A May Saturday

Five years ago, on the last Saturday, May 12 there was, we were all in Minneapolis celebrating with Kristin and Bill:

Happy anniversary, smoochers.

Saturday, May 12, 2007 turned out to be a mourning day, too.  That afternoon, one of my best friends from my Pipestone, MN days died at age 43 from metastatic melanoma.

Brad and wife Becky at his last Christmas (2006)

And this weekend is always the time to pay tribute to mothers.  I know at least 3 awesome ones near and dear to me.

Four generations:  Martha, Kathie, Missy, Henry (2008)

On top of all this, tonight we close the show after 3 months of fruitful collaboration.  The run has gone well.  I will be glad to see it go.  I will be nostalgic that it is over.

And, it is 80 degrees with a cloudless sky.

A worthy Saturday.  Amen

Shameless plug

You know you want to come see my show.

It opens 2 weeks from tonight. 

There are 6 performances to choose from:

weeknights, weekends, matinees, evenings.

The music is awesome.

The singers are awesome.

The band is awesome.

Parking is not difficult. 

Or expensive.

I'd love to have you.

Please come!

XO

Karin

Passion

I've lived in Boston long enough that I know I take it for granted at how easy it is to travel a short distance and/or pay a minimal fee to hear some pretty spectacular music.  A week ago Saturday, I was privileged to hear J.S. Bach's St. John Passion performed at Marsh Chapel on the Boston University campus.  This past Friday, the Handel & Haydn Society did the other great Passion of Bach, St. Matthew's, at Symphony Hall.

How fortunate. Both were brilliant productions. And to get into Marsh Chapel I paid 10 bucks .... Symphony Hall, 25.

Since today is Passion Sunday in the Christian calendar, seems quite appropriate to share my favorite pieces from each of these venerable works -- both bass solos:

Betrachte, meine Seel (St. John)

Betrachte, meine Seel, mit ängstlichem Vergnügen,
     Observe now, O my soul, with fearful satisfaction,
Mit bittrer Lust und halb beklemmtem Herzen
     With bitter joy and with a heart half-anguished
Dein höchstes Gut in Jesu Schmerzen,
     Thy highest good in Jesus' torments:
Wie dir auf Dornen, so ihn stechen,
     For thee the thorns there which have pierced him
Die Himmelsschlüsselblumen blühn!
     As keys to heaven's flowers bloom!
Du kannst viel süße Frucht von seiner Wermut brechen
     Thou canst pluck much sweet fruit from his most bitter wormwood,
Drum sieh ohn Unterlass auf ihn!
     So look unceasingly on him!

Mache dich, mein Herze rein (St. Matthew)

Mache dich, mein Herze, rein,
     Make thyself, my heart, now pure,
Ich will Jesum selbst begraben.
     I myself would Jesus bury.
Denn er soll nunmehr in mir
     For he shall henceforth in me
Für und für Seine süße Ruhe haben.
     More and more find in sweet repose his dwelling.
Welt, geh aus, lass Jesum ein!
     World, depart, let Jesus in!

Working Hands

Per rough calculation, I played piano for The Longwood Players -- much of it pounding Jason Robert Brown soul-chords -- for 27 hours last week, ending at 11 p.m. on Sunday night.

Woke up Monday with blood swelling and throbbing through both hands -- my right, particularly stiffened into a rigor mortis claw. Could not grip my toothbrush. Riding the bus to work, standing, I could not get purchase on a seat-back with either hand, resorting to straddling a pole with armpit and calf to keep standing. Today, typing is more comfortable .... although the computer's mouse is still my sworn enemy, as the area between index finger and thumb is puffed up like a bruise and resistant to that reclined angle.

Thankful the hands survived this week's (unusual, due to the concentrated confluence of auditions and rehearsals and shows) onslaught.  The thumb will recover, the stiffness will undoubtedly subside because nothing is injured.

I'm reminded again how nice it is, and how grateful I am, when these wonders of God's creation work correctly.

Opening night





Winter's on the wing,

Here's a fine spring morn'

Comin' clear through the night,

Come the day I say.

