Musings

This is a cathartic moment for me. I am not a young inexperienced woman, but a mature fairly confident artist (classical singer). But my experiences over the last few years have left me, shall we say, hesitant to spread my wings and test the waters both personally and professionally. Hesitant is the wrong word. Eager but apprehensive is probably more appropriate.

I have been a widow for 3 ½ years now. The length of my husband’s illness and my devotion to him and his caregiving were such that I missed many of my most productive years as a singer. Not that I stopped singing, but that I stopped really pursuing anything beyond the places I could get to in less than an hour by car. Before his illness, the responsibilities of being a mom had done something of the same to me, although I did travel to Italy to sing for 6 weeks when my son was 5. I do not blame my family for my actions. I love them, loved them, and would have done whatever needed doing to keep them safe and happy and, in my husband’s case, to return him to health. In his case, that was not to be. And so, grief took over my life, ruled its confines and wrapped me in a fog so thick that it took a major illness of my own to blow a hole through.

So here I am. Alone and looking for a second chance at life. I have survived my own health battles, thank you very much, and can reasonably expect to be around for several more years. Now what? And why? When so many around me have succumbed to their grief or to their illness, why am I still here? And what do I do with it?

Interesting possibilities…. I started small, well, small for me. I continued to sing throughout all this, scored several performances in large and difficult works that demonstrated that “I was back”! But they didn’t feel nor did I want them to be the destination. I want and need to do more with this, to explore the possibility of stretching my limits as far as I can.

It will be no surprise to anyone living that the world revolves around and worships youth and beauty. The opera world is no different. Singers are consistently cast on appearance more than on sound and youth is a huge plus for those singers. So what does a mature, saftig woman with a voice that makes the earth move do to counter this trend? Well, I am striking my first blow for the mature artist next month in San Francisco.

I have applied to audition for cash prizes and for the opportunity to sing for several opera companies at a convention put on by a magazine for, purportedly, all classical singers. It started as a whim, an annoyance that, once again, all the materials and classifications as to professional level focused on “young artists” or “just graduated”, instead of only on how much work you do and where. So, since the first round was by audio recording, resume and picture, after much hand-wringing, second-guessing and some sleepless nights, I applied. I have sweated the last 6 weeks, wondering if they would guess from my resume (even though I removed the oldest stuff) that I was WAY over the usual age for these things and would reject me out of hand. But the recording I sent, though not professionally done, was good and, thanks to a young, edgy woman photographer, my headshot did not look like an “old lady” (see my home page). And last Friday, I got the word….I’M GOING!!!

Wow…now what? Well, I intend to sing like a goddess! Why go if I’m not going to give it my all? And one part of me is determined that I win! But the realistic side of me has a backup plan or rather, a “where does this fit in the scheme of things” opinion. I have won a competition before. It is not a destination goal; it doesn’t pay bills or guarantee future employment. But what the experience does for me is another thing. It is a step in the right direction, a step toward life, a step taken on my terms, for me, for MY life and my future. As an event, it probably doesn’t have any great significance, although I will still pursue a win here, make no mistake about that. But believing that life is not over, that I am still a capable, valuable artist who just happens to be over the age of “maturity” is of much greater importance. And the first step in convincing the rest of the world!

Now, if I could just do the same thing for my love life….sigh…. Another story, another day. It is part and parcel of this same journey and I have made steps in the right direction. But I have lots of work left to do there before I can declare myself whole. If one can ever say that with complete conviction….

It has been a long time since I posted any thoughts or happenings here. Guess it’s about time I did.

It’s been a busy year, thank God. After Cavalleria Rusticana, I participated in that amazing performance of the Verdi Requiem with Orchestra Seattle, the Seattle Chamber Singers and my dear friends and colleagues, conductor George Shangrow, mezzo soprano, Emily Lunde, tenor, Stephen Wall and bass, Brian Box.

I looked at the whole experience as a kind of return to life and triumph over the anguish and adversity of the past few years. Singing “Libera me” opens my soul to God and all who will listen. The text may be pleading with God for deliverance, but being able to sing and sing it well and with strength, is for me more about proclaiming the glory of God and giving thanks that I have come back to this place of relative health.

After the previews that I mentioned in the last post and the Macbeth performances with Seattle Opera. I did actually audition for the role of Lady Macbeth with West Bay Opera in Palo Alto. Didn’t get hired, but it was a good experience and I sang very well. Considering there didn’t seem to be any Lady Macbeth’s at the callbacks (a tenor friend was called back), perhaps I was just too late and they had already cast it. Soothes my ego a bit anyway, but then it was more about the doing than about the winning this time.

