After an odd and, frankly, frightening bout of fever and chills last night, I took a sick day today from work and devoted myself to the task of getting better. For those who don't personally know me it's hard to communicate just how extraordinary this is. My mother recently reminded me that I insisted on getting my wisdom teeth out at the beginning of February vacation week so I wouldn't miss any school. My first year at my current job I had a wracking cough for six weeks and didn't take a day off. If I counted all the sick days I have taken since kindergarten, they might number a dozen.
No one is a workhorse without some sort of pathology. We're avoiding something else, we're convinced no one else can do it right, we are unrecovered oldest children. We are hung up on being needed. In a few weeks I will leave my position as PR director of Boston Opera Collaborative after a total of four years on the leadership team. Two years ago I finished my term as President and left the office in the more-than-capable hands of a colleague and dear friend, and I will leave this directorship to an equally extraordinary woman. I need the time, and the organization needs fresh blood and fresh ideas, but it is so hard to walk away.
When I decided not to run for a second term as President I was willing myself into humility. I needed to say "this will go on with out me" and I needed to mean it. That I was dragooned into another leadership position (an experience for which, despite initial reluctance, I am grateful) mitigated the withdrawal symptoms.
Graveyards are full of indispensable people. Of all the maxims that roll around inside my head, that may be the one I need to hear most. Everything will go on without me. Everything will go on if I am not in charge of everything, if I don't always have my way. When I realize that I am "nothing special" I can be overwhelmed with the grace of knowing I am everything special, that my specialness doesn't come from doing what no one else can do but from the uniqueness of my Creation. I have already been loved into being. Running the world won't improve on that.
So this morning, when I woke at 5:00 am shivering and sweating, I got out of bed, emailed everyone to say I wasn't coming in, sent enough guidance to people filling in for me, and lay down again. Everything would go on without me. I could rest without disappointing anyone and without ceding my power. Life went on while I slept: a reality I can finally accept.
Showing posts with label BOC. Show all posts
Showing posts with label BOC. Show all posts
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
Friday, August 20, 2010
Where I am, What I miss
I haven't posted much this week, mostly because I hate writing those "today I got up. Then I walked to the window. Then I ate a sandwich" play-by-play posts. We have been working so hard here and been so busy that I haven't had time for any of the Deep Thoughts that I take such pride in sharing on my blog.
In lieu of Deep Thoughts there has been plenty of Little Advances and Hard Work, which is why I am here. Masterclasses and coachings have kept us busy, and I have learned so much from watching my colleagues on stage. We sang a truly lovely concert in a botanic garden a few days ago. The setting was so beautiful it made up for all the challenges of singing outside.
In lieu of Deep Thoughts there has been plenty of Little Advances and Hard Work, which is why I am here. Masterclasses and coachings have kept us busy, and I have learned so much from watching my colleagues on stage. We sang a truly lovely concert in a botanic garden a few days ago. The setting was so beautiful it made up for all the challenges of singing outside.
Last night was the mainstage production of Carmen. We had guest artists singing principal roles who had also been the faculty this week, and all of the Young Artists sang in the chorus. Having just done the show a year ago with BOC, I really enjoyed spending more time with the score and the drama. The orchestra was rip-roaring, the principals were to die for, and the audience was thrilled.
There is something nice about getting out of the big cities. Last fall and winter I did a few gigs up in New Hampshire, and it was a completely different world. Everyone was so friendly, our venues fed us, and people said things like "you have the most beautiful voice I've ever heard!" You just don't find that audience warmth in the big cities.
Speaking of big cities I just walked away from my computer and left it unattended. Apparently in Colorado people don't steal things, which has been another bit of culture shock. When I wrote my earlier post entitled "all the doors are unlocked" I didn't realize how much of a theme that would be here.
Despite all its charms, I am ready to leave the middle of the country and head back to my beloved coast. In a few days I will fly out back to the land of fast walkers, rude drivers and blunt neighbors. Steamboat is charming and kind and picturesque, but I will take real over picturesque any day. I am glad there are people who cherish this place the same way that I cherish New England, whose 'real' doesn't include a gritty neighborhood and a can lady, or a Podunk hometown.
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| What I miss |
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
Day 2: The day I discovered that there are poorly attended concerts all over the country.
I couldn't help but think of my dear BOCers last night when we held an aria concert at the library and the performers outnumbered the singers. I have performed in (and, I add sheepishly, been responsible for promoting) a handful of poorly attended concerts. We set the date, and rehearse, and invite our friends and fans, and then...no one shows up. I can think of at least three BOC concerts that followed that trajectory, and I'm glad that I surround myself with people who can still put on a good show and laugh at how few people are in the audience.
Hearing all of these standard arias from my new colleagues always makes me think of the voices I know best which I have heard sing those arias before. Because I didn't go to music school for undergrad I never really had singer friends, and even when I was at conservatory I kept a lot of people at arms' length. But after 4 years of singing with many of the same people, getting to know their voices and their stories, some of my dearest friends are other opera singers. Even as I make new opera friends, I am still a little territorial on my old friends' behalf, jealously wanting to guard their signature arias from other people.
After the concert we planned some leisure time, so I offered to buy some wine if someone could drive me to the package store. My use of the New England colloquialism was met with blank stares, and someone asked "why would you need to buy boxes?" Once I translated into standard English and was driven to the store, I was relieved to hear that the clerk was from New Hampshire and had family in Boston. All tricked out in my concert dress and prom hair I must have been a sight. He offered a discount if I sang for him and I politely declined.