Winter's taken flight

Sweepin' dark cold air

Out to sea, Spring is born,

Comes the day say I,

And you'll be here to see it.

Stand and breathe it all the day.

Stoop, and feel it. Stop and hear it.

Spring, I say.

-- Lucy Simon & Marsha Norman

from
The Secret Garden

Day 3 of 31: 2.38 miles

Day 6 of 31: 3.80 miles

May Total: 12.38

2011 Total: 224.58

Photo courtesy of Ryan Shawgo

May Monday

Got home last night at midnight, grabbed a popsicle and turned on my computer to see the announcement that American forces had killed Osama bin Laden. Woke up today to the blanket coverage on the BBC and NPR on the clock radio. Got to work by 9, to find the New York Times (hard copy edition, sitting in Starbucks in Boston) featured upwards of 100 articles on the subject, all produced in the early hours.

(The scope and speed of the reaction by the public -- and the journalists and politicos, for that matter -- is almost as impressive as the raid.)

Anything I did this weekend (ran a relatively fast 10K, for example) or will do this week (help open this pretty awesome show) will pale in comparison to this news. In 10 years this weekend will matter .... although it will not because I scrubbed my bedroom windows on a Saturday evening or had a Guinness at Foley's (still the best poured Guinness around, IMO) with someone other than C-2 at 2 a.m. Sunday or came to a realization that I really do enjoy talking to Piano Man but we are probably just going to be phone buddies and I'm totally OK with it.

It's a beautiful sunny morning that feels like spring. It's set to be a busy day at the office. It'll be a busy night of rehearsal, again. It's all good.

Day 1 of 31: 6.2 miles

May Total: 6.2

2011 Total:  218.4

Reinforcement

From a Gmail exchange, today, 10:45 a.m., with Piano Man:

(Who still lives in Brooklyn, who I still haven't met in person and might never and I wonder even if we did if e would have any chemistry, who I nonetheless communicate with daily, who is 40-plus but slings internet slang as guilelessly as a teenager, who is exhaustively opinionated about music, who scanned and sent me the Ferruccio Busoni transcription of Bach's organ chorale "In dir ist Freude" and has been asking ever since when I'll be not too tired or not too wimpy to try playing it.)

Karin: You awake?
Piano Man: depends what the meaning of "awake" is... ;)
K: I have set the bar low, so I'm sure you're over it.
PM: What I'm talkin 'bout
K:  I _think_ I got that. (see previous e-mail about the low bar)
PM: s'ok. have you had a chance to fool around w/ the Bach/Busoni (herinafter B/B) yet?  It's not so easy. But it rocks, as you know.

I do know. Do you? Here's a reminder both of how much it rocks and how not easy it is:

K: I haven't. I had to print it out at work, and it is sitting here on my desk. It actually makes me afraid. Tomorrow night, I have time and a night off, so perhaps I'll experiment with the futility of trying to play it.
PM: "afraid"? An intrepid NoDakian like you? HA!

IN·TREP·ID [ in tréppid ]

ADJ   fearless: courageous and bold

To recap:

I say, "I'm futile."

He replies, "You're fearless, courageous and bold."

Is there really any reason, even if we'll never meet in person, to rid myself of a correspondent with such powers of positive reinforcement?

Day 11 of 30: 1.57 miles

Day 12 of 30: 1.68 miles

April Total: 22.18

2011 Total: 176.17

A (Sort-of) Piano of One's Own

I've known 

how to play piano 

for 

32 years.

I've never
played a piano
that
belongs to me.

Today 

I played a piano 

that belongs to me 

because 

I bought one*

yesterday.

Finally.

For it's cherry-popping occasion,

I played 

Rhapsody in G Minor (Op. 79 No. 2) by Brahms .... 

straight through,

standing 

because it was 12:15 a.m. 

(and too late to figure how 

to adjust the stand height),

wearing headphones 

because it was 12:15 a.m.

