This afternoon, Daniel and I and our friend Jake went to Met Opera at the Movies, to see “Parsifal.” As we drove down I-81 to the Montage Mountain movie theater, I turned to Daniel and said, “We haven’t spoken to Sandra for a while. I need to call her tonight.”

I grew up with the New York Metropolitan Opera. I remember how my Dad used to listen to the weekly radio broadcast of Saturday matinees from the Met. He even wired the house, so he could continue to listen to the glorious music regardless of what room he happened to be in at any time. How I loved listening to those majestic voices, as they carried me to the heights and depths of some of the most stirring music ever created. While I didn’t understand the Italian or French or whatever language being sung, I was transported to storylands of my own making. In my mind’s eye, I pictured the beautiful princesses or peasant girls dancing joyously or seductively or solemnly, their cavaliers or boys next door fighting (and overpowering) the dark villains. I imagined happy endings, sealed with kisses. And what Read More