Still Kicking

Well, I guess I survived the audition mostly intact. Though my lips felt awful yesterday and I spent a near sleepless night filled with dreams of having to quit the trumpet and work at Subway, I guess all the detailed focusing work I did in my last practice session must have done some good.

After my 8:00 Deutsch Klasse I warmed up nice and slow and got to where I could feel some "spin" happening again. I took lots of rest in between every exercise and tried to focus my thoughts back in time to when I was warming up at IC or in the park across the street from Rob's apartment. To my surprise, after about 10 minutes I reached a soft, but tonefully present, high C.

The audition itself was ok (which is stellar considering where I was last night). The Hummel concerto went fine. It was good to get things started off with a piece on which I could "sing." Then the dreaded Zarathustra... (Du..Du...Dunnnnn!). It wasn't perfect by any means. I cracked a couple key notes (but got them when given a 2nd chance) and fizzled out a bit on the ends of some of the higher notes, but hey...at least they were THERE! I made it through with only minor embarrassments and a feeling of relief that was almost palpable. I found out later that I'll be playing 4th on Zarathustra (YES!!!!) and (surprisingly) first on the whole first half of the concert, which features Fanfare for the Common Man and Wagner's Prelude & Liebestod.

In the lesson I had with her at the end of last quarter, Professor Butler insisted that I shed myself of my obviously long-standing fear of high notes and start each day by playing into the top of my register within the first 10 minutes of my routine. Of course this doesn't mean that I'm supposed to blast a fff high C right away, but rather to approach my sound and thinking so that I'm "centered" or "at home" closer to my upper register. The low notes then are supposed to "always be touching" the high notes and everything should be colored with a brilliant resonance rather than becoming mired within the fat, heavy, dark tone I've always tended toward. It was her assertion that my difficulties with range stemmed from a disproportionate love of a dark tone at the expense of using the higher frequencies within my sound to facilitate an easier and more fluent upper register.

As much as I hate to admit it, I think she was right on the money. After that lesson my sound immediately changed. Not from beautiful to crass, as some of you might be thinking, but from beautiful to scintillating, sparkly, and wonderfully piquant--the kind of sound I always heard from great players who could sound soar over an orchestra. Along with the new sound my ability to play above the staff easily and consistently was almost instantly enhanced. I know I'm using a lot of superlatives here, but the difference really was night and day. One day I was struggling to play above an A above the staff or just about any one page etude, and the next these things were just flowing out of me as if they'd always been there.

After a week-long "honeymoon period" I started having my more typical stiff days here and there and had to figure out how to work through the rough stuff to get the "brilliance" back. Despite these inevitable troughs, by and large the trend has been progressive and, especially during the past couple weeks in Ithaca, I've begun to feel as though I'm really starting to make the magic happen again.

One thing I still have to learn however is how to weather the rough spots with a bit less panic and a bit more assurance. I appreciate the kind notes (and emails) of encouragement some of you sent to me last night...reading your words helped to get my head back in the game and out of terrified puppy mode. I know the war's not over. Rehearsals start tomorrow and I've got to be a principal trumpeter right off the bat (yikes!). There are quite a few players at AIMS who already have full time jobs in professional orchestras (those without summer seasons obviously) so my goal is to remain calm, to listen to those around me, and try to enjoy the moment.

Superstitious

If I were the superstitious sort, I would be starting to think that something doesn't want me here. About five minutes ago I was laying on my bed reading a book when the glass light cover above my sink spontaneously exploded off the wall and shattered all over the wash basin and floor tiles. I immediately went downstairs and reported the occurrence to the building manager. He filled out a form and said it would be fixed tomorrow. I was left to go back to my room and attempt to clean up all the tiny shards with wet paper towels...hoping I wouldn't miss one and slice my foot open when I get up to use the bathroom in the middle of the night.

