A Mile in My Shoes

It was raining this morning when I left for my daily walk. A light, cool sprinkle that actually felt refreshing on my shoulders. I added a hat to my attire to keep the drops out of my face and closed the door behind me. The first part of my walk I like to greet the day...a visual headcount of where things stand. Weather. Check. Birds singing. Check. Clouds/blue skies? Check.

Some mornings I wish I were listening to my favorite iTunes, but most mornings I'm content listening to the birds tend to their business of the day. I try to imagine sometimes what they must be saying to their chicks. Wake Up! Clean up your nest! Quit poking your brother! Brush your beak.

After I amuse myself with this for a few minutes, my thoughts quickly turn more interpersonal and over the past month I have found that this new walking early in the morning is working great for me. This internal conversation with myself ranges from the simplest thoughts to conversations I want to have with people to some lofty goals I am setting for myself.

The village of River Rest has quickly transformed, for the spring anyway, into my own personal Dogwood Trail. I have tracked the progress of many of the trees along my route and have decided that this spring the pink dogwoods are gorgeous and the white ones seem a bit confused by the unspringlike weather. They are still beautiful nevertheless and I am thankful that they line the path every morning.

Another great thing about getting up so early and getting out in the day is that you see and hear things that get lost once the rest of the world wakes up and emerges. The color and of the morning sky is the best kept secret especially in those moments that the sun hasn't yet hit to turn the sky that brilliant blue or give a bit of warmth to the overcast clouds... .

So once I give my thanks and get my nature fix, this inner dialogue quickly turns to me. It's the cheapest form of therapy one could experience! The endorphins act as a mighty healer to any anxiety or worry you are carrying around. I have found myself pushing thoughts around and figuring out solutions or coming to an acceptance with something without having to say a word to anyone else.

Five years ago, my sister's friend Carol gave me the best advice on being separated. She said "You have to walk - it will solve so many of your problems." And now five years later, in retrospect, I know that she was so right. Temporarily staying with my mom back in those days, I started walking every morning. My little one could sleep with mom in the next room and I would jump out of bed and just follow where my feet would take me. It was aimless then believe me and I wasn't able to appreciate the birds, the color of the sky or the dogwoods then. I wonder how did I even navigate myself around in those days much less take care of my child. I can laugh about it now. After about a month of walking my eyes must have opened somewhat, I walked past a For Sale sign in the condos nearby. I closed on it two months later and we had a home again. A start. A new beginning.

This last resurgence, I started taking walking more seriously. I keep a daily log in an online catalog of how far I walk each day. I increase it by a .5 mile each week. My body is waking me up at 4:30 and sometimes 5:00 as if to say - get up, get going, it's time to go! My inner dialogue has mapped out some big plans for me: climbing Mt. LeConte (5 3/4 mile hike - sometimes steep) and which trail I want to take (Alum Cave Trail), training in the next year for the Country Music 1/2 Marathon (so cool to think about for this Nashville Girl and registration is open now) and seriously contemplating getting a breast reduction. WOW!

Carol was so right and when she crosses my mind I send up a silent prayer of thanks to her. The past five years has been a journey of a tiny baby steps, thousands of tears, many blind leaps of faith, rights and wrongs, self-doubt and the joy at discovering I no longer feel guilty to laugh again.

I thank her because I realize every morning when I take off my tennis shoes, that walking hasn't just taken me a mile or two around what my little one calls our village. It's not something to tick of my list of things to do. I'm smiling when I get to work each day = I feel so great. I have arrived at home, yes, but to a new destination I never dreamed I would experience. A new place I've discovered inside of me. One of accomplishment, contentment and happiness.

“Courage is being scared to death… and saddling up anyway!”

—John Wayne

Pop Fly

Had to share this proud parental moment: Katie had a softball game Tuesday night - I was there for the first 30 minutes of the game and had to leave for class. While in class, I noted on my cell phone's caller ID that my Mom called me three times, afraid it might be an emergency with Katie or Grandmother, I frantically dialed her; however, when she answered she shared with me the sweetest news ... .

During the last inning of the game, Katie went up for a pop fly and came down with the ball! Not only that it ended the game preventing the other team from winning!!! It was her first catch like that. EVER! Mom said the look on her face was priceless. Everyone on the field hugged her and the parents in the stands went crazy! The coaches gave her the game ball (HUGE, HUGE, BIG DEAL TO KIDS).

