A Musical Mystery: Part 1

It was the summer of 1974.  I was 23 and ecstatic.  I had just finished my first year of graduate school, studying  at the University of Miami with Professor of String Bass, Lucas Drew.  I had a new boyfriend, James.  And I had been accepted at Tanglewood, the summer home of the renowned Boston Symphony and the prestigious training ground for young orchestral musicians at the Berkshire Music Center.

I was spending a few days with my parents at my childhood home in Rochester, NY before leaving for Tanglewood, which is about a day's drive,  located in the picturesque Berkshire Mountains.  While in Rochester, I got a call from James down in Miami.  He told me he wanted to come up to visit, and asked if it would be OK for him to go with me to Tanglewood.  I didn't know exactly what he would do there, but I was madly in love and was excited to see him.  I said yes, come on, and anxiously awaited his arrival.

James showed up several days later.  Tall, athletic, and good-looking, he was brown from the sun and wore a beard.  Although he played bass, he didn't perform with the Miami Philharmonic, like I did, and wasn't enrolled in graduate school.  He free-lanced as best he could and was a bee keeper on the side.  He enjoyed giving samples and selling the dark amber honey from exotic Florida plants, like avocado and hibiscus.  He had driven up with his bass in his pride and joy, an Army surplus Jeep.  And he had brought a few jars of honey, which he gave my parents.  With his innocent personality and generous nature, he quickly charmed my parents, just as he had charmed me.  We spent a few fun-filled days in Rochester and then left for Tanglewood, James in the Jeep and I in my Pinto wagon.

Arriving at Tanglewood, I felt like I was in heaven.  The luscious green mountains faded into the gray mist, like a Japanese paining,  The student orchestra was magnificent, with players from all over the country.  Our conductors were Gunther Schuller, Seigi Ozawa, Leonard Bernstein as well as several talented student conductors. We also had master classes with BSO Principal Bass, Henry Portnoy, and chamber music. What a great opportunity I thought.  I am so lucky to be here.  I started feeling like James was a fifth wheel, not really belonging there.  He was camping out at a nearby KOA while I was staying in the dorm.  But then he auditioned for BSO bassist, Larry Wolfe, and it was decided that James would take private lessons with Larry for the summer.

After several weeks of wonderful music making, James mysteriously disappeared for a couple days.

Even though we were staying in different places, we managed to eat together and go out in the evenings with the other student bass players.  Having no cell phones back then, I worried myself sick that something terrible had happened to him.  He finally showed up, acting like nothing unusual had transpired.  "Where were you?"  I demanded.

"Well, if you must know," he replied, "I spent a couple days in jail."

"What on earth for?" I asked

He explained that he had "borrowed" some lumber from a construction site to make a platform for his tent in the woods where a few BSO members camped for the summer.  He didn't think the 2x4's would be missed, but he had gotten caught and arrested.  Since he couldn't post bail, he had spent two nights in the slammer.

"But come see the tent," he beckoned.  "It looks great and now we'll be able to stay together in the woods."

The tent did look very inviting--sturdy and civilized, complete with a pallet for the sleeping bags and an oriental rug on the floor.  Somehow, I was able to overlook his crime and was happy to move to the woods--mosquitoes, felon, and all.

To be continued...

(James is not his real name,)

Another Day at the Beach

Last week my friend Carolyn, her sister Janice, my dog Mona and I went to Santa Cruz for a day at the State Park Beach.  It was a bit hazy when we first arrived around 11:30 AM.  The sun would peep through the fog, and then the wind would change and the clouds would creep back in.  Nevertheless, we optimistically set up the beach umbrella, deposited our towels and lunches underneath and went for a walk along the shore.  Dogs had to be on leash, according to the rules, so Mona got her first experience on a retractable lead.  She would run full blast to the end and then get whipped around by the neck.  Being a coon hound mix, she loves to bay, so I had to try to keep her from alienating everyone around with her cries of joy.  When the coast looked clear, I would free her from the leash and toss a tennis ball into the waves.  She delightedly jumped in after it AND brought it back.  Retrieving is not really her forte, so I was very impressed with her focus that day.  If she started to run too far ahead, I simply had to give the "ah-ah-ah!" command and she would come running back.

Even though it was foggy, the salt water did not feel too cold and we walked with our feet in the sea. 

When we returned to our umbrella, Janice got to witness a gull making off with her sandwich, which it swallowed in one gulp. She chased it off and saved the other half from a similar fate.  As we sat in the sand, eating our lunches, we looked out into the Pacific.  Suddenly, we saw a black head, not unlike that of a dog without ears.  Then another popped up:  Two sea lions checking out the shore.  Maybe they smelled our food.  

After lunch, we all went for a dip.  The water seemed pretty warm until our whole bodies went in...Yow!  But swimming around in the waves got us warmed up and we actually enjoyed it.  Poor Mona..she got caught in a big wave that washed right over her, making her shake and shake and sneeze.

Just as we were about to leave, around 4 PM, the sun was fully out and glistened  on the water.  Then, only a few hundred feet out, we spotted a pod of dolphins, arcing in and out of the waves.  They looked black against the steel gray water  and there had to be at least 20 of them. What a glorious sight, a real treat that makes living in the Bay Area so special.

