Piques and valleys.....

It seems not much "piques" my interests these days.  I've settled into a decidedly deep rut and the normal creature comforts that soothe my savage beast are without merit.  I am singing again, which is great.  I need to sing, it's like air to me.  Sounds corny but it has been such a part of me for so long that when it left me I felt like I was drowning.  My dear coach spoke to me about finding my fire and I know where that fire is but am having a hard time finding the kindling to keep it going.  But I do it, even if it's not the most inspired of musical adventures I do it.  It's like going to the gym on a cold morning or eating that spinach you know you need.  It is a part of my routine and I'm trying to honor it.

I had an amazing weekend with some of my framily in Philadelphia.  One of them lost their Mother this past fall and we had some time to speak about our journeys.  She said that since her Mother has passed she has found this new urgency in the way she interacts with her children.  She understands how short life is and wants them to seize absolutely every moment, quickly, for there simply isn't enough time for all the beauty of this world.  I haven't quite had the same reaction.  For me it seems time is too long on this earth and all I crave is to be with my Mother again.  My friend is further along this grisly path than I am and I hope for that spark of recognition that reveals to me the magical wonder of this sphere.  But for now I slog to the practice room and try to appear like the cracks in my facade aren't obvious.   I have no children to pass this knowledge too. I'm just myself, swimming in this sea of molasses.

My coach told me that grief has a rhythm. I couldn't agree more.  Today it is that slow, insistent, pounding that won't let me heal or move on.  It engenders regret and immobilizing sadness.

As they say, dear friends, the beat goes on.  Tomorrow I'm praying for an upbeat.

Wearing O' the Green...

Happy St. Patrick's Day to you all dear friends!

I've always enjoyed this holiday.  Being an Irish lass I believe it's never a bad thing to enjoy your heritage and lets face it...who doesn't adore green beer?  Growing up I considered St Paddy's day a "button" holiday.  My Mother was a whiz at making every holiday seem special.  From her spectacular decor to making sure we all had cute little green buttons to wear to school on the 17th.  Mom adored themes.  Seems she wasn't the only one because of the plethora of products out there to adorn each holiday.  In recent years the amount of said items seem to have quadrupled in size.  One can hardly walk into a shop without seeing some festive display here and there.  Well, I embrace it!  We should celebrate every day and if that paper mache leprechaun hat garners some good will, I'm all for it.

Finding the joyous spirit in these little milestone days isn't as easy as it was a few months ago.  My family had a bionic Christmas this year.  We MADE it happen amidst the sea of doctors and hospital visits.  Mom rallied on Christmas and I count this last one among one of my favorites.  We were all together and every gift was so thoughtfully given it made the moments seem to last.  Maybe we all knew it would be our last together, I don't know.  I can honestly say that I didn't expect Mom to pass as quickly as she did. In many ways, I'm still in shock.  I actually picked up the phone to call her today.  I've heard of this happening but I never understood it until this morning.  It was a stupid cooking question, one of the many I always had for her. At any rate, reality sunk into my bones and I stared lost out the window for a few minutes until I realized it was the 17th and I must wear my claddaugh ring and don my favorite color...green.

So what if my green is tainted by a little blue this year.  I'm a woman from a long line of Irish souls whose grit and determination was always seasoned with an easy laugh and an open door.  I'm off to finish my cabbage and to celebrate with a green beer or two.  My Irish eyes are smiling even if my heart is a little empty this year.

Erin go bra-less dear friends!  Oh wait...that's a spring break "button"  :)

~Mel

Make a joyful noise...

Well, dear readers I'm off to my first coaching since my return to New York.  I'm so grateful that I will be able to see my coach before he heads off to a gig for many weeks.  He and I have been through the fire together and he always gives me a new perspective to chew on.  I look forward to the inspiration.  One little problem though, I'm not inspired at all.  I have not sung since a memorial service I did in El Paso before I returned home.  I have no issue singing at funerals.  I've done it since I was 15.  In college I was on the funeral list at the local funeral home.  Many people want music at a service and don't have have musicians in their lives so they rely on the home to find someone.  Therein comes the list.  Often times I would sing from the back of the room and not even meet the family at hand.  I knew the impact the music had on them and it was my great pleasure to contribute, even just a bit, to easing their pain on one of the most bone breakingly difficult days of their lives.

