The day after Wicked...

For over 2 months, my daughter and I have been waiting to go and see Wicked, wonderfully musical and irreverant and sexy retelling of the story of the Wizard of Oz from the viewpoint of Elphaba and Glinda, the witches, bad and good. Now it has happened, and as usual, I have my post-excitement hangover. Honestly, at my august age, you would think I would have become more inured to ecstatic moments, but no, I am still all stirred up and have a way to come down afterward. Actually, I am not sorry about this at all. I think an attitude of wonder is a swell place to dwell, where the world can still amaze me, the natural as well as the artificial. And musical theater is a sincere artform, for sure. The sets were ingenius, the lighting was amazing, the songs fun and touching and, on occasion, brought tears to our eyes, the cast talented up to their ears. Energy abounded in the dancing and some characters got to fly, even. I knew the music by heart because daughter-mine gave me the original cast recording for Christmas (and the play was the second part of the present, how sweet was that), and she had to keep me from singing along. I am doing that here in the privacy of my house, serenading my dogs, today. Warm and fuzzy day in the Big City with Little Kiddo, one for the memory book.