I couldn't help but think of my dear BOCers last night when we held an aria concert at the library and the performers outnumbered the singers. I have performed in (and, I add sheepishly, been responsible for promoting) a handful of poorly attended concerts. We set the date, and rehearse, and invite our friends and fans, and then...no one shows up. I can think of at least three BOC concerts that followed that trajectory, and I'm glad that I surround myself with people who can still put on a good show and laugh at how few people are in the audience.
Hearing all of these standard arias from my new colleagues always makes me think of the voices I know best which I have heard sing those arias before. Because I didn't go to music school for undergrad I never really had singer friends, and even when I was at conservatory I kept a lot of people at arms' length. But after 4 years of singing with many of the same people, getting to know their voices and their stories, some of my dearest friends are other opera singers. Even as I make new opera friends, I am still a little territorial on my old friends' behalf, jealously wanting to guard their signature arias from other people.
After the concert we planned some leisure time, so I offered to buy some wine if someone could drive me to the package store. My use of the New England colloquialism was met with blank stares, and someone asked "why would you need to buy boxes?" Once I translated into standard English and was driven to the store, I was relieved to hear that the clerk was from New Hampshire and had family in Boston. All tricked out in my concert dress and prom hair I must have been a sight. He offered a discount if I sang for him and I politely declined.
Monday, November 23, 2009
Dreams and agreements
It wasn’t until I was all alone in the dressing room that I started to cry.
What can I say? I’m a weeper, and I knew there was no way that I was going to make it through the end of The Crucible without one of my trademark emotional moments. Most of the emotion was relief: that our gamble of six performances had paid off, that we had put together an artistic product that was powerful and meaningful, that I had learned all of the notes.
How fortunate I am to live my dreams. Making art with people I love is a dream for me (as Willie Nelson said, “the life I love is making music with my friends” – truer words were never sung). Most of my dreams are things I don’t recognize until they have come true. When I started at grad school I wasn’t thinking to myself “I hope I make a life-long friend at orientation. I hope she starts a small opera collaborative and I get roped into it despite initial skepticism. Then I hope that I am asked to be president of that group, work tirelessly with other musicians to keep it running, develop my skills as I learn a few roles, and transition into PR. Finally, I hope that 4 years from now I am standing on the altar in a huge Boston church wearing whiteface and faking demonic possession.”
But all those things happened and it has become a dream for me, even when it has been a nightmare. And although as I look forward in my life there are things I would like to see, I don’t dare hang my hat on those plans because what comes my way tends to be more life-giving than anything I can imagine on my own. What has served me well so far is to get up every morning excited to face the day, and to say yes to as much as I can.
My dream and hope is in that ‘yes’ – to learning a new instrument, to joining a new group, to taking on a new project, to coffee with a new friend. “Yes” is my agreement every day to live in communion with and service to other people. “Yes” is my affirmation that all things can be new, that I can change as the tides do rather than splashing futiley against them. “Yes” is when I throw my lot in with everyone else: yes I will help you. Yes I will join you. Yes I will contribute.
There are times when the only way to affirm our own needs is to say no – or what looks like no on the surface. Likewise there are times that my will does what my heart would not, and “no” issues from my lips in response to a question or action that has at its root a question like “can you help me? Do you care for me? Are you in solidarity with me?” Those moments shame me.
Can you learn this role in a week? Can you send a resume over for this position? Can you plan a prayer service for us? Do you want to join a new opera collaborative? These are the questions that I hear, to which I answer yes. Maybe these questions are a disguise for the bigger questions. Are you alive? Can you change? Are you ready to put your money where your mouth is? Yes.
What can I say? I’m a weeper, and I knew there was no way that I was going to make it through the end of The Crucible without one of my trademark emotional moments. Most of the emotion was relief: that our gamble of six performances had paid off, that we had put together an artistic product that was powerful and meaningful, that I had learned all of the notes.
How fortunate I am to live my dreams. Making art with people I love is a dream for me (as Willie Nelson said, “the life I love is making music with my friends” – truer words were never sung). Most of my dreams are things I don’t recognize until they have come true. When I started at grad school I wasn’t thinking to myself “I hope I make a life-long friend at orientation. I hope she starts a small opera collaborative and I get roped into it despite initial skepticism. Then I hope that I am asked to be president of that group, work tirelessly with other musicians to keep it running, develop my skills as I learn a few roles, and transition into PR. Finally, I hope that 4 years from now I am standing on the altar in a huge Boston church wearing whiteface and faking demonic possession.”
But all those things happened and it has become a dream for me, even when it has been a nightmare. And although as I look forward in my life there are things I would like to see, I don’t dare hang my hat on those plans because what comes my way tends to be more life-giving than anything I can imagine on my own. What has served me well so far is to get up every morning excited to face the day, and to say yes to as much as I can.
My dream and hope is in that ‘yes’ – to learning a new instrument, to joining a new group, to taking on a new project, to coffee with a new friend. “Yes” is my agreement every day to live in communion with and service to other people. “Yes” is my affirmation that all things can be new, that I can change as the tides do rather than splashing futiley against them. “Yes” is when I throw my lot in with everyone else: yes I will help you. Yes I will join you. Yes I will contribute.
There are times when the only way to affirm our own needs is to say no – or what looks like no on the surface. Likewise there are times that my will does what my heart would not, and “no” issues from my lips in response to a question or action that has at its root a question like “can you help me? Do you care for me? Are you in solidarity with me?” Those moments shame me.