This is the second problem I've had to report now. Upon checking into the dorm, I was given a refrigerator key allowing me to access a little 10" x 10" x 10" cooler in one of the school's communal ice boxes. AIMS-ers only receive breakfast and lunch on weekdays and, considering the substantial cost of eating out every evening, it's nice to have a place to stash stuff for sandwiches and try to save a few Euros by eating simple food now and then. After heading to the supermarket yesterday evening and picking up some sammich fixin's for dinner I opened my mini fridge to store the leftovers and was greeted by a swell of putrid air. On the cooler's floor lay 3 shriveled fries, each of which was covered in a virtual forest of blue-green fuzz. Once again I was told "it will be cleaned in the morning." I offered to take care of the mess myself if someone would just supply the appropriate cleansers, but this, evidently, was out of the question.

Of course these two minor incidents don't truly make me think the universe is trying to scare me back to the states, but when combined with the increasingly more trying issues I've been having with my chops I find it a little difficult to keep a clear head. It's ultra frustrating that I'd been playing well ever since the last couple weeks of school (well enough to warm up to high D's in the morning, play through all the principal trumpet parts I brought with me with another trumpeter, make enormous strides on the music I have planned for my recital next quarter, AND be confident enough about the then upcoming AIMS experience to actually PLAN on auditioning to play a solo with a vocalist on one of the official chamber recitals here), and now I'm once again just trying to eek out a decent sound. I want to scream, "WHAT IS GOING ON?!"

It's almost as if all the progress I've made has been nullified. It's a bad joke...I'm not laughing...and neither will the audition committee tomorrow morning.

I'm doing my upmost to work through the issues. I've been very conscientious about the bits of practicing I've done here so far. Each time I take the horn to my lips I think about hearing a brilliant sound and feeling the exhilarating buzz that starts up when I know I've balanced my set up properly. It's wonderful when that "5th gear" kicks in--feels like I could play anything all day long...

I know I say this over and over...

I'm just going to do my best tomorrow...

...please let it be ok...

Sonne und Regen

Well...Ich bin heute in Graz angekommen. I arrived a little before noon and, along with several other AIMSers, was met at the airport by festival employees and then chauffeured to the building I'll be sharing with a couple hundred singers and the rest of the members of the orchestra for the next 5 weeks (what a riot, eh?). Here is a view of a late afternoon rain shower as seen from my tiny, but pleasantly simple 3rd floor dorm room in the Studentenheim. Rays of sun were peeking through the patchy clouds and glistening streamers of water shimmered in the light as they fell.

None of the rooms here are air conditioned and Austrian law forbids musicians to practice with their windows open, so I've spent the last hour or so drenched in sweat trying to wake up my chops after the long trip across the Atlantic. Now that the sun has set I've swung the windows open as wide as they'll go and I'm grateful for the cool air that's finally circulating into my living space.

I've got one more day to acclimate before my seating audition on Wednesday and I have to admit to a certain amount of apprehension about it. I've had stellar chops for about the last month, but beginning about 3 days ago some of the old stiffness and straining has returned and I've gone from being able to play a passable rendition of Also Sprach Zarathustra (the main piece on my audition as well as the first concert), to just trying to finagle my lips into good enough focus just to reach a high B flat (Zarathustra has about 5 billion high Cs in it...well ok...not quite that many, but still PLENTY!). I have the ability somewhere--it's just a question of being able to access it when I need to.

Also dann...I think the first step I'll take toward achieving my goals will be to get a stellar night sleep tonight!

Gute Nacht, Freunde!

What would you have done?

Early this morning--I'm assuming a little before 2:00 am--I was startled from sleep by one of the most terrifying sounds I've ever heard. A girl came pounding up the stairs right outside Rob's second floor apartment screaming WAAAKE UUUP!!! with a blood-curdling urgency that can only be described as primal. I can't imagine a human making such a harrowing noise without being fueled by the massive amounts of adrenaline that enable mothers to lift cars off their trapped children. A couple seconds after I awoke, someone opened a door--there was more screaming--some yelling--I thought I heard the word "accident"--and then more banging as people ran down the stairs.

Then there was silence.

I was utterly paralyzed. My heart was pounding out of my chest. My eyes were wide open and fixed at a point in the room where light was coming in through the blinds and casting faint silvery patterns on the wall. My breathing was forced and shallow and every sound around me--the dripping of the water heater, the humming of the refrigerator, my own circulatory system--seemed magnified against otherwise utter stillness. I was alone. I expected I'd hear sirens soon, or maybe more neighbors waking and responding to the screaming that had ended only seconds before. I wondered, "Should I call 911?" but in my fear I couldn't even force my arm to reach over to the nightstand and grab the phone. "Shouldn't I get up and go to the door?" I kept thinking. "What if someone's out there and still needs help? Should I call for help? What if someone's dying out there?" But as the minutes ticked on and the silence continued my paralysis only seemed to increase.

