Can we, really?

History was made last night. Here in Atlanta, the cars were honking their horns, people were screaming in the streets, waving Obama signs until almost 2:30 in the morning. It was unbelievable, and I have never seen anything like it. Watching tear-stained faced chant, "Yes, we can!" as President-elect Obama gave his victory speech last night was a moving sight to behold, and yet, I found that in my elation, worry was still nagging at me. In my eyes, the election wasn't over – I was still very concerned about the results for Proposition 8 in California.

This morning, with 91% of precincts reporting, the proposition is passing, 52%-48%. The exact wording on the ballot was as follows:

"ELIMINATES RIGHT OF SAME-SEX COUPLES TO MARRY. INITIATIVE CONSTITUTIONAL AMENDMENT. Changes the California Constitution to eliminate the right of same-sex couples to marry in California. Provides that only marriage between a man and a woman is valid or recognized in California. Fiscal Impact: Over next few years, potential revenue loss, mainly sales taxes, totaling in the several tens of millions of dollars, to state and local governments. In the long run, likely little fiscal impact on state and local governments."

So far, it looks as if a majority of people voted in California today to ELIMINATE civil rights. They looked at their ballot, read what was above, and voted "Yes".

So, it looks as if, no, I can't.

I know that there are larger issues at stake here, and I know that there are so, so many reasons to rejoice.

The fact remains that it looks like I am losing civil rights in the state of California (a state where Jeremy will be almost half the year this season) due to a measure that was well-supported supported financially nationwide in an election with record-breaking voter turnout (82% of registered voters voted in Los Angeles County – a county in which Prop 8 passed quite comfortably and also the county where we got married a month ago). Seeing that anti-gay marriage proposals also passed in Florida and Arizona is, while unsurprising, adding insult to the injury. I try hold out hope that as the final votes are counted in California that the tides will turn, but in the face of these numbers, it is hard to maintain that glimmer.

So, to my eye, not much has changed. Sure, there is some progress. We have elected a President into the White House who is partially black and who is opposed to my marriage, and instead supports a separate-but-equal policy towards my civil rights. While I can appreciate that it is a step forward from where we were, the irony of the situation is not lost on me, and I am left feeling skeptical of his promise of "yes, we can".

As a citizen, I can rejoice for a great many things today, but a second-class citizen I remain, nonetheless.

Blue Weekend

Last Thursday, I had the good fortune to be able to attend the final dress rehearsal of Dr. Atomic at the Metropolitan Opera. For the first twenty minutes of the piece, my eyes were glued to where a spotlight was shining up in the top center of a wall of cubicles that housed a colleague and friend from my days at the University of Michigan, waiting for him to sing his opening phrases that would be his Met debut a couple of nights later. He sounded beautiful and was wonderful to watch – it was exciting to watch him be on that stage that we all dream of singing on, and it got me thinking of our times at Michigan, where we cut our musical and vocal teeth together, learned the basics of our craft, laughed about our educational missteps along the way and congratulated each other on our successes. I was proud to see him up there, an important part of such a moving and powerful event at the Met, living his dream.

After an adventurous Friday, I actually ventured back to Michigan for a quick trip to attend another college friend's wedding. Leaving the airport, I was surprised to see just how colorful the trees were – after so many years of missing Fall in Michigan, I had forgotten just how breathtaking a Michigan Autumn can be. A couple other UM friends and colleagues were there, and we provided some music as we watched our friend tie the knot. Seeing her come down the aisle in her wedding dress, I couldn't help but remember that it was the end of one my relationships in college that cemented our friendship as she held my hand through that terrible time and helped me move on. After all those deep, intense discussions about the nature of love and relationships, my heart swelled to see her pledge herself to the man that she loved.

To see how far we have all come was overwhelming – I was filled with nostalgia and memories, happiness, giddiness, and pride. I was also anxious to see how much farther we will all grow.

An American Musical Challenge

While I have to devote much time right now to getting my Rossini chops back into shape for my sojourn next month in Atlanta, I also have a set of Ives songs that I have to prepare for a small, private Salon concert next month with a very special and interesting organization that presents innovative and fascinating themed chamber music programs in New York. A year ago, the challenge I faced was fastiduously attempting to get my Rossini chops in some sort of order. Now, in many ways, the Rossini feels almost easy and like greeting an old friend, and these mysterious, eccentric, and intricate songs by Ives are proving to be the challenge this I face fall. In all honesty, I haven't even thought about Ives since my freshman music history class at U of M – odd, considering that I am an American musician. What is amazing about them is that they seem so accessible and familiar on one level and so challenging and strangely alien on others. Deciphering his musical landscape is proving to be a slightly slower process than I am used to or expected. Unexpectedly, I find myself being pushed into new musical territory that I, much to my surprise, never really explored.

