Sad

The past two days have been very sad for the Portland Opera community. Two local singers have committed suicide. One very ill and in his early 50s the other only 32.

The buisness of being an artist is very hard, and the artistic community does little to make it easier. I can't say that I was freinds with either. The older singer I knew because of his fantastic reputation as a teacher and his many accolades as a singer. The two of us shared the both were alums of the same voice teacher. The younger singer and I were part of the same choir, I did not know him very well he was a rising star in the opera scene, was one of the founders of the company that I have been performing with. Very, very sad...

Is it wrong?

Is it wrong that I spent 20 minutes this evening trying to learn the Corny Collins dance as presented in the most recent version of Hairspray? (I realize that this post does nothing to dispel the labels that I mentioned earlier, but, well, shut up...)

Prime candidate for What Not To Wear...

Oh my, what am I wearing today? Please, somebody stop me! A Hawaiian t-shirt with a skull on it was probably not a good idea when you work as the Manager of Liturgical Resources at a music publisher.

I am not sure that I put antiperspirant on this morning... Must wake up earlier! Must re-learn to use the iron.

It is hard to project an image of knowledge about 16th Century Catholic Liturgy to a priest when you are wearing flip flops.

Still have to go rehearse the Britten Canticle # II dressed like a clown. Oh why! Why! Why don't we use fluff and fold?

Sometimes, it takes a fairy...

In therapy, we decided to delve into the depths of childhood. It was decided that I say all of the names that I was called and try to put an emotion on the specific words. I know, boo hoo! Self indulgent, fuck you...

OK, so this proved to be a cathartic experience for a variety of reasons. Namely, I think it reminded me of some words that I had forgotten, my insult vocabulary was increased (Portland drivers beware!)

Fairy was one of the names that stuck out, really, that one stung. It usually was accompanied by the slam of a book bag, or the bash of an arm resulting in the cascade of books down the stairs. Really a hateful use of such a nice word. At any rate, that little word appeared several times in this therapeutic exercise.

Flash forward, it is the Friday before Father's Day. I pick the two beauties up from pre-school. Abigail runs up to me, she hugs me and takes my hand. I am lead to a table full of special Father's Day cards. Into my hands she thrusts an orange piece of construction paper clearly labeled with "Abigail", "Baby Charlotte", "Mommy" and "Sampson the Cat" carefully drawn in magic marker. At the top of the page there is a beautiful creature with two wings. I asked Abigail "who is this" she replies: "it's you Daddy! You are my fairy!"

You have to understand, in Abigail's world Fairy's are the Best thing, there are garden fairies and fairies in her favorite movies and also in her books. In one moment, that sweet little girl reshaped the semantics of a word. I have never felt so good.