Being at a viola congress makes me think of all the past congresses, and the good friends made and experiences had with them. This is my 8th viola congress: Seattle, Kronberg, Minneapolis, Reykjavik, Montreal, Adelaide, Tempe, Stellenbosch. When I went to Seattle, I was a bit overwhelmed and also there were a lot of BYU people there, so I didn't branch out and make friends very much. So Kronberg is the congress at which I really started to make friends in the international viola community.
Nancy came with me to the Kronberg congress. This congress was lightly attended so we got to know the participants very well indeed. This congress was also jam-packed busy. The play-in began at 8 AM every day, but the concerts usually ended at midnight. That was because there was always a concert AFTER the concert. One night, the after-concert concert was being given by Henryk and other Swedish performers. We went to the concert in the big concert hall, and then walked up the hill to the little carriage-house building where Henryk's performance would be.
Henryk is a vabulous violist who can play anything from classical to folk to experimental music. Unfortunately, this was to be a concert of experimental music. People started melting away. We wanted to melt with them, but we also didn't want these poor musicians to be playing for an audience of empty chairs, so we stuck it out. By the end of the concert at midnight, there were very few people remaining. The only ones that I am sure were there were the little group of us walking home together.
The girl from Switzerland whose name escapes me was staying close to the carriage house; Michelle, Korey, Nancy and I were all staying in the same hotel, but Jutta was staying at a guest house close to the train station. We didn't want her to walk that distance alone, so we all walked with her, said good night and continued on our way.
There was a little parkish area between the train station and our hotel. In the day time, we had often walked through it with no difficulty. There were two paths on the side of this open area, and at some point the paths diverged, but we thought that it was like "You take the high road, and I'll take the low road" but both would lead to a metaphorical Scotland. I think we were even singing that song for a bit as we walked along, taking the high road.
Mistake! While the low road did indeed lead to our hotel...the high road lead....somewhere! And that is how we found ourselves at two o'clock in the morning wandering around on the highway outside of Kronberg, with no idea how to get back to our hotel! It was a lovely moonlight night, and we weren't scared because there were four of us, and Korey was a guy so we felt somewhat protected. We just were tired and getting really giddy and giggly as we walked and walked and walked with no end in sight.
Finally, we spied a bar in the trees off to the side of the road....there had been nothing but trees for ages! As we walked towards it, the lights went off. "No!" Korey bellowed, "they can't close! We have to ask them for directions!" We sped up our pace to get there before all the people might potentially leave, and hurray! We made it! We talked to an actual person, who told us where to go.
We just had to turn around and walk back the way we had come for a short distance, and turn to connect to the road that led directly to our hotel, from a direction that we had not ever gone before. We laughed and laughed. What an experience! Very bonding for us!
Nancy was playing in the play-in every morning at eight. She was very intimidated by the experience, since she was a new violist, but what a fabulous experience! She was the only "American" in the ensemble: two other Canadians, Anne and Jutta, were participating. But no other Americans! Anne and Beate, from Lithuania, were especially kind and helpful to Nancy, and both of them are among my favorite people at viola congresses to this day.
I knew that Anne would not be coming this year--she had a chamber music festival in Ottawa that conflicted with this congress. I didn't see Beate here, either, until Wednesday morning. I was sitting in Fismer Hall after the students from Manchester had played, and she came up behind me. I said, "Oh, hello, I didn't know you were here!" She explained that she arrived late. She is living in Botswana now, working for Unicef, and did not have enough days off to come for the whole congress. We chatted happily together, but I was wondering, "What is different about Beate?"
She was sitting beside me as the next event started...Csaba was talking about his research on the Bartok concerto. She had talked about how she had laser surgery on her eyes. So that explained no glasses, and that seemed to be the most glaring difference. I noticed that her shirt seemed to have a really masculine cut. She stuck a foot out, and I thought "Wow, that shoe has a really masculine cut to it." Hey, I like to buy men's shoes, too, because they are wider and more comfortable. If I can find some that aren't too clunky and heavy....
