Peace, be still...

So, every once in a while, the Big Guy leaves a message on my inner answering machine. This is one of those times.

If you know me, you know that I am a little bit of a control freak. Pretty much the worst thing you can hand me is a situation over which I have absolutely no control.

For those of you not currently residing on Planet Earth (or admittedly, someone outside the US bereft of the blessings of CNN International), a GINORMOUS hurricane by the completely non-threatening name of Ike is bearing down on the town I call home, Houston.

As Pops Sanford would say, "This is the big one, Elizabeth!"

A little bit about my current nemesis, Ike. He's a big guy, around 800 miles across, runs a 11-12 minute mile (give the guy a break, he's HUGE!), and a big wind bag. One hundred mile an hour winds, to be exact, and tipping the scale at Category 3. He plans to party on the Galveston Sea Wall tonight. After he trashes that, he's gonna come see about Houston.

Aaaand as luck would have it, I am in Brussels. As in Belgium. As in 5000 miles from where I'd rather be, putting up my dukes against this unwanted visitor.

Hence my celestial voice-mail. Once I got the text message saying that British Airways had cancelled all flights to Houston for Friday and Saturday, September 12 and 13, I was in overdrive. Trying (vainly) to get in touch with BA to see how close to Houston I could get (should I fly west of Houston and bypass Ike? Or fly to the east and try to outrun it? If I stay in Brussels, when will I be able to go home? Home? What about my house? Who is going to watch it? Omigodomigodomigod what am I going to do???

It quickly became clear that nothing could be done until the morning, since the European offices of BA keep banker's hours and the US and UK offices have toll-free numbers that, alas, can only be dialed from the US or the UK (there's something vaguely wrong about that, but I digress).

After a fitful night full of tossing, turning, and dreams of storms and missed flights, I awoke at 9 today (Friday) to see what I could do.

The short version is, sit my generous butt down and wait it out.

BA was more than willing to fly me anywhere they flew, which helped me not at all. Sure, I could go to Phoenix, Chicago, NYC or LA. But then what? Whilst some of those options came with free couches on which to pass the night(s) until I could get to Houston, none came with free tickets to Houston or the nearest alternatives, San Antonio or Austin. And then what?

I realized I was listening to the light packer's panic over running out of clean underthings and daily meds; at which point cooler heads reminded me that access to both was likely readily available in the first world capital city of Brussels.

Which left me to accept BA's offer of a rebooking to fly on Sunday and pray that Houston isn't closed down for too long.

From which the careful reader would then infer that the aforementioned sitting and waiting is now in force.

In my 40 (almost 41!!!) years on this earth, I have been "involved" with 2 other hurricanes. I experienced Hugo, my first, also away from home, at a camp in South Carolina in September, 1989. We knew a hurricane was coming, but a) it was forecast for landfall in Savannah, GA and b) even if it hit further up the coast, York, SC (where I was running a retreat) and Charlotte, NC (where my roommate was home alone) were several hours inland and not considered to be in the path of the storm.

Like my boy, Ike (can it be a coincidence that I comes after H?), Hugo had his own plans. He came onshore at Charleston, SC instead and ran full bore through both York AND Charlotte.

I never want to endure another hurricane with nothing between me and nature's fury but a log cabin. Really!

My second, Rita, was more of an epic journey of futility. In September, 2005, coming right on the heels of Killer Katrina, she had the attention of the entire city of Houston when she led the National Hurricane Center on and made a date to tango on our turf. So I left town, along with a million of my closest friends. It took 11 hours to make the 3-hour trip to Austin (a long story I would have blogged about had I been blogging then), where I watched Rita make a late-stage shimmy to the East and pretty much miss Houston entirely.

Did I mention that both the hit and the miss, like Ike, fell on or around my birthday? It really is enough to make one wonder. If nothing else, about mid-season hurricanes.

(For the record, Gustav's Labor Day near-miss threatened to delay my departure for Brussels. Hmmm.)

