Silver Bells

We have a lot of food in our house this time of year. I know everyone does, but in our household there is a never-ending supply. Amanda is a very accomplished baker and cook, but she's human, and like all other humans who get distracted by Ukeleles and crazy friends, she may sometimes overcook a batch of Christmas cookies. I hope she'll forgive me for posting about it here.

I, on the other hand, am the weirdo who likes cookies slightly overdone. While Amanda was viciously cursing her culinary error, I had already stolen two of the "ruined" cookies, re-named them biscotti, and asked her to let me keep them. She adamantly refused my request, horrified by the idea of keeping her "bad batch" of cookies on the premises, so I gave them up for lost.

The other night, after I'd gone shopping for presents through festive (aka, pushy and crowded) Manhattan, I came back to my little home in Astoria and started making dinner when I saw a plastic bag of cookies on top of the refrigerator. Scrawled across the front, I read "Julie's biscotti", and realized Amanda had wrapped them up just for me. She laughed for about 20 minutes at my heartfelt, emotional response to this, and she'll probably tease me for dedicating this entry to her for it, but really - it made me think.

That same morning on the way into work, an elderly man whom I figured was undoubtedly homeless and/or crazy boarded my car with an accordion and began to play. To my astonishment, his rendition of "Silver Bells" was so beautiful I couldn't help but stare and smile at him. I got a dollar out for him when it was my stop, and when I handed it to him - anticipating a muttered incoherent word or something otherwise strange - his big blue eyes lit up and he broke into an enormous grin. "Thank you!! That was my first of the day!!" He cried, excitedly. Surprised by his normal, human response I stammered back how good he sounded and that I hoped he'd get many more tips, and left the train. But this exchange stuck with me the rest of the day. I couldn't help but wonder what his life must be like - if he has a family of his own to celebrate Christmas with and exchange gifts, and accordion playing just happens to be a hobby on the side. I much prefer that image to his tucking the accordion away behind him on the streets at night...

...I know I have been loved - even somewhat spoiled - in my life. There's no doubt in my heart that I have been blessed, and I don't take the time to believe the negative words and memories that infiltrate my doubting mind when I'm down. Still, sometimes I contemplate what ways love has been shown to me in my life, and really - the truest of that love has been shown in the least obvious ways. I've never needed fancy gifts from anyone - and no, I'm not saying that to sound modest. I'm really proud of the 13 inch TV I got when I was a Freshman in college, and Linus - the puppy I got when I graduated high school. (Among a lot of other kickass gifts). But when I lived in Paris, the notes Sera left for me on our bathroom mirror were enough; peppered with inside jokes she knew would make me laugh. Or the notes my Mom would leave in my lunch box every day, no matter how "too big" I got in high school. Or the time my Dad took my brother and me to the train museum because trains had become such a fascination in our house. I don't necessarily remember every time I was given flowers or chocolates by a boy, but I do remember the time a boyfriend asked me to go for a walk in the middle of the night to go get a 'hoagie' from 'Hoagie Haven' in Princeton and talk for hours.

 ...The random, silly notes to "Juju" by my beloved and hilarious cousin Lynn - just to say hi. (And of course, what I would give to see one of those now).

These gifts stick with me every time I think about this season. All of the ways we show each other we know each other, and are paying attention to who our loved ones actually are. We all get so busy - so self-absorbed and concerned with day to day nonsense that doesn't matter, and often goes completely forgotten.

The man on the subway, and his pure, innocent joy at a crumpled dollar bill from a complete stranger, was a lesson in modesty for me. Amanda, and the little things she never fails to remember to do for me or for the rest of her loved ones, is a lesson in true generosity for me. This season, I want to hang onto those joyful moments, free of ego, expectation or greed, and try as hard as I can to grow them into the year to come.

Happy Holidays, everyone.