(and I've got an upstairs neighbor),

playing the Brahms Rhapsody

because it's the only song on earth 

I play well

from memory.

It may be just 

a Korg digital keyboard 

(with headphones)

that has to be played standing up 

(for the time being),

but nonetheless 

(and I'm not really 

a materialistic person

I swear),

I'm pretty pumped.

(*Next up:  

a phone 

that takes better pictures 

than this one.)

Day 2 of 30:  6:29 miles

April Total:  6.29

2011 Total:   160.28

Further kick

In 11 days, I'm playing the piano for a gala fundraiser (shameless plug) benefitting The Longwood Players.

Earlier today I received an e-mail from the show's producer, reminding me and the other performers that "attire for the show is very upscale - gowns or very upscale cocktail attire for women and tuxes or suits for men."

(Perfect reminder, what with feeling dry-skinned and bloated and limp-haired and without-spending-cash, with a closet that would delight the hosts of What Not To Wear...)

A relief, then, to remember that I still own this sassy thing .... circa 2004, yes, but still sassy.

I know that I want to fit smoothly into and have buff shoulders and triceps on top of this dress when I wear it on stage in front of 200 people next Saturday.

Which is a further kick to keep f***ing (off) my funk, because I see 11 days of running, sit-ups, vegetables and sleep in any future that includes me and pink roses and spaghetti straps in January .

Day 10 of 31: 4.16

January Total: 20.40

6 Minutes, 37 Seconds (and Brahms)

So it's Friday night and all my bills are paid and my 2010 census form mailed and I've got drinks plans later and lunch plans tomorrow and a new dresser (!) to assemble and a bike to buy (and new Asics and an Easter dress, too) and to find and a rehearsal to attend and some website edits to do for Mike's campaign websites and a Palm Sunday service at which to sing Bach, but no dates and no real pressure to do anything except for these tasks I've placed on myself, which is both a relief and a drag because I definitely do better with deadlines and I can see myself on Monday in self-flagellating mode because I haven't finished them ...

.... but, as you can tell, I don't have much else to blog about tonight, or else I wouldn't have challenged myself to list out these details all in the 6 minutes 37 seconds it took Martha Argerich to tear through the Brahms Rhapsody in G minor, the only piano piece I can perform from memory at a concert level because I learned it in 1994 for my junior recital and still play it hard every couple of weeks, and if I were truly ambitious, part of my weekend would include rehearsing this piece so that I, too, could put my version on YouTube, or other pieces, so that after 17 years I would indeed have something else to play.

If only he never had to write....

A couple nights ago, in the OKC inbox:

hello dear

what a nice lady u are I would like to talk to you more and know u better if you interrest just keep in touch see you bye!

Spam alert, of course.

Or maybe not. Just a moment later, he had sent a second message, this one more targeted :

awwwww

and I saw that u are a pianist also Im a pianist too I got dgree from julliard school in newyork:)

Ah, the courting ritual on OKC these days: first, troll for sex; second, check for common interests.

But Julliard for piano? Worth at least a minor delve.

It was as expected .... the prose of someone not familiar with English.. Half-Turkish half-Italian, he says, and in Boston as a concert pianist. Three of his 4 photos are of him playing, 1 showing him furiously ripping on a Chopin score. He is 26. When he is not practicing, he likes to go clubbing. (Or, in his spelling, "clupping.")

One of the very first posts on this blog described how a perfectly nice guy with a perfectly nice profile lost my allegiance when he revealed himself as a poor writer. More recently, I connected with a young man in Wisconsin with whom I almost fell in love on the strength of his wit and our shared facility for literary seduction, even if he proved to be a total troll.

I want to be attracted to talented, fun-loving people even if their language skills grind obnoxiously on my ear .... my brain .... my sensibility .... my libido ....

But it's not happening.

Writing isn't everything. Although, perhaps good writing is just too crucial and I'll have to face it, Julliard or not.

Perhaps I need to stress that criteria next time I update the profile?

Just because I can

I'm up.

It's precisely 4:12 a.m.

I'm in my parka.

I'm in the Adirondack chair on the patio.

