Cruising

You remember when you could just drive around and enjoy the scenery?

That's how I feel right now--now that I have my syllabi done and all my classes prepped for the semester. I'm looking forward to all of it, too. It's going to be fun, even (except the grading).

I probably shouldn't feel this happy and upbeat. After all, I still have other tasks to do today, like taking down ten boxes worth of holiday decorations, and auditions for Oliver! are looming (why, oh why, do auditions always make me so nervous!)...

But I'm happy.

Who said happiness had anything to do with logic? I believe I'll spend the rest of the day NOT overthinking this... just going with the flow.

I will, however, be thinking about what snippet of a song I want to sing for auditions this evening. My son will be singing "Silent Night" (anything else made him too nervous), and my daughter will be singing, "Castle on a Cloud." I can't say I'm leaning in any direction, and it helps to know that the main female lead in Oliver! has a range too low for me. I just want to be part of the action.

Here's hoping your day is as full of singing as mine will be...

A Few Disappointments

Christmas morning was great... and Christmas dinner turned out better than I could have expected. The food all turned out well, and making the casseroles the day before turned the whole cooking experience into a relaxed sort of dance. I even managed to play a few Christmas carols on the piano at one point. When does THAT happen?

But then the day turned not so wonderful. We went to see Les Miserables, and the hubby and I were both itching to be impressed. The film did not fulfill my expectations. I can't claim to be devastated, but the director was so fixated on facial expression that he filmed nearly everything in tight shots centered on each actor's face--to the detriment of any cinematography that might illuminate gesture, setting, etc. And his methods for filming meant actors could act--though Russell Crowe decided not to--but only a handful of them actually sang well, and I don't count Hugh Jackman among them. His voice was reedy and annoying, and his rendition of "Bring Him Home" made me positively cringe. Anne Hathaway was absolutely brilliant--truly--and many of the young students and both little kids could also sing--but otherwise the music was gritty and unlovely.

That was not the lowest point of the day, though. My little boy writhed through much of the film, complaining of a stomach ache... which wasn't fake, since the hubby ended up running out of the theatre with him so that he could heave up everything he'd eaten that day. I should have taken care of him, too, considering that I wasn't enjoying the film and I think the hubby was far less exacting than I and had been, up to that point, having a fantastic time.

We made a few hurling stops on the way home, and then my son fell asleep, emptied at last. I watched him overnight, to make sure I was there in case any last bit decided to come up on its own. Nothing did, and this morning he seems okay.

I just hope the hubby finds a time to go back to the movie and see it again--without anything to hinder his enjoyment of the film. Including me. Except for my criticisms here, I don't intend to say a single negative thing about the film to him--especially if he loves it. But I do not want to see it again.

Greatest FEAR = Greatest CHALLENGE

I am FINALLY getting back to my music!

I sang a solo in church yesterday, mainly because only two baritones were going to be in the choir, making it impossible for us to sing a full choir piece--but the reasons are unimportant.

Funny how singing is the one thing in the world that makes me nervous. Even weirder that my main reaction to being nervous is that I lose my breath. Worse case scenario--and it has happened before--is that I open my mouth and nothing comes out. Yup, it has happened. And I was singing a solo when it did. And it was awful. And even after I'd recovered, and finished the song, it was months before I would consider singing anything in front of anyone again. In fact, it was at least five years before I performed another solo.

But I did get over it. Believe it or not, church was actually what did it. My choir director said, "It's about time you sang a solo."

I just shook my head.

"No, you can do it," she insisted. "You'll sing this one."

Yes, I knew I could do it in the choir room, with a bunch of sweet choir members listening. But in front of a 350-member congregation? I could feel my chest tighten. I would lose my voice, I just knew it.

I practiced, but the feeling didn't lessen... I was going to crack, and it was going to be awful.

But then the morning of my solo came, and another soprano turned to me before we walked in. "Just sing to Jesus, honey." She showed me a stained-glass window at the other end of the church. "He's right there, and he doesn't care if you're perfect."

I didn't look at anyone that morning. Not the congregation, not the hubby, not anybody except that little stained-glass depiction of Jesus. And I didn't crack. I didn't lose my voice. I managed to make it out okay.

I realized something else, too. Jesus wasn't the only one who was pulling for me. That whole group of people wanted me to do well. Okay, perhaps there was a competitive soprano out there who wanted me to stink so that she could get the next solo. But wasn't that the case in any audition I'd had for musical theatre, when other people wanted the same role I was singing for? Of course it was!

But most people wanted me to do well. Even better, most people in the congregation wouldn't have a clue if I slipped up. I could have gone up there and sung crappy karaoke and they wouldn't have known it was crappy. Knowing this helps, too.

The support, though, has meant I can sing. Without losing my voice--it's been about 20 years since I did that--and without refusing to sing at all. I am still more nervous singing a solo than doing ANYTHING ELSE, even after years of practice. I might never get over it, not even when I'm 80. But I'll keep working at it, and the fear will lessen with every attempt.

Now you know my big fear. What's yours? Do you avoid it, or challenge it? I'd love to hear your own story of this. If you've already written it on another blog, just let me know where...

Practicing

Sorry it's been so long, but I've been a bit busy. My house is two rooms away from being fully painted, and I also re-started a long-time interest. Last week I auditioned for The Sound of Music.

It's a musical I've been practicing for these, oh, past many decades, ever since I was old enough to sing songs on my own. I still remember watching it on laserdisc (yes, my family owned a player, and they amassed hundreds of them by the time I moved out on my own). One of my fondest memories of my father comes from watching this movie, for he let me scan back and sing "Climb Every Mountain" over and over, turning up the volume so that I could belt out the song at the top of my lungs.

Yes, others in the family complained. Thinking about it now, I'm not surprised. It was loud. I was only learning to sing. But when anyone did complain, my father would tell them, "She's practicing."

Last Sunday, that memory burst into me at a key point, when the director asked five of us to sing "Climb Every Mountain" solo to audition. One by one we stepped up and sang, and when it was my turn, the memory of my "practicing," with my father sitting there, without complaining, came to me. What a moment. I knew then what I'd been practicing for--for that one moment, that ending verse, the emotion, the message, everything.

When it was over, I felt so grateful to have that memory, and to have the chance to sing for my father, who passed away four years ago on March 9. (I tried blogging about this Friday, but I lost the whole thing just as I was about to post it.) I knew the casting didn't matter, for I'd sung to my father.

The moment isn't over, though. Maybe it was the memory, maybe it was all that practicing, but I earned the part of Mother Abbess, and when performances begin in May, I'll be belting that song out for the whole audience.

And maybe my father will be there, too, listening. For all I know, he was listening last Sunday, when all that practicing came to fruition.

Have anything you've been practicing for? Has it happened? No? Just wait. You never know when all that practicing is going to pay off, in more ways than one. Don't give up. Keep on practicing.