All that to say, I am personally very well aware of what can happen. I would like nothing more than to be hunkering down in my cute little house, waiting for the inevitable and being at the battle stations should defensive action be required.

But I'm here, in Brussels, in a 4th floor walk-up apartment (evilly considered 3rd floor here on the Continent), on a borrowed laptop, scanning news websites and...

...waiting.

Be still and know that I am God. - Psalm 46

I am so working on that.

A Flemish Postcard

[This title makes me giggle, thanks to an old opera chorus inside joke from HGO's Don Carlo that would take too long to recount. It has to do with Flaming Flamingos.]

Greetings from Ghent, which I am told is in Flanders!

While I have mentioned that this summer is essentially a European tour, I've posted no dispatches, and am correcting that situation prontissimo!

Just for a sense of perspective, I remind you that I had my surgery on 4 June (see? I'm being all European with my dates). On 4 July, I left for Belgium I. Returned to Houston on 14 June, left for rehearsals in Austin on 17 June, left Houston (via Austin) for Copenhagen on 21 June and returned to Houston on 27 June. Then, on 3 August, I returned for Belgium II, from whence I will return on 9 August.

Are you tired yet? I am...

The first thing I have had to orient myself to (since I essentially don't get jet-lag-- don't hate.) is the keyboards. In the US, we have what we call QUERTY keyboards, which I vaguely recall were developed based on letter usage frequency. I never completed an actual typing class; as with piano, I suck at memorizing fingerings and dropped my high school typing class before I failed it. That said, on a QWERTY keyboard I type pretty quickly and mostly accurately, having essentially memorized the keyboard layout and can quickly navigate it.

Here's what the letter layout of a Euro keyboard is:

a z e r t y u i o p ^ $
q s d f g h j k l m ù µ
w x c v b n , ; : =

Additionally, all the numbers and symbols on the top row are flipped: symbols are default and numbers require the shift key. To give you an idea of how slowly this is going, I will type this sentence with my "keyboard memory."

To give you qn ideq of hoz lsozly this is going; I aill type this sentence zith ,y £keyboqrd ,e,ory;£

Yeah, like that.

Anyhoo, back to the (slow) dispatch.

GHENT
Ghent is lovely. It's about 35 miles from Brussels. The best way to get here is train; about 50 minutes and only about 15 bucks (no dollar sign on this puppy). Since I was on various restrictions during the first trip, I took a cab. That was about 200 bucks (thank God Les Ballets is so generous with its singers!). Once I arrived at the Hotel Astoria, Frank, the very lovely proprietor said a cab ride could be had for more like 100 bucks. When we arranged one ahead of time for the return trip, it ended up being 150 bucks. Ah well.

The hotel is not in the center of Ghent and there is little in the way of restaurants without going in to town (tram ride: buck-fifty. food choices: priceless), but there are a few. Places in the area where I have dined during my two trips:

- Kam Kwok (Chinese). OK, nice waitress, fairly inscrutable menu in "Engrish," German and Dutch (the lingua franca). I ordered a crab pancake, sweet and sour pork and lemonade and received an eggroll, the pork and a sprite. Now I know. The rice was excellent, by the way.

- The Rambler (standard euro-american fare). Meh. This one had an English menu (many do). Forgettable meal of shrimp scampi with a cute baby waiter.

- Casteel (decent restaurant of a 2-star hotel). Nice barmaid, excellent house-made sangria and a nice prix fixe steak dinner for 40 bucks. Odd cut of beef, but tasty, and the dessert was a plate of chocolate goodies: mousse, ice cream, cake and whipped cream.

- Salt & Pepper (Indian). Quite nice. Was craving veggies by this point and had sag paneer (creamed spinach) and calamari (very red and very spicy). Nice white wine.

- Cafe Parti (my favorite, thus far). It's a "slow-food" restaurant; locally obtained, organic where possible, cooked to order food. Couldn't get in the first time I happened by, but managed to eat there twice more that first trip as well as tonight. And tomorrow. My two favorite offerings? A cheese croquet (think fried cheese, only better) and minced pineapple with minted sugar.

