Resolve THIS

You may have noticed that I tend to be a bit list-y, and I apologize if reading other people’s lists is not your cup of tea, though they can be very funny sometimes. I find lists to be my friends, especially in times of stress, which has been most of this year. They help me to organize my thoughts, and I can’t help thinking that they may be the vestiges an “organization gene” barely inherited from my compulsive mother. My mother, who, God bless her, follows a long line of bossy, OCD women, wonders over me and how I did not inherit said organization gene, to which I reply, but I can make a mean list!

Like at New Year’s. I love New Year’s resolutions, and I love listing them. I often have boring resolutions, like “exercise more,” “eat less junk,” and “get out of bed before 9,” that kind of thing. This year, I thought I’d come up with some fun ones, especially since this year I am more in need of serious, boring reminders, er, resolutions, than ever before. Here goes.

Drink more rum. I was thinking, I don’t drink many rum drinks. And rum is so fun! The words almost rhyme. Rum can both warm you up, as in a hot toddy, and cool you down, as in a mojito. Rum is universal, consumed from chilly Britain to the hot Caribbean. Rum is sweet as candy, unlike, say, gin, which is harsh and dry, or vodka, which makes me scrunch up my face when I down a sip, or brandy, which makes my esophagus burn. Honestly, I’m not a big drinker, but a cocktail from time to time makes me feel like I’m really living it up. The best thing about this resolution is: I drink one rum drink, and I can check it off, because I almost never drink rum. Cheers!

Dance more. Again, don’t do this nearly enough. I feel like such a blob this year, as I exercise very little. I’m not sure walking to the metro counts. I’m talking, really sweat. I love belly dancing, ballroom dancing, even stupid dancing. (That would be what I do free-form at weddings and the like.) Even if I can never commit to a dance class, I could go out to some of those Cuban bars (with the mojitos, hello, resolution #1!), and Mr. P and I could get down. That’d be fun. I think I must check this resolution off at least twice a month.

Keep joy in my artistic work, dignity in my day job, pay bills on time, balance my checkbook, (or at least keep track of expenses) iron out my mental issues, stay physically healthy and fit, finish the home remodel, practice acceptance, compassion, and patience, and maintain a positive attitude.
Ok, so maybe I have only two fun resolutions and whole slew of serious ones. I know what I need to do this year, and most of it will require hard work, perseverance, and patience.

According to Chinese astrology, 2008 will be the Year of the Rat. I was born in the Year of the Rat, and they say that a rat year is a good year to make a fresh start.

Here’s hoping a little Rat Luck will be on my side, and yours, too, this New Year.

Blocking out the scenery, breaking my mind

I’ve experienced a lot of signs in my life recently. Behold:

Sign that my home remodel has lasted way too long:
instead of putting on slippers to go downstairs to make coffee in the morning, I slip on my work boots

Sign that I should probably wash my jeans already:
the cat keeps smelling the same place on my jean leg like he’s interested in eating it

Sign that the writer’s strike has taken its toll:
I turn to free movies On Demand and watch Sleepless in Seattle, for Pete’s sake

Sign that I might need to get a new refrigerator:
I smell something burning… and see the cat lapping up steak juice

Sign that I need a real job:
I find my checking account in overdraft after having to buy a new refrigerator

Sign that banks are criminal bastards:
the account would not have gone into overdraft if they posted the transactions immediately after I made them, like the &*$# bank commercials say they do

Sign that my luck may be changing:
I GET A JOB!

Sign that the company may be totally desperate:
they call me three hours after my interview to offer me the job and don’t even bother calling my references

Sign that I may be totally desperate:
I take an “entry-level” job (but it’s in the ARTS, finally!)

Sign that the holidays are upon us:
I start planning my schedule around meals

Sign that Christmas may be the most overrated holiday of the year:
I start singing along to the jewelry commercial jingles

Signs that Christmas may be the best holiday of the year:
everything counts as a “Christmas present,” you can pretend to be out of town for two weeks, even if you’re not, and it’s ok to have eggnog and gingerbread cookies… for breakfast

Me Cook Good (sometimes)

I'm not much of a cook, really. I'm a bit of a spaz in the kitchen, and often, I catch something on fire. I enjoy cooking, but I didn't grow up in a gastronomic family, and despite my enjoyment for eating, I've never had a natural sense for what flavors work well together, what happens chemically to ingredients mixed together, or how to create a dish from a few random foods found in the refrigerator. However, in mere survivalist form, I have learned how to whip up a few things, and the few dishes or items I know are pretty tasty.