Innocence

I know I speak for many when I say this weekend was pretty hard. It was emotionally draining and overwhelming. Obviously for some of us more than others, and some to degrees the majority of the country (hopefully) cannot begin to grasp.

I, for one, cannot grapple with the thought of 20 innocent children, and 6 of their educators, being shot to death in an elementary school. I can't handle the thought of just 1 innocent child being shot at, or witnessing such violence, and quite frankly my brain doesn't comprehend the scene the media keeps trying to paint for us. Because, for some reason, we need to know what happened. I'd rather not imagine the horror of that day, but some had no choice, so it is my belief that many of us feel the need to go into the darkness with them. We are helpless, strapped to our computers and television sets watching in horror, so perhaps if we torture ourselves with the mental images we'll somehow be "doing more," suffering with those parents and children, and uniting.

 Naturally, stories like this bring us all to our own personal experiences. Whether we knew the families involved, ARE the families involved, or simply have our own stories to relate it to, I can think of no one who isn't feeling very personally effected by the events of Friday right now.

Talking to my father over the weekend, he reminded me of something close to our home: When I was in Kindergarten, I walked to school from our babysitter's house for the afternoon class each day. I remember those walks being fascinating to me, because it was just a short path from Martha's house to the school by the high school next door, and we could always see the "big kids" sitting outside smoking or talking or eating lunch. I was very shy as a 5 year old, and I vividly remember not liking those scary kids sitting so close to the path we took each day. I also had never liked the Santa Claus that kids lined up to see in the mall each year. There was no reason behind it other than I was a bashful child who only trusted my family. (I guess in some ways I'm still like that.)

One day, I walked that path with just one of the other students because the rest were home sick. As we played on our walk, she ran ahead of me to beat me to the school and I struggled to catch up when I felt a powerful tug backwards. A man bigger than my Dad was following me, pulling on my backpack, and telling me I was "supposed to come with him." I'm not sure what part of my innocent mind realized this guy was evil, but I shrugged out of my backpack and bolted to the elementary school, where I remember hiding in the cubby area until the police - who'd seen what happened and arrested the man who was following me - came and questioned me. I think I was equally scared of the cops. I remember my parents sitting me down to talk to me that night about how it was good that I ran from him, how I should never talk to strangers, and what to do if that ever happened again. When my dad recapped that story for me this weekend, he said that I was "never the same" again.

"At 5 years old, something remotely traumatizing can change and shape a child." How true this was for me. I never felt the same way playing outside with my friends, and I remember - usually with a bit of a laugh - how I would clutch my mother and father's ankles and cry whenever they tried to drop me off at youth group, or ballet class, or even the babysitter's house after that day. A huge chunk of my innocence had been stolen from me in just seconds. I wasn't the carefree 5 year old who played 'tag' on the way to school anymore; I was the 5 year old who never wanted to walk alone again until I was well into my teens.

I cannot imagine what these parents are going to have to do to help their children feel "normal" again, after the kind of trauma they have endured. Part of me wonders how I would handle my own trauma, as one of their parents, let alone attempt to help them lead a typical childhood. Childhood tainted by an experience no one should ever have to endure in their lifetimes.

With this in mind, all I can return to is the hope I feel in seeing how many people were genuinely hurt by this news. I saw so many of my friends and colleagues cry out for change; I don't mind if the bulk of what was posted about was political, the important thing is that we all want to see A CHANGE. We want our country to be safe for all, and we want our children to be able to stay innocent and go to school without stomachaches or fear in their hearts. Knowing this is what most of us want, we underestimate the power there is in loving one another, sharing our fear with each other, and working together to stay safe. Maybe there will be a change to our laws - maybe there won't be. But, we are not helpless.

Let's all be good to each other.

5K.

Going to type while I still have my coffee buzz going...

By the way, for those of you who also work in an office, the perfect office-coffee recipe may be 3 shots under the "espresso" setting, mixed with about 5 packets of sugar. I'm still tweaking it, though.