[Note: that may seem like a lot of variety, but that was 85% (give or take) of all the possible eateries in a 3-square mile area. A similar type/sized area in Houston would have double that, I'm sure.]

I managed a few meals in town too: Amadeus (an all you can eat rib place, but they serve the ribs BY THE SLAB so there's not so much second plate action) and Passion (basic European- they had Belgian specialties, so I had Waterzooi- a creamy chicken stew).

We did a lot more than eat, though it probably doesn't look that way! I've been here rehearsing a show, "Pitié," with Les Ballets C de la B (The Contemporary Ballet of Belgium). There are about 12 or so dancers and a band (drums, bass, trumpet, violin, accordion, alto sax, cello- I think that's all). The music is a remix of sorts of Bach's St Matthew Passion for soprano, mezzo-soprano and counter-tenor. Hard to describe, but it works. Fabrizio Cassol arranged the music and Alain Platel choreographed. This production opens at the end of August and tours through next June. Three casts of singers (including one of my faves, Laura Claycomb and a new fave, Maribeth Diggle) share the singing duties. (Curiously, there are several American singers in this production, although I am the only one living in the US.) We rehearsed in a lovely Art Deco theater called the Vooruit from April till July and not are in Minnemeers, part of the Ghent municipal theater from now till opening.

Haven't done much more than rehearse and recharge, but I did stroll through town one Saturday and almost saw the Van Eyck bros.' "Adoration of the Mystic Lamb" at St. Bavo's Cathedral. It had closed for the day, but I'm planning to return tomorrow.

COPENHAGEN
I think I mentioned in the previous post that Conspirare sang at the 8th World Choral Symposium, which is why I was there. We sang our own program twice (to general acclaim, I hear) and also premiered one of the Symposium commissions, a Light Mass by Lithuanian composer Vytautas Miskinis. From what we hear, he's a big deal in Europe. We performed in the Royal Opera House (LOVELY venue) with a jazz trio and our own Faith DeBow playing the other piano part. We sang it well but there were mixed reactions to the piece itself. It had a homogeneity of sound and texture that apparently wore on some listeners.

Once again, accommodations were outside of the city center. This time though, they were outside of the city itself, in a suburb called Kastrup, near the airport. The hotel (I think they left the "s" off of hostel") is a budget chain called Zleep Hotels. Not recommended by this traveler (don't be fooled by the sunny website). While I freely admit that my idea of roughing it is a Motel 6, this was um, sub-basic. Teeeeny tiny rooms and beds and a "power-shower:" basically a combination toilet/shower/sink. Breakfast was nice though!

By this point in my travels, I was quite tired, so I did little more than was required. I managed to see a little bit of Copenhagen. One day I'd love to go back when I can better cope (hahahahaha).

I am also grateful for our two amazing Symposium hosts, Martin and Carsten!! They kept us sane and amused...

I loved spending time with my Conspirare buddies, especially as this upcoming season is pretty much all Les Ballets. It was the same old, fabulous crowd with one exception. One of our regular members had a death in the family and had to cancel at, literally, the last minute. He was ably seconded by a new friend, John Proft, who is my new hero. Our rehearsals started in Austin on 18 July. John got the call on 14 July, got the music on 15 July and managed to arrive virtually completely memorized AND with a brand, spranking new, theretofore nonexistent passport. On top of that, he had to travel alone on his first trip outside of the country. He rocks; basically.

Sigh, I've abused your eyes (and the backspace key) for long enough. There are more tales to be told and I'm sure they'll end up in some future dispatch from your favorite Yankee Hobbit.

If Europe is in your travel plans at some point in the next 11 months, check the website and come see the show...

Later, peeps...

Singularly Breathing Together

Hi Hobbit Fans!

Yup, been AWOL. How rude of me to tell you I'm having major surgery and then  just disappear into the void?

