So let's back up a tick.
Let's
hypothesize
your
goal
is
to
become
a
skilled,
confident
professional
working
something
that
you
love,
and
making
some
money.
What
happens
is
when
you
put
everything
into
it
and
that
opens
some
doors
and
then
you
walk
through
a
few
of
them
and,
amongst
the
fabulous,
there's
inalterably
orders
of
magnitude
so
much
pain
and
horrible
people
horrible
experience
wounded
sadistic
crap.
Of
course
this
has
all
come
up
because
I've
just
been
informed
of
the
Interim's
replacement.
The
new
permanent
choir
director
(since
our
former
one
is
now
not
only
blissfully
retired,
but
a
surprise
newlywed).
Out of four auditionees, this pompous nutter was second in line, after the true deal breaker Interim (yeesh. for me at least). I can only assume that neither of the other two candidates that everybody I talked to was excited about, were able to accept because, as we've previously experienced in this national search, they didn't factor in how expensive it is to live in the fucking Bay Area. So we've ended up with the candidate who is local. (Nobody wanted Ms. Interim by the way. I count that as proof of at least some sound BOD decision making.)
This
caused
me
to
impulsively
call
a
colleague
from
my
old
Conservatory
days—only
30
years
ago
(who
happens
also
to
be
my
sister-in-law's
cousin,
and
was
as
recently
as
last
month
down
the
street
over
at
their
house
celebrating
her
upcoming
marital
plans--howzat
for
crazy)
Of
course
she's
also
on
FB.
She
is
a
voice
teacher;
we
don't
talk
regularly,
I
just
wanted
to
pick
her
brains
about
this
whole
idea
of
amateur
choir
vocal
pedagogy.
Arriving
at
weekly
rehearsals
to
spend
half
your
time
listening
to
talk
about
thick
folds/thin
folds,
straight
tone,
oscilloscopes
and
theremins.
She
was
excited;
she
finds
it
all
fascinating.
I
found
her
take
on
the
'Disney
voice'
especially
close
to
my
heart.
Without
naming
names
she
clearly
has
had
experience
with
prepubescent
students
who
were
being
asked
to
sing,
as
she
put
it,
five
steps
below
the
staff.
Ruining
their
young
voices
before
they
even
have
a
chance.
Her
opinion
of straight tone is that it is a current fad, or trend, if you will. She does not recommend it outside of certain specific limited repertoire
So
the
upshot
is
getting
to
spend
half
an
hour
chatting
on
the
phone
was
like
the
tip
of
the
iceberg.
All
of
this,
I
want
to
say held resentment,
and
old
forgotten
teachers
and
feuds
and
triumphs
and
adversity
came
boiling
over,
we
barely
could
keep
up
with
each
other
as
the
ideas
were
tumbling
out.
She
is
one
of
the
few
people
I
can
talk
to
who
actually
enjoys
this
kind
of
conversation.
Extra
points
for
showing
more
than
a
bit
of
interest
in
my
retreats
in
(non)quest
of
non-duality.
**************
Four days later
Oh lordy what have I done.
I figured after Sunday soaked in this lovely craziness doing a contemporary jazz mass in a big old church and even the previous Thursday night final rehearsal just being so light and comfortable, I must be doing something right. Looking around in this little hodge podge mini group—confusingly fused, having had this same (now retired) guy for years endlessly crossing the Bay Bridge, running both choirs, signing us up for any theater gigs that needed a temporary choral add-on. Organizing us to chase around all over the world singing at any venues that would have us.
Familiar
faces,
welcoming,
even
silly
as
we
talked
about
what
to
wear.
What
do
you
wear
for
jazz?
The
men
got
no
problem
they
can
put
on
a
black
turtleneck
some
slacks
and
snazzy
hat
but
what
do
the
women
wear?
We
get
some
kind
of
throwback
braless
shimmy
and
silk
stockings?
Cloche
hats?
And
feather
boas.
Come
on
none
of
us
is
20
years
old.
