White Dog watched me choosing a scarf. "It is Opera night, isn't it?" she asked. "Yes, Little One, opening night of the season," I answered as i decided to go with the highly textured black and white one. I gathered the White Dog Army around me.
"It is just like every summer, dear ones, Dad and I will be gone late tonight to the Opera. Dr. Julia says Puff is healthy enough that we should not worry. Michael knows to call Gregg and Candace if there is any problem and Josh is right next door. Dad made you all a special dinner and we promise to bring back something wonderful from our tailgate dinner."
The WDA hates that fact that we do not get home until after midnight on Opera Saturdays but the thought of the picnic remains was something to look forward to. We kissed heads and reminded all that White Dog was in charge, that we loved them, and that we would be home just as soon as possible.
On the drive to Santa Fe, we encountered a stretch of crazy winds and a dust storm, stirred up the the quickly moving thermals generated by the temperature and ground heat. In the far distance we could see a hint of the wildfire burning. At the Opera House, however, the air was fresh, the temperature a delightful 80 degrees F, and the evening perfect to enjoy a supper of spicy eel roll, Spanish ham, brie and lemon zest goat cheese on crusty french bread, fresh raspberries and mini cream puffs. We also had, specifically with the intent on bringing some home and sharing with the WDA, cold chicken breast cubes with peaches in balsamic vinaigrette. It is always relaxing to watch the night gather as we feast...and the people gazing provides lowbrow entertainment as Steve and I privately have our own commentary about some of the outfits (especially shoes) that cross the Plaza.
The performance was Mozart's Marriage of Figaro, not one of my favorites but certainly a crowd pleaser. Both the Count and Countess had amazing voices.
When we walked into the house at a bit after one, we were greeted by the entire WDA and Michael. He was worried that if he were down in his "cave" that he would miss potential signals of distress so he had spent the evening with the pups. Half the WDA looked pointedly at the clock and the other at the little cooler bag Steve carried.
He walked past them into the kitchen. "Anyone interested in some chicken?" he asked over his shoulder. Immediately there were six floofy attendants surrounding him. "Michael? How about you?" "Ummm, I am fine, thanks. I am going to bed."
Chicken, pills, potty breaks and it was bedtime for the rest of us, too. Hope you had a weekend worth singing about as well.