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.