I've got a vodka cranberry buzz, but not one buzzy enough to regret.

So blog?

Why not.

I might still be on the high from today's matinee and then the night show with its extra adrenaline from the 20 seconds of wrong-synthesizer-setting panic in the middle of song #12 followed by even more extra adrenaline from it being the last show followed by the ripping apart of the set and then the cast party and the serious post-show love and the aforementioned vodka cranberry buzz and the sense of relief and gratitude that, amazingly and thankfully, always materializes at such moments when you almost can't believe that 6 months ago all this was was an idea and some publicity posters and 3 months ago you didn't know 2/3 of these people and that even 2 weeks ago you couldn't imagine feeling this satisfied and even as of last night, you didn't think you were going to miss any of them.

But you will. And I will.

Thanks, good folk of The Longwood Players and YAGMCB, for taking the leap.

D-Night

Tonight, we open.

It's just in the nick of time. My fatigue has chronic fatigue.

But the show came together, as it should have, 8 months from the day the producer first approached me. It sounds good. It looks good. It runs like a machine. It still has moments that make me laugh, even on the 41st viewing. I've become comfortable with both conducting musicans and wearing a pale yellow unitard and a can-can feather on my head.

It feels like a wedding day. Or a bar mitzvah, except cheaper.

I've done a whole lot of these kinds of shows in my life and, always, when we reach this point I kind of don't believe how much creative and organizational energy must flow from everyone involved in order to reach this point. Kind of take it for granted, really.

It's crucial to remember to be grateful at moments like this. For talent. For connections. For opportunities. For wit. For visions. For passions. For willingness. For human kindness. For grand rallentandos with kick lines.

It'll be a grand night.

Grateful

Wow.

This week kicked me in the ass.

You've probably had a week like it. You know, when you've been maintaining your edge of uprightness and balance trying to fulfill the daily list of desires and responsibilities. And you've maintained for a while. And all at once, your body, mind, sanity don't want to work so hard any more.

Enough.

Suddenly, late for every rehearsal. Crabby for every rehearsal. More crabby at friends who have the audacity to be cheerful. Sick and at the doctor's office buying antibiotics for preventable infections. Late paying bills. Late for work. Wearing unbearable clothes combinations. Losing $7M clients. Aggravating the marketing staff via bad attitude. Sending an e-mail with a typo to the wrong person, triggering a 30-email chaos chain to clear it up. Not sleeping, of course.

Today, luckily, brought turnaround. I don't know why; it's not as if I slept enough last night or I feel any more relaxed. But it IS Friday. Maybe that's all it takes sometimes, to get to 5 p.m. on the final work day and be able to view the weekend with some hope.

Or. Maybe it was at about 4:30, actually, as I attached quarterly reports and letters to e-mails and checked off the sent ones, when my favorite music radio station (WERS 88.9 FM), brought one of my favorite singer/songwriters (Ellis Paul) into their Tremont Street studio as part of their fall fundraising drive (Live Music Week) and let him wail on the Steinway and sing, and then talk about how much he liked to wail on that Steinway and sing, and how grateful he was that WERS kept asking him back to do so.

See, tomorrow at 1 p.m. .... I, too, get to wail on that same f*#&ing Steinway in the Tremont Street studio while the cast of my show does the singing. See, we were invited, just like Ellis, as part of Live Music Week, in our case to perform numbers from "You're a Good Man, Charlie Brown" for WERS' weekend musical theater show "Standing Room Only." (Hint: WERS streams live online. You can listen if you want.)

How grateful am I for that? Like Ellis, to want to play and be able to play and be allowed to play and to perform on the radio with my friends.

Gratefulness must breed hope, eh?

Thank God. I think it has redeemed my week

D'oh!

I'm convinced that this blog would not exist if I wasn't such a general f@#$-up, on occasion.

Yesterday, I scheduled an 8-mile run in the hours between the conclusion of church (12:30) and the beginning of rehearsal (2:30). Since my rehearsal was in Davis Square, near Tufts University, I decided to drive up and park near the rehearsal site and run in that neighborhood, grateful for the change of scenery.