About an hour later, Beate came up to me and said, "I thought I should tell you, since people are sometimes confused...I got a sex change operation. I was just talking to Csaba, and he said to me, 'oh you are from Lithuania, do you know my friend Beate?' and I had to explain that I am his friend Beate." And then s/he flipped her/his nametag over and it said Peter. Which I had not noticed before. And that explained why the shirt and shoes looked so masculine, and now that I was looking carefully, the chest was pretty flat, and the haircut was not really what a female would wear.
And now I am trying really hard to act the same as always, but that is very hard to do, because actually, things aren't the same as always, are they?
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Cream buns and Carrot cake
When Josie and I went to Australia in 2007, Barbara drove us to the beach one day, and we stopped at a little bakery that Barbara loves, to get ourselves a treat. Barbara highly recommended the cream buns.
I didn't know what a cream bun was, but the description reminded me of two things: bismarcks filled with bordeaux cream, and cream puffs. I love both of those! So I bought myself a cream bun. But a cream bun in Australia is nothing like a bismarck filled with bordeaux cream, nor is it like a cream puff. It is a bun cut in two and filled with cream. Heavy cream, whipped. With no added sugar or vanilla flavoring. Just a cream bun, like its name says. And was that gross to me? It was! All that fat cream--gross! (Kind of made me ashamed of myself to think that, had they just added sugar I could have eaten it without a problem, but when it was just fat without the sugar, it was just too gross.)
So yesterday, here in South Africa, I caved and bought myself a slice of carrot cake. I had been very good about not doing that for several days, because 18 rand for a slice of cake seemed really expensive. But the cake just looked so good, so I did the math, and realized that the cake only cost 3 dollars, and that is not a bad price for a large piece of cake in a restaurant, is it? The cream cheese frosting looked delicious, the cake was moist and filled with chunks of pineapple and feathery carrot slices.
Our carrot cake at home has icing all over the top and sides, and I try to eat it very carefully, icing with every bite, so I don't end up with too much sweet stuff to eat all at the same time. Here, they only put icing on the top, hanging down the edge a bit, and the cake is really tall. Definitely more cake than frosting. And the frosting isn't terribly thick either, so I thought I would eat the bottom of the cake first, by itself, and treat myself to finishing up with the delicious frosting and the top half of the cake. I took my first bite of frosting that I had been saving for last to enjoy it so much--and tasted--butter. Yes folks, butter. There was just a hint of sweetness to the butter, but it was mostly just plain butter. No cream cheese. The lovely yellowish color was the butter. I butter bread very thinly. I don't butter cake at all, as a general rule. Oh, how I wished I had eaten the icing with the entire cake, instead of saving it for last.
As I was choking it down, a New Zealander walked past me and said, "I think one of the best things about this congress is the cake!" and I just smiled and didn't reveal that I am not going to eat another piece of cake for a long time. At least, not this week!
I bet that New Zealanders might like Australian cream buns, too.
I didn't know what a cream bun was, but the description reminded me of two things: bismarcks filled with bordeaux cream, and cream puffs. I love both of those! So I bought myself a cream bun. But a cream bun in Australia is nothing like a bismarck filled with bordeaux cream, nor is it like a cream puff. It is a bun cut in two and filled with cream. Heavy cream, whipped. With no added sugar or vanilla flavoring. Just a cream bun, like its name says. And was that gross to me? It was! All that fat cream--gross! (Kind of made me ashamed of myself to think that, had they just added sugar I could have eaten it without a problem, but when it was just fat without the sugar, it was just too gross.)
So yesterday, here in South Africa, I caved and bought myself a slice of carrot cake. I had been very good about not doing that for several days, because 18 rand for a slice of cake seemed really expensive. But the cake just looked so good, so I did the math, and realized that the cake only cost 3 dollars, and that is not a bad price for a large piece of cake in a restaurant, is it? The cream cheese frosting looked delicious, the cake was moist and filled with chunks of pineapple and feathery carrot slices.
Our carrot cake at home has icing all over the top and sides, and I try to eat it very carefully, icing with every bite, so I don't end up with too much sweet stuff to eat all at the same time. Here, they only put icing on the top, hanging down the edge a bit, and the cake is really tall. Definitely more cake than frosting. And the frosting isn't terribly thick either, so I thought I would eat the bottom of the cake first, by itself, and treat myself to finishing up with the delicious frosting and the top half of the cake. I took my first bite of frosting that I had been saving for last to enjoy it so much--and tasted--butter. Yes folks, butter. There was just a hint of sweetness to the butter, but it was mostly just plain butter. No cream cheese. The lovely yellowish color was the butter. I butter bread very thinly. I don't butter cake at all, as a general rule. Oh, how I wished I had eaten the icing with the entire cake, instead of saving it for last.
