "And I am sure you can guess why."
Lizbeth turned to Alec and said "Why don't you help them take their stuff to the day room, and have them get washed up for dinner", so Alec helped us pick up our stuff and we took it to Tim's room.
"Get cleaned up, you guys, and come right back" he said. "We're almost ready to eat."
So Andrew and I washed up and returned to the kitchen.
When we returned to the kitchen, Andrew went over again to his mother and he smiled at her--he gave her a dazzling, million-dollar smile, bursting with love and affection--and he said "So, now can I have a hug from my girl?" and he gave her an incredibly loving hug, and she gave him one back. He kissed her again, and she kissed him, and then he just held her for a long time in his arms.
While Andrew was holding her, he asked her how she was doing, and how her week was going, and whether she had noticed how much Tim had grown since Christmas (which of course she had noticed) and whether she had had a chance to do any shopping while in New York (she had not--she had been staying home with Lizbeth and the baby). He told her how very much he had missed her since the Christmas break and how happy he was to see her again.
"We're just going to stay here, Joshua and I, and hang out all weekend" Andrew said to his mother, and then Andrew finally stopped holding his mother with both arms. He put his right arm around her shoulder and then he reached out for me, and he drew me to him and he put his left arm around my shoulder. "That will give you a chance to get to know Josh, Mom" he said to her. Then Andrew immediately turned to me and he said "And that will give you a chance to get to know Mom, Josh."
Andrew turned back to his Mom and he said "You will like Josh very much, Mom. I know you will. He is very sweet and very gentle. And if Josh will remind you of anyone you already know and love who is also very sweet and very gentle, he will remind you of [the former fiancé of Andrew’s middle brother]."
At this, everyone burst out laughing, and whatever ice there had been was broken. Andrew's mother laughed, too, heartily, and she said to me, with a twinkle in her eye, and with great mock concern, "I just hope we have laid in enough lime for you for the weekend!" She laughed again, and then she said, again with mock concern, "And don't worry--we'll have breakfast waiting for you at the crack of Noon. But we can only hope and pray that Andrew will keep his 'strange noises' during the night down to a minimum."
And she laughed again, and Andrew kissed her again, and then Andrew left me there at her side and he went over to his Dad, now standing, and he hugged him, very, very hard, and he told him he was very glad to see him again.
Andrew's Dad hugged him back, very hard, and he held Andrew to him. When Andrew's Dad released him, Alec stepped in and hugged Andrew and kissed him and tussled his hair and nuzzled him and patted him and hugged him all over again. Then Andrew went over to Lizbeth and he hugged her and kissed her, and she hugged him and kissed him back.
Then Alec came over to me and he put his arm around my neck and he asked me how I had been doing. I told him I had been doing fine, and Alec asked me whether Andrew had been taking good care of me and whether I had been taking good care of Andrew. I told him that we both had been taking good care of each other. "Swell" he said. "Lizbeth and I are so happy that you guys were able to come up again so soon. We missed you guys after you left. We both hoped it wouldn't be long before you came up again. We're glad you're here." And Alec tussled my hair, and he said to his mother "See, Mom, his hair is really short, just like I told you. It's not even quite an inch long." And Alec tussled my hair again, and he said to me "Of course, we had to tell my Mom everything we knew about you. She was curious, as I'm sure you understand."
"Of course I understand" I said. "I would have expected that."
Andrew's mother then asked everyone "Do you think you will be ready to eat in five minutes?" and everyone nodded, and Alec started seating us at the table in the kitchen. He told Andrew and me to sit next to each other, and he asked his parents to sit next to each other directly across the table from Andrew and me, and he said that he and Lizbeth would sit at opposite ends of the table.
Andrew and his Dad and I all took our places at the table.
Alec poured sparkling cider into glasses for everyone, and Lizbeth and Andrew’s mother put three small dishes at each of the places on the table: one dish of Waldorf salad, one dish of tomato and cucumber salad, and one dish of a carrot and cabbage and onion salad. Then we were each given an enormous bowl of the chowder, which smelled heavenly, and Alec, Lizbeth and Andrew’s mother sat down.