Our
choir
director
is
sporting
black
and
white
wingtips.
I
reckoned
after
this
experience,
with
all
the
work
I
planned
on
doing
in
the
next
two
weeks
with
another
offshoot
group
just
to
have
some
summer
practice
sightreading
and
acquit
myself
with
honor,
that
it
was
going
to
be
more
or
less
smooth
sailing
for
a
while
at
least.
Instead I'm a ping pong ball.
Back at the church my carpool guy says oh let's take a picture; he lines us three ladies up and he takes a wonderful shot and since they're such gentle people they send me a copy of it right away and when I get home I see it and I think well for somebody who thinks herself not very photogenic that's pretty good picture.
Then half an hour later I get an email request from our offshoot fearless leader for a headshot to be included in the Program. WTF. I swear to God, all I did was just grab that picture slap it in the gallery hit edit crop it so that I cut out the other two ladies on either side of me and I'm actually facing straight so my nose is in pretty good shape.
But
who
does
headshots
for
chorus?
I
don't
know
whether
to
be
charmed
or
horrified.
Inside
of
5
minutes
I've
responded
with
a
goddamn
headshot.
And now I have to admit that while I'm with these people on Sunday, there's little germination of unease that I feel I have to keep to myself. That choice,
after
abandoning
Ms
Interim,
and
enjoying
the
repertoire
of
Gustav
Holst,
he
who
is
now
the
previously
referred
to notsomebody
I
really
want
to
work
with.
Everybody
knows
the
decision
has
been
made
now,
but
did
I
mention
that
to me there had been another email with a zoom link for tomorrow afternoon, calling for the presence of as many people of the Holst who would like to come hear this guy's news.
Which
I
already
knew
what
the news was, but I also already knew that in point of fact his new contract specifies that he can't run
two
choruses
at
the
same
time
so
these
early
folks
invited
to
the
zoom
at
the
top
of
the
hour
before
he
arrives
are
all
busy
trading
opinions
on
what
the
heck
is
going
on.
Somebody says oh oh we got bad news don't we? And somebody else says oh I don't know, I guess we'll see.
But
in
contrast
to
the
morning
Sunday
gig,
the
mood
is
a
bit
grim.
10
minutes
in,
he
is
stumbling,
basically
trying
to
explain
how
it
was
all
hush
hush,
that
he
came
to
make
the
decision
to
take
the
job
and
how
sorry
he
is
that
he
can't
do
everything
but
he
won't
have
a
life
he'll
never
see
his
family
and
it
would
basically
just
be
a
bad
decision
and
although
he
will
miss
everybody,
guess
what?
He
says
they're
going
to
talk,
that
is
all
of
these
various
people
who
make
decisions
such
as
the
boards
of
directors,
and
decide
whether
they
want
to
combine
the
choruses
whether
that's
even
doable
whether
the
(my
old)
rehearsal
Hall
has
enough
room
to
accommodate
an
unknown
number
of
singers.
We've
lost
some
to
attrition,
they've
lost
some
to
attrition,
I
mean
you
know,
covid.
Duh.
So
here
I
am,
unable
to
concentrate.
Feeling
like
I
just
couldn't
keep
my
goddamn
mouth
shut.
These
are
people
I
worked
with
for one program in response to missing our retired director, loathing the
interim
director—not
the
repertoire,
mind
you,
just
the
endless
twaddle
(see
pedagogy
above)—and
then
after
jumping
ship,
decided
that
although,
again,
love
the
repertoire,
I
wasn't
really
having
any
fun
and
didn't
like this guy's next choice of program.
Besides
I
actually
felt
the
urge
to
be
proactive
and
start
looking
for
something
that
I
really
really
want
to
do,
not
just
sort
of
fall
into.
So
what
the
heck
am
I
doing
showing
up
for
this
Zoom
call.
I
think
first
off
I
wanted
to
be
present
as
a
member
of
the
old
group
that
he
is
now
apparently
going
to
be
in
charge
of.
