where

I was in a hurry for some reason when I put down my reading glasses, and I remember thinking, "This is not where I usually put them." But where that somewhere was, I now cannot in the least recall.

For several days now, I've been checking every shelf and drawer in the house without luck. I use the glasses mostly for the computer screen. Without them, I have to bring my face right up to the screen - that, or increase the font size bigly, which I don't like doing because I find it choppy to read with fewer words visible.

I dreamed I found them, but I checked when I woke up and they weren't there.

My vision hasn't changed much, but I may have to schedule an eye exam and then buy new glasses. What a nuisance, especially with my schedule already being filled up with medical appointments. I hope they still have the heavy black frames I got these with, because I wanted something sturdy for glasses I was always taking on and off (though not as eccentrically as Derren Nesbitt in that Prisoner episode).

when to hang up the phone

We have a landline, which means we get a lot of junk and spam calls despite being on the Do Not Call registry.

This is not a reason to give up the landline, because I get junk calls on my cell phone too. Most of the latter are in Chinese and appear to be live persons. The last one to call when I had the phone on called three times before registering - whether understanding my English or not - my saying "You have the wrong number" and hanging up.

Many of the junk calls on the landline used to be live persons. I had good luck squashing them by telling political callers that we have a rule in this household: we don't vote for any candidate who calls us more than once. Another oddity was one caller who asked to speak to the homeowner. "They're not here," I said; "they're never here." "I don't understand," said the caller. I replied, "Have you ever heard of ... rentals?" And then hung up. But a lot of callers, whether live or recorded, are from police charities or "the department of medicare" or something, so I just say, whether live or recorded, "Wrong number" and hang up.

What I really hate is live callers who begin by giving their name but then saying, "How are you today?" This is a fine piece of social lubrication to begin a mutually-agreed upon business conversation between two people who each know why the other is there. It is not a good way to begin one where the party being asked is completely ignorant of who the caller is or what they want. I usually say something like "That's a strange question to call somebody up in order to ask them." Then they usually hang up.

However, I'm expanding my rules for hanging up immediately without saying anything.

I'd noticed that calls that turned out to be boiler-room salespeople always began with, after you picked up and said "Hello?" a little boing sound. I think this was to notify the boiler room switching equipment, which probably calls many numbers at once, that here was a live one, before transferring to a person, which always took a few seconds. So now when I hear that sound, I instantly hang up.

But now I'm getting a lot of calls without the boing in which the response to my saying "Hello?" is for the caller also to say "Hello?" Before I established that these were all recorded, I figured it was a boiler-room who had just been switched onto the line and who said this to verify they had a caller. So I would say, "No, you called me. The way this works is, I say hello, and then you tell me who you are and what you want." Then there follows a pause while the computer tries to figure out what kind of response this is. Then they give a name and launch into the prerecorded spiel.

So my new rule is: If the response to my saying "Hello?" is to also say "Hello?" I will hang up immediately. I may trip up some live callers with bad connections this way, but they'll probably call back, like that Chinese-speaker did. I just don't want to waste any more phone etiquette lessons on robots.

concert review: San Francisco Symphony

David Afkham, a German conductor new to SFS, led two wildly unalike Russian works, Tchaikovsky's Violin Concerto (with Sergey Khachatryan) and Shostakovich's Eighth Symphony. Amazing that only 65 years separate them.

Actually they do have one thing in common: when they were new, people who disliked them derided them as vulgar. But there was nothing vulgar about Friday's performances. Though there's plenty of vigor in the Tchaikovsky concerto, the overall mien of the piece was soft and gentle, perhaps taking a cue from the soloist, who leaned so far in that direction that the high notes in his cadenza disappeared off the edge of audibility. (And his encore was a soft and gentle Armenian lament that went on for quite a while.)

Afkham did something similar with the Shostakovich, at least in the slower, first and fourth movements. The stark tragedy of these parts in other performances vanished entirely, and it was ... soft and gentle. This didn't stop the more vicious parts of the first movement from being firm enough, or the two scherzi from being fairly caustic. The finale leaned towards the cheerful, but gave full value to the enigmatic ending, where - as with the Fourth but none of the intervening works - Shostakovich refuses to supply an upbeat conclusion.