I'm not too worried, since I'm pretty sure that the four of you who read this already know that all went exceedingly well. And since this is not a post about hysterectomy, for the two of you who might not know that all went well, I will say that All. Went. Well. Four hours of surgery, walking within two hours, home and walking around Whole Foods Market the next day. No pain, no pain meds, no lingering effects. Perfectly lovely, actually. Enough of that.

What I am posting about today is one of my favorite groups of people, namely, Conspirare,  the professional choral group with which I sing and with which I am traveling to Copenhagen for the 8th World Symposium on Choral Music this week. 

In order to prepare for the Symposium concerts, the 30+ of us gathered in Austin this weekend to touch up the memorized version of the program we sang in January in Austin and San Antonio.

[Let me say this off the bat in case any of my students are reading this. Conspirare usually performs its concerts from scores, that is to say, un-memorized. While it has been a challenge for some of us who are unused to memorizing concert music, I think we all agree that it makes for far more immediate and fulfilling music-making once the task is achieved.]

I want to share with you a particularly unexpected and deeply moving moment from this afternoon's rehearsal. One of the songs we're performing is "Soneto de la Noche," the second piece in a triptych by Morten Lauridsen to a text by Pablo Neruda.

As a group, we have had experience with Neruda before. One of the commissions on the soon-to-be-released Conspirare CD of Tarik O'Regan's music is "Tal vez tenemos tiempo." (Shameless plug. Look for it in September. The title is Threshold of Night.)

I digress. We had all read the text of the piece, and some, who like me cannot memorize foreign texts without translating them (another hint to my students), were quite familiar with it. Be that as it may, most of us had a few spots tripping us up as we worked towards complete memorization.

It is a beautifully touching poem. I will include it here and hope it gets to stay (not for nothing have I learned how to cite sources in Grad School 2: The Return):

Cuando yo muero quiero tus manos en mis ojos: When I die, I want your hands upon my eyes:

quiero la luz y el trigo de tus manos amadas I want the light and the wheat of your beloved hands

pasar una vez más sobre me frescura: to pass their freshness over me one more time:

sentir la suavidad que cambió mi destino. I want to feel the gentleness that changed my destiny.

Quiero que vivas mientras yo, dormido, te espero, I want you to live while I wait for you, asleep,

quiero que tus oídos sigan oyendo el viento, I want your ears to still hear the wind,

que huelas el aroma del mar que amamos juntos I want you to smell the scent of the sea we both loved

y que sigas pisando la arena que pisamos. and to continue walking on the sand we walked on.

Quiero quo lo que amo siga vivo I want all that I love to keep on living,

y a ti te amé y cante sobre todas las cosas, and you whom I loved and sang above all things

por eso sigue tú floreciendo, florida, to keep flowering into full bloom,

para que alcanses todo lo que mi amor te ordena, so that you can touch all that my love provides you,

para que se pasee mi sombra por tu pelo, so that my shadow may pass over your hair,

para que así conozcan la razón de mi canto. so that all may know the reason for my song.

Pablo Neruda, "Soneto LXXXIX" from Cien Sonetos de Amor (trans. Nicholas Lauridsen),

in Morten Lauridsen, "Soneto de la Noche," Nocturnes. New York: Songs of Peer, Ltd./

PeerMusic Classical, 2005.

This particular text caused more than one person to choke up or actually tear up at one point or another in the rehearsals. It is undeniably a touching text. But today was different.

Today locked it in for pretty much everyone. Craig (Hella Johnson), in his infinite wisdom, had us listen to the Spanish being spoken phrase by phrase, repeat the Spanish back, and listen to the same text spoken in the English translation. A brilliant pedagogical moment that is probably not unique to us, but here's the masterstroke: We then sang it, while one of our beloveds, David F. spoke the text over our singing.

No one was prepared for what came next. Maybe all of our defenses were broken down by 3 days of all day and into the night rehearsing. Maybe it was the combination of a powerful text, set powerfully by a master composer. Maybe it was the addition of that last layer of the same powerful text we were singing being rendered pitch perfectly by a reader we all love in a language we comprehend on a heart level, versus the head level of an acquired tongue. Maybe Mercury was in retrograde.