It was such a great moment for her - so I was extremely proud - but felt terrible for missing it!!!!! I called my mom again on the drive home and told her how conflicted I felt: so proud for her and awful for missing it. Mom reminded that of course there will be many more games and other clutch plays - she also reminded me of the many things I do to keep her safe and happy. I thanked her for being there for Katie that night and sharing in the excitement. I also silently reflected to myself - I learned all these things from my mom. Sure, I'll be front row center at the dance recitals, kindergarden graduations and school productions, but these small unexpected moments in life are just as important and special as the major milestones.

I went to pick her up at my sister's after class and she was fast asleep. I stood in the doorway and realized that this was my special moment as her mom - the quiet moments that can never be replaced - knowing your child is safe and healthy - all alone to absorb it and so thankful she had the opportunity to have that experience.

I melted when I looked in her sleeping.The game ball was lying on the pillow right next to her.

Gentlemen, Step Off!

A recent Tuesday evening found me in the front row of the Nashville Opera chorus rehearsal for their upcoming production of "Il trovatore." I wasn't rehearsing I was observing. I felt like a visible fly on ze wall. Actually, I was sitting with 16 of my MLAS classmates and I felt as if we were a group of lab mice being observed behind some invisible glass. Our chairs jutted out into the open space like a peninsula almost touching the invisible stage.

On this particular evening I expected to hear the chorus rehearse as in sing, but alas, we were in for a wonderful treat. A fight coordinator strolled to the front of the room, sword in hand and was introduced to his new recruits.

The band of gypsies were assembled with gleaming (faux) swords eager to receive instruction. To see these performers in street clothes took me a bit aback. They represented an assortment of fellows you would see at your basic office picnic. Wearing khaki's, jeans, button-downs, loafers, black turtlenecks, hoodies and their feet shod in Eastlanders, loafers and a few sported tennis shoes. They were in essence a bunch of guys who could pass as any guy - because they were "every man" and I didn't quite expect that. As I sized each of them up I imagined what their chosen professions might be: accountant, academic, minister, analyst, salesman - not the wooly rag tag bunch of gypsies (or metrosexuals) I was anticipating.

The fight coordinator put them through their paces and cued up the chorus on his iPod, which again was another surprise. I absolutely loved this modern touch of hearing Verdi's rich composition blair out of a miniscule iPod system.

As they mimic the fight coordinator's moves, I start to notice that some of them are sporting the shaved head (bald) with goatee or soul patch which has become popular of late (I personally HATE this look). Then I notice more of them have heavy facial hair - surely to play the part of this 19th century opera. Snaps to them for having fun and getting into their character as a strictly volunteer chorus - what dedication and love for their art.

I'm starting to feel more comfortable and not on display - the chorus for the most part is ignoring us. I don't feel as self-conscious. I start to look around the room more and find I'm no longer afraid to turn my head and look at the director.

I'm distracted by the sword fight from so many different side shows playing out:

• An opera diva wannabe (real name Amber) wearing a too short sweater dress, tights and knee boots vamps off to the side - I wonder is she the maid Ines or maybe Azucena?
• I suspect Talmadge in the front row of the sword practice was in an MLAS film class with some of us - how did he get here I wonder? Talmadge, who knew?
• The fight coordinator is wearing a t-shirt with a skull and crossed swords below it. He is very slight, smooth in his moves and has a very tiny, little paunch that adds a little panache.
• The men are all wearing large green nametags so the fight coordinator can talk to them.
• Amy, the rehearsal pianist, is also the official shusher.

The manly sword fight ensues - the men are wielding these masculine symbols - some like a golf club, some of their first tries a bit Stooge-like. I personally can't wait to hear the swords clashing.

The gypsies have names like Joey, Steven, Derek, Chad, Bill, Ed, Howard, Steve, Billy, Joel (hey Billy Joel - ha! how my observational mind wanders), Dave, Carl and I think to myself - a gypsy named Carl!!!??!!! I would love to know the back story of each of these modern day gypsies and what journey brought them to the Nashville Opera. Finally, in the back row - I spot a nametag of Geren - finally someone with a gypsy worthy name!

