I could not sleep this night, and instead I perched myself by our window on the 16th floor of Mark Hopkins and just watched the city and the bay. It seemed that there were lots of other sleepless souls - the hum of traffic, occasional sirens and beeping, horns sounding over the water and lights, lights, lights everywhere.
In the morning we saw the city in a different light. From the Top of the Mark we could see the fog lifting and the sun flooding everything in a soft golden light. It was a pity to leave... but we had to be in Ashland by the evening.
The road to Asland was blissfully uneventful. We drove through fields and hamlets, stopped in maxwell to admire the gorgeous stagecoach - I wish the museum were open! Sadly, many fields stood brown and dead - wilted sunflowers and stubby dry stalks of corn, miles of these. Mount Shasta barely had any snow. As we rose higher, the drought seemed to abate. The clouds were gathering on the horizon when we approached Weed.
Ashland was somber, wrapped in clouds. We took a short stroll down the main drag - and then watched "The taming of the Shrew" at Angus Bowmer theater. This version was stylized after fifties fashions and today's technologies and sensibilities. Petruchio was a tattoed guitar-playing rocker; Katarina was a tattoed scream-fest working in her Daddy's hot-dog stand. Bianka was hilariously retarded, and Tranio as played by inimitable John Taft stole the show from Lucentio.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment