Oh What Fun it Is to Ride this Magic Seigh.

Let's skip ahead to today, the day I skipped out on the Nobel lectures to hang out with my kids. I had hoped we would get a museum , we did, sort of, and get some errands done, we managed two, and chill. Done and done. Still, somehow I thought we'd make it Gamla Stan or on a boat ride, but no such luck.

Tonight we had the Nobel concert, and it was a personal lesson, as if I need one after yesterday, that what ever detail goes wrong here, though it seems huge at the moment, all will be well in the end. I even told Jack this once. Yep, always better at the telling than the coping.

This morning I met my sister for breakfast - I was having a serial breakfast with my husband, my sister and my boys. I asked her about the concert tonight, who was coming and she said neither she nor Mom had tickets, which I thought was odd as I was certain one of them had, in fact, been on the final list. But Jack sent in the list and had to deal with the juggling so I didn't know for certain, He was off all day with media prep, talking to kids at a high school and attending lectures so I didn't see him until late when I was rushing to get some work done and get ready for the reception concert and dinner. Finally, in the limo, I take a breath and ask who will be at the concert. In the limo he lists my mother as one of the invitees. My cell phone is not enabled to work here. I have no idea how to try and contact her, I don't even know where in the hotel she is. She could be in the spa, my rooms, her room. I had no idea. Then Kiki, our most fabulous and fantastic driver, said she would drive back to the hotel to see what she could do, which she did and somehow, I still don't have one complete picture, when we arrived in the concert hall my sister Karen was sitting in one of the seats looking elegant and fabulous in a black ruched evening dress. She was up and away from the rest of us and I told her to come down, but she had changed seats with my sister-in law Kathy (glad this is non-fiction, or I'd be in trouble with those names. What's with all the K's?) so that Kathy could sit with her sister and mother.
This ended up being a boon to Karen - which I will get to in a few beats.

First, the Nobel concert featured Martha Argerich, the stylistic piano player. She is known to be temperamental but a friend, the same one who assured me that Jack would win the Nobel this year, insisted that Ms. Argerich would never cancel a performance like this. The Royal family is invited, after all. I wanted to wear a long dress to the concert, but Britt-Marie, a career diplomat, was able, wordlessly, to convey that this may not be a good idea. Now, it wasn't going to be a flamboyant long gown, more like an extended cocktail dress, but I went with something simpler and a silk embroidered opera coat. And Britt-Marie was right. Yet, my wardrobe would not take this change without a fight.

First, I had to figure out which shoes to wear. I thought I had and then, whoops, the shoes didn't work with the necklace, and I love the necklace. I decided to go with strappy black heels, didn't love them, but they would do. And yes, you need to know this for later in this tale. Be patient. Jack was not patient - "we're supposed to be down there"," where is your sister"," pace grumble pace." Finally my carping back chased him down to the lobby so now I could actually get to the business of finishing up make up and pretending to pin up my hair. Really, this is my do technique when I don't have pins, I put it up as though I do and tuck and twist so it will stay. That you didn't need to know.

So, shoes on, opera coat over my shoulders, and purse in hand, I shouted a good night to the boys as I flew out the door. Perfect moment for what happened next, one of the straps on my right shoe broke. THE strap, the one that holds the front of my foot on to my shoe. But I'm late, kind of. I knew we didn't have to be there at a precise moment, but I didn't want to push it, plus, Jack was upset and not even I am allowed to upset him this week. What to do, the only other shoes I could think of, short of my Jimmy Choos, clashed with my jewelry. I figured I'd work something out. I had to save the Jimmy shoes for Thursday.

"Mom," I heard behind me and I stopped. Aran was standing in a door, "Eamon wants to say goodbye." Eamon came dashing out a different door for a good hug. I shouted to Aran - then can you get my Jimmy Choos. "Which ones are those?" They're the ones in the bag that say Jimmy Choo. I hugged Eamon, Aran found my Jimmy Choos, I handed off my broken Via Spiga's (no, you didn't need to know that they were Via Spiga. Yes, you do need to know the new ones were Jimmy Choos, can you please stop interrupting.) I had my earring in one hand as I had planned on putting them in on the elevator, now I dumped them in my purse and tore off down the hall. I passed a distinguished looking woman, considered the sight I must be, shoes in hand, opera coat fluttering out behind me and said as I passed, "I know, elegant, right?" I got one shoe on while I waited for the elevator, the other was just done being buckled as I arrived at the ground floor and the elevator announced "Reception." I was now off to the ticket chaos in the car.