Later in the month, I went back to California and recorded the song cycle “Meditation at Oyster River” that my brother wrote and dedicated to me. I stayed with the pianist and his incredibly talented artist wife and worked like a dog on the piece for four very long, very tough days. But they made me feel very welcome and the music was tremendous and I think we produced a reasonable recording with which to market the songs to conductors (the piece is scored for soprano and orchestra). Hopefully by the end of July, I will manage to post the songs on my own website, but for now, they can be heard at: www.myspace.com/eleanorstallcophorrox

I participated just this past Friday evening in a concert at the beautiful Bloedel Reserve on Bainbridge Island with two other singers and a marvelous accompanist of opera arias and some lighter fare. It gave me the chance to be playful, singing “ I Can Cook, Too” from On the Town and “Can’t Help Lovin’ That Man of Mine” from Showboat. With Puccini and Catalani in the first half and Broadway in second, I was having a grand time!

So now on to the next challenge – learning Franco Leone’s L’Oracolo for Willamette Concert Opera in October in Portland and Corvallis, preparing excerpts from Puccini’s Il Tabarro and Suor Angelica for an audition in November and looking for more opportunities to audition and perform. And hopefully having many more things to write about here in Musings.

Looking forward.

Here is a review of last Sunday’s performance. It was originally to have been strictly concert style, but that evolved into, “Couldn’t you do a little moving around?” to actually staging ourselves in a general sort of manner. The orchestra had struggled in rehearsal, but in general, rose to the occasion, although I agree with the “reviewer” that they were much more comfortable with Rachmaninoff, having done it before. Mascagni is big, emotional, Italian music and requires much of all musicians, be they string players, horns, percussionists, woodwinds or singers. And, yes, singers are musicians. Sometime soon I will have to write of my lifelong frustration with those who seek to remove us from that group. But not right now….

But is the beginning of that next phase.  The mature artist practicing her craft.  I am truly looking forward to it.  For me, it was a performance that marked a beginning of sorts. I am always my own worst critic, but even I recognized how good I was. But I also know how much better it will be the next time. And I have been asked by the conductor to give him the name of the next opera I want to do. Very flattering, very gratifying. Believe me when I say I am giving it a lot of thought before answering.

I am at a point in my singing life when I can count on a certain amount of skill to carry me through, but knowing also that I need to work diligently to maintain that skill. There are not unlimited possibilities left, nor the luxury of unlimited time for all the possibilities that do exist. But I intend to work hard, to prepare and to triumph in them to the best of my ability.

So read on. I am pleased that Mr. Dodaro liked the performance. But I intend to make the next time even more captivating and transporting, so that all who witness it will live it with me and know, deep in their souls, what it is my character is saying and feeling. That is truly what we artists are striving toward. It is certainly my intention, every time I take the stage.

A domani e un altro passo avanti.

From: Mike Dodaro
Sent: Monday, March 13, 2006 12:15 PM
To: Musicians at Microsoft
Subject: Aleko by Rachmaninov and Cavalleria Rusticana by Mascagni; A Review

Too late now to see this production by the Concert Opera of Seattle and
Eastside Symphony, but yesterday’s performance at Redmond High School
Performing Arts Center was a knock-out. These two operas require big voices and passionate involvement. In this community production everybody did
their part to make the concert renditions as exciting as anything I’ve seen
lately fully staged. The impact of real voices in a small auditorium more
than compensated for the absence of sets and costumes. Conductor Alexei
Girsh brought the early Rachmaninov one-act masterpiece to life through the
artistry of musicians of the Eastside Symphony. This is what community
artistry should be; great music can exist without spectacle on a stage forty
feet wide if it is played with comprehension and drama. The only thing that
I missed was a chorus for the big church scenes in Cavallaria. There was
also a glitch with the organ/synthesizer that left some odd vacuities in the
music.

But the voices were as good as most I’ve heard in Seattle Opera Productions. Gary Aganesyants sang the title role of Aleko in rich voluminous baritone and Anna Kazakova was a stunning Zemfira—emphasis on the fire. Noah Baetge is a dramatic tenor with the marvelous vocal endowment. The supporting roles were sung creditably by Alexander Deyneko and Olga Kargopoltseva. The story was, no doubt, easier to follow in Russian for the native speakers in the audience, but the music spoke for itself.

