A Musical Mystery: Part 3

James and I drove the rest of the way to Miami, he with his bass and I with mine, without incident.  We stayed at  his parents' house until we were able to find a cute  bungalow near the University, where I would be starting my second year of graduate school.  I was studying privately with Dr. Lucas Drew and had 11 private students of my own.  I also was playing with the Miami Philharmonic.  James continued to practice, freelance and tend to his bees.  We decorated our little house which mercifully sat in the shade most of the time;  we didn't have air conditioning--just fans.  I was thoroughly enjoying my life:  I loved playing the bass and was still madly in love with James.

We lived happily like this for all of the first semester.   In January, when the second semester started at the University, we met a student from Boston who had come to Miami to study with Dr. Drew.  His name was Jeff and he had been taking lessons with BSO Principal Bass, Henry Portnoy.  One day, we invited him over to our house to play duets and trios.  Jeff brought his bass and bow and was  interested in what kind of basses and bows James and I were playing.  He looked at James' bow and was very surprised.  "There are only two bows by this maker--Henry Portnoy has one and BSO Bassist X (false name used to protect the innocent) has the other.  I'll have to call Henry and tell him about this extra bow!" Jeff said.  I didn't think anything of it at the time,  but a few days later, Dr. Drew called me into his office for a private meeting.

"Henry Portnoy called me this morning and told me he has been missing a bow since Tanglewood was over.  Jeff called and told him that there was a third bow by that same maker down here in Miami. Henry immediately exclaimed that there was no third bow.  He said the bow James has is his bow and that James stole it.  But that's not all.  Henry's summer Tanglewood bass has also been missing since the end of the summer season, and he is sure James has that too.  Does James have that bow and bass?"

I was shocked beyond words.  I hadn't paid any attention to what bow James had been using.  And he only had his Ceruti bass at home.  I couldn't believe my ears---how had James managed to steal a bass from Tanglewood and bring it down to Miami.  It certainly wasn't at our house.  I told Dr. Drew that I had no knowledge of any of it.  "Well," he said.  "You'll have to tell Henry what you know.  He's convinced that you and James thought up a plot, and were in cahoots in order to steal the bass and the bow.  He's flying down from Boston tomorrow."  I didn't know how James could have gotten the bass down to Miami, since he and I had driven back together, and he only had one bass.  How could this have happened?  Was I so in love that I had totally missed what had gone on?

A Musical Mystery: Part 2

Staying out in the woods, with a few members of the BSO in neighboring campsites, turned out to be a very pleasant experience.  We could see the lake through the trees from the doorway of the tent.  I could also go back to the dorm for a shower, or for a sick bay as I had a bad kidney infection and had to spend a few days in bed.  James continued to take lessons with Larry and had to be gone for his court date.  But I never really questioned him about that, mainly, I think, due to naivite.

Our concerts were amazing:  I had never played in such a good orchestra.  We also got to play a concert with the BSO:   Guerrelieder by Schoenberg which calls for a huge orchestra, chorus and vocal soloists.  It was conducted by Seigi Ozawa and was an experience that I will never forget.

The five other bass players in the program and I got to be very good friends.  We drove with the other woman bassist to New York City to check out a bass that she ended up buying.  We also would go out after the concerts for food and drink and have remained in touch to this day.  Before long though, the summer was over and we were packing up to go home.  James and I took down the tent and drove in convoy south to return to Miami.

On our trip, we stayed in some motels, but one night we came to a KOA campground.  It was close to midnight and the sign said it was full for the night. The office was closed but James said, "Let's go in anyway.  There's bound to be an empty campsite."  So, against my better judgement, we went in.

The trees were black around us, standing tall, silent giants.  Fireflies flitted about, magical flashing pinpoints, forming a kaleidoscope of tiny lights.  Driving up and down the rows, we didn't see any empty sites until we were almost to the end.  There was a vacant campsite that was marked reserved.  "Oh, that's probably for tomorrow," said James.  "Besides, it's so late, no one would be coming in at this hour."

Famous last words.  After we had set up the tent, gotten into our sleeping bags, and been asleep for a couple hours, we were awakened by voices and flashlights shining into the tent.  "Can't you see the "reserved" sign?" shouted a male voice.  "Get out of there right now and leave the campground!" The camp host was there with the people who had reserved the site.  We sheepishly got dressed, took down the tent as fast as we could and got back on the road.  We ended up parking on the side of the highway, a few miles away, and slept until dawn.

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.