I'm so excited! There are possibilities on the horizon! I have an amazing place to practice now. My office is beautiful, resonant but not too resonant, warm sounding, and perfect to sing in. Best of all, people leave the building by around 6:30 usually, so I can sing to my heart's content every evening. All I need to do is have the discipline to do it.
Happy bit #2: I have e's keyboard in my apartment. AND I finally started unpacking my sheet music boxes now that I have bookshelves. It is entirely possible for me to focus on learning new music each week.
Happy bit #3: I have a car, so I could conceivably drive to coachings :) WOOHOO!!
Happy bit #4: I have a venue!! There are beautiful spaces in the museum where I work, and my colleagues are supportive of my doing a concert there. Now I just need to figure out the repertoire. Something with classical guitar or lute would be ideal...
HOORAY!!!! :)
Hope
Monday, September 12, 2011
Thursday, March 31, 2011
La musique me manque
It's been a stressful week in all different dimensions. When I close my eyes and picture a happy place, my "escape picture", I almost always see my little apartment near my conservatory. I am standing on the wooden floor, bathed in sunlight, looking out on the snowy or springtime landscape, and singing with the occasional sounds of a saxophone floating down the hall from my neighbor. I hear my voice teacher's laugh, and I see the practice rooms where I spent so many hours learning piece after piece, plunking key after key on the slightly dilapidated pianos.
I miss it so much.
I miss it so much.
Sunday, August 29, 2010
Alternate Universe
Tomorrow is the first day of classes back East.
I miss it.
In some ways, I feel like the last two years were just some dream that zipped by. Did I really get to sing and learn and practice and perform music for two whole years? How is it possible that it is already gone?
I feel like I've dropped through a wormhole to another universe with a completely different landscape and culture, not to mention the new (and yet old - same as two years ago) to-dos. Things look familiar, and yet they are skewed just enough to feel strange.
I miss my world of music and artists.
~Hope
I miss it.
In some ways, I feel like the last two years were just some dream that zipped by. Did I really get to sing and learn and practice and perform music for two whole years? How is it possible that it is already gone?
I feel like I've dropped through a wormhole to another universe with a completely different landscape and culture, not to mention the new (and yet old - same as two years ago) to-dos. Things look familiar, and yet they are skewed just enough to feel strange.
I miss my world of music and artists.
~Hope
Friday, August 27, 2010
Moving
Well, I'm now in a suspended hybrid state, rather like some bizarre chemistry experiment. I have one foot on the East Coast and one on the West, trying to find a job that will fit with my background and interests. It's a bit tricky in the current market. If you have any ideas, let me know! I'm open to anything.
The more immediate issue, however, is that e. only has tortillas, cheese, refried beans, and ramen in his apartment. This does not make for a breakfast of champions. It does, however, make me extremely glad that a) I stuffed three boxes of granola bars into my suitcase and b) there is a grocery store right across the street.
Time to head out to pick up the essentials: fruits and veggies, cereal, and, of course, Caffeine!
~Hope
The more immediate issue, however, is that e. only has tortillas, cheese, refried beans, and ramen in his apartment. This does not make for a breakfast of champions. It does, however, make me extremely glad that a) I stuffed three boxes of granola bars into my suitcase and b) there is a grocery store right across the street.
Time to head out to pick up the essentials: fruits and veggies, cereal, and, of course, Caffeine!
~Hope
Monday, July 26, 2010
Lost and Found
Today, I found some music books that I had squirreled away about ten years ago. One was a yellow-covered Italian art songs book by Schirmer that brought back memories. It was one of my earliest books from way back when I started voice lessons.
Most singers can recollect the first time they sang "Amarilli" or "Se tu m'ami" or the like - Italian art songs from centuries ago that are perfect for young singers. They are tonal and simple to learn, often with a repeating part. Plus, Italian is a great "first foreign language" to sing in. The vowels are not complex, so you can really focus on tone and the production of sound.
I carefully tucked the Schirmer book into a box to take with me as I move so that I can pull it out if I end up teaching voice lessons someday. Maybe I'll also pull some back into my own repertoire; it would be fun to see them from a new, more experienced perspective.
~Hope
Most singers can recollect the first time they sang "Amarilli" or "Se tu m'ami" or the like - Italian art songs from centuries ago that are perfect for young singers. They are tonal and simple to learn, often with a repeating part. Plus, Italian is a great "first foreign language" to sing in. The vowels are not complex, so you can really focus on tone and the production of sound.
I carefully tucked the Schirmer book into a box to take with me as I move so that I can pull it out if I end up teaching voice lessons someday. Maybe I'll also pull some back into my own repertoire; it would be fun to see them from a new, more experienced perspective.