Cavallaria Rusticana seemed a little less congenial to orchestra and
conductor, and without a chorus some of the music doesn’t quite work, but
nobody was complaining when the big voices got involved beyond the concert format. By the middle of this Italian pot-boiler none of the singers were
declaiming in oratorio style. The scores that some of them carried onstage
were left unattended on music stands as the singers engaged verismo opera
with the passion always latent, if often unrealized, in it. Eleanor
Stallcop-Horrox sang Santuzza heroically, breathing life and even hope into
the pathos of unrequited love. Gary Aganesyants put menace into the angular
music Mascagni wrote for Alfio. Even without its high notes everybody knew
this muleteer was not to be trifled with. With a wife like Oksana
Sitnitska, provocation could not be far off. Lola’s big seductive voice and
her swagger left no doubt that Turiddu would persist in his adventurous
romance with her. His mother, sung with tragic dignity by Olga
Kargopoltseva, tries along with Santuzza, to persuade Turridu to come to his
senses.

Of course, he should have listened to her and opened his heart to Santuzza’s evident passion for him, but he is destined for destruction. Gino Luchetti,
as Turridu, convinced everybody that his demise was that of a beloved son
and redeemable young man who has let his passions get out of range of better judgment. Mascagni has given him stunning music, and Gino Luchetti scaled the high tessitura with tones like DelMonaco. In the drinking song he shows neighborly respect for Alfio, while beginning to understand the consequences of his choices. The inevitable duel is arranged. Blood will be mingled with the sweat and tears of the Italian countryside. Turridu sings the desperate addio to his mother and dies at
Alfio’s hand in the orchard.

Anybody who didn’t know what verismo opera is about when they came into the auditorium had the opportunity to experience it in the style of European
provincial theaters that are now a thing of the past. To find this kind of
opera in the Redmond High School Auditorium on a Sunday afternoon is just
short of a miracle. A lot of people aren’t going to forget it.

–Michael Dodaro

Perhaps it is time I write about cancer and how it has shaped my life over the last few years.

I was married to a wonderful, loving, funny man for many years. The details of our meeting and our courtship and our life together would make a book all on their own. We were as much in love as two people could be and that love continued to grow day by day, year after year. It was a magical relationship where it was safe to explore the possibilities of life, safe to disagree, safe to come back together without reprisals. It was my haven and my refuge. And now, it is gone.

My husband had a 5 ½ year battle with non-Hodgkins lymphoma. It began in his spine, was treated aggressively, but eventually the combination of the effects of lymphoma and the cumulative effects of all the treatments wore him out and he succumbed. We fought the beast with everything at our disposal, me at his side during every treatment (except radiation, of course) until he just wore out. On the day he died, I wrote:

“Today, my lover, my best friend, the father of my child, the sun, the moon, the stars and the axis of my universe has died.

To those who know him…knew him personally, the loss will be devastating. To those who knew him through me, tragic. But all who knew him, however that was accomplished, recognize that they have been touched by a greatness of spirit that was Harry Horrox. Even the nurses who did not know him before the CCU recognized it….”

After his death in 2003, I was at first numb. I didn’t know where to turn or what to do. So after his memorial, I just continued doing what I had done before. Went to the same jobs, made the same movements, but when I got into my car to go home at night, I would start to cry. I would cry, singing songs to him which made me cry more, only stopping when I had to converse with someone or stop and go into a grocery store or something equally mundane. And I endured all the adjectives so lovingly lavished on me…strong, brave, courageous…. when all I felt was empty and alone. Anger would eventually come to the surface and join the grief, but mostly I just felt abandoned.

I tried to logically come up with things to do that were productive, considering I was fairly young and could reasonably expect to be around for a while. In fact, I told my son, when he expressed worry that he might lose me, too, that I was not some delicate flower who was going to wither away. Even though a part of me wished I could have. But even though my son was at an age where he needed to be breaking away and making his own place in the world, not staying home taking care of his mother, I recognized that he needed me for stability. And my own mother was in her mid-80’s and not very well, so she needed me to stand by her. So on the outside, away from home, I had to function. And for the most part, I did. You often hear it quoted that the “widow” should not make any major changes in her life for at least a year because of the emotional burden of grief. And so I didn’t make changes. And then the one year anniversary of his death arrived and things started to go terribly sideways!

