12
Jun
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Last night, Gordon, Rebekah, and I attended the opera, Carmen, in Denver. Rebekah wore a new dress—light blue with white flowers—made especially for the occasion. Her blonde hair was pulled into a horizontal French braid, and a small row of pearls rested on her neck. Finally, a beauty-shop manicure made bitten nails look surprisingly good, and a touch of make-up gave her skin a warm glow. No one could question that she looked beautiful and very grown-up.
Totally enthralled by the music and staging, Rebekah sang the songs all the way home to Boulder even though it was 1:00 A.M. Gordon and I also enjoyed the performance, although a book I read as a child, Otis Spofford, forever ruined the “Toreador†song. Whenever I listen
to music from Carmen, I hear Otis sing: “Toreador-a, Don’t spit on the floor-a, Use a cuspidor-a, That’s what it’s for-a.†I imagine this sensation means that my sense of humor is returning.
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