Can you learn this role in a week? Can you send a resume over for this position? Can you plan a prayer service for us? Do you want to join a new opera collaborative? These are the questions that I hear, to which I answer yes. Maybe these questions are a disguise for the bigger questions. Are you alive? Can you change? Are you ready to put your money where your mouth is? Yes.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Time apart
Last night in class we were encouraged to think about when and where we take time to rest. I had had a hectic afternoon. The reviews of our latest opera had been posted at 3:00 pm, and it was my task to distribute the information via email and online postings. I needed to be in Cambridge at 4:00 pm, my computer kept freezing, and everyone wanted to virtually chat and celebrate our reviews while I scrambled to get the info up. When asked later in class about taking quiet time, one of the situations that appeared when I was imagining my rest was “any time my computer is off”.
I've got a lot of irons in the fire, a lot of people I try to stay in touch with and a lot of people who rely on my to stay on top of certain tasks. Choirs need to know call times, students need homework posted, BOC needs the website kept up to date. If I make a mistake, a need to respond to a dozen emails sent to point it out. Then there's the fun stuff: twitter, facebook, my website, this blog.
I take on responsibilities because I care about people. I want to be around people, to collaborate with them, to serve them. But when I am trying to balance virtual contact with too many people I lose sight of persons, and the love I feel for the unique individuals right in front of me. I am reminded that I want to be hyper-involved by the times that I am not, when I have trimmed the distractions to a reasonable amount, or eliminated them completely.
I grew up in what I like to call “the house that technology forgot”. You can still hear a busy signal if you call there (remember the days of taking the phone off the hook?) and the dial-up internet can only handle one thing at a time (and some things it simply can’t handle). From my childhood, I’m used to that sort of isolation. I have a laptop at work that I only bring home on weekends because I don’t want the distraction of a million tasks every evening. If you want an easy way to get to bed early, hide your computer.
I used to get off on the thrill of non-stop productivity, but that thrill has passed. If mental health is built on the balance of introversion and extroversion, then I need to be unreachable for a while to preserve my sanity. If someone really needs me they can call – but if it’s after 9:00 pm, my ringer will be off.
I've got a lot of irons in the fire, a lot of people I try to stay in touch with and a lot of people who rely on my to stay on top of certain tasks. Choirs need to know call times, students need homework posted, BOC needs the website kept up to date. If I make a mistake, a need to respond to a dozen emails sent to point it out. Then there's the fun stuff: twitter, facebook, my website, this blog.
I take on responsibilities because I care about people. I want to be around people, to collaborate with them, to serve them. But when I am trying to balance virtual contact with too many people I lose sight of persons, and the love I feel for the unique individuals right in front of me. I am reminded that I want to be hyper-involved by the times that I am not, when I have trimmed the distractions to a reasonable amount, or eliminated them completely.
I grew up in what I like to call “the house that technology forgot”. You can still hear a busy signal if you call there (remember the days of taking the phone off the hook?) and the dial-up internet can only handle one thing at a time (and some things it simply can’t handle). From my childhood, I’m used to that sort of isolation. I have a laptop at work that I only bring home on weekends because I don’t want the distraction of a million tasks every evening. If you want an easy way to get to bed early, hide your computer.
I used to get off on the thrill of non-stop productivity, but that thrill has passed. If mental health is built on the balance of introversion and extroversion, then I need to be unreachable for a while to preserve my sanity. If someone really needs me they can call – but if it’s after 9:00 pm, my ringer will be off.
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Here and but the Beholder Wanting
I just found this from about two years ago, before my days of blogging when I used to simply bore BOC-ers with my ramblings in the membership newsletter. Although this was my 'message from the President' in the newsletter, there isn't much in it about opera. There's plenty about poetry and beauty and nature and music - a few of my favorite things.
"Summer ends now; now, barbarous in beauty…". So begins one of my favorite poems by one of my favorite poets. The poet is Gerard Manley Hopkins, whose work I would still love even if he hadn't been a Jesuit. The poem is Hurrahing in Harvest, which always inspires some appreciation for this transition between the seasons. I've never been a big fan of fall, often finding myself "grieving over Goldengrove unleaving" during the month of October, to quote another Hopkins poem addressed to a child with whom I share a name.
So it is good for me to be reminded of the barbarous beauty in this transition into the seriousness of winter from the summer frivolity which consumes cities like ours; cities doomed to months of dismal, short days and soggy, sloppy sidewalks. Hopkins, with his trademark sprung rhythm, describes fall's "silk-sack clouds", and "azurous hung hills" which are "very-violet-sweet!" In the final stanza Hopkins hits us with the punch line: "these things were here and but the beholder wanting".
How much beauty in our lives is just waiting for us to behold it? Who are the people we don't appreciate? What loveliness looks back at us from the mirror every day as our minds race along not noticing? How glorious is it to open our mouths and have beautiful sounds come out, to be able to run scales and match pitches and infuse words with new meaning through music? All of this can be easy to forget when we are in the practice room struggling with a phrase, convinced that all the beauty in the world and all the beauty in us just isn't enough.
Since I am teaching full-time this fall, I leave you all with an assignment: behold something beautiful this month. If you are lucky perhaps you will have the same experience as Hopkins' anonymous beholder: "The heart rears wings bold and bolder/and hurls for him, O half hurls earth for him off under his feet."
(For extra credit, go read some Hopkins.)
"Summer ends now; now, barbarous in beauty…". So begins one of my favorite poems by one of my favorite poets. The poet is Gerard Manley Hopkins, whose work I would still love even if he hadn't been a Jesuit. The poem is Hurrahing in Harvest, which always inspires some appreciation for this transition between the seasons. I've never been a big fan of fall, often finding myself "grieving over Goldengrove unleaving" during the month of October, to quote another Hopkins poem addressed to a child with whom I share a name.
