A Puck that has nothing to do with hockey

I’ve been contending with a cold and its nasty sequela, a mild sinus infection, for the past couple of weeks. Fortunately I only really felt sick for the first four days; the rest of the time I’ve just been processing the aftermath. (That’s my euphemism for the lingering mucus activity in my chest and head.) Now David has come down with what I hope is the same thing I had; otherwise it’ll be back on the merry-go-round for me. (It seems very convenient of nature to wait until I was feeling well, and only then bring David down; that way one of us is well enough to take care of the other one.)

Last Friday night we went to see “A Midsummer Night’s Dream” at the Pacific Northwest Ballet — choreography by Balanchine to the music of Mendelssohn. It might not have occurred to me to go to the ballet, but the guy in the cubicle next to mine happens to be on the board of the PNB, and he gave me a 2-for-1 coupon for tickets to any performance. “It’s the second-best ballet company on the West Coast, after San Francisco,” he told me. I didn’t tell him that I managed to live in San Francisco for twelve years without ever seeing the ballet (except for one free outdoor performance at Stern Grove), but that was due more to preoccupation with other things than any antipathy to ballet itself.

And now I’m kicking myself for not seeing the SF Ballet when I had a chance, because I enjoyed the PNB’s “A Midsummer Night’s Dream” so much that I wish I had been going to the ballet all along. The dancing was impressive, the live orchestra played very well, and the costumes were great. That sneaky co-worker of mine…he may have gotten me hooked!

I especially enjoyed seeing all the little girls attending with their moms, wearing their dress-up clothes, so excited to be out for a grown-up evening. It reminded me of one of my happiest memories of growing up, going with my mom to see Shakespeare plays every summer at the Old Globe Theatre in San Diego. At first it was mostly about getting to have a special outing just the two of us, and dressing up in my long skirt and costume jewelry, and getting a tin of French hard candies at intermission, but soon I was falling in love with Shakespeare, with the language and with the art of performance — and who can measure the influence that love has had on me ever since. So bravo, moms, and welcome, girls. You’re starting something that will last a lifetime.