But almost to a one, the room erupted, spontaneously, in sniffles, sobs, hitched breaths. Tears streamed down faces-- even faces one never expected to see bathed in tears. It was not everyone at once, but nearly everyone by the end of the song. I  know some were shocked by their response. I know that I was.

In that moment we were all touched by something rare. Something ineffable. There is no way to know what each person experienced in that singular moment; although I believe its outward manifestation was the kind of deep intimacy one can experience in collaborative music. I do not believe that any of us left that room unchanged. I also believe that we will never sing that song the same way again-- or hear it sung the same way, by ourselves or by another choir in another lifetime.

The name Conspirare was chosen for our group because it means "to breathe together." It is the most basic premise of any choral ensemble. In a larger sense, it is a fine premise for any community of people, when you stop to think about it. (Surely it is no mistake that the verb "conspire" is related?)

Today, Conspirare did more than fulfill our mission of breathing together. We, with the help of Messrs. Neruda  and Lauridsen (and Johnson and Farwig), were able to be together, in a way that was both deeply personal and deeply communal.

Thank you, Gentlemen.

The Gory Details (aka The End of a Career)

So, you really want the gory details? OK! After a 30-year, mostly unproductive career, my uterus will be taking permanent retirement via hysterectomy next Wednesday.

I say "mostly unproductive," because rather than doing nothing, like I intended for it to do, it's been brewing fibroids. More on that later.

Here's the e-mail I sent to my support squad (family & friends):

[If you got that e-mail and want newer, more fun information, here are some sites I found helpful:

Referential measurements for fibroids
http://www.geocities.com/tiggernut24/Fibroids/MeasureFibroids.html

A hospital site with VERY graphic pictures
http://www.jeffersonhospital.org/obgyn/article9361.html

A support site with good articles. Requires membership to post, but not browse.
http://hystersisters.com

There are tons more, but I've got to get after other things!]

... after a prolonged, but not necessarily hateful battle with my uterine fibroids, my Dr and I have decided that a hysterectomy is the best option. After seeing to 3 doctors and talking to/reading from others "in the know," I will be having a laparoscpic procedure on Wednesday 6/4 at noon (by Dr. Carl Giesler), unless it gets bumped up earlier in the day. The surgery is at St. Luke's Episcopal Hospital in the Medical Center and I will be staying overnight.

That's the short version. As for more info, requests, etc:

- This is clearly not a secret, so if it comes up or anyone asks feel free to share. There is actually a limit to how many addressees can go in one e-mail!

- If you are in town and can spare some time in the next few weeks, I will be needing some assistance with driving and meals and such, and would love to press you into service if you are willing. The lovely and phenomenal Amy Winstead is coordinating that effort. If you are able to assist, please contact her at [info deleted]. None of us has food allergies, but we are lactose intolerant, so easy on the cream & cheese, please ;-} !

- Who is "we," you ask? Of course, my Mom is coming down on Sunday. My middle sister, Janessa will help her out from Tuesday through Sunday, and then my baby sister, Alexa will come over the weekend and stay for a week or so, by which time Mom and I ought to be ok on our own. I don't think any of them will be doing any driving-- they've been here before and their families want them back in one piece.

- Can I visit? Likely not in the hospital, as I don't plan to be there very long. We'll see how I do at home. Call the house and "my people" will let you know the 411. [info deleted]

If you have more than enough information, STOP READING NOW!!! I mean it. Here's where it gets gross and/or TMI. But I know some of you will or have asked these questions, so better to answer them in one place. Really, if you are tender of stomach or easily embarrassed, stop reading. If I left something out, feel free to ask. I am a veritable font of gynecological information by now.


****

******

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OK you were warned.

Why hysterectomy?
- It is the only permanent cure for fibroids, short of menopause, to which I am not sufficiently near enough to be useful. There are other procedures (embolism, laser, hormones, surgery to take out the fibroids only); either I am not a candidate for them for one reason or another and/or they are not permanent.