As we returned to the car and brushed off the excess sand as best we could, we reflected on what a great day it had been.  I was happy Mona had been so well-behaved, and Mona?  She was sound asleep on the back seat before we left the parking lot.

Half Moon Bay

Last week, my friend Carolyn and I went to Half Moon Bay, mainly to have lunch at Sam's Chowder House.  I had been there once before, last summer, but didn't remember what good food they served.  We both had the prawn salad, and it was possibly the best one like it I've ever had.  We sat at a table facing the water...very important since we had just seen a lot of bird activity out in the Bay on our way into the restaurant.  The gray skies, reflected in the silver water, provided a beautiful sea-scape for bird watching.

I love pelicans and am always excited to observe them, flying in formation just inches above the water.  But this was like nothing I had ever seen.  There had to be at least a hundred pelicans, along with terns and gulls, swooping and diving (crashing might be a better word) for fish.  We thought there had to have been a huge school of fish to generate that much activity.  We had never witnessed such a feeding frenzy and were practically hypnotized by the view.  We decided to go outside after we finished our key lime pie and walk along the beach. 

The sounds of gulls yapping and water splashing gave the scene even more dimension.  Every now and then, we could spot a fish in the beak of a tern.  The pelicans must have swallowed their catches immediately, for there were no fish tails hanging out of their bills.  Perhaps the fish were in their beak-pouches.  How they are able to see the fish below the water's surface and dive in on target, is a great mystery of Nature.

We strolled for a while in the sand, taking it all in.  Suddenly, a squadron of pelicans broke away from the others and flew north toward the outer channel.  We figured that they knew something we didn't and got in the car to follow them.  At the north end of the bay, where the boats are moored, is a secluded park where you can walk along the shore to the ocean. We hiked all the way to the end of the trail. There were a few people, some with dogs, picnicking and frolicking.  And, there were the pelicans, diving for fish in a much more private locale.  No paparazzi for these birds.

Agility for Dogs

Yesterday, Sunday, my dog Mona and I attended our first Intermediate Agility class at the Peninsula Humane Society.  For those not familiar with Agility, it is basically an obstical course of equipment that a dog learns to go on, over or through.  (If you want a good example, go on You Tube under Dog Agility.  Actually, you can even see a turtle doing an agility course.)  We had completed Beginner Agility a couple of weeks earlier and were eager to start the next phase.

We began by reviewing the elements we had already learned.  That included three hurtles, a hoop, and a table (onto which they jump).  The dogs are encouraged (actually, bribed) with treats, and love jumping over, through and onto the obstacles. And, of course, they love getting that edible reward.  Each person must learn the correct technique as well, since the dog has to learn which obstacle to go to next by following its persons lead.  I can think of nothing more entertaining than watching all the various humans and dogs attempting these behaviors.  Then it is my turn, with Mona, to make fools of ourselves.

Since there is a beginner class right before our class, there are lots of treats left in the grass.  The biggest challenge we humans faced was keeping our dogs from sniffing each blade of grass, searching for all the left-over treats.  Our teacher suggested for our homework that we find some reward that will trump any tiny morsel of food.  Perhaps a squeaky toy or Porter House steak will do the trick.

There are eight dogs in the class, ranging from a huge, lanky Rhodesian Ridge Back to a tiny chihuahua mix.  My dog, Mona is on the larger size.  She is some sort of coon hound mix (see picture in profile.)  My personal task is to try to keep Mona quiet while we are waiting for our turn.  Being a hound makes her very vocal and she always wants to express her excitement or boredom with a yelp or bark.  I swear I used up about a third of her treats just trying to keep her silent.  The Ridge Back always wants to play with the other dogs, so he has to be sequestered off to the side.  And it smells like there is a skunk living under the equipment shed.  Several of the dogs keep making bee lines over to check it out.  By the time class was over, all humans and canines were hot, tired and panting.  Can't wait for next week!

Back in the Saddle

     After almost eight months of recuperation, I am now back at work after breaking my leg and then my back.  It is so great to be making music again, and I have been inspired to try something completely new: voice lessons.

      To start something so foreign at age 60..(yes, Nation, I have turned that corner into senior citizen land)... may sound crazy to some.   But to learn to produce music in an entirely different way is both challenging and liberating.  The biggest thing I have to carry to my lessons is a portable CD player.  It is great fun not having to haul a 50 pound instrument around.   And then there is the task of producing a beautiful sound with one's own body.  The sound I hear is not the sound my teacher hears;  she is very encouraging and yells "Yes!" when I get close to the sound she is looking for.  Playing the bass, I never really had to worry about diaphragmatic support and breathing.  This is all new territory for me and I get a small sense of accomplishment when I get something right or even sort of right.  My teacher, Alexandra Sessler, is a very talented young soprano who teaches at my husband's music store, Bronstein Music.  She is also one of the paid members of the San Francisco Symphony Chorus.  She never tires of all my questions and is ever encouraging.