First, on the day after that awful anniversary, I got shingles…on my face. They are painful, annoying, scary and require a lot of attention. But I dealt with them, and continued on in my narrow rut. Then, I got an abscess, which was even more painful and required even more attention. Still I dealt with it and went back to plodding that path. Then an allergic reaction to the antibiotic used to treat the abscess. I had been on so many different drugs by this time that my bathroom looked like a pharmacy! And then came the big blow. I was told that I would need a biopsy of a growth in my left breast.

It seemed so logical to make that appointment for a mammogram. The health plan I had continued under COBRA from my husband (because it was so much better than the one from my employer) was dropping my HMO as an option, so I scheduled some routine tests before the end of the year. Kind of unusual, since I had been there so often in the last 3 months of 2004 due to the aforementioned ailments, but schedule them I did. And when they called me back for more on December 30^th, I remember being a little shaken, but not really nervous. Then an ultrasound and the pronouncement that I needed a biopsy!

The changeover to a new health plan was not easy when I was under duress, but I did manage to get it done. And on the 13^th of January, I went for a needle biopsy. And I knew before I left there that this was not going to be good news. And that’s when I started making changes.

The next day, I left my job. My mother had been hospitalized just a few days before and I knew from my experience when my husband was ill that I could not handle everything for her health and mine and work, too. Plus I knew that my employers were overly dependent on me and were already not very sympathetic to my being gone. So I made a break, although at the time I thought it would be temporary, a medical leave. But since they replaced me in 3 days, I knew that this was what was meant to be and I never looked back.

Surgery found 2 tumors. That lead to chemotherapy and then radiation. It was difficult, it was lonely, it was painful. But I managed. And a whole group of angels gathered around me for the treatments; women friends from different periods of my life – ladies from the opera chorus, friends I met through work and a good friend I met on a field trip when my son was in the fifth grade, stepped up to take me to treatment and in general, to make me feel a little less alone. I will be grateful to them for as long as I live for the generosity of their hearts.

During my radiation, my mother, who had been failing all year, took a turn for the worse and eventually died. It was almost more than my heart could stand to watch her suffer, but losing her was yet another blow to my already delicate emotional balance. And yet, it was a release from my role as caregiver which I had played for so many years. And a sudden realization that I don’t know what’s next!

I am convinced that there was a plan to my having cancer. Just as I am sure that my husband’s spirit was there, guiding the radiologist to see the nearly infinitesimal lumps that were the beginnings of breast cancer. I think I was not listening. There are things for me to do. I don’t really know what that is completely, but I’m trying to watch and listen and be open to it when it presents itself. I am sure that singing is part of it, but not the only part. So, what then?

This past week, I have had 3 opportunities to be touched by breast cancer in others. First, a friend, one of the wonderful women who helped me, had a surgical biopsy after a needle one was inconclusive, for which I naturally focused on the “don’t worry till you have something to worry about” attitude. Then a friend asked me to give advice to another singer who is facing chemo after surgery for breast cancer because she is wondering if she will be able to sing through her treatment (I did…). And then, another woman friend, who has metastatic breast cancer sent out an update on her current battle and test results. This woman has kept her friends up to date with an incredible journal of her battle with breast cancer. She is inspiring in her faith and her writing allows others to learn and walk beside her in her journey. This week, she spoke of finding a counselor to help her talk through the issues of being a mom with 3 small children, fighting a disease that may take her away from them and the husband she loves.

In each of these cases, I found I approached the encounter with concern, but it was not until I started to write back to each of them that I discovered the depth of feeling I have for the subject. I leapt to counsel the woman who is afraid she won’t be able to sing, giving her all the encouragement, telling her of pitfalls specific to the singer. To the friend with the ongoing battle, I felt compelled to write, for I know her new counselor and have always been impressed by her gentle, intuitive nature. But I kept writing and deleting things from the email, finally keeping it to 3 paragraphs because the help she needs right now is more concrete (child care, shuttling relatives..) than I am able to give with my schedule right now. But it was the friend with the biopsy whose results were great (no cancer!) that surprised me the most. She wrote to me of my example to her and how she kept thinking about that during the month long ordeal from mammogram through surgery to get the results. The overwhelming flood that poured forth when I started to write…I was completely taken aback! I had no idea that I was holding all that in!