What are fibroids?
- Benign tumors of muscle and connective tissue that are present in most women. They can be so small as to be unnoticeable, or very, very large. There have been reports of single fibroids upwards of 10 inches across. The stats say that 25-40% of all women have symptomatic fibroids of some sort (pain, pressure, excessive bleeding, bladder and rectal issues, nerve impingement), and at autopsy, nearly 77% of women were found to have fibroids. They feed on estrogen, and sometimes they grow fast and sometimes slow. They are hardly ever cancerous.

Why do fibroids happen?
- Why not? I guess it's what happens when nature gets bored. Uteri were meant to produce humans, so maybe this is weird uterine wish fulfillment.

Why YOU for hysterectomy?
- I have several large fibroids, ranging in size from a tangerine to a softball. One is even attached to the top of my uterus by a stalk (pedunculated). All told, they have occupied my uterus to the point that it is the size of a 16-18 week pregnancy (now you know what I'd look like 4-5 mos. pregnant-- just the same. But I can feel them. Not so much fun).

How is it being done?
- There are basically three ways. Old fashioned "open" abdominal, kind of like a C-section, Vaginal (remember the old joke about the OB/GYN who goes to auto repair school for fun and repairs the entire engine through the tailpipe?), or laparoscopic, where the surgeon uses instruments inserted into holes or "ports" in the abdomen. I'll take #3, Alex, for the win.

How do you take it out through small holes?
- It gets cut up (de-bulked) with a morcellator, and the rest is done through the uh, tailpipe.

How long is the surgery?
- He says around 2 hours if there are no problems.

Problems? What kind of problems?
- The usual and very rare ones that could happen anytime one goes in for abdominal surgery; organ injury, bleeding, etc. Panic not.

What about your ovaries?
- Staying as long as they look good once the Dr. gets in there.

Will you go into early menopause?
- Not if my ovaries remain unmolested. It is possible that I will go into it earlier than I would have otherwise, but not significantly.

Sooooo, does this mean no babies? You ok with that?
- Yes, this means no babies of my own flesh (other than my amazing nieces and nephews). Yes, I'm quite ok with that. No periods either. BONUS!

What about your vocal cords?
- My surgeon has specifically requested an anesthesiologist with good experience in this area, it is written all over my orders, I will tell everyone I encounter in Pre-OP and I may even tattoo it on my forehead with a Sharpie. I'll likely have a size 6 or smaller cannula and extreme care will be taken in intubation and extubation. On top of that, I will prophylactically go on vocal rest for 3 days following extubation. So don't call before Friday unless you want to talk to one of the fam, who I imagine will be willing to give reports.

I think that does it. Your prayers and good wishes are coveted.

The light at the end of the tunnel... is NOT a train.

Sigh. Has it really been since February 4. I'm not gonna lie; it's been that crazy.

First I thought, February is going to be pure hell. I have WAY overscheduled myself, and I may just die. But if I can get through Febuary, it's gonna be relatively smooth sailing.

That belief got me through February, which was-- as expected-- hellish. But then came March.

See, I didn't think I had all that much going on. And besides, Spring Break is in March, I don't have a church gig anymore, so the fact that Easter was in March didn't faze me. I came into March full of a sense of accomplishment from having survived February.

Silly girl. March was when the UH opera was in full swing. And HBU opera was gearing up and guess who agreed to design the costumes? Spring Break? What Spring Break? You mean that week I spent teaching lessons and researching papers? And there were Passions to sing (ok, only one, but we did it three times). Ack. I could tell you more, but it would upset us both.

But I knew I could look forward to April. I had no gigs scheduled in April, and I could spend the whole month working on my 4 papers and learning the music for the Houston Choral Society world premiere Adolophus Hailstork piece as well as the 2 cantatas for Ars Lyrica Houston.

Nice plan, really. But not horribly realistic.