     Last week I started reading The Inner Voice, a book by Renee Fleming about her life and career.  It is very inspiring and led me to purchase some of her recordings.  (She has sung with the Symphony on several occasions.)  I have been trying to sound like her, and though not entirely successful, at least got a nod of approval from Alex.  "When I have trouble getting a student to get the correct sound and feeling, I often ask him/her to imitate an opera singer."  Well, that is what I have been doing.  There is so much more to classical singing than I ever imagined.  I have new respect for our Symphony Chorus, and really, all singers.  Next week, we are performing Brahms' German Requiem and I am looking forward to hearing the chorus and soloists.  I hope to soak up as much as I can.

Tiny Kitten

     We got our cat, Zachariah, at the Humane Society seven years ago.  He was an orange tabby  with a very long tail in a small cage all by himself.  There were at least fifty other cats in the two rooms reserved for homeless felines.  How to pick just one when there were so many wonderful cats to choose from?  Zack, or Tweety, as the name on his cage stated, was about four months old and had been picked up as a stray.  Our daughter, Fiona, who was then about nine years old, had been begging for another cat ever since our beloved Samantha had passed at the ripe old age of 21.  Tweety was very friendly and wanted terribly to be touched.  He purred and purred and rubbed up against my outstretched finger.  "I think we have a good candidate here,"  I announced to Rich and Fiona, who were looking at a bunch of six-week-old kittens that all had already been reserved.  Rich and Fee came over to see Tweety and agreed that he, indeed, was a very friendly cat.  We asked the attendant to let us take him into the Get Acquainted Room.  He was quite curious and immediately had to explore the entire perimeter.  My husband Rich, who is a real cat person, got Tweety to come over and start playing with him.  We all thought he was a good match and decided to take him home.

     "He has to be neutered first," the attendant told us.  "Oh, but we really want to take him today!" Fiona exclaimed.  The attendant responded that Tweety would be neutered the next day and we could take him home that evening.  Knowing that was the responsible thing to do, (plus the fact that we had no choice), we agreed to pick him up the following day.

     When we retrieved him the next evening, he was in a little cardboard carrying case that didn't give him much wiggle room.  We brought him home to our two very curious dogs, Sophie and Chumley. We took Tweety in his box to the back bedroom so he could explore that first, before meeting the two canines.  He sniffed every inch of the room while the two dogs whimpered and squeaked behind the closed door.  After about a half hour, we finally brought in the dogs, one at a time.  They both had been used to having Samantha around, so once they came in and gave Tweety a sniff, they pretty much said "Oh, a cat.  Big whoop," and went back out to await their dinner.

  "Well that went well," we all agreed.  "Now, let's give Tweety a new name."  We went through dozens of choices, but when Rich suggested Zachariah, a name as long as his tail, Fiona really liked it.  And it was so.

    In the meantime, Zack, or Tiny Kitten, as Fiona likes to call him, has become a big bruiser of a cat.  At one point, he weighed 16 pounds and we were told by his vet that he needed to lose weight.  Now weighing in at a svelte 12 pounds, he is still one of the biggest cats I have ever seen.  He continues to be very friendly, but can only handle new people one or two at a time.  He has one rather annoying habit, and I know he is not alone among cats. After spending the night sleeping at the foot of our bed, he begins walking on us, starting around 5:30 AM, purring furiously.  I wake up as he strokes my cheek with a velvet paw and then he curls up on my neck.  I shove him off and look over to see him proudly sitting on Rich's hip.  At this point, I get up, take him out of the bedroom and shut the door. He will have to wait until 7 o'clock for his breakfast.

     

The Best of the Best

     The other night, my husband and I attended a wonderful fund-raiser for San Francisco's Fleet Week.  It was my first real outing since breaking my leg and back.  It took place at the Marines' Memorial Theatre in downtown San Francisco and was titled "The Best of the Best".  There was a dinner held before a terrific concert featuring my husband's band:  The Rich Welker Big Band.  The food was good and the music even better.  There were so many accomplished musicians, but I will mention a few of the most outstanding.

     The pianist, Shelton "Shelly" Berg was a highlight.  He is able to play in any style of jazz and pop music.  His improvisation  is off the charts and he seems to be having the time of his life while he is playing.  When not in San Francisco, he is the Dean of the Frost School of Music at the University of Miami (for which I have a soft spot in my heart since, coincidentally, I went there for graduate school).  Look for his recordings;  you won't be disappointed!

     Four fabulous singers appeared with the band:  Brian Nova, also playing guitar, Erich Stratmann, Billy Valentine, and Marcie Henderson.  Ms. Henderson is an up and coming vocalist who is originally from San Francisco but now lives in New York City.  If you get a chance to hear her, make sure you do.  This girl can sing!

     Jim Salestrom, who has appeared with John Denver, Dolly Parton, and Kenny Rogers, played guitar and sang his own material.

     Lastly, the legendary Tom Scott, renowned composer, arranger, producer, music director, and saxophonist lent his big sound and intricate ad libs to the evening.

     Rich, my husband, didn't play but did start and stop the tunes.  He reports just loving to sit back and enjoy the great sound.  As did I.  What a treat to hear such talent!