I know I owe readers a post (I still seem to have readers, although I have had no new comments for over a year) but I haven't felt much like writing these days. Oddly, I think it's because whether or not I'm happier, I'm more at peace with myself.
First and most importantly, I have found a singing "home": singing concerts and recitals for seniors at nursing homes and other senior venues. I have given up trying to break into the world of the no-pay opera companies. I really am too old. Not from a vocal standpoint, but from the standpoint that not only is my arthritis too limiting for me to run all over a stage (including using stairs and wearing heels), I also don't see myself traveling between the boroughs (or even here in Manhattan) for rehearsals that begin after 7:00 and run as late as 10 pm. These days I wake up between 6 and 7:30 and can barely keep my eyes open by 9:30.
Also church singing. I have decided it doesn't matter whether I am or am not Christian. Church singing is an art form and it's one I am good at. What's important is conveying a message to an "audience" that is meaningful to them. A good high church service is a form of liturgical theater. That is not to say that I am not moved by the spiritual messages (and this church is politically to the far left, so there is a strong social justice message as well). And I have met a nice group of women my age. I am not strictly speaking a "member" of the church, but I do give them money. As I've often said, I feel "too Jewish" to want to be baptised but not "too Jewish" to have a Christmas tree (or to celebrate Christmas in general) or to sing church music. I mean aside from the "star" soloists, the world is full of non-Christians who sing in the sort of big choruses that put on requiems and masses.
As for how church music measures up compared with opera, it requires the same kind of vocal technique but is not as strenuous (the range is more truncated, for one thing) and if you sing in a church you're basically singing one aria or song and the services are in the morning which is a better chronobiological "fit" for me these days.
Right now the most important thing to me is making the end of my partner's life as sweet as possible. All the pieces are in place (Medicaid, hospice) so I just have to stay with her on this journey. I would like to think she will live longer than two months, but I don't know if she will see another Thanksgiving or Christmas.
I am still "orphaned" and can't seem to break through that form of isolation. I have made a lot of new friends, but I am not a priority with them. By the time people are my age they have accumulated a multigenerational family that branches all over the globe, so it seems. My orphan state is the result of 100 years of choices by my forebears.
My father was the only child of an actress who divorced her husband almost immediately after he was born.
My mother had one sister whom she fell out with.
Her sister had one son who isn't interested in "connecting" with me (I made numerous attempts).
His wife is not a "social" being (she is an academic who writes books).
They have one son (he is probably in college by now).
I am an only child.
I have no children.
So I am no one's "obligation". Last year at this time when I was asked what I wanted that I didn't have, interestingly, I didn't mention singing. I said "A birthday celebration that I don't have to plan or pay for" and "someone whose name I can put down on a form as an emergency contact". And both those things are related. I still don't have either. For many people it's a sibling, an adult child, or an adult niece or nephew. They may not be close, but there is duty.
I was told I could have my partner's funeral at the church. If I plan some music, people will come. I don't know what will happen to me when I die. Will I really be in a situation where there is no one left but a lawyer?
Tuesday, December 31, 2019
Friday, November 15, 2019
Hospitality, Gay Choruses, Waifs, and How All Roads Led to My Weight
Thanksgiving is coming and that is more and more becoming a hard time for me. My partner is dying (I have this on the authority of the hospice nurse; her albumin levels are dropping and her arm circumference is getting smaller). Thanksgiving was our anniversary, although I always celebrate it on November 25 because that was the date. This year the two days are far enough apart that we can have two celebrations. "Celebrating" will consist of figuring out something she is willing to eat and eating it in bed in front of the tv. Probably feeding her as well. She can use her right hand to hold a fork, but she likes being fed. Unless she is eating something sweet, hunger does not motivate her. Thanksgiving is about food and family. For my entire life I had a conflicted relationship with the former, and for good or ill, I do not have the latter. I can't remember the last time I sat at a Thanksgiving table where the people were related by blood. In high school? In my early 20s? When my grandparents were alive and my mother and her sister were still speaking to each other, we all had a meal together. I dreaded these because beginning at the age of 12, I was always on a diet. I had been overweight as a child (actually, certainly by the time I was 12, I was overweight because I was a child; if I had been an adult my BMI at that age would have put me at the top end of "normal") and yearned to be thin. I hated being confronted with mountains of food.
At church last Sunday a friend of mine said that her mother had a "gift for hospitality" and that she had inherited it. (Like so many New Yorkers, she has too small - and perhaps too messy - an apartment to "do" hospitality in, so she cooks for people in the church kitchen.) My mother, too, had a gift for hospitality. Our house was always full of people and she was always serving food. There was a nonstop feast. If I was overweight, my mother was obese. I swore that I would never be like that. My house would not be full of food. Art, yes, pets, yes, books, yes (I did inherit my mother's love of art and books). Food, no. As a young adult things were easier for me. I had learned how to say "no" to food even when it was around. I spent my 20s at Lesbian AA Thanksgivings. None of the women there were on good terms with their parents so we created our own world. I could ignore the food and dance. Or flirt. Finally, I made a modicum of peace with my mother and for years my partner and I would have Thanksgiving dinner at her house. She would invite one or two guests. By then I was a vegetarian and so my mother did not make a traditional Thanksgiving feast. That was not her style of cooking anyhow (I think when she was alive my grandmother had cooked the meal for us.) I am a firm believer that people get the punishments they deserve. Mine, for valuing cultural norms of thinness over family and good fellowship, is spending most holidays with nothing but scraps. Although I cling to how grateful I am that my partner is still alive. When she goes maybe I will leave the country that week, go to a place where no one celebrates Thanksgiving.
This may sound like a non sequitur, but I just found out that my friend Abbie's granddaughter is a Lesbian. She is still in high school. The thrill of her life, according to her mother (Abbie's daughter) is being part of an LGBTQ youth chorus. How wonderful! But here's what I wonder. I got a letter from Abbie's daughter (it was a group email sent to a large number of people, most of whom probably live in the same city where Abbie's daughter and her family live) about the chorus's holiday concert. She and her husband are "patrons". She stressed in the email that her daughter is lucky to have the "blessing" of her parents, that so many of the youth in this chorus have been rejected by their parents and that many are poor and can't get a hot meal, so the chorus serves a hot meal before rehearsal, free of charge. I wonder. When I came out and immersed myself in the Lesbian community, one of the biggest attractions was that it was a world of parent-less peers. Many of those women, too, had been rejected by their parents. Oh, how I envied them! Being a part of that group gave me the courage to push my overbearing Jewish mother out of my life and be myself. When you're a teenager, is something as much fun if your parents approve of it? I don't know, maybe times have changed. I also remember part of the fun being that we didn't have much money (this was in the 70s, when you could still live cheaply in New York) and certainly my partner and I never ate much. Probably only getting one hot meal a week (and living otherwise on nuts and containers of yogurt) at 26 I weighed 20 pounds less than I had at 12.
Was I always looking at everything the wrong way round, I wonder?
At church last Sunday a friend of mine said that her mother had a "gift for hospitality" and that she had inherited it. (Like so many New Yorkers, she has too small - and perhaps too messy - an apartment to "do" hospitality in, so she cooks for people in the church kitchen.) My mother, too, had a gift for hospitality. Our house was always full of people and she was always serving food. There was a nonstop feast. If I was overweight, my mother was obese. I swore that I would never be like that. My house would not be full of food. Art, yes, pets, yes, books, yes (I did inherit my mother's love of art and books). Food, no. As a young adult things were easier for me. I had learned how to say "no" to food even when it was around. I spent my 20s at Lesbian AA Thanksgivings. None of the women there were on good terms with their parents so we created our own world. I could ignore the food and dance. Or flirt. Finally, I made a modicum of peace with my mother and for years my partner and I would have Thanksgiving dinner at her house. She would invite one or two guests. By then I was a vegetarian and so my mother did not make a traditional Thanksgiving feast. That was not her style of cooking anyhow (I think when she was alive my grandmother had cooked the meal for us.) I am a firm believer that people get the punishments they deserve. Mine, for valuing cultural norms of thinness over family and good fellowship, is spending most holidays with nothing but scraps. Although I cling to how grateful I am that my partner is still alive. When she goes maybe I will leave the country that week, go to a place where no one celebrates Thanksgiving.
This may sound like a non sequitur, but I just found out that my friend Abbie's granddaughter is a Lesbian. She is still in high school. The thrill of her life, according to her mother (Abbie's daughter) is being part of an LGBTQ youth chorus. How wonderful! But here's what I wonder. I got a letter from Abbie's daughter (it was a group email sent to a large number of people, most of whom probably live in the same city where Abbie's daughter and her family live) about the chorus's holiday concert. She and her husband are "patrons". She stressed in the email that her daughter is lucky to have the "blessing" of her parents, that so many of the youth in this chorus have been rejected by their parents and that many are poor and can't get a hot meal, so the chorus serves a hot meal before rehearsal, free of charge. I wonder. When I came out and immersed myself in the Lesbian community, one of the biggest attractions was that it was a world of parent-less peers. Many of those women, too, had been rejected by their parents. Oh, how I envied them! Being a part of that group gave me the courage to push my overbearing Jewish mother out of my life and be myself. When you're a teenager, is something as much fun if your parents approve of it? I don't know, maybe times have changed. I also remember part of the fun being that we didn't have much money (this was in the 70s, when you could still live cheaply in New York) and certainly my partner and I never ate much. Probably only getting one hot meal a week (and living otherwise on nuts and containers of yogurt) at 26 I weighed 20 pounds less than I had at 12.
Was I always looking at everything the wrong way round, I wonder?
Tuesday, October 15, 2019
Second Concert
Yesterday's concert went very well. I got all the videos and am mostly happy with how I sounded (of course there are a few things that could have sounded better). The only really gauche thing was that I had to stop to drink water (twice!) during the Bolena duet because my throat got dry and there were still plenty of high notes ahead. Lately there have been various discussions (online) about the fact that it's a myth that people always need to have water but I know that when I'm singing my throat gets so dry that I just wouldn't make it up to some of those notes without staying hydrated. So what do the big stars do when they're onstage? All I can think of is that big opera houses and concert halls have a humidfying system of some kind, which regular venues don't. And churches are dusty. And for me maybe it's just my chronic upper respiratory issues.
But I shouldn't dwell on negative things; I am happy with how most of it sounded and I looked lovely in my new dress. It was a splurge (well, for me; it cost $75 and usually I shop at thrift shops for concert wear) but it was worth it and my last semi-formal concert dress is 10 years old.
I really like the site I ordered it from. It's called "Rose Elegant" (I can't seem to find a site to link to) and everything comes from (as distinct from having been made in) China so the sizes are odd. A size 12 maps to XXL, but this fit me perfectly. Since I have gotten shorter and much bigger around the waist (I attribute some of that to the muscle and fat "donut" that singers are supposed to have around the waist and back) I have stopped buying anything fitted around the waist. I wouldn't wear a tent dress but there are a lot of dresses like this one that are shapely, but not tight at the waist.
Unfortunately I can't seem to be able to download the videos individually (when I do that there is sound but no picture) but I can see them (and I guess show them to people) by posting a link to the original drop box file. Maybe the videographer can fix the problem. I hate to bother her because she never charges me anything; apparently making these videos is part of her volunteer work creating "lasting impressions" for seniors.
So now I can retire the Bolena for a while and start planning 2020 concerts. At least three of the places want us back; I just have to pin them down about dates and times. I think next time we may revisit the "Judgment Scene" from Aida and the "Vengeance Duet" from Samson et Dalila.
I am going to be 70 next year but have no sense of slowing down. I sing a lot better than when I started at 54; even than I did a few years ago.
To end on a humorous and flattering note. There is a sustained high A at the beginning of the Bolena duet. It ends the opening recitative, and after I sang it, the audience here broke into applause. I have never had that happen.
But I shouldn't dwell on negative things; I am happy with how most of it sounded and I looked lovely in my new dress. It was a splurge (well, for me; it cost $75 and usually I shop at thrift shops for concert wear) but it was worth it and my last semi-formal concert dress is 10 years old.
I really like the site I ordered it from. It's called "Rose Elegant" (I can't seem to find a site to link to) and everything comes from (as distinct from having been made in) China so the sizes are odd. A size 12 maps to XXL, but this fit me perfectly. Since I have gotten shorter and much bigger around the waist (I attribute some of that to the muscle and fat "donut" that singers are supposed to have around the waist and back) I have stopped buying anything fitted around the waist. I wouldn't wear a tent dress but there are a lot of dresses like this one that are shapely, but not tight at the waist.
Unfortunately I can't seem to be able to download the videos individually (when I do that there is sound but no picture) but I can see them (and I guess show them to people) by posting a link to the original drop box file. Maybe the videographer can fix the problem. I hate to bother her because she never charges me anything; apparently making these videos is part of her volunteer work creating "lasting impressions" for seniors.
So now I can retire the Bolena for a while and start planning 2020 concerts. At least three of the places want us back; I just have to pin them down about dates and times. I think next time we may revisit the "Judgment Scene" from Aida and the "Vengeance Duet" from Samson et Dalila.
I am going to be 70 next year but have no sense of slowing down. I sing a lot better than when I started at 54; even than I did a few years ago.
To end on a humorous and flattering note. There is a sustained high A at the beginning of the Bolena duet. It ends the opening recitative, and after I sang it, the audience here broke into applause. I have never had that happen.
Sunday, October 6, 2019
Ageism is Bad, but Older People *Are* Different
About four years ago I wrote this essay Now, because of an upsetting incident that led to my receiving some upsetting (along with some helpful) feedback online, I started thinking about a number of age-related issues from a different perspective. As I've written before, ageism has upset me in ways that sexism or homophobia never did. But I'm also upset by its absence, or rather the absence of a level of deference and respect that I just assumed I would be getting once I was over a certain age.
On the same site where I posted my query (it was about the infantile man - my age - in the laundry room whom I have come to detest to a degree that is beginning to scare me; I just shouldn't let him rent any space in my head, but then of course he's my "ghost of bad choices past") a woman posted a question as to whether people become more conservative as they age. My answer to that is a resounding "yes"! Although I am not speaking politically. I'm not even speaking socio-politically; I still feel the same way about reproductive choice and the separation of Church and State, for example. What I mean is that I really really really think the world would be a better place if people behaved more formally in public (which includes treating older people with concern and respect) as well as more formally with each other if they are not close friends.