Nuptials

I escaped to LA this weekend to visit Jeremy, and to do something that was to both of us extraordinary. We got legally married. To be able to do it was something beyond our wildest dreams, and the most overwhelming part of the whole experience was the amount of love and support we received and felt from around the world. For a variety of reasons, we decided upon doing this in California and because of both the time period that Jeremy was going to be working out there and the impending threat of Proposition 8, we ended up having a small ceremony on short notice. Even though only my brother and Jeremy's sister were able to be there, our small ceremony turned into something beautiful. A friend suggested another friend's mom who is a judge to marry us, and we ended up pledging our lives to each other in her beautiful backyard rather than in some courthouse with some officiator who was a stranger. People everywhere from Beijing to Kentucky called and emailed with their love and support, and our phones were constantly buzzing for the entirety of the day with messages congratulating us. When I thought about weddings, I always imagined that they were only about the love and union of the two people involved. I never realized that they are as much about the love and support of our communities around us, as well. Never have I felt so loved and adored, and never have I been so full of love – not just for Jeremy but for everyone who I am blessed to call a friend or a family member.

In case you are interested in supporting the movement against Proposition 8 in California go here.

Resurrection

As we were winding down from an intense yoga class today, our teacher shared the following with us as we lay in relaxation pose.

"Resurrection. The reversal of what was thought to be absolute. The turning of midnight into dawn, hatred into love, dying into living anew.

If we look more closely into life, we will find that resurrection is more than hope, it is our experience. The return to life from death is something we understand at our innermost depths, something we feel on the surface of our tender skin. We have come back to life, not only when we start to shake off a shroud of sorrow that has bound us, but when we begin to believe in all that is still, endlessly possible.

We give thanks for all those times we have arisen from the depths or simply taken a tiny step toward something new. May we be empowered by extraordinary second chances. And as we enter the world anew, let us turn the tides of despair into endless waves of hope." - Molly Fumia

The Season Starts

Sunday and Monday's performances with Music of the Baroque marked the start of my 09-10 season, which is filled to the brim with exciting repertoire that I have been wanting to work on for a long time. Hercules is a piece filled with dramatic music that is Handel at his best, and I have been dreaming of getting to perform Hyllus for many years. A rarely performed piece, my last week in Chicago was an incredibly fun opportunity to live out a dream. Of course, one can never have enough of what it is that one wants, and I find myself thirsting even more for another chance to step into his shoes again. As I am looking forward to almost every project that I am working on this season as much as I was Hercules, I wonder if I am going to feel this way after every performance this season.

The past month has been a much-needed moment of extended repose, reflection, and preparation. Marlboro's influence and infectious energy has bled into my life in the real world, and I've been able to miraculously keep up the intensity and focus of work that I had in Marlboro in my schedule as I have readjusted to life at home. The things that I discovered, the technical progress I began, and the discipline that I honed there have continued to flourish and grow outside of Vermont. It's been a great way to set a tone for this next "school year" of work, and I felt the effects of my newfound dedication in Chicago. I felt relatively relaxed and yet intensely focused, and as a result I was able really enjoy myself in performance. It's inspiring me to keep on with the new routine, and I am rediscovering just how much I love the process of making music and honing my skills. I almost love it more than the actual performing at times, and I am finding that it gives me energy that feeds itself with each new, progressive step I take.

From the Mouths of Babes

The last few days since Ravinia have been heavenly. Thanks to the magic of plane travel, I was able to spend some time with Jeremy, who is in Los Angeles right now, working on their exciting upcoming production of Il Trittico, as well as catch up with good friends who are also working with Jeremy. Thanks to the magic of the internet, I was able to catch up on all of my Olympics watching (I am an Olympics fanatic), catch up on all the blogs I have been ignoring, and generally waste time. Thanks to the magic of LA weather, I was also able to go for a swim everyday, which felt decadent.

Ravinia was also an incredible experience. Getting to sing with the Chicago Symphony again was a real luxury – they are such an incredible orchestra, and being the group that I made my concert debut with a while back, it is always a special experience to be with them. Mozart and the CSO – I am not sure it can get much better than that. Except for maybe Stravinsky and the CSO – but I am getting a bit ahead of myself (I can't help myself there - I am really excited).

Another thing that made Ravinia so exceptional was a moment that occurred while I was at a friend's house in Chicago for an exceptional dinner. I met my friend's 16 year old niece, who confessed to us a burgeoning interest in music and singing. At one point during the dinner, she said, "Imagine if going to work meant singing every day – I can't imagine anything better than that." I looked at her, taken aback and humbled at how easy it is to take this life and all this opportunity for granted, and felt gratitude overwhelm me that this is my life.

