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!

DMV Revisited

     Last week I went again to the DMV for a reactivation of my handicapped placard.  Guess what?  It was closed!  There was a "Closed" sign on the door, but no explanation.  I tried calling the California DMV to get more information, but could only reach computer prompts.  As you may recall I had a leg fracture at the Symphony parking lot a couple months ago.  I was hoping the musicians would set up a shrine in my honor, at the notorious spot:  complete with cross and flowers.  So far, none has been erected.  Then a few weeks after that calamity, I fell again and fractured a vertebra in my back.  I just turned 60, but the way I have been hobbling around, I feel like 60 is the new 80!

     Back to the DMV.  With no helpful information on the phone, I decided to wing it and drive down to the Redwood City Office.  They were closed as well.  Nuts!  When I got home, I called DMV again, and found out that they were closed for Cesar Chavez Day.  I think that might have been April Fool's Day as well.  At any rate, I gathered my courage and went the following day.

     When I arrived in the parking lot, there was a line of at least 100 people coming out the door.  I asked one of the people if the handicapped (and with my cane and limp, I  am the poster child of handicapped) had to wait in the line.  A very nice young couple said I should go in and ask the security guard.  He told me to go to the front of the appointments line, where I was helped within five minutes.  I then had to sit and wait about 10 minutes until my number was called on the TV screen.  I  then sashayed over to Window 8 (as well as someone can with a cane) and received my new handicapped card.  I asked the clerk if he had had a nice day off, to which he laughed and said yes, it was a state holiday.  Live and learn!  And now I can drive with confidence knowing that I will be able to use handicapped parking spots, if I can ever find an empty one!

An Irish Air Continued

     We were thrilled and relieved that Fiona got to Ireland in one piece.  She spent a lot of her time with Erin, her birth mother, and with her three half-siblings.  Fiona and brother David, one year her junior, got to be especially close.  She hung out with him and his school chums for a good part of every day.  Erin turned out to be in better-than-expected-shape, and so the sense of urgency with which we had sent Fiona there had dissipated.  We really didn't know what to expect, since much of the time Erin was so heavily medicated for the pain that she couldn't communicate very effectively.  Fiona was going to be gone for three weeks.  It now seems like that was too long a time to spend away from her school here, but at the time we did what we thought best.

     There was not much change in Erin's condition over the next couple of weeks.  By the third week Fiona was ready to come home.  We asked if she wanted to come back sooner than planned, but she decided to stick it out until her scheduled return.  Being an old hand at changing terminals at Heathrow for her connecting flight, Fiona made it through the travel labyrinth without a hitch.  Though we had meant for this visit to be one of farewell, Erin's status had improved enough that she was given several more months.  Of course we all know that doctor's estimates on these sorts of things are just that:  guesses.  Fiona left Erin with the thought of perhaps returning in the summer or even possibly for school next year.

    

     We were delighted to have Fiona back safe and sound.  And she was very happy to get back together with her boyfriend and other friends.  But within a few days, she wanted to go back to Ireland to live, for the summer and into the next school year, if not permanently.  This is where I become very uncertain about the pros and cons of open adoption.  Legally, Rich and I are Fiona's parents, and we absolutely feel like we are her parents.  We took on that responsibility 16 years ago.  I do think it's a good idea for a child to know about his/her birth family and to have some contact.  But the situation that we have created here, that is, a birth family that is having trouble letting go, seems like it does the child more harm perhaps than good.  Fiona is feeling very torn between her Irish and American families.  And the pressure she is feeling from her Irish family is seriously undermining our family unit here in the states.  I am curious if there are any other adoptive families faced with this dilemma.  Please feel free to comment.