Here are just a few:

1. Chicken Soup

2. hot chocolate (just a little bit spicy, a la mexicaine)

3. omlette (only recently learned that 3 eggs are better than 2)

4. pommes de terre au gratin (Or: potatoes au gratin) (I learned it in France, and they have better cream there. No, seriously, they do. But it still works here)

5. red cabbage (this one is a bit of a surprise to me)

6. ratatouille (Even if you speak French, it’s still hard to say)

Sleep Now

I just tried hypnosis for the first time. In a workshop for actors (free with my Actors Center membership!), I surrendered myself to a certified hypnotherapist, who helped me and a dozen other hopefuls to fill our minds with positive affirmations in order to increase our confidence and ease our anxieties in auditions.

I feel like someone just massaged my subconscious.

I used to think hypnotherapy was a non-scientific, spooky, old-fashioned brainwashing or regression technique used to sort through trauma. I would picture a Freud-like figure dangling a golden pendant in front of a gullible (beautiful, young) lady's eyes, commanding her to "sleep... sleeeeppp..." Instead, I found it a lot like meditation, but with exterior positive reinforcement. That's right: hypnotherapy is mind programming.

There is, actually five kinds of mind programming: 1. by repetition, 2. in a highly emotional state, 3. in an altered state (this is hypnotherapy), 4. by an authority figure, and 5. by your peers. In television advertising, we typically see all five of these techniques at work at one time. Scary thought, no?

So, what was it like? Besides meditating (which I don't do enough of), it reminded me of the first time I went scuba diving. Weighed down with an oxygen tank and additional weights, I submerged 25 feet under the water with the help of a rope tied from the boat to the a rock on the ocean floor. Little by little, I "climbed" down this rope, adjusting my ears every few feet. It was a pretty brilliant means of descent, actually. This is what it felt like to sink down into deep relaxation, as I held onto the "rope" that was my instructor's voice.

We all went "under" twice, but don't let the word "under" alarm you. I did not feel under anyone's influence, but rather, awake, in control, and just so, so relaxed. My body felt like a liquid blob. When she brought us "out" of this state, I felt happy and refreshed, like I just awoken from a good night's sleep and a pleasant dream. She said we were in a theta state, which is that feeling you may get if you are in the process of dozing off but still can hear what's going on around you.

I have yet to put my new auditioning affirmations to test, so the effects remain to be seen. I hope very much that when my anxieties start to creep up in a high-pressure performance situation, my newly-programmed subconscious will take the wheel and steer me towards smooth, confident sailing. I know one thing: hypnosis felt good, and I think I want more.

While it snows outside and Mr. P and I nurse our new colds (yes, I have another cold, hooray!), I have been working on perfecting my chicken soup recipe. Actually, I don't have a recipe, so technically, I am perfecting my first recipe of chicken soup. Good news, though: I did it. I made a chicken soup that is both delicious and nutritious, and it's not disgusting to look at, either. Here it is (sorry, my vegetarian friends):

Quesadelia's Chicken Soup

Ingredients

1 whole small chicken
liquid chicken broth (about 1 liter)
1 onion
1 small bunch of carrots (fresh, with greens)
a few hearts of celery
butter
5 small Yukon Gold potatoes
your choice of spices (parsley, thyme, salt, pepper... etc)

1. Remove packaged giblets from inside the chicken. Cut whole chicken up into about 4 - 5 pieces, but do not remove skin or bones; keep the chicken intact. Place in a large pot and cover with liquid chicken broth and water.

2. Bring chicken and water to boil, then let simmer for at least one hour or hour and a half. Frequently skim fat off top of water with a skimmer.

3. While the chicken cooks, prepare your mirepoix: finely chop an entire onion and add to a few tablespoons of melted butter in a saute pan. Saute the onions until they are soft, then add a few, finely chopped carrots and celery hearts. Carrots do not need to be peeled, but you will need to remove their greens. Mirepoix ratio should be: 50% onion, 25% carrots, 25% celery.

4. After the chicken has cooked for a while, remove the chicken (or chicken parts) from the stock, and cut the meat from the bones. Remove the skin as well. Place just the meat back into the stock.