When I speak of the absence of ageism upsetting me, I mean things like the prevalent idea that if a school age child (one too big to ride the bus for free and sit on one's lap) wants to sit on the bus, everyone else can go to Hell. And often the worst offenders are "grandmas" my age!! On several occasions I have seen a woman my age stand up so that her ten-year-old granddaughter can sit. What is going on there?? And it isn't just a question of abstract politeness. From the time I was a grade schooler my mother drummed it into my head that people "grandma's age" (this meant over 50 back then) have a lot of "aches and pains" and need to sit down, in fact need to be comfortable generally, and that I , a healthy able-bodied youngster, did not. It didn't matter if I was "tired". Many of these oldsters had worked hard for their whole lives. My grandmother had stood on her feet all day in Macy's and my grandfather had been a waiter. Now I am lucky to get a seat and to do that I have to keep an eagle eye and be relatively fleet of foot. I remember once trying to board a bus when a woman and her 8-10 year old tried to push ahead of me and I pushed ahead of them and said "Age before Beauty and before 'cuties' too." I feel perfectly justified in doing that. On the other hand, if I see someone who looks older than I am (or who is walking with a cane) I will step back and in fact will gladly stand on my arthritic hips for the entire bus trip so that they don't have to.
Then there's language. I mean if young people are talking to each other that's one thing, but I really don't think it's appropriate to get into an online quarrel with someone twice your age and say things like "tough s**t that you're so butt-hurt". My oh my, have things deteriorated. I still might cuss if I dropped hot coffee on myself, or got all the way somewhere suddenly realizing that I left my phone (or my music binder) at home, but that's about it. Now I hear people using the word "s**t" to mean everything from "belongings" to "life affairs".
Then there's the issue of generation, which is different from age. I suppose since we're the first generation that refused to grow up (remember "Don't trust anyone under 30?") we deserve what we get. If a large number of us don't behave like gracefully aging older adults, I guess the rest of us won't be treated as such.
Someone in the online forum asked me why it mattered that Laundry Room goon didn't "get" that I didn't like him? A good question. It isn't that I don't like him really, it's that I don't like the whole hipandcool boomer "gestalt" that he keeps shoving at me trying to make common cause. An analogy would be if someone Italian-American found out that I was Italian-American and kept shoving Andrea Bocelli at me or kept throwing the odd bit of Italian slang into the conversation thinking it was a "bond" no matter how many times I said I didn't like Bocelli and was not a "paisan" (apologies to my Italian American friends, I'm just using this as an example). For example, I remember the first time I yelled at him for playing what I later found out was "the Velvet Underground" at an ear splitting volume he asked me with genuine surprise "You don't like the Velvet Underground?" Then I said I mostly listened to classical music, but did like certain popular music like the music from Motown in the 60s. So he said "so when you hear that you start grooving to the beat, huh?" which made me reflexively want to run to the loo and barf.
Someone on the online discussion board made a nasty comment to me about "pearl clutching". That is supposed to be a pejorative, I know, but it conjured up a rather nice image. Yes, I'm going to be 70 so why not? I like the image of myself in a tasteful dress with a string of pearls. I've earned the right to be offered a seat and be shielded from the worst of the bad language young people use. I'd rather be a "pearl clutcher" than someone making a fool of himself thinking he's cool (and yes, the people who do this are mostly male; aging female hippies are mostly quiet and sweet, with an interesting fashion sense).
Now I should say that this man is in no way "the norm". I have a large circle of friends (mostly women and gay men, and a few married couples) who are my age and none of them blast loud music from the 70s (or from anywhere) and very few of them pepper every sentence with profanity. We go to chamber music concerts, have book discussion groups (mostly about Barbara Pym or Jane Austen) and go to museums. But we are not stick in the muds. More than half of my friends went to the women's marches wearing "pussy hats" and some even travel to El Salvador or go to the border to help immigrants.
On the same site where I posted my query (it was about the infantile man - my age - in the laundry room whom I have come to detest to a degree that is beginning to scare me; I just shouldn't let him rent any space in my head, but then of course he's my "ghost of bad choices past") a woman posted a question as to whether people become more conservative as they age. My answer to that is a resounding "yes"! Although I am not speaking politically. I'm not even speaking socio-politically; I still feel the same way about reproductive choice and the separation of Church and State, for example. What I mean is that I really really really think the world would be a better place if people behaved more formally in public (which includes treating older people with concern and respect) as well as more formally with each other if they are not close friends.
When I speak of the absence of ageism upsetting me, I mean things like the prevalent idea that if a school age child (one too big to ride the bus for free and sit on one's lap) wants to sit on the bus, everyone else can go to Hell. And often the worst offenders are "grandmas" my age!! On several occasions I have seen a woman my age stand up so that her ten-year-old granddaughter can sit. What is going on there?? And it isn't just a question of abstract politeness. From the time I was a grade schooler my mother drummed it into my head that people "grandma's age" (this meant over 50 back then) have a lot of "aches and pains" and need to sit down, in fact need to be comfortable generally, and that I , a healthy able-bodied youngster, did not. It didn't matter if I was "tired". Many of these oldsters had worked hard for their whole lives. My grandmother had stood on her feet all day in Macy's and my grandfather had been a waiter. Now I am lucky to get a seat and to do that I have to keep an eagle eye and be relatively fleet of foot. I remember once trying to board a bus when a woman and her 8-10 year old tried to push ahead of me and I pushed ahead of them and said "Age before Beauty and before 'cuties' too." I feel perfectly justified in doing that. On the other hand, if I see someone who looks older than I am (or who is walking with a cane) I will step back and in fact will gladly stand on my arthritic hips for the entire bus trip so that they don't have to.
Then there's language. I mean if young people are talking to each other that's one thing, but I really don't think it's appropriate to get into an online quarrel with someone twice your age and say things like "tough s**t that you're so butt-hurt". My oh my, have things deteriorated. I still might cuss if I dropped hot coffee on myself, or got all the way somewhere suddenly realizing that I left my phone (or my music binder) at home, but that's about it. Now I hear people using the word "s**t" to mean everything from "belongings" to "life affairs".
Then there's the issue of generation, which is different from age. I suppose since we're the first generation that refused to grow up (remember "Don't trust anyone under 30?") we deserve what we get. If a large number of us don't behave like gracefully aging older adults, I guess the rest of us won't be treated as such.
Someone in the online forum asked me why it mattered that Laundry Room goon didn't "get" that I didn't like him? A good question. It isn't that I don't like him really, it's that I don't like the whole hipandcool boomer "gestalt" that he keeps shoving at me trying to make common cause. An analogy would be if someone Italian-American found out that I was Italian-American and kept shoving Andrea Bocelli at me or kept throwing the odd bit of Italian slang into the conversation thinking it was a "bond" no matter how many times I said I didn't like Bocelli and was not a "paisan" (apologies to my Italian American friends, I'm just using this as an example). For example, I remember the first time I yelled at him for playing what I later found out was "the Velvet Underground" at an ear splitting volume he asked me with genuine surprise "You don't like the Velvet Underground?" Then I said I mostly listened to classical music, but did like certain popular music like the music from Motown in the 60s. So he said "so when you hear that you start grooving to the beat, huh?" which made me reflexively want to run to the loo and barf.
Someone on the online discussion board made a nasty comment to me about "pearl clutching". That is supposed to be a pejorative, I know, but it conjured up a rather nice image. Yes, I'm going to be 70 so why not? I like the image of myself in a tasteful dress with a string of pearls. I've earned the right to be offered a seat and be shielded from the worst of the bad language young people use. I'd rather be a "pearl clutcher" than someone making a fool of himself thinking he's cool (and yes, the people who do this are mostly male; aging female hippies are mostly quiet and sweet, with an interesting fashion sense).
Now I should say that this man is in no way "the norm". I have a large circle of friends (mostly women and gay men, and a few married couples) who are my age and none of them blast loud music from the 70s (or from anywhere) and very few of them pepper every sentence with profanity. We go to chamber music concerts, have book discussion groups (mostly about Barbara Pym or Jane Austen) and go to museums. But we are not stick in the muds. More than half of my friends went to the women's marches wearing "pussy hats" and some even travel to El Salvador or go to the border to help immigrants.
Sunday, September 29, 2019
First Fall Concert of 2019
Again, it seems a long time since I've written. I seem to have lost interest in writing, pretty much. I have left my memoir to languish (although if I ever want to return to it, it's there!) Maybe because my friend Abbie didn't like it, and then shortly thereafter, she died, which I'm still in shock over. Finally I did find an obituary online. It seems to have been written only three weeks after she died (it was in an Oregon newspaper) but did not show up as a Google "hit" until last week, when I decided to google her granddaughter, who has a rather unusual name, just to see what she is doing these days. Who knows? The obituary might not have shown up simply by Googling Abbie.
Friday's concert went well. I nailed all the big notes in the Bolena duet. So now I get to do it all again on Monday the 14th. Something strange happened, though. After singing the duet I experienced such a huge adrenaline drain that I didn't sing the next two (quite easy) numbers as well as usual. Then I did get my groove back and sounded great in the Gioconda duet - and of course everyone loves "Let Me Call You Sweetheart".
My partner is getting home hospice services which is great. Both the GP that regularly comes to her house and the hospice nurse thinks she could "pass at any time"; that she might not go through the readily identifiable "active dying phase" that I saw my mother go through.
So it's just a day at a time. If things reach an obvious crisis point I will hit the "pause" button, pack a suitcase, get someone to feed my cats, and cancel any commitments for the immediate future. But that time is not now.
Friday's concert went well. I nailed all the big notes in the Bolena duet. So now I get to do it all again on Monday the 14th. Something strange happened, though. After singing the duet I experienced such a huge adrenaline drain that I didn't sing the next two (quite easy) numbers as well as usual. Then I did get my groove back and sounded great in the Gioconda duet - and of course everyone loves "Let Me Call You Sweetheart".
My partner is getting home hospice services which is great. Both the GP that regularly comes to her house and the hospice nurse thinks she could "pass at any time"; that she might not go through the readily identifiable "active dying phase" that I saw my mother go through.
So it's just a day at a time. If things reach an obvious crisis point I will hit the "pause" button, pack a suitcase, get someone to feed my cats, and cancel any commitments for the immediate future. But that time is not now.
Sunday, August 18, 2019
The Sad and the Sweet (Which Are Often the Same)
I haven't posted anything in almost two months: a record, I think.
My partner's situation is up and down. One hospice nurse came to see her (she perked up pretty quickly after taking the antibiotics that she had been prescribed for the UTI) and said that they don't put dementia patients in hospice if they are eating and talking. But when the doctor came back to see her about six weeks later he said we should try again with another hospice. He thinks she is continually getting worse. I don't see her physical situation declining; she is eating small amounts (and mostly prefers sweets and liquids) but she has been eating that way for several years. But the doctor seems to think that she is getting weaker and frailer. Her legs have totally atrophied now, for example. Mentally she continues to get worse. I suppose that is what I was referring to as a situation that is both sad and sweet. I miss her intellectual companionship so much: talking about art and movies, for example. On the other hand, I have to remember that a lot of our seemingly innocuous talks would end with her accusing me of "arguing" when I thought I was just talking. So in a way it is sweet to be with her in dreamland. She is like a young child. She asks for her mother and "daddy", thinks she is in a hotel, assures me that we both have just gotten back from a vacation. A nurse who called about something asked me what her favorite thing to do was and without any hesitation or embarrassment I said "snuggle".
As for my singing, life goes on. I sang an aria from a Bach cantata ("Es halt es mit der blinden" from BWV 94) this morning at church and it went really well. I got a lot of compliments on it. The church was largely empty because of the lack of air conditioning and the lack of subway (the MTA shut down the entire Upper West Side line) but the people who were there were important because they were there.
And the Music Director gave me a sheet of paper that made me feel really honored; as if I had "arrived". It was a list of all the Sundays through the end of the year indicating which ones have choir and which ones have empty anthem spots. He asked me to pick something!!! Wow! So I told him I had a piece that I wanted to do on December 29 (that's usually one of my regular solo dates). It's something a dear friend (who is a voice teacher and lives in Michigan) picked out: the "Lullaby" from The Nativity According to St. Luke by Randall Thompson. I also see that Advent 1 is open so I may offer to sing "Bereite dich Zion" from the Bach Christmas Oratorio. One really lovely add-on to my solo this morning was that someone played the viola da gamba, so I asked him if he could play a cello line and he said yes. So I am going to email him a copy of "Hochster mache deine Gute". That was the piece I recorded for a friend's film. Sadly, it ended up on the cutting room floor, but it's still a lovely piece and it has a cello accompaniment. The Music Director can tell me what Sunday it might be suitable for.
Lastly, I now have recitals coming up in September and October. The featured number will be the Bolena duet. I sang through the two most difficult phrases a few days ago (one has a high A that you hold for 8 counts) and it all went smoothly. Of course it helps that I don't have asthma. It seems to arrive after Christmas and disappear after tax day.
And after that I'll start planning for the Spring of 2020.
My partner's situation is up and down. One hospice nurse came to see her (she perked up pretty quickly after taking the antibiotics that she had been prescribed for the UTI) and said that they don't put dementia patients in hospice if they are eating and talking. But when the doctor came back to see her about six weeks later he said we should try again with another hospice. He thinks she is continually getting worse. I don't see her physical situation declining; she is eating small amounts (and mostly prefers sweets and liquids) but she has been eating that way for several years. But the doctor seems to think that she is getting weaker and frailer. Her legs have totally atrophied now, for example. Mentally she continues to get worse. I suppose that is what I was referring to as a situation that is both sad and sweet. I miss her intellectual companionship so much: talking about art and movies, for example. On the other hand, I have to remember that a lot of our seemingly innocuous talks would end with her accusing me of "arguing" when I thought I was just talking. So in a way it is sweet to be with her in dreamland. She is like a young child. She asks for her mother and "daddy", thinks she is in a hotel, assures me that we both have just gotten back from a vacation. A nurse who called about something asked me what her favorite thing to do was and without any hesitation or embarrassment I said "snuggle".
As for my singing, life goes on. I sang an aria from a Bach cantata ("Es halt es mit der blinden" from BWV 94) this morning at church and it went really well. I got a lot of compliments on it. The church was largely empty because of the lack of air conditioning and the lack of subway (the MTA shut down the entire Upper West Side line) but the people who were there were important because they were there.
