March 7, 2008

• do re me…

  Bad things are happening to good people.  My people.  And I internalize it, taking on what doesn’t belong to me.  I must have a need for it.  But I don’t want it, and so I breathe.  I breathe into my belly the way my voice teacher taught me.  Yes, I have a voice coach, I believe is what they call it. 

  My first lesson was yesterday, and when I got there I was not early but the lesson before me went over, so I sat and listened to the golden voice behind the door.  I was in the basement of the choir director’s home.  The student was a soprano and she sang in French, beautifully.  Like an opera singer. 

  I felt ridiculous being next in line.  All I was attempting to do was not embarrass myself on Easter Sunday.  The choir director had asked for volunteers, being short singers for the Halleluja chorus.  But that first night at practice everyone acted like I was joining.  I have a very mediocre voice but they need altos so I, after hearing Elizabeth talk about how silly I was being, decided to take her up on the advice to learn how to sing.

  The last thing the teacher had me do was to lie down on the floor.  Above me on the wall were black and white photographs of yogis, taken in India, it looked like.  They were taken in the homes of these men, at close range, by a stranger.  I’m thinking it was her. 

  She was very excited about my lower ribs.  They extend lower than most peoples’.  She also liked the fact that I have a large range; she called me a mezzo.  I didn’t think I had much of a range in that most of those high notes are quite puny sounding but she showed me how we were going to fix that. 

  What really got her, though, was that I was a bellydancer.  One of her teachers in New York made all his students take enough bellydance classes that they could isolate the muscles in their lower back and abdomen.  When I told her that I used the breath in my energy work she looked closely at me and said, “You have all the tools to be a singer.”  And when I did the first breathing exercise on the floor she said, “In the 30 years I have been teaching, this is the first time I have not had to explain how to do that.  You just knew what to do.”  I wanted to say, “I bet you tell that to all the students,” but of course I didn’t.  I am so suspicious. 

  It turns out she teaches some sort of meditation class at the church on Tuesday nights.  I guess I’ll check it out.  We certainly hit it off.  I can’t afford singing lessons but she gives people in the choir a break.  It was $99 for four, the first one being a consultation.  She asked me if I had any interest in singing something in Italian.  I said I was taking Spanish so it shouldn’t be that hard.  Secretly, I was very excited about the prospect, having read “Eat, Pray, Love.”  That whole section about how beautiful the language is made me say, “Yes.”  Even though I can’t afford it. 

  Every day I lose more money.  It’s frightening but I refuse to look for work.  I secretly think that I can support myself, even through this terrible bear market.  I am meeting amazing people lately, and if I were working I wouldn’t be having these interactions.  Maybe I am fooling myself.

  I’ve begun talking on the phone with Ian.  She served him divorce papers this morning.  Last night we danced ’til the jam was over, then stayed and talked until they closed up.  He’s in a world of pain, and I am behaving more sisterly now.  It feels good to have a real dance partner again.    

   

  • 1:41 am
  • 14 Comments