Christmas at City Center

We went to the Holiday concert of Alvin Ailey American Dance Theater on Xmas Eve at City Center. We came in town early enough to have coffee, tea and chocolate cake at a coffee shop near by. City Center has undergone a beautiful renovation. We were visiting for the first time and were greatly impressed with the beautiful, opulent Moorish decor/architecture. Our seats were on the stunning Grand Tier.
The program was an intellectual and emotional delight. Much of our past –– distant and recent – was celebrated and explicated in the dances. We loved ARDEN COURT choreographed by Paul Taylor. We saw CRY, THE HUNT, REVELATIONS. We loved them all. It was rewarding to see REVELATIONS. We left the theater feeling a little as if we had danced – as though we had participated in the energy of the performance. We were in an audience of people around whom Alvin Ailey – the man and the dance company – have built a tradition. I understood things more deeply after these many decades and it was thrilling to discover this. And they were/are venerable. I was a kid when Mr. Ailey started his company. I’m not a dancer, but I am touched personally by people who have danced in the Ailey company. My experience is as an audience member. I’m venerable,too now. I have sat and watched and moved my butt about in my seat at Ailey for a lot of years. On Christmas Eve I felt exhilarated that there were movements, moments that were still being done by a different company of dancers and still eliciting a gasp of delight or throb of tearfulness. But then Christmas is the time for the shameless sentimentalist. And that was it in a nutshell for me! The Ailey program allowed me to feel sentimental, nostalgic and celebratory. But they did not stay in the past so long that they seemed mired in it. In fact they whetted our appetites to see more modern dance. I left feeling aloft. My most selfish and self revelatory reaction to the performance was that The Company, the choreographic legacy, the traditions and I/We have aged well – we’ve weathered (dare I say it ;–)) beautifully. We had a lovely time! We had a Christmastime made more festive and more bountiful by Alvin Ailey and the Ailey Company.

Dry-eyed and hope ascendant

The Last Days of Ptolemy Grey by Walter Moseley



Well Walter Moseley is a wizard of fiction. THE LAST DAYS OF PTOLEMY GREY is a graceful book that made me feel better about myself. Moseley's novel reminded me of the very important novel, A LESSON BEFORE DYING by Ernest J. Gaines. This,too,is a graceful reflection on the purpose of life that speaks eloquently - certifying that the length of time left in a life is not what makes it meaningful. I ought to have cried at the end of this book. I didn't. I am a known crybaby. But this novel is about finishing up not dying. Perhaps I have attended to dying often enough now to NOT cry at death. Sometimes it isn't a tragedy to die but a worse one to keep on living in pain and confusion. My sisters and I have attended to the passings of our parents and their siblings. We know how it goes. The book gives it to you in much the way of it. It isn't a sad and mopey book. And it is not falsely hopeful either. This is a novel of life in the contemporary urban ( as always it is Moseley's L.A.) without the grotesque violence and sex depictions of much contemporary urban fiction. It is nevertheless real - real life.  And it is in every way a hopeful book . It is life-affirming. The cleaning and packing up was evocative and familiar and was a lovely platform to reveal the story and connect the characters. As always in Walter Moseley's fiction there is a plot. There are actions and there is suspense and there are interesting people to do it all.

Beloved parents gone

My father died at ninety-six like Ptolemy Grey though his  life was not that similar. The precious last days as rendered -  more than a picture and more than a map -- by Walter Moseley felt right. I imagined that my father may have experienced similar things. My mother's  going was different. We can't actually know what thoughts the naturally occurring brain chemicals cause when the body winds down. And we can't know what effect a drug that is supposed to work for the kidneys or the liver or the heart is doing to the brain. But we who've attended the last of a parent or spouse know that all the action is in the brain. Walter Moseley has shown his prowess by putting us in that courageous, failing, struggling, triumphant brain. I felt good and satisfied at the end -- less afraid and dry-eyed.