So it is good for me to be reminded of the barbarous beauty in this transition into the seriousness of winter from the summer frivolity which consumes cities like ours; cities doomed to months of dismal, short days and soggy, sloppy sidewalks. Hopkins, with his trademark sprung rhythm, describes fall's "silk-sack clouds", and "azurous hung hills" which are "very-violet-sweet!" In the final stanza Hopkins hits us with the punch line: "these things were here and but the beholder wanting".
How much beauty in our lives is just waiting for us to behold it? Who are the people we don't appreciate? What loveliness looks back at us from the mirror every day as our minds race along not noticing? How glorious is it to open our mouths and have beautiful sounds come out, to be able to run scales and match pitches and infuse words with new meaning through music? All of this can be easy to forget when we are in the practice room struggling with a phrase, convinced that all the beauty in the world and all the beauty in us just isn't enough.
Since I am teaching full-time this fall, I leave you all with an assignment: behold something beautiful this month. If you are lucky perhaps you will have the same experience as Hopkins' anonymous beholder: "The heart rears wings bold and bolder/and hurls for him, O half hurls earth for him off under his feet."
(For extra credit, go read some Hopkins.)
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
The joy of ad sales
Because of my newly acquired free time, I am hawking a ton of ads for BOC's summer production of Carmen. Ad sales have always been one of the toughest things we've had to do, for the simple reason that no one likes to do it. Walking into an establishment, making a fast new friend, and convincing them that what we have to offer is just what they have always been looking for but never knew to seek out - this requires more than free time. It requires mental fortitude.
This season we are able to offer many of our sponsors a lot more than ever before. Cadenza: the Boston Opera Collaborative newsletter reaches over 900 subscribers, and we are expecting about 700 tickets sold for Carmen. Many of our packages this season include pre-performance exposure, so that we can offer our patrons information on restaurants, hotels and attractions near our performance venues.
With these new offers in place, sales have been a little easier this go-round, but it should go on the record that it is still not a lot of fun. I wonder if some people imagine that I like doing the things that no one else wants to do (such as when I have had to talk to people about deodorant at rehearsals). I'm willing to take one for the team, but I can think of things I'd rather be doing.
That said, want to purchase an ad in the program?
This season we are able to offer many of our sponsors a lot more than ever before. Cadenza: the Boston Opera Collaborative newsletter reaches over 900 subscribers, and we are expecting about 700 tickets sold for Carmen. Many of our packages this season include pre-performance exposure, so that we can offer our patrons information on restaurants, hotels and attractions near our performance venues.
With these new offers in place, sales have been a little easier this go-round, but it should go on the record that it is still not a lot of fun. I wonder if some people imagine that I like doing the things that no one else wants to do (such as when I have had to talk to people about deodorant at rehearsals). I'm willing to take one for the team, but I can think of things I'd rather be doing.
That said, want to purchase an ad in the program?
Friday, April 17, 2009
Tonight is the night!
Get yourself to Boston Opera Collaborative's 2nd Annual Gala at the Dante Alighieri Center in Cambridge! Tickets are still available for the second half of the evening: Dessert, Coffee, and Rossini's La Cambiale di Matrimonio.
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
Thursday, February 19, 2009
TV Coverage of a January Gig
BOC members sang a wonderful event at the Dante Alighieri Center during January entitled "Stelle dell'Anno Nuovo". There was some international news coverage of the event that has made it to the air. I'm sure there's an easier way to embed this video but of course I can't figure it out. Here are the steps to watch it:
Go to www.international.rai.it
Over the the right, find the link for "Italia chiama Italia". Click
Then select "La puntata di 16 Febbraio"
Then jump to about minute 16:30.
THEN enjoy.
Go to www.international.rai.it
Over the the right, find the link for "Italia chiama Italia". Click
Then select "La puntata di 16 Febbraio"
Then jump to about minute 16:30.
THEN enjoy.
Saturday, February 14, 2009
What kind of a day has it been?
It was 7pm on a Friday, and my sparkly stilettos were on the floor of an art school bathroom as I tried to scrub bandage residue off my ankles. How does someone get to this point, you might ask? Let's rewind.
Yesterday was community service day at work so I got in very early to take care of some deskwork before I had to be out for the day. In came in to an email from a BOC friend that she had a family emergency and wouldn't be at Alcina that evening. I took a few minutes to chat with her, send a few emails making sure everything was taken care of for Alcina, and calm my stupid emotions because I get all turbulent whenever I hear sad news from any of my friends.
We set off for our service opportunity around 9 and arrived at the senior center not long after that. The idea of the service day was to give the students a chance to engage in "ministry of presence" as we call it, just being with the clients of these agencies and keeping them company. Groups went to different elder care agencies all over the city. Most agencies have a volunteer coordinator or activities director, and when we arrived ours was nowhere to be found. The woman at the front desk seemed somewhat annoyed to see us, and I explained who we were and why we were there as I watched the bus pull away.
Without going into too much more detail, I will give you the extent of our interaction with the activities director: She got there late, asked me to introduce our group to the agencies clients, and then disappeared for 3 hours. NOT HELPFUL.
We survived the morning with a few awkward moments, and of course my guys were great. We got back to the school around 12:50 completely famished (I'm used to eating lunch at 11 am!) and there had been a communication error and there was no food.
Anyone who works in ministry knows as food goes, so goes the day, and luckily we managed to pull together a popcorn chicken situation which didn't help me very much but was good for everyone else. I had a half a plate of rice and a bag of chips in hopes that would fill me up a bit.
