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Posts Tagged ‘Hamilton’

We’re home – after a quick trip to NYC to visit my sister Kay and see a couple of Broadway shows.

The Grands had never been to the Great White Way, and this trip was the Bride’s idea. As soon as Broadway reopened, she booked our tickets, not knowing if the Bug and Pumpkin would be vaccinated yet. We were still moving in, opening boxes, some labeled “Beach House” which obviously never happened. Still trying to organize our Crystal Cottage – we put everything on hold to take a bite of the Big Apple!

And it was delicious!

I remembered the Rocker as a toddler, standing in the first row of “Into the Woods.” Felicia Rashad played the bad witch, but he only had eyes for the orchestra. He stayed still, transfixed by the musicians. I thought about the time we sat in box seats for “Chicago” with one of his friends. And of course, we will always have our “Grease” dance moment.

I tried out for every play in high school. I met Angela Lansbury at the Stage Door of “Auntie Mame.” Watching Barbara Streisand play “Funny Girl” left me breathless. I could see the sweat on Zero Mostel’s face in “Fiddler.” I didn’t know it then, but Broadway musicals would become a family tradition.

I was lucky really. Growing up in New Jersey, with my fabulous, big sister across the river on the Upper East Side. When we weren’t listening to Frank Sinatra, the Flapper played LPs of “Flower Drum Song,” “Gypsy” and “South Pacific” non-stop. I’m glad the extravagant love I feel for this unique American art form, the Broadway musical, has rubbed off on my children. And I see the Bride is determined to pass the torch on to the next generation..

We had the most perfect weather last weekend. Tulips of every color were blooming down Park Avenue. We strolled over the Highline, over the hustle and bustle on the streets listening to the birds and an assortment of languages. We visited Kay’s vintage jewel of an apartment and talked about art and medical school. We feasted at Serendipity 3, just as I had when I was a girl. The Love Bug said, “This is like a girl’s dream.”

And topping it all was “Hamilton.” The songs, the dancers, the story conspired to create a most perfect union/play. I could feel the longing for freedom, the envy of power and influence, the self-sacrifice of a sister. I discovered that my skin can still produce goosebumps. Alexander Hamilton’s story tapped into our collective desire for love and camaraderie. Especially now. I haven’t cried in a theatre in a very long time.

Today I will open more boxes and continue my endless search for some glass shelves. I will try to clean up the back patio, despite the carpenter bees. I’ll re-write my To Do list and research the Forest Pansy Redbud tree. Maybe I’ll polish some silver and plant some grasses! Most likely I’ll be humming Eliza Hamilton’s song, “That would be enough.”

“LOOK AROUND, look around, at how lucky we are to be alive right now

Look around Look around”

…and if this child shares a fraction of your smile

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So I was procrastinating and reading the New York Times online the other day, and being a card carrying Francophile, I never pass up a piece on my favorite culture. Combine Les Francais with food, and I’m smitten.  Of course I had to read “There’s the Wrong Way and There’s Jacques Pepin’s Way!” http://www.nytimes.com/2011/10/19/dining/jacques-pepin-demonstrates-cooking-techniques.html?pagewanted=1&_r=2

To quote this 75 year old gastronomic genius, “Who want to die in good health?” Yes, I watched “How To” video after video (sharpen a knife, make an omelet), because I was drawn to his French accent and his hands. Pepin feels that the great chef has technique, which through repetition will turn into talent. “Good cooking is controlled creation,” and in everything we become masters at our craft if we continue to do it day in and day out. That could be playing a guitar, or writing, or tennis, or reading x-rays, anything. Even knitting…

When an interviewer said that Gabrielle Hamilton, who wrote “Blood, Bones and Butter,” called Pepin the greatest living chef, it whet my appetite for her book, which is sitting next in line to be read. Her restaurant, Prune, in downtown Manhattan is known for its comfort food prepared to exacting gourmet standards. Her memoir proves she is that rare combination of chef, one who can write well! A review from the aforementioned newspaper says it all:  “It’s a story of hungers specific and vague, conquered and unappeasable, and what it lacks in urgency (and even, on occasion, forthrightness) it makes up for in the shimmer of Hamilton’s best writing.”

Sometimes I’ll shoot an email link to a story downstairs to Bob’s office, which I did with There’s the Wrong Way with Pepin’s speed and skill. I may have wistfully longed for sharp knives that can slice through a tomato just so. And yesterday, after returning from the grocery store, I caught my husband sharpening the last of my knives in the late afternoon sun in my kitchen. And it was almost as good as catching him holding a baby after letting me sleep through a feeding.

Orange Mountains

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