I don't know how much time passed before I was first able to move. I felt my hand at the bottom of my arm--my mind traveled down to its five rigid digits, cupped palm down against the sheet, and I wiggled a finger. It creaked stiffly as my heart rate increased even further. I blinked. I swallowed. I moved another finger. The girl's screams echoed in my ears. Still no sirens.

Gradually, after what felt like an eternity, I mustered the wherewithal to pick up my phone and look at the time: 2:07. I put it down again and tried to listen into the silence--hoping to hear something that would tell me the fire was out or help was on the way.

Nothing.

After another few minutes I thought I heard distressed voices again and my heart rate increased. Had someone drowned in the pool--fallen out of a window--crashed a car--been chased or mauled by one of the bears that may have been roaming the neighborhood--had someone been killed or raped? My imagination went wild and I was feeling terrible for still being unable to act. Rob left for a physics conference in Cardiff a couple days ago and as I lay alone in the bed I was regretting his absence, asking to myself, "why did this have to happen now?" I wanted him to be there and put his arms around me, comfort the fear out of my frozen body, and give me the strength to do something rational like call the police.

Finally it was a need to use the bathroom that compelled my stiff limbs into quasi operation. I turned on the light. Though it was quite warm in the room the adrenaline still coursing through my veins raised huge goosebumps all over my skin so that it felt like sandpaper. I opened my laptop and wrote Rob an email telling him what happened and that I was terrified and wished he'd been there with me.

At quarter to 3:00 I was still in a state of mild shock and panic and decided to call my mom. I needed to hear her voice, tell her what happened, and ask what I should do. Even though it was the middle of the night she listened and tried to comfort me--said that whatever had happened it sounded like someone had responded to the girl's screams and that needed help had certainly been reached. A little after 3:00 am the noise started up again. There was pounding up and down the stairs--yelling--whistling--a frantic sort of bustle in and out of one of the apartments on my floor.

My mom finally persuaded me to call the police, if only to gain reassurance that, yes, there had been an emergency, but personnel had responded, and everything was going to be ok. I was shocked when the lady answering the line at the Tompkins County dispatch said nothing had been reported. She asked me some questions and inquired as to whether I'd like to have an officer come by. After some hesitation I said that, yes, that would likely make me feel better--I mean, it was 3:00 in the morning and there was certainly some sort of disturbance taking place. I called my mom back and told her what the lady had said and got back into bed--reassured that an official was going to be around shortly to assess the situation.

I'll be leaving later today for Austria and had already been planning to get up before the sun this morning in order to reset my internal clock to European time and get a jump on the jet lag I'll have to deal with sooner or later. Last night I set my alarm for 4:01 am and went to sleep expecting to wake up groggily, give Patrick (the only other person in the country who I know is awake at such an odd hour--he's an astronomer) a call to help get my brain going for the morning, and putter around the house doing some final packing and making sure the place looks good for when Rob returns from the UK. It's supposed to be a nice day again, and I was even kicking around the idea of driving out to some lovely lookout to watch the sunrise--a pleasure I've deprived myself of for far too long. Instead I'm still stuck here in bed watching the sun through the blinds, puzzling over the mysterious happenings of a few hours ago, and embarrassed and frustrated by my lack of ability to respond in an emergency.

From the time you're in grade school everyone starts preparing you for dire circumstances--how to give the heimlich maneuver--the basics of CPR--stop, drop, and roll--call 911--don't talk to strangers. I, as I imagine most people have, grew up thinking that I'd be prepared to act in an emergency--that I would be able to keep my wits about me and provide basic help if needed. Tonight I discovered that in the heat of the moment, the body's reflexive responses to high stress can be a bit more unpredictable and difficult to control than I'd anticipated. I failed this test--I hope no one was further hurt or jeopardized by my inability to respond.