The rest of the day was a daze because I was a. tired from the morning and b. still famished. You know that feeling when you come down with something really quickly and you go from fine to sick in about 10 minutes? Those 10 minutes were from 1:35-1:45. I left work as soon as I could and stopped at Au Bon Pain on the way home to buy a ton of food. I went home, put on sweats, ate 3 meals worth of ABP, and started getting caught up on 30 Rock.
But there was a problem: I had been asked to speak at Alcina in the place of the woman who couldn't be there that night. So I was exhausted and felt like junk, my hair looked terrible and I had nothing to wear. The hair went up in rollers and I started rifling through the closet for a dress that I hadn't already work 100 times for BOC stuff. I chopped my ankles up with the razor (hence the bandage residue) and hoped that tons of eyeliner would distract people from the fact that I was not quite in the shape I should be to wear the dress I did.
I'll tell you the truth, when my term as president ended a few weeks ago, I was excited to not feel on display at productions anymore. I could wear what I wanted, come and go as I pleased, and no one would recognize me from curtain speeches. Last night I had to take one for the team, trying to make myself presentable at the last minute and pulling a dress from the archives to engage in what I always considered the president's most important task: Telling audience members where the bathrooms are.
Yesterday was community service day at work so I got in very early to take care of some deskwork before I had to be out for the day. In came in to an email from a BOC friend that she had a family emergency and wouldn't be at Alcina that evening. I took a few minutes to chat with her, send a few emails making sure everything was taken care of for Alcina, and calm my stupid emotions because I get all turbulent whenever I hear sad news from any of my friends.
We set off for our service opportunity around 9 and arrived at the senior center not long after that. The idea of the service day was to give the students a chance to engage in "ministry of presence" as we call it, just being with the clients of these agencies and keeping them company. Groups went to different elder care agencies all over the city. Most agencies have a volunteer coordinator or activities director, and when we arrived ours was nowhere to be found. The woman at the front desk seemed somewhat annoyed to see us, and I explained who we were and why we were there as I watched the bus pull away.
Without going into too much more detail, I will give you the extent of our interaction with the activities director: She got there late, asked me to introduce our group to the agencies clients, and then disappeared for 3 hours. NOT HELPFUL.
We survived the morning with a few awkward moments, and of course my guys were great. We got back to the school around 12:50 completely famished (I'm used to eating lunch at 11 am!) and there had been a communication error and there was no food.
Anyone who works in ministry knows as food goes, so goes the day, and luckily we managed to pull together a popcorn chicken situation which didn't help me very much but was good for everyone else. I had a half a plate of rice and a bag of chips in hopes that would fill me up a bit.
The rest of the day was a daze because I was a. tired from the morning and b. still famished. You know that feeling when you come down with something really quickly and you go from fine to sick in about 10 minutes? Those 10 minutes were from 1:35-1:45. I left work as soon as I could and stopped at Au Bon Pain on the way home to buy a ton of food. I went home, put on sweats, ate 3 meals worth of ABP, and started getting caught up on 30 Rock.
But there was a problem: I had been asked to speak at Alcina in the place of the woman who couldn't be there that night. So I was exhausted and felt like junk, my hair looked terrible and I had nothing to wear. The hair went up in rollers and I started rifling through the closet for a dress that I hadn't already work 100 times for BOC stuff. I chopped my ankles up with the razor (hence the bandage residue) and hoped that tons of eyeliner would distract people from the fact that I was not quite in the shape I should be to wear the dress I did.
I'll tell you the truth, when my term as president ended a few weeks ago, I was excited to not feel on display at productions anymore. I could wear what I wanted, come and go as I pleased, and no one would recognize me from curtain speeches. Last night I had to take one for the team, trying to make myself presentable at the last minute and pulling a dress from the archives to engage in what I always considered the president's most important task: Telling audience members where the bathrooms are.
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Opera and Catholicism (my two favorite things!)
We interrupt the NOLA recap for two important announcements.
1. Alcina opens tonight. Go see it.
2. This news item raised my blood pressure before 7 am:
Catholic symbols stir diverse feelings at BC
First, I doubt that the reactions were as varied as the media wants them to be. BC is a Catholic school, and most people get that. I'm always amazed at how people can miss the forest for the trees on things like this. The school's Catholic identity is part of the mission statement, and people are getting their knickers in a bunch over crucifixes? If a professor really thinks that Catholicism is so contrary to the spirit of intellectual inquiry, why did they agree to do their intellectual inquiry at Boston College in the first place?
As a Catholic I have often found that people want to call me out on things like the Crusades and Galileo. And we're the narrow ones? The time that Catholicism spent in the fortress is unfortunate indeed, but it doesn't tell the whole story. The idea that Catholicism is incompatible with scholarship has been steadily disproven throughout the ages. I'd like to put some of these disgruntled professors in a room with Alcuin, Jerome, Thomas Aquinas, and the director of the Vatican Observatory and see who the serious scholars are then.
I will admit, that ugly new Ignatius statue outside Higgins? That is offensive.
Edited to add this quote from a friend: And when a mosaic of Dorothy Day is a problem for you, you don't know what's going on.
1. Alcina opens tonight. Go see it.
2. This news item raised my blood pressure before 7 am:
Catholic symbols stir diverse feelings at BC
First, I doubt that the reactions were as varied as the media wants them to be. BC is a Catholic school, and most people get that. I'm always amazed at how people can miss the forest for the trees on things like this. The school's Catholic identity is part of the mission statement, and people are getting their knickers in a bunch over crucifixes? If a professor really thinks that Catholicism is so contrary to the spirit of intellectual inquiry, why did they agree to do their intellectual inquiry at Boston College in the first place?