I ran in the Terry Fox Run on Saturday - a 5K for Cancer Research that takes place every year in Central Park. I've run a lot throughout the last few years, and generally try to run about 3-5 miles whenever I do, but this was the first time I had ever done an organized event. I think I'm hooked - I am already planning the next one, and plan to join the 100-mile bike ride for missing children next year. (http://www.rideformissingchildrengcd.org/)

My teammates - a few of my friends and co-workers - and I gathered outside the park at 8:30 Saturday morning in the 45 degrees, and ran in this quaint (just kidding), sky-scraper encircled park with thousands of people. It was far more uplifting than I thought it'd be, actually, not that I thought it would be negative in any way. A seriously positive vibe, and of course - for a great cause. For me, though, it was a landmark for personal reasons: I ran with my cousin Lynn in mind.

Lynn did not have cancer - he wasn't even sick. He wasn't running in the Terry Fox run (that I know of, anyway). He WAS, however, running in the Maritime Race Weekend in Halifax, NS, in a marathon that raised money to help people affected by drought in Rwanda. The group running for his cause was called "Run From Hunger." He'd even been given a write-up for this here: http://www.foodgrainsbank.ca/news/1936/nova_scotians_running_from_hunger.aspx

He'd been training for months for it, logging the miles he was running on facebook, when he passed away suddenly during a training run with a friend of his on September 2nd. This fact, and the adjustments within our family since, have changed my life forever. Truthfully, his loss still hasn't sunk in for any of us.

Most of my childhood was shaped around my time with my Erskine cousins. Ben, the oldest, was usually teasing me in some way while simultaneously cracking me up (this dynamic has not changed, by the way, even though he has a wife and kid(s - a second one on the way!). Allison and Kaia were my littler cousins, branching off with my little brother to create mischief of one kind or another. Then there was Lynn, who was so close to my older sister that they would create an alliance so strong it included a secret language I didn't speak. (I later found out they were speaking French and Spanish, combined). We would pile into the patio at our grandparents' house in rows of sleeping bags and keep each other up all night with scary stories and giggling. We spent Christmases together, vacationed on the beach together, and taught bible school together. (I will never hear a "veggie tales" song without thinking of Lynn, belting out "If you like to talk to tomaaatoooes -- " in front of a large congregation of kids in Delaware one summer). Who knows how we each look back on our lives - all I know is I consider them siblings.

Lynn, over the years, started to become someone I confided in. I never thought I'd say this, but thank God for Facebook for our ability  to share pictures and stories with one another when he moved up to Canada. I got to see pictures from his wedding when I wasn't able to be there. When I had a crisis of faith (or several), I would write to him and beg for his insight. Usually, he'd write back an entire book about his thoughts on God, faith, life, with a unique and often hilarious point of view.

Naturally, when I started running, I'd follow his running progress too. We'd prop each other with "like"s and comments to each others' posts, and I couldn't wait till we would get to share in our experiences in person together. It was almost too painful to see all the pictures go up about The Run From Hunger, a couple weeks after his funeral, but I felt ready to connect with his memory on Saturday.

It all hit me harder than I anticipated after crossing the finish line - though I was happy and laughing with my friends, as I watched one runner after another cross under the balloons I thought about how much I wished I'd gotten the chance to see Lynn in action, or run with him myself. It was an overwhelming moment after a month and half of thinking of him every time I went out for a routine run each day, and missing him and his place in my life very much. (As well as feeling for his beautiful and strong wife and girls, and of course - my amazingly resilient cousins, Aunt and Uncle as they grieve his loss).

Maybe I will never run another mile without thinking of him, or even go another day without a thought to him, but I will always be grateful to him for his influence in my life - and so many, many others.

Amanda and me, celebrating our 5K success. We was runnannggg.

YAPping.

Today I submitted my 150th YAP (Young Artist Program) application. I have no way of knowing if that number is accurate; it could have been much, much higher than that, but I don't feel like clicking through my email history of confirmation notifications from 2008- present right now.

