A Night at the Opera

 My deceased husband, Andrzej (pronounced Ahn’ Jay) and I started attending the SF Opera in 1964, soon after moving to Davis. Our daughter Eva was 2 years old then. We hired a babysitter to take care of her. We drove to SF and back again every Friday night when an opera was offered. Later, we made arrangements to stay overnight at a hotel in SF, to avoid the long drive home. We eventually stayed in my apartment on top of Russian Hill. 

We both loved opera and sometimes we prepared for it beforehand.  We listened to the music and studied the libretti. Andrzej understood the German and Russian, which he spoke fluently. I understood most of the French. 

In the early days, we had seats far away, in the first balcony but later moved closer to the stage, eventually sitting in the 4th row, center. We had these seats for many years before the pandemic closed our beloved Opera House. 

We loved getting dressed up for the opera. Andrzej in his dark suit, white shirt and colorful tie. I wore a full or 3/4 length gown of dark blue taffeta. In the old days, women wore full-length gowns, men wore tuxedos or tails. Women wore fur coats. Later they wore ordinary clothes. I missed the elegance. 

Just to enter the Opera House was exciting. It was all lit up, with glittering chandeliers hanging from the tall ceilings. The elegant foyer was crowded with people, talking, walking around, drinking champagne, waiting for the bell that told us to take our seats. 

We usually took a taxi from our SF apartment to the Opera House. I wanted Andrzej to discuss the opera we were about to see, or at least talk to me. But he liked to “interview” the cab drivers. Frequently I detected a Russian accent and whispered to Andrzej, “Speak Russian,” which he then did, very fluently.  

Frequently there were standing ovations at the end of the operas. I was always one of the first to jump up, clapping and shouting. Once long ago we attended a performance with two of Andrzej´s university colleagues and their wives. We all got dressed up in formal attire and had dinner beforehand in the basement dining room. We always went down there for a glass of champagne between acts, but it often happened that the warning bell would ring just as we finally ordered our drinks. We had to drink them quickly and return to our seats as soon as possible. 

The operas always ended around 11:00 pm. We always went to a nearby restaurant for a late supper. That was part of our ritual. One was a very large restaurant just a block away from the Opera House. The other, a small Swedish restaurant also just a block away. We always had champagne and something delicious.  

Those were among the happiest moments in our long, topsy-turvy marriage, which lasted almost 60 years. 

Now, as the pandemic is waning, the Opera House has reopened again for the fall season. Andrzej is gone and I am 96 years old, half-blind, stiff and forgetful. Nevertheless I have ordered season tickets and I look forward to the coming opera season.