I've FINALLY received Joan Sutherland's autobiography.  The post office had returned it to the sellers because I supposedly do not live at this address.  I've lived here for nearly two years, this is my legal address, and I've received countless packages here in the past, but whadeva.  It finally came, after being sent once more.

While I've only dipped into it a little so far, I would like to say right now that this woman fits my definition of diva, which does not seem to be the common meaning.  When people hear the word "diva," most think of someone who is completely self-centered, makes insane and unreasonable demands, and would as soon slit your throat as have you compete with her.  I, on the other hand, think of my lovely and many diva friends, who  care deeply about one another and who want others to succeed as much as they do.

Ms. Sutherland falls plainly into the second category.

Her writing is gracious, authentic, and slightly humorous.  She seems to be at once a wonderful musician and a delightful human being.  So far there has not been even a hint of prima-donna attitude, of improper snobbiness, or of crudity.  She keeps the drama on the stage.  In short, she appears to be what my grandmother would call a "lady."

I'll write an actual review after finishing the book.

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but I have to give him points for creativity.

Lots and lots and LOTS of points for creativity.

And he did make me laugh, so more points.

Okay, backstory:

I covered the lunch break of a girl in music last week.  Whilst tidying a wall of DVDs, I was approached by what could only be described (or so I thought) as my weirdo du jour (WDJ).

First he asked if we had any documentaries on the Mormon church, then asked my opinion of the shenanigans in El Dorado (I don't have opinions about anything in the news while at work), inquired as to whether I was part of that community (huh?) and then wanted to tell me all about how inspired he was by the recent events in that area.  In fact, he was so inspired that he decided to write some songs about the aforementioned events.  And he wanted to tell me ALL ABOUT THEM.

At this point, I dived frantically across the department to ask another customer if "Do you need help ma'am?  Are you sure?  Let me tell you about all our specials this week...." just to get away from the WDJ.

When my coworker returned to music, I mentioned this guy to her.  We agreed that he had overqualified in the WDJ department and thought nothing more of him.

Until today, when the music manager walked over to me and said, "Hey, ubicaritas, remember when you covered a lunch back here last week and some bald guy talked to you for a few minutes near documentaries?"

"Oh, do I ever!"  I explained the backstory.

She laughed.  "Well, thing is, he walked off with about $420 worth of documentaries."

Me: "WHAT?!!!"

Her: "Yeah.  Oh, and he's that guy who's made off with at LEAST a grand or two worth of DVDs since Chrismas."

Me:  (expletive expletive expletive)

Okay, buster.  Fool me once, shame on you.  Fool me twice, shame on me.  THERE WON'T BE A NEXT TIME.  You've never been hit music before while I was back there, and if you EVER do so again, I WILL have a manager call the cops and I WILL get your license number if you (as you probably will, since the response time stinks) get away.

I have to say, though, that his approach was certainly original!

To end the evening, we had the incident involving about 4-5 boys who were about 10-12 years old.  They were running around the store acting like idiots, and were later found with several "gentleman's magazines," which are illegal to sell to under-18s.  Marcia, one of the managers, told them to cut it out.  One of them said, "You can't tell me what to do, and you can't make me leave because I haven't done anything."  Another of these young gentlemen suggested that Marcia perform several anatomically impossible acts.  She promptly had them removed from the store.  I might add that these were kids who were nicely dressed and fairly clean-cut.   A customer later told me that she had been down the street at another bookstore a few minutes before and that the kids had been there and pulling this crap there, too.  Their parents needed to be slapped. 

I know I haven't blogged much about singing lately, and I apologize.  The fact is that there is something going on there.  That something is definitely positive--I'd even say that it's a breakthrough--but at the same time it's indescribable.  I've tried to put it into words, but I can't yet.  All I can say is that things are clicking and lightbulbs are going off and I've just never (despite massive amounts of stress due to finals and finances and so forth) been this happy.  Ever.  It's glorious and awesome (in the original sense of the word) and incredible and undefinable and completely and totally overwhelming.  Thus, I'm letting it work without really thinking about it because I still don't handle emotion well.  I know that that's all really vague but it's as close as I can come for now.

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I was driving home from work last night and, as usual, had the local classical music station on.  The show was "Exploring Music," in which the host takes a composer or period or aspect of music and discusses him, her or it for a week.  This week it was Handel.  Since this is also Christmas week, the last music played for the program for the week were the choruses "Worthy is the Lamb," "Amen" and the "Halleluiah Chorus" from Handel's oratorio Messiah.  As I listened to them, it brought back memories of years past, one of which I wanted to put up on here.

While I was in high school, I was crazy about music.  Choir music, classical music, the little bit of opera I'd heard, Irish music--you name, it, I'd listen to it, sing it or dance to it.  Needless to say, I also persuaded myself that I could never do anything with music, so I could just enjoy it but major in something that would provide a firm job offer after school.  But I digress, as usual.

When an aquiantance from church mentioned a citywide community-based choir that sang the Messiah every year, I immediately thought "cool."  Now, I'd heard a few pieces of it before, but not the whole thing.  I'd even sung "Lift Up Your Heads, O Ye Gates" and the "Halleluiah Chorus."  (My church had a very unusual choir director).  Still, I figured, it's music.  What's not to like?

So I spent my Sundays that fall driving to church for choir (an hour away), driving back to the house, driving back down a few hours later for the community choir practice, and driving back to the house again.  All told, I spent about four hours in the car each Sunday, as my parents lived (and still live) an hour away from anything except cows.  But it really was worth it.  While not a professional choir by any reach, the vast majority of people in the 200-voice choir had at least some kind of musical training, from degrees in music (there were a lot of teachers in the choir) to good church choirs.  We sang it with a very good instrument ensemble, and the soloists were flown in from around the country.  The director was really patient, really talented, etc.  I had so much fun that fall that I did it again the next year.