Emergence

For my month in Marlboro, I was insulated in the wooded slopes of Vermont, surrounded by friends practically every waking moment. We shared communal meals together, rehearsed together, and relaxed over a glass of wine together before collapsing and commencing our daily cycle again the next day. Time stood still at the same time that it felt like it was flying by. It was magical, profound, moving, life-changing, educational, intense, and exciting. I found some of the innocent joy that music-making can bring me that was so constant and natural when I was a teenager and that is sometimes forgotten in world of professional music-making.

Part-way through, a fellow Marlboro participant in his first year expressed surprise that he had spent so little time alone, able to work on the personal projects he thought he would have time to focus on while sequestered away in the woods. I, myself, even though I knew to expect the all-consuming quality of Marlboro Time, was a little caught off guard. Many things fell by the wayside that weren't my immediate musical projects – the book I've been reading, emails, phone calls, dealing with plans post-Marlboro, this blog, among other things. My life went off-kilter, and any pretense I attempt at trying to find some sort of balance in my life went out the window. In a way, balance wasn't necessary – I was on a vacation from the real world. That is why Marlboro is so isolated, so remote. It allows us to pretend that it is almost possible leave the worries of the real world behind, that it is possible to push them away to the outskirts of our concern, and to immerse ourselves in a sort of musical think-tank. It will take me months to sort out all that I gleaned from my month there, although I am already starting to be able to see some ways in which I have grown. My heart is more open, my ears are sharper, my technical brain more precise, and my musical focus clearer.

The transition back is always a rocky one, though, and as I struggle to adjust to going from living in a commune to my solitary hotel room in the suburbs of Chicago, I see how I can't carry on so imbalanced in the "real" world. Thankfully, I have to focus much of my energies on the performances we have of Abduction here in Ravinia this weekend. Luckily, my colleagues here are open, generous, and wonderful, and they make the transition ever so much easier as I ease back into the routine of my "normal" life.

Return to Paradise

As I suspected would happen, I've been swallowed alive by Marlboro. Time seems somehow timeless up here in the green mountains Vermont, reality unbelievably and blissfully distant, and music, being the only thing that really matters, is ubiquitous. It feels both great and strange to be back here, life having ground to a screeching halt, and an unceasing, nagging need to practice and study as much as possible tugging at me. It's a summer of Schumann for me, as well as a couple of other treats (some Britten and some Vaughan Williams), all of it happily unfamiliar territory that leaves me wondering with each rehearsal why I have never explored it before now.

Happy America

Fireworks illuminated the infamous fog here various colors last night, and we took a break from partying to step up to a friend's roof to watch. All the best wishes for a Happy Independence Day weekend.

The Dance

A friend and respected colleague sent this to me on Monday, and it put a huge smile on my face. In a way, I thought, it's kind of the essence of what we musicians get to do, and it made me happy to be reminded of what is important in this livelihood of ours.


Where the Hell is Matt? (2008) from Matthew Harding on Vimeo.


More information on our dancing hero here.

Distance

We are given so much as musicians and performers. The opportunity to live a life immersed in music, to sing for a living, to play a professional version of dress-up, to see the world – the list goes on. The single hardest challenge – greater than any of the nerves, the criticisms, the competition, or the uncertainty of the future – is being away from our husbands, boyfriends, wives, sons, daughters, girlfriends. We miss our loved ones terribly, then, slowly, we grow accustomed to maintaining our own schedules, grocery shopping for one person, sleeping alone. Then we reunite, we are happy to be together again, and we then have to readjust to combining schedules, grocery shopping for two or more, and sharing the bed again. As soon as we readjust, we have to leave again, and the cycle begins anew.

Jeremy and I have a rule in order to cope. It's more of a guideline, really. We never spend more than three weeks apart if we're both in the states, never more than four when one of us is abroad. From time to time, on very rare occasions, we stretch the rule a bit, but we do our damndest to honor it. The reason we have it is that all too often, we can only scrounge out a day or two to make our visit, and it is all too easy to say to ourselves, it's too short a time or it's too expensive. By having the rule, we force ourselves to invest and prioritize our relationship and ensure regular time together. No matter how short or ridiculous our trips to visit each other have been in the past, we have always, without fail, found that it was more than worth the expense and effort. Time together is, as they say in the MasterCard commercials, priceless.

