The will for adventure

Once upon a time there was a woman who loved to stay home. She knew that she should love adventure and sometimes she truly did, but most of the time she wanted access to the familiar, to sleep in her own bed, and to know where all the light switches were.

I inherited this homebody streak from a family member who shall remain nameless, and I also inherited the willpower to beat it when I know I should make an effort. That is why this morning I set out for Colorado for another “opera camp” experience like my trip to Novafeltria (documentation of which was the purpose for starting this blog in the first place).

That was two years ago, and it feels it. These past two years have been really transformative and maturing – but I didn’t start this post to talk about how old I feel. I’m still young enough to have been happy that my flight was out of Hartford this morning so my Mommy could drive me to the airport before dawn.

My enormous pink suitcase was overweight when I finally got to the front of the line (a line which I believe I saw an entire family cut – really?). I already had to pay a fee just to check the bag – and I’m not one to get all “airlines these days”, but I do find that a little annoying. The extra weight was going to result in another fee. They asked if I wanted to take out 7 pounds worth of stuff to get it under the limit. I looked at my already overstuffed shoulder bag I was carrying on, and I looked at the lock on the suitcase, and I thought of the cash back I get on my credit card and responded “No.” (Is that another sign of my age? My willingness to throw money at problems?) The clerk looked shocked. I said “It’s six in the morning, and I just want to get on the plane” as I handed over my Capital One card.

I had the dreaded middle seat on the flight to Dallas. The man on the aisle was very large, and I spent most of my time balancing myself so that I wouldn’t be in his space (which, of course, was my space). A screaming child was behind me and I battled through the early morning exhaustion only to land in the Central Time Zone - and then again in Mountain Time Zone - and have to battle through those same hours all over again.

A few folks on the 10 am flight from Dallas to Denver had brought their Chinese food on the plane. Another moment of ‘really?’ And I thought I was rude for having had an onion bagel in the terminal. The flight was uneventful (a few more screaming babies), and I landed in Denver about an hour before our rides were to pick us up.

I got pretty lucky with my car-mates on the four hour drive up to Steamboat. If there’s anything worse than spending two weeks at a program with people who irritate you, it’s spending four hours trapped in a car. The company was good, and we even enjoyed my family tradition of singing "On the Road Again". Despite a little altitude uneasiness when we were up particularly high, by the time we got to Steamboat I felt fine (despite having been up since 2:30 Mountain Time and only having eaten a bagel).

Check-in, dinner, were all the usual blend of mildly awkward introductions and asking where the towels are kept, and then we got to the best part of the evening: rehearsal for an arias concert. As tough as it is to have to sing on such little rest, it is nice to get that first see-and-be-seen sing-off out of the way. We got a very kind speech about not being nervous, and I sat back and thought “I’m not nervous at all”. I don’t think I would have made it this long if I were still affected by other peoples’ opinions of my voice. In the end, I sang like I was dehydrated and had been up all night - which was pretty much true. But my high notes were nice.

To wrap up the day someone was generous enough to drive to the grocery, where I stocked up on hummus and fudgcicles, the two things that have sustained me most of the summer. We also passed a neon bunny that looks like it’s on drugs.

The picture didn’t’ really come out, but that might actually suit the mood.  Nearly 24 hours after my adventure anxiously began, I am at a picnic table under bright stars in the mountains, and it all seems perfectly normal.

When I went to bed last night and even when I woke up this morning I didn’t really want to go, what with all the uncertainty, meeting new people, unfamiliar beds and light-switch-placements. But I have trained myself to swallow my anxiety and just get on the plane. Inside me there is one person who loves adventure and one who loves consistency, and I’ve learned to let the two battle it out.

I hope to post once a day as I did in Italia due anni fa. I had the same hesitation about sharing my travel plans then as I do now, and I refer back to my warnings to potential thieves that I wrote in my very first post on this blog. I would also add that my upstairs neighbor sent me off with a promise not to let anyone touch my sh*t. So watch yourselves.

The stairs I will fall down in the night.
Note their close proximity to the bedroom door.

The Dinner Party

A few weeks ago in a fit of artisan-beer fueled friendliness, I planned to invite five friends to the apartment for a dinner party. It's rather amazing that I can fit a table for six in here, but the size of the kitchen was the main reason I picked this apartment, so I should try to use it more often.

Still, six people are a lot to have in this little place, and the morning after I sent out my facebook messages inviting The Five, I started to have some serious misgivings. First of all, I'm not a clean person. Making my house guest-ready takes some serious over-hauling. Second, the place is small and its winter, which means I can't leave the back door open. For some reason, leaving the back door open makes me feel like my place is bigger (and not underground). Third, these friends are more domestic than I am (especially the males). I was worried they would judge me for not having a spice rack.

But I followed through on my promise and had folks over last night. Luckily my guests supplied most of the food, because I was so consumed with cleaning that I hardly had time to prepare anything. The meal's anchor was supposed to be my Mexican pasta salad. That has always been one of my favorite dishes, but every time I made it in the past I would buy more chili powder, which resulted in an over-abundance in my pantry. Some things you just feel like you can't get rid of.