Of course, the one guy who has been acting theatrically and silently pontificating to himself can hardly lift his sword and he is also standing in the make-believe fire and he will not get out. Some of the men lean into their overheard thrust like they are going to take off and soar throught the air behind it like a superhero.

Talmadge takes his thrust very seriously, Billy missed the last lift. As I'm analyzing each one, a train whistle blows outside from Radnor Yards as it passes the industrial park the Nashville Opera calls home. An outside, but proud reminder to me how evolved my hometown has become - that we have our very own regional opera company - is something so special for our arts community.

The fight coordinator tells his band of gypsies "We will not stab you!" Now they are going to sing with their new fancy sword work. The first chorus they sing blew me away! These baritone, tenor and bass(?) voices were so intense and they were very well rehearsed. The chorus surprised me so much that I felt as if a brass line of trombones, tubas, trumpets and french horns just turned to the grand stand away from the back field into a company front formation and blasted away the stands. This took me by such pleasant surprise.

The nuns (ladies of the opera chorus) entered and the men are then divided into "Manrico men" and "di Luna guys." Geren who looks like a gypsy is a "di Luna man".

I get the same giggles that I did from the men by reading the names of the nuns - Barbara, Della, Therese, Jan, Fran, Amber (so not a diva) and Karen. In all fairness to the ladies, I assign them professions also. They could easily be: bank teller, school teacher, grandmother, data entry clerk, soccer mom and I notice that not many of them are young women.

The fight coordinator is busy staging these new scene. He gleefully says "Let's kill a gypsy" and bends over backward with an evil, echoing laugh.

The room stops for a moment as the diva of the opera enters the rehearsal room stage right(?). She is gorgeous with shoulder length silky black hair and big soulful eyes. I cannot wait to hear her sing. I also notice that the principals sit in padded, comfortable chairs and the chorus sits in cold, folding chairs like us lab rats.

More principal buzz in the air of the rehearsal room. Manrico and Gus (di Luna man) steps into the rehearsal. di Luna is not present and is summoned by the director. I am so impressed with the director's patience and professionalism at this point. He summons his assistant to call the missing Lester, which she does in front of the entire company. Everyone quietly pauses and pretends not to listen. As this is going down, the director announces in a very loud voice "Manrico men, step off!"

Finally from the back of the room, the maestro sitting on the raised platform at the front of the stage speaks and commands the entire room. He speaks very (pause) eloquently "Guys and ladies, when you aren't thinking about it, the 8th becomes a 16th." The chorus sings it again and takes direction well.

Lester, aka Elvis, aka Count di Luna enters the building. I cannot wait to see his entrance on the stage at TPAC.

As the fight coordinator arranges for Carl the gypsy to get sliced the propmaster scurries around in a dirty yellow peasant skirt, brown twinset, knitted scarf and backless scuffy mocs and hands out weapons to the principals. Gus, the di Luna man, moves swarthily across the stage to slice Carl and I am starting to inwardly purr until bummer - I see he wears a wedding band.

The fight coordinator assigns the most excellent ending sword poses to be taken as the curtain drops - I take a snapshot in my mind because I can't wait to see them at the performance. I see lots of theatre i.e. acting in this rehearsal and am impressed as much by the character and seriousness of the chorus as I am of the principals.

The Fight Coordinator is setting a new scene and as he is busy staging the skirmish between the guards and the gypsies, everyone is milling about, nuns/gypsy women are playing cups on the floor and the buzz of their murmured conversations fill the air. However, when it is time to hit their marks and be on - the energy I sense from the chorus is overwhelming and the vocals feels as if it could knock you over.

The Fight Coordinator makes reference to the movie "Princess Bride" and receives many enthusiastic answers. I wonder where on earth did they find this guy? The Tennessee Renaissance Festival in Triune? West End Park with the medieval weekend jousters? I would love to see his business card.

The director announces "One more time. Gentlemen, Step Off!" This is my new favorite phrase. They boisterously sing the Anvil Chorus and as I listen to their rousing voices I try to envision what color the color of their voices would be? Brassy? Copper?

And before you know it - my time at the rehearsal is over and I leave this 19th century world with a modern day twist and I head for home in the night wondering what kind of chorus member I would be and if so? What color would my voice be?