What is it about my makeup that caused me to freeze in response to a cry for help while someone else reacted immediately? Do YOU really know how YOU would react during those first few seconds of heart-pounding terror?

The feeling of paralysis I experienced last night was similar to instances in my adolescence to late 20s where I've awoken inexplicably, been unable to breath or move, and felt as though there were some sort of evil or demonic presence menacing me. While I was still very religious I thoroughly believed there were devils in my room trying to possess or hurt me, and similar demonic stories I heard in sunday school did nothing to help allay my fears. When I began distancing myself from religion a few years ago I started to wonder if there might be another explanation for these terrifying episodes. I found that this type of sleep paralysis is actually quite common in healthy people, (as well as those suffering from sleep apnea or narcolepsy), is occasionally a symptom of migraines, and can sometimes be brought on by high levels of stress. There are chat rooms full of people who suffer from sleep paralysis as well as the related experience of night terrors. Such experiences are sometimes accompanied by hallucinations or a feeling of being oppressed by an evil presence, and similar stories of demons tormenting people in their sleep go back centuries.

Once while on a brass quintet excursion, our whole group--plus one member's wife--was holed up in a single crummy hotel room trying to catch some shuteye before hitting the road again the following morning. Sometime during the wee hours, the wife jumped out of bed and started running around the room screaming wildly. Still half sleeping, I reflexively responded by screaming in tandem and within seconds the other guys in the group had leapt out of bed, turned on the lights, and tried to figure out what had provoked two women into such terrified paroxysms. The wife's husband gently took her back to bed, and things gradually calmed down until we were all able to get a couple more hours of--perhaps a little nervous--sleep. The wife apparently suffered from occasional night terrors and the next morning the two of us swapped stories of visiting devils and evil spirits.

When I heard the girl's screams last night I was reminded of that instance. Then as now, other individuals present had been able to respond quickly and effectively while I was handicapped by overwhelming and sudden fear.

I still don't know what went on last night. I never heard back from the police department and after about 4:30 all the activity next door had dwindled to nothing. Maybe there had just been some crazy drug-filled party and someone had passed out, or overdosed, or done something else stupid and dangerous that they didn't want any authorities to know about. Maybe the girl had been hallucinating. Maybe there really was an accident--but one that one of the neighbors took care of on their own--maybe that person was a hero for a time and all the noise I heard an hour after the screams stopped were reactions of relief from those involved.

Whatever the real story, I know now that I'd better give some serious thought to becoming more mentally prepared to act appropriately in an emergency. Of course I hope I'll never have to be someone's only link between life and death--that I'll never have to witness or be a part of a mortally threatening situation--but one cannot control how or when these things happen. And if it does--heaven forbid--I sincerely hope I react better than I did today.

Special thanks go to my mom, Rod (for undoubtedly having to be woken up too), Patrick, and later even Rob (who called me internationally while on a coffee break at the conference), for their assistance and reassurance.

REEEEALY Tiny!

Ok, so I know I've already written today, but I just noticed something cool in one of the photos I posted. You know how I was so excited about being able to see the spider in the second "web" photo in my post? This one:

...and for those who couldn't find the spider I've cut and zoomed in so you could see him a little better here:

What I didn't realize is that I'd captured a good shot of another spider in the first "web" photo as well.

You can see it...right?

Yeah...me neither.

Well, this afternoon I decided I liked this photo well enough to give it a turn as my laptop's wallpaper. When I saw it blown up to that larger size I noticed this:

I'd estimate that the web he spun was at max 2 inches across so this guy is TINY! If you want to try and locate him again in the large photo he's smack dab in the middle towards the top edge.

His web was right near the spot I set up for practice this morning and at one point I looked down and noticed that I'd mistakenly ruined the web (I think I'd just played some high notes and kicked out a foot or something). "Oh well," I thought to myself, "at least there wasn't a spider in that one." Now that I see my mistake I'm suddenly feeling really guilty for my careless clumsiness. I hope the little spinner got away and still lives to hunt again.