An Irish Air

     With a leap ahead to the present, we are now faced with Erin's illness being very serious, fatal in fact.  We got word a few weeks ago that Erin didn't have much longer on this Earth and wanted to hold Fiona's hand one last time.  How could we say no to that request?  My traveling with Fiona to  Ireland was out of the question since not only do I have a fractured tibia at the moment, but a fractured vertebra as well.  If Fiona were going to go, she would have to go by herself.  Fiona was up to the challenge and insisted she could manage.  She found a non-stop flight to London Heathrow with a connecting flight to Belfast, which is about an hour's drive from Erin's house.  Fiona assured us she could change terminals by herself and would be met in Belfast by her great aunt Colleen.  Fiona also worked out a plan with her teachers to have her school assignments with her, and to do the required work while she was gone.  She would stay with one of her aunts or her birth mother.  Since I had been there myself last summer, I had a better idea what type of environment she would be in and felt comfortable with her solo trip.  And believing this was Fiona's last chance to see her birth mother, we agreed to let her go.

     We took her to the airport and were assured by the people at the ticket counter that Fiona would be well looked after.  We checked her bags and walked her to security where we hugged and kissed and wished her all the best.  No sooner had we gotten home from the airport (ten minutes away) when Fiona texted me that the airline people would not let her board the plane.  They said they had no personnel at Heathrow to walk her to the Aer Lingus terminal.  I asked to speak with one of them, but was told it had nothing to do with my wishes.  Finally, after about twenty minutes of uncertainty, Fiona called me and said they had agreed to let her board.  She said she had started crying and told them it was her last chance to see her Irish birth mother.  A superintendent was called and made the decision to let her go.  She was given a seat to herself with extra leg room and an escort at Heathrow was arranged.  Next time I have problems at the airport,  I will start crying.  It's a powerful weapon!

     Fiona made her connection and arrived in Belfast on schedule.  Great aunt Colleen met her and drove her to one of her other aunt's where she spent the first night.  And then she went immediately to see Erin.

To be continued.....

When Irish Eyes Are Smiling

     Many of you may not know, our daughter, Fiona, was adopted by my husband and me when she was an infant.  Her story is quite unique since she was born in Northern Ireland and brought to us here in California by her birth mom when she was seven weeks old.  It was not considered an international adoption like those from China or Ethiopia since it was privately arranged through a lawyer, not the involved government authorities.  Because of this, it took us over six years for Fiona to become a US citizen. The upside is, she could have dual citizenship should she choose.  We have always maintained a relationship with Fiona's birth family and have seen her birth mom, whom I will call Erin, a number of times over the years.  We have always felt, through all the literature we have read on the subject, that this was the healthiest and best thing for Fiona.  And it was what Erin wanted as well.

     Last June, we got word that Erin had just found out that she had cancer.  She was told there was a good chance she could be treated successfully and began chemotherapy immediately.  Fiona was naturally very upset by this news and wanted to go to Ireland as soon as possible to visit Erin and to have some of her questions answered.  Now that Fiona is fifteen, adoption has become a very important issue for her.  She wanted to know why she, as well as two other birth siblings, were placed for adoption while Erin kept her three other children with her.  My husband Rich and I have always tried to be as honest and open as we could be about the circumstances of Fiona's adoption.  And Fiona has always been open about and almost proud of being adopted and her Irish heritage.  But becoming more mature and more aware of such things, as well as Erin's illness, made Fiona desperate to find out the "truth" from her birth mother herself.  Fee wanted to leave tomorrow and stay all summer.  And she wanted to go all by herself.

     Though Fiona has traveled to Europe and Asia with me on Symphony tours, and flew to Denver last summer by herself, she has never traveled alone internationally.  Rich and I weren't about to let her go by herself or for that long to a place neither of us knew.  Plus Fiona's passport had expired and we didn't have a lot of money to spare for airline tickets.  We just weren't that crazy about the whole idea.  But we did, at Erin's urging, get Fee a new passport, made hotel arrangements, and bought TWO round trip tickets.  I asked for, and got, a week off from the Symphony (very supportive of them) to accompany Fiona to Ireland.  I finally realized that, should Erin suddenly die, Fiona would have lost forever the opportunity to find the answers she wanted.  Of course, Fee wanted to go for a longer period of time and go BY HERSELF.  But, simply put, she wasn't going unless I went with her.  And we thought a week in a strange place with a lot of unknowns was sufficient.