I cannot seem to find my voice in all of the hullabaloo of recent days.  It seems like an alien has taken up residence in my throat and someone else's tones are coming out of my mouth.  My body feels tight and over inflated with air that I just can't seem to access.  It's a frustrating feeling and yet I can't seem to DO anything about it.  It is what it is.  I'm looking for that warm blanket of a friend to emit it's familiar stream of melody and it seems she has left me high and dry.  What comes out is a passionless product of years of study and discipline.  Utterly under passioned and flat in intent.

As quickly as the ennui has settled in is how quickly it can change to a little spark.  Sometimes we have to trog through things to find that spark.  Sometimes the spark is simply made by the friction of DOING that very thing we just cannot seem to find the inspiration to do.  Dusting off the cobwebs and embracing the task, no matter how lackluster the first result, the hope of finding ones voice again is too precious to let drop.  Whether your voice is in your writing, or calling a friend you haven't spoken too in a while, asking for that promotion or just trying not to hate your job.  Slugging it out with the blue meanies is a an important part of existence.  It adds those little notches to our heavenly crowns giving us the opportunity to truly be inspired and most noble of all....to inspire others.

I once had someone tell me to "sing the color of the sky".  Well, today it is a clarion blue and I will do my best to try to infuse that majestic color into my meager squeaks today.  After all it says to "Make a joyful noise unto the Lord"....not make a beautiful well produced, perfectly placed and supported, mind blowing sound unto the Lord.  So today I'll start with a few noises.  Tomorrow I'll try to make a few more.  My muse hasn't left me, she's just taking a vacation.  I hope she arrives back fully rested with new energy and inspiration.

May your day be inspired dear friends!

Love,
~Mel

Home-ish

The concept of home is a flexible one with me.  Because of the amount of travel that I do and my transient lifestyle my idea of home as a place is not necessarily the norm.  When I started my professional career I thought carrying many items with me would make me feel more at home.  Candles, pictures, a ridiculous amount of wardrobe changes and kitchen utensils were standards in my kit.  Ironically these things just weighed me down and the introduction of weight limits and luggage fees truly limited my material baggage.  But in all seriousness I've carried tailored suits across the country that I've never worn, many candles were left behind unburned and more than one kitchen knife has found it's way into a hotel trash bin.  I've been a roadie for almost 30 years.  Between choir tours, speech tourneys, vocal competitions and the like I've logged in hundreds of hours of suitcase time.  When I was in high school the only extras I travelled with were my pillow and a bag of cheetos...thats it.  Maybe a book or two and my walkman if I was feeling luxurious.  I learned early on that if you bring it, you have to carry it!

Now that I'm home from Texas and my life has been altered I'm having a hard time finding my home.  I adore my apartment.  I've lived here 10 years and Ron and I have painstakingly painted, molded, furnished and positioned ever little detail.  It is a haven, a safe calm place in a very frenetic city.  We can easily host an elegant cocktail party or a superbowl beer blowout without much effort.  I have a closet filled with beautiful clothes, a desk stocked with fresh supplies, and a down comforter to entice me.  There are family pictures around the room and relics from my travels and that of my family to remind me of the amazing times I've experienced.  I'm surrounded by the things and people that I love.

Yet, I feel like I've left something unpacked. I'm not quite settled in.  It's true that I have been in and out of my apartment with very little turn around time and one of the tell tale signs of this are the many ziploc bags filled with toiletries that I have stashed in every little corner of my room!  Damn that TSA with their 3 oz restrictions!  So, I've spent the past few days consolidating 3 oz moisturizers and trying to find my way in my new life.  It sounds a bit dramatic but with the events of the past year I'm left depleted and a bit lost.  On the other hand, I've never felt stronger.  Anyone who survives any difficult hurtles  understands that strength can be gleaned from said struggle.  But I'm out of sorts.  It's as if little elves ventured into my closet and altered everything by just a few centimeters here and there.  Just enough to create an unease without any perceptible differences.  Are these jeans really this short?  Were these heels always this high?  I'm sure I put this pair of  tights on before without the run in them.  The day to day adjustments are draining and my new view of the world is a bit at odds with the Melissa of one year ago.