Alec asked his Dad to say grace, and after that we all dug in. The chowder was divine. It was one of the best things I have ever eaten. Andrew said it takes almost six hours to make, and that it does not taste quite perfect unless it has been chilled for 24 hours, a process which somehow allows the flavors to blend. Andrew thanked his mother for making it yesterday and I, too, thanked Andrew's mother for making it yesterday. She said that it was a total pleasure to make, and that she hoped that we truly enjoyed it. I truly enjoyed it, Silvio.
The three totally different kinds of salads were the perfect complements to the chowder, and it was a perfect meal.
The conversation during dinner was very relaxed. Everyone asked us about our drive up, and all four of them told us about their week together, and they told us what Tim had been up to (which was not very much, of course, but every new facial gesture he made was a major event to all of them). Andrew's parents were very pleasant during dinner, although his parents looked at us both keenly the whole time--which is why I suspect they were seated directly across from us in the first place (and a maneuver which I believe was planned in advance).
Andrew and Alec and I each ate three bowls of the chowder, accompanied by fresh servings of each of the accompanying salad dishes each time, and Andrew’s father had a second half-bowl of the chowder. Lizbeth and Andrew’s mother made do with one bowl. When we were done eating, there was still a lot of chowder left, and Andrew’s mother said that anyone could have a bowl at any time during the weekend if anyone ever got hungry--it would take only a few minutes to heat up an individual serving.
"But, Jean, I don't think you have any plans of letting anyone get hungry this weekend, do you?" said Andrew’s Dad, smiling. "It sounds like you've got at least eight meals a day planned for these boys."
"Well, maybe not eight, exactly" she said, laughing "But they will be sure to have more than enough."
Then she got up from the table and she said, "Andrew and Joshua, why don't you clear the table and I will make coffee and get the dessert ready. We'll let Alec and Lizbeth rest."
So Andrew and I cleared the table, and Andrew’s mother made coffee and brought out a homemade lemon meringue pie. And it was TRULY homemade. The crust was homemade. The lemon filling was homemade--completely from scratch. The meringue was homemade.
"Oh, Josh, you will love this" said Andrew. "You will just die when you eat this."
And Andrew was right. It was completely different--and vastly better--than any lemon meringue pie I had ever eaten. The lemon part was almost white, not yellow, and did not even look like the lemon part in pies bought in stores. That is because lemon meringue pies in stores are made with lemon flavoring and food coloring, but not with natural lemon.
Andrew’s mother's pie had a tartness and a natural sweetness and a subtlety of flavoring and a lightness that pies from stores do not have. It was a perfect dessert, and the perfect dessert to top off what we had had for dinner.
When we were all finished with our first slices, Andrew’s mother asked us if we wanted more. I saw that there were only two slices of pie left, and I declined a second slice, thinking that Alec and Andrew would each want another slice of pie.
"Didn't you like it?" Andrew’s mother asked me after I declined a second slice.
"Yes, I loved it!" I said.
"Well, then you must have another slice. These pies will be at their best tonight."
And she pulled a second lemon meringue pie from the refrigerator. She gave Alec, Andrew and me full slices, and she gave Lizbeth and Andrew’s father half slices.
When we were done with our second slices, she asked us "More?" and Andrew and Alec said "Sure, Mom" and she said to me "Let me get you another slice, too, Joshua, so they don't have to eat alone."
Andrew’s father started laughing and he turned to me and said "Yes, these two shy, retiring creatures are always reluctant to eat alone."
And Andrew’s mother laughed, too, and said "I know they will both feel better if they know you are eating, too, Joshua."
And she gave us our third slices of pie. Normally, I could never eat three slices of lemon pie in one sitting, but the flavoring was so subtle and the pie was so good and the lemon filling so light that I had no trouble with the third slice--in fact, I thoroughly enjoyed it.
When we were done, she said "There are three slices left. Do you want them now, or tomorrow?"
