"Sorting of currants, grating of spices..." ~ Jane Eyre

Its an early autumn afternoon and the sun is shining as the wind directs leaves to blow against my windows, making a crackling noise before they fall back to the ground. I am sipping spicy Indian chai with a splash of milk and the apartment smells like fudge brownies. I made them for this evening - the Prince is cooking dinner for us and I decided to bring something sweet to eat as we dine in and watch the Giants go for another win. Ironically, I am listening to "Spring Dance" by Ravi Shankar even though it is the quintessential fall day. I am making a list of cupcakes to order from Crumbs bakery in the city since we are celebrating Halloween once again this year with Jack (who shall be Thomas the Tank Engine). I just called Bistro 33 to make dinner reservations for next week to celebrate the engagement of my cousin and her fiance; it is quite an exciting time and they shall marry in one year at the end of October. I think a fall wedding is perfect, and I wonder if the Prince and I will marry during the fall season one day at Onteora. I am slightly anxious to hear back from my cousin, Amy, who was married this past July, and gave birth to a daughter two days ago. The baby was premature and is 3 pounds, 7 ounces. I am sure she is in great care and will be just fine, but I do wish I was in San Francisco right now giving support to my cousin. She is being very positive, so I shall do the same and try not to worry. So, I will sip some more tea and distract myself for a bit with some cooking shows on PBS...


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=erLZ-zW9Ti4 (George Harrison's sitar lesson with Ravi Shankar)

"I know not whether the day was fair or foul..." ~ Jane Eyre

Last night, thanks to my sister Robin, I had the fortunate opportunity to see Patrick Stewart playing a Shakespearean role live for the second time in my life. Yesterday evening he played the most foul Macbeth, and I was no more than twenty feet away from him experiencing the hubris of his character and demise of his character’s life. The director set the play in a Stalin-esque backdrop, and the interpretation of the witches is one that made me draw my breath in. Of course I know the play inside and out after teaching it for six years, and I thought this production a great take on the great Bard’s work. I was not a fan of the Lady – she was too dramatic and intense too soon. Lady Macbeth must start out calm, cool, and collected, or we never see her stark and intense change by the end of the play; the actress played her intense since the first moment, which did not work well.

What always works well is anything Patrick Stewart performs. I admit to not being a Trekkie, but I always admire his work. I saw him over 12 years ago as Prospero: his best Shakespearean role in my opinion. He drew me in last night, but as Prospero he drew me in and had me at his commanding mercy. Sadly, I never saw his one man show of A Christmas Carol. I hope that he comes back to BAM more to perform Shakespeare. I would love to see him as Caesar; that is a dream role I envision him in next. He is truly a Shakespearean actor, something hard to come by these days, and I admit feeling jealousy for each cast member getting to share the stage with him last night. I admit: I have a "thing" for Patrick Stewart...

I hope you take the time to look at the review of the performance...and to check out wonderful photos from the production that capture its essence.

http://theater2.nytimes.com/2008/02/15/theater/reviews/15macb.html?scp=1&sq=macbeth%20patrick%20stewart&st=cse

"Repeated the general blending of snow..." ~ Jane Eyre

Six cups of french vanilla coffee are brewing as Frank sings "My Funny Valentine" and I dry my hair from the snowflakes falling on my curls after shoveling my walkway a few moments ago. Though I changed back into my flannel pajamas, I am not going back to sleep despite wanting to go under my covers and cozy up to the tank top that smells like him and inhale a new romance. There are two books by my couch to be read this afternoon, and I am pondering what I want to defrost from my freezer for lunch; I am leaning towards split pea soup with ham that I made about a month ago. I am reveling in the class and composure Barack showed last night after Hillary's lamely constructed xerox comment; indeed, she is silly to think that her snarky remark was going to fly with the audience. Although I am happy it is a day for a snowstorm, I am checking out the Spring Fashion of the Times online, curious about the upcoming trends for the season. I see a Miu Miu leather clutch in the design of a dragon fly that is gorgeous not only for its design but because it is also pink. A part of me hopes this snow turns to rain by early evening - I am supposed to eat dinner with Jack and his parental units this evening. I spoke with him before and asked if he was excited to put his snow boots on and play in the snow. He replied "Yup!" He says yup, not yes, and I guess you have to be an aunt to understand how endearingly cute that is. I know I should take advantage of the day and get some paperwork done this afternoon, but I am trying to procrastinate with that until at least two o'clock. Checking out upcoming exhibitions at museums is tops on my ways to procrastinate list. The MET has a very interesting exhibit happening in the Costume Institute that relates to blogging; I want to get there in March before it closes in April: http://www.metmuseum.org/special/se_event.asp?OccurrenceId={FBCA0E60-48CD-4114-84C6-875AB7C411BA} The exhibit after this relates to fashion and superheroes, which also sounds like a fun collection to view. Of course anytime I think of fashion and superheroes, I think of underoos and how my poor mother had to buy three sets of Wonder Woman 'roos for me and my sisters. That makes me think about how after we were out in the snow on a snow day we came in and my mom had us sit in our long johns on the radiator cover to warm up...

