How do you get to Carnegie Hall?

YouTube YouTube, YouTube - at least that's how we got there.  At Easter 2015 the choirs of Knox and Scarboro United Churches presented Dan Forrest's "Requiem for the Living," and someone posted a clip on YouTube.  We received an invitation to take part in a concert at Carnegie Hall celebrating the music of Dan Forrest. We accepted the invitation, rehearsed, organized and raised funds. No, it wasn't that we were so brilliant that they offered to pay us to sing but, in my mind that's okay.  I looked at it as a unique holiday and a chance to go to New York City and it's always enlightening to work with other conductors, in this case Jo-Michael Schiebe who chairs the Thronton School of Music's Department of Choral and Sacred Music at the University of Southern California. It's also interesting to be part of a 200+ voice chorus. There are lots of people in your section so you don't feel so exposed as in a small chorus.  On the other hand, if you happen to sing through a rest a lot more people will notice, especially if you do it with gusto. No, I didn't make that mistake.

We had a great hotel in Manhattan a block away from Carnegie Hall and within walking distance of Central Park, The Apple Store, Uniqlo (a Chinese clothing chain) and Century 21 (Winners on steroids.)  Richard even went shopping the first day we were there and we both picked up some good deals on clothing.

In addition to rehearsals, we saw two shows, Something Rotten and Kinky Boots. The size of the theatres surprised me.  I thought they would be much bigger and I was taken aback by the lack of space in the lobbies. People lined up down the block and went directly through the lobby to their seats, no time and no space to wander before the performance.  We loved Something Rotten.  The script was solid and witty with numerous allusions to Shakespeare's plays and to many of the classic musicals I grew up with. Some of it, such as Shakespeare's rival composing a musical called Omelette, was just silly. I laughed nonetheless. I enjoyed Kinky Boots as well but had more difficulty making out the song lyrics and it lacked the wit that I so enjoyed in Something Rotten.  The theatres were within walking distance of the hotel and, having been there once, I'd certainly consider going back just to see a bunch of shows.

The temperatures the first couple of days were warm and I was happy with a light fleece sweater covered by a wind-proof fleece vest.  The temperature then dropped and the wind came up. The day we walked in Central Park there was a wind warning for around 70 kmh.  Although it was only a couple of degrees below freezing the wind chill made it feel like -15C.  We enjoyed our walk anyway.  There weren't a  lot of people out and we could hear bluejays squawking from the trees. I never actually spotted one but I did see grackles and the ubiquitous sparrows and Canada geese.

At our first rehearsal Dr. Scheibe told us to take out our pencils and write everything down because he didn't want to have to make the same correction twice. Gulp. As someone who might get it right on the 25th try I was a little intimidated.  He also said things like, "I hear one soprano..." and, "one baritone is..." I determined not to be that one soprano and I confess to hedging my bets by coming in just a little late and cutting off just a little early when I wasn't absolutely sure.  No accidental solos for this camper!

There were a couple of funny moments involving tempo.  "Doc" as Scheibe invited us to call him, got going at quite a clip in one section and then asked an assistant how fast he was going.  The tempo marking was in the 60's and the assistant responded, "88."  "Really?" asked Doc, "Really?" "Yes," replied the assistant.  "Okay," responded Doc, "we'll slow it down."  We took another run at it and again Doc asked for the tempo. It was 80.  We tried a third time and managed to slow it down a bit. In performance when everyone was excited, I'm almost certain the original tempo crept back in.

There were pretty strict dress regulations and, after some consideration, Richard decided to rent a tux in New York.  It was expensive and he does own one, but we decided it would be way less hassle than trying to pack the tux and then having to iron out the wrinkles when we got there. As it was he went for a fitting the second day we were there; they delivered the tux to the hotel on the day of the dress rehearsal and they picked it up from the hotel so we didn't have to worry about getting it back. Money well spent for the lack of fuss. I was very glad I had purchased a variety of concert attire a couple of years ago because I was able to put together an outfit that enabled me to wear long johns and a t-shirt underneath.  Sorry I do not willingly freeze for my art.

Distinguished Concerts International New York had us very well organized by row and position in the row.  We sat that way in rehearsal and lined up that way for the performance. Although I avoided an accidental solo I was that one person who blithely got into the wrong dressing room and didn't realize it until they called the row numbers. Luckily I did realize in time, and scuttled up another flight of stairs to the fifth floor and sneaked into the correct line. There was an elevator but the organizers encouraged all those who could, to walk up the stairs.  I was grateful that I regularly walk up five flights to my chiropractor's office and that, although I don't consider myself in great shape, none of the walking we did caused any twinges or tiredness.