Brass Alley

I guess I haven't really talked about trumpet much in a while, but I'm glad to report that it seems to be going rather well these days. I leave for AIMS (the Austrian music festival I'll be attending) in less than a week now and with the initial part-assignment audition and the first concert of the festival (which includes Strauss' Also Sprach Zarathustra) looming in the not-too-distant future, I've stuck to my guns and maintained a fairly demanding practice schedule even though the beauty of the finger lakes region, the attentions of my boyfriend, and the complete Star Trek TNG television series just released on Netflix have all conspired to distract me from my task.

Some mornings I head over to the village park that's just across the street from Rob's complex. It's far enough away from any residences that I feel fine playing out full volume without worrying that I'm driving the neighbors up the wall with my occasionally repetitive routine. And then whenever I take practice breaks I can wander around watching the bugs and the birds and the occasional deer as they go about their morning rituals as well.

Today the lawn was wet with dew and I noticed a number of glistening spider webs draped heavily around blades of recently cut grass...

Here I was actually able to catch a glimpse of the web's architect despite his being very effectively camouflaged within the surrounding vegetation. If you look closely you should see him as well (click on the picture to enlarge it and he's sitting toward the top left corner...slight and gray and nicely hidden)...

About 3 seconds after I took this shot, a little green aphid vaulted in from nowhere and landed in the web. Within moments the spider had it in his grasp and dragged the unfortunate creature into his lair where I'm sure he is still dining happily as we speak.

A few weeks before coming out here I got in touch with the trumpet professor at Ithaca College to inquire about the use of practice rooms at the school. He assured me that if the building was open and the room available, I'd be more than welcome to play there to my heart's content. I also asked if he could put me in touch with any IC students who'd still be in the area for the summer and might be interested in playing some duets/orchestral parts so I'd be able to keep up my "playing together" chops. As a result I've been able to play almost daily with Ethan Urtz, a recent graduate of the college.

When I first learned of IC's existence, I assumed it was just a small community-college-type institution and didn't think any music program there would have much substance. BOY was I wrong! IC's college of music is big, lively, and has a stellar reputation for churning out some truly world class musicians. When I met him a week ago, Ethan introduced me to "Brass Alley"...

...a hallway of primarily large-size chamber-music rooms that the IC brass players have commandeered for the majority of their practicing (If this seems selfish, try to imagine how your head might feel after hours of blasting away in a tiny little room that reflects all that sound straight back at your face...and you're right...it's a little less than pleasant...I think you'd go for the big rooms as well). Ethan and I meet in the alley, snag a room, and for about an hour and a half every day read through a variety of duets, on a variety of trumpets, in a variety of transpositions. He's an excellent player: where my sound and articulation might be a bit more clean, some of his reading and technical abilities surpass mine. It's these kind of complimentary skill sets that make for a satisfyingly challenging and educational duet session. So far were both having a fun and worthwhile time of it!

In addition to all the regular duets, we've also played through some of the rep I'm going to be performing in Graz. In these cases he always plays the 2nd part and I have to step up my game and play like a principal. In all likelihood I'll probably be playing mostly section parts while at AIMS, but it's good practice for me anyway to finally learn the difficult high parts I so typically try to avoid.

Here's a view of the tip of Cayuga Lake from one of the windows in the IC music building...

If you zoom in you can see how thrilled everyone is to be off from work and out sailing in the sunshine.

Caught Red Handed

Despite how this looks, I promise I haven't killed anything recently. Rather, I've gotten my hands into one of the most delectable cookie recipes I've ever tried: Red Velvet GOOEY Butter Cookies! And yes, they are as good as they sound.

A euphonium doctoral student at NU served these sinful morsels after his recital this past year and I rolled my eyes with pleasure upon taking my first bite. Rich, moist, and red as rose, these cookies leave nothing to the imagination and satisfy all the crucial senses...especially when eaten fresh from the oven. So, in hopes of tempting you all over to the dark side of cookiedom, here I am about to check off another blogging cliche: the recipe post.

Because I'm lazy I'm not actually going to type everything out here. Instead you can follow this link to the recipe. They are embarrassingly easy to make, but I recommend following all the extra instructional tidbits in the blog...especially about rolling them twice in powdered sugar and keeping their size to single tablespoons of dough spaced out evenly on the cookie sheet. Last night Rob and I tried making a batch of larger-sized rolls and they came out just a little too gooey...if indeed there is such a thing as "too gooey". I'm sure if you tried the same thing, you'd just have to leave them in the oven for a minute or two more.

