February 18: We got 18 inches of snow in less than 24 hours, and before it all melted away, Joe and I took our snowshoes and trekked through Prospect Park. We hardly needed the snowshoes in most areas, as it was packed down by hordes of sledders and snowman-builders. But there were some deep patches, and it was lovely to tramp the length of the meadow, from 9th Street down to Grand Army PLaza, just enjoying the various activities around us. Tons of families with their young kids shooting down the Picnic House hill and also a lower but wider slope over by Eastern Parkway; we had to stay near the fence surrounding the semi-frozen pond to be sure of not being bowled over. We also saw many happy dogs frolicking–one particularly cute little guy was fetching a toy his mistress kept throwing on top of a tall mound of snow; he would scamper up, then teeter on the summit with it clenched in his teeth, tail wagging furiously. There were all kinds of snow structures, none as handsome as the huge frilled reptile crouching on the sidewalk on our block in Boerum Hill (with a stegosaurus in the front yard as a companion), but some handsome snowmen, a few forts and towers. We also saw some indefatigable sports teams playing in the packed-down fields, cross-country skiers, bicycles on the (plowed) roadway–a cheering urban mix of weekend activities. But I most enjoyed just looking at the trees, their architecture so apparent when they’re bare of leaves, the branches black against the cloudy white sky. The dark shapes of humans cavorting in the snowy landscape made me think of Bruegel’s “Hunters in the Snow” and all those other fabulous, event-crammed paintings of his displayed over several rooms at the art museum in Vienna. My mother and sister are still laughing about the amount of time I spent looking at pictures of peasant weddings and children’s games, but I love Bruegel’s deeply narrative canvases.
We had tickets for a concert at Carnegie Hall on Saturday, an evening we prefer to spend at home in Brooklyn, but it was actually kind of fun immersing ourselves in the hurly-burly of Manhattan on a weekend night. It being a Saturday, the program was classical music’s greatest hits: Dvorak’s “From the New World,” Beethoven’s Leonore overture and one of Mendelssohn’s best known violin concertos (of course, I don’t remember the number because I am just the kind of not especially knowledgeable concertgoer these weekend concerts are programmed for.) Nikolay Znaider, the soulful Russian soloist on the Mendelssohn, was a virtuoso with the fingering and bowing, of course, but he was also unusually responsive to the orchestra, smiling and nodding to various soloists and at one point mouthing the beats of the drum. (I leaned later, reading the program bios, that he’s also a conductor, though he looks to be about 19.) The Leipzig orchestra also contained a female cellist Joe pointed out to me in the interval between Beethoven and Mendelssohn who had the most marvelously expressive face, her eyes in particular commenting on the music as her head bobbed in time–a cellist trait, of course, since the violinists and violists have their chins tucked into their instruments, and the winds are constrained by needing to blow. We were in the second row, which is less than acoustically perfect (the strings over-dominate), but I love being able to see the musicians’ faces and the way they interact with each other and the conductor (Ricardo Chailly). This was a young orchestra–typical of Europe; American orchestras are grayer and have more women and Asians–but extremely polished. Znaider, responding to sustained applause, referred to “the great European classical music tradition” and Leipzig’s central role in it–a suitable intro for the encore piece by Bach, Leipzig’s most famous kappelmeister.
The Dvorak was what brought us there; Luca plays the theme from the largo on the piano, and it reminded me how much I like the symphony. I didn’t need to read the (excellent) program notes to know that this 1893 work established the “open air” harmonies that resonate through Gershwin and (especially ) Copland and all 20th century American classical music. Dvorak loved America and especially loved African-American music (spirituals in those days), remarking presciently that any distinctively American music would have to take those rhythms into account. The symphony itself is European, like its composer, but very much a precursor of American music to come. Really a wonderful evening, and a good introduction for Luca to Carnegie, still the most beautiful concert hall in New York. Too bad it’s so expensive!