~Hope
Sunday, July 4, 2010
Celebrating
Deep in the heart of coal country, there is a town that saw its heyday between the 1890s and the 1920s in the age when steel was big and its coal lit the fires that forged that ever-present metal. Today, the town still sits crammed between the mine-laced mountains, and there are still roadside businesses that sell some of the remaining black bounty to folks who still use it to heat their homes.
As you drive past the little coal sellers, you see a mountain on your left that upon closer look you notice is made of coal scraps. This 500-foot tall pile is the coal that was too sulfurous to be good for home use, and so it was set aside as it was mined. Too troublesome to be placed back in the bowels of the earth, it stands on top, a monument to the town's backbreaking labor.
The main street is dotted with parks of the type created in early 20th century America; little oases in the middle of a once-carriage driven road, they have a few trees and benches neatly placed for weary walkers. These patches of green along with the 1900s bank buildings that still reflect the once-prosperous architecture are the most elegant elements remaining in the town. They are nestled beside neon-signed nail salons and bars, autobody shops, and many boarded-up businesses that more accurately show the current state of the town. Many of the people residing there now are part of multi-generational welfare families who, when asked what they do for a living, will tell you, "I'm on disability." There are other folks who work an array of jobs that include highly educated occupations as well, but the main thrust of the economic ambiance remains one of poverty.
Even the houses seem a bit sad. Many are true centenarians, and you catch glimmers of a front porch culture that faded when television invaded our living rooms. The white paint on their facades is often besmirched with the black coal dust that still can permeate the air here. Yet, underneath their drooping exteriors, there is a sparkle of a happier time.
That sparkle takes shape and form and enters the streets twice a year. Once is Christmas when the smallest and saddest houses are often the most transformed. The folks who live there take great pride in pulling out all the stops with myriad Christmas decorations. The other time is the Fourth of July.
This little town, this area that seems to be in a permanent recession, puts on the greatest fireworks display that I have ever seen. That includes Boston, New York, and Washington D.C.
Every year that this town can scrape together enough funds to hold it, the firefighters climb up on that mountain of discarded coal and shoot off a truly impressive display. They never do it halfway. If the funds aren't there, they don't hold it at all. But if they manage to raise what must be $50,000 or more, they blow it all up in a truly spectacular celebration of our nation's independence.
As you drive into town on that night, you pass cars lined up for several miles along the sides of the road. People are already parked and pulling lawn chairs out of their trunks in the hopes of securing their favorite viewing spot. Just before you hit the main street, traffic slows and two firemen holding a giant trashcan greet you. "Care to donate to the fireworks?" they ask you, and you can't resist dropping in some cash in the hopes that your contribution just might enable next year's display.
My family parks in the lot of an old gas station with a clear view of the coal mountain. We usually happily grab the last spot in the place and then walk the five blocks or so to the eateries. Two women in their 60s run the Coney Island hot dog stand, which is a cramped little diner that looks like it's been there for a century. The women operate with the kind of automatic efficiency that is built over thousands of hours of doing the same thing. You can pick up your chili-and-onion-covered hot dog and chow down alongside other loyal patrons. My mom usually skips this part, choosing instead to save room for the homemade ice cream place just up the street. There, a double dip is $2.25, and plastic-topped cans are placed on the counter collecting tips for the workers and - what else - donations for next year's fireworks.
As you walk back the main street, you pass clusters of people delightedly kibbitzing as they sit in their lawn chairs in the small parks, all facing the coal mountain. They watch their kids run around and set off small fireworks or play with sparklers and snappers - gunpowder-filled paper twists that explode with a pop and an occasional spark when they hit the ground.
Meanwhile, houses all around the area are setting off their own fireworks. Some are so sophisticated that you wonder if the real display has started yet. But, no, it's just people showing off for the gathered crowds. You always see a daredevil stunt or two, like people standing on a rooftop and tossing a lit explosive off to the ground where it does a reverse firework and blows up with a bang. The laughter that ensues from the lucky folks who set the thing off is a mixture of giddy relief and an adrenaline rush. It's the same sound you hear when people come off a particularly fine roller coaster in an amusement park - the "Thank-God-I'm-alive-but-let's-do-it-again" giggles.
Keep walking, and you'll pass the soda machine that boasts the Nascar celebrity holding out a Coca-Cola bottle to tempt you. Everyone in this town will know who he is.
One abandoned gas station with the sign still up from the 1960s and a couple darkened buildings later, and you'll be back at the lawn chairs in the gas station parking lot, staring up at the darkening sky and wondering when the display will start.
Around 9:45 or whenever the crew judges that the charcoal backdrop is sufficiently dark to allow the fireworks to be seen in sharpest relief, there is an enormously loud explosion to signal the start of the half hour display.