Important: I had to leave all my belongings in my locked car. Since my bundle-o-keys is substantial, and I didn't want to have that bulkiness in my hand for 8 miles, I removed the Mazda key from the ring, better to carry in pocket. And off I went to enjoy the Mystic Valley Parkway, Arlington Heights, Mass Ave through Cambridge and lower Somerville on a sunny, cool afternoon -- thusly:



This was all well and good. It was a good run. Nine-minute miles, even, which I'll certainly take.

So, I chugged back into my start point and checked in at rehearsal, pulling iPod out of shorts pocket to turn it off, only to realize that my car key, supposedly in same pocket, was no longer in same pocket, or on my person at all.

Dropped somewhere along those 8 miles.

Shit.

Must. Be. Found. Now.

Go.

So I left my start point and backtracked. For 6 miles and 2 hours, thusly:



At least it was a lovely afternoon. I mean, it isn't nearly as enjoyable when walking slowly with head down, scouring among the acorns and leaves and cigarette butts and pebbles, trying to remember if I ran on the sidewalk or the street and if so, which side of the street, and when I crossed Highland Ave not at the crosswalk, exactly where was that?, and what about that moment I took my iPod out to replay a song, exactly where was that?, and wondering if the kid on the trike I passed on Cherry Street maybe saw the key and thought it would be fun to play with .... and on and on.

By the time I re-hit the Alewife Brook Parkway my feet were swelling out of my shoe tops, I hadn't had food or water since breakfast, and losses had to be cut. I walked 2 more miles back to rehearsal, asked a cast-mate for $5 to take the Red Line back to Southie to pick up my spare keys .... so I could take the Red Line from Southie back up to Davis and drive the car home.

The time was now 7:30 p.m. And it was time for a beer.

Here's the best part of the whole sordid tale: back at 2:30, at the moment I first realized the key was lost, our rehearsal's stage manager informed me that, due to a late change in the schedule, I didn't have to be at rehearsal ... at all. There was zero reason I needed to be up by Tufts or in Davis or changing clothes out of my car ... at all.

Hmm. I had not known this.

To this the stage manager replied: "Didn't you get my message? I called you earlier today to tell you not to come."

No, I hadn't gotten the message. I had forgotten my cell phone at home.

D'oh! Indeed.

Reason #45 ....

.... to plan on seeing my musical in November:

Your's truly dressed as Woodstock.

It's for real.

The whole orchestra will be clad in goldenrod.

I was just lucky enough to draw the leotard.

Not quite a bikini or a Speedo,

but still,

kind of a kick in the pants to be a ballerina again

after all these years.

Trying on costumes at the Cambridge YMCA

October 1, 2009

Deep thought: marry Neil Patrick Harris

My friend Kaitlyn posted this YouTube link on her Facebook page yesterday:

"Speaking of Neil Patrick Harris being an amazing host. Did you people see his closing number from the Tonys? Gayest man I've ever wanted to marry!"

(She's got good taste. I watched this clip, easily, 40 times after work. In fact, I skipped going to the gym because I was caught up in watching NPH delightfulness. It is so delightful I'm going to make you watch it too.)



As you might remember, Kaitlyn is currently my cohort, the director (to my music director) of "You're a Good Man, Charlie Brown." So I commented thusly, sparking this string o' comments:

Karin: Kaitlyn. I want to marry him too. And I'd like to hire him for our show. Can we?

Kaitlyn: Yes. We can. Who will break the news to [the members of our cast] Matt? And Mike? And Jason? And Rachel?

Mike (who plays Schroeder): I'll willingly offer my spot to NPH

Sandy (Kaitlyn's mother): Love him, too. So why aren't you watching him every week on TV? (Monday nights 8:00 CBS) The rest of the show is ordinary, but - go figure! - he's very fun!