You are now free to enjoy...though you may have to go to confession afterward!

Making Art

Yesterday was just about as lovely as you can imagine. It had rained the day before, so the air was fresh and clean...there wasn't a cloud in the sky...not too hot, not too cold...just perfect. Rob and I decided to take advantage of the weather and went for a nice afternoon stroll in Stewart park which lies on the southern edge of Cayuga Lake.

One of the parks biggest assets (in my humble opinion) is its swing set. You don't find giants like these very often anymore. They've all been replaced with dinky little kiddie swings that I assume are supposed to be safer or something, but really just make swinging boring for those small enough to use the sets, and all but impossible for the rest of us grown-up kids who like to indulge in a little healthy childish behavior from time to time.

While I lived in Manhattan one of my favorite destinations was a giant swing set in Central Park. At the end of a stressful day or to enhance a spectacular morning, I could walk over to the park and soar back and forth...pumping higher and higher till I either chickened out or chaffed my hands on the chains. When Rob and I visited Manhattan for the first time a few years ago that swing set was one of the main destinations I wanted to show off. I eagerly led him into the park (at that point we weren't "official" and hadn't even held hands yet...otherwise I'd have dragged him in!) and marched over to where I remember the swings being, but...(sniff)...THEY WERE GONE!!! My beloved adult friendly play area had been replaced by a miniature, fenced in, plastic and rubber kiddie play place. Not only that, a sign at its entrance read "NO adults unless accompanied by a child." Ok, now I understand how reassuring that sign might be for parents taking their kids to a park in the heart of the big city--for all I know maybe there had even been a kidnapping or some injuries that had prompted the park to make the change--but at the time it broke my heart. In any case, it was supremely enjoyable to take advantage of the live-dangerously mentality of Ithaca-ites and play for a while on their BIG-kid proportioned playground equipment.

After swinging our hands raw we ambled back into the present day and wandered through more of the park. There are rivers and ponds to gaze into, bridges to cross, and LOTS of goose guano to avoid. A huge flock of Canada geese was molting on the park grounds: during the summer months they lose all their flight feathers and are grounded till the new ones grow in 6-8 weeks later. In the meantime the birds hang out near the water and diddle their time away eating and pooping and eating and pooping. I didn't take any photos, but I'll let you use your imagination about how much crap can build up in a small area over even a short period of time.

As we were crossing one of the bridges I noticed some tangled up fishing line hanging from the middle of an electric wire that spanned the water. It was bright red and gleamed metallically in the sun--glints of light running up and down its coiled length as the breeze blew it from side to side. Something about it caught my eye. I took several pictures and later cropped and edited them at home till I came up with this (click on each photo for an up-close and more nuanced view)...

Or seen another way...

...and yet another...

In the original photo (and its various supped up permutations) I enjoy the flow of line, the tension created by imposing a horizontal perspective on the wire's gravitationally-influenced hanging loops, and the grades of color and shadow in the sky. I enjoy taking photos of mundane items and turning them into something aesthetically interesting: drawing attention to typically overlooked features and disguising them within their own inherent beauty. If I hadn't told you from the outset that the above photo is a tangle of fishing line, I think you might have assumed it was something I'd painted.

I feel similarly toward these next two photos that I took the other day on the Buttermilk Falls hike...

Before I took them, I found that at each location I could blur my eyes or cock my head "just so" and lose sight of the reality behind each natural feature while instead perceiving a sort of formal and textural abstraction. In both cases I feel that the pure aesthetics of these natural structures come to the fore while what they are in real life (a shale river bottom, and rivulets in a stream) almost seems to disappear.

If you ever want to have a long debate with someone ask the question: "what is art?" I guarantee you'll be duking it out for hours. I don't have a good definite answer myself, and you might look at the photos I've posted above and (after rolling your eyes at the somewhat cliche photo effects I applied to the first one) say that I'm full of it, but I'm still willing to bet that overall I've presented a unique view of some reg'lar kind of objects and places--and that by framing them thus you may even see them as beautiful yourself.