The result of this combination of fast parts played in a usual manner and slow parts purged of the strongly emotional was an Eighth that felt entirely different from any performance of the work I'd heard before. Weirdly revelatory.

library books to read during long medical procedures

(liable to be the first in a series)

Richard White, Railroaded: The Transcontinentals and the Making of Modern America (Norton, 2011)
A deconstruction of everything I learned at school about the mighty 19C transcontinental railroad system. First, as I knew well, they weren't transcontinental: they only ran west from places like Omaha and St. Louis. But though the existing system covered everywhere east of there, it wasn't continuous: different gauges, breaks between lines, made everything slow. The transcontinentals were supposed to pay for themselves with freight, but freight trains were irregular and ad hoc, and it was still cheaper to send goods by ship via Panama, even though there wasn't a canal there yet, so financing was precarious. The mighty financiers like C.P. Huntington spent their time bailing themselves out of disaster, and they knew nothing about running a railroad. Meanwhile the people who did run the railroad didn't know what they were doing either, and setting freight rates, which had such a big effect on development of the country, was a guesswork procedure. The main lesson of this long and overdetailed book is that everybody was incompetent, including senators: "In making a case for political compromise, one should avoid John Sherman. If Henry Clay was the Great Compromiser, John Sherman was the Not So Great Compromiser."

Martin Amis, The Rub of Time: Bellow, Nabokov, Hitchens, Travolta, Trump: Essays and Reportage, 1994-2017 (Knopf, 2018)
Trump? Yes, I picked up this book because I'd seen that in 2016 Amis reviewed Trump's latest book and compared it with the 30-year-old Art of the Deal, concluding even then "that in the last thirty years Trump, both cognitively and humanly, has undergone an atrocious decline." (But wait: did he write his own books? "We can be confident that Trump had something to do with their compilation: it very quickly emerges that he is one of nature's reluctant micromanagers.")
Other than that, to appreciate this book you have to be really interested in Bellow and Nabokov, and I'm not. (There's not much about Hitchens or Travolta, or Trump.)

another song that goes like this

at least one war

Of all the croggling statements to come out of the presidential mouth lately, the most astonishing is "We’ve never had a president that solved one war, not one war." That's so untrue.

In particular, in 1905 Theodore Roosevelt was the major figure "in bringing to an end the bloody war recently waged between two of the world's great powers, Japan and Russia." And for doing so, he won the Nobel Peace Prize. (The quote is from his prize citation.)

I'm actually inclined to give the occupant some credit for adjudicating a cease-fire in Gaza and the return of the surviving hostages - all along I've said, if Hamas wants to negotiate, they should return the hostages, then we'll talk; well, they've done it, so let's talk - even if his only motivation is the desire for his own prize. What are prizes for, if not to encourage people to perform acts that deserve them? If only he weren't starting more wars, some of them against Portland and Chicago, then he claims to be stopping, it might even be a net plus. Even though we've been in positions like this before in the Mid East, and it always came to nothing.

reimagining Górecki

When the composer Henryk Górecki died 15 years ago, I wrote a post largely about how I'd discovered his music. Excerpts:

Sometime in the mid 1980s, DGK, explorer of new and unusual music, showed me an obscure LP he'd picked up out of random curiosity. Packaged as the soundtrack album to a French film called Police, it consisted in fact of a full recording of a modern Polish symphony for soprano and orchestra. Neither on the record album nor anywhere else that he looked was there much information to be had on the work or its composer, one Henryk Górecki. DGK was astonished and spellbound by the audacity and craft of this music, and, unlike with many of his passions, when he played it for me I was too. ... For years, this marvelous piece of music remained our secret shared passion that hardly anybody else had heard of, like The Lord of the Rings in its early days. When I began to collect CDs a few years later, I found a German import with this work on it, and bought it quickly. Imagine our astonishment, then, when in 1992 a new recording of it on Nonesuch, a well-known American classical label - conducted by David Zinman - became a monster hit and the toast of the classical world, the first contemporary work to reach the top of the classical charts. The musical equivalent of the Lord of the Rings paperbacks had hit the stands. Suddenly our obscure passion was the talk of the town.

