Last Saturday, Mom and Dad put me in a pretty dress (a birthday gift from my good friend Rashmi!) and we drove to a big building with fancy columns called Memorial Hall.
I was very excited.
A man took our tickets and then we went into a fancy room. There were lights, and paintings on the ceiling and walls, and a piano (I love pianos) and a stage!
While waiting for the opera—How Nanita Learned to Make Flan—to begin, I played with my program …
… and twisted the brass handrail …
… and was just, generally, so happy.
And then, the opera started! There was music and singing and bright, beautiful costumes. I sat on Mom’s lap and just stared and stared and stared. And then, I got so excited, I got off of Mom’s lap and said “yay! yay!” while clapping even though no one else was clapping yet. Mom and Dad thought that was OK, because I was happy and excited. And I was happy and excited for about 20 minutes, which they later made a really big deal about. (I don’t know why. Do they really think I can’t behave for 20 whole minutes?) But then, well, I just couldn’t help myself. I wanted up on the chair and then I wanted down and then I wanted up again and then I wanted down and I guess I wasn’t really being very quiet anymore so we had to leave.
Mom and Dad did let me climb up this marble staircase before we left.
I can’t wait to go back. Mom says she’s so happy we went, because I loved it so, but that it will be even more fun when I’m older.
“An opera begins long before the curtain goes up and ends long after it has come down. It starts in my imagination, it becomes my life, and it stays part of my life long after I’ve left the opera house.” —Maria Callas
