MA

At the end of the heatwave, I went uptown with a friend to see the Pavarotti movie at the Paris Theatre on 58^thStreet. I love the opera, but the reason I went was to just sit in the movie house once more, because from what I’ve read in the papers, after this movie the Paris will close. To me it’s always felt like an occasion, going to a movie at the Paris, with its big screen and plain elegance, and the way that after the movie I could walk into the park, or go and have something to drink at the Plaza. It’s sad to think of it closing after seventy years, especially since it’s still so loved and in good shape. I thought, while watching the movie, of something Ma once said about how every relationship we have eventually comes to an end, at least in this realm, and as sad as it is to think of the Paris Theatre closing, it is not a shock. So many things I’ve liked very much, or loved, have been closed or knocked down at this point in my life that it’s no longer shocking, but it's always sad, and some losses are sadder than others. My favorite movie house was the Harvard Exit Theatre, in Seattle, where I was born. Ma took me there very often as a kid, to see all kinds of great movies, most of them foreign. Later on I worked in that theatre, and I even lived there for a while. And over the years whenever I found myself in Seattle I always went to see whatever was on. When that gorgeous theatre closed I felt as if it had died, even though the building itself stayed. It’s where I first saw Pierre Richard in The Tall Blond Man With One Black Shoe with Ma, and she cried from laughing the whole way through.

As a kid I saw a lot of operas with Ma. She was always getting free tickets for the Seattle Opera from her doctor, who somehow always had them, and she’d take me. Ma was a big fan of Leontyne Price, and I saw her on that stage with Ma, too. Ma took me to all kinds of things as a kid, so I really do have her to thank for music, for art, for theatre, and for movies. I’m very glad that together Ma and I saw Everett Quinton die as Camille on the stage of the old Ridiculous Theatrical Company down on Sheridan Square. Ma laughed herself to tears in that, too. 

During the Pavarotti movie, my friend cried at Luciano's high notes. Every one. She cried, while a lady wearing a big ruby ring sitting two rows in front of us clapped at the end of each aria. My friend and I had talked a few times about a theory that certain operatic notes create a vibration in one’s sternum, which is what causes tears to spring forth, and when we came out of the theatre, she kept on crying, halfway to 6^thAvenue. She said it was still the notes doing it, it wasn’t Pavarotti being dead, or even the imminent doom of the Paris Theatre. It was the high notes, still ringing around in her head. 

I was thinking about that this morning, while walking on the highline. It wasn’t crowded up there, and it was very lush and green. I found myself thinking about the vibrating theory, and how, if that is true, then opera singers must have to learn how to sing through that feeling and not cry, or their throats would close and strangle the song. I wondered if such a thing would be difficult to master, the way sword swallowers have to learn to tame the gag reflex to get the sword down. Being on the highline feels like being in another city, I thought, and I liked the feeling. I thought of another epoch, years ago, when I would look up at the overgrown highline, before it was made into what it is now, and wish I could be up on it. I liked the way the neighborhood was then better, and if I had to choose I’d take back the old version, but since it is what it is at the moment, why fight the enjoyment of the moment? That would be foolish, and it would serve no purpose.  I wondered, what if I wake up tomorrow and suddenly enjoy Barry Manilow? Would I hide such a thing? It hasn’t happened yet, but what if it does? This is some of what I was thinking as I walked up there under the giant ailanthus trees, and I thought about all the times I’ve looked down a subway grate and seen one of those trees growing out of all the trash at the bottom. I thought of the BQE, and all the vacant lots there used to be so many more of, full of those trees. 

Yesterday at dusk I took Marykitty out on my shoulder for a walk. She looked at everything with such interest! It’s what Ma wanted for her. I was lucky that among the things Ma told me to do recently, was to point things out that I think she might like, and say, "Look at this, Ma." She said she wanted Marykitty to get to see and do everything. She looked at Marykitty spread out beside her and said, “This kitty is going to get to go everywhere and do everything.” It was one of her finer manipulations. Ma said she'd like her life celebrated, when it ended, at the little movie house in her town with a screening of The Tall Blond Man With One Black Shoe. So when she left, suddenly, I was lucky to know to make that happen for her, with her name on the marquee of the Bijou with Pierre Richard, so all her friends could laugh through the movie in Ma’s honor. 

My wonderful Ma, Delta. 1938 - 2019 Look at this, Ma!

July 25, 2019