On the other hand, you notice I live in California. I really prefer warmer, milder weather year round. But one does get sentimental for the snows of childhood.

That was a nice treat. I had an uneventful flight with no trouble about "missing" the earlier one, and spent my afternoon shopping downtown in a very elegant collection of buildings. I bought a watch, a Raymond Weil, tank style with small diamonds along the side of it, and a sapphire crystal which is uncrackable, and paid quite a lot of money for it, and guess what?

Right. It doesn't work. I had the battery replaced as soon as I realized it, but it still refused to keep time. This is Fine Jewelry, people, like the watch I bought in Las Vegas which stopped keeping time after two days and had to be returned. Maybe it's my body chemistry that stops watchs. I wonder if this is a superpower? It seems I am doomed not to have a good watch. I am going to have to return the damn thing next week and stick to Swatches.

I drove to Janice Murray and Alan Rosenthal's house without causing the freeway lights to go out or anything, so my superpowers were clearly limited to timepieces. Once there we proceeded to have a little party. Several people dropped by, some completely unexpected, and there was much merriment, beer, and Chinese food. Tami Vining and I talked a lot, sometimes ignoring everyone else at the party, as we had a lot of catching up to do. The next morning I met her and Randy Byers at Mae's on Phinney for brunch. After two hours we weren't done talking, so we went to a coffeehouse near Randy's place and drank more coffee, and yammered on for another hour. We talked a lot about education, smartness, and degrees because I'm obsessed with the subject, I guess. But we also gossiped about fans, and talked about Randy's upcoming trip to Yap so it wasn't all yearning for external validation of intellect. There was a cellist playing in the back of the room, a good one, which was very soothing.

The main reason I went to Seattle was to hear the Symphony and Chorale perform an all Mozart program in the lovely Benaroya Hall Saturday night. Janice and Alan treated me to the seats, and I treated them to dinner. We were most elegant in our black and burgundy outfits -- we accidentally matched, which I thought made us look like we'd left our jazz trio gig at some fancy restaurant to run over to see the Symphony. The hall was beautiful, inside and out, and unlike San Francisco everyone looked properly attired for a fine arts event. Here you're likely to see rather slovenly dressed ticket holders who don't see anything wrong with wearing holey jeans or polo shirts to the opera or ballet. Does it really matter? Of course it really matters. One should dress appropriately for any occasion, and Friday Casual is inappropriate for Saturday night concerts. That is all.

I was a bit nervous about hearing the Requiem since it is a favorite of mine and I'm still having some panic attack trouble with this business of listening to music, particularly if I have any emotional attachment to it. A live classical music concert would be immersion therapy and I just wasn't sure what my reaction would be. I did want very much to hear a choir sing again, though.

The first half of the program was okay. I didn't care for guest conductor Richard Hickox's interpretation of the overture of The Magic Flute. He likes to vary the dynamics too much for my taste, something that also marred the Seattle Symphony Chorale's performance of a minor offeratory piece to the Virgin Mary. It was so bland I can't recall the name of it, I'm afraid. I'm not entirely sure why it was on the program at all. [Ed.: Sancta Maria, K.273]

Then there was a Missa Brevis (it must have been the one in C because there was an organ solo. [Ed.: it was, K.259]) through which Hickox galloped the orchestra and choir as though they were late and the Archbishop was tapping his foot at them. The soloists were a mixed bag. The soprano, Dominique Labelle, was outstanding, and the tenor, James Gilchrist, was also very good. The mezzo soprano was nearly inaudible half the time, as was the bass. I lowered my expectations for the one piece I'd come to hear.

Intermission, coffee, and at last the main feature. The conductor raised his baton. I held my breath. The orchestra played the delicate opening measures, and the moment the chorale sang "Requiem" in those beautiful, building chords I had tears streaming down my face. It was perfect. Gone were the strange interpretations and odd dynamics. He didn't muck about with the masterpiece. I loved the angelic chorus of sopranos in the Confutatis and the biting attack of the Dies Irae, and the trombone soloist for the Tuba Mirum was quite simply the best I've ever heard. I think I wept silently for the first four movements, half joy and half sorrow. A requiem is my favorite mass, strange as that may seem. It can't help but bring out the greatness in a composer (or reveal his weaknesses) to address the enormous issues of death, redemption, and salvation. The experience was tremendously moving.

Then we went and had dessert. Alan and I agreed a couple of the movements were a bit muddy, and Janice thought maybe we couldn't hear some of the soloists because we were off to the left, and then the waiter told us what dessert we were allowed to have because he didn't want us to order some of the things on the menu. And we all went home and had a nice sleep and in the morning it had snowed again. While getting ready to go out for brunch I expressed my envy, er, complimented my hosts on the attractiveness and spaciousness of their home (2200 square feet, built in 1959 with all the best features of the era still intact, and the coolest conversation pit money could buy in the 1970's -- seriously, Dean Martin would have loved this house). Their cats had torn apart the catnip toy I brought them, which I think means they liked it.

We had brunch with some other friends, I went to the airport and discovered all the Alaska flights to the Bay Area had been cancelled for the day, the line to rebook was easily 300 people long, I thumbed my nose at that and finessed a ride to San Francisco with a different airline, and got home about two hours after I was supposed to. There isn't any snow here, but it's pretty cold. It's supposed to snow up in the hills tomorrow. I would really like that.

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