Moving ahead to the VIP reception. It was fine. Not so interesting. I have yet to figure out who actually gets invited to these events and what makes them VIPs, other than the laureates, of course, largely because they seem to keep to themselves and avoid all laureate interaction. I gather it is a see and be seen event for Stockholm, but I'm not sure if the lack of intermix is due to reticence or ennui.. I mean, there are new Laureates every single year. It can get old. But social politics never get old, especially to someone like me who is oblivious to them. I looked up at the ceiling, it was plaster, painted to look like wood and it reminded me that in the hotel bar, where the hot chocolate far out performs that on the Veranda according to leading experts, Aran and Eamon, the ceiling is detailed plaster work. While my connosuers imbibed and I studied the plaster to try and estimate how many times it had been painted over since it's last restoration (Not that many. Detail is still quite clear,) I thought to share this tidbit. "You know tin ceilings used to be done to imitate plaster ceilings like this. They were the poor man's plaster ceiling." So, looking up in this room in the concert facility I thought, "and plaster was the poor man's carved wood ceiling." Poor of course never meaning actually poverty but that perceived lack of enough money to spend so as to look like you have as much as Mr. Lodge. Or would that be Cabot.

Anyway, looking at the ceiling and the details in the room I noticed a couple of curious things. First, there were theater lights around the room. I thought I figured this out when I saw the sound/projection booth, maybe this had been a cinema? Perhaps, smaller concerts of string quartets plaing Berlioz were held in here? But I couldn't make any explanation work with the room. Then I saw a camera - a security camera - jutting out from under the balcony, a balcony which held no seats. The camera was unidirectional and too far out to take in the whole room. Even if there were cameras in the booth, the couldn't see the under the balcony or even in near proximity to it, and this is where the main doors are. I never did figure this out. And I forgot my camera, but after seeing me check out the camera and scanning for others I don't think the very serious security detail would have let me take any.

Why so serious? One of the princesses was to be in attendance.

In the meantime we chatted with our guests and others. A friend mentioned my shoes and Jack said something about the words "Jimmy Choo" resounding down the hall. How would Jack know, he was in the car. Right by me was Marjorie, who wanted to know what thirteen year old boy knows what Jimmy Choos look like. I was happy now and no longer rushed so I didn't say, the ones who can read the words that are now under my foot, but just what I told Aran, "it was written on the bag." So we talked about Jimmy Choo awareness and obliviousness for a brief moment. Natasha, my seer friend (art historian, actually, but I believe she is missing an opportunity here) asked about our visit to the White House. I was seated to Elinor Ostrom and her guest. If you read the previous post/rant you can imagine we had to get off of that topic to keep the mood festive. Suffice to say that I believe Elinor voted for Hillary in the primary.

The orchestra began to tune up. They stopped. The house fell silent. It stayed silent. Jack wondered if the conductor was stuck in traffic. I said "he's waiting for his wife to finish dressing."

The conductor used stealth technology to come out. Or it coul dbe I didn't see him enter because everyone stood all at once - there must have been a secret signal or telepathy at work. The princess and her fiancé entered. You stand when she enters, of course. The whole place, as it rose, turned toward her seat, so that everyone in the balcony in her row (that was us, but not too close) turned sideways and those in orchestra looked up, whether their seats would allow for a biew or not. The conductor lead the orchestra in the national anthem and looking up to her in what is probably termed the Royal box but which is really an area in center front of the balcony cordoned off to various sizes depending on Royal turnout, they Swedes sang. It was liking catching extra terrestrials trying to pass as human engaging in some devotional ritual. Especially after that telepathy trick. I have two boys and a scientist husband, of course that's what I'm going to think of. It was truly bizarre.

