Every year we trundle off to Chautauqua, and almost every year, I wonder why. It's difficult to explain, particularly because I have never been much of a go-to-lecture type of person. In my mind, it was bad enough that I had to sit through 4 years of undergrad lectures, and a couple more in grad school--almost all in incomprehensible subjects like x-ray crystallography and molecular biology--or things I wasn't particularly interested in (but was obliged to take) like Russian art or theology. When it comes down to sitting in an uncomfortable chair, listening to droning for an hour or so, I have had my fill. And yet, I go each year to Chautauqua.
Admittedly, the lectures are not as boring as my class in physical chemistry (though that one at least had the suspense of me wondering if I could absorb enough to pass--I did) or advanced inorganic (I didn't.) But the benches are harder, and the audiences much larger. This year, I set a new (and hardly praiseworthy) record. I skipped ALL the lectures. Refusing to be cowed by the semi-religious attendance at each morning lecture, I deliberately steered myself away from the amphitheater, and...read or shopped or people-watched my mornings away. Most days I also had a writing assignment to complete, so it wasn't wholly without reason.. I met JC for lunch each day and he filled me in on what I'd missed, and--I must admit--some of the lectures sounded as if I might have enjoyed them. But I enjoyed frittering too. Sometimes frittering gives rise to writing topics....
Like..about how amazing it was to be in a place--a town!--where it was a commonplace to see people sitting and reading: under a tree, on the grass, on library steps, on a porch--real books!!! To see a crowded bookstore, to hear people (I eavesdrop shamelessly) discussing theater or opera or even the recent lecture. The occasional musician stands on Bestor Plaza and plays his/her violin, or the sound of a rehearsal emanates from the amphitheater as you walk by. You can eat an ice cream cone and listen to opera rehearsals. Where else do these things happen?
I can also lose myself in the gardens. These are not just aggregations of geraniums and impatiens lined up in front of miscellaneous shrubbery. These are gardens on steroids. Rhododendrons that have been in place for decades; perennials that are older than my grandchildren; daylilies and gladiolas (when was the last time you saw glads anywhere but in a flower shop?) in every imaginable color. August is the time for zinnias, and they are out in force. And there is garden art: statues, and a teapot hung on a hook with a single crystal 'drop' suspended from its spout, fairy gardens (there's one on the plaza that moves--the entire village--every night) and signs...The houses have names, and they all have porches and rockers and people. I remember my grandmother's house--and I daresay many of the people I see have memories of their own of once-familiar gardens.
I usually take a class, and some are better than others. This year was a prose workshop, and, while the exercises were fine and made me think more about how and what I write, my classmates were not, and made me think more about how much nicer than I the leader of the group was..and how much better she was at herding cats. Next year, it's back to poetry for me. It seems that EVERYONE thinks they can write well enough for a prose class, but thinks twice about that poetry stuff. I may not be the greatest writer, but I CAN manage to stay on topic.
I think what I like most, and what brings me back each year, is the suspension of everyday life, even for a week: a week when I don't turn on the traffic/weather/news as soon as I wake up, a week with other options (whether I take them or not) instead of the daily round of TV quiz shows and absolute dreck that passes for network programming nowadays. It is a welcome change.
And so, we have made reservations for next year. A week when the theme is music and culture, and the rock-star-speaker for the week is Yo Yo Ma. Now THAT lecture is one I will most likely attend.