When we filled in the initial information forms we had to give our height so they could arrange us by voice part and height.  I don't know what happened to the system but there was a young woman right in front of me who was at least a head taller than anyone else in her row. I was able to dodge her in rehearsals and before our rehearsal in Carnegie I tapped her on the shoulder and asked if she was going to wear heels in the performance.  She said they weren't very high.  I guess height is a subjective thing because when we lined up to go onstage she was a good two inches taller than in rehearsal.  By moving to the very edge of the riser with the toes of my right foot hanging over I was able to see around her and, luckily, the person next to me was still able to see around me.

The performance came off fairly well.  There were moments when derailment threatened but we managed to stay on the tracks. For the second half of the performance we sat in the audience and listened to Dan Forrest's "Requiem for the Living."  I always enjoy hearing that music. Forrest was at our dress rehearsal and took a bow on stage at the end of the performance.

Following the concert there was a very pleasant reception with a buffet and booze included.  I know we paid for that in our fees but it was fun to share stories with our cronies and socialize a bit with members of the other choirs. We were the 'international' component, all the rest of the choirs being from the US.  We left New York the next evening just in time to beat the storm Jonas which, two days later halted all air, car and subway traffic in the city.

Perhaps it was watching too many crime shows when I was a kid but I was a bit apprehensive about going to The Big Apple.  I found the people to be friendly and I felt safe walking after dark. People seemed to be there for a good time and were polite and relaxed.  We ate way too much cheese cake and visited the diner which is referred to in South Pacific as 'Mindy's.' It's real name is Lindy's and the food was excellent.

As with our road trip to Newfoundland two summers ago, we crossed one thing off our bucket list only to add a dozen more.  I'd like to go back to New York to see the museums, the 911 memorial, Staten Island, some more shows and a performance at the Metropolitan Opera.  That, however, will have to wait until the Canadian dollar becomes a little healthier with respect to the American green back.

Lessons from a biting parrot

Odie on the microwave cart

Odie has now been with us for 7 years, 3 years longer than he was with his original family. As most of you know Odie is pair-bonded to Richard and Odie and I have had a rocky relationship right from the get-go. In the past year we have worked with a wonderful parrot / human trainer named Robin.  With her help I've been able to feel comfortable getting Odie to come out of his cage and onto his gym so I can clean his cage and give him clean water and new food. Things seemed to be going swimmingly and I had just finished an email to Robin delighting in the slow, but steady, progress Odie and I have made. I thought our next step together was to train Odie to go into his travelling crate so that, if needed, I could take him to the vet without Richard's help.  I could always throw a towel over Odie and bundle him into the crate and, if it were an emergency, that's what I'd do but I'd rather not.  It's an unpleasant experience for both of us.

Odie, it seems, had other ideas. Last Tuesday he climbed out of his cage and after following the target stick* ended up on the old microwave cart where we store his toys. In order to get there he needs to traverse a rope ladder and then a dowel ladder to the top of the cart.  He was a little wary about the presence of the crate but he did come closer little by little. I'm not sure what spooked him but he began flapping his wings, launching himself off the top of the cart and ending up on the floor. I have 'rescued' him from the floor a few times so I got down on my hands and knees and extended my hand so that he could come over and climb up on it. Yes, it made me nervous because we are running about 50/50 in the bite department when I do this.  He wasn't at all interested and began exploring under the dining room table and then wandered his way into the kitchen, mostly ignoring me.  I offered the target stick hoping he would come back into the dining room and I could persuade him to come closer to the cage or the gym so he could climb up. Not interested. When he headed for the living room I walked around him, giving him a wide berth and blocked his path. He puttered for a few more minutes with me offering the target every once in a while and him ignoring it.

He was still interested in the living room and decided to attack my shoe. I stood my ground.  After some more puttering around he made his way cautiously toward me and, instead of attacking the shoe, climbed up on it.  From there he proceeded to climb up my jeans. I wasn't really happy about this and tried several times to offer him the target stick as a perch.  He wasn't having any of it.  I began moving slowly and steadily towards his gym as he continued to climb.  Unfortunately for me, he got to my shoulder before I got to the gym. With his beak no longer involved in climbing he lunged at my ear and gave me a hard bite. I didn't throw him off although I was tempted to. I said crossly, "Odie, that hurt," and lowered my shoulder to the gym. He stepped off onto the gym without hesitation. From there I was able to target him into his cage and close the door before dealing with my bleeding ear and wounded ego.