Maybe it is a sign that it's time to change.  To embrace the concept of the fluidity of life and relish it.  Making lifestyle changes that will only benefit me in my future.  Savoring that cup of coffee or the sound of the one million birds that have seemed to take up residence in the tree right outside my bedroom window.  There are very few certainties in life and change is one of them.  I know that I have the choice to embrace said variances with the grace and ease that I learned from my Mother or to go kicking and screaming into the abyss.  Well, when you put it that way I suppose I don't have much of a choice at all, do I?

~Mel

Matricidio

I had the opportunity Saturday night to have dinner with some old and very dear friends.  It was a wonderful uplifting time with some of the best posole I've ever had the pleasure of eating.  Beyond that we had the chance to play catch up and to share with each other.  Our hosts were sharing the story about how they met.  It was a very sweet tale that included a real true blue love at first sight moment.  Both of these people shared with me that before they met they had "set" their lives.  Never did they believe that marriage was in their future.  In fact, the wife in the relationship had even coined the term "matricidio".  It is a combination of Matrimonio and Suicidio......the spanish words for marriage and suicide!  I like the image of her being a bonzai bride, diving into her white dress with a mortal fervor.

I suppose being a woman of a "certain age" I have truly become set in my ways.  My career demands that I travel a great deal and also requests a kind of selfish hyper focus that can sometimes build barriers in any relationship.  I'm also not the societal norm of beauty.  I know how to present myself and take pride in my appearance but I will never grace the cover of any fashion magazine.  Also the fact that at my age my chances of being hit by a bus far outweigh the likelihood of me donning the bridal veil, at least according to Cosmo.  These are little hurtles that sometimes make finding love difficult.  Of course, who am I to complain?  I've have some amazing relationships filled with passion and hilarity.  I've shared company with brilliant minds and witty rakes.  I've also suffered through about one million coffee dates.  Ron and I have a litmus test for coffee dates.  The success of the date is in direct proportion to the size of the coffee ordered.  Sadly, I've had my share of single shot espresso dates but once in a great while a venti will come along. I haven't been on a coffee date since the introduction of the famed Trenti at Starbucks....now that would be a red letter day!

The question resonates in me as to whether or not I truly want to get married.  After all if I really did wouldn't I have done it already?  I've never been one to take no for an answer and if I had attacked the marriage challenge with the same ferocity I tackled my singing career chances are I would have the opportunity to celebrate a 50 year anniversary down the line.  I guess I'm just waiting for the little spark of love at first sight.  That breath taking moment when your heart skips a beat and your mind reels with the whirring sounds of cupids arrows. I know "Mr Trenti" is out there.  When I find him you'll all be the first to know.  I'll be the one strapping on my Vera Wang and screaming "MATRICIDIO" all the way down the rose petal covered aisle!

~Mel

Roller Coaster

Grief is a funny thing.  It's a ride that one can't seem to get off.  I still feel wrapped in the outpouring of support and love from my friends and family. They are on this ride with me but it seems I'm in a car all by myself.  Frankly, I miss my Mother.  The exhaustion of the past year has come crashing down around my family.  I'm getting enough sleep and enjoying some down time in El Paso but the reality of the situation just seems to be looming in the shadows.  My life has changed.. dramatically.

The strangest things will set off little "moments" of sadness.  Today it was a stupid little grocery list that I found in a coat pocket of hers.  Seeing her handwriting just sent me spiraling.  My Mother had amazing handwriting.  I did not acquire this penmanship from her.  Mine looks pretty but is basically illegible.  Mom took great pride in writing notes and even signing her name on a check.  She would very carefully sign her beautiful name and it looked like a computer generated signature.  Gorgeous!

The roller coaster has fewer ups and downs these days.  There are more straight passages filled with great memories and new experiences.  But there are still deep valleys and I know that eventually I will rise out of them.

I'm sorry to the downbeat post today.  I'm using the blog as a tool to help me through this time.  It helps to keep a record of what I'm experiencing.  Maybe it will help someone who is facing a similar situation. I can only hope that it does.

Love,

~Mel

For Mom

I had the great honor of speaking at my Mother's service.  I've been asked by a few to send them a copy of it.  I thought you might enjoy reading it.  