I
think
there's
only
one
other
person
that
is
in
both
choirs.
I
don't
know
her
very
well;
she
may
or
may
not
be
on
the
call.
But
it
just
seemed
like
even
if
I'm
on
leave
with
both
groups
I
have
to
keep
my
toe
in.
I
mean
that
seems
reasonable.
Also I feel like spying.
And
I
do
keep
my
trap
shut
for
quite
a
while,
but
then
they
start,
I
don't
know,
it's
almost
seems
like
they're
standing
over
these
choirs
like
carcasses,
doing
a
post-mortem,
picking
apart
guts
on
a
slab.
I
stay
muted,
hold
up
my
hand,
nobody
calls
on
me.
I
put
up
the
little
virtual
hand.
That's
ignored.
I
wave
my
hand,
nothing.
Mind
you
everybody's
unmuted
so
there's
unmoderated
chatter
going
on,
which
I
have
to
say
I
haven't
really
experienced
a
whole
lot
of
in
Zoom.
I
was
building
up
a
head
of
steam.
Finally I unmute myself and say hello,
you
know,
full
disclosure
if
you
didn't
already
know,
I'm
a
member
of
the
chorus
that
you
guys
are
discussing,
have
been
for
9
years,
and
while
I
really
loved
the
last
piece
I
did
with
y'all,
that
other
chorus
is
my
home.
And
it
makes
me
feel
a
little
uncomfortable
being
here
almost
under
false
pretenses. I was going to continue if
anybody
has
any
questions
feel
free
to
ask,
however
I
can't
say
anything
officially
because
I'm
not
a
member
of
the
board.
But
I
never
got
that
far
cuz
after
that
10
sec
speech,
the
chatter
promptly
resumes
and
I
just
get
a
sudden
sense, you
know
what?
I
have
other
fish
to
fry.
Let
these
guys
figure
this
out. My mouse hovers over and I click leave.
A
few
hours
later,
I've
already
eaten
my
dinner
and
my
dessert.
I
have
a
crap
load
of
work
on offshoot group to do for tomorrow night's penultimate rehearsal. I mean heck, I was actually starting to think I'm getting somewhere, this upcoming thing in its own way feels centered and truth be told, there's a mishmash of crossover singers participating that I'm friends with. And there's some Fauré and Poulenc.
I
feel
so
distracted
and
miserable
about
the
other
thing,
but
I
don't
want
to
get
to
the
point
where
I hover and hitleave.
*********
Well, so much for centered.
Tonight
was
that
next-to-last
regular
rehearsal.
But
let
me
preface
this
by
a
little
anecdote
from
the
distant
past.
I
have
a
friend
who
really
went
Whole
Hog
into
developing
an
acting
career.
She
had
an
agent,
didn't
like
LA—she
was
mostly
interested
in
theater
so
living
in
the
Bay
Area
was
tough.
Things
seemed
to
be
stalled.
She's
up
for
a
pretty
important
role
in
a
play;
the
callbacks
are
interminable.
The
final
one
(fifth?
sixth?)
comes
down
to
this:
madame
director
assembles
everybody
onstage.
She
then
chooses
the
five actors people who most physically resemble each other, because after all they're supposed to be a family.
Straw/camel/broken
back.
Said
friend
is
now
a
retired
therapist
with
a
couple
of
grown
kids
one
of
whom
makes
a
serious
living
as
a
professional
conductor.
I
organize
my
week
around
small
bits
of
intense
work
on
the
Program.
I
choose
something
that
I
know
is
a
bit
tricky,
there
are
17
pieces
in
the
program,
and
some
consist
of
one
or
two
pages
that
are
just
dense
and
thick,
at
first
glance
impenetrable.
Plus
the
sheet
music
sometimes
is
kind
of
beat
up
copies
that
have
been
written
on.
So
in
order
to
maintain
sanity
it's
required
that
one
pace
oneself.