And the Music Director gave me a sheet of paper that made me feel really honored; as if I had "arrived". It was a list of all the Sundays through the end of the year indicating which ones have choir and which ones have empty anthem spots. He asked me to pick something!!! Wow! So I told him I had a piece that I wanted to do on December 29 (that's usually one of my regular solo dates). It's something a dear friend (who is a voice teacher and lives in Michigan) picked out: the "Lullaby" from The Nativity According to St. Luke by Randall Thompson. I also see that Advent 1 is open so I may offer to sing "Bereite dich Zion" from the Bach Christmas Oratorio. One really lovely add-on to my solo this morning was that someone played the viola da gamba, so I asked him if he could play a cello line and he said yes. So I am going to email him a copy of "Hochster mache deine Gute". That was the piece I recorded for a friend's film. Sadly, it ended up on the cutting room floor, but it's still a lovely piece and it has a cello accompaniment. The Music Director can tell me what Sunday it might be suitable for.
Lastly, I now have recitals coming up in September and October. The featured number will be the Bolena duet. I sang through the two most difficult phrases a few days ago (one has a high A that you hold for 8 counts) and it all went smoothly. Of course it helps that I don't have asthma. It seems to arrive after Christmas and disappear after tax day.
And after that I'll start planning for the Spring of 2020.
Saturday, June 22, 2019
The Lavender Scare, Bohemia, and How I Got Where I Am
In this post, I wrote about how my life was when I first met my partner; the Never Never Landishness of it all. How exciting it was to me as a 25 year old with no education and no work history (but now sober and madly in love) to be embedded in a community where "real" jobs and careers seemed optional.
More than 30 years later (in fact for the past 10) I have bemoaned in a big way the hole in my life resulting from not having and never really having had, meaningful work. Yes, I had jobs, and thankfully most of them were good jobs with benefits, so I am now semi-retired with a nice little nest egg and good health insurance subsidized by my last employer. I have a lot of former colleagues, who are friends in a way, some of whom are a source of the modest amount of freelance work I do to supplement my Social Security. But I never trained for a profession that I loved, even one I eventually failed at. Jobs were a necessary evil. The one thing I really wanted to do, sing classical music, seemed totally out of reach (largely, but not entirely, as a result of my own self destructive behavior). This post (by way of the "not entirely") describes (in my rather immature voice of almost 10 years ago LOL) some of the battles I would have had to fight in my chosen community if I went down that route. So if I wasn't going to sing, I could be a professional Lesbian. What did that mean exactly? To me it meant taking any job, the "low-hanging fruit", which for me meant working as a secretary at a publishing house, being out, letting the chips fall where they might, and raising people's consciousnesses. Because typing, organizing an office, proofreading, and copy editing were skills I had learned at my mother's knee, and the publishing business seemed the least unfriendly place to be "out", particularly if you were willing to stay in a lower level job (which I did for quite some time, but not permanently), I more or less stayed there, until all the life was sucked out of the industry and if I hadn't retired, I probably would have become a living, breathing, machine doing the same mindless things over and over.
A few nights ago I watched this film and suddenly had an "aha" moment. Although I knew that when I was growing up all gay men and Lesbians were in the closet at work (although for many it was an open secret), I had no idea of the mass firings that had occurred in the early 1950s. That would have been when I was a small child, but the fallout lasted for decades. These were people who were the cream of the crop, with advanced degrees, people who had indeed trained themselves for professions that they loved, working in the State Department. Not only were they summarily fired, they were not allowed to speak in their own defense or hire attorneys. For most of them their careers were ruined. Many fell into poverty.
One thing I noticed when I first became involved with the Lesbian Community (this was about 5 or 6 years after Stonewall) was the big time "work-aversion" of so many of these women, my partner included. A lot of them were on Welfare. Whenever I hear the phrase "welfare cheat", I don't see the face of a Black woman with children, I see "Blue", the butch Lesbian who somehow managed to bilk the government out of SSDI for decades by telling them she was going to AA meetings (true) and that the idea of working made her clinically anxious (not). Those not on Welfare worked odd jobs: babysitting, dog walking, house painting, being a typist sent out to different places by a temp agency. Poverty was a badge of honor. Maybe a number of these women had been cruelly fired by establishment organizations or were afraid they would be. My partner, who had had several high level jobs at photography magazines in the decade before I met her, said that she lost the will to show up for work after she broke up with her parther (the one before me) and couldn't talk to anyone about her unhappiness because she had to stay in the closet. She never recovered or worked in a professional job again. A number of these voluntarily underemployed women had had a "Seven Sisters" education. There was a former librarian who became and exterminator (she claimed she actually made more money as an exterminator but she had no benefits). Of course there were several exceptions. There was the doctor who treated patients at the free clinic who also had an ER job (no one in an ER really cares whom you sleep with), and her partner, an accountant, who did people's taxes (mostly in the gay community). And there were lawyers and a tiny handful of academics. And of course all those women, like me, working in the publishing industry.
By the time I had my first full-time job, "out" gays and Lesbians had been around for a while so I doubted that I would get fired for having a picture of me and my partner on my desk and answering honestly if anyone asked about it, but until the mid-90s, I never saw any "out" gay person in a higher level job.
So that's the story. Careers were not the Holy Grail in those days for gays and Lesbians, apparently we had learned our lesson in the early 1950s and it stayed in our DNA for a long time.
As for my dream of becoming an opera singer while being "out"? That was in 1977-1980 and Patricia Racette, the first "out" Lesbian opera singer, to my knowledge, didn't appear with her coming out statement in Opera News until 2002.
ETA: I began singing, the second time, in 2004. Coincidence anyone?
More than 30 years later (in fact for the past 10) I have bemoaned in a big way the hole in my life resulting from not having and never really having had, meaningful work. Yes, I had jobs, and thankfully most of them were good jobs with benefits, so I am now semi-retired with a nice little nest egg and good health insurance subsidized by my last employer. I have a lot of former colleagues, who are friends in a way, some of whom are a source of the modest amount of freelance work I do to supplement my Social Security. But I never trained for a profession that I loved, even one I eventually failed at. Jobs were a necessary evil. The one thing I really wanted to do, sing classical music, seemed totally out of reach (largely, but not entirely, as a result of my own self destructive behavior). This post (by way of the "not entirely") describes (in my rather immature voice of almost 10 years ago LOL) some of the battles I would have had to fight in my chosen community if I went down that route. So if I wasn't going to sing, I could be a professional Lesbian. What did that mean exactly? To me it meant taking any job, the "low-hanging fruit", which for me meant working as a secretary at a publishing house, being out, letting the chips fall where they might, and raising people's consciousnesses. Because typing, organizing an office, proofreading, and copy editing were skills I had learned at my mother's knee, and the publishing business seemed the least unfriendly place to be "out", particularly if you were willing to stay in a lower level job (which I did for quite some time, but not permanently), I more or less stayed there, until all the life was sucked out of the industry and if I hadn't retired, I probably would have become a living, breathing, machine doing the same mindless things over and over.
A few nights ago I watched this film and suddenly had an "aha" moment. Although I knew that when I was growing up all gay men and Lesbians were in the closet at work (although for many it was an open secret), I had no idea of the mass firings that had occurred in the early 1950s. That would have been when I was a small child, but the fallout lasted for decades. These were people who were the cream of the crop, with advanced degrees, people who had indeed trained themselves for professions that they loved, working in the State Department. Not only were they summarily fired, they were not allowed to speak in their own defense or hire attorneys. For most of them their careers were ruined. Many fell into poverty.
One thing I noticed when I first became involved with the Lesbian Community (this was about 5 or 6 years after Stonewall) was the big time "work-aversion" of so many of these women, my partner included. A lot of them were on Welfare. Whenever I hear the phrase "welfare cheat", I don't see the face of a Black woman with children, I see "Blue", the butch Lesbian who somehow managed to bilk the government out of SSDI for decades by telling them she was going to AA meetings (true) and that the idea of working made her clinically anxious (not). Those not on Welfare worked odd jobs: babysitting, dog walking, house painting, being a typist sent out to different places by a temp agency. Poverty was a badge of honor. Maybe a number of these women had been cruelly fired by establishment organizations or were afraid they would be. My partner, who had had several high level jobs at photography magazines in the decade before I met her, said that she lost the will to show up for work after she broke up with her parther (the one before me) and couldn't talk to anyone about her unhappiness because she had to stay in the closet. She never recovered or worked in a professional job again. A number of these voluntarily underemployed women had had a "Seven Sisters" education. There was a former librarian who became and exterminator (she claimed she actually made more money as an exterminator but she had no benefits). Of course there were several exceptions. There was the doctor who treated patients at the free clinic who also had an ER job (no one in an ER really cares whom you sleep with), and her partner, an accountant, who did people's taxes (mostly in the gay community). And there were lawyers and a tiny handful of academics. And of course all those women, like me, working in the publishing industry.
By the time I had my first full-time job, "out" gays and Lesbians had been around for a while so I doubted that I would get fired for having a picture of me and my partner on my desk and answering honestly if anyone asked about it, but until the mid-90s, I never saw any "out" gay person in a higher level job.
So that's the story. Careers were not the Holy Grail in those days for gays and Lesbians, apparently we had learned our lesson in the early 1950s and it stayed in our DNA for a long time.
As for my dream of becoming an opera singer while being "out"? That was in 1977-1980 and Patricia Racette, the first "out" Lesbian opera singer, to my knowledge, didn't appear with her coming out statement in Opera News until 2002.
ETA: I began singing, the second time, in 2004. Coincidence anyone?
Tuesday, June 18, 2019
More Deep Sadness, and Changes
Yesterday my partner's doctor came to visit her and said that the chronic sleepiness (and 20 hour sleep marathons) as well as her inability to put words together (different from her typical confusion, which manifests in things like her telling me she had been in Boston) were likely due to a brain bleed. He said that people on blood thinners (she has been on blood thinners, first Warfarin, then Eliquis, for 13 years) often get them.
He said I had two choices. I could have her taken to the ER, which would mean that she would lie on a gurney in the hall for hours, not have her diapers changed, and then be shunted all over for tests. The last time she was in the ER (for something acute and life threatening that could be dealt with with treatment) she was on a gurney in the hall from 6 pm until 1 am, when she went for a CAT scan. They didn't change her diapers very often and she came home with bed sores that took months to get rid of. Or, I could have a consultation with a hospice nurse. I chose the latter.
I know that this is not necessarily the end. The doctor also prescribed an antibiotic for a UTI that she might have, and already, less than 24 hours later, she is a little better. She knows that Sunday is her 85th birthday, for example, which she didn't know yesterday. I think what the doctor meant was that what she mostly needs is comfort care. What could they possibly do for a brain bleed that would enhance her quality of life all that much? He said if she wants to sleep, let her sleep. If she wants to consume nothing but Ensure and cookies, let her do that.
But the end will be sooner rather than later and I am desolate. All the love that I didn't give to the parents I didn't love (my father, who died when I was 14 had a violent temper, and my mother, who died when I was 60, did everything she could to squash and squelch every independent thought that I had). I did not feel much sadness when either of them died. When my father died I felt relieved (although several decades later I saw what a disruption his death was, mostly socioeconomically, but also because his death removed the only person who could tell my mother she was wrong, and make her listen) and when my mother died I felt liberated. Sometimes reflecting on this makes me think I'm a monster. I hear people talk about the deep grief they feel, even over a decade later, over the death of a parent and I feel nothing.
I also didn't have any children. All the love I might have given to a parent or a child I gave to my partner.
When she goes I will be inconsolable. No, she was never perfect, and we had terrible fights. But what she gave me was the gift of letting me know that I was enough. I felt loved. I felt like the most beautiful woman in the world. We laughed, we snuggled, we made a safe haven for each other.
This morning, after having a new rug put down in my dining room and doing some cleaning, I realized that it was my partner who taught me to be a person. She taught me how to cook and keep house (my mother was a wonderful cook, but as she was always obese, I didn't want any part of cooking when I lived with her), how to watch the news and learn about the world. When I met her I was 25, newly sober, had almost nothing in my apartment and less in my refrigerator, and didn't even know the name of the governor of New York State.
Right now all I want is to spend as much time with her as is reasonably possible. I am waiting to hear from the hospice nurse. One wonderful thing is that he or she will stop by regularly and let me know when the end is near. My greatest fear is that my partner will die alone.
But life needs to go on, I know. I am 15 years younger than she is and I still want to sing. I will not give that up. I cannot lose ground whatever happens. Luckily it is the summer, so I have more time.
He said I had two choices. I could have her taken to the ER, which would mean that she would lie on a gurney in the hall for hours, not have her diapers changed, and then be shunted all over for tests. The last time she was in the ER (for something acute and life threatening that could be dealt with with treatment) she was on a gurney in the hall from 6 pm until 1 am, when she went for a CAT scan. They didn't change her diapers very often and she came home with bed sores that took months to get rid of. Or, I could have a consultation with a hospice nurse. I chose the latter.
I know that this is not necessarily the end. The doctor also prescribed an antibiotic for a UTI that she might have, and already, less than 24 hours later, she is a little better. She knows that Sunday is her 85th birthday, for example, which she didn't know yesterday. I think what the doctor meant was that what she mostly needs is comfort care. What could they possibly do for a brain bleed that would enhance her quality of life all that much? He said if she wants to sleep, let her sleep. If she wants to consume nothing but Ensure and cookies, let her do that.
But the end will be sooner rather than later and I am desolate. All the love that I didn't give to the parents I didn't love (my father, who died when I was 14 had a violent temper, and my mother, who died when I was 60, did everything she could to squash and squelch every independent thought that I had). I did not feel much sadness when either of them died. When my father died I felt relieved (although several decades later I saw what a disruption his death was, mostly socioeconomically, but also because his death removed the only person who could tell my mother she was wrong, and make her listen) and when my mother died I felt liberated. Sometimes reflecting on this makes me think I'm a monster. I hear people talk about the deep grief they feel, even over a decade later, over the death of a parent and I feel nothing.
I also didn't have any children. All the love I might have given to a parent or a child I gave to my partner.
When she goes I will be inconsolable. No, she was never perfect, and we had terrible fights. But what she gave me was the gift of letting me know that I was enough. I felt loved. I felt like the most beautiful woman in the world. We laughed, we snuggled, we made a safe haven for each other.
This morning, after having a new rug put down in my dining room and doing some cleaning, I realized that it was my partner who taught me to be a person. She taught me how to cook and keep house (my mother was a wonderful cook, but as she was always obese, I didn't want any part of cooking when I lived with her), how to watch the news and learn about the world. When I met her I was 25, newly sober, had almost nothing in my apartment and less in my refrigerator, and didn't even know the name of the governor of New York State.
