I love the "idea" of many things, but especially the Thanksgiving to New Years season of festivities, so when the reality of said activities falls far short of the ideal (Hallmark cards, "very special Christmas episodes", etc.) I am sad and depressed and feel a failure at something others seem to pull off effortlessly. (At least that's the story I make up.)
So I woke up to a blanket of snow. Snow. It almost never snows in the lowlands here in Puget Sound. And when it does people freak out and driving becomes a snarled mess, especially on the hills of downtown Seattle -- where we were headed. Add that to a massive street reconfiguration construction project blocks from our destination and I figured we'd just be sitting in traffic listening to the soundtrack all afternoon. But amazingly (!) I didn't panic. We were leaving in plenty of time and my new Suburu Outback was up to the snow-driving task. Unusually cold, unusually sunny -- a gorgeous winter day. Perfect for The Nutcracker. Son-Two gave me some alternate route driving tips and we were there in no time. Easy-breezy. So glad I didn't stress about it!
Upon arrival we discovered they offered padded seat cushions to younger audience members -- a "booster" of sorts so they could see better. Another concern of mine averted. I had sprung for some close up seats, but still, it's hard to see over adult heads. Again, a problem I'd created in my mind, solved.
The lobby was teeming with families and children dressed in party finery. Little girls in lace, ruffles and frills. Boys in dress-up clothes. There were larger-than-life figures of characters from the ballet to stand beside for photos, even a miniature "set" of Marie's bedroom, and several large and ornately decorated Christmas trees. My fantasy was that I'd take a Christmas-card worthy photo of Angel at each of these and she would be resplendent in her pink lace party dress and beautifully styled hair. Reality: there were lines a mile long of families with the same idea in front of each "photo-op station" and we'd be lucky to get even one photo taken before the curtain. We opted to hit the restroom then saw a long table full of coloring books and Angel did what she loves -- colored for about 10 minutes. I let go of my photo fantasy and enjoyed her pleasure in coloring a ballerina picture.
As we took our seats, Angel started to struggle with her hair -- it had picked up some static electricity and was flying about and into her face and very annoying, so her mom pulled it back into a messy pony tail secured with a hair tie. There went the perfectly coifed fancy "do". I loved how relaxed she looked and happy to have that annoying problem solved without stressing over the degradation of her dressed up "look". Relaxing into reality and letting go of perfection felt good to me too.
Angel seemed to really enjoy the first half of the ballet. She was attentive and joyful. At the intermission she wanted a Rat King cookie, which her mom stood in line forever to secure for her. Many families had pre-ordered their intermission snacks, and I guess some secured them along with prime seating near the Christmas trees (photo op!), but some families were annoyed that their pre-order refreshments were no where to be seen! Oh dear. So, our wait in line did result in a cookie for Angel, and she got to have several hurried bites and one sip of apple juice, sitting on the floor, against a wall with an electrical outlet over her head (not picturesque), before the bells rang to warn us the second act was about to begin.
Back in our seats, I could tell Angel was losing some of her rapt attention. She was a little squirmy and distracted by wanting to talk to me about the ballet ("shhh….shhh…shhh"), rather than watch quietly with deep appreciation for the classic beauty of the ballet art form, the beautiful and rousing Tchaikovsky score, and the creative and unique set design by Maurice Sendak. Instead, she took great pleasure in continuing to applaud long after everyone else had ceased, her little hands clapping an echo throughout the acoustically perfect McCaw Hall. Her mom and I gave her about 5-6 claps, then reached over to silence her by gently putting our hands over hers. Instead of being annoyed, I was sort of amused by her delight in breaking this little social etiquette rule.
After the ballet, we had hoped to have a backstage tour. A man from my church works PNB and other big concert venues and had offered to take us backstage. His wife emailed me his phone number and I'd already sent him two texts and left two voice mail messages, but had not heard back. I called home and had Hub recheck the number I'd written down and the one I had was the one she gave me. But finally, I got a text from a stranger telling me he received all my contacts but he was not who I was looking for. Darn! Disappointed, but oh well….it was a bonus add-on to the event and I was able to just let it go with barely a ripple of regret. Maybe next year.
I later found out his wife had transposed a number; she felt badly, but I was still fine with the outcome especially given the fact that Angel seemed to need to let go of the little girl in lace persona and proceeded to yell, run, jump, and throw sticks all the way back to the parking garage. Enough of this "all dressed up, acting oh so mature" stuff! She also had a bit of a meltdown about her mom not letting her eat the Peppermint Rocha sample candies that were being passed out as we exited and the traffic getting out of the parking garage was at a standstill and all she wanted at that point was to just Go Home! When we tried to ask if she'd enjoyed the ballet she pouted, "No!" I just smiled. I knew she'd have a different story the next day, and she did. ("It was so fun!")
The point of recounting all of this is to say…..I saw within myself a transformation that has been years in the making. After the ballet fewer people were hanging around to have pictures taken, so we did get to have one in front of one of the characters. I asked a woman to take it of the three of us, but we already had our coats on so our pretty dress-up clothes are hidden, Angel's hair was in her impromptu ponytail, and the woman stood a bit too far away -- but we are there and I will treasure that photo as a reminder that perfection isn't real, that memories aren't made of Hallmark soft-focus portraits, that sharing that day and that experience just as it was was more important than trying to create a storybook moment. I'll leave that to the professionals at PNB.
At least, that's the view from here…. ©
