Change of Seasons

Usually there's an overlap between the end of the racing season and the beginning of the concert season. This year my first concert was to be a nearby Boston Artists Ensemble chamber music performance on September 21, followed by Race Committee duty during the day on the 22nd, followed by a concert opera performance that evening. But the racing scheduled for September 22 and 29 was canceled (I was not scheduled to serve on the 29th,), with the result that my last Race Committee duty was on September 13 — a race which ultimately had to be abandoned because there wasn't enough wind for the boats to get around the course. So there was an eight day gap between Race Committee service and concert going.

I attended a Handel and Haydn performance on Sunday, September 30. My first Boston Symphony concert will be on October 11, and my first Harvard Musical Association concert will be the next evening. There are another thirty-two events on my concert calendar after that, with the last one coming on May 2, 2019 — well before the first racing event. It all adds up to thirty-six events spread over thirty-three weeks, and thirty-one of them require trekking in to Boston. Fourteen concerts are BSO, eleven HMA, five Boston Artists Ensemble nearby, four H+H, and two opera. It's possible I could add BSO, H+H, and opera performances, and that I could skip some BSO or HMA concerts if I am under the weather literally or figuratively.

Later this month there will be a Race Committee Appreciation Party, but I don't count it as part of the sailing season, nor do I consider that the season begins for me when the club opens in April with a flag-raising event which committee members attend in uniform. For me, the season is when I am helping run sailboat races. This year I had fourteen times on duty over twelve weeks.

Another change of seasons occurred on September 29, Michaelmas, when I switched from straw to felt hats. Straw hats will return, as always, on Memorial Day.

An Evening in Boston

Last Friday evening was the third on which the Harvard Musical Association had on of its "social evenings." I hadn't attended either of the first two, October 6 and 10, but went to this one. The music was played by a group called Cuarteto Latinoamericano. Before intermission they played pieces by Latin American composers. After intermission, with a second cellist added, they played a quintet by Schubert and, in response to enthusiastic applause, gave us the familiar Minuet by Boccherini — https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gFFh-HRNP48 — as an encore.

As usual, I went to Scollay Square restaurant for dinner before the concert. Wendy the waitress was there, which I hadn't expected, since she had indicated a while back that she wouldn't be there regularly on Fridays. But we enjoyed a chance to greet each other. I surprised her by ordering a white wine (Tussock Jumper sauvignon blanc, from New Zealand) with my main course of scallops. At home, I usually have white wine with fish and seafood, but I've somehow developed the habit of drinking red wine with everything when I'm eating at a restaurant.

I had arrived a bit later than the ideal time at the restaurant, and Wendy and I didn't get to talk other than the business of ordering my meal. I ended up arriving at the concert just as the quartet was beginning its second piece. The 20th Century Latin American music was good, but I enjoyed the part after intermission more. I didn't stay for the refreshments afterwards. As it was, I got home about 11:30. If I had stayed, it would have been after midnight.

The weather was unseasonably warm, and it was very pleasant walking from subway to restaurant, restaurant to HMA, and HMA to subway. It led me to reflect on how fortunate I've been to have a life which affords such enjoyable things. Further thoughts were that getting around when there is snow on the ground will be much less pleasant but that in conditions like that evening's it would be nice to be able to go naked, if only it were socially acceptable.

On the evenings before and after the one in Boston, I was at the yacht club. On Thursday, there was a end of season cocktail party for the Race Committee. A couple of prizes, each named for a deceased member of the committee, were awarded to people who had served in outstanding ways. There were also coffee mugs for members who had been on duty for more than ten days (which included me and my brother), and glasses for the remaining members. Several of us stayed for dinner after the party. After eating lots of hors d'oeuvres, I couldn't finish my dinner. The leftovers are still in my refrigerator. On Saturday, a group of committee members got together at the club for dinner again; and again I had some leftovers — some of my ribeye steak, which I had for lunch on Sunday.

This week, I'll be going to Boston twice, for an opera on Thursday evening, and the Boston Symphony Friday matinee. I'm not planning any restaurant meals, though.

Going to Boston; Buying (and Reading) Books; Trump

Boston

At my age, the MBTA (Metropolitan Boston Transit Authority) gives me a discount on traveling on their systems — subway, bus, and commuter rail. At present, the only one I'm using is the subway, which I can ride for $1.10 per trip. They give me a card which I load with money which gets deducted each time I use it. Back in January, the card stopped working, so I had to go get a new one. I liked my picture on the old one better.

Recently, I've become aware of fare jumpers taking advantage of my entry. I tap my card to the target and the gates open. After I go through, somebody follows before the gates close. There's a loud honking sound, which would alert police if they were there. A few weeks ago, four young guys followed me through. When I realized what they had done, I confronted them. I emphatically explained that the system need the fare money to pay the drivers and to maintain the equipment and tracks. When people like them evade paying their fares, it means less funding for the system they're using. They should be ashamed of themselves. Then I stalked away.