The resemblance with being an early Tolkien fan hit me forcibly, though I wasn't old enough to remember that personally. Of course, we didn't think we were literally the only people who knew this piece, but nobody we knew did and no critics we read mentioned it, so it remained our secret gem. And then, all of a sudden in 1992, as with Tolkien in 1965 its fame exploded and everybody, at least in the field, knew it and was talking about it all the time.

Now DGK has sent me a scholarly (but readable) article on the history of the Third's reputation before the Zinman recording. It didn't have the wide renown of subsequent years, but no, it wasn't that obscure. It was played and commented on. True, some people hated it (and still do!) but it was generally praised and considered remarkable. I guess we just never came across those. Though in fact DGK tells me that he'd gone looking for the record after reading a review in Fanfare, the review magazine for fans of the truly esoteric in classical record collecting. I hadn't known of that alert, but it proves the point: there was awareness and praise of the work.

But the article makes the situation remind me even more forcibly of Tolkien. For, of course, there were lots of reviews of The Lord of the Rings when it first came out in 1954-55, and articles about it later; it just wasn't the widespread popular phenomenon it became after 1965. And, as with Górecki's Third, though there's an assumption that it was generally panned when new, that turns out not to be true. There's an article in the upcoming Tolkien Studies 21 - which is in press right now - called "Reconsidering the Early Critical Response to The Lord of the Rings" by Matthew Thompson-Handell, which reveals that the general early critical response to the book was quite favorable, even among some of the reviews which have gained a reputation as pans. The guy who wrote, "This is not a work which many adults will read through more than once"? That's taken totally out of context and does not express what he meant. Read Thompson-Handell's article and you'll see.

concert review: SF Music Day

Today I did get up to the City early on. But as I didn't need to be there until 12.30 instead of 10.00, it was easier.

The topic was SF Music Day, an annual event I'd never heard of before. The promoters take over the Veterans Building for an afternoon, presenting 6 events (each slightly less than an hour) in each of three concert spaces in the building. Times are coordinated, so attendees can hop from one room to another, but I didn't. Most of the items in Herbst Theatre, the main space, were jazz-oriented, so I planted myself for the entire afternoon in the cavernous and echoing room on the second floor where the classical performers were. The acoustics were fine for the music, but it was difficult to make out any spoken words from anybody.

The highlights came at the end. Pianist Elizabeth Schumann thundered her way through Mussorgsky's Pictures at an Exhibition and loaded it with enough tone color that an orchestration seemed superfluous. Then she surprised everybody by choosing for an encore Gershwin's "Embraceable You," but encores have a long tradition of clashing strongly with the main work. Then Schumann came back with four of her colleagues from Ensemble San Francisco for an energetic and catchy run through Dvořák's Op. 81 Piano Quintet.

The day had begun with the Benicia Chamber Players, who regularly perform on both sides of the Carquinez Strait, in two movements from Schubert's "Rosamunde" Quartet, the work I missed yesterday, and a squeaky squawky work by Gabriella Smith. Then some of the young chamber musicians who are the subjects for master classes at Kohl Mansion played movements from string quartets and piano quartets by the Viennese classicists.

In between these and the closing numbers, we got a couple more varied groups. The Turas Ensemble is two barefoot sopranos who sing ethereal versions of I know not what, because I couldn't make out any of their spoken explanations of what they were doing, or their lyrics either. Some songs unaccompanied, some with dulcimer or hurdy-gurdy or whatnot. And the Berkeley Choros Ensemble play instrumental popular music from Brazil, rather pleasant to listen to and moving enough to encourage one older couple to get up and dance, or at least sway together, to the music.

Getting out of a concert in the City at 5.45 on a Sunday - not Friday or Saturday when places would be crowded - would ordinarily be a perfect time to seek out a restaurant for dinner. But today I felt no urge to do that, and went straight home instead, where I'm partaking what I ought.

two concerts in a day

It was going to be three, but going up to the City for a morning string quartet event and then dashing back down here for the afternoon seemed a bit much to attempt in the current state. So two it was, both community orchestra events in my local area.