As I was choking it down, a New Zealander walked past me and said, "I think one of the best things about this congress is the cake!" and I just smiled and didn't reveal that I am not going to eat another piece of cake for a long time. At least, not this week!
I bet that New Zealanders might like Australian cream buns, too.
Jet Lag
I have never experienced jet lag like this before! Of course, I have never flown to South Africa before, either. This must be what it is like to have narcolepsy. I will be sitting listening to a lecture or enjoying a performance, and bam, I am asleep. I wake up wondering what happened, and what did I miss? Yesterday, Vivienne, the luthier at the booth next to mine, commented that she envied my ability to take cat-naps. "Oh, that is not ability," I protested, "That is jet lag! I don't plan the naps; they just happen!" Brian, the luthier next to her, said that flying from North America to South Africa always gives him about four or five days of jet lag, but he doesn't have any trouble going the opposite direction. Here's hoping! Also Jutta and Christine had trouble with jet lag. Jutta had to present and perform the first day of the congress, so she came four days early so she would feel "normal" by Monday. And Christine flew in a couple of weeks early, and spent the first four days just crashing at a hotel in Cape Town. So...I am not the only one to have this jet laggy experience.
In the wee hours of Wednesday morning, and to quote that play Abra directed in High School that had the line "my mind is on fire!" -- mine was! It was on fire at 3 AM on Wednesday, and I got up and chatted with Josie on FB for a bit, and then created a new blog for the viola archive, which is what my mind was on fire about. And then I had to pay the piper--by 5 pm on Wednesday, it was all I could do to walk the two minutes back to my room and crash. I didn't unpack my backpack and put my sandwich in the fridge. I did nothing but lay down in the bed and go to sleep. I needed a nap before the 8 pm concert!
I woke up and it was dark and 8:35--I thought to myself, "I am late. I need to get up and go so I don't miss the whole thing." At 9:35, I woke up again, and could barely drag myself out of bed to put on my nightgown, brush my teeth, and put the sandwich in the fridge. I worried momentarily about the Tattons--they usually walk home with me after the evening concert--and when they got in at 10:00, they stopped outside my door and said "Good night, Myrna." I woke up again to a lot of noise outside at midnight. I got up and opened the door, and Neil and Anna and Nelly were all outside sort of panicking. The guest house gives you about four or five keys, and many of them are skeleton keys, and they were having issues opening the door to go upstairs. I was about to unlock my interior door and let them walk though my suite, but then at the last minute, Anna got the door to open, so life was good. Everything quieted down, and I went back to sleep. It is almost 5:30 now, and that is a respectable time to get up, seeing that I went to bed twelve hours ago.
In the wee hours of Wednesday morning, and to quote that play Abra directed in High School that had the line "my mind is on fire!" -- mine was! It was on fire at 3 AM on Wednesday, and I got up and chatted with Josie on FB for a bit, and then created a new blog for the viola archive, which is what my mind was on fire about. And then I had to pay the piper--by 5 pm on Wednesday, it was all I could do to walk the two minutes back to my room and crash. I didn't unpack my backpack and put my sandwich in the fridge. I did nothing but lay down in the bed and go to sleep. I needed a nap before the 8 pm concert!
I woke up and it was dark and 8:35--I thought to myself, "I am late. I need to get up and go so I don't miss the whole thing." At 9:35, I woke up again, and could barely drag myself out of bed to put on my nightgown, brush my teeth, and put the sandwich in the fridge. I worried momentarily about the Tattons--they usually walk home with me after the evening concert--and when they got in at 10:00, they stopped outside my door and said "Good night, Myrna." I woke up again to a lot of noise outside at midnight. I got up and opened the door, and Neil and Anna and Nelly were all outside sort of panicking. The guest house gives you about four or five keys, and many of them are skeleton keys, and they were having issues opening the door to go upstairs. I was about to unlock my interior door and let them walk though my suite, but then at the last minute, Anna got the door to open, so life was good. Everything quieted down, and I went back to sleep. It is almost 5:30 now, and that is a respectable time to get up, seeing that I went to bed twelve hours ago.