If you read my music blog, you know that I went to Boston for symphony concerts on three Thursday evenings in January and another three in February, with the cancellation of the Feb. 9 concert reducing the February count from four. I've attended fewer Harvard Musical Association concerts on Fridays than usual. For one thing, they've scheduled several on Thursdays. For another, the weather was too uninviting on a one or two occasions.

On the one time I did go in on a Friday, I went, as usual, to Scollay Square restaurant. Surprisingly, Wendy the waitress was there and we enjoyed chatting. She told me that Seth, the former waiter, had gotten married last fall and no longer worked there at all.

I also went in twice to see my spiritual director, and once for a Handel and Haydn Society concert on a Sunday afternoon.


Books

Perhaps inspired by hearing about Seth, I finally decided to buy Water for Elephants, which he had recommended to me back in the fall of 2010. I got it for me Kindle and started reading it on my subway rides last week. It's a very engrossing book, and I highly recommend it. Hopefully, I'll still be reading it the next time I get to Scollay Square. It would be nice to be reading the book Seth recommended in the place where he made the recommendation.

And this has put me on a book-buying spree. First, I decided to get three books in the "Hinges of History" series by Thomas Cahill:

• Sailing the Wine-Dark Sea: Why the Greeks Matter,
• Mysteries of the Middle Ages: And the Beginnings of the Modern World, and
• Heretics and Heroes: How Renaissance Artists and Reformation Priests Created our World.

I already had read the first three of the series, How the Irish Saved Civilization, Desire of the Everlasting Hills, and The Gifts of the Jews, years ago, when they were first published. The series is popularized history, but I've found them a nice refresher on things which I had studied back in high school and college. (Minor annoyance: I bought the first three and Sailing the Wine-Dark Sea in hardcover, but I inadvertently ordered the last two in paperback, so they won't match the other on a bookshelf. Oh well. I'm trying to tell myself that the content of the books is more important.)

Then, in my nostalgic "remembering Seth" mood, I decided to check out the other book he had mentioned, The Shadow of the Wind, by Carlos Ruiz Zafón. It looked pretty interesting so I ordered it on Kindle.

Finally, a couple of hours ago, I put in an order for the highly acclaimed Hillbilly Elegy: A Memoir of a Family and Culture in Crisis, by J. D. Vance. Supposedly it helps us understand Trump voters, but I think it sounds worthwhile in its own right.


Trump

Speaking of Trump, he continues to astonish. Every now and then, there is some small event that suggests he's beginning to understand the job of President. His speech to Congress was, apart from the digs at Obama, actually presidential-sounding. It could have been given by a moderate Republican or Democrat, as some commentators have pointed out. But the comes the accusation that Obama wiretapped him. While it is conceivable that Obama could have ordered the FBI or NSA to seek a warrant for such a wiretap, given the denials that were immediately forthcoming it seems unlikely. On the other hand, it seems to go almost without saying that we were spying on the Russians, and if Trump's people were in touch with them, they probably would have showed up.

For Trump to say publicly that he didn't believe the Director of the FBI is shocking. It was also astonishing to hear that he was furious with Jeff Sessions for — properly — recusing himself from any investigation of Russian involvement in the campaigns.

All in all, it seems that he still thinks he should be running everything. He seems to believe what he wants to believe, regardless of the evidence. My hope, and expectation, is that his cabinet and the Republicans in Congress will refuse to let him get away with anything truly unconstitutional and talk him out of anything really unwise. But we should also bear in mind that he was elected on the basis of his campaign promises, so he's entitled to at least try to fulfill those promises.

Dinner and a Concert

Last Friday evening, January 29, I had one of my occasional Friday evenings in Boston. It was typical in overall format, but it was special in several ways.


As usual, I went to Scollay Square for dinner. Wendy the waitress was there. She told me that she had not been scheduled to work that evening, but when she realized I'd be there, she made a switch with someone. Actually, my schedule is not as regular as she thought — every second Friday — but she happened to be right about that day. She wanted to let me know that it would be her last Friday evening there. From now on, she'll be working at lunchtime on Fridays, on Saturday evenings, and maybe another weekday evening.

She waited on me and we had a couple of nice chats. She asked about the book I was reading. It's one I had just begun, Pretty Good Number One: An American Family Eats Tokyo, by Matthew Amster-Burton. It tells of the month he, his wife, and their eight year old daughter spent in Tokyo, living in a small apartment in Nakano, on the outskirts of the city. The principal topic seems to be the varieties of food available in Japan — along with a fair amount on Japanese culture and customs. He loves the food and the city, and, as suggested by the title, he also has a sense of humor. I had Wendy read the following paragraph:

Tokyo is not a beautiful place, but it metes out its charms with almost scientific regularity. Each time one of us went for a walk, we came back with exciting news: a peculiar old building, a funny sign, a family of cats, a new kind of yogurt-flavored candy. Yes, Iris [the daughter] went out often for unaccompanied walks; to my knowledge, she was never forced to join the yakuza [the Japanese mob], although she occasionally came back with a suspicious tattoo.