"As he took the cup from my hand..." ~ Jane Eyre

I am watching the latest BBC production of Persuasion on PBS and am disappointed that they thought a remake 11 years later of the amazingly rich version with Ciarian Hinds as Captain Wentworth would be something authentic Austen audiences wanted. It an acceptable version, but not nearly as great as the one made by the BBC in 1995. Still, I sip some rich hot chocolate and am content to be viewing this beauty and sophistication of Jane's dialogue after watching such a brutal game of football this early evening. I am, though, thrilled that my Giants won but have become exhausted after the intense game. Fatigued, I am looking forward to climbing under my covers shortly and reading Dreams From My Father by Barack Obama. I went to Barnes and Noble this morning to pick it up and have already read fifteen pages. I hope that tomorrow morning I get to stay under my covers for a snow day; the New York tri-state area is expected to get four inches. The nice part about Academia is that snow days exist in its world just like they do in public schools. I have my snow chain list next to my laptop, praying it gets utilized in the morning. I hope that we do get enough snow tomorrow so Jack can use the snowman making kit I gave to him at Christmastime. It comes with a scarf, hat, buttons, a plastic carrot nose; all you do is add snow. I could use a snow that puts life at a standstill for just a moment; things have been so hectic and complicated lately. So hectic that didn't even think to stuff the top of my mug with marshmallows. You know life is busy when you don't have time or forethought to add marshmallows to your red mug filled with hot chocolate...

"Following the stream..." ~ Jane Eyre

Who is your muse? Whom do you recite incantations for when you need inspiration to write? I always found the concept of the muse intriguing. When I think of a muse, I think of a marble statue made in Ancient Greece of a goddess sitting in the MET, but in my head she doesn't have any arms; she has a chipped nose and cracks in her feet- perhaps from the difficult move to get her from Greece to New York City back in the early 1900's when she had to ride over in a boat and not a plane. It is not at all surprising that the dominant paradigm for inspiration to artists is a figure in the female form. Shakespeare himself pulled muses into his sonnets and gave them their rightful place in his art. If Shakespeare were alive today, I would stalk him. I would beg him to come to my apartment for a dinner of cheddar cheese and beer fondue, making the gruel thick and slab, and we would talk about his characters as we stuck our forks in bite sized pieces of french bread and dunked them into the bubbly pot. I would ask him questions about his sources for inspiration - about his own personal muses - because you cant write lines in Hamlet such as these and not have a woman in mind when you write: Doubt that the stars are fire Doubt that the sun doth move Doubt Truth to be a liar But Never Doubt I love. Note: I remember reading those words as a young girl of eleven and vowing I would marry the man who ever recited those words to me. Hence, I am almost thirty and unwed. Some men are as emotionally witless as the Prince of Denmark is. Still, I believe that in my stack of cards there is a man who will be more like Prince Hal (though I do not condone his treatment of John Falstaff). It is nights like this when there is a snow storm and I am all cozied up in my apartment that I wish I had a dog, perhaps even a Great Dane. I don't know where the dog would fit, but I would love to own an animal that was my height and that I could keep in the house. There are lots of things I dreamed of when I was eleven that I thought I would have by now: a dog, a diamond, a daisy garden. Tonight I have a 91 point glass of Merlot, sparkling white lights on a Christmas tree, and diamond passed down as an heirloom. I am half interested in writing and half interested in getting my tarot cards read online right now. I have no idea what question to ask tonight. Will there ever be an heirloom tomato in my future that I like? Will I ever travel to Denmark? Will I ever again feel as romantic towards life as I did when I was eleven? In eleven days I am going to be on vacation - I cannot wait. I am off for eleven days. Aside from the revelry of Christmas and New Year's, I shall revel in the time away from my beloved desk. I plan on watching Amelie for the eleventh time in the past two months. The character is a must of sorts for my soul. Tout est parfait en cet instant.