Romance

Today I saw a very romantic interpretation of Taming of the Shrew.  The shrew was comical in her shrewishness, hissing and spitting and very physical in her interpretation, sending the audience - seated on picnic blankets outdoors - into hoots of laughter.  The language, as in many Shakespeare plays, was bawdy and coarse and perfectly splendid.  I glanced over at Katherine a couple of times - did she catch that reference to oral sex? ack! - but she was oblivious for the most part.  As the play progressed, the shrew became broken as she was tamed, and it felt uncomfortable to me - was this a play about male chauvenism?  (There are interpretations like that, and I've seen them.  They hurt to watch.)  But in this interpretation, by the end, it looked like love in good Katarina's eyes - she was shrew no longer, softened by a man of wit, and she was sexy and fiery and bold, but also kind and appreciative of her mate.  In the end, I felt sorry for boring Bianca's love, which held no fire at all.

Now, I'm not looking to be carried over a man's shoulder into the wilderness.  Rue the day that a man should try - I'm not one to go for that.

But oh how I would love a man who knew what my defenses were, and knew how to guide me to a softer place inside myself than my previous romance has allowed.

Ahhhh, romance.

A lesbian friend - a remarkable mother, a beautiful human being, a member of my divorce group - quietly announced that she is in a wonderful new romance, too.  Watching her light up, seeing the pain of heartbreak being replaced by the attentiveness of someone who really SEES her, well, it's a lovely thing.  Several newly divorced friends have found new love, as a matter of fact.  I watch them with a combination of awe, happiness (for them), and purely painful longing.  I wish it was my turn sometimes.

Romance is not in the air for me.  I'm too exhausted to try for it right now, and I'm trying so hard to make the rest of my life work out that I can't afford to divert precious energy away from my newly awakened career and sweet Katherine's new life.

But romance is in the air.  I can't drink deeply of it, but at least I can enjoy its perfumes as they drift by.  My time will come, and in the meantime I'll look at other examples of love - real and literary - and take my pleasure from that.  Romance is not dead.  I do not hate men.  I will bide my time, and wait for the lover-friend who will make my toes curl and my eyes sparkle.

*****

I haven't read Fifty Shades of Gray yet.  I thought about it - I'm not a prude - but I can't do it, not because of the sex (hey, bring it on!), or the dominance (not my thing but maybe an interesting read?).  No, I can't read it because I am a literary snob, and I've heard it's worse than Twilight.  (A friend talked me into reading the first book of Twilight, a mistake I will not repeat.)  But there was plenty of sexiness in the play today...