Every year we put on two performances; a Saturday evening and a Sunday afternoon.  We had a dress rehearsal with the instrumentalists and the soloists that Friday night.  The rather large church in which we performed was always packed to the rafters for both performances.

I had a friend from church who had enjoyed going to performances of the Messiah many years before, but due to health issues (asthma/chemical sensitivity/environmental allergies etc) hadn't been to a musical concert in many years.  This friend and I had met in church; she and her husband were old enough to be my parents or (very young) grandparents, but we all got along quite well.  At some point, I had the idea of having them attend the dress rehearsal.  After all, I reasoned, virtually no one else will be in there, so the allergies/asthma wouldn't be as triggered by perfumes and such.

I explained the situation to the director, who was quite agreeable.  And so they came.

The soloists that year were outstanding.  The highlight of the evening, I think, was the bass/trumpet solo "The Trumpet Shall Sound."  Absolutely glorious.

At the end, I went and found my friends to ask what they thought.  She literally had tears in her eyes from the beauty of it all.

The other thing I remember is watching the soprano soloist very closely the following evening.  She was dressed in this stunning black evening dress with long net sleeves.  I remember that the neet of the sleeves was beaded and in a kind of spiderweb pattern, which sounds weird but was stunningly beautiful.  I remember her singing the aria "I Know That My Redeemer Liveth" and, at some point during that looking up with this expression on her face of "I live for making this glorious sound."  I also remember how gracious she was; she was smiling most of the evening and when she was given a standing ovation at the end of the program, she bowed and then turned to the choir, indicated us with her hand, and bowed.  I remember thinking (as a very awkward teenager) how much I wanted to be that: beautiful, happy, talented, and a lady.

I think I learned several things that evening.  First, how glorious Handel is.  Second, how music can touch people's hearts and lives.  And third, what I wanted to be.

And all that, which I hadn't thought about in years, came back to me as I listened to that Handel last night.

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(drumroll, please)

Semester GPA: 3.875.

One B.  ONE.  And it is in a rather difficult theory class (ear training).

16 hours attempted. And passed.  With pretty darn good grades.

(piercing scream of excitement as she dances up and down)

I touched on this in a previous post, but I'll bring it up again.  If ANYONE told me a year ago that I would be majoring in music, be working at a job in a bookstore that I love, be getting a freakin' 3.875 GPA, be surrounded by wonderful, encouraging diva and non-diva friends and, indeed, that I'd consider myself an artist and a diva, I'd have never believed them. 

I tried so hard to do a technical science program (nursing), and was so miserable, and did so badly (how many Ds can one get before considering a change of major? I think I may hold the record!), and yet kept trying to do it because I thought that having a certain job that paid pretty darn well at graduation was the best I could hope for.  It was as though (to quote a rather picturesque friend of mine) I was begging for a pizza, when God was trying to give me Rome.

I walked past the science building the other day, and realized that I never (NEVER!) again have to be up to my elbows in phenol-ed (good grief, that stuff is horrible!  It has a sickly-sweet smell that CLINGS) dead cat.  Nor do I have to be in a group of people being quizzed on the poor dear's organs.  I was usually in the back of the group with my shirtsleeve over my nose and mouth to try to block the smell, and gagging virtually nonstop.  My feelings of "oh that poor sweet kitty, and what the bloody hell do you MEAN I have to cut it open and remove its liver?!!" were...ah...not exactly appreciated by the instructors. :P

I feel like I have Rome.  I'm living the dream I've always had but thought I could never do. 

Oh, I have been so very blessed.  I am so happy, and so grateful. 

And, for the first time in my life, I like who I am and what I am doing with my life and myself.  I am at peace.

I am so happy.  So very, very happy!

(insert happy dance here)

And I had to post all of this to try to explain how happy I am and why.

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This is a ridiculously belated post that should have been set up TWO WEEKS ago.  Apologies!

Anyhow, there was a Christmas concert at my school with two excellent pianist each playing a piano.  I'd never been to a piano concert before, and realized just how much I've missed!  Iryna Simoneaux and Dr. Oscar Dressler stunned their audience with selections from Tchaicovsky's Nutcracker, several Christmas carol arrangements, and a glorious final "Ode to Joy."  It certainly put me in the Christmas spirit, and I have vowed to attend anything else of the sort that may occur in the area in the future (hint, hint!)

These pictures were taken by a photographer who attends a class with me.  I promised him that I'd post these, as I've seen his previous work and, to my admittedly uneducated eyes, it is very good.  His name is Luigee Mroof, of Mroof Photography.  If you are interested in having him photograph you, your event, or whatever else, he can be contacted at MroofPhotography@yahoo.com.  Samples of his work are available at www.myspace.com/mroofphotography.

And so, without further ado, Ms. Iryna Simoneaux and Dr. Oscar Dressler!

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Acknowledging well-deserved applause

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Nothing says Christmas like Tchaikovsky, and btw, isn't that a gorgeous poinsetta?

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The hand of a pianist.  Note the detail; this was shot from across a recital hall.

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Same pianist, who is making all this look very easy...

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Can you tell he loves making music?

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Christmas time is here!

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The pianist diva making beautiful music

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Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!

This last one is a picture of the Christmas tree at Sundance Square in downtown FTW.

And finally, here is an example of his more "advertisement"-style photography.  This is from a previous concert, which I was unable to attend:

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So, here's a shameless plug for a fellow student: if you have a wedding, senior pictures, portfolio pics or whatever that need to be done, email Mroof Photography!

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