Orchestra + Folk Instruments
Concert Tuesday night featured Kobus Malan on oboe and Anthony Caplan on a variety of folk instruments.
Something both Josie and Nancy would appreciate from this congress: you know how we usually go from pretty much 8 AM to 10 PM or later every day? Well, here, they don't start anything until 9 AM. Much more civilized, given the late hour at which we end every day!
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Stellenbosch
Well, here I am in the beautiful university town of Stellenbosch, South Africa. It is a gorgeous place! Palm trees, yet cool during "winter." I am staying in a little guest house a two minute walk away from campus. The guest house I am in was built in 1904, and is very cute and charming. I worry about mice, but the house cat is always on duty, so I don't worry much.
Stellenbosch is a very old Dutch settlement, the second oldest settlement in the Cape area, dating back to the early 1600s. The down town area has a strict "dress code" for its buildings: all must be whitewashed as they were back in the day. No purple, pink or blue. No red or brown or yellow. Every building is a lovely clean white. The sidewalks are stone or dirt. And most of the people are Afrikaans speaking.
As for the Viola Congress, it has been full of a lovely mix of African and Western European culture. The performance last night of an African work called "The Songs of Madosini" was fabulous! An Afrikaans composer Huyssen collaborated with Madosini Latozi Mpahleni, whose voice is amazing and who also plays the uhadi, the umrhubhe and the isiyolotolo, to create a work that blends string instruments and clarinet with the indigenous instruments of Africa. A young girl, Nosindi Mtiomkulu, narrated the story in a native tongue (subtitled on a screen) blended with English, and the instrumentalists created the musical backdrop to the story. Very cool! I, of course, neglected to bring my camera to the concert, but a friend from New Zealand, Neil, took some pictures...I am going to see if I can get him to send me a couple to put here. So check back to see if I have added pictures.
Stellenbosch is a very old Dutch settlement, the second oldest settlement in the Cape area, dating back to the early 1600s. The down town area has a strict "dress code" for its buildings: all must be whitewashed as they were back in the day. No purple, pink or blue. No red or brown or yellow. Every building is a lovely clean white. The sidewalks are stone or dirt. And most of the people are Afrikaans speaking.
As for the Viola Congress, it has been full of a lovely mix of African and Western European culture. The performance last night of an African work called "The Songs of Madosini" was fabulous! An Afrikaans composer Huyssen collaborated with Madosini Latozi Mpahleni, whose voice is amazing and who also plays the uhadi, the umrhubhe and the isiyolotolo, to create a work that blends string instruments and clarinet with the indigenous instruments of Africa. A young girl, Nosindi Mtiomkulu, narrated the story in a native tongue (subtitled on a screen) blended with English, and the instrumentalists created the musical backdrop to the story. Very cool! I, of course, neglected to bring my camera to the concert, but a friend from New Zealand, Neil, took some pictures...I am going to see if I can get him to send me a couple to put here. So check back to see if I have added pictures.
Saturday, July 18, 2009
It's fabulous!
This blog post is in honor of my sister-in-law Marie Christine, whose birthday is July 21.
In the summer of 1971, Marie Christine came to our house to stay. We were so excited to have a real person from France coming to our house. Mom and Dad were really worried about having a guest from a venerable civilization of decorum and refinement come to our farm almost in the middle of nowhere. They were so worried that Dad put in a new cistern, which was fabulous for all of us, because our old cistern only held one tank of water, and the new one held seven! (So less worry about running out of water.) And Mom bought new glasses, because we couldn't have a guest from France drinking out of plastic! (And that summer we set two records: A) for most spilled drinks and B) for most broken glasses!)
But Christine, as we called her in those days, was just your normal, down-to-earth person; she didn't care about how much water was in the cistern or what the glasses were like. And soon she was just one of the girls, and we all felt like sisters, Christine, Colleen, Arlene and I.