As a Catholic I have often found that people want to call me out on things like the Crusades and Galileo. And we're the narrow ones? The time that Catholicism spent in the fortress is unfortunate indeed, but it doesn't tell the whole story. The idea that Catholicism is incompatible with scholarship has been steadily disproven throughout the ages. I'd like to put some of these disgruntled professors in a room with Alcuin, Jerome, Thomas Aquinas, and the director of the Vatican Observatory and see who the serious scholars are then.
I will admit, that ugly new Ignatius statue outside Higgins? That is offensive.
Edited to add this quote from a friend: And when a mosaic of Dorothy Day is a problem for you, you don't know what's going on.
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
My double life, part 2
I wish I could say that my posting hiatus is due to making good on my resolution, and that I have been so busy seeing friends that I haven't posted, but that is not the case.
In about ten days my two year term as President of BOC ends, and I have been spending a lot of time working on the transition. I was asked to stay on the Leadership Team as the Public Relations Chair, and PR preparations for our upcoming show (Alcina, February 12-15!) have had me very busy.
My email inbox is bustling with emails about ticket sales, coupon codes, press releases, program ads, etc. Amid the flood of emails this morning I found one that made me sigh a little bit with longing: Call for Submissions: Journal of Inter-Religious Dialogue.
Yes, I am odd for being so moved by that. But occasionally I think about what my life would be like if I didn't sing, if I hadn't had to choose a lifestyle that gives me the freedom to take gigs and lessons and be a part of the artistic culture. I would probably have a PhD in Theology, maybe Scripture in particular. I would have spent years in the library: writing, researching, learning. I love the world of academia, and I surely still have a foot there, but there are a lot of 'worlds' I dabble in, and I'm running out of feet.
I know that lifestyle would be just as taxing as any other, but one thing that makes it really attractive: You don't have to exhaust yourself tiptoeing around the feelings of oversensitive sopranos when it's just you and the New Testament Abstracts.
My third love, besides theology and singing: Municipal government. Commentary on the State of the City to follow!
In about ten days my two year term as President of BOC ends, and I have been spending a lot of time working on the transition. I was asked to stay on the Leadership Team as the Public Relations Chair, and PR preparations for our upcoming show (Alcina, February 12-15!) have had me very busy.
My email inbox is bustling with emails about ticket sales, coupon codes, press releases, program ads, etc. Amid the flood of emails this morning I found one that made me sigh a little bit with longing: Call for Submissions: Journal of Inter-Religious Dialogue.
Yes, I am odd for being so moved by that. But occasionally I think about what my life would be like if I didn't sing, if I hadn't had to choose a lifestyle that gives me the freedom to take gigs and lessons and be a part of the artistic culture. I would probably have a PhD in Theology, maybe Scripture in particular. I would have spent years in the library: writing, researching, learning. I love the world of academia, and I surely still have a foot there, but there are a lot of 'worlds' I dabble in, and I'm running out of feet.
I know that lifestyle would be just as taxing as any other, but one thing that makes it really attractive: You don't have to exhaust yourself tiptoeing around the feelings of oversensitive sopranos when it's just you and the New Testament Abstracts.
My third love, besides theology and singing: Municipal government. Commentary on the State of the City to follow!
Thursday, December 11, 2008
My double life
Last night I heard auditions for BOC all night, but I had to hide my hands from everyone because they were covered in dye from making a gingerbread Nativity in the morning.
Friday, November 21, 2008
on a lighter note...
after two weepily emo posts in a row, let's switch gears a bit.
I am trying to decide when to leave town for CT. When do you think traffic will be least bad getting out of the city?
a. Tuesday evening at 7pm
b. Wednesday morning at 8am
c. Wednesday morning at 10am
In other news, BOC is planning another event with the Italian Consulate, and the Consul and I have been corresponding about the details. I try to do most of our correspondence in Italian (because I think he gets tired of English all the time, and for my own benefit) only switching into English when I am concerned I won't be clear or won't understand something.
Writing in Italian is something I become less neurotic about with time (and with frequency - sometimes I'm too rushed to check my conjugations 8 times). I just hastily hit send on an email that probably contained a dozen mistakes.
I am trying to decide when to leave town for CT. When do you think traffic will be least bad getting out of the city?
a. Tuesday evening at 7pm
b. Wednesday morning at 8am
c. Wednesday morning at 10am
In other news, BOC is planning another event with the Italian Consulate, and the Consul and I have been corresponding about the details. I try to do most of our correspondence in Italian (because I think he gets tired of English all the time, and for my own benefit) only switching into English when I am concerned I won't be clear or won't understand something.
Writing in Italian is something I become less neurotic about with time (and with frequency - sometimes I'm too rushed to check my conjugations 8 times). I just hastily hit send on an email that probably contained a dozen mistakes.
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Goal setting and listening to the promptings of the Spirit
Now that this has been 'published' in the BOC newsletter I feel like I can share it here too. This is my way of letting you in on some of the recent musings that I don't anticipate having time to type out this week. Sorry if I am selling my cabbage twice.
Where do you see yourself in 5 years? The gravity of that question can be terrifying, and it's a question that has always baffled me and to which I rarely have a good answer. At the risk of sounding aimless, I will admit that I am not much of a goal setter. I have never attached myself to a particular vision of what my future would look like, instead trying to live with integrity every day and be guided by my principles as I navigate my path.