 He adds that "Good food is so easy to find in Tokyo that the city itself seems like a restaurant. In over a month, we had one meal that I found disappointing, and it wasn't actually bad, just bland."
Asking me about my book is one of the things I liked about Seth, and when I'm alone I like that sort of personal interaction.

Wendy also told me that the miso-glazed salmon, which I once called "Best. Salmon. Ever." in a review can be requested the original way they did it, which is over saffron rice and sautéed spinach. Now it comes over lobster mashed potato, which is okay, but the rice & spinach was better. Wendy said that at lunch, it still is served with the rice and spinach, and they should be able to do it that way for me at dinner.


By the time I got to the Harvard Musical Association, the concert had begun, so I had to listen from outside the opened doors until they finished their first numbers. Then I got a seat. The performers were a men's singing group called Renaissance Men (RenMen for short) — a name which refers not to their repertoire but to the term "Renaissance man" used to describe a person with wide interests and learning. Except for one song, they performed a capella and almost all was music composed since 1800. There were a lot of drinking songs, and it was a very enjoyable show.

Afterwards, there was wine and dessert. Usually, I don't stay for the post-concert goodies, but this time I did and spoke with several of them, including Kilian Mooney, who is named for the Irish monk who is the patron saint of Würzburg, Germany. St. Kilian went there as a missionary and was martyred along with his companions Kolonat and Totnan. He had visited the city, as had I, so we had something to chat about for a couple of minutes.


As I headed for the subway afterwards, I was thinking what an enjoyable evening it had been, and how blessed I was to have had not only this evening but my entire life, with all the good things I have been able to enjoy. The title of one of Razz's posts came to mind: "My Life Has Been Perfect."

A Pleasant Evening in Boston

The Harvard Musical Association had a string sextet (2 each of violins, violas, and cellos) playing a piece by Korngold (written around 1920, i.e., before he started composing movie scores) and one by Brahms. But first, I went to the Scollay Square for dinner.

Arriving at the restaurant, I saw Wendy the waitress and greeted her enthusiastically. We talked a bit about recent symphony concerts which I had attended. When she came to take my dinner order, she mentioned that they had a shrimp cocktail appetizer, but when I said I had been thinking of trying the "Drunken Shrimp," which I had never had, she said I should have it: it was one of her favorites, and the menu would soon be changing. A couple of ladies came in and were seated at the table to my right. When they were discussing what to order, I recommended the miso glazed salmon, which I sometimes have. One of them had it and liked it. If she hadn't, I would have had Wendy put it on my tab. As I was leaving, I asked if Seth still worked there. He does — on Mondays, Tuesdays, and Saturdays — so I asked her to say hello for me. (Some previous posts in which I mention Wendy, Seth, and other waitstaff.)

At the HMA I had a seat which allowed me to see all the players except the second violin, and I could see that each instrument had different music to play — they didn't have both cellos playing the same thing, or both violas or violins. Both pieces were enjoyable. The previous evening I had left Symphony Hall at intermission rather than stay to hear Brahms' Fourth Symphony. As a rule, I don't like Brahms.* But the sextet was composed when he was still under 30, and he hadn't gone all dissonant and it was pleasant to listen to, so I'm glad I didn't leave at intermission this time.

After the concert we had a supper of shrimp cardinale (here's a link to a recipe and here's another — ours had bits of green in it, maybe chives or parsley) on toast points, followed by a green salad. It was very tasty. I know, it was a lot of food for the evening, but my breakfast had been a bowl of Wheatena with 4 apricots, and my lunch had been three ounces of applesauce and 1 1/2 ounces of muenster cheese — and no beer — so a late supper may not have been really excessive. Anyway, it was good.

At the subway station, there was a man with a supply of little American flags and a sign asking for donations. I gave him a dollar, but declined the flag. I don't need another. BTW, the previous night, a young man got on the subway and started yelling about how his coat had been stolen and he needed money to buy another one at Goodwill because he'd be outdoors all night in the freezing weather because he couldn't get a bed at Pine Street Inn, the homeless shelter. The coat would cost $25, and all he had was $15. He may have been on drugs, and the story may have been a fabrication, but he seemed earnest. Two people across from me gave him a couple of dollars, and I gave him a $10 bill. He thanked us warmly, and when he left the train a couple of stops later he again called out his thanks


*I think the Reason I don't like Brahms is his extensive use of dissonance combined with what I think is called "sfrozando." The instruments sort of push the note and then let it diminish a bit. Well whatever it is, the music seems strained to me — as if someone were sitting on a toilet seat and trying to force a bowel movement and repeatedly grunting as he did so. But dissonance in general is something I don't like a lot of. As I noted on my music blog, I disliked last week's "Daphnis and Chloe" by Ravel, and I think it was also because of the extensive use of dissonance. In fact, it may be that I find atonality easier to take than dissonance which doesn't promptly resolve into consonance.