Right now all I want is to spend as much time with her as is reasonably possible. I am waiting to hear from the hospice nurse. One wonderful thing is that he or she will stop by regularly and let me know when the end is near. My greatest fear is that my partner will die alone.
But life needs to go on, I know. I am 15 years younger than she is and I still want to sing. I will not give that up. I cannot lose ground whatever happens. Luckily it is the summer, so I have more time.
Thursday, May 30, 2019
Addiction to Sound
Musing on the emotional turmoil that prompted my last post, I did some reflecting on the whole issue of music as an addiction.
I often say that I am "addicted" to performing; there's a part of me that lives from one solo singing opportunity to the next, and when there isn't one, on my calendar, I feel bereft.
But I am speaking about something different: an addiction to having a soundtrack in one's ears all the time. As so many questionable social trends began, this began in the sixties. I mean before that sometimes there was light "elevator music" in places other than elevators, say, waiting rooms at the dentist or restaurants. And then of course there were restaurants, bars, and clubs, where the point was to hear music, often jazz or swing.
But it seemed that it was in the sixties that suddenly the young needed to be accompanied by a soundtrack wherever they went. It began with transistor radios. Suddenly people carried them around, filling every public space with someone else's choice of sound. Some people were thoughtful enough to use ear buds (or whatever they were called then), but many were not. Subway rides were painful. And when the boom box came on the scene, all bets were off. In certain neighborhoods the streets were full of loud music well into the night. I remember once going to Brighton Beach and having to listen to four different groups of people's different radio stations.
Blessedly, the advent of the Walkman with its head set calmed the waters.
But the question remained: why did all these young people need a soundtrack? It affected how they walked (always sort of bopping to a beat, jiggling their legs if they were sitting, or bobbling their heads), which carried over into occasions when they were not actually listening to sound. What was wrong with the sounds of "life"? Why were those so threatening?
Most of the time, I don't want to hear music at all. That might seem odd, as I am a musician, but I think it's because I am a musician that I only want to listen to the music I want to when I want to listen to it, and I find being forced to listen to someone else's music (especially if it has words that are not the words I want in my head at that moment) a lot more painful than listening to dogs barking, babies crying, or hammers and drills in the street.
It seems to be a generational thing: childish boomers again. Milliennials are always engaged with their devices, but they seem to be as much engaged with images as with sound. I see them watching movies on their phones, blessedly with ear buds or head phones, or they are texting, which at least bespeaks engagement with another person. The don't have a "beat" in their gut making them jerk their bodies or bobble their heads. In fact, it has been several decades since I have had to hear anyone's soundtrack at all, which is what makes the man I referenced in my previous post such a polluter of the social environment.
I recall several earlier occasions when he was playing music that I didn't really find objectionable and he asked me "is this OK?" I said yes, to try to separate the mildly annoying from the intolerable and choose my battles, but maybe I just wanted to fold my laundry in silence. Silence is meditative and conducive to unexpected insights. Someone else's soundtrack blocks my internal one.
As a musician, I never listen to music unless I am listening to music. It is not "background". If I want background to do housework by I will put on a tv news channel.
I often say that I am "addicted" to performing; there's a part of me that lives from one solo singing opportunity to the next, and when there isn't one, on my calendar, I feel bereft.
But I am speaking about something different: an addiction to having a soundtrack in one's ears all the time. As so many questionable social trends began, this began in the sixties. I mean before that sometimes there was light "elevator music" in places other than elevators, say, waiting rooms at the dentist or restaurants. And then of course there were restaurants, bars, and clubs, where the point was to hear music, often jazz or swing.
But it seemed that it was in the sixties that suddenly the young needed to be accompanied by a soundtrack wherever they went. It began with transistor radios. Suddenly people carried them around, filling every public space with someone else's choice of sound. Some people were thoughtful enough to use ear buds (or whatever they were called then), but many were not. Subway rides were painful. And when the boom box came on the scene, all bets were off. In certain neighborhoods the streets were full of loud music well into the night. I remember once going to Brighton Beach and having to listen to four different groups of people's different radio stations.
Blessedly, the advent of the Walkman with its head set calmed the waters.
But the question remained: why did all these young people need a soundtrack? It affected how they walked (always sort of bopping to a beat, jiggling their legs if they were sitting, or bobbling their heads), which carried over into occasions when they were not actually listening to sound. What was wrong with the sounds of "life"? Why were those so threatening?
Most of the time, I don't want to hear music at all. That might seem odd, as I am a musician, but I think it's because I am a musician that I only want to listen to the music I want to when I want to listen to it, and I find being forced to listen to someone else's music (especially if it has words that are not the words I want in my head at that moment) a lot more painful than listening to dogs barking, babies crying, or hammers and drills in the street.
It seems to be a generational thing: childish boomers again. Milliennials are always engaged with their devices, but they seem to be as much engaged with images as with sound. I see them watching movies on their phones, blessedly with ear buds or head phones, or they are texting, which at least bespeaks engagement with another person. The don't have a "beat" in their gut making them jerk their bodies or bobble their heads. In fact, it has been several decades since I have had to hear anyone's soundtrack at all, which is what makes the man I referenced in my previous post such a polluter of the social environment.
I recall several earlier occasions when he was playing music that I didn't really find objectionable and he asked me "is this OK?" I said yes, to try to separate the mildly annoying from the intolerable and choose my battles, but maybe I just wanted to fold my laundry in silence. Silence is meditative and conducive to unexpected insights. Someone else's soundtrack blocks my internal one.
As a musician, I never listen to music unless I am listening to music. It is not "background". If I want background to do housework by I will put on a tv news channel.
Sunday, May 26, 2019
Some Moments of Happiness, and an Angry Rant with Noplace to Go
First, I need to say that my mini-concert at the new senior facility went well. I nailed the two high As in "The Drinking Song" and everything else went well. The people seemed to really enjoy it. Later in the year I will get in touch with the woman who coordinates these things and see if she wants us to come back.
And I loved the name of the program: Engage Life. In addition to having concerts, they also have outings for the residents where they take them to museums. Once again, it was reinforced that I have a "calling" to work with seniors that I hope will extend into my future if I am left behind by my angel.
I am also really really trying to love my "little life" which most of the time I do.
As for the rant, I am writing it down here because I don't know what else to do with it. I wrote a letter to the Times section "Social Qs" but have no idea if it will be answered let alone printed (I didn't even get an automated response, which I found odd, as I did when I wrote to The Ethicist a few years ago. They answered, but did not print, my question.)
As I've probably mentioned numerous times before, I live in a NYC apartment building in which half of the tenants (all rent regulated) have lived for 20, 30, or more years. For the most part we are a cohesive and supportive community and are committed to "speaking with one voice" if we have to communicate with the building management.
Unfortunately, I have a neighbor, someone I detest (he is simply a "type" that I detest) mostly because he treats the communal laundry room as his personal "man cave" and any time I go down there to do laundry he is blasting loud music. I have no idea what it is; once he told me what he was playing was the "Velvet Underground". There are several issues here. First, I dislike most of the music he plays. Second, in this era of technology, he should be using ear buds. (I suggested this to him but he said he doesn't like them because he wants to be aware of his surroundings! He's kidding, right? He couldn't even hear if someone said "hello".) Third, no one should be playing music in a public place. Fourth, no one should be playing music that loud if they don't want to end up deaf. But fifth and most importantly I see the whole thing as a form of male aggression.
Any time I come down there if he has music on, he does turn it off, saying "I didn't know you were coming down here." To me that's not enough. That is making it about me. That I'm "too sensitive" so he will be "nice". The typical male/female trope of men taking space (auditory included) and then accommodating to women who don't like it rather than just not doing it in the first place!!
I am at my wits end about this. Actually, when the new building manager took over, they circulated a list of do's and dont's (unfortunately they attached it to people's leases, which is illegal) that covered a wide range of topics including (this is legal if posted in a lobby) that people were not allowed to play music in public places. I mentioned it to my neighbor, who claims he never saw it, which might be true. I was going to email it to him but decided against it because it also referred to people not making noise in their apartments. That's a rats' nest I don't want to stir up. I have never gotten complaints about my singing, even the ten minutes I spend warming up at 7:45 before leaving to sing in the 9 am service once a month. And in fairness, I have never complained about noise coming from anyone else's apartment, which I hear occasionally: everything from loud rock music (never past 9 pm and not as loud as it is when I'm actually standing next to it in the laundry room) to a little girl and her father screaming at each other.
I suppose now with the advent of women speaking out, I have come to see the behavior of this neighbor as assaultive. He's giving the finger to civilized adult society, like a teenager (he's almost 70). And what I hate equally is he's always trying to "engage" with me in some way. Once at a tenants' meeting, for example, he told me I looked like a skinhead because my jeans were rolled up (hello I'm short!!!) and I had on red socks. What kind of idiotic comment was that? What did he think he was trying to do? All it did was make me feel aggressed against.
I think why I hate him so much is that he thinks he's hip and cool and has committed the unforgiveable sin of thinking that I will like him because he is hip and cool. I don't do hip and cool. I sing Bach.
And I loved the name of the program: Engage Life. In addition to having concerts, they also have outings for the residents where they take them to museums. Once again, it was reinforced that I have a "calling" to work with seniors that I hope will extend into my future if I am left behind by my angel.
I am also really really trying to love my "little life" which most of the time I do.
As for the rant, I am writing it down here because I don't know what else to do with it. I wrote a letter to the Times section "Social Qs" but have no idea if it will be answered let alone printed (I didn't even get an automated response, which I found odd, as I did when I wrote to The Ethicist a few years ago. They answered, but did not print, my question.)
As I've probably mentioned numerous times before, I live in a NYC apartment building in which half of the tenants (all rent regulated) have lived for 20, 30, or more years. For the most part we are a cohesive and supportive community and are committed to "speaking with one voice" if we have to communicate with the building management.
Unfortunately, I have a neighbor, someone I detest (he is simply a "type" that I detest) mostly because he treats the communal laundry room as his personal "man cave" and any time I go down there to do laundry he is blasting loud music. I have no idea what it is; once he told me what he was playing was the "Velvet Underground". There are several issues here. First, I dislike most of the music he plays. Second, in this era of technology, he should be using ear buds. (I suggested this to him but he said he doesn't like them because he wants to be aware of his surroundings! He's kidding, right? He couldn't even hear if someone said "hello".) Third, no one should be playing music in a public place. Fourth, no one should be playing music that loud if they don't want to end up deaf. But fifth and most importantly I see the whole thing as a form of male aggression.
Any time I come down there if he has music on, he does turn it off, saying "I didn't know you were coming down here." To me that's not enough. That is making it about me. That I'm "too sensitive" so he will be "nice". The typical male/female trope of men taking space (auditory included) and then accommodating to women who don't like it rather than just not doing it in the first place!!
I am at my wits end about this. Actually, when the new building manager took over, they circulated a list of do's and dont's (unfortunately they attached it to people's leases, which is illegal) that covered a wide range of topics including (this is legal if posted in a lobby) that people were not allowed to play music in public places. I mentioned it to my neighbor, who claims he never saw it, which might be true. I was going to email it to him but decided against it because it also referred to people not making noise in their apartments. That's a rats' nest I don't want to stir up. I have never gotten complaints about my singing, even the ten minutes I spend warming up at 7:45 before leaving to sing in the 9 am service once a month. And in fairness, I have never complained about noise coming from anyone else's apartment, which I hear occasionally: everything from loud rock music (never past 9 pm and not as loud as it is when I'm actually standing next to it in the laundry room) to a little girl and her father screaming at each other.
I suppose now with the advent of women speaking out, I have come to see the behavior of this neighbor as assaultive. He's giving the finger to civilized adult society, like a teenager (he's almost 70). And what I hate equally is he's always trying to "engage" with me in some way. Once at a tenants' meeting, for example, he told me I looked like a skinhead because my jeans were rolled up (hello I'm short!!!) and I had on red socks. What kind of idiotic comment was that? What did he think he was trying to do? All it did was make me feel aggressed against.
I think why I hate him so much is that he thinks he's hip and cool and has committed the unforgiveable sin of thinking that I will like him because he is hip and cool. I don't do hip and cool. I sing Bach.
Saturday, April 20, 2019
Postpartum Depression
I don't really know what else to call it.
The Good Friday service went well. It wasn't as exciting as I had expected (nor as well attended as usual) and when I got home I felt sandbagged by something I can only call "depression".
Is it because I am grieving over Abbie? I have not really felt like crying over her loss. Abbie was not a poignant, sympathetic, tragic figure, similarly to how my mother was not those things. Abbie really was all the things my mother was, only nicer: cerebral, direct, not suffering fools gladly, hating sentimentality. She was also someone who would always turn up and "do" if you needed her. My mother was all those things but she didn't know how to "make nice", which Abbie did. (My mother would have contemptuously dismissed that as "Southern").
In any event, the loss of Abbie is a loss and somewhat of a shock, but I don't feel sad. Since she had moved to the Left Coast about four years ago we had not seen her. And one blessing I now have is, after telling a church friend about my feeling of loss, particularly that I have now lost someone whom I always assumed would be there to be helpful when my partner died, this friend said that if she was "alive and mobile" (she is about 6 years older than I am) she would go to Maine with me to scatter my partner's ashes.
But I am feeling other losses as well. Yes, the Good Friday service went well, but once again it made me realize all the talent I am drowning in. Although there was one thing of note, a situation in which I surprised myself. The "boy soprano" woman I mentioned (she is not young; probably close to my age) sang really well, probably the best I'd ever heard her, and I was genuinely happy for her. I told her it was the best I had ever heard her sing, which is true. And she had the perfect voice for the plaintive "Agnus Dei". I think the issue is that however bitter and envious I often am, I am happy when someone my age, who is still working on her art, does well. Everyone kvells over the young talent. They breathe up all the air in the room whether they want to or not. So us older folks, who are by no means done and by no means a "finished product" want our moment too. Of course the new dramatic soprano was the star of the evening. Just because of her talent (she is certainly the opposite of a prima donna). The tenor with whom I have had a relationship that runs hot and cold (I was stunned last year when he complimented me on singing Maundy Thursday) made a fuss over her, talking with his wife on the street afterwards. On the other hand, her path forward may not be easy. She has a much bigger and more impressive voice than Little Miss, but she is less versatile and less surrounded by a clacque although she does have a supportive voice teacher. She is going to be singing a secondary role in a Wagner production somewhere. I just so yearn to be special, which I will never be.