5. Place your prepared mirepoix into the stock with the chicken meat.

6. Peel and chop potatoes into nice, bite-sized pieces, and add to the soup.

7. Season the soup with salt, pepper, and your choice of spices, such as thyme, parsley, dill, and/or juniper.

Soup does not need to cook much longer, just long enough to cook the potatoes. Then you can enjoy a nice, hearty, wintry soup. It will make your cold feel better; it will also make you feel happier.

I am witnessing the first snowfall of the season here in Maryland. And how pretty it is! We should have about 2 - 3" accumulated by the end of the day. Then it will probably all melt away tomorrow. Oh, well.

Very funny short film, from Wholpin.

Gosh, I've just been terrible about updating my new blog here; truth is, I haven't been doing much, at least not much I can write about. I've been trying to purge and remodel my house, while simultaneously purge and remodel my life, all while trying to get over my nasty cough (which I am over, hooray!). I'm just getting back into singing, and the voice is shaky and, strangely, dark. Mmm. Not sure what that's all about, but during my last voice lesson, my teacher suggested I start looking at Rachmaninoff, because he is hearing a Russian color in my voice. Maybe it's all the tea I've been drinking for the past three months. I have no idea, but I started singing Rachmaninoff's Vocalise. What? I'm not actually ready for Russian words, for Pete's sake.

I did get out last night to visit my grandmother, who lives now in an assisted living facility in Northern VA. The complex is closer in nature to a college campus, and she has her own apartment, so visiting her feels rather like visiting a college student 60 years older. We dined with 5 of her "girlfriends," and we chatted about music, culture, travel, their former careers, their activities at the "facility," etc., etc. All the while she kept bragging about me, informing her friends that I was an opera singer, and ordering me to "tell them about your music, dear," and, "tell them what you did in Paris," "tell them about how you painted your car in college." I was a bit embarrassed about telling what I consider somewhat boring stories about myself, but I was touched all the same.

What I found interesting were the very specific ideas and images in her head about me and my life. For example, she was convinced that I had sold my hippie-painted car in college to someone for more than it was worth. First of all, that car up and died on me, so even though it was hand-painted by yours truly, it was not worth much. Secondly, I never did sell it: I gave it away to the United Way, I believe. It was a sad day for me, but I felt that I couldn't hang onto defunct car. I didn't dare burst my grandmother's bubble, though; she seemed to be enjoying the elaborated memory.

My grandmother also had colorful memories about my life in Paris. It's true that I was a nanny by day for 2 of my 3 years there, and sometimes, I sang in restaurants and clubs at night. My grandmother, however, had romanticized my former lifestyle to the likes of Josephine Baker. "Tell them about your little studio apartment," she insisted. "Tell them how you went through all those accompanists (true) and then met your husband at a music conservatory (true again)."

Ok, I guess I had forgotten how cool my life seemed at that time, at least on the outside.

When I think about my grandmother and all the memories she must have, whether they are memories from her own life or those accumulated vicariously through others, I wonder if for her, reliving the past must be like watching a movie. I am grateful that my eccentric antics of the past continue to give joy to someone. I hope I can come up with many more.

Fun with everyday objects

This is very creative.

My favorite holiday...

...is Halloween. When else can you freely wear costumes and gorge on candy? Mardi gras, maybe. But that's it.

And in preparation for Halloween, let's talk scary music. Classical, of course.

A person very close to me once said, "to be a musician, you cannot deny the demonic side of yourself." Wow! It's true, though; in order to channel the master works of music written by composers before our time, and in our time, one must be balanced, have life experience, and not deny his or her "dark side." Because sometimes, classical music is dark.

Imagine hearing, for the first time, Bach's Toccata and Fugue in d minor (BWV 565). In 1703, this would be equivalent to a hardcore metal concert of today. I'm talking Nails plus Alice Cooper (I know NIN isn't considered "metal," but you know what I mean). It is virtuosic, and it's impossible to hear without imagining some nasty ghoul playing it on the organ.

This is a not-so-scary video of the sublime piece:



Another favorite of mine is from Greig's vivid suite, Peer Gynt (written for Ibsen's play). The Hall of the Mountain King is considerably scary, especially when you imagine little Peer running away from the Mountain troll and his troll daughters. Run, Peer, run!

This piece, performed here by the Chamber Orchestra of S.João da Madeira Music Academy and directed by Richard Tomes, is short and to the point.



And what else could be more Halloweeny than Saint-Saens' Danse Macabre? This piece, later transcribed by Liszt for the piano, uses the xylophone to depict the sounds of rattling bones, or skeletons dancing. Below is a fan video of Tim Burton's animation to (part of) the composition.