And yet, it felt so right. Maybe I need to explore this need to help other singers with cancer with their journeys? Maybe it is the purpose I am looking for? Maybe that is what being a survivor really is for me? A chance to share, to help others understand that early detection can mean that cancer can be just a blip in your life instead of a brand you wear forever? That a return to good health and a productive life is the norm rather than the exception?

Wow…. That’s a lot to think about. And a responsibility to carry. It would mean that being a productive, successful musician can be more than a personal triumph. It could be a concrete example to others facing the dreaded “C” word. That it can be a “c” instead? That down time and nurturing oneself is required, but that with care, you can work right through your treatment and come out the other side with a productive life and a future. The hair grows back, the scars heal and life can go on. There will always be grief for your lost innocence, just as we sometimes long for the less complicated days of childhood. The trick is to lose that judgmental attitude that says that is better or that now you are damaged goods. There are compromises for sure. But life is about compromises and this one can eventually become no more significant than your having had chicken pox as a child or a broken leg that has mended. Of course, that means it has to be detected early and treated. And all cancers are different, of course, so not everyone’s prognosis will be as good as mine, like my friend’s cancer which metastasized. But in a town where so much research is happening with cancer, I can be incredibly hopeful that detection and treatments will continue to improve. And I can share that optimism, maybe by more than just example.

It is a lot to think about. And maybe it is why I am still here having experienced the grief of loss for my husband, my mother and my own personal naiveté. Honor what has gone before, honor your grief and move forward to find your new place in the world. God doesn’t leave us behind to take up space. We all have purpose. It’s all a journey to find that purpose.

It’s not easy. It’s never going to be easy. But I have to leave myself open to the possibilities. And keep putting that one foot in front of the other. It has been my motto since my husband was first diagnosed and it still works today. Some days, you can’t quite get it all the way out in front, but even if you shuffle, you are still moving forward.

A domani e un altro passo avanti.

What brings an American girl, born in the 50’s, growing up with rock and roll, a fan of the Beatles and the Rolling Stones, later of folk and jazz, to become a singer of classical music, of opera? Seem pretty far-fetched an idea. But perhaps a little background discussion will help sort out what has brought me to this place in my life.

My childhood was fairly uneventful - in the 1950’s, our mothers kicked us out of the house to play with regularity, so we ran from morning till night with all the other neighborhood kids. My mother worked outside the home, as we euphemistically say now, so I spent a lot of days being watched over by a neighbor who eventually had 6 kids, the oldest two being the same ages as my brother and I. And the same sex, so we were automatic friends. Being friends with Theresa was always a challenge, because I was shy, fair, overweight with an inferiority complex and she was small, thin, dark (half Aleut Indian) and quite self-possessed. My stubbornness would eventually cause me to balk at always doing what she wanted (probably my best survival technique in those days) and she would stomp off for a few hours, only to return to my door to ask if I could play. I would spend those hours playing with my dolls made out of my father’s pipe cleaners, not that I didn’t have “real” dolls, but because I could imagine these stick figure dolls to be whatever I wanted. And there were definite male and female stick figures, so I could have families and romances and very elaborate stories, all of which I did out loud, to my brother’s amusement. He used to think I should write them down…. Who knows, maybe I should have….

I had a rich fantasy life as a child, probably because I felt so inadequate in reality that I needed to invent scenarios for myself that included happiness and success. Although I didn’t project my own appearance into these fantasies, I’m sure I must have identified with the central character. I just don’t really remember.

I knew always that I could sing. Family legend has it that my first “public performance” was lying on my grandmother’s bed, ostensibly to nap, at 18 months and being overheard from the living room, singing “Take Me Out to the Ballgame”, which, of course, gathered the whole clan in to watch in amazement. My mother sang to us all the time as babies. Most songs were in ¾ or waltz time, since that was the easiest to rock to, in her opinion. In contrast, my son didn’t get anything that definite from me…. I didn’t sing him to sleep, but he did learn early to sleep through my singing. Quite a feat if you know how much sound I produce…..

Singing was not so highly valued as instrumental music in our house, even though my father sang (a tenor) and my mother obviously loved to sing. But my brother exhibited early talent on the piano and later, the string bass and composed works of music for each within months of beginning studies, so he was the family wunderkind. I was the little sister with the dimples who stood behind everyone else, waiting for my turn to be briefly acknowledged. Most people I know would not recognize me now from that description, but occasionally I still feel that rise to the surface. I just overcome it with humor or bravado….