Easter will be a vocal anti-climax. I opted to sing the alto part in "Worthy is the Lamb" from the Messiah. It is a bleeping octave below the soprano part. I think my teacher was right that the part was written for countertenors, not women. I probably could sing the soprano part (particularly since we are not doing the "Amen" at the end which has a phrase that starts on a high A) but I didn't have time to sing it into my voice and the dramatic soprano will be there singing it, so to coin a metaphor, it is stupid to put the two heaviest people on the same side of the boat. So, ironically, Easter, which is supposed to be a high point, will be a low point for me both vocally and otherwise, but then it will be over and I can go back to working on the "Drinking Song", which has a high A in it. And when I show up for warm up on Sunday I will make sure I have warmed up at home to an A just because I can.
In a more intellectual mode, I was interested to read a quote from Nadia Bolz-Weber in which she said that the message of the Resurrection is that it is an opportunity for people to be resurrected from the graves they dig for themselves. For me (someone who is totally skeptical about the "Risen Christ") this really resonates. Maybe I can rise from the grave I'm always digging for myself? I can never turn the clock back and be a teen or a 20something with a clean, glorious voice undamaged by cigarettes and alcohol, making my way undistracted. So I need to "get over it".
The Good Friday service went well. It wasn't as exciting as I had expected (nor as well attended as usual) and when I got home I felt sandbagged by something I can only call "depression".
Is it because I am grieving over Abbie? I have not really felt like crying over her loss. Abbie was not a poignant, sympathetic, tragic figure, similarly to how my mother was not those things. Abbie really was all the things my mother was, only nicer: cerebral, direct, not suffering fools gladly, hating sentimentality. She was also someone who would always turn up and "do" if you needed her. My mother was all those things but she didn't know how to "make nice", which Abbie did. (My mother would have contemptuously dismissed that as "Southern").
In any event, the loss of Abbie is a loss and somewhat of a shock, but I don't feel sad. Since she had moved to the Left Coast about four years ago we had not seen her. And one blessing I now have is, after telling a church friend about my feeling of loss, particularly that I have now lost someone whom I always assumed would be there to be helpful when my partner died, this friend said that if she was "alive and mobile" (she is about 6 years older than I am) she would go to Maine with me to scatter my partner's ashes.
But I am feeling other losses as well. Yes, the Good Friday service went well, but once again it made me realize all the talent I am drowning in. Although there was one thing of note, a situation in which I surprised myself. The "boy soprano" woman I mentioned (she is not young; probably close to my age) sang really well, probably the best I'd ever heard her, and I was genuinely happy for her. I told her it was the best I had ever heard her sing, which is true. And she had the perfect voice for the plaintive "Agnus Dei". I think the issue is that however bitter and envious I often am, I am happy when someone my age, who is still working on her art, does well. Everyone kvells over the young talent. They breathe up all the air in the room whether they want to or not. So us older folks, who are by no means done and by no means a "finished product" want our moment too. Of course the new dramatic soprano was the star of the evening. Just because of her talent (she is certainly the opposite of a prima donna). The tenor with whom I have had a relationship that runs hot and cold (I was stunned last year when he complimented me on singing Maundy Thursday) made a fuss over her, talking with his wife on the street afterwards. On the other hand, her path forward may not be easy. She has a much bigger and more impressive voice than Little Miss, but she is less versatile and less surrounded by a clacque although she does have a supportive voice teacher. She is going to be singing a secondary role in a Wagner production somewhere. I just so yearn to be special, which I will never be.
Easter will be a vocal anti-climax. I opted to sing the alto part in "Worthy is the Lamb" from the Messiah. It is a bleeping octave below the soprano part. I think my teacher was right that the part was written for countertenors, not women. I probably could sing the soprano part (particularly since we are not doing the "Amen" at the end which has a phrase that starts on a high A) but I didn't have time to sing it into my voice and the dramatic soprano will be there singing it, so to coin a metaphor, it is stupid to put the two heaviest people on the same side of the boat. So, ironically, Easter, which is supposed to be a high point, will be a low point for me both vocally and otherwise, but then it will be over and I can go back to working on the "Drinking Song", which has a high A in it. And when I show up for warm up on Sunday I will make sure I have warmed up at home to an A just because I can.
In a more intellectual mode, I was interested to read a quote from Nadia Bolz-Weber in which she said that the message of the Resurrection is that it is an opportunity for people to be resurrected from the graves they dig for themselves. For me (someone who is totally skeptical about the "Risen Christ") this really resonates. Maybe I can rise from the grave I'm always digging for myself? I can never turn the clock back and be a teen or a 20something with a clean, glorious voice undamaged by cigarettes and alcohol, making my way undistracted. So I need to "get over it".
Thursday, April 18, 2019
Sad News, and Life Goes On
A few days after I wrote my last post, my friend Abbie died. I didn't hear about it until the following Friday, from her older daughter. It is all a shock. I decided to wait to tell my partner until Sunday (Palm Sunday) when I would be at her house. She took it pretty well. And she will forget. There are days when she doesn't remember that my mother is dead, or that her sister is dead. It turns out that the cancer Abbie had was in the liver and pancreas, which rapidly becomes fatal. When she wrote to me she used the word "abdominal" which I took to mean "stomach cancer", which is why I was surprised, because that is a type of cancer that many people survive.
Less important, but to me shocking, is that no one has done anything about submitting an obituary to any news outlet. I have Googled her every day and there is nothing. Abbie had written three memoirs, a novel, numerous magazine articles, and had a Wikipedia page (I don't know who managed that). I also am surprised that she hadn't written her own obituary. My mother (who was not a "personage" like Abbie but thought she was) had one at the ready at least a decade before she died, so that I could send it to the TIMES. All I can think of was that Abbie was modest and perhaps her daughters (one lives on the Left Coast, the other deep in Trump Country) aren't interested in their mother's legacy.
The day after I heard that Abbie had died, I sang the Schubert "Ave Maria" at the funeral I mentioned. It went well. The Good Friday music is going well. As an aside, it seems that after three months of struggling with asthma and experimenting with how to treat it, it is gone. Perhaps it is seasonal. I was at the point where I was using the inhaler every day. I would say that I had some kind of upper airway distress almost every day between December 27 and April 10. Fingers crossed. In any event, that underscores why it is a good idea for me not to plan concerts during that period. And other than florid pieces like "Rejoice Greatly" I think it would be a good idea for me to stay away from singing anything with exposed high notes in public during that period.
I have the alto line in two solo quartets from the Missa Solemnis. I was disappointed not to be given the third (and in some ways the loveliest) solo part, which was given to a woman in the alto section with a pretty, small voice (sort of like a boy soprano). I suppose the choir director wanted that kind of sound at the very end (she is singing "Agnus Dei" which is the last thing we sing). I do love my solo quartets, particularly "Christe Eleison". And of course the new dramatic soprano is singing all the soprano solos. She sounds fabulous. Having her there doesn't get under my skin the way having "Little Miss" there did. Dramatic Sop is enough older (she is 30 or 31 and conducts herself like someone older) that I can sort of look at her as a mentor (if I feel like) not an irksome wunderkind. On the other hand, of course I am green with envy. There is nothing that assuages the heartache of wishing I could go back and do it over. 1964 would be a good place to start. Don't smoke, don't try to be "hip", ignore your mother pushing you to be "with it", and honor your talent.
In other (good) news, I finally heard back from the two places I had contacted about putting on a concert. One is someplace I have sung before. So I need to get back in my high dramatic mezzo groove. My teacher will be singing with me and we will probably sing the Anna Bolena duet. First up is the little mini concert in May where I will be singing the "Drinking Song" from Lucretia Borgia.
And on a totally unrelated topic, I may be a media spokesperson for events to do with the 50th anniversary of Stonewall.
Less important, but to me shocking, is that no one has done anything about submitting an obituary to any news outlet. I have Googled her every day and there is nothing. Abbie had written three memoirs, a novel, numerous magazine articles, and had a Wikipedia page (I don't know who managed that). I also am surprised that she hadn't written her own obituary. My mother (who was not a "personage" like Abbie but thought she was) had one at the ready at least a decade before she died, so that I could send it to the TIMES. All I can think of was that Abbie was modest and perhaps her daughters (one lives on the Left Coast, the other deep in Trump Country) aren't interested in their mother's legacy.
The day after I heard that Abbie had died, I sang the Schubert "Ave Maria" at the funeral I mentioned. It went well. The Good Friday music is going well. As an aside, it seems that after three months of struggling with asthma and experimenting with how to treat it, it is gone. Perhaps it is seasonal. I was at the point where I was using the inhaler every day. I would say that I had some kind of upper airway distress almost every day between December 27 and April 10. Fingers crossed. In any event, that underscores why it is a good idea for me not to plan concerts during that period. And other than florid pieces like "Rejoice Greatly" I think it would be a good idea for me to stay away from singing anything with exposed high notes in public during that period.
I have the alto line in two solo quartets from the Missa Solemnis. I was disappointed not to be given the third (and in some ways the loveliest) solo part, which was given to a woman in the alto section with a pretty, small voice (sort of like a boy soprano). I suppose the choir director wanted that kind of sound at the very end (she is singing "Agnus Dei" which is the last thing we sing). I do love my solo quartets, particularly "Christe Eleison". And of course the new dramatic soprano is singing all the soprano solos. She sounds fabulous. Having her there doesn't get under my skin the way having "Little Miss" there did. Dramatic Sop is enough older (she is 30 or 31 and conducts herself like someone older) that I can sort of look at her as a mentor (if I feel like) not an irksome wunderkind. On the other hand, of course I am green with envy. There is nothing that assuages the heartache of wishing I could go back and do it over. 1964 would be a good place to start. Don't smoke, don't try to be "hip", ignore your mother pushing you to be "with it", and honor your talent.
In other (good) news, I finally heard back from the two places I had contacted about putting on a concert. One is someplace I have sung before. So I need to get back in my high dramatic mezzo groove. My teacher will be singing with me and we will probably sing the Anna Bolena duet. First up is the little mini concert in May where I will be singing the "Drinking Song" from Lucretia Borgia.
And on a totally unrelated topic, I may be a media spokesperson for events to do with the 50th anniversary of Stonewall.
Saturday, April 6, 2019
A Sad Shock, and Life Goes On
I just got a terrible, sad shock this past week. A friend (actually my partner's college roommate, who has known her since practically the year I was born - 1950) just found out that she has stomach cancer with only a few months to live. Everyone was just blindsided by this. I have had friends die of cancer (and I have friends who have survived cancer) but usually even the ones who eventually died had at least a year or more between diagnosis and death. This was especially shocking because this friend was very healthy for her age (84) and had only been in the hospital once in her life (other than to have children): to have a hip replacement a few years ago. And I am sure she went to doctors regularly. I am sad for everyone. For her, because she was such a vibrant, busy, productive person, and for her adult daughters, who are only forty-six and forty-nine, respectively, and for her three grandchildren, who are 13, 8, and 5. I was thinking that they are the "grandparentless" generation because they are the first generation I know whose mothers and grandmothers did not give birth until their late 30s or early 40s. My mother was 35 when I was born but her mother was only about 20 or 21 when she was born so I had grandparents until I was 28 or 31 (my grandmother died when I was 28 and my grandfather died when I was 31).
I have no idea if my friend wants social contact or not. I am assuming that she does not want phone calls. I find phone calls to be a nuisance generally because the person calling has no idea if it is a convenient time or not. She sent me an email with the news, I wrote back, trying to be as supportive as I could, and she wrote me a thank you. She hadn't wanted me to tell my partner (who has dementia) but I felt that I had to otherwise she would wonder why this friend hadn't called. I also called another friend and told her. I think I will write again to Abbie (my friend with cancer - not her real name) next week and just say I am thinking of her and that my partner sends her love. If she responds fine, if not not. I also thought I might send her an Easter card. My partner is well enough to sign it (she doesn't sign any official documents any more; I sign all those) and we always used to visit Abbie on Easter Sunday in the early 90s when she lived on Long Island. We would paint Easter eggs and she would make a big lunch. I think her younger daughter was still living at home.
I am also sad for selfish reasons. I had always assumed that Abbie would outlive my partner and that she could be helpful (even though about 5 years ago she moved across the continent) and supportive in some way. Abbie was the last person about whom I felt that in a dire emergency, I could call on at any hour of the day or night. There is no one left now. Possibly my friend in Massachusetts although she has not been well (she is younger than I am).
As far as singing news is concerned (it hardly seems to matter now) I was asked to sing the Schubert "Ave Maria" at the funeral of the mother of one of the men from the church. I was very flattered that he asked me. Being asked to sing is such an "up" for me. Singing because I've asked and been given is not as sweet as having been asked.
On Good Friday I am singing the alto solo line in the quartet in two selections from the Beethoven Missa Solemnis. I still don't know if I'm singing on Maundy Thursday, but I have something ready so it can wait until the last minute. If not I will probably sing on Trinity Sunday and in the summer. And I have a little mini concert with my teacher in mid-May. I am still working at following up with the two major venues that I hope to be able to sing in in the Fall.
Lastly, because I mentioned it in my last post, I got the biopsy results back about my partner's face, and what is there is not a squamous cell carcinoma. They called it an actinic keratosis and she is going to get it frozen off on the 30th.
I have no idea if my friend wants social contact or not. I am assuming that she does not want phone calls. I find phone calls to be a nuisance generally because the person calling has no idea if it is a convenient time or not. She sent me an email with the news, I wrote back, trying to be as supportive as I could, and she wrote me a thank you. She hadn't wanted me to tell my partner (who has dementia) but I felt that I had to otherwise she would wonder why this friend hadn't called. I also called another friend and told her. I think I will write again to Abbie (my friend with cancer - not her real name) next week and just say I am thinking of her and that my partner sends her love. If she responds fine, if not not. I also thought I might send her an Easter card. My partner is well enough to sign it (she doesn't sign any official documents any more; I sign all those) and we always used to visit Abbie on Easter Sunday in the early 90s when she lived on Long Island. We would paint Easter eggs and she would make a big lunch. I think her younger daughter was still living at home.
I am also sad for selfish reasons. I had always assumed that Abbie would outlive my partner and that she could be helpful (even though about 5 years ago she moved across the continent) and supportive in some way. Abbie was the last person about whom I felt that in a dire emergency, I could call on at any hour of the day or night. There is no one left now. Possibly my friend in Massachusetts although she has not been well (she is younger than I am).