The Winchester Orchestra under James Beauton essayed a Halloween concert. It had both Danse Macabre (excellent solo work by concertmaster Bill Palmer) and Night on Bald Mountain (the old, Rimsky-edited version of Mussorgsky's score). It had Stokowski's arrangement of Bach's Toccata and Fugue in D Minor, favorite music of evil scientist organists everywhere. The orchestra struggled with the beginning of the fugue. It had a dance from The Firebird, and they struggled even more with that. It had music from two movies, Psycho (with the conductor making a stabbing motion with the baton when we got to that scene, as if the music wasn't clue enough) and The Mummy Returns. And we had a ten-minute précis of Johan de Meij's Lord of the Rings Symphony in an orchestrated version (the original is for concert band). It summarized up three of the five movements: Gandalf, Lothlórien, and Hobbits, and they did that one very well.

The Palo Alto Philharmonic under Lara Webber began with Of Paradise and Light by Augusta Read Thomas for strings, a weak echo of Barber's Adagio, and continued with the Suite for Viola and Small Orchestra by Vaughan Williams. This concerto, for that's what it is, in eight short movements is from VW's pastoral side with no hint of the hairier directions his music was taking by 1934 when he wrote this. But it's not top-drawer VW pastoral either, though soloist Jenny Douglass played very well. For a conclusion, Brahms's First. There was some blattiness, but for the most part this came off lucidly and excitingly. This work is naturally very heavy, but here it was both light and powerful, a nice trick if you can pull it off.

absence

Been away for a couple of days. Not on my favorite form of vacation. Now back. Very thirsty, mostly.

posthumous Le Guin

Ursula K. Le Guin's Book of Cats (Library of America, 2025)

The Word for World: The Maps of Ursula K. Le Guin, edited by So Mayer and Sarah Shin (Silver Press and AA Publications, 2025)

Le Guin, cats, and maps - three of my favorite things. How could I resist? I ordered both of these (the second is from the UK, and is in connection with an exhibition) in advance, not knowing what I was going to get.

The Book of Cats is not a regular Library of America publication - it's short (about 100 pages) and on thicker, lightly tinted paper. It's not a complete collection of her writings on cats - no Catwings, no essays on the life of Pard. But it does have a lot of cat poems, only some of which have been previously published, and a couple of author-drawn picture stories, one on the art of cat arranging (or how to lounge in a typical feline fashion), which has only been seen before as a rare pamphlet, and a cat-and-mouse superhero comic, and some other illustrations, and a delightful series of letters among cats about proper behaviors, like Head Scratching:

When the Female Human is facing the wrong way in bed she needs to be rearranged, so I come and scratch the top of her head until she turns over and faces the correct direction so that I can lie down beside her pillow with my butt in her face and go to sleep.

Lastly, an annotated and dated list of all 20 cats which had custody of UKL in her lifetime (plus a photo of her at age 3 petting the first in the set), from which I figured that the one I met on my one visit to her house was Lorenzo aka Bonzo, whom she introduced to me as an "elderly gentleman" as he lay cradled in her arms.

The Word for World intersperses maps, mostly hand-drawn by UKL herself, with essays by various hands. Some of the maps are previously published, some are not. The unpublished ones include maps of Earthsea with tiny differences from the published ones, further talismanic maps of the Valley of the Na, diagrams of seasons on Werel (the one from Planet of Exile - keep up, now), and most interesting, a map of the provinces, principal cities, and major rivers of Orsinia, which does look a lot more like Hungary than it does like Czechoslovakia - I always thought it would.

I've never found critical writings on Le Guin to be as interesting as those on some of my other favorite writers, and that's true here too. The only essay I got much out of was the one by her son Theo, which talked about influences - the vital role of the ranch Kishamish in her life, a map of St Helena she found in France which may have affected her style, a comparison of her aesthetics with those of Tolkien. I really appreciated that.

Eichler

Today the first rains of the season arrived. It poured heavily and wetly for about four hours, which is longer than the heavy downpours usually last around here. Nevertheless I ventured out into it, and I was far from the only one, to the local history museum for an evening talk about Eichlers.

No veteran residents in Silicon Valley need to be told what that means. An Eichler is a home built by the developer Joseph Eichler, who in the 1950s-70s was one of the many builders busy turning the local orchards into tract housing developments. Eichlers came in various models, but they all had a strong family resemblance, and until the imitations ("Like-lers") came along, looked like nothing else for sale in the middle-class housing market.

