I have a laundry list of simple pleasures from the weekend. An experiment with 31 paper airplanes and a ceiling fan, a lovely ride on the new Vespa with J, roller skating (dancing) with my son at Skate King, framing a painting for an upcoming student show, watching "Searching for Bobby Fischer" with my chess loving son, mowing the lawn (and trying not to sneeze.)

All nice experiences, to be sure, but none of it would matter if not for the overarching feeling throughout the weekend: peace, calm, serenity - and of course gratitude for the life I have and all I have become.

I have been reading The Invention of Hugo Cabret to my son at bedtime. My goodness what a wonderful book (we're enjoying it so much I was compelled to write a review on Amazon -- my first ever.)

It is a beautifully illustrated story of a young French boy in the '30s who works to fix a broken automaton while uncovering the mystery of its creation. We learn about old silent films, magicians and the automata they used on stage. The book is over 500 pages long -- partly because some sequences of the book are told simply through the illustrations. Page after page of tightly drawn black and white images (similar to a silent film, eh? :)

Here's a passage from the chapters we read tonight:

Hugo thought about his father's description of the automation. "Did you ever notice that all machines are made for some reason?" he asked Isabelle. "They are built to make you laugh, like the (wind-up) mouse here, or to tell the time, like clocks, or to fill you with wonder, like the automaton. Maybe that's why a broken machine always makes me a little sad, because it isn't able to do what it was meant to do."

Isabelle picked up the mouse, wound it again, and set it down.

"Maybe it's the same with people," Hugo continues. "If you lose your purpose... it's like you're broken."

Jim and I soaked in Puccini's La Boheme at the Seattle Opera last weekend. It was visually stunning and the music and singing was so very pretty. I was completely moved by the story. My face was covered in tears by the end.

I enjoy Opera because I find it incredibly entertaining on many levels. I don't experience it in an intellectual way. I don't understand how it is built or why. I can't even quite put my finger on why I love it so much. All I know is that every time I go, I'm swept up in the experience. This Opera is my favorite one so far (knocking Carmen out of first place.)

I love Carmen for all the obvious reasons -- the catchy singable tunes, the humor, the pure entertainment value. La Boheme did something, though that I've haven't experienced with an Opera before. The characters were so real; I felt like I knew them. Even more surprising, I felt like they could be my friends, and I could be theirs. There was a young painter, a writer and a attention whore (but of course, gotta have a diva!) and there was the sickly, insipid young seamstress. I couldn't believe how much I cared about the characters (see Edward Scissorhands entry -- harrumph!) I cared for my on stage friends, and I cried with them as they grappled with their deeply painful loss.