Today’s treat was Wicked. It was the first time I had seen it, though my iPod had told me the story many times before. I read Gregory Maguire’s book upon which the musical was based, so I understood what was going on from a slightly different perspective than guests who hadn’t read the book. There are obvious changes in the plot and execution of the musical as compared to the book, but the new twists were welcomed. I anticipate reading the book again, as well as the sequel coming out October 1st: “Son of a Witch.”

I arrived exactly when the doors opened to the theater and was in my seat plenty of time before the curtain rose. The lady in back of me was talking loudly about how she had no clue about what was going to happen, and why don’t they print a “Sigh-nop-SIS” like they do in L.A.? And who is this character “E-la-FAB-la?” Thankfully, she was quiet during the actual performance.

Cameras are forbidden, of course, but as people were taking photos during intermission of each other, I figured it was OK to quickly take a shot of the curtain with my camera-phone. The curtain is the map that starts Maguire’s novel.

At times, I found myself fighting back tears of excitation. Surprisingly, the gentleman next to me was frequently wiping the corners of his eyes. Was he as moved as I was?

Musicals are cheesy. Lame. Stupid. That’s what a lot of people think. But I really get into them!

I think part of my love of musicals is a wistfulness in which I picture myself on the stage. I don’t want the cheers or adoration, per se. But I would like to immerse myself in the fantasy land. For 15 years, I took dance lessons. For 10 of those years, I was a member of at least one “performing division,” and usually two. I competed at Dance Masters of America and other contests, and performed at places like the 1988 World Expo in Brisbane, Australia. My favorite experiences were at our local theater, a beautiful art-deco space of dark blue walls painted with sparkly astrological signs. That theater felt like “home” to me. Performing gave me a warm feeling. One of my favorite authors as a teenager, Karen Strickler Dean, had described this feeling in one of her dancing protagonists as “my summer wind.” I identified with that description. Something stirs within me when I dance.

During the dark post-partum period after the Cat was born, my husband sent me to Rent and Fosse as a break from nursing woes and our inconsolable crier. I remember being simultaneously moved and scared. I was guilty to be enjoying myself when I knew I had such a huge responsibility waiting for me at home, but I was grateful for the break. At a time when it seemed as though nothing could cheer me up, being present at those musicals stirred hope within me. I could remember my days as a dancer. I realized that becoming a mother didn’t mean that I couldn’t experience the joy of the theater. For those brief moments, I could immerse myself in fantasy and let the music stir my memories.

I miss New York. I miss being able to simply walk down to Broadway and see a show. The moments that I have caught touring companies out here in California have been purely delicious.

This afternoon, I turned up the soundtrack and danced around the house. I attempted pirouettes that were a bit off balance, and performed high kicks that I will probably feel in the morning. But my performance for my cat made me smile and cry all at once.

Sure, I am an old sap, but I am surely a happy one tonight!

(Yeah, I am looking forward to Rent: The Movie! Although nothing compares to an in-person experience, of course.)