For one thing, they were built in post-and-beam construction, with no load-bearing walls. That meant those walls could be light or intermittent or even made of glass. The resultant opening up to the outside (many Eichlers came with courtyards or atria) and the Prairie School-like expansiveness of the beam-driven construction is what made Eichlers feel like "Frank Lloyd Wright for the masses," more effectively than Wright's own Usonian houses.

Eichlers are easily recognizable from the outside by their beam ends, grooved wood on the facades, and low-slung roof rises. To this day there are whole blocks in this area with nothing but Eichlers.

The speaker was a real estate agent who specializes in Eichlers. He talked a lot about maintaining sale value and on remodeling to update Eichlers (original construction was a bit shoddy) while keeping the mid-20C spirit of the original. Most of the audience were Eichler owners concerned about whether their neighbors were going to build second stories. I grew up in an Eichler but haven't lived in one for many years; I may have been the only person there whose primary interest was in architecture as an art form. Nevertheless when I asked a question along those lines, the speaker proved to be well-informed.

I learned something of the history of Eichlers, both the firm and the style of houses; and where exactly they are. I learned that the realtor keeps maps of Eichler developments, such as this one of my town; my family's Eichler was in Fairbrae Addition, the big red blotch in the middle of the map. Here, this is a typical Eichler.

three concerts

1. The concert I went to up in the hills was a wind octet concert I was reviewing for the Daily Journal.

With a remote winery setting and with a fancy hot hors d'oeuvres and wine buffet out on the balcony beforehand (the grilled salmon skewers were delicious), this was a concert designed for the well-off to enjoy themselves. The general location, in the thoroughly Well-offville part of the area, and the extremely steep admission price, also contributed to the effect. I wouldn't have gone if I hadn't been comped as a reviewer.

However, I'm glad I did go, because the music was excellent, and so were the acoustics of the tiny hall. Two each of oboe, clarinet, bassoon, and horn played one of Mozart's serenades for that combo. (No flutes? Some claim Mozart didn't like the instrument. Others claim that that's false.) Then a piece by Ruth Gipps, who is one of those mid-20C women composers like Florence Price who is slowly bubbling up from obscurity. And a modern arrangement of excerpts from Smetana's 19C opera The Bartered Bride, complete with a narration amusingly emphasizing how confusing the plot is.

2. Up in the City, the Attacca Quartet took a brisk and compact Haydn quartet (Op. 50/5) and a brisk and compact Bartok quartet (no. 4) and played them to be even more brisk and compact. Also a piece by David Lang (daisy) in his characteristic style of repeating fragments until they add up to something; and a collection of miscellaneous pieces that weren't listed in the program and which I didn't catch what the first violinist said about them.

On my way to this concert, timing was such that I was able to stop off at a farewell party for a household of three that I know who are moving to Ireland this week (one of them being able to claim citizenship there by virtue of ancestry), not the only people I know leaving the US for good. Fortunately the dire implications of this did not dominate the conversations, and everyone was in a rather cheery mood. Many people there whom I knew in the 1970s and '80s but haven't seen much since. We're all a lot older.

3. Harmonia California, a little nonprofessional string orchestra, did a gratifyingly good job on some Mozart (including the delightful but little-known K. 136 Divertimento) and Bach (the Double Violin Concerto), and then ventured into two obscurer pieces from the turn of the 20C, both excellent works it was a pleasure to hear: Anton Arensky's Variations on a Theme of Tchaikovsky and Samuel Coleridge-Taylor's Four Noveletten. Gratifyingly well worth going to.

the accursed scholarly paper

Well, maybe not that accursed. This is the fourth time I've given this paper - it was premiered less than 15 months ago - and only the second time something went wrong.

The first time was the other time. I was ill and isolating at the conference and couldn't read the paper. So the papers coordinator did it for me.

This time was for a regular meeting of a Zoom group online. In the middle of reading it from the Word copy on my screen, my computer froze. I had to apologize and take a break. In the end, I had to hard-reboot the computer (i.e. press the power button) and it took almost 20 minutes to get everything up and running again, counting all the kerfluffle I'd spent trying to avoid having to do that. How embarrassing.

The other two times went very well indeed. So yes, maybe not that accursed.

figuring out Taylor Swift again

Some time ago I wrote of my delighted discovery of Taylor Swift's Tiny Desk Concert, in which she played her songs in simple arrangements I found agreeable, unlike the overproductions of the Eras Tour which was Not For Me.