And there are so many more, but for now, I will leave you with these gems.

Under the weather

Dudes, I have bronchitis. So I am staying off the chords at the moment; in other words, no singing. But on the other hand, lots of time for silly posting. (See previous post)

My solo recital has been postponed as a result. No worries, though. I will sing it in a month or so, healthy. In the meantime, I am learning (silently) "Air des clochettes" from Lakme and "Durch Zärtlichkeit und Schmeicheln" from Abduction from the Seraglio to add to my awesome coloratura repetoire.

Hey, I'm kind of hot

As my Simpsons avatar...

Someone has been spying on me

Talk about it at Videocracy


Sometimes, art imitates life.

STRESS

So, here's what's going on, and why I have not been blogging:

1. I have a cold, again. Actually, the cough from my cold in August never completely went away, and it has just flared up again. And I have a recital in 10 days! This is how my body reacts to stress: my respiratory system crashes.

2. Mr. P was hospitalized on Sunday with acute abdominal pain. This is how he reacts to stress: his stomach freaks out. They have no idea what it was, but a CT scan showed a bowel obstruction, which eventually cleared up. However, he is not yet feeling normal. He had a recital coming up, too, and he had to reschedule it.

3. My niece was in a bad horseback riding accident. She is fine but bruised and battered. She is only 9 years old. It is disturbing to see a black-and-blue child.

4. My mom is undergoing her second back surgery in a year and a half. She has been in excruciating pain, so I pray that this second surgery will get her back on her feet (literally).

5. My dad is on my case about every little thing, and I am this close to telling him to bugger off. He doesn't like our "lifestyle" and thinks I'm "in trouble," but he is not "helping me out" in any "constructive way." Bleh! I don't have time for this.

Here's what's going right:

1. Mr. P finished his recording (at least, the recording part of it, still has to edit), so he should have something to market in only a few weeks (God willing).

2. That movie Into the Wild was really cool. Sad, but inspiring.

Yeah, that about does it.

I promise to get back on top of things very soon, with healthy lungs and blogging about fun stuff.

Looking more deeply at De Falla's "Siete Canciones"

When I first learned and performed "Siete canciones populares españolas" by Manuel de Falla with the classical guitar, I did not closely consider the words. With my rusty knowledge of Spanish, I knew that the first song, "El paño moruno," had something to do with a cloth that had been stained and was now selling for less in a shop. I didn't know why one would sing about a stained cloth, unless it was a stained dress that made history, but I thought the rhythm was cool, so I focused on that. I also knew that "Asturiana" had something to do with crying (and oddly, also a crying pine tree), and "Nana" was some kind of lullaby. What I did not do was analyze the text, because I thought the words were nonsense, and the songs were more about flamenco dance rhythms. This negligence is inexcusable, however, since a singer should always write out the text of a piece and translate it, line by line and word by word, no matter how proficient she thinks she is in the particular language. One of my favorite singers, Barbara Bonney, has said that when she learns a new piece, she starts with the text. Now I know why.

I. El Paño Moruno (The Moorish cloth): a metaphor for loss of virtue. Or, a 19th-century Spanish local commercial jingle.

The fine cloth in the shop, a stain has fallen on it
For less price it sells now, because it has lost its value.


II. Seguidilla Muriciana: those in glass houses shouldn't throw stones. Also, get your mule and don't be so fake.

Whoever has a roof made of glass, shouldn't throw stones at his neighbor.
Let us be mule drivers; it could be that we may meet each other on the road.
For your inconstancy, I compare you to a coin (peseta) that runs from hand to hand
And becomes so worn and blurred that people start believing it to be false, and they will no longer take it.

III. Asturiana: sometimes you can get so depressed that you make even the trees cry.

To see whether it would console me, I drew near a green pine.
Seeing me weep, it wept.
And the pine, being green, seeing me weep, wept.

IV. Jota (a flamenco dance): good-bye, windows! good-bye, door!

They say we don't love each other,
Because they never see us talking.
But of your heart and mine, they have only to ask.
Now I bid you farewell, your house and your windows, too.
Even though your mother may not like it,
Farewell, little girl until tomorrow.

V. Nana ("nana" literally means lullaby)

Go to sleep, little child, sleep.
Sleep, my soul.
Go to sleep, little star of the morning.
Lulla-lullaby, lulla-lullaby,
Sleep, little star of the morning.