We all were completely full by now, and we all said that we would think about eating those slices tomorrow.
After eating, we sat around the table for thirty minutes or so, drinking coffee, and letting the food settle. It had been an excellent, excellent dinner.
Andrew's Dad asked us what we had planned for the weekend.
"You know, Dad, nothing. Nothing is what we have planned. Josh and I talked about that on the way up, and we both decided that we would just like to stay here and spend time with you and Mom and Alec and Lizbeth. That is, unless you have something planned, or unless Alec and Lizbeth have something planned."
And Andrew looked around the table, waiting for any responses.
Lizbeth spoke first. "Well, WE have nothing planned, but we don't want to interfere with anything you guys may want to do. We certainly don't want you to feel compelled to sit home with us all day and night."
"That's why we came" said Andrew.
"Your mother and I have nothing planned" said Andrew's Dad. "The only thing we could think of doing, IF you two wanted to do something AND spend time with us doing it, was to go to a show tomorrow night or to go to the Metropolitan Museum on Sunday."
"Josh and I are totally open and have no plans" said Andrew. "Our only thought at all, on the way up here, was that Alec and Lizbeth might want to take advantage of all the babysitters present, and to go out somewhere on Saturday night. We thought this might be an ideal opportunity for them to do that. Beyond that, we have no thoughts beyond spending time with you. If YOU want to do something, then we will go with you if you want. If you want to stay here, we will stay here with you. We are happy either way."
Andrew’s Dad turned to Alec and Lizbeth and said to them "You know, you SHOULD go out tomorrow night. Andrew is right. This is a perfect opportunity for you to get out for the night. You should take advantage of it."
Alec and Lizbeth looked at each other, and they said they would think about it.
Then Andrew looked at me and asked "I wash, you dry?"
"Sure" I said, and we both got up.
"Oh, now, you boys are NOT going to do the dishes" said Andrew's mother, and she started to get up.
"Yes, we are" said Andrew. "Sit. We'll handle this. We are pros at this. We do this almost every night. You can all just sit back and talk to us if you want to. And anyone who gets bored can go watch television."
And Andrew and I washed and dried the dishes.
And we talked to them the entire time.
Andrew and I did not really have any news to tell--we assumed, no doubt rightfully, that Andrew’s father had provided everyone with a full accounting of the events of last weekend at Westfield.
So we talked about the movies Andrew and I had seen together, and the books we were reading, and we talked about Andrew's roommates and the fact that they seemed to have no problem with the fact that I hung around their apartment quite a lot (and this was a topic in which Andrew's mother was apparently quite interested, for some reason), and we talked about the courses I was taking this semester. The time passed quickly and very pleasantly.
When we were done with the dishes, we sat down at the kitchen table with them, and we all had some more sparkling cider and we talked about basically nothing until it was time to go to bed. But even though we were talking about basically nothing, everyone seemed to enjoy it, including me.
Everyone prepared to leave the kitchen and turn in at about 11:45 p.m.
Before we left the kitchen, Andrew hugged and kissed his mother and said good night, and she hugged and kissed him back. He hugged his father and said good night, and his father hugged him back. He hugged Alec and said good night, and Alec hugged him back and tussled his hair. He hugged and kissed Lizbeth and said good night, and she hugged and kissed him back.
What did they do to me as I said good night? I said good night to Andrew’s father, and he put his hand on my shoulder and said 'Good night, Joshua." I said good night to Alec and he tussled my hair and said "Good night, pardner". I said good night to Lizbeth and she pecked me on the cheek and said "Good night. Sleep well." I said good night to Andrew's mother and she put her hand on my shoulder and said "Have a good night, Joshua."
Andrew and I went into the living room, and Alec and Lizbeth followed, saying that they were going to get the sofa beds ready for us. We told them that we would just do it ourselves, and we did.
We changed into our "sleep gear" and returned to the living room. The living room is very light at night, even with the lights turned off, because of all the lights from the city that flood the room.
I asked Andrew what his parents thought about me, and he said that everything was positive.
"If not" he said "their reaction would have been different."