A few commenters gave suggestions of other TAS numbers I might find agreeable, but they didn't mention what turned out to be the gold mine. Quite recently, DGK sent me links to a couple videos extracted from a documentary film called folklore: the long pond studio sessions, which is on Disney+. The songs are a bit much of a sameness for me to want to listen to all at once, especially with the documentary natter in between, and the songs are more immediately impressive than they are lovable, though the ones I heard first are growing on me rapidly - but only in these versions; I listened to other performances and, nah. Any one or two of them - not just those two - are in this version very much the kind of popular music I want to hear.

Apart from the addition of a guest vocalist on one song, it's just her and two guys, variously on piano and acoustic guitar, occasionally a little light percussion or a soft electric guitar which only once threatens to get even slightly loud. Very soft and gentle and intimate, and quite sophisticated and complex songwriting.

Here's the two songs DGK sent me. The rest can also be found on YouTube with a "long pond studio sessions" search.

Terry Garey

Gone now. She'd been ill for a long time, but for a long time before that she had been an ornament of Twin Cities, and before that Bay Area, fandom. Quiet, often motionless, but managing never to be inconspicuous, she was easy to talk with - and it was with, not to, because without ever being loud or pushy she was always responsive and involved in conversation. She was one of the people who gave the circles she belonged to their special flavor.

I am one of many,
many,
many,
many people who knew and loved Terry and felt a special connection to her.

I would see her around at Little Men's, around the Portable Bookstore, in The Other Change of Hobbit after that opened - she clerked there for a while, and I got to walk in one day and wish her happy Boxing Day, back when few people in this country knew what that was - the Magic Cellar, parties and meals and conventions. After she moved to Mpls, I was changing planes there once and contacted her beforehand, so she came down to the airport (this was before 9/11) and we had lunch.

I think the most special thing she did for me was to convince me to join Spinoff, which was one of the apas founded to continue the mixed-sex conversations of the original AWA after the men were asked to leave. Spinoff had a loose and random/goofy air to it, Firesign Theater and FKB, and I found it best to write for it late at night, when my mind was disconnected and could free associate. There was a bit of that to Terry too, but she was never undirected and always knew where she was going.

not going anywhere today

Most of my recent adventures would have been inconvenient to describe, but I can tell you about this one.

I set off this morning to drive to the City for the Tachyon Books party. But I didn't get there. A few miles up the freeway, one of my tires shredded itself. I pulled over with caution and some difficulty and called AAA, figuring the guy could put on my temporary tire from the trunk - I wasn't going to try that myself, still less with a freeway immediately at my back - and I could limp to a tire store.

But when he arrived, he reported I had no temp. What? I did the last time I had to do this. But that was probably not this car. The man told me that temps are not standard equipment on Hyundais, and I didn't even get this one new, but surplus from a rental company.

So I had to wait again for a tow truck, first having a difficult colloquy with the first guy over where he was going to request the tow truck to take me. I hadn't had much need for a tire store lately, but I'd been pleased with the place I'd taken B's car a couple years ago when it needed a thorn removed from its paw. Guy didn't want to take me there. My free towing limit distance was 5 miles, and this was 9 miles; I'd have to pay $15/mile. I said I knew that. He went away to call it in and then came back and said he'd found a place closer than 5 miles. It was called Super Cheap Tires. I said I wasn't going to a place with a name like that; it sounded like a ripoff joint. He argued further but I insisted and repeated I was ready to pay.

When the tow truck driver arrived I told him also that I was ready to pay, but instead he pulled out his device and calculated a shorter route along local streets. It was 5.6 miles, he said, which made me wonder what route could possibly have been 9 miles. Furthermore, he said, he wouldn't charge me for the .6 mile.

I wonder if there's some reason other than desire to save the customer money to avoid tows that charge by the mile. Maybe there's paperwork they hate to fill out. Anyway, he took me there by an intelligent route. (I know this area; I've lived here since 1959.) He knew where the store was; he'd towed cars there plenty of times.

The store guys did their expected good and not-too-expensive job (see? Super Cheap, phooey) and I was on my way. But by now I wanted lunch more than to drive an hour to the City, and was pretty tired after all this, so I just went home.

one has music, the other doesn't

I've been to two stage productions in the last two days.