With a soft "shhhhooot!", comet trails leap off the coal mountain into the sky where they burst into sophisticated patterns of light and color. There are gentle ones that look like gold filigree as they shimmer down. Others are enormous asterisks that turn red, then green, then white as you watch their tips. (These are the ones you more typically see in the larger cities.) Some create miraculous shapes that are precise rings with one dot outside of them or a Saturn-like picture complete with planetary rings. Every year, there also seem to be new ones, innovative concoctions that make you gasp as you wonder how someone could figure out how to multistage a firework - and then make the ends look like actual star shapes. And at regular intervals, the company sets off ones that flash brightly just before a huge BOOM fills the sky.
There isn't any music that would show fancy mathematical calculations as things explode with the drum beats, and I actually prefer that. Nothing distracts from the colorful majesty of these engineering marvels. You can focus only on how interesting and amazing the fireworks are, and they deliver.
The timing is also superb. The crew sets off a few at the outset, one by one so that you can enjoy them in their full splendor. There are specifically designed orders of launch so that a shimmering gold backdrop comes behind a star-like explosion or two stars explode just offset from each other. And every five minutes or so, there is a rapid firing that shows off a whole postcard-picture at once and leaves the sky filled with smoke and the audience wondering if that's the big finale.
The finale itself is really something to behold. By this point, the coal mountain is glowing orange at the launch point, and a true fountain of smoke is climbing into the sky. The final launch is a series of specially timed and positioned fireworks that explode right over your head, some with spans of several hundred feet in the sky. Everything is perfectly placed and perfectly timed, and when the last sparks fade into the black, the entire town erupts in cheers and applause that can be heard way up on that mountain, a burst of appreciation for those who risked so much to create this beautiful testament to the hardy American spirit and the celebration of the Fourth.
~Hope
As you drive past the little coal sellers, you see a mountain on your left that upon closer look you notice is made of coal scraps. This 500-foot tall pile is the coal that was too sulfurous to be good for home use, and so it was set aside as it was mined. Too troublesome to be placed back in the bowels of the earth, it stands on top, a monument to the town's backbreaking labor.
The main street is dotted with parks of the type created in early 20th century America; little oases in the middle of a once-carriage driven road, they have a few trees and benches neatly placed for weary walkers. These patches of green along with the 1900s bank buildings that still reflect the once-prosperous architecture are the most elegant elements remaining in the town. They are nestled beside neon-signed nail salons and bars, autobody shops, and many boarded-up businesses that more accurately show the current state of the town. Many of the people residing there now are part of multi-generational welfare families who, when asked what they do for a living, will tell you, "I'm on disability." There are other folks who work an array of jobs that include highly educated occupations as well, but the main thrust of the economic ambiance remains one of poverty.
Even the houses seem a bit sad. Many are true centenarians, and you catch glimmers of a front porch culture that faded when television invaded our living rooms. The white paint on their facades is often besmirched with the black coal dust that still can permeate the air here. Yet, underneath their drooping exteriors, there is a sparkle of a happier time.
That sparkle takes shape and form and enters the streets twice a year. Once is Christmas when the smallest and saddest houses are often the most transformed. The folks who live there take great pride in pulling out all the stops with myriad Christmas decorations. The other time is the Fourth of July.
This little town, this area that seems to be in a permanent recession, puts on the greatest fireworks display that I have ever seen. That includes Boston, New York, and Washington D.C.
Every year that this town can scrape together enough funds to hold it, the firefighters climb up on that mountain of discarded coal and shoot off a truly impressive display. They never do it halfway. If the funds aren't there, they don't hold it at all. But if they manage to raise what must be $50,000 or more, they blow it all up in a truly spectacular celebration of our nation's independence.
As you drive into town on that night, you pass cars lined up for several miles along the sides of the road. People are already parked and pulling lawn chairs out of their trunks in the hopes of securing their favorite viewing spot. Just before you hit the main street, traffic slows and two firemen holding a giant trashcan greet you. "Care to donate to the fireworks?" they ask you, and you can't resist dropping in some cash in the hopes that your contribution just might enable next year's display.
My family parks in the lot of an old gas station with a clear view of the coal mountain. We usually happily grab the last spot in the place and then walk the five blocks or so to the eateries. Two women in their 60s run the Coney Island hot dog stand, which is a cramped little diner that looks like it's been there for a century. The women operate with the kind of automatic efficiency that is built over thousands of hours of doing the same thing. You can pick up your chili-and-onion-covered hot dog and chow down alongside other loyal patrons. My mom usually skips this part, choosing instead to save room for the homemade ice cream place just up the street. There, a double dip is $2.25, and plastic-topped cans are placed on the counter collecting tips for the workers and - what else - donations for next year's fireworks.
As you walk back the main street, you pass clusters of people delightedly kibbitzing as they sit in their lawn chairs in the small parks, all facing the coal mountain. They watch their kids run around and set off small fireworks or play with sparklers and snappers - gunpowder-filled paper twists that explode with a pop and an occasional spark when they hit the ground.