VI. Canción: jeepers, creepers, where'd you get those peepers?

For being traitors, your eyes, I'm going to bury them
You don't know what it costs, "del aire"
Child, the act of looking at them
"Madre a la orilla"
Child, the act of looking at them, "madre."
They say you don't love me, and you have loved me,
The winner goes away, "del aire,"
For the loser: "madre a la orilla"
For the loser: "madre."

ok, I still don't really understand this one. Those "madre" interjections are some kind of specific expressions in Spanish. Further research is required.

VII. Polo (not the horse game, but another flamenco dance): Ay!!

Ay!
I keep a... (Ay!)
I keep a... (Ay!)
I keep a sorrow in my breast.
I keep a sorrow in my breast
That to no one will I tell.
Wretched be love, wretched.
Wretched be love, wretched.
And he who gave me to understand it!
Ay!

This song cycle is so wonderful for its "Spanish-ness:" the pieces are earthy, passionate, hot, emotional, and sharply rhythmical. I do not claim to be a Flamenco singer, or even a mezzo-soprano (the songs are largely middle voice), but I think they work even in the voice of a Waspy soprano. As long as she goes to that Spanish place in her soul.

Did You Know?

Did you know that every woman should have a certain 10 essential items in her clothes closet? That is according to Tim Gunn, on Bravo's Guide to Style, which I watched for the first time last night. I am a little bit endeared to Gunn, who seems sincere in his pursuit to make people dress better. I thought I would watch the show to make fun of it (have you seen Michael MacDonald impersonate him on MadTV?), but I ended up taking actual notes. Lucky for me, because if you go to the site for more information, you will not easily find checklists and clear information, which is probably intentional for getting you to watch the show. Lucky for you, too, that I did the dirty work, because they were not straightforward even on the show about this precious information. So, here are the items, with my comments:

1. Little black dress (check! Except the little shiny doodad on the back of mine has broken, even though it is staying in place)

2. Classic dress pant (... jeans aren't dressy?)

3. Classic white shirt (check! It's about three years old, uncomfortably tight across the bust, and is starting to show little sweat stains... ew. Ok, uncheck.)

4. Day dress (check! I get compliments on it, but it is made of synthetic fabric and doesn't breathe well.)

5. Blazer (check! If we are counting funky, Asian-Turkish inspired casual blazers? Tim??)

6. Skirt (check! Got lots of those, including my favorite, straight one, with a little sexy slit on the side.)

7. Cashmere sweater (check! It's second-hand Calvin Klein, I believe, and it's a cardigan, but it's cashmere.)

8. Jeans (Check! Again, lots of those, but I still find it difficult to find the best pair.)

9. Trenchcoat (Check! It's a raincoat, technically, but I think it counts.)

10. Sweatsuit alternative (I am just not into sweatsuits. I simply cannot wear them without looking frumpy. I'll have to keep watching the show to see what they come up with here.)

How do you fare? I am not a big shopper myself, but I am inspired. I think I may even go to a bra fitter this week.

Words of Wisdom: Renee Fleming

I had the great fortune of catching a performance with Renee Fleming at the London Proms when I was in London for all of two nights this summer. Even from very far away, I could see and hear that she both looked and sounded gorgeous. In a flowing, sparkling green dress, she could have been dressed for the role of Rusalka the mermaid, and her warm, voluptuous soprano filled the Royal Albert Hall.

But I didn't come here to write about that performance.

I just heard her on NPR, speaking briefly with producer David Schulman, as part of the series "Musicians in their own words." I jotted down notes, and now I will share them with you, my lovelies.

In her words:

1. You must imagine the voice you want. (Meaning, you cannot really control your voice in the same way an instrumentalist controls their sound. The vocal chords are involuntary muscles.)

2. Walking as a form of exercise is very beneficial.

3. Singing jazz earlier helped me with phrasing in classical music: tension in a phrase, singing slightly off the beat, rubato.

4. Find composers that are a good fit. Don't force yourself into the wrong "clothes." A piece should feel like a "second skin," like it was written for you. Also, you must love the piece as well as the character.

5. In 1995, I sang in Othello 4 1/2 weeks after the birth of my second daughter. I just decided I could do it, and I am very proud of that.

You rock, Renee.