"How so?" I asked.
"They treated you like family. If they did not think that, they would have signaled that, and you would have known it, believe me."
"How would they have signaled that?" I asked.
"Well, number one, you wouldn't be here. And neither would they" Andrew said.
"Number two, you would NOT have been awarded my mother's Dutch chowder and a lemon meringue pie."
"And, number three, they would have tried to stay as far away from you as decently possible. Instead, they spent the entire evening in your company--they wanted to do that, they enjoyed doing that, and they were glad that they did that."
Andrew paused, and then he said to me "We couldn't have hoped for anything more."
I asked Andrew whether his parents liked me.
"Well, I know my Dad does, because he told me that. And my mother has not had a chance to get to know you yet, but she is obviously pre-disposed to like you because she received favorable reports from Alec and Lizbeth about you. And when she gets to know you, she will like you very much--I have no doubt of that."
____________________________________________________________
And Andrew’s mother does like me. She likes me very much. She grew to like me very quickly, and I grew to like her very quickly. She is one of the prime reasons why I am so happy to be in Minneapolis.
I have loved spending the last three days with Andrew’s mother. I had never before been alone with her for such an extended period of time, and I cherished the time we spent together this week. Andrew’s mother is remarkable company. She is also a remarkable woman.
Whenever Andrew’s mother and I are alone together, she frequently tells me stories about things that happened when her three sons were boys, and I have always enjoyed hearing these stories. She also talks about her own family, and Andrew’s father, and the early years of their marriage, and interesting things she knows about the history of Minneapolis and Minnesota. She has what must be an unlimited number of such stories to tell, and I always find them fascinating.
My own parents worked for a living and both my mother and father were always gone all day. Moreover, they were separated for a time, and I lived with one of my grandmothers on and off for several years. I never experienced the unadulterated joys of family life and the constant parental attention and devotion and affection that Andrew has always enjoyed. That is probably why I love these stories so much. I get some sort of comfort from them, just as children gain comfort from the deep myths of the unconscious buried within fairy tales.
I think Andrew’s mother has always understood this, because she has always been very motherly to me, treating me as one of her own, giving me as much attention and affection and love as she gives her own boys. She is one of those persons who has unlimited love to give, and she gives of herself freely. I have been a fortunate beneficiary of her love. I have been privileged to have her all to myself for three days this week.
We really did not do much. Andrew’s mother pretty much had everything ready for London before Monday. The only thing for her to do is actually to put the clothes into the luggage, which she will do tomorrow morning.
This week I helped her do some light housework, and I helped her do a load or two of laundry, and I helped her run some errands to the food store and to the Post Office and to church and to the dry cleaners. I took the dog to the park Monday and yesterday. Today I gave the dog a bath, so he would be nice and clean when we take him over to his new temporary home tomorrow. I got as wet as he did during his bath.
I also helped her in the kitchen, which I always enjoy very much. Andrew’s mother is a serious and inspired cook, and she takes every facet of food preparation very seriously. This is a gift she has, and it is a gift she enjoys very much. I don’t know what she would do if she did not have people to cook for.
Andrew’s mother never does any seriously heavy housework, just as Andrew’s father never does any seriously heavy yard work, because Andrew insists upon doing the heavy tasks himself—and I have always helped him. Nothing irritates Andrew more than seeing his parents try to do too much or have loads of work dumped upon them, and his parents pretty much leave the heavy work to him now, and this has been true for the last several years.
One sure way to get up Andrew’s nose is for someone to create unnecessary work for his parents, whether it be houseguests, relatives or, even on occasion, Andrew’s brothers. This is the one thing that will set Andrew off—as the girl who briefly was his brother’s fiancé learned, to her detriment, at Christmas 2005.
After witnessing the girl treat his mother like a servant for ten days, Andrew erupted early one morning and read the girl The Riot Act. The girl left the house, never to return, later that same morning—to the relief of everyone, as it turned out, including her own fiancé.