This weekend was my turn to make a crazy trip from coast to coast to visit Jeremy. After the show ended on Friday, I packed a small bag and then tossed and turned, paranoid that my alarm wasn't going to go off in 4 hours and that I would miss my early plane. Feeling like I had just fallen asleep, I awoke to my alarm chiming, and I made my groggy way to the airport to fly to Washington, DC, where Jeremy is working at Wolf Trap, where he has spent the last three summers. Leaving the plane, the humid heat of a Washington summer enveloped me, and I smiled, thinking that I would be able to envelop Jeremy in a big bear hug in a matter of minutes after weeks of waiting.

Our weekend was fun-filled, with a romantic dinner-date in Dupont Circle after I arrived on Saturday evening, watching some of his rehearsals at Wolf Trap for what promises to be a really lovely production of Alcina in which Jeremy is playing continuo, catching up with some very good friends on Sunday evening, and a relaxed day in DC on Monday before I headed to the airport to head back to San Francisco. Being back in Wolf Trap was a treat, the memories of finding my operatic footing during my own summers there mixing in with my glee at being able to actually touch and see Jeremy in person. After a quiet lunch today near Wolf Trap, I dropped Jeremy at his afternoon rehearsal, and we had a lingering goodbye in the parking lot. He walked in to play more Handel, and I made my way into the District.

Sitting in a café near George Washington University, while I sipped on my lemonade, a close friend from my childhood and I were chatting about life and her relationship with her current boyfriend. She, an anthropologist, looked at me and marveled, "I think all the time about how you and Jeremy manage to sustain your relationship when you are apart so much of the time."

"It's not like this all the time, just a lot of the time."

"Still, it's a lot, and it must be hard," she said.

"It is hard," I replied, "but we manage and we make it work. You just have to make it work, in the end. That still doesn't stop me from feeling sad on days like this when I have to say good-bye."

After our lemonades, I made my way to the airport. Sitting at the gate, waiting to board my plane, I gazed out the window at the pinkish-blue sky, thankful, despite a little sadness, for the days with Jeremy. It's beyond priceless to feel this re-centered, recharged, and reminded of how much I am lucky to be loved.

The Voyeur

One of the most incredible blessings and greatest challenges of having this opportunity to cover here in San Francisco has been to watch my colleagues who have been at the top echelons of this profession for some time now work their craft. Since I have been here, I have seen one performance of Lucia di Lammermoor, one performance of Das Rheingold, and 8 or 9 complete run-throughs/performances of Ariodante plus a couple of staging rehearsals and two orchestra rehearsals. It’s been a great opportunity to watch a lot of opera and a lot of opera singers – something I don’t actually get to do very often. The blessing is that watching these people has been an incredible way to learn. My colleagues here, while all very different, are masters of the art form in their various ways, and it has been inspirational and educational to watch them deal with the pressures of live performance.

The challenge has been that watching them also shows me how far I still have to go. All this time spent watching has provided a lot of time for reflection. On the one hand, it is great to see how far I have come – one of the first assignments I had in the Houston Grand Opera Studio six years ago was to cover Ariodante, with many of the same cast members that I am working with now. Then, I couldn’t imagine how my colleagues dealt with the pressure – now I’ve come a long way in learning how to cope. On the flip side, I also see many directions that I need to grow into and work towards, which is a bit daunting and humbling. I am seeing how endless the possibilities are in finding details in the text, I am realizing what I need to work on vocally, I am understanding how much more of my body I can use in performance. It all inspires me to get my butt into the practice room. On the days that I don’t, my inner critic’s voice gains volume and plants bitter weeds of self-chastisement for not being good enough already that start to choke out my confidence and drive. I try to remind myself every day that I do this for the journey by going to the practice room, because any sense of having “arrived” is illusory and fleeting, at best.

Apologies for the Heat

In the months before I got here, every time I mentioned that I was going spend part of the summer working in San Francisco, people would warn me about how cold the summers are here. Jeremy forced me to buy a jacket and pack warm clothes for this trip, quoting Mark Twain's famous comment about how the coldest winter he ever spent was a summer in San Francisco.

To a point, everyone's warnings proved true - it does get chilly here, and while I have yet to experience the infamous fog, I have had to make use of the layers I take with me everyday to brace myself against the sudden changes in temperature. Until the last few days, in which we have experienced a heat wave. Suddenly all of my friends who live here are apologizing for the hot, 90 degree weather (which to me is still much cooler than a humid 100 degress in the East village), wondering how I can manage to stay cool.

Google weather tells us that the weather should drop back down to it's usual 50-65 degree span tomorrow, and the city seems to wait with great anticipation for a return to the chilly summer normalcy that they are accustomed to kvetching about with hidden glee.