See, although the work of the UH opera happened in March, the shows were the first weekend in April. And although it seemed like a no-brainer, costuming The Magic Flute as set in Hawaii during WWII was not a walk in the park. It ate up fully two weeks of my life. And the papers took a lot of time and effort (as we speak, 2 are in progress RIGHT NOW!). And I had to prepare a student for her pre-recital hearing, which meant extra lessons to make up the ones that the UH opera stole in March.

So, here it is late in the day on April 26. I have felt a great deal of guilt (ok, strong word. Maybe let's use complusive responsibility) about not having updated the blog and today it just seemed like 14 minutes could be spared.

Started the Hailstork yesterday. One paper is going out tonight, dammit, if it kills me. Tomorrow is 15% Hailstork and 85% Scarlatti theory paper. 'Cause next week is rehearsals out the wazoo for HCS and finishing the last requirements for completing the coursework for my DMA! And so on.

I think the maelstrom is coming to an end. But I already know May is booked solid as is July. During June I have to memorize Conspirare and Ballet music. And August is the last bit of cramming before comps. Which are the week before school. One week into which the Ballet tour starts.

Crap. Maybe I should add a question mark to the title of this post...

Epiphany (non-liturgical)

Hi Hobbit Fans!

So, I have had an Epiphany. Convenient, as (if I'm not mistaken, though I likely am) we are technically still in the season of Epiphany. For those of you not familiar with the liturgical calendar, Epiphany is the period after Christmas representing the revelation of Christ to the Gentiles, in the person of the three directionally-challenged monarchs who clearly couldn't be bothered to to come to the party on time. I'm kidding, I'm kidding. Really, it is about Jesus being revealed to the nations and all of that.

But I digress. It's called Epiphany because that's what it means. According to Webster's Collegiate Dictionary, 10th Edition ('cause I'm too tired to deal with Bartleby.com today- even though the print would have been much kinder to my aging eyes.) Epiphany is "3. a usually sudden manifestation especially of the essential nature or meaning of something. (2): an intuitive grasp of reality through something (as an event) usually simple or striking (3): an illuminating discovery." (1 and 2 have to deal with all the liturgical stuff I mentioned earlier).

Back to my epiphany. About 20 minutes ago I understood something I had heretofore not understood and had yea verily even mocked.

I know why people order Diet Coke with meals that have little or nothing to do with health or weight management.

Go ahead, alert the papers. This is big. I finally get this, because I have had an analogous experience. I just (literally– Anne, this is for you- 9: 30 inside the Houston city limits, 10 p.m. in my driveway after a stop at Whole Foods) got back from a week in Austin with Conspirare. It was a relatively tough rep. Not so much on the Conspirare end, because they're always fabulous and Craig is a complete love, but on my end, because I have so very much on my plate right now. I spent breaks memorizing Mendelssohn, mornings off correcting papers and learning Scarlatti and Bolcom and late evenings (the ones I didn't spend drinking wine and laughing at the Internet with Wendy) writing lectures and memorizing Gershwin. There's a lot going on, I tell you.

So, are you done alerting the media? What I mean is, I got home. I unpacked my suitcase. I put everything away and laundered my dirty clothes. Now, this may seem normal for the rest of you. But I can assure you (and so can the very few visitors to my house) that this is not the normal order of things. An open returned suitcase can languish on the floor at the foot of my bed for months. Since I did laundry before I left for Austin, I could have gone weeks without the clothes I wore there. But now, I put everything in the place that everthing has (thanks, Gram).*

As I removed the last bit from the dryer, I thought, "At least I accomplished something tonight." Honestly. That's what I thought. There are so many things demanding my attention (and yet, here I am, prattling on at you) that the one, simple act of having an empty suitcase and hamper was enough to make me feel like I could check something off.

I am now going to call this, "The Diet Coke Effect:" you might be scarfing down the 30-ounce Porterhouse at your favorite Way-Too-Expensive-But-Giant-Portions restaurant, or working your way through the All-You-Can-Eat-Big-Assed-Feed-Trough, but dad-gummit, by dint of that Diet Coke, you have "Made an Effort."