The past few days Odie and I have been wary of each other.  He has been hesitant to target when out of the cage and last night he came out of the cage but didn't want to move to the gym.  I was able to get the food and water bowls out in order to clean them and I managed to remove the bottom tray, change the newspaper, and replace the it while we eyed each other.  There was no way I was going to stick my hand in that cage with him sitting on top of it guarding his territory.  I sat down at the table and waited.  He went into the cage and checked out the wooden pot that usually contains an almond, a treat for him when he goes back into the cage. I targeted him out onto the bridge that goes from his cage to the gym and he came out, touched the target stick, got his lick of peanut butter and then turned his back and returned to the cage. "All right, Odie," I told him, " I'm not putting any food or water in the cage until you move away from it."  I went and sat down again. I tried a few more times to target him onto the gym and finally he came reluctantly to the bridge and then to the top of the gym.  I moved the bridge away and replaced the food and water bowls. Then I targeted him back into the cage and closed the door.  The whole rigamarole took about 45 minutes.

Odie on his gym playing with a straw 

I know many of you are questioning my sanity, shaking your heads and thinking, "Why don't they just give the bird to someone else?" There are a number of reasons: he's just being a bird and, although it might not seem like it, I'm actually smarter than he is. We've come a long way and I still have hope that we will be able to achieve a state where we can exist comfortably together and neither of us is afraid of the other. When we got Odie we made a commitment for life, his or ours. I don't believe in disposable pets.  I understand that in some circumstances impossibe to keep a pet and it's necessary to find them a new home. Just because Odie is difficult isn't a good enough reason to pass the problem along to someone else.  I'm sure that's how we got him in the first place. Despite it all he is a member of our family as much as a cat or dog would be.

But defending our choice to keep him isn't really what this is about. Living with the ups and downs of Odie has made me consider the situations of others in a different light.  Odie is a bird. He has a cage and I can throw a towel over him, put him into that cage and close the door.  We are both safe.  What about the women, and men who live with an abusive partner? My ride on the emotional roller coaster of having an unpredictable parrot is nothing compared to what they face each morning when they open their eyes. When is he or she going to lash out?  If I'm careful, quiet, invisible can I avoid the screaming, slaps and punches? He/ she is so sorry afterwards.  Maybe this time it will be different. We have such good times when he/ she isn't drinking. I still love him/ her. In days before Odie I used to look at those relationships, shake my head and ask, "Why don't they just leave?  I wouldn't put up with that!"

What about the parents of a child, afflicted with a mental disorder, who try everything they know without success? What about the guilt as they say to themselves, "Why can't I be a better parent? Why can't I find a way to help my child? What have I done wrong? It's just  a stage; they'll grow out of it." If you want an exceptionally good, though not pleasant, read that details what it is like to be the parent of such a child I highly recommend When the Ship Has No Stabilizers: our daughter's tempestuous voyage through borderline personality disorder by Fran Porter. Calgary Herald Interview with Fran Porter  The book is available on Amazon and the proceeds go to McMan Calgary that provides services to at-risk youth.

While I've been working on this post I've taken a few breaks. When I heard Odie cheeping I uncovered his cage and opened the blinds in the room. We have whistled our morning greeting back and forth through the house. I have paused to go to his cage when he has called me with the whistle I taught him to stop him screaming for attention.  He has pressed his head to the bars so I can scratch it and now we are saying, "'morning," and "hello" to each other as I finish this up. Things are returning to an even keel after the fright-and-bite episode. I have often joked that Odie and I must have something to teach each other in this life.  For now I think that lesson is one of compassion.

Odie enjoys climbing on Richard

*Target training in our world
The idea is to offer the bird a target, in our case a piece of 1/2 inch dowel, to touch with his beak.  When he touches it I say a cue word to let him know the reward is coming and then give him a lick of peanut butter off the end of a chopstick. The chopstick keeps my fingers well away from his beak. If he lunges no treat, the target goes away and we try again in a few seconds. He knows the game very well and will sometimes choose to play and sometimes not.