Marriage

When looking for an apartment to rent for my month here in San Francisco, I wanted something that was close to the Opera, as I have never really spent any time here before, and I don’t know the city very well. As I am practically across the street from the Opera, I am also across the street from City Hall, where gay couples have been getting married this week now that the California Supreme Court’s decision on gay marriage has taken effect.

Walking to work Tuesday, I saw a lesbian couple waiting to cross to my side of the street to get to city hall. They were both wearing nice dresses, and holding small bouquets of flowers, a couple of their friends armed with cameras, anxious to witness the ladies tie the knot. One of the ladies turned to her partner and smiled as the orange hand imploring us to stay on our respective side of the street became a bluish-white figure inviting us to walk. Her partner smiled back, took her hand, and they ventured across Van Ness Avenue to get married.

The unabashed joy in the air was infectious, and I smiled as I skipped up the curb and made my way to the stage door, awed to see dreams I had never imagined would be possible begin to come to fruition after so many years of struggling and waiting.

Just In Case...

As I took my seat next to a fellow understudy, settling in to watch the opening of Ariodante on Sunday afternoon, it suddenly struck me how paradoxical a situation covering is. What is difficult about it is that covers must sit, be silent, watch, and be ready just in case. Having prepared for the job just like any other – studying, practicing, and coaching the music within an inch of its life – there is a significant part of you that wants to go on, that wants to sing. As a singer, the choice to do this as a profession was a choice made from our passion for music and performing – that fire still burns hot within us, even when we are the understudy.

At the same time, my colleagues on stage are the singers whose recordings I have listened to day in and day out for years, they are my heroes in whose steps I wish to follow. I look up to their artistry, musicianship, and passion as examples of how I want to be as a performer, musician, and singer. The opportunity to get paid to watch, listen, and learn from them is a gift. So, as much as I want to sing, I never could wish anyone ill, let alone these people that I respect and admire so much. I only want to watch my colleagues succeed, flourish, stay healthy, and make their magic on stage as they mesmerize the audience.

Beefy

Pulling my tongue out as far as she could with a piece of gauze, the doctor peered into my mouth and pronounced the back of my throat a "beefy red". Most likely strep, was the conclusion, and the appropriate drugs were prescribed. Thankful for her generosity in squeezing in my appointment time, I headed home to continue my efforts to nurse myself back to health. Thanks to the magic of modern medicine and some intense napping, I am quickly beginning to feel like myself again.

My body has cried out very vehemently for a rest, the past couple of weeks still feeling like a blur. Why does time feel like that so much these days? The concerts in LA feel as if they were a lifetime ago, as opposed to last week, and while I have only been in San Francisco for a week, it feels as if I've spent months here. I should have known that I was headed for a crash, the hazy passing of time a warning signal.

Summer Camp '08

In my mind, although I am not suddenly been freed into three months vacation anymore, Memorial Day marked the arrival of summer. Since Portland, life has been a blur, flying by with that stressful feeling of tying up loose ends before the semester ends. Those Camrina Buranas seem like they happened months ago. Carlos' incredible energy on the podium, the orchestra's passionate playing, the chorus unable to stop themselves from dancing along and singing with unabashed joy, and the unselfconscious, smiling faces in the audience that reminded me of why I love being a musician are all distant memories now. The concert up at Tannery Pond last weekend felt in some ways like my final exam of the semester. After we were done and in the car on the way home, I felt the sudden rush of my mental seasons changing. Returning home Sunday night, I had the sensation that I was about to embark on some summer adventure, as if I was about to head off to Interlochen Arts Camp again for the summer.

My summer "music camp" experience is spread between four places this year. My first adventure is actually almost over - the American Premiere of Jake Heggie's new song cycle, Friendly Persuasions, was yesterday afternoon. As always with premieres, it felt very adventurous, but really gratifying, Jake's music is always full of an incredibly wide and fun range of emotional drama and humor, and I am looking forward to pushing the envelope even further with the next two performances.

After our final concert on Tuesday, I head up to San Francisco Opera to be a cover for their upcoming production of Ariodante. Having a month to focus on Handel, revisit Lurcanio, watch and learn from an incredible cast, and explore San Francisco is something I have been looking forward to for a long time. Next comes a month at an authentic music camp experience at Marlboro. I've been waiting to go back since I left last August, and every time I speak of Marlboro, I do so dreamily and with that tone of someone who has had a life-changing experience. My final stop will be at the Ravinia Festival in August, where I will get to step into Pedrillo's sweet and rambunctious shoes again.

It, again

I've been tagged again, much to my delight (Thanks, Joyce!).

The meme is below:

Rules:
The rules of the game get posted at the beginning. Each player answers the questions about himself or herself. At the end of the post, the player then tags five people and posts their names, then goes to their blogs and leaves them a comment, letting them know they’ve been tagged and asking them to read your blog.