Meanwhile, houses all around the area are setting off their own fireworks. Some are so sophisticated that you wonder if the real display has started yet. But, no, it's just people showing off for the gathered crowds. You always see a daredevil stunt or two, like people standing on a rooftop and tossing a lit explosive off to the ground where it does a reverse firework and blows up with a bang. The laughter that ensues from the lucky folks who set the thing off is a mixture of giddy relief and an adrenaline rush. It's the same sound you hear when people come off a particularly fine roller coaster in an amusement park - the "Thank-God-I'm-alive-but-let's-do-it-again" giggles.
Keep walking, and you'll pass the soda machine that boasts the Nascar celebrity holding out a Coca-Cola bottle to tempt you. Everyone in this town will know who he is.
One abandoned gas station with the sign still up from the 1960s and a couple darkened buildings later, and you'll be back at the lawn chairs in the gas station parking lot, staring up at the darkening sky and wondering when the display will start.
Around 9:45 or whenever the crew judges that the charcoal backdrop is sufficiently dark to allow the fireworks to be seen in sharpest relief, there is an enormously loud explosion to signal the start of the half hour display.
With a soft "shhhhooot!", comet trails leap off the coal mountain into the sky where they burst into sophisticated patterns of light and color. There are gentle ones that look like gold filigree as they shimmer down. Others are enormous asterisks that turn red, then green, then white as you watch their tips. (These are the ones you more typically see in the larger cities.) Some create miraculous shapes that are precise rings with one dot outside of them or a Saturn-like picture complete with planetary rings. Every year, there also seem to be new ones, innovative concoctions that make you gasp as you wonder how someone could figure out how to multistage a firework - and then make the ends look like actual star shapes. And at regular intervals, the company sets off ones that flash brightly just before a huge BOOM fills the sky.
There isn't any music that would show fancy mathematical calculations as things explode with the drum beats, and I actually prefer that. Nothing distracts from the colorful majesty of these engineering marvels. You can focus only on how interesting and amazing the fireworks are, and they deliver.
The timing is also superb. The crew sets off a few at the outset, one by one so that you can enjoy them in their full splendor. There are specifically designed orders of launch so that a shimmering gold backdrop comes behind a star-like explosion or two stars explode just offset from each other. And every five minutes or so, there is a rapid firing that shows off a whole postcard-picture at once and leaves the sky filled with smoke and the audience wondering if that's the big finale.
The finale itself is really something to behold. By this point, the coal mountain is glowing orange at the launch point, and a true fountain of smoke is climbing into the sky. The final launch is a series of specially timed and positioned fireworks that explode right over your head, some with spans of several hundred feet in the sky. Everything is perfectly placed and perfectly timed, and when the last sparks fade into the black, the entire town erupts in cheers and applause that can be heard way up on that mountain, a burst of appreciation for those who risked so much to create this beautiful testament to the hardy American spirit and the celebration of the Fourth.
~Hope
Saturday, June 5, 2010
Moving forward
Well, the recital came and went, as did my last academic paper ever. Graduation popped up a couple weeks ago, and all too soon it was time to close up my now-empty apartment. My wonderful parents have been storing everything in their house from the many moves that have come before and including this one, and I'm now in the midst of sorting through everything. It is an odd and at times overwhelming task, but it's cathartic in its own way.
What's not so cathartic is the job search. I'm still in the midst of it. Two very different entities were ready to offer me positions when each company separately had financial issues and either canceled the position or closed up shop entirely. I'm wrestling with notions of how to find what will be fulfilling and whether that's even possible in the current climate and with my impending student loan payments. It's hard to know what to trade off and when.
So we'll see. Some days, I think I should just call the government and negotiate an unemployment deferment on the loans, put out a hat and stand on the beach and busk. I don't need to eat much - peanut butter sandwiches and carrots should cover me. I think I still have an old stash of multivitamins that should carry me through for a little while.
In the meantime, various family obligations are keeping me busy, as is the multitude of boxes and papers. Time to dive back into the cardboard mountain!
~Hope
What's not so cathartic is the job search. I'm still in the midst of it. Two very different entities were ready to offer me positions when each company separately had financial issues and either canceled the position or closed up shop entirely. I'm wrestling with notions of how to find what will be fulfilling and whether that's even possible in the current climate and with my impending student loan payments. It's hard to know what to trade off and when.
So we'll see. Some days, I think I should just call the government and negotiate an unemployment deferment on the loans, put out a hat and stand on the beach and busk. I don't need to eat much - peanut butter sandwiches and carrots should cover me. I think I still have an old stash of multivitamins that should carry me through for a little while.
In the meantime, various family obligations are keeping me busy, as is the multitude of boxes and papers. Time to dive back into the cardboard mountain!
~Hope
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