For Mom:

When i think about my Mother so many words come into my mind.  Strength, courage, grace and compassion, just to name a few.  My Mother started me on many a journey and had the wherewithal to see me through some of those paths with the kind of super human support one can hardly express.  The first obvious path was that of music.  I remember very distinctly attending church choir for the very first time.  Mom explained it to me like it was a new exciting group of children i would get to play with.  I remember Mr. Wilson teaching me about the lines and spaces of the staff an I honestly don’t remember a time when I couldn’t read music.  That is because of my Mother.  Mom was my first accompanist.  This is a very special relationship that requires patience, strength, trust and a good sense of humor.  Mom played for every solo and ensemble competition I attended...we always got 1’s by the way.  She was there on that fateful day with Dr Margaret Forrest from West Texas A & M was my judge and inquired about my college plans.  Mom just smiled a wry grin and told me it was my decision as to where I attended school.  I chose WT of course, who am I to intervene with fate?

Mom helped me move to Philadelphia when I was accepted into the Academy of Vocal Arts there.  We walked that city for days trying to outfit my new apartment.  I mean really, where do you buy a broom in center city Philadelphia?  She stayed with me a week and helped me transition into a new phase of my life.  One that brought me not only a fine education but my closest and dearest friends in the world. 

She journeyed with me as i began my career. She once told me that all anyone needed to prove that there were angels in heaven was to listen to me sing. She cheered every new engagement, triumphal audition or milestone. Listening and comforting me when the realities of a life in show business just seemed insurmountable.  At one particularly difficult juncture, after years of knocking down doors and many nights spent in corporate apartments throughout the land I found myself pretty burnt out.  I didn’t particularly share the details with Mom but she knew I was growing weary.  She simply said: Well, Melissa, all you have to do is have a little faith.  This was after years of putting them through the rigors of the uncertainty of my profession.  She boiled it down so succinctly and whenever any darkness creeps into my spotlight i always call up her words as a talisman against negative and bleak thoughts.  

My Mother was a fierce supporter of Pam and I.  She truly was the queen of the Momma grizzly club.  She fought for us in a most elegant and graceful way. She was never overbearing or obvious with her fight.  She stood by us with a quiet strength that bespeaks of the true southern lady she was.  Often times her target wouldn’t know what hit them until days later.  She was that good. 

Mom took great pride in her appearance and ours.  She taught Pam and I the ins and outs of presenting ourselves in the best possible light.  She also gave us the power to develop our own personal style and wear it with the same pride that she had.  It is a gift that has benefited me time and time again. I am comfortable in any social situation because of the tools my Mother gave me. It may seem like an odd thing to cherish but giving a child the ability to be comfortable in their own skin is a gift that defies explanation.

Mom was also a social butterfly, in her way.  She loved people and events.  The chance to gather with her dear friends and family always brought such light to her life.  She cared so deeply for the ones she loved that many times I would catch her sitting and watching in delight as someone regaled them with a wild tale of adventure or funny story.  I loved watching my Mom go from table to table at a big event.  She seemed to float on air as she greeted everyone and caught up on the days comings and goings.  I watched her in awe at my sisters wedding doing this very thing while the rest of us were so tired we could hardly keep our eyes open.  She loved her friends, family and sweet sisters of Chi Omega with a reserved ferocity.  Words haven’t even been invented yet to describe the deep and unending love she shared with my Father.  Their life together is a testament to all that is right with the institution of marriage. They set a perfect example of love and delight for my sister and I.

Mom’s generosity knew no bounds.  She often bought items for people in the grocery store when they didn’t have enough money for the extras...like ice cream for a family that couldn’t afford it.   Our house is still flooded with calls from the charitable organizations that she gave too.  I remember as a teenager stopping to give a man a 5 dollar bill who was hungry.  Her heart knew no bounds.  She tried to impart that lesson to my sister and I.  Mom demanded very little of us but an open compassionate heart was at the top of the list.

Of all of Mom’s many gifts and talents my favorite was her sense of humor.  I’d like to think I have a little of that in me.  Of course, her timing was always better than mine and I could always count on her for a quick come back or an easy laugh.  I loved laughing with my Mom and I did it often.  For that I will be eternally grateful.  

Wilfred A Peterson wisely wrote about the Art of Living Forever:

...As you help people grow, as you work for peace, understanding and good will, your influence will merge, with the good influences of people of every age, and the eternal golden stream of God’s goodness..

As you throw the weight of your influence on the side of the good, the true and the beautiful, your life will achieve an endless splendor.  It will go on in others, bigger, finer, nobler than you ever dared it to be.

These words speak to the art that was my Mother.

Please know that she loved you all so much.  She’s here now going from row to row thanking you for coming and asking that you look after us.  

I love you Mom