Ten years ago:
Ten Years ago, I had just finished my freshman year at the University of Michigan. I was in Ann Arbor, living at my parent's house, riding a bike to my two summer classes everyday (Psych 101 and History of the Old Testament), taking voice lessons with my teacher (Rosemay Russell), and working as a waiter at the Cottage Inn. I met David Daniels for the first time around this time, because he came in to the restaurant pick up his take out order one afternoon. On Sundays I would commute into downtown Detroit to sing at my church job (the Mariner's Church). My waistline was about 4 inches bigger than it is now. I was single, blessed with great friends, and could barely bring myself to speak to my parents because I still hadn't come out to them yet.

Five things on today's "to do" list:
- Write this blog entry
- Rehearse with Pedja for our concert this weekend
- Practice Jake's new piece for it's American Premiere next week as well as the Bach arias that are on that same program.
- Unpack from the Portland trip (see the photo above)
- Do laundry

Things I'd do if I was a Billionaire:
- Buy a small-ish house or an apartment or both, depending
- Donate a lot, probably to children's charities, to gay youth organizations, and to AIDS and cancer research.
- Have a big savings/investment portfolio
- Pay off Jeremy's school loans
- Have a wedding/gay-marriage-party somewhere fun, fancy, and elegant

Three Bad Habits:
- My addiction to Google Reader - I lose countless amounts of time every day on this thing
- My addiction to fried foods - I never know when to stop
- Being impatient in voice lessons and coachings - I don't listen as well as I could as a result

Five places I've lived:
Hartford, CT
Ann Arbor, MI
Houston, TX
New York City, NY
Out of my suitcase

Five jobs I've had:
Restaurant Host
Waiter
Tower Records (I forget my official title, but I worked there while I was in College)
Voice Teacher
Opera Singer

Five People I'm Tagging:

Lou, Peter, Slater, Jim, Jason

Broadcast Bicoastalness

The recital that Jeremy and I performed at the beginning of the month with the Marilyn Horne Foundation will be broadcast tonight at 9pm Eastern Time here.

If you're in Portland, OR - I'll be singing three high D's at about that time on the west coast here.

Portlandia

I am having the time of my life here in Portland - the weather is perfect, the city is green and lush, my colleagues are lovely, the hall is beautiful, and this is one of my favorite cities in the world to visit. It's mostly a favorite because one of my dearest friends lives here, and getting the chance to spend practically unlimited amounts of time with her is priceless, just like the Mastercard commercials. When I haven't been in rehearsal, we've been exploring the city's various restaurants and haunts, catching up, laughing hysterically, and just feeling giddy at being able to see so much of each other after not seeing each other for so long. I've firmly decided that Portland needs to be a regular stop in the future - I love it here.

A slightly intense day tomorrow - an early morning dress rehearsal, and then the first performance in the evening. While my duties as the dying swan are intense and quite difficult, I am glad that they are minimal and that I can sit and let this fun and exciting music wash over me.

Oh, and just so I can fit an inside joke in here - Hi, Lisa!

Parting

The house is a wreck. Clothes are strewn all over the bedroom, Jeremy’s suitcases lie open empty on the unmade bed, papers cover the piano, music is randomly piled all over our living room, my suitcase from my jaunt to Italy is half unpacked and awaits a repacking for my trip tomorrow. I found myself saying to a singer who came to work with Jeremy today, "I'm sorry - I promise, we don't really live like this." Jeremy is trying to fit in his final coachings before he relocates to the Washington, DC area for a summer of work at Wolf Trap Opera. I leave for Oregon tomorrow for a weekend of Carmina Burana with the Oregon Symphony. What makes this trip unusual for me is that instead of coming home to an eager, excited, smiling Jeremy like I usually do, I will come home to an empty apartment next week. We both stare down what seems like a long tunnel of time apart, not looking forward to feeling lonely for each other.

I recently rented the DVD of HBO’s Tell Me You Love Me, a show about four couples in various stages of their relationships. Being a thought-provoking program, it prompted some domestic debating. Relaxing on the couch, watching the pilot episode with Jeremy, we got to talking about the biggest issue that repeatedly causes tension in our relationship – our working schedules. It is almost impossible for us to feel that we get enough time with each other. It’s something we struggle with constantly, and while we have our rules about seeing each other, it never feels adequate. Either I am on the road or he is at work most of the day and night if I am home. We blame each other at times, or we blame ourselves, or both. It leads to endless frustration.