In the spirit of full disclosure, I 1) did neither** and 2) despise Diet Coke.

In fact, this post is an example of "The Diet Coke Effect." I still have MOUNDS of work to do, but the laundry is done and this long awaited (by at least one of you, anyway) post is en route and therefore checked off the list.

Is there other news? Of course. You are overdue for a Shameless Self-Promotion post, but one is imminent. If I don't get around to it in time, make sure you check out Mukuru: Arts for AIDS show "The Soul of Mukuru" this Saturday, February 9 at 7:30 p.m. at St. John's Baptist Church (Beyonce and Kelly's church) on Crawford and Gray. It's FREE and I'm singing Mendelssohn love songs whilst others hold forth on African-American Art Song, Spirituals, Gospel, and Hip-Hop. Don't be afraid, it'll be hot.

In other news, it would appear that I have arrived. Or something like that. One of my students started a Facebook fan group for me. I'm not entirely sure what to make of that. I have gleefully joined other fan groups dedicated to friends of mine, but now what to do that I have my own? I joined it, of course, it seemed only prudent. Or gracious. Or just weird.

In more compelling news, it looks like 2008-09 will be a big CD release year. Naxos has picked up the Ars Lyrica Scarlatti CD I'm on and Harmonia Mundi is not only releasing Conspirare's new Tarik O'Regan CD, but they are re-releasing the Requiem CD that was nominated for a Grammy last year. As the kids say, woot! I do not have exact release dates, but rest assured, it will be posted here. Somewhere. Sometime.

Ok, the "effect" is wearing off. I either need to do something else productive or go to bed.



* Gram always said (I'm sure yours did too), "A place for everything and everything in its place." The world would be a safer place if we all adhered to that more often.

** I did have a couple of lovely, but not obscene meals in Austin, including a revelatory lunch at Fogo de Chao. One could do damage there, but I think we were, in the main, ok.

Like Dimetapp– only different...

Yes, I know, I have been remiss. Quite remiss. On several fronts. Posting in general and posting on the Project in particular.

It was the holidays, don'tcha know. And everyone does some hiring over the holidays. I just did some re-hiring. And since I am an exceptional person, I starting re-hiring, oh around August.

Nothing drastic, but enough to put me in a serious blue funk for the last several weeks. It was just so easy. So insidious. A birthday cocktail here, a celebratory dinner there, a trip out of town, somewhere else. And then all of the sudden (ha!) I was cursing my (essentially new) washer for shrinking my new, smaller clothes.

This gave me an epiphanous revelation. Perhaps the reason so many miners died in mine shafts back in the day is because they ignored the canary. You know, the canary they kept in the mine to monitor deadly gases. No canary, no breathable air. Early warning system.

Which we all know is only as useful if people pay attention to it.

My canary croaked and I ignored it.

Again, nothing drastic. One of the Baptist students is even convinced that I've lost more. I'm convinced she's blowing smoke up my ass (pardon my French– I'm working on that too).

Anyway, that and any number of small and (on their own) insignificant things have conspired to keep me pissy for a while. But this one is completely and (ha!) easily remediated.

Another (not so new) revelation. I have issues with food. I have known that for a while, but managed to, um, forget while the Project was fully on track. I realize that if I am not completely and totally diligent, I revert to my habit of entertaining myself with foodstuffs. This too, pisses me off.

Sigh. I guess rather than thinking of food as entertainment, or even fuel, perhaps I need to think of it as medicine. Necessary for a chronic condition, but not to be overdone. Remember Dimetapp syrup? When I was growing up, it was new. Imagine the novelty of a cough syrup that was grape flavored; that kids would imbibe without struggle. If I recall correctly (and if I don't, humor me), there was initially an issue with kids faking colds to take the tasty Dimetapp.

Clearly this was not the intent.

I have to find that place: food can be tasty, it can certainly be healthy. But it is only to be used in certain quantities and at certain intervals. And everyone can't take every drug. Period.

I reserve the right to not divulge where we are at present. I promise to let you know when we're out of the re-do!