A little culture please...

When we lived in Boston, we had season tickets to the symphony. We frequently attended operas, Shakespeare in the Park on Boston Commons and the wonderful free concerts at the Boston Hatch Shell on the banks of the Charles River.

The Massachusetts Museum of Art and the Isabella Gardener were just a short T-ride away. If history was our pleasure, we hiked the Freedom Trail and took in the wonderful colonial architecture of the Old North Church, the old State House or Paul Revere's house.

We were swimming in "cul-chaa."

When we moved back to the Ozarks, I was afraid I'd have to give up some of those wonderful experiences with the arts.

Not so!

Yesterday, the DH and I drove over to the Gilioz Theater in Springfield, MO (about 85 miles away) to see Springfield Regional Opera's production of Donizetti's Don Pasquale. It's a delightful comic opera with a talented young cast.

It was sung in Italian with English subtitles. (This is really the best of both worlds because the subtitles make it easy to follow the story while performance in the language for which the music written ensures the best possible vocal production!)

Over the years, we've seen world class opera companies in San Francisco, New York, London and Hannover, Germany. I'd rank this cast and orchestra with the best of them.

We had a great time in Springfield yesterday. And it reminded me of the first opera were ever saw together. That was La Traviata in Minneapolis. Back then, we were starving college students in Iowa, just dating at the time, but I really wanted him to go with me. I'd just discovered the world of opera and fell in love with it. I needed to know if he'd be willing to share that passion with me.

So I PAID for the the bus ride up and back, supper at a Chinese restaurant near the theater and tickets for the show. (It was actually the first and last time I've paid for anything. When we got married, I remember him saying, "with all my worldly goods I thee endow." I believe in taking things literally, so I never let him forget that one!)  But anyway, he enjoyed the opera too, or at least said he did, and I knew I'd found a keeper. (Of course, I really knew he cared about me when he sat through an entire bassoon recital. If that's not love, what is?)

Anyway, he's been looking for ways to take me to the opera ever since that first time.  It didn't hurt that to take me to this one, we got to drive through the lovely rolling hills of the Ozarks, either.

Sorry for the fuzziness of this pic. I snapped it from a moving car. But doesn't it sort of look like an impressionist painting in the pointillism style?

See? You can find "cul-chaa" wherever you go!