We do make some progress, though. This is our passion, and we are blessed to be able to call it our vocation and make a living at it, let alone work at the wonderful places we have the opportunities to work. With that blessing comes a bit of a price, it seems, but in the end is it much more of a price than anyone else pays? Most of us have to go to work and have what seem like endless responsibilities that tear us away from our loved one at various times. The plus side is that we get to experience the sweetness of reuniting that much more frequently.

Recitalings and Weddings

Sunday afternoon is both a blurred swath of memory and vividly imprinted with detail on my mind all at once. I remember rolling up pieces of prosciutto for the little post-recital party we had at our place for my parents and some family friends at around 12:30, thinking that it was an odd way to prepare for a concert that was to take place in two and a half hours. I remember seeing the sun break through the promised grey sky, burning it to a clear blue, surprising us happily. I remember pacing furiously backstage, trying to channel my nerves into positive places. I remember moments that I felt fiercely connected to both the text and the music, time seeming to stand still. I remember some moments where time seemed to rush by as I desperately tried to catch them so that I could enjoy them. I remember wishing I could go back and have a second chance at some things. I remember feeling happy and proud of how it went overall.

Now it is off to the adventure of a wedding and a mini-vacation. I am to be a bridesmaid in Italy this week, standing for a great friend that I’ve known since we were little twelve year olds sawing away in our respective string sections in youth orchestra. I am kicking and screaming at the thought of some time off, my conscience nagging me to stay home and sit down at the piano to woodshed some of Jake’s new piece that I am performing at the end of the month along with some Bach that also needs some attention. Alas, other parts of me are screaming for some much needed rest and relaxation after such an intense April. Looking at my suitcase, fantasizing about my weekend in Italy, I wonder if I can squeeze in my electric keyboard.

Meme and Shameless Self-Promotion

Tag, I'm it. Thanks, ACB.

The rules of this game of tag:

1. Pick up the nearest book.
2. Open to page 123.
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. Post the next three sentences.
5. Tag five people, and acknowledge who tagged you.

The Life of Rome's First Emperor Augustus

"Like other fashionable people of the time, Livia owned little slave boys called deliciae, or darlings (often Syrians or Africans), who ran around naked and amused people with their chatter. Like court jesters, they had license to say the unsayable. On occasion, one of these boys saw Livia and Octavian sharing a dining couch and Tiberius lying on another alongside a male guest. He went up to Livia and said: 'What are you doing here, mistress? For your husband [pointing to Tiberius] is over there.' "

Ancient Rome sounds like it was a fun place.

I tag Joyce, Kim, James Roe, Hobo Camp, and my brother.

On a completely unrelated and shameless note - I do hope that all you New York readers can make it to the Marilyn Horne Foundation recital that Jeremy and I will be performing tomorrow at 3:00 PM at Christ and St. Stephen's Church at 69th and Broadway.

Unburnt Yet Well Done

We cast ourselves into the Fiery Furnace yesterday for the first time and emerged not only unscathed, but to a standing ovation, which was exciting. It was so wonderful to see Daniel's piece so well received by an appreciative and enthusiastic audience.

Now, having that dust-covered, warm, slightly sweaty feeling from wandering aimlessly and baking under the San Diego sun, I'm off to get ready for number two. Tonight, the goal is to try enjoy more and count a little less obsessively.

Silence

High Schoolers around the country today are participating in Day of Silence.

I was pretty blessed to come out into an incredibly supportive environment when I was in High School. Not everyone is so lucky, which is why I feel compelled to mention it here today.

Burning

As I have worked to prepare Daniel Kellogg’s The Fiery Furnace, which has its world premiere tomorrow evening here in San Diego, I have struggled to find common ground with my character. The piece tells the story of the fiery furnace from the third chapter of the Book of Daniel, in which three young Jewish men, in order to remain true to their faith, defy Nebuchadnezzar by refusing to bow down to a golden idol of the Babylonian King. Nebuchadnezzar punishes them by throwing them into the fiery furnace, where they are witnessed walking with “the son of God” and from which they emerge completely unharmed. My role in the piece is Shadrach, one of the young men who is cast into the furnace.

As I wrote in while singing Bach in Chicago, my relationship with my faith has been a constantly evolving one, and I have come to question it over the years, like I assume most people do. While I have always believed in a God, I question more and more the validity of the Bible being the word of God. I mostly take issue with how much focus there can be at times on the proscriptive and seemingly hateful passages in the Bible that seem to me to skew its larger message of faith, hope, and love. It seems to me that perhaps some human error seeped into it over the years. I’ve also come to question the idea of man’s unworthiness in the Bible – why shouldn’t we be worthy of God’s love? We are theoretically all God’s children, are we not? All parents’ love should be unconditional, and certainly God would be the one being capable of such greatness.