Yet, other than that and the future stand sit upon her entering and exiting it was fine. I was never so glad not to be a princess as when I noticed that their was a camera on her throughout nearly the entire concert. I did mention this was being broadcast live by a couple of carriers and simulcast as well. I thought it was uncomfortable when - well, it was. I had that awful itch you get in your throat at a concert when you have forgotten to numb your throat with Bianca. This happens, of course, at the quietest, most emotionally devastating part of Martha Argerich's performance. Thank god for Elinor Ostrom, not only does she pick fabulous students who go on to stellar careers of their own, she brings at least one of them to Nobel Week and this is the one with Ricola in her purse, one of which she whips out and puts in my hand. Saved! Though until I could get some lozenge in my throat I was still trying not to cough and thsu tearing up. All I could hope was that if I did get snagged by a camera sweep it would look as though the music had moved me to weep. Which it might have if I hadn't been concentrating so hard on not coughing. Fortunately I did recover quickly and so it was a mere interlude in which I struggled. And Argerich was fantastic. And kind enough to sign my sister's program. When she had finished performing she came and sat down a few seats from Karen and someone asked for a pen. I missed all of this, it must have happened during intermission. Karen insisted on giving the program to Jack, to give to whomever he'd like so rather than have it unneccesarily fondled I handed it to Kathy, the violist. It's who he would have given it to. And he would have been dead on.

n.b. Swedes do not stand up. I don't know how many bows Argerich came out for before playing a brief encore, or how many the conductor for the second half of the evening accepted before waving "enough." But it was more than three in each case, yet only a handful of people, not even that many, stood. I would have, for Argerich, but I wasn't sure if it was a breach of protocol to stand if the Royal Family member is sitting. Come to find out, nope. Swedes just don't stand very often. Apparently while we engage in standing O inflation, they are the teacher who never ever gives an A.

After the concert all family members in our group; Jack's mother, Viola, and his sisters, Kathy and Carolyn, along with my sister rode back together in the limo. Then Jack and I went off to a dinner at the hotel. It was held in an opulent room whose name means mirror,though I din;t notice any. It was the room, the Nobel ceremonies were held in until they became too large an event. There was no seating assignment and we were a bit lost at having to almost fend for ourselves. Britt-Maire told us to find a Noel Foundation table, so we did. We stood behind our chairs waiting for waited the table to fill. Then we tossed our napkins in to our seats, and Jack's mail in his - he had received tons more. Did I forget to say that when we arrived there was a stack of mail for him. All were, as are the new pieces, requests for autographs complete with item to be signed - a card or photo - and that marvel of the 20th century, the SASE. The price of fame is blistered and inky fingers. Oh the agony. That's OK, though, he'll keep the prize.

Jack attempted to introduce himself to the man on his left. (It should have been a woman, but that was not my doing, we were their first. The man, I didn't actually get his full name, sounded American, as did his wife, yet his lapel pin was of the three crowns, of Sweden.(http://www.crwflags.com/FOTW/flags/se-3kron.html) He introduced himself as Jack and this led to some confusion since my Jack was also attempting to introduce himself. Finally, Three Crowns Jack had introduced himself, my Jack had done the same and I and the other spousal unit were dutifully included (Jack actually likes to introduce me, as long as it isn't in the Oval Office.) Three Crowns Jack asked my Jack how he came to be at the shindig, was he with the Nobel Foundation. My Jack explained that, no, he was one of the laureates in medicine this year. Oh, Jack of the Three Crowns said, rather as though he were Capricia Penavic Marshall. Awkward silence followed before Jack and I went off for our food. When we came back the couple had abandoned us for more promising neighbors.

I had an opportunity to speak briefly with Liz Blackburn. Brief in the sense that is was me and Liz Blackburn talking. Kind of like the poor man's carved wood ceiling. Anyway, it was yet another highlight of an utterly magical evening.

I did have to run off to meet a dress maker in my room at 11:15 - she had just come from the Opera . She saw Wagner's Valkyrie at the Opera House then rushed over here to work wonders on my dress. I love Sweden, truly.

More tomorrow, late. Long day ahead. - starts in 2 hours.