Lest We Forget

Sixty-five years after her death, the poems of young Jewish poet Selma Meerbaum-Eisinger live on both in text as well as music. Composer Gershon Kingsley recently set to music the words of the teenage girl from Romania who became imprisoned in a concentration camp.

Despite falling very ill and eventually perishing in this labor camp at the age of 18, she wrote and eventually left behind 52 original poems, many of which were intended for her boyfriend. After the war, a friend of hers rescued the poems and took them to Israel, where they were published.

Her words:

‘I want to live.
I want to laugh and lift loads
and want to fight and love and hate
…and want to be free and breathe and scream.
I don’t want to die. No!
No.
Life is red.
Life is mine.’

I have not heard the whole disc , "Voices from the Shadow," so I cannot review it here, but the snippets give the impression of a music that is personal, intimate, and haunting.

Addio, senza rancor

It's hard to believe that Luciano is gone. He was one of those artists I thought would just be around forever.

I hope he and Beverly Sills are singing duets in heaven.

Like a Deer in the Headlights

I had my first casting agency audition yesterday. It did not go as well as I had hoped. The few times I've auditioned for the camera, I have been unnaturally relaxed. I find acting for the camera a very intimate and personal experience, and I am comfortable with that. But lately, I have become jumpy and insecure with auditions and performing, and I nearly sabotage myself with fears, especially the fear of forgetting my lines. I am experienced enough that I should not be concerned about forgetting my lines, but my demons are springing up again, convincing me that for some odd reason, my memory is failing.

First of all, I had to wait an hour and 15 min for my audition, even though it was scheduled for a specific time. Waiting for an audition is always difficult; I have not mastered the art of staying focused and relaxed for an extended period of time. I understand, however, that auditions get backed up, so I am patient. When they finally ushered me in, (and I could tell the guy was tired and really just wanted to go get a sandwich), I suddenly became very insecure about the way I looked; specifically, I was aware that my nipples were popping through my form-fitting shirt. I'm not kidding. It was as if they suddenly came to life with the camera, and I was painfully aware that they would be captured on screen. Ugh. I started my monologue, and about three lines in, my mind went, uhhh, what's the next thing I'm supposed to say? SHIT. panic. panic. Oh, yeah, something about lemonade: "blah, blah, bl-" NO! Not that! She DIDN'T make me lemonade. "Uh..." backpeddle. fumble. Go on.

So, I finished up the monologue, and I may have even had a good moment or two, but I know that fumble counted against me. Like dead air on a radio station. Then, I read from a script, and it was perfect, at least from my point of view. I had the whole thing memorized (??) (see how crazy this is? I blank out on a monologue that I've had memorized, but something I just got an hour earlier, I know by heart). Then, the guy was like, "Ok. Thanks." Practically shoving me out of the door, he did not ask me to fill out additional paperwork like some of the girls before me did. Mmm.

Basically, I got a false start on my monologue, and I very well may have blown a potentially important audition. It's impossible to judge, but... I have a bad feeling. So, how to avoid this? For starters, I think I'm going to start monologues differently. I am going to start them as if I am going to sing. Which is, first: BREATHE. I always forget to breathe.

And I need to just forget about my nipples. Gah!

I'm not sure if heart attacks are "covered"

I nearly went into cardiac arrest today when I received a bill in the mail. It was from my doctor, and the amount I owed, from neatly tallied visit expenses, was nearly $500.

Mr. P and I, who are basically self-employed, have new health insurance as of this year. I was very proud of myself for finding an "affordable" plan that would cover routine doctor visits (at least, that's what I understood), in exchange for a low monthly payment and $25 co-pays. We had been without insurance for the better part of 2006, and we were no longer willing to play with fate.

Last year, I became afflicted with periodic dizzy spells, which picked up in frequency earlier this year. Not one to ever rush to the doctor, I feared my body might be trying to tell me something, and I decided to get it checked out. During the course of my visits to the doctor, during which time I had my heart thoroughly tested and checked out, I would receive statements from my insurance company, with detail of office and tests expenses, "repriced" amounts and, in a little box on the bottom, a number, under a column titled, "covered medical." Each of these statements came with the heading, "This is NOT a bill." So, I thought, 'how nice! They are covering all of my expenses! Wow. Isn't it nice to have insurance again?'

Until today, I thought I was one lucky American. Michael Moore was wrong; some Americans don't pay much for insurance and still get their expenses covered. Then the bill came, the bill I was not expecting, and my illusion was shattered. And I feel like such an idiot for believing otherwise.