As far as singing news is concerned (it hardly seems to matter now) I was asked to sing the Schubert "Ave Maria" at the funeral of the mother of one of the men from the church. I was very flattered that he asked me. Being asked to sing is such an "up" for me. Singing because I've asked and been given is not as sweet as having been asked.
On Good Friday I am singing the alto solo line in the quartet in two selections from the Beethoven Missa Solemnis. I still don't know if I'm singing on Maundy Thursday, but I have something ready so it can wait until the last minute. If not I will probably sing on Trinity Sunday and in the summer. And I have a little mini concert with my teacher in mid-May. I am still working at following up with the two major venues that I hope to be able to sing in in the Fall.
Lastly, because I mentioned it in my last post, I got the biopsy results back about my partner's face, and what is there is not a squamous cell carcinoma. They called it an actinic keratosis and she is going to get it frozen off on the 30th.
Friday, March 22, 2019
Catching Up
I see that I haven't written anything in about a month, which is because I have been busy with the writing contest. I have done well so far: just mining incidents in my life and turning them into essays. I love to read novels, but when I write, I seem to find it easier to spin out pithy essays that are a combination of memoir, humor, and social commentary. Like the OpEd pieces in the TIMES.
I have done well in this competition so far. It started out with 50 people and now there are 13 people left. They are going to drop 5 people on Sunday (our assignment was to write 5 pieces and the scores for those pieces will be averaged) so if I stay there will only be 8 left. The final 4 will get some kind of money prize. My goal was to be in the top 10, which I guess won't be a "thing" because 2 people dropped out of the top 15.
I do have some news about Good Friday. I am going to sing the alto line in the solo quartet in the "Christe Eleison" from the Beethoven Missa Solemnis and probably also in another piece that we haven't gotten yet. So I will focus on that. As for a solo on a festival day, I will probably either sing on Maundy Thursday again or on Trinity Sunday (June 16). And one Sunday in August when there is an "open sing" because there is no choir and no festival days. For Maundy Thursday I may sing one of the Florence Price spirituals - "Rise Mourner", and for Trinity Sunday I suggested the Mozart "Laudate Dominum", which I haven't sung in years, so it will be interesting to see how it sounds.
I am sounding better again because I have a new strategy for taking care of my respiratory problems. I went to get my annual physical and my doctor told me to use the asthma inhaler not just when I think I have asthma (I have the "cough variant" kind, not the wheezy life threatening kind) but also if my upper bronchial tubes feel full of mucus that I can't dislodge. I have found that this really helps. If my bronchial tubes are opened up, I can get rid of the mucus. It seems to be more reliable than Mucinex. I could really hear the difference Wednesday at my lesson and last night at choir rehearsal.
The annoying news, though, is I have not heard back from the two senior facilities that I contacted about performing. I will have to try calling, as the people did not answer my emails.
Lastly, one source of anxiety is that my partner has a squamous cell carcinoma on her face that needs removing. She had a biopsy last week. When the results come back she will need to have it removed. It is just an outpatient procedure (she had one removed from her chest two years ago) but it takes a whole day, and then she has to come back the next week to have the stitches removed. And as the only way she can travel is on a gurney in an ambulance, we can be in the doctor's office for over an hour after she's finished, waiting to be picked up. So I am going to draw a line in the sand and say that we can't do anything during Holy Week. If they can't do it the week of April 1 (and remove the stitches April 8) it will have to wait until after Easter. It is something that needs addressing, but it is not life threatening. It is just very stressful to have to juggle these two things, not to mention that she will be put into a new Medicaid managed care plan as of April 1, so all the players that we have to deal with will be different. And the last thing I need leading up to Holy Week is a lot of stress and time spent screaming on the phone.
I have done well in this competition so far. It started out with 50 people and now there are 13 people left. They are going to drop 5 people on Sunday (our assignment was to write 5 pieces and the scores for those pieces will be averaged) so if I stay there will only be 8 left. The final 4 will get some kind of money prize. My goal was to be in the top 10, which I guess won't be a "thing" because 2 people dropped out of the top 15.
I do have some news about Good Friday. I am going to sing the alto line in the solo quartet in the "Christe Eleison" from the Beethoven Missa Solemnis and probably also in another piece that we haven't gotten yet. So I will focus on that. As for a solo on a festival day, I will probably either sing on Maundy Thursday again or on Trinity Sunday (June 16). And one Sunday in August when there is an "open sing" because there is no choir and no festival days. For Maundy Thursday I may sing one of the Florence Price spirituals - "Rise Mourner", and for Trinity Sunday I suggested the Mozart "Laudate Dominum", which I haven't sung in years, so it will be interesting to see how it sounds.
I am sounding better again because I have a new strategy for taking care of my respiratory problems. I went to get my annual physical and my doctor told me to use the asthma inhaler not just when I think I have asthma (I have the "cough variant" kind, not the wheezy life threatening kind) but also if my upper bronchial tubes feel full of mucus that I can't dislodge. I have found that this really helps. If my bronchial tubes are opened up, I can get rid of the mucus. It seems to be more reliable than Mucinex. I could really hear the difference Wednesday at my lesson and last night at choir rehearsal.
The annoying news, though, is I have not heard back from the two senior facilities that I contacted about performing. I will have to try calling, as the people did not answer my emails.
Lastly, one source of anxiety is that my partner has a squamous cell carcinoma on her face that needs removing. She had a biopsy last week. When the results come back she will need to have it removed. It is just an outpatient procedure (she had one removed from her chest two years ago) but it takes a whole day, and then she has to come back the next week to have the stitches removed. And as the only way she can travel is on a gurney in an ambulance, we can be in the doctor's office for over an hour after she's finished, waiting to be picked up. So I am going to draw a line in the sand and say that we can't do anything during Holy Week. If they can't do it the week of April 1 (and remove the stitches April 8) it will have to wait until after Easter. It is something that needs addressing, but it is not life threatening. It is just very stressful to have to juggle these two things, not to mention that she will be put into a new Medicaid managed care plan as of April 1, so all the players that we have to deal with will be different. And the last thing I need leading up to Holy Week is a lot of stress and time spent screaming on the phone.
Tuesday, February 19, 2019
Those Who Can Do; Those Who Can't Write
I certainly have always felt that way. The worse I feel about my singing (either from a technical standpoint or just in terms of where I fit in the bigger picture) the more blog posts I write.
Why am I feeling bad? I have been singing better and haven't had any more asthma attacks. The Bolena duet sounds good. I am learning the December Songs. I may even try to do something with Winterreise around my 70th birthday. I can start planning on my 69th. Thursday I will bite the bullet and ask the choir director if there are any "solo bits" on Good Friday. I don't expect anything as perfect as what I got last year. I would be happy with the alto line in a solo quartet or trio. I think what makes me nervous is that something has given me an inkling (our last writing assigment in a writing contest I am in was "inkling"; now I'm realizing I could have used the inkling I'm about to mention) that the choir director has been talking to the new dramatic soprano about Good Friday, which does not make me feel great. Even last year when he assigned me the solo I didn't know about it until we had been working on the music for several weeks as a group.
Certain people are always "triggers". Unfortunately, one of the women I "unfriended" on Facebook (or she unfriended me) because I said something about singers being self-involved, which she didn't like, is the friend of someone who is a dear friend of mine on Facebook. This dear friend is also a singer, but she is a good person and has been through a lot, and she was very helpful to me in choosing some lighter repertoire. (Of course part of me is sad that she has never said to me "You will really sing the daylights out of [fillintheblank with some impressive aria]" the way she has often said to Envy Trigger.)
Anyhow, Envy Trigger, who is probably in her late 30s, and has had her share of heartbreak and depression, nonetheless is now singing "big girl" opera roles here, there, and yonder (noplace stellar, and I don't know if any of it is for money) and I am not. I feel all that repertoire slipping away. I have a wider range than I ever had, but the stamina required to do that kind of singing continues to feel daunting. I can do it if "all the stars are in alignment", if not, not. I mean I can't second guess myself into the bottom of the alto section, the way a woman in my choir who is a few years older than I am has done. I'm sure she could sing more than she has been singing, but she has become so phobic (she also hasn't studied in years) that she now won't sing anything above an E and won't really sing solos anymore either. And on the few occasions when she's had a solo line she sounds very nervous. I won't let anything like that happen to me. Just because I blew that high A on a morning when I had an asthma attack doesn't spell doom. It was a one-off.
So I can sing sweet songs: Hoiby and Rorem and Maury Yeston. And a few arias here and there. I can still sing Rossini which flows trippingly off the tongue and doesn't seem to require the stamina needed to pack a punch at the end of, say, "Acerba Volutta".
I want so much to love my "small life" with my "small performance opportunities" and I pray for that willingness every day - but then there's Envy Trigger.
Why am I feeling bad? I have been singing better and haven't had any more asthma attacks. The Bolena duet sounds good. I am learning the December Songs. I may even try to do something with Winterreise around my 70th birthday. I can start planning on my 69th. Thursday I will bite the bullet and ask the choir director if there are any "solo bits" on Good Friday. I don't expect anything as perfect as what I got last year. I would be happy with the alto line in a solo quartet or trio. I think what makes me nervous is that something has given me an inkling (our last writing assigment in a writing contest I am in was "inkling"; now I'm realizing I could have used the inkling I'm about to mention) that the choir director has been talking to the new dramatic soprano about Good Friday, which does not make me feel great. Even last year when he assigned me the solo I didn't know about it until we had been working on the music for several weeks as a group.
Certain people are always "triggers". Unfortunately, one of the women I "unfriended" on Facebook (or she unfriended me) because I said something about singers being self-involved, which she didn't like, is the friend of someone who is a dear friend of mine on Facebook. This dear friend is also a singer, but she is a good person and has been through a lot, and she was very helpful to me in choosing some lighter repertoire. (Of course part of me is sad that she has never said to me "You will really sing the daylights out of [fillintheblank with some impressive aria]" the way she has often said to Envy Trigger.)
Anyhow, Envy Trigger, who is probably in her late 30s, and has had her share of heartbreak and depression, nonetheless is now singing "big girl" opera roles here, there, and yonder (noplace stellar, and I don't know if any of it is for money) and I am not. I feel all that repertoire slipping away. I have a wider range than I ever had, but the stamina required to do that kind of singing continues to feel daunting. I can do it if "all the stars are in alignment", if not, not. I mean I can't second guess myself into the bottom of the alto section, the way a woman in my choir who is a few years older than I am has done. I'm sure she could sing more than she has been singing, but she has become so phobic (she also hasn't studied in years) that she now won't sing anything above an E and won't really sing solos anymore either. And on the few occasions when she's had a solo line she sounds very nervous. I won't let anything like that happen to me. Just because I blew that high A on a morning when I had an asthma attack doesn't spell doom. It was a one-off.
So I can sing sweet songs: Hoiby and Rorem and Maury Yeston. And a few arias here and there. I can still sing Rossini which flows trippingly off the tongue and doesn't seem to require the stamina needed to pack a punch at the end of, say, "Acerba Volutta".
I want so much to love my "small life" with my "small performance opportunities" and I pray for that willingness every day - but then there's Envy Trigger.
Friday, January 25, 2019
The Ugly Dachshund Redux
I spent the first six or seven years in my choir feeling like The Ugly Dachshund. (For those who don't know, The Ugly Dachshund was first a book, then a movie - the book is better - about a Great Dane who thinks he is a Dachshund and therefore thinks he's ugly.)
Everything I sang was too loud; I was constantly nudged to want to sing alto (no! as I've written about on numerous occasions, singing in that limited range, which is mostly around my passaggio break, is at best unsatisfying and at worst useless as a vocal workout). I do sing alto in some of the masterworks (particularly Bach) where there are only two women's parts and the ranges of both are somewhat higher. Although there's still that hated "gap". By which I mean that choral soprano and alto parts are usually one fifth apart. As a mezzo, my voice is a third lower than a normal soprano's. Fortunately, somewhere along the line, the choir director started picking pieces with multiple women's parts so I found a home as a second soprano. It was perfect. I pretty much never had to sing a high A, but could sing lots of Es, Fs, and the occasional G, which is what I need to be doing to maintain vocal health. If I am not getting paid, singing in this choir needs to be a worthwhile and rewarding experience.
Even though as a child I imitated Julie Andrews (my first vocal solo was "Wouldn't It Be Loverly" in a school assembly when I was 6) once I grew up I never had that "float-y", shimmery, head-y sound that characterizes the soprano voice at its loveliest and most ethereal. When you think about it, neither does Julie Andrews. I heard a few clips of her singing coloratura arias as a teenager and her voice sounds a lot like Roberta Peters's: bell-like and wiry, but not ethereal, like, say, the voice of Natalie Dessay And then of course I started smoking. And like most New Yorkers, I speak entirely in my chest register. So it took years of study after I was "discovered" at 54 not just to extend my range upwards, but to liberate all that head voice. At lessons and at home I do a lot of singing on oo before I do anything else. The most scathing critiques I got about my singing during the early period (when I was going to auditions, between the ages of 56 and 60, let's say) was that I had very little head register and my voice sounded "locked". I also needed to clear out my sinuses which I did, finally, with the Neti pot. By 2014 or 2015 the way I sang had changed entirely. A fringe benefit was that not only was my operatic singing easier, I could also sing a choir soprano part in pure head voice, keeping the dynamic down sometimes as low as pp, without "getting off the voice".
During my "ugly Dachshund" period, I shed a lot of tears over comments from the choir director. I don't think he ever said anything nice about my singing unless I sang an alto solo. He didn't want me to sing "Rejoice Greatly". He thought I should transpose "I Know that My Redeemer Liveth" down. When I said no, he made me make a cut. I felt a lot of despair. I mean it's one thing to know I'm not singing well and quite another to feel that my voice is simply not to someone's taste so they will never like what I do, even when I do it well.
I am not going to re-hash here all the brouhaha about the singer I refer to as "Little Miss". That is ancient history and I think the whole thing was a learning experience; namely, that if you're leading a group, it's probably not a good idea to make a "fuss" over one person in public.
After that things went on fairly smoothly for a while.