Andrew’s parents have told me that that morning was the only time that they have ever heard Andrew utter curse words, and that it had been rather alarming to have been jarred awake that morning before 6:00 a.m., hearing Andrew screaming and cursing at someone in the upstairs hallway!
The girl fully deserved what she got, by the way. I really will have to tell that full story sometime. I don’t think Andrew would ever revisit that matter himself.
While Andrew’s mother and I were getting things done the last three days, I asked Andrew’s mother to select a disc of English music that she especially liked—something to get our minds ready for London—for us to listen to.
She made her choice without hesitation. She selected a disc of Edward Elgar’s music, a disc featuring the Enigma Variations, coupled with the five “Pomp And Circumstance” marches. The performances, on the Philips label, were by the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra under Andre Previn.
I have never listened to much Elgar, although Andrew and I had listened to Elgar’s Cello Concerto and Sea Pictures not long ago. I had heard the Enigma Variations on radio a few times over the years, but this was the first time I listened to it intently, over and over, and this was the first time I started to appreciate what a great piece of music the Enigma Variations is.
The orchestration is brilliant. The character sketches are very penetrating and very revealing. The music has the widest possible emotional range and, where called for, the deepest possible sentiment. The music is shaped very well—it has “dramatic and emotional arcs”, as Andrew always says. The central “Nimrod” variation is deeply affecting. It almost inspires weeping. The final variation ties together, beautifully, everything that has come before and closes the piece in a great and fiery blaze of glory. This is stirring music. It touches the soul. This is surely one of the greatest pieces of music ever written.
The recording seemed to me to be a magnificent one. I asked Andrew’s mother whether this was the finest recorded performance of the Enigma Variations. “Probably not” was her answer. She said she had selected this recording because the recorded sound was so fine and because she liked the fact that the “Pomp And Circumstance” marches were the coupling.
The “Pomp And Circumstance” marches were stirring, too. I had never thought of these marches as “serious” music before, but they are as serious as any music ever written, with extended introductions, sophisticated materials connecting the different march sections, opulent orchestrations and very good tunes, subtly altered each time they re-appear. I would like to hear these marches performed in the concert hall sometime. They would have a stupendous impact on an audience. After listening to these marches with my full attention, I was ready to join the R.A.F. of 1940 and blast the Nazis out of the skies above Britain!
Other than spend time with Andrew’s mother this week, I have not done much. Andrew and I had dinner at his parents’ house on Monday night and again last night. We will be having dinner here again tonight, and staying overnight. We have been getting as much rest as possible so that we will arrive in London fresh and energetic and ready to go.
Among the things Andrew and I have done this week is to select our books for the long flights over the Atlantic.
Andrew chose “Earthly Powers: The Clash Of Religion And Politics In Europe, From The French Revolution To The Great War” by Michael Burleigh.
I chose “Moscow 1941: A City And Its People At War” by Rodric Braithwaite.
Andrew was assigned the task of choosing a book for his brother. He chose “Battle For The Ruhr: The German Army’s Final Defeat In The West” by Derek Zumbro.
It is very possible that none of us will do any reading at all on the plane. However, if we want to read, the books will be there to help us pass the time. If one or more of the books is boring, we can pass them back and forth among us.
So tomorrow we head out. Tonight will be our final night with the dog for two weeks, so we will give him lots of attention and lots of fun tonight (and this being Wednesday, this is chicken night for the dog, which he loves). We will also give Andrew’s brother lots of attention tonight when he arrives.
We never did receive that invitation from the Duke And Duchess Of Kent to join them for tea at Wren House. It is possible, I suppose, that the invitation became lost in the mail. However, we have concluded that it is far more likely that the Duke and Duchess have stricken us from their social calendars.
In retaliation, we have resolutely and permanently removed their names from our Christmas card lists. Further, in the unlikely event that the Duke and Duchess ever visit Minnesota, we have decided that we will ignore them completely for the duration of their visit. If by chance we happen to run into one or both of them at the hardware store or at the vet’s office or at the butcher shop, we are going to pretend that we don’t even recognize them!
It will serve them right!