I did take violin lessons in grade school, although I really wanted to play the flute. I just bowed to the peer pressure when all the more popular girls chose the violin. My mother hated it, because her sister had played it, badly! But I stuck to it for 4 years and learned more about music theory and about myself in the bargain. I had two private teachers during that time. One was a former symphony violinist who had had a stroke and could no longer play, but had successful students. He alternately sympathized with my position as the invisible younger child and railed at me because I couldn’t possibly know what pain and anguish was since he was paralyzed on one side from his stroke. He terrified me.

The second teacher came about when the first had a second stroke and was away recuperating for several months. He was a loveable Englishman, teaching at the UW and playing in the symphony, who lived in a little rental house with his wife. I would take the bus to their home and wait on their porch till they arrived. My lessons would always have a “tea break” in the middle, which I adored. They treated me as an individual and didn’t even really know or acknowledge that my brother was the family genius. Unfortunately, they had to return to England for family reasons and when they returned to the US, were offered a position at WSU across the state and I never saw them again. After that, I gave up the violin.

The next year in school, 8th grade to be exact, when I quit the orchestra, my brother wrote a note introducing me to the choir director at school. My brother was 3 years ahead of me in school and always made an impression on his teachers, but this was the first time I actually used it to my advantage. So I delivered the note and the gentleman, Roger McRae, asked me to sing a few scales. Glenn had written that he had personally heard me sing “triple high g flat” (he thought that more impressive than F#), so Mr. McRae vocalized me up to, I think, about high C before he declared that enough and told me to report to his class the next day. I was thrilled, because singing was joy for me and now I could get credit for it! Thus began my journey into the world of singing in public, still not a soloist, although that did come later with the choir. And, at the end of the 8th grade, Mr. McRae pronounced me more than ready to begin voice lessons and my parents found me my first voice teacher.

I used to say that we were the only kids in Seattle who didn’t ski because my parents were always paying for music lessons. True. Glenn, however, got piano, bass and composition lessons, while I got first violin and after that just voice. I did ask for and receive a guitar as a Christmas present early on and found an outlet for my growing performance addiction, playing folk music (taught myself the guitar – chords and fingerpicking styles…), hiding my shy, still overweight self behind the guitar.

To overweight, heredity had, in the 6th grade, added oversized breasts. Oh my, something else to be teased about. It is ironic that I came to value them as one of my best assets and then later in life, had them be invaded by cancer. But that is a story for another day.

Anyway, I eventually learned about boys and their adolescent fascination for breasts and started to use that to get attention. I was too terrified to initiate sexual contact or, at first, even to allow it. But I was always attracted to the “bad boys” who desired it. Played with fire, but somehow managed to escape the trauma of sex too early by interesting twists of fate. I think God was protecting me in those days from that because I could not have handled it. Didn’t last forever, but did serve to shape me for the future. Now older and wiser, I just shake my head at the mistakes of my youth and thank God that it wasn’t much, much worse.

Skipping forward, I sang in the school choirs through high school. My senior year, I joined the “Swing Choir” which became the Vocal Jazz ensemble and discovered a new love. I had always enjoyed rhythm and my brother, who always had a fascination for complicated rhythm, had made sure that I was a singer who could count. So although I was far too inhibited to improvise, I did love the way jazz slipped right into my soul and made me open up. And it was the vocal jazz director who encouraged me to be a college music major.

He sent my name to a state college music program in the central part of Washington, because he had a good friend who was jazz band director there. They mostly trained teachers there, or should I say, traditionally trained teachers, but John Moawad (the director) rapidly turned it into a destination program for budding jazz musicians. But at the time I started, the vocal program was totally classical, so for the first year, that was what I did. They had a swing choir of the old, choreographed pop tune variety, so I only lasted there for a quarter. But it was becoming evident that I had many sides to my musicianship to explore and explore them I did. Still am exploring, for that matter.

My second year included an epiphany experience, vocally. I sang my first aria in performance. Up to that time, I could pretty much master a style or technique (with the exception of improvising which I mentioned before..) in 20 minutes or so. I was a quick study. But opera was different. It required the use of all my faculties to do properly and it meant I actually had to study. The languages, the styles, the drama, the vocal theatrics. And I was HOOKED! My first aria was from Puccini’s La Boheme, “Mi chiamano Mimi”. A little ambitious a selection for a 19 year old girl in that period, but very good for me at the time. And the performance was marked by, first, a feeling of expansion during the singing, an actual physical sensation of my shoulders stretching out to the sides of the stage as I took my audience into my world, into Mimi’s world. And secondly, the music faculty lined up in the hall afterward to shake my hand! Holy S*#%!!!! I was stunned! And so began my journey into the world of classical music for my voice. And I have learned to love it, to find my favorites, to open myself up to new works and newly discovered (for me) works and embrace this talent of mine that fits into that world so neatly.

