So what happened....

Well, not a lot. My first move was to decide to walk 15 or 16 blocks south on West End to John Jay college, where there was early voting. Normal voting is Tuesday but I figured, what the hell, with all the free time that I have, might as well explore early voting. It did not happen. I arrived and at the first table they did not have my name. They sent me to a second table that found my name---not too hard---but then ceremoniously told me that I could not vote at that sight---I could only vote at the second early voting sight in the district---on 102nd between Amsterdam and Columbus. The 11 bus, with stop a block away, could have dropped me off right there, but after a short ride, decided that it was better to wait and get off at the stop nearest my apartment. That ended my voting adventure; I don't think I will try the 102nd street voter venue today; on Tuesday I will go to my normal voting place, about two blocks away and hope for the best.
  Still, it was only a little after 12, but oh boy, the heat was becoming intense. That was enough to discourage me from a trip to Bushwick---instead I opted to stay in the apartment and listen to the Met's broadcast of The Marriage of Figaro, by Mozart. It is a three and a half hour opera---I was home for most of it. Figaro is an opera I know almost by heart---I learned it in the summer and fall of 66, saw it for the first time a year later---and have seen it many times since. I also sang parts of it in the opera workshops and concerts that I sang in between 69 and 74, when I was an aspiring baritone.
I have also had many fantasies about directing it; no production that I have ever seen has brought out what I feel are some of the important points of its drama. So while I listened to the opera, I staged many parts of it in my own mind. I imagined it being performed in small space (maybe 50 or 60 spectators) by a group of young, adventurous singers, with just one or two pianos to accompany them. Quite an experience--everything for me rests in the final minutes of the last act, when the Countess accepts the Count's apology. It is a great moment and everyone should see that it is the pivotal moment in the opera. As it was sung on the radio, I imagined my production---felt very deeply involved.
    Two actor friends of mine were performing a production of Pinter's the Dumbwaiter by zoom, but that was not until 8. Had a lot of time to kill---anger--really very little to fill it with. Somehow I got to 8, saw the production and then did a little browsing on the computer. Towards the end, I came upon
a statement by a second cousin of mine about his father---an obstetrician who divorced his mom when he was a teenager, and then refused to acknowledge either the poster or his two brothers. 
This was the same man who was an affable host when my brother and i visited he and his wife (my true blood cousin) many years earlier. His very deeply felt
 memoir (for that it is what it was) prompted me to
post a reply---and got me in touch with many memories of the visit. It was a two week visit,
since the couple lived in LA and David and I came from NYC. For an hour, all I could do was
think about that time, and I hoped that my reply would bring forth in Rob (the poster) an offer
to share some further memories of the visit and of the family, and possibly a larger discussion about the current relationships of family members, but Rob simply "liked" my reply, as he did for many other replys, and, as far as I know, is not interested in exploring family dynamics further. Oh well, at least the post triggered a lot of memories and feelings, which filled up a lot of time for me.