The irony of the whole thing is, I may not have gone to the doctor at all for these dizzy spells, if I had known I would be paying for so many of the tests. (Yes, that is how cheap I am.) As it turned out, my dizzy spells miraculously stopped - and I mean STOPPED - a few days after my last visit to the doctor. Was it psychological? I'm not sure. The tests (and I took many) confirmed that my heart was in perfect working order, so thank goodness for that; I am certainly grateful to be in good health. For today, at least, I will not be a woman who suffers from heart disease and is unaware of it.

Basically, what I received as an insured patient was a discount on my expenses. I suppose it's not the end of the world. I don't pay high taxes, and now I know that I am in excellent health. However, I am concerned about what will happen if I, or Mr. P, ever actually get sick.

Go- ji!

If you have not tried goji juice, or the goji berry, you may want to check it out. Since I started taking it (drinking it, that is), I have had no bouts of depression, I feel less overwhelmed, and my energy level is better. And I was a skeptic when I first tried it.

Insanity

MSNBC.com has an article about the pressures that opera singers are under today, and it is scary. Kudos to them for bringing this to the forefront; I think many people, including actual singers, have no idea how ugly the business can be.

Singing with a Cold

I sang at a wedding yesterday, and I was full of cold. I admit that there are worse things than the common cold. I'd take a cold any day over many other diseases, but I would say that a cold can be a major inconvenience. Especially for a singer, a cold runs you down and literally clogs and mucks up your instrument. Still, many singers insist on slugging through, and I did.

I only needed to sing Schubert's "Ave Maria," which is not a taxing song. A few days after coming down with my cold, I noticed, with surprise, that my voice was more or less still intact, as opposed to last November, when a more severe cold caused me to lose my speaking voice for several days, and my singing voice for several weeks. So, I had hope, even preferring to sing the song a whole step higher (in C, rather than B-flat), where it sounded much better in my real voice.

Mr. P, who played the guitar with me, recommended instead that we sing it in A, which was much easier for him to play, but middle voice for me. I finally agreed after noticing that my usual high voice felt pinched and kept falling flat. When I finally got up to sing during the wedding, my head was compacted with congestion, and my heart was pounding; I was not sure what was going to come out. Somehow, something came out, though rather straight toned and held in, from my distorted opinion. When I sat down, Mr. P smiled and said it was "gorgeous," and afterwards, a few wedding guests even told me what a "beautiful" voice I had. So, there you have it. I slogged through!

Here are a few useful tips I found for singing with a cold. The site is more for pop singers, but the advice is applicable for classical singers, too. Also, you can check out the singing with a cold FAQ from the same site. I think there are no hard rules for singing with a cold. You just need to use your judgment.

Ceilidhs and haggis are best with a Scottish accent

I am freshly home from opera camp, that is: the Oxenfoord International School for singers and pianists in St. Andrews, Scotland. I worked with some impressive faculty, including Paul Wynne-Griffiths of Covent Garden, international concert accompanist Malcolm Martineau, and Head of Vocal Studies at Guildhall School of Music Robin Bowman, and many others. My head is swimming with new information, and I am anxious to crack open some new repertoire, but I must give it a few days, as my throat is little raw from the travel and temperature change, as well as hard-working American air conditioning.

I would recommend this program to any singer who would like a taste of European musical education as well as additional experience for their resume and general well-being. I performed in a masterclass (with no less than the estimable Irish mezzo Ann Murray), in a student showcase recital, and in opera scenes. There is a strong focus on German lieder at this program, so one should be prepared for that, but there is everything else from Baroque to lighter rep, such as musical theatre and folk melodies. I am especially fond of French song, so my time with Robin Bowman was invaluable.


On the touristy side, I thoroughly enjoyed Britain. Both the Scots and the English could not have been more pleasant and friendly, and Edinburgh is a beautiful city, in an unassuming way. St. Andrews, too, is charming, as well as tiny, but its ruins are impressively large (or echo what used to be large) and inspiring. My whole adventure had a Harry Potter feel to it, having left for Britain just a few days after the latest film and the last book came out, and then taking the train from King's Cross station in London to Edinburgh and then onto to a school that could double for Hogwarts and was without a doubt haunted. (I didn't see any ghosts, thankfully, but one of the passageways at the school was unabashedly named after a ghost. At least they're comfortable with the idea.)

And no, I didn't touch any haggis.