As I went through all of the usual required fields, I stumbled upon an odd little box in which I was to "describe what special qualities I bring to my operatic performing." This bewildered me: normally we click through these online applications (applications in place so that we may be considered... just for an audition for the program), listing off our references, uploading our headshots, resumes and audio clips, naming programs we've done before (if any), and listing what rep we're bringing to the table. It's black and white: What we've done. Who we know. All the unemotional checks and balances that make us "worthy," but rarely any space for us to argue a case for ourselves! I felt like a child who'd suddenly been handed the phone for the first time to talk to someone: so much I wanted to say, but no idea what I should say.

Should I talk about my comedic timing? Or how I can turn every trip into some part of the choreography? (A very necessary quality in my opinion, especially considering I am one of the clumsiest people on earth...) I typed about five drafts, attempting to modestly cover my violin background, my love of jazz, my musical theater and dance training, my adoration of the french language... and then abandoning all attempts at being me and adopting an oddly sophisticated prose-style with words like "Thusly," and "Affluent."

And, at what point am I allowed to tell them how I've really grown as a human being over the last few years, on and off the stage? Is it acceptable for me to discuss my spirituality? Can I tell them about my loan payments?

...In the end, what I went with was probably the least of what I could have said. Ultimately it doesn't really matter, because regardless of what they think of what I write in that box, I know the deciding factor - for getting this audition, a chance at getting into the program - will come down to what they thought of my resume and recordings. This isn't my way of being cynical, because in my book this company stands out for caring at all how we as performers feel about what we do. It's just that, after 4 years and about 375 applications ( ;) ), I've learned a lot about this field. Some of which I wish I could unlearn.

It would be nice to go into this fall's audition season with a completely clean slate.

Welcome!

I've always loved to write, and with the start of this fall I have felt more inclined to do so than ever before. Maybe due to the far-sweeping distances between myself and my loved ones: family (Canada to California), friends (Amsterdam to Seattle), or the seemingly endless amount of change - whatever the reason, I itch to get it all down on paper and share it.

November 1st marks 2 years since moving to New York City. I've been sharing a house with two very silly, very talented ladies, basically extending our whimsical days at school. Our nights are filled with Amanda's incredible cooking (my love of food will inhabit another section of this blog to avoid this winding up an accidental foodie blog), mutual support of each others' musical aspirations (some opera, some Ukulele, lots of rapping...), Julia's cat's costume fashion shows (He's fairly obese, but he rocks a bow tie and jester hat.), and obviously a lot of laughter. I've felt blessed to live with these girls and often find myself wondering what life will be like one day when I move on from the comfort of our lives together. For now, though, I embrace this sweet phase of transition with never-ending french press coffee and a freezer fully-stocked with Girl Scout cookies.

That isn't to say it's been easy. Moving here to pursue a dream in the music world was never going to be smooth sailing, and I think all three of us knew and accepted that long before we arrived. There have been countless auditions and coachings, tours to sing in churches and recital halls all over the country (in some of the oddest locations), recording sessions, weekly lessons costing more than our monthly train fare, not to mention a ton of work poured into our day jobs. All while training for marathons, taking dance and yoga classes, and, you know, trying to have social lives and stuff. Whew.

Lately, I've been attempting to strike a balance between personal life and career aspirations as much as possible. I don't know if it's the "getting older" thing, or that time here really does fly by much faster, but each week disappears in a flash with not a lot of time to get the extra things done. I find myself having to say "No" much more, while somehow also managing to constantly double book myself. This isn't a complaint - I've always preferred to be busy, and I'm busy with things and people I love. It's mostly a challenge to myself to remember to stay grounded in the center of it all, and keep my eye on the goals and reasons for moving here and giving these years to this city. Who knows where I'll be this time next year, but putting at least some of it down on paper feels like the right thing to do.

Thanks to those who want to join me. :)