Just as all those other opera companies are patting themselves on the back for a season well-done and making a batch of blender drinks, Santa Fe Opera is getting started.

They are way before their time. You see, they make everyone work in the summer so that they can stay out of the sun and keep their alabaster complexions. In the winter, they all go to Finland. I hear Finland is lovely in February.

Back in the day, we went to Santa Fe Opera. That was when my mother was still feigning a fondness for opera and dragging our unwilling behinds all over God’s green earth in search of culture west of the Mississippi. We’d pack up the station wagon and go to New Mexico for a long weekend. We’d get tickets near the sound board, because that was the safest place to be when it rained. Smart, no? Somehow their annual 4 inches or so of rain managed to fall when we were there.

I remember once we stayed in a hotel that had a Japanese garden with little bridges and koi ponds. It was charming, even if the whole thing was made of concrete. And then mom would buy turquoise jewelry and try to fit in. One time she bought a coat that looked like a Navajo blanket. Turns out it was a Navajo blanket - a burial blanket, specifically. She got some odd looks with that one.

So as I was wondering what I’m supposed to cover next, I remembered the summer season at Santa Fe. Sorry, Santa Fe.

It looks like they’re doing La Traviata (courtesans!), Don Giovanni (talking statues!), The Elixir of Love (like Spanish Fly, but not!), Alceste (gods being primadonnas!) and The Letter (I have absolutely no idea).

Fasten your seatbelts and find your helmets, we’re going to Santa Fe.

Soon.

Right after I do my homework. (The Letter? Seriously?)