Of course my life plan always included a few major goals ("I would like to go to college", "I would like to not be homeless", "I would like to stay in close contact with my family"), but like many people I find that the best things in my life are the results of incidents I could never have planned. Response to the world around me, rather than driving initiative, is what led me to Americorps, to BOC, to the Board of Directors, to most of this life which in retrospect seems inevitable. It can be difficult, though, not to feel shiftless for not having a plan in place for the rest of my life.
Planning – or not – for the future can be a tough balancing act, and its one that BOC is going to struggle with as we continue to grow and move into our post-fledgling stage. How do we maintain direction while also being open to serendipity? How do we keep from being so locked into goals (which doubtless need to be set) that we can't respond to our environment and to each other? I have great trust in the membership of BOC that we will move forward guided by a mission of lifting up our colleagues and by the values which brought us all together. If any group can meet this challenge, it's us.
Where do you see yourself in 5 years? The gravity of that question can be terrifying, and it's a question that has always baffled me and to which I rarely have a good answer. At the risk of sounding aimless, I will admit that I am not much of a goal setter. I have never attached myself to a particular vision of what my future would look like, instead trying to live with integrity every day and be guided by my principles as I navigate my path.
Of course my life plan always included a few major goals ("I would like to go to college", "I would like to not be homeless", "I would like to stay in close contact with my family"), but like many people I find that the best things in my life are the results of incidents I could never have planned. Response to the world around me, rather than driving initiative, is what led me to Americorps, to BOC, to the Board of Directors, to most of this life which in retrospect seems inevitable. It can be difficult, though, not to feel shiftless for not having a plan in place for the rest of my life.
Planning – or not – for the future can be a tough balancing act, and its one that BOC is going to struggle with as we continue to grow and move into our post-fledgling stage. How do we maintain direction while also being open to serendipity? How do we keep from being so locked into goals (which doubtless need to be set) that we can't respond to our environment and to each other? I have great trust in the membership of BOC that we will move forward guided by a mission of lifting up our colleagues and by the values which brought us all together. If any group can meet this challenge, it's us.
Friday, October 24, 2008
still looking for something to do this weekend?
Tickets are still available for the Saturday night performance of Gianni Schicchi and Suor Angelica. I sing Saturday, but if you can't make it then come tonight to see the other cast!
www.bostonoperacollaborative.org
www.bostonoperacollaborative.org
Friday, September 19, 2008
"By some chance, here we are, all on this earth"...notes on gratitude
Last week in Godschool our teacher modeled a particular pedagogical method by doing a lesson on gratitude. She made a very interesting point: that part of gratitude is living in the moment. I had never thought of it quite that way, but all my experience points in that direction. Although I am capable of being indescribably ungracious, I often find myself having my breath taken away by gratitude in spite of myself.
Despite what seems like my constant lamenting (usually for comic effect…but often to score cheap pity points), I do have a lot to be grateful for. Excuse me, ‘for which to be grateful’. My family is healthy and fun and we all get along. I have considerable musical skills. I was able to get into a good college and then get a great job. I live in an apartment by myself in a wonderful city. I go running in the morning and watch the sunrise over the water, which is pretty darn gorgeous.
I have always suspected that my family is as good at receiving gifts as we are at getting them. That came out wrong – when we receive gifts that excite us we often go nuts and come about as close as you can to barfing up gratitude all over the floor. One year my brother got a fabulously fuzzy Red Sox blanket from some dear family members and he immediately tore it open, wrapped himself up in it, and lay down on the floor.
Last night at rehearsal for Schicchi we were rehearsing one of the lovely parts (Addio, Firenze… for those of you who are into this sort of thing). The lovely parts of Schicchi tend to sneak up on me. We will be expostulating and shrieking for ten pages and then sing some of the most beautiful, lyric lines imaginable. I was looking around the room (because this is one of the few spots I have memorized) and was absolutely bowled over with gratitude. So many of my best friends were in that room, and even the people who I wouldn’t consider best friends are wonderful colleagues who I have known so long that they are almost like family to me. We know each other in and out, have had marvelously good times together and have had knock-down, drag-out fights. By some sort of magic or Providence we were all brought together, and on a random Thursday night in Somerville we made something heavenly, together.
Despite what seems like my constant lamenting (usually for comic effect…but often to score cheap pity points), I do have a lot to be grateful for. Excuse me, ‘for which to be grateful’. My family is healthy and fun and we all get along. I have considerable musical skills. I was able to get into a good college and then get a great job. I live in an apartment by myself in a wonderful city. I go running in the morning and watch the sunrise over the water, which is pretty darn gorgeous.
I have always suspected that my family is as good at receiving gifts as we are at getting them. That came out wrong – when we receive gifts that excite us we often go nuts and come about as close as you can to barfing up gratitude all over the floor. One year my brother got a fabulously fuzzy Red Sox blanket from some dear family members and he immediately tore it open, wrapped himself up in it, and lay down on the floor.
Last night at rehearsal for Schicchi we were rehearsing one of the lovely parts (Addio, Firenze… for those of you who are into this sort of thing). The lovely parts of Schicchi tend to sneak up on me. We will be expostulating and shrieking for ten pages and then sing some of the most beautiful, lyric lines imaginable. I was looking around the room (because this is one of the few spots I have memorized) and was absolutely bowled over with gratitude. So many of my best friends were in that room, and even the people who I wouldn’t consider best friends are wonderful colleagues who I have known so long that they are almost like family to me. We know each other in and out, have had marvelously good times together and have had knock-down, drag-out fights. By some sort of magic or Providence we were all brought together, and on a random Thursday night in Somerville we made something heavenly, together.