That’s enough for now. Lots to digest and my mind is reeling from the flood of memories. It has had its pitfalls and disappointments and even disasters. But I’m still here and I’m still singing. It does annoy me to no end that I have reached my vocal peak at this age at a time when youth is so over-valued. But I need to work at convincing more people that experience is even more valuable, especially when it comes packaged with a strong, well-maintained instrument with an intelligent musician in the driver’s seat, so to speak.

A domani!

So here I am - a mature woman, writing to an unknown audience, about the most personal parts of my being. Not the sanest of activities for a woman of my years. But I really feel the need to communicate and this seems like as good a place as any to start.

I am a singer. A lot of people say that, but singing is vital to my being. I am a classical singer, call me an opera singer, but really I’m just a singer of BIG music! With a big voice to match! And it’s a good voice, my voice. Some, many, call it a great voice. I have a certain amount of pride in the hard work I’ve put into learning to manage it, but the gift of the voice came from God and I thank him for it every day.

Of the many other things that define my life over the past few years, the most impactful would be my husband’s 5 ½ year battle with lymphoma that resulted in his death a little over 2 years ago, my own journey through breast cancer that stiffened my resolve to stay in this life and continue to grow and build a purposeful life again and the loss of my poor, dear, long-suffering mother to Parkinson’s right at the point where I was going to finish my treatment for cancer and better be able to help her. Sad and ironic. It puts me for the first time in many years outside of the caregiving role that has defined me for so long, even through my own need for care. And trembling on the edge of…..what?

What’s next? What do I do? Where do I start?

I am mother to a 21 year old son, but sons of that age don’t need a mother in the traditional sense. Just someone to pay their tuition and provide room and board. Don’t get me wrong…he loves me. But at that age, you are naturally more interested in what’s in your own future than that of your mother. You would probably think your mother didn’t need to worry about it much since she probably has few options.

But I do have options. They may not stretch 50 years out in the future, but options they are. As I said, I am a singer and I intend to use it, to make as much of that as I can in the years I have left for performing. I’m not ready to roll over and give it up to the young singers yet! It takes age and experience to handle the big stuff that I sing and I hope to impress that on the powers that be, as far as I can take it! I have a good foundation, I’m a good musician and a good colleague. I hope to post audio clips of my performances soon so that I can network with other musicians. I sing in the regular chorus for Seattle Opera with some pretty fabulous people and musicians, but it isn’t in the chorus that I want to end my career. I do solo with orchestras locally, but I would like to expand that sphere to other cities. Anyone want to help?

I have a lot of opening up to do in my personal life as well. I was married a long time to a man who thought the sun rose and set in me and that I was the most desirable woman who walked. A hard act to follow…hard to get over. But can I move on? Big question…. I want to. I want to embrace life again. I’ve had my own brush with the death, however slight. And I don’t want to waste what’s left of my life on grief and fear. Not that I want to forget what went before – not ever. It is a huge part of what I am. But I need to learn to invite back into my life those who can fill up my heart again with laughter and conversation and stimulation of all my senses.

I’m not sure what I intend this blog to be – a discussion of career and goals and challenges or an all-round personal exploration of my life as a singer, performer, mother, orphan, widow and a woman over 40 (!?!) coming back to life after a long hibernation.

The problem with writing all this down is that you do need an audience to make the comments, spark the arguments that lead you to the next step. That must be why so many people have taken to blogging. But the fear of opening my soul to unknowns….wow… But then again, don’t I do that every time I sing? Ah, but then, I’m in control. Interesting place I’m in here. To share or not to share…. To risk rejection or be safe….I think I’ve answered that already for myself. I need to risk in order to move on. I need to come back to life, to clear out the closets (literally!) and put my house in order (oh my…how true!).

Take a deep breath, Eleanor.

Dream along with me. The best is yet to be.

Welcome to my personal journal…. my musings.  On music, on life as a classical musician in the Pacific Northwest, on anything that strikes me when I’m in a writing mood.