Red Eye

I still remember my first plane ride.  I was five.  Destination?  California.  Companion?  My grandmother, may she rest in peace.  I don't exactly recall all of the priming for our journey, but I do remember the packing and plan for wearing my favorite little blue dress.  I just knew I was going on a plane way high up in the sky.  And that must be a special thing because my grandmother rolled my waist-long with paper bag strips.  I've never had curls quite like that since. 

All went well with the flight until the pressure got to my ears.  I whimpered, cried, then screamed at the top of my lungs.  Flight attendants tried to instruct me on how to ease the discomfort, my grandmother, quite embarrassed I'm sure, tried to rock and console me.  I was beyond consoling.  It was crisis in mid-air.  The only good thing about my agony was landing about 10 minutes later.

Some 25 five years later, I attempted to get my only chance at a night's sleep unfazed by ear pressure, dreaming about whales and sunsets...

Question of the day: Do you remember your first place ride?

The Lesson

I was glad that the alarm didn't have to wake me up.  I'm in California. Of course it doesn't!!  Every time I'm here, that's the first thought that comes to my mind.  It's a sort of brush with unbelievable reality.  Like waking up next to that special someone.  The warmth and all the love you feel and share.  And although for me there wasn't warm love of an actual body, but an atmosphere.  New air and space.  Waking up in California.  It never disappoints...

I still felt tenuous about the lesson.  Hadn't really practiced, didn't have all the right music, wasn't really looking forward to the "big" confrontation with my teacher over wanting to venture on to a young artist program.  At the same time, I was willing to face all of it, knowing that all would be well and I'd have a clearer outlook afterwards.  It was going to be okay.  The morning was so easy.  The Continental breakfast, complete with my favorite fancy flavored tea, spice chai pomegranate I think, was good.  My hair fell into place.  My favorite dress was barely wrinkled from the suitcase.  My makeup was subtle, glowing, and even hid the previous days of worry and lack of sleep.

I arrived to my teacher's house in Fresno with time to spare.  The drive had been thoughtful.  Cruise controlled nearly the whole way.  But as I walked up to the door and rang, an awkwardness began to set in.  My mind wasn't clear.  I felt tossed and disconnected.  Numb.  My outward composed self suddenly mismatched the inside. 

We started with talking as we always do.  She mentioned the y.a. program issue.  I listened, then mildly expressed my view of things.  She tried to refrain from making a forceful opinion, but her opinion was made no less.  I combated with a diplomatic display of knowledge.  She slightly conceded.  I was glad she knew not to push any further.  I changed, or rather progressed, to a different area of focus.  My current dependence on a day job and how (although a huge blessing to my life) it's robbing me of precious singing and time.  And here's where she completely surprised me.  She suggested that I start my own business to take with me anywhere I needed/wanted to be.  A non-profit she said.  I told her I'd thought about it.

The truth is, I had thought about it.  I'd even started (or attempted to) one some years back.  I have ideas and much more experience to execute it now.  Back then it was just a fun mission.  Now, there's much more to gain, better motives behind it all.  It could maybe work this time.  After the talking came singing.  Come scoglio from "Cosi fan tutte," Mozart.  Next, Suicidio from "La Gioconda."  Last, Ebben? Ne andro lontana from "La Wally,"   I felt like I sounded really good, like my voice wasn't so uncertain.  I could craft it better.  My breathing was better.  I responded to her correction better.  The first audition will test me.

I left the lesson feeling satisfied and the thought that I had 32 more hours to enjoy my California solidified it.  Where would I go?  Ah yes, Carmel.  I accidentally arrived at sunset not fully aware of why so many people were simply standing around with cameras.  I mean,  the water was gorgeous, the sand a pale clean beige, but I just thought the holiday brought on the hearty audience.  I'd never really been to a chilly beach before, but it was yet another new and nice thing.  I didn't even grimace as the near icy high tides chased and caught my wanting feet, occasionally gushing up my legs in cool surprises.  Toddlers ran after panting doggies, couples snuggled a little closer, families toasted togetherness.  I was one of the few alone on the beach.  I felt it, but once the last lip of orange dipped down into the horizon I was in the certain company of applause that broke out all around.  New, nice.  Bravo sun, bravo...

Question of the day: Is where you're living the right atmosphere for your best self?

Under a Wandrin' Star

Contemplating nearly up to the last minute, I decided, after only 2.5 hours of sleep, to board my flight to San Francisco. I had little idea what this trip will hold, but I decided that I need it, that somehow it will be more good than bad for me.

First stop, after a long, and I mean hazardous to my health long, drawn out car rental process, (hence the reason to NOT travel during a holiday) I retreated to Oakland. I had little time to transition from travel maven to theatre goer which included full grooming, hair, makeup, and even ripping the tag off a new sweater. "Paint your Wagon" was the show, a chilly bay area ampitheatre was the venue, a beloved friend was a lead. I really didn't know what I was in for when going because to be very honest, I had never heard of Paint Your Wagon!! I figured it was going to be in plot and music much how it sounded in title.  I was right.