     Erin comes from a large family which was directly affected in a serious and tragic way by "The Troubles," Northern Ireland's fight for independence from Great Britain.  Her father was in the IRA and was captured and imprisoned by the British when Erin was a baby.  Much of this has affected her entire life. Fiona is now mature enough to grasp the gravity of this and to better understand Erin's story.  But I truly felt that Fee needed my support while she was there.  So in early July,  Fiona and I took off for Belfast International Airport. 

     We were totally jet-lagged as we got off the plane and were met by Erin's sister, Molly and her young son.  Erin was having a chemo treatment so we went directly to Erin's other sister, Shannon's house for tea and a quick nap.  I'll never be able to sleep, I thought to myself as I lay my head on the pillow.  But the next thing I knew, an hour had passed and Erin had arrived.  She was so happy to see Fiona, that that moment alone made the whole trip worthwhile.

To be continued.....

Another Visit to the DMV

     I feel I have to let you all know why I have gotten behind in my blogging.  A week and a half ago, on my way from the parking lot to the concert, I tripped over one of those "parking bumps" against which the tires of you car go while parking, and as it turns out, broke my tibia.  I am on crutches and off work for the next few weeks.  It is hard for me to sit at the computer in the kitchen, but will try to use my daughter's lap top as soon as she shows me the password.

      My daughter, Fiona, has been a great help to me.  And thank god she can drive, with me in the car, or we would be in even worse shape.  She drove me to the DMV yesterday to apply for a handicapped placard so we can park in disabled zones when necessary.  Of course, in the DMV parking lot, we had to park a half mile away from the office.  But aside from that, the whole process took about 10 minutes.  I was incredulous at how easy and fast it was.  To which the woman at the window said, "We aim to please!"  I am not kidding.

     So with handicapped placard in hand, my daughter, who is doing quite well in the driver's seat, drove us back home.  Lucky for me, she is eager to drive me anywhere I want to go, as long as it is not on the freeway (she hasn't covered that in her drivers' education lessons with a trained professional).  Once I am off the crutches, I will be back at work and with any luck,  will be able to able to schlep my bass to the stage unassisted.  I will keep you posted as to my progress.  Thanks for reading!

Rags to Riches

     In my first posting, as you may recall, I talked about The Clapper.  Well, last Sunday afternoon he was back with a New Year's vengeance.  We hadn't seen him in at least a month and I didn't spot him during the first half of the program, Sylvestov Elegie and Schumann Piano Concerto in A Minor.  He must have been using restraint because he didn't make himself known until the second half.

     After the Rachmaninoff Symphonic Dances, (always a hit) the audience burst into applause and rose to its feet.  And who was among the first?  Yes, The Clapper.  He was wearing a long-sleeved shirt, which threw me off at first.  He usually looks like he stopped in for a concert after a workout at the gym.  He wears a tight, black short-sleeved tee shirt and track pants.  Because the weather had been quite cold, for San Francisco that is, he must have decided to wear a warmer shirt.  But his clapping style is unmistakable, and before I knew it, I had spotted him in the center, Orchestra.  My stand partner, Mark, commented that it was unusual for The Clapper to be at a matinee since in the past, he was seen mostly at Saturday night concerts.  But now we know that he could appear at any concert, so we'll have to be vigilant in our observations.  At any rate, it is always a joy to see him and admire his stamina.  He is unfailingly the first to his feet and the last to stop applauding.

     We couldn't help but wonder a little about The Clapper's life.  He clearly loves symphonic music.  We have even spotted him at outdoor concerts we play.  But as I mentioned in the earlier piece, he has sat in the student rush seats for years and now is in the center of the Orchestra section.  Much pricier tickets.  Did he come into some money?  Get a new job?  Or maybe he just decided that his symphony seats would take priority.  I kind of like to think it is the latter.  It gives me such a great feeling to know that he enjoys  the music so much.

     Speaking of enjoyment....last Saturday night, as we were walking to our cars after the concert, a young man started chatting with us and said how much he enjoyed the concert.  We pleasantly thanked him.  And then he said he was newly turned on to orchestral music and absolutely loves it.  In fact he attends every week!  Wow, I must say that is impressive.  I'm thrilled that there are members of the younger generation who love this music as much as I do.  Thank you to our loyal audience!