Kaitlyn: Let's see... what am I doing at 8pm on Mondays? Oh yeah. I'm rehearsing a show. And since Mike just gave up his spot, that's what NPH is doing Mondays at 8pm too! Way to take one for the team, Schroeder. ♥

At rehearsal last night when greeting Kaitlyn, I brought up the Facebook posting .... and she smiled, and we sighed in unison ... the unspoken implication being, "he sings, he dances, he acts, he charms, he's stunning, he's witty, he's deft, he's smart, he's rich .... if only he didn't have a live-in boyfriend ...."

Our nearby stage manager, who happens to be lesbian, heard this exchange, to which she added:

"Neil Patrick Harris? LOVE him."

So let's review: 2 straight girls (1 single, 1 not), 1 straight guy, 1 married woman and 1 gay woman ... all in love with the gay man.

(And we are not alone. This article from yesterday's New York magazine goes fully all-in.)

NPH is a singular talent and more appealing than the average, gay or straight. Most likely he does not want to marry any of us. Although it is clear we all (pretend to, anyway) think that we would bypass his sexuality in exchange for a lifetime of hanging out with his appealing personality.

Eh. I'm not about to give up male/female sexual tension in my relationship; at least right now, it matters a lot to me. But is there a lesson about priorities in this observation?

Cranky, begone

Today was _that_ day of the month.

[Ladies, you're with me, I know. The day of the month before the day of the month. The day the hormones kick at your tear ducts and patience meter and cause you to hate everyone from the bus driver (going too slow) to your marketing co-worker (daring to ask for help after 3 p.m.) to the Herald's Howie Carr for his umpteenth year of obtuse, tasteless commentary.]

So refreshing, then, to get the news from my mother that she doesn't have even the slightest bit of cancer in her breast. She's been nonchalantly panicky since her mammogram several weeks ago .... when there was enough of an abnormality to require a biopsy. But the news came back this morning, negative. The good negative.

This news that means I have no right to be crabby.

To prove I'm working on moving my mood correspondingly into positive territory, I give you the lyrics to the song that, when it came over my iPod on tonight's run, made me cry in front of all the Berklee undergrads blocking the sidewalk on Mass Ave.

Cheesy, but perfect.

Happiness

from "You're a Good Man, Charlie Brown"

by Clark Gesner

Happiness is finding a pencil,

Pizza with sausage, telling the time.

Happiness is learning to whistle,

Tying your shoe for the very first time.

Happiness is playing the drum in your own school band.

And happiness is walking hand in hand.

Happiness is two kinds of ice cream,

Knowing a secret, climbing a tree.

Happiness is five different crayons,

Catching a firefly, setting him free.

Happiness is being alone every now and then.

And happiness is coming home again.

Happiness is having a sister,

Sharing a sandwich,

Getting along.

Happiness is singing together when day is through,

and happiness is those who sing with you.

Happiness is morning and evening,

daytime and nighttime too.

For happiness is everything and anything at all

That's loved by you.

Wisdom

I've mentioned before that I'm a pianist, but not that I've worked a lot as an accompanist and, as a matter of fact, am in rehearsals as music director for a local staging of "You're a Good Man Charlie Brown."

The production staff has been prepping since May; we auditioned and set the cast a couple weeks ago. Last night was the first practice.

This is my first job as a music director, so I'm still working on my leadership style. Nervewracking, a tad. But it'll keep me out of trouble (i.e., probably not chatting with 25-y-olds on OKC) for several months.

So far, it has been a joy collaborating with Kaitlyn, the director. Her love of Peanuts characters and commentary is infectious, causing her frequently to dance around any room at any time. She gets to do this near ceaselessly, since the musical is comprised only of vignettes from Charles Schulz's imagination.

Even so, as the strip ran in daily newspapers for 50 years, there's a much greater body of work than can ever be staged. Kaitlyn's remedy to this has been to, on each day of rehearsal, produce a daily comic for cast and crew as inspiration.

This is almost like having someone take care of smiling for you every day. So far, so cool. (Joe Cool, maybe.)

Here is the one from Tuesday, which to me feels perfectly at home in the blog entry of a girl trying to sort some stuff out.