Daniel’s setting of this story begins with Shadrach leading a prayer of penitence, assuming responsibility for the sack of Judah and pleading for God’s mercy. He acknowledges that the wayward ways of the Jews were the cause of their current plight as they brought the wrath of God upon them.

As I set to learning this music, I had trouble reconciling myself to embracing this idea of a wrathful God – my emotional walls were instantly up, and I felt myself detaching from the piece. I wondered how I was going to find a way to commit to Shadrach and his logic. I judged Shadrach for being so misguided in believing that he and his people were only worthy of such incredible misfortune. I don’t believe that a performer can do proper justice to their character if they are judging them in anyway. Performing anything demands the utmost empathy and compassion.

This morning, after having struggled with this for weeks, I suddenly realized that Shadrach was not misguided at all, but actually wise and inspiring. Shadrach and his companions share my belief that God’s love for us is unconditional. He acknowledges what he feels are the mistakes of his people, and his wisdom is in seeing that the only way to move on is to learn from those mistakes with a humble heart. He does not in fact believe that he and his people are unworthy of God’s love, but are worthy of not only God’s love but God’s protection and mercy, as well. That he can maintain such faith that he is willing to risk his life by walking through fire after having endured the hardships of watching his homeland be conquered and then being held captive in a foreign land is inspiring. I would think that a lesser person would question the very existence of God after suffering hardships such as those.

We struggle with our faith in many things, not just God, and I found myself wondering this morning, if I maintained such faith in not only the good in the world, but also in myself during the times that are tough, what miracles could I accomplish? Every step would be a positive step forward, and I would never feel as if I had taken any steps back. I marveled that I was able to extrapolate a lesson from this Old Testament story. Sometimes it doesn’t matter what I believe when it comes to the Bible – lessons that apply to so many different aspects of our lives can be gleaned from its parables and stories, regardless.

A Little Patriotism

In this transition from East to West, I seem to have lost an evening. My eyes, bleary and bloodshot with fatigue, feel heavy, and I am overjoyed by my decision to not wear my contacts today.

Standing under the bright lights of the Kennedy Center's Terrace Theater was an incredible rush yesterday. As we started the concert, the incredulous artist child inside me leapt to the forefront of my mind momentarily, and I thought, what am I doing here? A little patriotic murmur beat through my heart, and I firmly decided to enjoy every minute of my little debut and do my best to contribute to the human spirit.

A Portrait

Bittersweet

My kitchen has become a disaster zone. It is the location where, earlier in the week, I burnt my arm on the iron in the midst of my cleaning frenzy. It is also where I cut two of my fingers when my knife slipped while chopping an onion for a dinner we hosted last night. Mildly annoying at most, but my left arm is now covered in Neosporin and Band-Aids.

A bittersweet day today, as I put my aunt in a taxi to the airport after an incredible visit and then said goodbye yet again to Jeremy and headed to Penn Station to journey to our nation’s capitol, my first stop this week. It is bitter to say goodbye, but sweet to think onwards to visiting with a close, childhood friend who is like a sister I never had in Washington, D.C., singing at the Kennedy Center and then the excitement and adventure of unveiling a world premiere in San Diego.

Working Thoughts

An older, more experienced colleague and I were talking about growing up artistically the other day, and he talked to me about observing many artists of my generation and how many have a difficult time growing from their “talented twenties” into more mature artists. It is a difficult transition, I conceded. We leave our conservatories; if we are lucky, we launch ourselves into the professional world; we struggle to establish ourselves as professionals; we start to speculate about things like career trajectory. It’s hard not to start feeling as if we have arrived somehow and the sense of expectation that comes along with that. Our dreams get bigger, and our desire to achieve them increases in its intensity. At the same time, it is easy to forget that there is still work to do. With a foot firmly planted in the hypothetical future, we too easily lose our footing in the present and the work that is at hand.

A thought occurred to me: The more we grasp for what we want, that which we already have slips more and more through our fingers.

Urban Moon

Good Day

Walking around the neighborhood catching up with my aunt, a productive rehearsal with Jeremy, a visit with a best friend, a concert in Carnegie Hall with wonderful colleagues. I couldn't really ask for more.

Visit

My day today:

- Brunch at Community Food and Juice (I've fallen in love with this place)
- Laundry
- Ironing
- Accidentally burning my arm on the iron
- Dishes
- Yoga
- Coaching The Fiery Furnace for an hour
- Dusting
- Cleaning the Kitchen
- Cleaning the living room
- Running the robotic vaccuum, Gus
- Organizing the music on the piano
- Cleaning the bathroom

And then the family visitor arrived.