Monday, July 28, 2008
On the first day of summer vacation I got up
I am not sure why my family has always found that expression so funny. Probably for the same reason that when we see someone standing around we shout “What are you posing for, animal crackers!?!?” and then laugh like crazies. Regardless, today feels like the first day of my summer vacation, and I love the feeling.
In addition to seeing Magic Flute three times this weekend (the opera became more impressive every time I saw it – Bravi tutti!), I went to a wedding on Saturday afternoon at Holy Cross. Right around the time of our first “and also with you” I realized that I hadn’t been at mass in my native language in six weeks. I know the responses in Italian (my favorite is during the preface: When in English we say “It is right to give God thanks and praise” the Italian response is “รจ una cosa buona and giusta” – it’s a good and just thing.), and I can follow the homilies, but I always end up participating as an observer, if that’s possible. One of the dangers of being a student of the liturgy is that sometimes I get all anthropologist during mass.
But this wedding liturgy was really beautiful (they had an opening hymn after the procession – NICE), and the organist out at HoCro is one of the best organists around, so the music was really good. At the reception I maintained my reputation as a crazy dancer. Someone came up to me to ask me something, and introduced themselves by saying “You’re a dancing fool…I like that”.
Yesterday I sang three masses at my Southie churches, which was my first time singing in English or in my middle voice in about six weeks. My hours and hours of practicing, working on legato and forward resonance and pure vowels and floating high Cs, didn’t get me very far at 9:10 in the morning when I was amplified trying not to crack while chanting the psalms. I know people say all vocal production is the same but…they’re wrong.
My weekend was pretty busy, and I am enjoying the fact that Monday morning is my time to relax. I will read yesterday’s paper, go to the Southie farmers’ market (not as gross as it sounds - it's not like the food is grown here), write some thank-you notes, go running, maybe even go down to the beach for a little while. I also need to clean my apartment, which I managed to keep tidy during the unpacking process but which has since been totally trashed. Here’s hoping my vacuum doesn’t blow up.
In addition to seeing Magic Flute three times this weekend (the opera became more impressive every time I saw it – Bravi tutti!), I went to a wedding on Saturday afternoon at Holy Cross. Right around the time of our first “and also with you” I realized that I hadn’t been at mass in my native language in six weeks. I know the responses in Italian (my favorite is during the preface: When in English we say “It is right to give God thanks and praise” the Italian response is “รจ una cosa buona and giusta” – it’s a good and just thing.), and I can follow the homilies, but I always end up participating as an observer, if that’s possible. One of the dangers of being a student of the liturgy is that sometimes I get all anthropologist during mass.
But this wedding liturgy was really beautiful (they had an opening hymn after the procession – NICE), and the organist out at HoCro is one of the best organists around, so the music was really good. At the reception I maintained my reputation as a crazy dancer. Someone came up to me to ask me something, and introduced themselves by saying “You’re a dancing fool…I like that”.
Yesterday I sang three masses at my Southie churches, which was my first time singing in English or in my middle voice in about six weeks. My hours and hours of practicing, working on legato and forward resonance and pure vowels and floating high Cs, didn’t get me very far at 9:10 in the morning when I was amplified trying not to crack while chanting the psalms. I know people say all vocal production is the same but…they’re wrong.
My weekend was pretty busy, and I am enjoying the fact that Monday morning is my time to relax. I will read yesterday’s paper, go to the Southie farmers’ market (not as gross as it sounds - it's not like the food is grown here), write some thank-you notes, go running, maybe even go down to the beach for a little while. I also need to clean my apartment, which I managed to keep tidy during the unpacking process but which has since been totally trashed. Here’s hoping my vacuum doesn’t blow up.
Saturday, July 26, 2008
BOC's Magic Flute
The jet lag is subsiding, I am saying “Ciao” less frequently, and I am starting to remember where things are kept in my apartment. In short, I’m adjusting. I am also discovering that it’s a good thing that I decided to keep blogging after the trip, because apparently I have a wide readership among people who hate their jobs. Temps: This blog’s for you!
Last night I saw BOC’s Magic Flute. Although I wouldn’t trade my Italian adventure for anything, it was really hard for me to be away from BOC while they were putting up this production (not because they can’t go on without their President, but because I really do love these people and I love what we do together). I am so proud of the leadership team and the staff who put this production together, and I don’t mind admitting that I got pretty emotional during the production. We had two new directors working with us: Josiah George, whose staging managed to be both innovative and beautiful (which can be a tall order!) and Michael Sakir, who pulled together an amazing orchestra and led both them and the cast with great skill.
Those of you who are local should think about going out to Boston Latin School for either (or both!) of the last two performances: Saturday at 7:30 and Sunday at 3:00. As an added bonus, you will get to hear me make a curtain speech, which is one of my greatest pleasures of being President.
www.bostonoperacollaborative.org
Last night I saw BOC’s Magic Flute. Although I wouldn’t trade my Italian adventure for anything, it was really hard for me to be away from BOC while they were putting up this production (not because they can’t go on without their President, but because I really do love these people and I love what we do together). I am so proud of the leadership team and the staff who put this production together, and I don’t mind admitting that I got pretty emotional during the production. We had two new directors working with us: Josiah George, whose staging managed to be both innovative and beautiful (which can be a tall order!) and Michael Sakir, who pulled together an amazing orchestra and led both them and the cast with great skill.
Those of you who are local should think about going out to Boston Latin School for either (or both!) of the last two performances: Saturday at 7:30 and Sunday at 3:00. As an added bonus, you will get to hear me make a curtain speech, which is one of my greatest pleasures of being President.
www.bostonoperacollaborative.org
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