I
get
into
a
groove
that's
nice,
I
don't
feel
overwhelmed
even
though
I
still
think
this
project
is
doomed.
In
a
certain
way.
Not
to
be
a
Debbie
Downer,
but
it
is
what
it
is.
What
was
it
that
my
friend
from
the
conservatory
said? They're
not
there
to
hear
you
rehearse,
the
red
light
comes
on,
you
deliver.
We're
not
getting
paid.
That's
not
what
we're
talking
about
here,
sad
to
say.
Anyway
the
long
and
short
of
it
is
I
choose
to
work
one
particular
opportunity
to
join
up
with
a
trio
in
a
Fauré
piece.
I
drill
it
because
it's
sweet,
not
boring,
in
contrast
to
some
of
the
other
stuff.
I'm
confident
so
come
time
at
the
end
of
the
rehearsal
and
they
ask
who
is
going
to
volunteer,
I
raise
my
hand.
Turns
out
I'm
the
only
one
taking
the
middle
part.
Except
hang
on.
Right
in
front
of
me
is
Miss
Thing
to
whom
I
have
been
giving
a
ride
for
the
last
3
weeks.
Bitch
turns
around,
looks
directly
at
me
and
then
says oh well I could give it a try. Three guesses who gets cast.
Boy
that
was
a
long
walk
back
to
the
car.
She's
uneasy.
So
I
take
the
high
road
and
I
tell
her well
as
long
as
you're
gonna
do
it,
here's
my
advice
to
you.
Your
pitch
is
low,
and
if
you
listen
to
the
first
soprano,
she
is
right
on
the
money.
Try
your
best
to
blend
with
her.
The
alto
on
your
other
side
is
too
loud.
Ignore
her. My car mate gives a shaky giggle and her response is oh
totally.
Yeah.
Totally.
You
know
I
was
thinking
on
our
first
week,
you
were
telling
me
that
you
don't
hesitate
to
volunteer
for
solos,
so
I
took
your
advice!
I
was
so
nervous,
but
I'm
glad
I
took
the
chance. I said okay,
but
get
your
pitch
up.
Seriously.
The
problem
is
she's
not
going
to
and
it
will
be
horrible,
not
the
worst
I've
ever
heard
but
even
so.
This
here
would
have
been
a
rant
to
my
old
man;
I'm
really
glad
I
don't
have
any
potato
chips
available.
I
think
I'll
watch
TV
for
a
bit
and
then
figure
out
a
way
of
getting
to
sleep.
I
know
for
sure
that
the
worst
thing
I
can
do
is
obsess
but
I've
got
that
damn
trio
going
through
my
head
and
I
know
it'll
fade
but
what
do
they
say
at
the
retreat?
What
do
we
say
in
non-duality
circles?
Don't
push
it
away—embrace
it!
God I want some potato chips.
*******
1:30am
This
is
really
hard
to
say
but
it
seems
what's
underlying
a
lot
of
this
is
that
I
have
backed
myself
into
a
corner.
Other
than
writing
and
getting
busy
in
the
kitchen,
both
of
which
I
love,
theatre
is
the
best
thing
that
I
do.
I
have
nothing
else
that
comes
even
close.
Not
gardening,
not
painting,
not
training
for
marathons,
not
playing
bridge,
(although
I
did
do
pregnancies
really
well…)
And
I
did
have
a
director
say
she
wished
she
could
clone
me,
so
there's
that.
I
do
a mean cold read. Anyway.
I'm
not
a
toy
singer
either.
Sometimes
when
I
listen
to
other
choir
members
and
they
don't
seem
to
comprehend
the
level
they
are
at
in
comparison
to
someone
like
me.
I
don't
say
that
lightly,
it's
just
that
I
have
found
something
that
I
am
excellent
at
and
I've
sacrificed
a
lot
to
get
where
I
am.
I
have
to
admit,
as
I
did
from
the
get-go,
that
it
would
have
meant
upending
everything
to
try
to
move
to
Los
Angeles
or
spend
inordinate
amounts
of
time
honing
my
musicianship.