The musical one was South Bay Musical Theatre's production of The Sound of Music. Advertising for this heavily emphasized how the stage show is not sappy like the movie. And it was a good show, consistently interesting all the way through, fine singing, acting enough to give the impression those were the characters, not people playing them. Maria (Lauren D'Ambrosio) looked rather maternal, a bit disconcerting at the beginning, highly appropriate by the end; the Captain (Brad Satterwhite) kept from melting his emotions just long enough; Mother Abbess (Kama Belloni) thrilled everyone by belting out the end of "Climb Ev'ry Mountain"; the children (all but Liesl were double-cast) were amazingly good, in movement as well as voice; the Nazis were effectively sinister. The favorite songs - the title song, "My Favorite Things," "Do-Re-Mi" - were delivered with fresh energy, renewing appreciation of what remarkably good songs they are. A real winner.

The non-musical one was Theatre Works delivering their section of the rolling world premiere of Lauren Gunderson's new adaptation of Little Women. This did not work: it was too stagy, and the cast could be seen working their butts off rather than embodying the characters. Much of this was due to Gunderson's inept framing: the story is framed as Alcott writing it, and even within the frame half the dialogue is delivered in the third person, the actors describing what their characters are thinking or doing. This distanced the characters from the audience, destroying any illusion that the actors were the characters. The zippy condensation, in which events vanish in a flash, didn't help either. A real snore.

in the hills

I went to a concert last night. I'll tell about the music when my review is published in the Daily Journal, but the venue turned out to be problematic. It was in a small hall perched on the balcony of a winery at the top of the mountains that overlook our urban area. The view out over the valleys and the bay was spectacular, at least before the sun went down. But getting up there in the first place, and even more getting back afterwards, was another story.

To get up to the top of the mountains anywhere in the middle of their run, you have a choice of three or four extremely twisty and winding roads climbing up the slopes. I chose Page Mill Road, which is the closest to the winery. I got off the freeway at Moody Road, which for much of its length goes winding but not twistily up a creek canyon and then attaches to Page Mill, which powers its way straight up the slope. I've known this area since I used to bicycle around in it at the age of 8, but I don't go up there often, and the sudden and extreme hairpin turns on Page Mill still have the power to surprise; only afterwards do I say, "Oh yeah, I remember that one."

Coming back at night was even hairier. The road running along the summit of the mountains, Skyline Boulevard, is winding but not twisty, and can be dangerous because cars tend to speed along it faster than it can handle. And in the dark and the fog I missed the crossing of Page Mill, where there is apparently no sign other than the tiny street signs. After a while I realized this, and figured I might as well continue another winding ten miles or so to the next access, Congress Springs Road, which is a state highway, so there ought to be a visible sign at the crossing.

There was a sign, but to my surprise nothing designating it as a highway. Just a directional sign pointing off to Big Basin. If Big Basin is to the right, then this is where I want to go left. This road has fewer surprise hairpins than Page Mill, but it's every bit as twisty, and it goes on just as long. In the dark and the fog I often couldn't tell which way the road was going to turn next, and I missed noting any of the landmarks I know along that road which would tell me how far I'd gotten. Eventually, after much exhaustion, I knew I'd reached the end when suddenly dumped out onto the main street of the quaint downtown of Saratoga. Turn left at the other end of town and it's literally a straight shot home. So I got here, but I will certainly pause before considering doing this at night again.

phone behavior

Yeah, I've seen the videos in which young people are presented with a dial telephone and try to figure out how it works. I haven't forgotten the time I saw a phone book from the 1910s with detailed instructions on how to dial a phone, that being quite a new technology then.

But I've just had a personal encounter with unfamiliarity with other aspects of old-fashioned phone behavior.

It was a call to establish a medical appointment. The young-sounding woman on the line said she'd tried to call before, but had gotten a beeping sound. That's called a busy signal. I don't have voice mail on this phone.

Then she said, if you need to call back to change the appointment, use the number displaying on your phone. My phone does not display numbers. She had to read it to me.

Of course, none of this would be true if the call had been on my cell phone, but I don't like using the cell phone when I'm at home. (Partly because reception is bad here. We're one mile from Apple world headquarters, but that doesn't mean we have a good cell signal.) I use the good old-fashioned landline.