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!

Permit to Drive

     Nothing says Happy Holidays like a trip to the California DMV.  Today we made such a trek, my 15-and-a-half year old daughter, Fiona, and I.  She had an appointment to take her Learners' Permit Test today at 10:20 AM.  Good thing she had that appointment, or we would still be there.  As it was, we didn't get called to Window 13 until close to 10:45.  There, a man who appeared to shave his eyebrows explained the procedure, stamped, stamped, stamped our forms, and gave Fiona her vision test.  She passed that with flying colors, I paid $31 and it was off to the Test and Photo Window.  She had her picture taken there, took her written test in isolation while I waited with the huddled masses, and then stood in the Test Correction Line.  She was a bit apprehensive, but only got 3 wrong (you can miss 8 and still pass!)  The lady at the Correction Window congratulated her, explained that she had to have 2 hours of professional drivers' training before she could drive with her Dad or me, and sent us on our way.  All of this took a little more than an hour.

     One thing that always strikes me at places like the DMV, for instance the NYC Subway, is the similar aroma that emanates from them.  Is it that people don't care what they look or smell like when going to these  places?  I do not notice the same scent at, say, Symphony concerts, where people may shower and shave before heading out the door.  Is it that people stop by the DMV before or after work, and are kind of smelly from their labor?  Who the heck knows?  But at any rate, the smell mixed nicely with the festive decorations that the employees had taken great care to put up all around.  Each window had a wreath and there were several nutcrackers bedecking filing cabinets.  There was even a Peanuts Winter Scene on one of the walls.  On one of the windows hung a huge Santa's  sleigh and eight giant reindeer. Winding garlands of tinsel completed the look, putting us in such a joyous mood that we went for a late brunch at Neil's, a local coffee shop.  There, a different odor wafted from the doors:  that of hash browns and toast.  As we got in the car and drove out of sight,  I had to say "Congratulations, Fiona!  And to all a Good Night!"

Great Symphonic Disasters: Part 2

     Back in the late 1970's, a year or so before I played there, a near-fatal tragedy took place at a concert of the Mexico City Philharmonic.  One of the halls we played in doubled as an opera stage, and so was very steeply raked, that is slanted, to enable the illusion of perspective.  A piano concerto was to be performed and a nine foot concert grand was rolled into place.  Someone forgot to lock the wheels properly and as everyone watched, horrified, the piano rolled off the stage and into the audience with a god-awful crash.  Thanks to God and the muses of music, no one happened to be seated in the affected seats, or surely someone would have been crushed.   I am not sure what happened after that, but I assume, after the dust settled, the concert continued, if not exactly as planned.

     After a year in Mexico City, I returned to play in the San Diego Symphony.  I remember a Sunday matinee, when we started the program with Roman Carnival Overture by  Berlioz.  During the lovely English horn solo in the beginning, everything was going along swimmingly when CRASH!, a cymbal back in the percussion fell off the riser and startled the bejeebers out of everyone, most especially the English horn soloist.  But as per usual, the concert went on as if nothing had happened.

     During my final summer in San Diego, we played many, if not mostly, outdoor concerts.  They were in the pops style, with light classics in the first half, and a popular entertainer the second half.   I won't say who the pop star was, (for her safety and mine) but she had a huge voice and had gotten her start in Vaudeville and on the Broadway stage.  During the first half of this particular concert, we were playing a violin concerto.  As the soft and slow second movement got started, we could hear a muffled but rather raucous voice coming over the loudspeakers.  The words were intelligible, but definitely loud and distracting.  We kept playing, hoping against hope that it would stop.  But naturally it did not.  Finally, after the added insult of the sound of a toilet flushing, the conductor could take no more, stopped the orchestra, and walked off stage to see what was going on.  A minute or so later, he returned to a quiet stage, we began again, and finished in peace.  The pop star, we later found out, had had her contact mike on in her dressing room and she was being broadcast over the entire venue.  Always the true professional, she came out for the second half and sang and danced as if nothing had been amiss.  Let's just say her voice was so big, she didn't even really need that microphone!