I
basically
had
slapped
up
a
giant
roadblock
by
taking
on
motherhood
and
relationships.
There
was
no
time
left
for
me.
I suppose the cliché applies that career-wise I
did
the
best
I
could.
Yet
to
give
it
a
real
chance,
I
would
have
had
to
eviscerate
any
sort
of
schedule.
Maybe
turn
my
kids
over
to
full-time
care
workers
or
something.
Nannies?
Send
them
off
to
boarding
school?
For
what?
The
impossibility
of
that
scenario
is
in
the
rear
view
mirror
and
it
should
stay
there.
What
occurs
to
me
now
is
that
one
of
the
reasons
this
is
a
form
of
torture
is
I
look
around
and
I
see
the
half-assed
singers,
and
the
ones
that
aren't
are
the
ones
that
I
want
to
be
with
but
who
honestly
are
a
couple
of
decades
younger,
or
they've
got
so
much
under
their
belts
that
they're
Head
and
Shoulders
above
me
skill-wise.
Not
to
say
that
they're
better
singers
but
they
have
more resources.
This
ends
up
being
so
painful
because
it
seems
like
there's
no
answer.
No
solution.
Dabble
in
non-duality
or
embrace
it
wholeheartedly
I
don't
know
I
don't
care.
All
the
stores
are
closed
and
if
I
wasn't
boycotting
Safeway
I'd
go
over
there
and
get
those
goddamn
potato
chips.
I'm
sleeping
on
the
couch
tonight
and
I've
got
four
part
harmony
Beautiful
Dreamer
going
through
my
head
from
the
end
of
the
last
TV
episode.
********
2:30 a.m.
Back
in
bed.
Turns
out
my
old
couch
is
too
noisy.
It's
made
with
Springs
and
like
other
ancient
items,
it's
getting
hella
creaky.
6:45 a.m.
This
morning,
I've
kind
of
switched
things
up.
Usually
it
goes
in
this
order:
put
on
watch,
socks,
go
pee.
Sit
up
in
bed
&
check
emails,
read
some
headlines
from
Guardian
or
wapo,
with
a
cup
of
coffee
and
half
a
greenbelly
meal
bar.
I
particularly
like
the
banana
chocolate
ones,
so
I
hoard
them.
Instead,
this
time
I
got
my
coffee
and
cashew
coconut
bellybar
and
watch
an
episode
of
my
medical
drama,
all
the
while
marveling
at
how
well-intentioned/manipulative
it
is,
but
as
they
always
say makes
work
for
actors.
Of
course
mulling
over
last
evening's
events
but
this
time
I
feel
a
little
stronger
having
a
slightly
different
perspective.
Not
new,
I
have
to
remind
myself,
odd
as
it
might
sound
to
say
it
out
loud
I
would
rather
be
on
this
side
of
the
equation:
having
the
better
voice
but
not
necessarily
getting
the
opportunity
to
showcase
it,
is absolutely preferable to the alternative.
I
also
am
rehearsing
a
very
short
remark
which
I'll
probably
not
deliver
at
next
week's
carpool.
What
I
want
to
say
is I'm
going
to
be
honest
with
you,
it
was
in
your
power
to
make
a
decision
that
you
knew
was
potentially
hurtful.
You
chose
to
hurt
me.
I
don't
need
to
apologize
to
you
for
somehow
instigating
that
by
my
remark,
like
I
sort
of
had
given
you permission,
but
I
do
think,
since
you
probably
have
decades
on
me
of
performing
life
ahead
of
you,
that
in
future
if
you're
gonna
keep
singing
and
have
a
few
friends,
probably not throwing your colleagues under the bus should be your default.
Now let's check the news and see what the world's up to.
**********
3:00 p.m. Postlude
Email request to me: take
a
look
in
the
Gloria
section
at
meas
73-75
optional
alto
solo.
3 measures.
Including a tied dotted half-note.
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