Apparently I had acted on that feeling sometime in the past, because the chili powder is gone. All of the tins of it are gone. I couldn't believe it: After being chased around by chili powder the last five years, I suddenly didn't have any? So the dish was a little bland.

The rest of the menu included delicious veg chili (which is the spiciest thing I have had in ages), banana-cream pie, and lots of wine. We all fit at the table, I had just enough utensils, and we put the Bruins game on the radio after dinner. If my guests judged my terrible decor, they kept their mouths shut. And now my house is clean!

Home sweet home

Today I ate fast food for lunch while driving, so I am officially 100% American again.

For those of you who have graciously added this to your "favorites", I have decided to keep posting. Even though this was initially started as a travel blog, and most of the travel I am doing now is between my apartment and Dunkin' Donuts, I like having a way to keep people up to date on my different gigs &c. While most of the things in my life stay the same, there is usually a lot of news on the musical front, and this is a good place to share that with everyone.

The flight back from Rome was as uneventful as a 9.5 hour flight can be. There was a baby in front of me who made a lot of noise, and a very quiet woman next to me whose only noise was the sighs of annoyance she made at the baby. Rather than making sighs of annoyance, I made faces at little amico mio, demonstrating once again my affinity for any human who, like myself, has not yet learned that you shouldn't shout in public.

It was very odd for me, as I stepped off the plane in Newark, to stop speaking Italian. In Fiumicino and on the plane I continued to use Italian as a courtesy, even though all the Alitalia staff is fine speaking English. When I finally abandoned ciao and grazie while going through customs, it was a shock.

More of a shock was at the baggage claim in Newark, when the officer came by with the dog to sniff all of our bags. She walked through shouting "Please put all your bags on the floor!" (her shouts were not nearly as charming as the baby's). Some non-English speakers didn't do so, and because they were so intent on looking for their bags they didn't notice that the rest of us were, either. So what does an American do when confronted with a non-English speaker? Go up to their ear and shout in their face until they understand. Charming.

Mom and the Lil' Bro picked me up in Boston, and after dropping off my bags we went immediately to Salsa's for Mexican food. Five weeks without guacamole is a long time.
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I had been in the air about 4 hours when I started to do the requisite soul-searching about my trip. Needless to say I learned a lot musically, but what struck me the most was how much I had managed to pull off. I almost didn't go on this trip at all because of my tendency to make myself into an anxious basket case. The months leading up to my departure were one angst ridden question after another. How will I pay for this? How can I be away for five weeks? Who will water my plants?

A few of my friends on this trip commented on how traveling in a foreign country can make you feel like you can pull off anything, and I certainly felt that way as I touched down at Logan on Monday evening. I was proud of myself for getting there and back, and for sacrificing routine in order to so something out of the ordinary. I was ready for a stress-free rest of the summer, which is why it was ironic to find a for-sale sign out in front of my apartment when I got home. But what would my life be without something to keep me awake and worrying at night?

pizza, interest rates, and dying sopranos

We just staged the last act of Bohème, and I was sobbing even as he was blocking it. I dare you to get through the end of that opera without crying.

This morning I tried to explain the sub-prime mortgage crisis on an Italian test. Naturally, when asked to explain the economic situation, I couldn't content myself with "gas costs a lot", I had to explain and make moral judgments on predatory lending practicies. Una vergogna!

Yesterday at the market in the frozen pizza section I saw "Big Americans American Style Pizza." As if it's not bad enough that they think we are all pigs, apparently they also think that we eat pizza with sausage, pepperoni, and corn. I had to look twice to be sure, but it really does come with mais on the top.

I am under strict orders to share my cheese experiences since I have been abroad (no, I am not referring to my brother's high school nickname). I have to admit I have not been terribly adventurous yet in that regard. I have a soft spreadable cheese in the fridge that has gone on toast and in my eggs, and have gone through more than my share of fresh buffalo mozzeralla. Today I bought a nice gorgonzola as well. Since I'm trying to live within my means this summer I haven't spent too much on artisan food. Hopefully soon I will summon the nerve to indulge in some good cheese (and wine! - why not?) sometime soon. Fancy formaggio is clearly the reason God created credit cards.

Bohéme rehearsals are taking up quite a lot of my time. Yesterday the conductor announced that he was educated by Jesuits for 8 years. Upon further inquiry I discovered that he attended the same school that my brother now attends! I have cried in rehearsal approximately 8 times, because he keeps stopping to tell poignant stories.

Today in class we heard a long discourse on the Papal States, and my guess is that I was the only person in the room who had a clue what she was saying - and not because of the language barrier. But now I know how to say it: Stati Pontificiali - and I know that Novafeltria was part of them.

I sing in a concert tonight that begins at 9:30. I tried to explain to them that I don't begin things after 9 pm - I don't mind going past 9, but I don't like to begin any new activity after that time. They weren't terribly impressed.