So I was startled last night by the following. We had been singing a piece with multiple parts. Both of the soprano parts were fairly high (the first soprano part went up to a B with an optional C and the second soprano part went up to a G). The new dramatic soprano (whose voice is at least as big as mine if not bigger) was not there. There were two very light sopranos singing. After the rehearsal he went up to one of them (privately) and told her how wonderful she sounded. Since I overheard them, I kind of gave him a quizzical look and all he said to me was "I know that part is very high". I told him it was in a very comfortable range for me - I mean my part, the second soprano part, obviously. So he said "it just is meant to be light and sort of child-like". After that we had a nice talk, but it still stung. Feeling that one person was getting a compliment and I was getting (once again) some veiled criticism. I mean I doubt the new dramatic soprano can sound "childlike". Would he say something like that to her? I doubt it. He always goes up to her and thanks her for singing as if by singing she's doing him a favor. Which I guess she is. She has a lot of other vocal fish to fry.
I am actually surprised by how despondent I feel. Possibly, the pain of that disaster on December 30 is still with me although I know it was most likely caused by my having had an asthma attack, leading to a situation where my being short of breath for physical reasons (and also for feeling like all my vocal apparatus was inflamed) led to my panicking and ending up short of breath for psychological reasons.
I think partly the issue here is that the choir director is impressed by sopranos with float-y voices (even the new dramatic soprano sort of has one; her voice is big, but it's not "gritty" the way mine is). He also likes very young people. (The woman he complimented yesterday is in her 20s). It seems that the younger someone is the more likely he is to give them a compliment. If the person is female. He also likes low basses.
I don't want to feel sad. I was so happy thinking about my new plan to focus on nursing home concerts in an active way, not in a reactive way because I see it as the best I can do. I now have two serious "nibbles" about full-length concerts that I am going to follow up. Wednesday I had a lesson and we talked about concert repertoire. I ordered Yeston's December Songs. I am madly in love with them and can hardly wait to sing them.
Sitting here now I am crying, and want to kick myself.
ETA: It is now Sunday afternoon. The anthem went well. The dramatic soprano was not there. I nailed all the Gs sweetly enough not to elicit a raised eyebrow. As a point of gossip, "choir girl" (have no idea how I thought up that name for her) didn't sit with the choir because she brought a "guest" to the service. She has done that before, but the last time at least the guest was her Mom from out of town. Surprised that that didn't elicit a raised eyebrow.
Everything I sang was too loud; I was constantly nudged to want to sing alto (no! as I've written about on numerous occasions, singing in that limited range, which is mostly around my passaggio break, is at best unsatisfying and at worst useless as a vocal workout). I do sing alto in some of the masterworks (particularly Bach) where there are only two women's parts and the ranges of both are somewhat higher. Although there's still that hated "gap". By which I mean that choral soprano and alto parts are usually one fifth apart. As a mezzo, my voice is a third lower than a normal soprano's. Fortunately, somewhere along the line, the choir director started picking pieces with multiple women's parts so I found a home as a second soprano. It was perfect. I pretty much never had to sing a high A, but could sing lots of Es, Fs, and the occasional G, which is what I need to be doing to maintain vocal health. If I am not getting paid, singing in this choir needs to be a worthwhile and rewarding experience.
Even though as a child I imitated Julie Andrews (my first vocal solo was "Wouldn't It Be Loverly" in a school assembly when I was 6) once I grew up I never had that "float-y", shimmery, head-y sound that characterizes the soprano voice at its loveliest and most ethereal. When you think about it, neither does Julie Andrews. I heard a few clips of her singing coloratura arias as a teenager and her voice sounds a lot like Roberta Peters's: bell-like and wiry, but not ethereal, like, say, the voice of Natalie Dessay And then of course I started smoking. And like most New Yorkers, I speak entirely in my chest register. So it took years of study after I was "discovered" at 54 not just to extend my range upwards, but to liberate all that head voice. At lessons and at home I do a lot of singing on oo before I do anything else. The most scathing critiques I got about my singing during the early period (when I was going to auditions, between the ages of 56 and 60, let's say) was that I had very little head register and my voice sounded "locked". I also needed to clear out my sinuses which I did, finally, with the Neti pot. By 2014 or 2015 the way I sang had changed entirely. A fringe benefit was that not only was my operatic singing easier, I could also sing a choir soprano part in pure head voice, keeping the dynamic down sometimes as low as pp, without "getting off the voice".
During my "ugly Dachshund" period, I shed a lot of tears over comments from the choir director. I don't think he ever said anything nice about my singing unless I sang an alto solo. He didn't want me to sing "Rejoice Greatly". He thought I should transpose "I Know that My Redeemer Liveth" down. When I said no, he made me make a cut. I felt a lot of despair. I mean it's one thing to know I'm not singing well and quite another to feel that my voice is simply not to someone's taste so they will never like what I do, even when I do it well.
I am not going to re-hash here all the brouhaha about the singer I refer to as "Little Miss". That is ancient history and I think the whole thing was a learning experience; namely, that if you're leading a group, it's probably not a good idea to make a "fuss" over one person in public.
After that things went on fairly smoothly for a while.
So I was startled last night by the following. We had been singing a piece with multiple parts. Both of the soprano parts were fairly high (the first soprano part went up to a B with an optional C and the second soprano part went up to a G). The new dramatic soprano (whose voice is at least as big as mine if not bigger) was not there. There were two very light sopranos singing. After the rehearsal he went up to one of them (privately) and told her how wonderful she sounded. Since I overheard them, I kind of gave him a quizzical look and all he said to me was "I know that part is very high". I told him it was in a very comfortable range for me - I mean my part, the second soprano part, obviously. So he said "it just is meant to be light and sort of child-like". After that we had a nice talk, but it still stung. Feeling that one person was getting a compliment and I was getting (once again) some veiled criticism. I mean I doubt the new dramatic soprano can sound "childlike". Would he say something like that to her? I doubt it. He always goes up to her and thanks her for singing as if by singing she's doing him a favor. Which I guess she is. She has a lot of other vocal fish to fry.
I am actually surprised by how despondent I feel. Possibly, the pain of that disaster on December 30 is still with me although I know it was most likely caused by my having had an asthma attack, leading to a situation where my being short of breath for physical reasons (and also for feeling like all my vocal apparatus was inflamed) led to my panicking and ending up short of breath for psychological reasons.
I think partly the issue here is that the choir director is impressed by sopranos with float-y voices (even the new dramatic soprano sort of has one; her voice is big, but it's not "gritty" the way mine is). He also likes very young people. (The woman he complimented yesterday is in her 20s). It seems that the younger someone is the more likely he is to give them a compliment. If the person is female. He also likes low basses.
I don't want to feel sad. I was so happy thinking about my new plan to focus on nursing home concerts in an active way, not in a reactive way because I see it as the best I can do. I now have two serious "nibbles" about full-length concerts that I am going to follow up. Wednesday I had a lesson and we talked about concert repertoire. I ordered Yeston's December Songs. I am madly in love with them and can hardly wait to sing them.
Sitting here now I am crying, and want to kick myself.
ETA: It is now Sunday afternoon. The anthem went well. The dramatic soprano was not there. I nailed all the Gs sweetly enough not to elicit a raised eyebrow. As a point of gossip, "choir girl" (have no idea how I thought up that name for her) didn't sit with the choir because she brought a "guest" to the service. She has done that before, but the last time at least the guest was her Mom from out of town. Surprised that that didn't elicit a raised eyebrow.
Sunday, January 20, 2019
Changing the Narrative (Today's Sermon)
Almost every Sunday there is something in the sermon that speaks to me, even though I am not Christian. Today, the minister posed the question: Is there a place in your life where God is knocking on the door, a place where you feel stuck or broken? And I realized that the answer is "yes". The part of me that knows I will never have a place, even a tiny one, in the "world of singers" here in New York (which for me is "the world" as I have never lived anywhere else and would not know how to). That does not mean, however, that there is no place for me to sing. For a long time I have felt a calling to work with the elderly. Not now really, because I am involved in taking care of my partner. So beyond singing in senior venues there really is nothing I need to be doing. But if I outlive her (which I most likely will) I will want something to do, and volunteering to work with the elderly (I imagine this as being one on one; singing to them, particularly, not for applause but to give them their favorite songs, but also talking with them, listening to their stories, and just being with them) will be that something. It will never fill the hole in my heart that will be there forever when my angel is gone and it will not buy me the respect of "the Forum crowd" but it will fill my soul.
God is knocking on my door here. I know this.
The question is, will I listen. Is S/he knocking loud enough to drown out all the self-promotion of the hordes of people who have come here to "make it" in the performing arts, who make me feel so irrelevant and envious?
God is knocking on my door here. I know this.
The question is, will I listen. Is S/he knocking loud enough to drown out all the self-promotion of the hordes of people who have come here to "make it" in the performing arts, who make me feel so irrelevant and envious?
Wednesday, January 16, 2019
A Need to Change the Narrative
Or move the needle, as people are always saying.
I am trying to make a happy life for myself by putting as much creativity in it as I have time for, and being grateful for the rest.
I don't consider taking care of my partner a burden; it's not just that I love her, I also find many of the people-rich activities I am involved in as her caregiver to be stimulating. I love most of the aides who take care of her. They have opened my eyes and heart to a whole world that is very different from the one I grew up in and still live in, and which always leaves me feeling that I don't measure up.
A team of nurses came to see my partner. We are now enrolled in a program that originated when she was in the hospital the last time. It is geared toward people over 75 who end up in the hospital via an emergency room. They suggested that I buy her a coloring book. Now they are trying to get her a "buddy" (which would be a graduate student) from the Alzheimers Association.
I have one mini concert on the horizon and am doing some other networking. My far off future plan, if my loved one dies and I am still healthy, is to sing for seniors not just by giving concerts but also by volunteering at nursing homes where I could come sing at their bedsides (or talk with them, listen to their stories, read, or anything else).
I am not going to try to get any kind of advanced degree. I hate academics. I can do this as a volunteer and continue to spend 20 hours a week copy editing. It is boring and isolating, but it is what I need mostly because I can make my own schedule and I know how to find work. It is a very low maintenance kind of livelihood. And (God works in mysterious ways) I now am working on a journal about aging.
Here's the problem: I am distracted by bright shiny objects.
Almost every new person I meet is a real performer of some kind. Is or was. Is enough to have a web site and a list of credits going back to high school. Gorgeous professional head shots. A place to be seen. For example, if I tick off the 20 or so people in my choir, more than half of them have music or theater degrees and more than half of them have advanced professional degrees from prestigious schools. Many people have both. Someone new joined the choir (she is very nice, and not someone I would be competing with because she is a musical theater style belter) who has a flashy web site and a public presence. (Right now she has taken a "break" from regional theater to work in tech, and who knows? She might stay there.) But her web site is what I mean by a bright shiny object. Not the site so much as the fact that someone I met in a church choir has one. I want one too. I suppose I could make myself one, but what for? I have this blog, and a Youtube channel, but I am not part of the conversation. People will tell me "oh, you sounded lovely" but I am still at the bottom of the food chain. The people in my Pilates class are all retired academics, or something similar. One was a casting agent, one was (is?) an architect.
I can be having a happy day and then something coming out of the tsunami of uber-successful people I am drowning in will act as a trigger and I will dissolve into self deprecation because I am not a "bright shiny object" the way they are. Someone told me (I suppose a propos of all the talk about Stormy Daniels) that with my large frontage (real), my age (a niche market) and my expertise with hair, makeup, wigs, and even masks, I could have a web site full of "adult" photographic content. Is this the best I can do?? No thank you. Prudery aside, that's an overcrowded market, too. Is there anything that isn't?
If I can't have bright shiny objects (or be one) why can't I change the narrative? I can lose myself and be happy in small things (although nothing - except snuggling with my frail, sweet, partner - makes me as happy as getting up in front of an audience, singing well, and hearing applause) so why can't I stay there?
ETA: As always a glutton for punishment, I went back and googled "choir girl" to see what else I could find (a Facebook page? see who her friends are?) and found an article from last year's TIMES about her and her roommate (an aspiring opera singer) not about them as performers but about their travails with a North Manhattan apartment (I don't want to link to the article here for the sake of people's privacy). There was a gorgeous photo, and quite a lot about these two young women. So how did they nail a piece of publicity like that? That's what I'm dying to know. Are aspiring performers better at networking with journalists so that they can promote themselves in every way possible? I know a lot of people have various apartment travails and they don't have huge pictures of themselves in the paper. This just confirms my whine that I just don't know the right people.
I am trying to make a happy life for myself by putting as much creativity in it as I have time for, and being grateful for the rest.
I don't consider taking care of my partner a burden; it's not just that I love her, I also find many of the people-rich activities I am involved in as her caregiver to be stimulating. I love most of the aides who take care of her. They have opened my eyes and heart to a whole world that is very different from the one I grew up in and still live in, and which always leaves me feeling that I don't measure up.
A team of nurses came to see my partner. We are now enrolled in a program that originated when she was in the hospital the last time. It is geared toward people over 75 who end up in the hospital via an emergency room. They suggested that I buy her a coloring book. Now they are trying to get her a "buddy" (which would be a graduate student) from the Alzheimers Association.
I have one mini concert on the horizon and am doing some other networking. My far off future plan, if my loved one dies and I am still healthy, is to sing for seniors not just by giving concerts but also by volunteering at nursing homes where I could come sing at their bedsides (or talk with them, listen to their stories, read, or anything else).
I am not going to try to get any kind of advanced degree. I hate academics. I can do this as a volunteer and continue to spend 20 hours a week copy editing. It is boring and isolating, but it is what I need mostly because I can make my own schedule and I know how to find work. It is a very low maintenance kind of livelihood. And (God works in mysterious ways) I now am working on a journal about aging.
Here's the problem: I am distracted by bright shiny objects.
Almost every new person I meet is a real performer of some kind. Is or was. Is enough to have a web site and a list of credits going back to high school. Gorgeous professional head shots. A place to be seen. For example, if I tick off the 20 or so people in my choir, more than half of them have music or theater degrees and more than half of them have advanced professional degrees from prestigious schools. Many people have both. Someone new joined the choir (she is very nice, and not someone I would be competing with because she is a musical theater style belter) who has a flashy web site and a public presence. (Right now she has taken a "break" from regional theater to work in tech, and who knows? She might stay there.) But her web site is what I mean by a bright shiny object. Not the site so much as the fact that someone I met in a church choir has one. I want one too. I suppose I could make myself one, but what for? I have this blog, and a Youtube channel, but I am not part of the conversation. People will tell me "oh, you sounded lovely" but I am still at the bottom of the food chain. The people in my Pilates class are all retired academics, or something similar. One was a casting agent, one was (is?) an architect.