Overall, the show was a fun, well-executed, crowd pleaser. The highlight, my friend's darling rendititon of "They Call the Wind Mariah." I had heard and even sunch this song myself some years back in a musical theatre review, but thought it was a Jerry Herman masterpiece, not Lerner and Lowe. But that's what great art is supposed to do. Teach and reteach. I dig it.

Another highlight and I believe theme to my life was the song and reprise, "I was Born Under a Wandrin' Star."  There was one time in my life when I wanted the education, the job, the husband, the house, the kids, the retirement.  But the older I get, I realize that most of that is not for me.  No time soon, anyway.  Education?  Well, I managed to (finally) get most of that.  Sure do wish, for no other reason than having one, that I had a graduate degree in me.  HA!!  Never in this life will you get me into another classroom.  I am truly the world's WORST student.  On most days I'm pretty smart and I do love learning, though...hmph...  The job?  I actually have managed to make that one happen, but I know this day job thing can't hold me for too long.  No complaints, but paradoxically, I'm shooting for the gig to gig existence The husband?  Been there, done that.  And unless there is some paragon of male species that is being manufactured somewhere, don't think I'll be going there.  I am a little bit in love, though... The house?  Ha!! Talk about a ball and chain!!!  I have a hard enough time keeping a 12 month lease before I'm itching to move somewhere else!  Not interested!  The kids?  Too selfish.  Maybe I'm being a bit hard on myself and am not bestowing credit for my (now heavily veiled)  motherly instincts as evidenced by my several years of very skillful childcare.  Maybe it's the fact that while married I wanted children so badly but he wasn't the one and I'm not trying to be disappointed about it anymore...let's just stick with selfish.  It's easier... The retirement?  If I'm working for passion, who needs to retire?  The truth is, most musicians are too poor to do so anyway.  Again, it's all about the passion!!  You know, I'm growing much more content this way.  Fewer expectations, more opportunities to enjoy life's surprises I guess...

My mother said that it was wonderful that I made it to California.  I think so too.  It's time to do some sighing and gazing at where my wandrin' star will take me next.  And how bad can that be?

Question of the day: When weighing your options in a given situation, which most often tips the scale? The positive or the negative?

"Remember that you are human..."

Today's (tonight's) title...a quote from the darling and blunt JP.

I have exactly 24 minutes to write this entry if I'm going to make my midnight deadline for this post to authentically be written on 8/29.  I desparately tried all day to first read my muse's post, but constantly kept being (kindly) interrupted.  Such and so called.  This person stopped by.  It was time for the 13th medication.  The 3rd breathing treatment.

My mother is misbehaving once again, AKA - is in the hospital.  Pneumonia.  With all the misbehaving she's been doing over just the past three months, I would say she's been shopping in the wrong catalogue.  Not only did she have to get  a cancer that happens to only 1-2 per million people. (We know you're one in a million mom, but this time you've just gone too far!!)  But to add to this, she's had a pulmonary embolism, atrial fibrilation, seizures, and now pneumonia!  That's just about everything in the book, don't cha think?

So what does all of this have to do with me, the singing, and the dreams?  Nothing short of everything.  You see how far back I'm pushed with trying to get this blog entry in under the deadline.  Can you imagine if this were an application deadline when it really mattered???  But it isn't an application.  Thank God it isn't.  I talk about dreaming, but the biggest part of it is dealing with the everyday reality.  The paradoxical reality that just because I'm human it doesn't mean that I'm always to blame when things go off schedule, off track.  And it's not my mother's fault either.

I have eight minutes left.  But if I were in Florida, I'd already be an hour late, while in California, I'd still have two hours to spare.  So is it really that big of a deal?  Of course not.  Not this time.  I guess what I'm trying to say is that this weekend was supposed to be about learning and practice.  A couple of days devoted to broadening my repetiore and locking it into place for my lesson next week.  A lesson that I may not get to because flying out to San Francisco might not be the best thing right now.  I can't feel bad that my music books have been riding around in my car for the past two days, sliding about with every sharp turn and even gentle slowing to stoplights.  I brought them because my mother has a piano in her house and I don't. 

It's a Clavinova keyboard, one of those you can plug a book into and play along with this symphonic accompaniment.  It was a new and novel thing, top of the line when we first got it.  I remember all of the different experimentations with rhythms and modes.  Stereo Piano 4 is my favorite.  In all its timelessness, it has been a place where my awkward fingers failed at even basic piano until the age of 10.  It's been the source of musical doting and duels where my mother's creative input bellowed from its keys to help me play my violin in tune.  And now, it's a place where note by note, I pluck away at new arias and sing them as she once did on a piano long ago. 

12:05am has just rolled around and I've missied my deadline.  As hard as it will be for me to grasp the fact that I will physically write two entries on the same day, what's fortunate is that my blog graces me and charts the minute you start, not the mintue you finish.  Hmmm, I think a quote or some profound sermon should be born out of that...

Question of the day - Are there aspects of your life that may not be going quite right where you need to "remember that you are human...?"