Topic 38: The Enchantment of Distance

Carol:

Dancing Down Memory Lane

From the distance of 50-some years, my childhood evokes mostly happy memories, tricks of the imagination that soften the edges of real life, exaggerate the shapes and colors into a fairy-tale picture where everything is bigger, better, and brighter. Some of those memories deserve a special  spot in the  memory bank: my first visit to Disneyland, our field trip to Los Angeles Harbor to watch the filming of Preston Foster’s TV show Waterfront, my first performance of a live ballet.

Franz and Coppelia

Even from my seat near the back of the huge auditorium, I can see how beautiful she is as she reads on the balcony of her old European villa. All attention is drawn to her beautiful, big, dark eyes even as dancers swirl in the artificial square beneath her high perch.  She seems oblivious to the movements below her, even to the attentions of a young man who throws a kiss—a possible suitor? But, she is distant, even cold, as she reads on that balcony. The magic  continues as the story of the smitten Franz, his jealous girlfriend and the beautiful Coppelia unfolds to the music of 19th century French composer Leo Delibes. 

Only during the end of ACT II does our audience of children from all over Los Angeles realize the reason for Coppelia’s aloofness. She is a life-size doll who has only achieved life and allure through the imagination of her maker Dr. Coppelius and the infatuation of the young peasant  Franz. The enchantment has been undone by the flesh-and-blood Swanilda,  her frenzied, destructive dance through Coppelius’ toy shop  a high point of the ballet.

This 1870 ballet is all about tricks and illusion. Franz becomes captivated by the strange beauty poised on the distant balcony despite his promise of faithfulness to the full-of-life Swanilda. Dr. Coppelius is tricked by Swanilda into believing that his beautiful puppet daughter has come to life as Swanilda-disguised-as-Coppelia twirls through his shop. The story, based on several  of The Tales of Hoffman, is really about disenchantment; happy endings can be found when our feet are firmly planted on the ground, in the real world.

The last time I went to a live ballet performance was in Prescott about 20 years ago. Tickets for the third row, I was excited. To see the dancers twirl and point up close…what a treat. The auditorium filled, the lights dimmed, and the curtains went up. The floorboards of the old stage creaked, and so did some of the dancers’ knees. Up close. The stage make-up looked like grotesque masks and couldn’t always hide the beads of sweat on the dancers’ faces. Up close. The costumes were still lovely but a little worn, the toe shoes a bit frayed.  Up close. I don’t  remember which ballet it was, but no one would have believed Coppelia on her balcony was real from that third-row vantage point.

I’ll never forget my first ballet, the delight of the fantasy revealed to a ten-year old. But, 40 years later when, in my disappointment I turned around from my up close seat at Hendrix Auditorium, I saw the faces of children all over the theater…full of delight and total enchantment.

Source: Coppelia. A Ballet in Three Acts.
  

Megan:

My garden in March, England

I was 18 the first time I travelled alone.  I went to Mexico to study Spanish.  On my 21st birthday, I landed in England to begin my junior year of college, unaware that I would fall in love with the country and spend 7 of the next 8 years there. But living abroad is very different from travelling abroad. The thing about distance is that it changes your perspective on whatever it is you are looking at – a place, an idea, a person maybe. Little details blend together and the image is softened. This may be what people find so enchanting about distance… you can look out across a valley or an ocean, and instead of dangers and pitfalls, you see possibility and freedom. Until you get there.

Somewhere in my childhood journal, I recorded the moment I learned the term expatriate. And then I resolved to become one. This desire was born not out of any resentment or distaste for the US, but from a love of travel.

Oxford, 1989

 My parents love to travel. When we kids came along, 8 and 10 years into their marriage, they decided not to let us interfere with their plans.  They just took us with them. My brother was 4 months old the first time he went (or rather, was taken) to Mexico. Every few years there was a big trip – England & Ireland in 1989 was the first one I remember, followed by Panama & Colombia, Italy & France, Belize & Guatemala.  When we didn’t have a big trip planned, Mexico was our default vacation spot. As far as I can remember, the only time my parents left us behind was when they went to China.




I thought living in England would give me the freedom to travel, and it did. I spent Christmas holidays in Spain, France, Amsterdam, Bruges and Prague.  Seeing them listed like that, it looks like more than it was.  Once I started working, I spent most of my vacation time visiting my family back in the US.

My flat in England

My house in Arizona

When you live 6,000 miles away from your family and friends, that kind of distance eventually wears on you. Just a couple of years ago, I still liked being so far away. When you visit it’s a big deal, and people make time to see you.  They think you are brave and interesting and they want to come visit. But then a couple of my cousins started having kids and my parents started speeding towards retirement, England became a prison, and the distance seemed blurry instead of soft.  So, I came back. Now I’m trying to glimpse my future in the distance, trying to figure out what I should do and where I should live. My criteria used to be very specific, but I’ve limited my options to ‘not in my parents’ house.’  And now it is England, instead of America, that is softening into distance and memory.

The same garden, from a distance