March 7: We trekked to exotic South Ozone Park in Queens today, stumbling across a Hindu parade in celebration of spring–we learned that from the Indian-descended director of For Animals, the rescue organization whose shelter where we were headed to find a new companion for Lou. The “shelter” turned out to be the basement of one of those tiny, semi-detached bungalows with driveways that litter the Queens landscape. We descended the stairs to find some 50 cats hanging around–it didn’t smell too bad, actually, so the volunteers obviously keep it very clean. Some lovely adult cats, who were much more social, but we wanted a young cat to play with Lou–and, as it happened, we made friends with an elegant, nearly all-black female, about six months old. She wasn’t too thrilled about being stuffed into a carrier bag for the subway ride home, but now she’s sitting next to me on the sofa, with our dog Harry quivering with excitement nearby. He’s mostly stopped tha ghastly whimpering he does when he’s thrilled to pieces, thank God, and the kitty seems relatively unperturbed; she’s swatted him once or twice and hissed once, but mostly she stares at him while folding herself into the farthest corner of the sofa. Lou is mostly ignoring her at the moment, I think because Harry is all over her; he appears a bit jealous and batted her with a paw once or twice–but he might have just been getting acquainted.
It might seem heartless to have acquired another kitten so soon after Abbott’s death, but we’ve always had two cats, and as soon as Abbott died and Lou became much more active–his brother’s illness had cast more of a pall over him than we realized–we could see he needed a playmate . I’m kind of glad to have a girl, so the gender imbalance is only 4 to 2–Joe, Luca, Harry and Lou vs. me and Morticia, the brilliant name Joe came up with–instead of 5 to 1 when Abbot was alive. Luca’s snails (a never-ending legacy from a kindergarten project that kept reproducing) are neutral, we always say, by virtue of being hermaphrodites!
Spring is pretending to be here these past few days, with temps in the 40s, sunshine and mild breezes. We celebrated by walking to Fort Greene Park, which I’m ashamed to say we have never visited in the 13 years we’ve lived on Bergen Street. When I was growing up, the park and Fort Greene were considered horribly dangerous, and I guess I never really reconsidered when we moved here–ridiculous, as it’s a ten-minute walk and a spectacular site: a steep climb up to overlook Brooklyn (including a gorgeous stretch of brownstones on Washington Park, the northern boundary street) and to see the Empire State Building in the distance; big sweeps of lawn littered with young families; the recently restored Prison Ship Monument, the usual obelisk with a rather different purpose (tribute to the POWs held in boats on the East River during the Revolution); a majestic staircase, a parade of diverse trees with plaques listing their name and characteristics as part of the “Fort Green Tree Walk.” We enthused to the park rangers at the visitors center, which had historical background about the prison ships, the battle of Brooklyn Heights, the park’s design by Olmstead and Vaux–even the rangers seemed pretty yuppified, as opposed to the blue-collar staff at the Nevins Street Pool or Carroll Park. I can’t believe, obsessed urban strollers that we are, that it took us so long to discover this magnificent space. With that plus the High Line in Chelsea, we have two great new places to walk!
March 9: I had a good laugh from my mother the other day. She had called to say she was going to a movie and wouldn’t be around that evening, when we usually talk on the phone. When I called the next night and asked what she saw and how it was, she replied, “It was a little peculiar; it was a screening at church, and it turned out to be Spiderman 2!” Apparently, someone at church was fooled by the subtitle (Redemption) into thinking it would be just the thing for Lent!
I saw Hard Times at City Center this week, performed by the Pearl Theatre Company, an excellent group dedicated to “classical repertory” (which in their case seems to mean modern classics: Shaw, Synge, etc.). The Pearl has a resident company doing all the shows each season, and many of the actors in Hard Times were longstanding members, so the acting had that unity of style and intent that the Group Theatre thought was so important. In this case, six actors played all the parts, which was great fun to watch, especially Bradford Cover as three odiously diverse villains: blustering, selfish Bounderby; nasty, pinched Bitzer, the product of Gradgrind’s pinched education; and sensual, careless Harthouse–no real costume changes, but his expression and bearing were different for each one. Everyone else equally fine. TJ Edwards as Stephen Blackpool and Rachel Botchan as Louisa, playing the characters burdened by Dickens’ explicit moral message, acted with such conviction that there was nary a nervous giggle from the regrettably sparse audience. Less than 100 people, I’d say, despite glowing reviews, and I think it’s because the company is utterly faithful to Dickens’ vision, which means that the play is melodramatic and unabashedly sentimental. It worked because of the actors’ commitment and a bare bones production that was all about the magic of theater: a few chairs, tales and trunks rearranged for new scenes; a single colorful banner released from a hanging baton when the circus was the venue.
Tags: " South Ozone Park, "From the New World, Fort Greene Park, Hard Times, Prospect Park
