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Waiting on the Nutcracker, NYC

Crowds fill the box office foyer at the State Theater before performances of the Nutcracker. It's not surprising. Usually it's cold outside, sometimes it's wet, and the house doesn't open until half an hour before the curtain is scheduled to rise. As a result, people are often jostling one another trying to locate their families and friends.

On this particular night, I had arrived early, and watched as the foyer slowly filled. It was a cold night and we had tickets late in the run. Christmas was around the corner. I watched this couple as they waited. I never saw who they were waiting for or when their party arrived. My friend showed up and we made our way towards one of the two entrances to ready ourselves for when the gates would open. I can't vouch that they were grandparents, but something tells me they might have been.

Many years ago, when my friend Shiao-Lan was pregnant with her first child, she joked that I could be the one to teach her child culture. I could be the one to take her to the symphony, the opera, the ballet. I haven't. They moved to Connecticut and I see her and her family rarely. Still, there's something attractive about the idae.

Two years ago, I went to see the Nutcracker for the first time in over ten years. I remembered a few parts, but had forgotten the vast majority of the show. I gasped when the tree grew up out of the floor, and sat enthralled as ballerinas danced as snow fell from the rafters. I can't imagine what it's like for a child seeing it for the first time. So long as they're not squirming in their seats for the duration.

Speaking of which, last month I saw La Sonnambula at the Met. The opera was fantastic, elevated by its two leads, Juan Diego Flórez and Natalie Dssay. In the row in front of us sat a little girl. We had seen her at another opera we had attended earlier in the month. She sat upright, slightly forward in her seat. She was enraptured throughout.