Hallelujah! Take Three

Whew! Another year of Messiah performances is done for TSOC.

This year, George was in rare form for the Halllujah encore. He turned around and conducted the audience, with occasional arm-waves back at various orchestral or choral parts for entrances. He encouraged the sopranos in the audience to higher and higher notes, and they all seemed to love it.

I'm rather conflicted about the audience singing along on the Hallelujah Chorus, but two people really got to me yesterday. One, a little lady, very simple in her appearance and demeanor, was sitting in the third row, center orchestra, house right. You could have lit a room on the darkest night with the beam from her face as she was singing. Another little lady, fifth row, center orch, house left, was quietly clapping along in rhythm as she sang. You could just tell by the look on her face that she was deriving great joy from this experience.

It is all about the music!

What State Am I In?

Physically, I reside in the state of Arizona. Emotionally I'm somewhere between Arizona and D.C. and Ohio. But really, I'm in the state of confusion.

How can I expect any man to be seriously interested in me if I'm so conflicted about who I am and what I want to be when I grow up?

The Lucky Ones

I want to have a 20th anniversary. Hell, I want to have a 30th anniversary, but I think I'm a little old to be starting now.

The lucky ones are those who can hang in there and make it work. To that end, I share with you today's Writer's Almanac.

Going Along to Get Along

I've been thinking about what it takes to get along in a relationship, to make it work (allow it to work?).

I tend to tuck my needs and wants away in order to have a relationship. I want to be accepted and loved — the Little Adoptee cries out, "please keep me".

With this cold weather, I've been remembering my third marriage where I moved into his home on 27 acres on the side of the Short Hill Mountain in western Loudoun County. I had the most wonderful cat I've had in all my life. Wolfie is the cat by whom all subsequent cats have been measured. But the Mountain Man said animals belonged outside, people belonged inside. (Hmmm, he liked to urinate outside in the woods, so does that make him animal or people?) When I was preparing to move out of my apartment, he informed me that Wolfie would live outside. I should have put my foot down, but I went along to get along.

The image I have in this cold weather is Wolfie sitting on the porch, scratching on the door, crying to come into the house. I would bundle up and go sit out on the porch with him to pet him and cuddle him. But I wouldn't bring him into the house. God forbid that I do something to cause someone to reject me again.

(Yes, I'm in therapy!)
(BTW, to level set you, this is the marriage where the son threatened to shoot me, and the Mountain Man said I took things too seriously.)
(BTW again, after we divorced and his daughter graduated from BYU and moved back home, they got two cats — who lived inside.)
(And yes, Wolfie's full name was Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart.)

Two Hallelujahs Down, Four to Go

Only one train wreck last night: Their Sound Has Gone Out. George tends to take this at the speed of light, and each section of the chorus chose its own tempo. But we all ended together and that's what counts, right?

Other than that, a full house, and tonight and Sunday are sold out.

Notes from a Tired Musician
(Didja catch that little pun?)

I never thought I'd say this, but I'm sick of singing Messiah. And since George always uses the Hallelujah Chorus as an encore, that means six — count 'em, six — Hallelujahs in the next 72 hours.

Thank TheUnknowable (with a wink to Tyler) that I'm not a first soprano having to hit all those As or Ds or whatever they are.

I never wish people ill, but I wish the Foghorn Leghorn tenor over my right shoulder would come down with laryngitis.

Hallelujah!

The Battle of the Sexes

I believe men and women think very differently about their attractiveness to members of the opposite sex.

I think women will look at a man and assess, based on various factors, whether or not he would be interested in her — whether or not she would stand a chance of getting something going with him. I think men see a pretty face (or shapely body) and set out to add it to their lists.

I will look at a man who is fit and buff and, after looking in my mirror in my mind, determine that he wouldn't be interested in me, who carries an extra 15 pounds around. I look at a man driving a high-priced car or with a very fine wardrobe and think he wouldn't be interested in someone who loves to make her own clothes and has a very eclectic wardrobe. I look at a man who is breathtakingly handsome and think he wouldn't be interested in plain ol' ordinary me.

Men, on the other hand . . . . Well, I can't tell you the number of e-mails I got when I was active on Match and other sites from men who had absolutely nothing in common with me, whose personal attributes were nowhere on my "what I'm looking for" list. Basically, if you have a pretty face and post a good photo, you'll get mail. Did you see the piece on CBS Sunday Morning a few weeks ago about photo manipulation, where the Photoshop geek in NYC opined that 100% of the photos on Match are digitally manipulated? (In NYC, that's probably true. In Tucson, fugedaboutit!)

Give me a man who is realistic, who can look at my profile or my lifestyle and say, "I would fit into that" or "That's not a good fit for me."

I don't care for reality TV (except Project Runway) but I do love reality.