I can be having a happy day and then something coming out of the tsunami of uber-successful people I am drowning in will act as a trigger and I will dissolve into self deprecation because I am not a "bright shiny object" the way they are. Someone told me (I suppose a propos of all the talk about Stormy Daniels) that with my large frontage (real), my age (a niche market) and my expertise with hair, makeup, wigs, and even masks, I could have a web site full of "adult" photographic content. Is this the best I can do?? No thank you. Prudery aside, that's an overcrowded market, too. Is there anything that isn't?
If I can't have bright shiny objects (or be one) why can't I change the narrative? I can lose myself and be happy in small things (although nothing - except snuggling with my frail, sweet, partner - makes me as happy as getting up in front of an audience, singing well, and hearing applause) so why can't I stay there?
ETA: As always a glutton for punishment, I went back and googled "choir girl" to see what else I could find (a Facebook page? see who her friends are?) and found an article from last year's TIMES about her and her roommate (an aspiring opera singer) not about them as performers but about their travails with a North Manhattan apartment (I don't want to link to the article here for the sake of people's privacy). There was a gorgeous photo, and quite a lot about these two young women. So how did they nail a piece of publicity like that? That's what I'm dying to know. Are aspiring performers better at networking with journalists so that they can promote themselves in every way possible? I know a lot of people have various apartment travails and they don't have huge pictures of themselves in the paper. This just confirms my whine that I just don't know the right people.
Wednesday, January 2, 2019
2018 Wrap Up
I haven't done one of these for a while. This was an old meme that circulated in my previous blogging community, which I have returned to in a limited way to be part of their writing contest.
A friend posted this, so I thought it would be a good exercise to do one of my own. I didn't want to put it on Facebook (too many viewers) and didn't want to post it in the other blogging community because I want people who go to my page there to see my entry for the writing contest. So it's here.
1. What did you do in 2018 that you had never done before? Start seriously writing a memoir.
2. Did you keep your new year’s resolutions, and did you make some for this year? I didn’t really make any. If I did informally, they will be the same for this year: work as hard as I can on my singing and writing, love my partner while she’s still here on earth, try to be more open to social interactions.
3. Did anyone close to you give birth? One of the pastors at church did.
4. Did anyone close to you die? Blessedly no one. I am of the age when people I know just die, and it’s not unusual.
5. What countries did you visit? None. I haven’t been out of the country since 2004.
6. What would you like to have in 2019 that you lacked in 2018? Invitations, invitations, invitations!! To sing (most of the time if I want to sing I have to make the initial ask), to do something wonderful on my next birthday that I don’t have to plan or pay for, to go on a special, magical outing that is not too expensive and that won’t take me too far away from my partner (and that takes place during the daylight).
7. What date from 2018 will be etched upon your memory and why? Good Friday where I was the (only) featured soloist. This is something I waited 10 years for.
8. What was your biggest achievement of the year? Singing five recitals and doing a really good job with all of them.
9. What was your biggest failure? Standing up in church on December 30 to sing a piece with a high A in it, which I had sung beautifully and easily at the rehearsal, and being unable to make a creditable sound up there; I sounded like a cat whose tail had been stepped on. (I may have had a cold-induced asthma attack beforehand; I’m not sure.)
10. Did you suffer illness or injury? Nothing serious. Just chronic arthritis and respiratory issues.
11. What was the best thing you bought? I treated myself to having my dining room painted.
12. Whose behavior merited celebration? All the wonderful aides who take care of my partner, certainly the three who go above and beyond my wildest dreams, including one who gave me several expensive Christmas presents.
13. Whose behavior made you appalled and depressed? Duh!! The orange monster who committed treason to get into the White House and his disgusting band of congressional sycophants.
14. Where did most of your money go? Voice lessons, dentist.
15. What did you get really, really excited about? Singing and writing.
16. What song will always remind you of 2018? “Tanti affetti” from La Donna del Lago. It has seven high B flats in it and I aced it in three recitals.
17. Compared to this time last year, are you
Happier or sadder? Happier. I have chosen to spend more time with good ordinary people and less time with professional musicians and successful Upper West Side professionals.
Thinner or fatter? About the same, but my body is changing so much (bigger waist – actually good for singing - smaller hips, skirts are too tight, low rise jeans are too big, and everything is too long; had to get rid of a lot of clothes).
Richer or poorer? Certainly poorer as of December when my 401ks took a hit.
18. What do you wish you’d done more of? Socializing.
19. What do you wish you’d done less of? Mindlessly surfing the net in ways that I know will make me feel bad.
20. How did you spend Christmas? With my partner, in her bed, watching a marathon of Granchester.
21. Did you fall in love in 2018? Not in the romantic sense. I realized that I really really love some of the aides who take care of my partner. I don’t love easily. (I don’t think I’ve ever had a platonic female friend that I loved for example, which I guess is odd.)
22. Did your heart break in 2018? My heart breaks a little every day for my partner as she nears the end of life. Whenever I remember the “never agains” (traveling with her, going to the theater or the ballet with her, going to a museum with her, sitting up and eating at a table in a restaurant with her). But this is all counterbalanced by my gratitude that she is alive.
23. What was your favorite TV program? As always, Masterpiece Mystery and Masterpiece Classic.
24. Where were you when 2018 began? In bed with my partner, probably asleep.
25. Where were you when 2018 ended? See above; except that I woke up at 10:30 after a one hour nap and did get to watch the ball drop at Times Square, courtesy of Channel One.
26. Who will you be with when 2019 ends? I hope with my partner. I hope she is still alive.
27. What was the best book you read? I read so much I can’t choose, but The Paying Guests by Sarah Waters comes to mind.
28. What was your greatest musical discovery? Art songs and spirituals by Florence Price. Also her symphonic music.
29. What did you want and get? Another year with my partner.
30. What did you want and not get? Someone I would feel ok about listing as an “emergency contact” on a form (other than a doctor, a lawyer, or a therapist). A real birthday celebration planned by someone else. (These things are definitely related.)
31. What was your favorite film of the year? Maybe the cartoon film “Coco”? I watch a lot of films on Movies on Demand and lose track of which ones are from what year.
32. How many different states did you travel to in 2018? None. I haven’t been out of NY City since 2014 and prior to that I had not been out of NY City since 2009. My next trip will be to Ogunquit to scatter my partner’s ashes, so I can’t really say I am looking forward to my next trip. I hope maybe to take a day trip next year to Philly to see the art museums with some friends. We had talked about it this year but it didn’t materialize.
33. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2018? Casual most of the time, but I always wear something dressier to go to church even though I’ll usually have a choir robe on. I get dressed up to sing. I have given away almost everything that is snug around the waist. However if I am going anywhere I always wear stagey makeup and have my hair set.
34. What kept you sane? The fact that my partner is on Medicaid and they provide 24 hour care.
35. What celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most? My mind never goes in that direction. 36. What political issue stirred you the most? Well, this is about my head, not my heart. I think we have to clean up elections in all the states that are practicing voter obstruction first, then work to elect candidates who will enact a progressive agenda.
37. How many concerts did you see in 2018? Maybe 4 or 5? Chamber music at the church, a concert at Juilliard given by my choir director’s piano students (he teaches there), Jupiter symphony. (All free or $10).
38. Who was the best new person you met? A little boy in my after school program who makes me laugh.
39. Did you do anything you are ashamed of this year? Probably losing my temper at someone. I do do this less, thankfully.
40. What was your most embarrassing moment of 2018? See item 9.
41. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2018? The lesson I learned in 2017 was reinforced: that I probably can never “do well” so I have to be content with “doing good”. Also, that there are all kinds of joyful, esteemable, worthy ways to make a life that don’t involve being a high-level professional (in music, theater, or anything else) and that I need to meet more people who are living that way and spend less time with the uber-class (who continue metastasizing all over my zip code, in particular), who just end up making me hate myself.
42. What are your plans for 2019? To keep singing, focusing on my niche of bringing joy to the elderly, to continue with my memoir and other writing, to work hard to appreciate the things I have and to love and cherish my partner as long as God grants that I can have her. Also to keep trying to meet people and make new friendships.
A friend posted this, so I thought it would be a good exercise to do one of my own. I didn't want to put it on Facebook (too many viewers) and didn't want to post it in the other blogging community because I want people who go to my page there to see my entry for the writing contest. So it's here.
1. What did you do in 2018 that you had never done before? Start seriously writing a memoir.
2. Did you keep your new year’s resolutions, and did you make some for this year? I didn’t really make any. If I did informally, they will be the same for this year: work as hard as I can on my singing and writing, love my partner while she’s still here on earth, try to be more open to social interactions.
3. Did anyone close to you give birth? One of the pastors at church did.
4. Did anyone close to you die? Blessedly no one. I am of the age when people I know just die, and it’s not unusual.
5. What countries did you visit? None. I haven’t been out of the country since 2004.
6. What would you like to have in 2019 that you lacked in 2018? Invitations, invitations, invitations!! To sing (most of the time if I want to sing I have to make the initial ask), to do something wonderful on my next birthday that I don’t have to plan or pay for, to go on a special, magical outing that is not too expensive and that won’t take me too far away from my partner (and that takes place during the daylight).
7. What date from 2018 will be etched upon your memory and why? Good Friday where I was the (only) featured soloist. This is something I waited 10 years for.
8. What was your biggest achievement of the year? Singing five recitals and doing a really good job with all of them.
9. What was your biggest failure? Standing up in church on December 30 to sing a piece with a high A in it, which I had sung beautifully and easily at the rehearsal, and being unable to make a creditable sound up there; I sounded like a cat whose tail had been stepped on. (I may have had a cold-induced asthma attack beforehand; I’m not sure.)
10. Did you suffer illness or injury? Nothing serious. Just chronic arthritis and respiratory issues.
11. What was the best thing you bought? I treated myself to having my dining room painted.
12. Whose behavior merited celebration? All the wonderful aides who take care of my partner, certainly the three who go above and beyond my wildest dreams, including one who gave me several expensive Christmas presents.
13. Whose behavior made you appalled and depressed? Duh!! The orange monster who committed treason to get into the White House and his disgusting band of congressional sycophants.
14. Where did most of your money go? Voice lessons, dentist.
15. What did you get really, really excited about? Singing and writing.
16. What song will always remind you of 2018? “Tanti affetti” from La Donna del Lago. It has seven high B flats in it and I aced it in three recitals.
17. Compared to this time last year, are you
Happier or sadder? Happier. I have chosen to spend more time with good ordinary people and less time with professional musicians and successful Upper West Side professionals.
Thinner or fatter? About the same, but my body is changing so much (bigger waist – actually good for singing - smaller hips, skirts are too tight, low rise jeans are too big, and everything is too long; had to get rid of a lot of clothes).
Richer or poorer? Certainly poorer as of December when my 401ks took a hit.
18. What do you wish you’d done more of? Socializing.
19. What do you wish you’d done less of? Mindlessly surfing the net in ways that I know will make me feel bad.
20. How did you spend Christmas? With my partner, in her bed, watching a marathon of Granchester.
21. Did you fall in love in 2018? Not in the romantic sense. I realized that I really really love some of the aides who take care of my partner. I don’t love easily. (I don’t think I’ve ever had a platonic female friend that I loved for example, which I guess is odd.)
22. Did your heart break in 2018? My heart breaks a little every day for my partner as she nears the end of life. Whenever I remember the “never agains” (traveling with her, going to the theater or the ballet with her, going to a museum with her, sitting up and eating at a table in a restaurant with her). But this is all counterbalanced by my gratitude that she is alive.
23. What was your favorite TV program? As always, Masterpiece Mystery and Masterpiece Classic.
24. Where were you when 2018 began? In bed with my partner, probably asleep.
25. Where were you when 2018 ended? See above; except that I woke up at 10:30 after a one hour nap and did get to watch the ball drop at Times Square, courtesy of Channel One.
26. Who will you be with when 2019 ends? I hope with my partner. I hope she is still alive.
27. What was the best book you read? I read so much I can’t choose, but The Paying Guests by Sarah Waters comes to mind.
28. What was your greatest musical discovery? Art songs and spirituals by Florence Price. Also her symphonic music.
29. What did you want and get? Another year with my partner.
30. What did you want and not get? Someone I would feel ok about listing as an “emergency contact” on a form (other than a doctor, a lawyer, or a therapist). A real birthday celebration planned by someone else. (These things are definitely related.)
31. What was your favorite film of the year? Maybe the cartoon film “Coco”? I watch a lot of films on Movies on Demand and lose track of which ones are from what year.
32. How many different states did you travel to in 2018? None. I haven’t been out of NY City since 2014 and prior to that I had not been out of NY City since 2009. My next trip will be to Ogunquit to scatter my partner’s ashes, so I can’t really say I am looking forward to my next trip. I hope maybe to take a day trip next year to Philly to see the art museums with some friends. We had talked about it this year but it didn’t materialize.
33. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2018? Casual most of the time, but I always wear something dressier to go to church even though I’ll usually have a choir robe on. I get dressed up to sing. I have given away almost everything that is snug around the waist. However if I am going anywhere I always wear stagey makeup and have my hair set.
34. What kept you sane? The fact that my partner is on Medicaid and they provide 24 hour care.
35. What celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most? My mind never goes in that direction. 36. What political issue stirred you the most? Well, this is about my head, not my heart. I think we have to clean up elections in all the states that are practicing voter obstruction first, then work to elect candidates who will enact a progressive agenda.
37. How many concerts did you see in 2018? Maybe 4 or 5? Chamber music at the church, a concert at Juilliard given by my choir director’s piano students (he teaches there), Jupiter symphony. (All free or $10).
38. Who was the best new person you met? A little boy in my after school program who makes me laugh.
39. Did you do anything you are ashamed of this year? Probably losing my temper at someone. I do do this less, thankfully.
40. What was your most embarrassing moment of 2018? See item 9.
41. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2018? The lesson I learned in 2017 was reinforced: that I probably can never “do well” so I have to be content with “doing good”. Also, that there are all kinds of joyful, esteemable, worthy ways to make a life that don’t involve being a high-level professional (in music, theater, or anything else) and that I need to meet more people who are living that way and spend less time with the uber-class (who continue metastasizing all over my zip code, in particular), who just end up making me hate myself.
42. What are your plans for 2019? To keep singing, focusing on my niche of bringing joy to the elderly, to continue with my memoir and other writing, to work hard to appreciate the things I have and to love and cherish my partner as long as God grants that I can have her. Also to keep trying to meet people and make new friendships.
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