Our cousins Rita and Lori Navratil both got married that summer of 1971. Lori was planning to have a program at her reception, and she asked Arlene and I to sing. Arlene and I often sang for weddings and receptions and other occasions, usually with our cousin Marie. We usually did all our own arrangements of the songs we sang, from sheet music or transcribing from recordings. Since this wedding was on our Hancock side, just Arlene and I were asked to sing. We decided to sing a song that was on a 45 rpm recording that my mom had. The singer was Charlie Gracie, whose voice was kind of Elvis Presley-esque. The song was called "It's Fabulous" and it had been #16 on the Top Forty charts in 1956. (Thank you, Wikipedia!)
And I just bet you want to know how it goes:
I always knew
I was crazy for you,
But how'd I know
You'd thrill me so?
If this is love....(h)it's fabulous!
Your lips close to mine,
I get chills up my spine,
But when they touch
I thrill so much!
If this is love...(h)it's fabulous!
I read in a book
About love and its charms
But I never knew
'Till I held you in my arm! (my arms)
When I hold you tight,
Well, I know, I know I'm right
'Cause only you
Can do what you do!
If this is love...(h)it's fabulous!
It had some interludes for dancing, and some doo-doo-dooing and oh-oh-oh-ohing. Cool fifties stuff, with the cute little hiccup of "h" in front of the "it." And prominent "ch" on "touCH" and "muCH." Oh, yah. Good stuff.
You probably want to hear it, too.
Arlene and I decided (read: Arlene decided and I nodded my head "Yes, dear sister Arlene!") this song would be fabulous as a quartet. That way we could dress two people as guys, and two as girls, and it would make the dance routine in the middle more interesting. We decided that Colleen and Christine should be the other half of our quartet. They protested that they didn't have the stage experience we had, but we insisted they participate. Colleen and Arlene would sing soprano; Christine and I would sing alto. It would be fabulous!
I don't remember what the "girls" were wearing, though I believe dresses and long beads were involved. The "guys" would tie their hair back, wear white pants and red alpaca sweaters, and we borrowed white straw hats with red bands and canes from someone to complete their ensembles.
We choreographed our musical number, complete with twirling canes and hats. It really was fabulous! We sounded good; we looked good.
If you look back at the lyrics, you can see that there is a part where my arms (my arms) is repeated. That repetition was on the Charlie Gracie recording, and Arlene and I really wanted to do that in our rendition. Arlene wanted Christine to do it. You see, while I am a fake alto (as evidence, just listen to my high squeaky speaking voice) Christine is a true alto. She has a gorgeous, sultry, low-pitched voice. And she was playing a guy in our song. So her voice and her demeanor in her costume would make it perfect for the "my arms" repetition. We asked her to do it, but she said she was too shy. She could sing with us, but she just couldn't sing that line by herself.
And that was where it stood. We were doing the song without the "my arms" repetition. It was still fabulous.
So, it is the night of the reception, and we are up on stage, singing and dancing our hearts out, with the audience smiling and enjoying the music. We get to the middle part of the song, and we are belting out, "I read in a book, about love and its charms, but I, I never knew, 'till I held you in my arms!" And our arms are stretched out like they are supposed to be...and over on my right side, Christine steps forward, and in her deepest alto sings out "IN MY ARMS!" I remember being so shocked at hearing that, but Arlene, who was on my left, turned and gaped at Christine, her mouth wide open and her eyes bugging out. And then someone started to giggle nervously, and it might have been Colleen, or it might have been me, but giggles are infectious, so in just seconds, all four of us were standing there giggling. And then laughing so hard we were almost crying.
Remember in "Foul Play" when the Pirates of Penzance ship falls down in the middle of the Mikado, and the audience is just stunned? Well, that was our audience of about three hundred people in the big gym of the Stake Centre in Raymond. They were stunned, just staring at us while we were laughing like idiots on the stage. And then slowly, they all joined in, and we led the audience in a laugh-fest.
But the show must go on! And so we stopped laughing, and resumed our song. And finished it to rousing applause.
So it turned out fine, but I was mystified...how had that happened?
Well...unknown to Colleen and I, Arlene had really, really, really wanted Christine to sing that line, and there was a little private bet going on the side between Arlene and Christine. I am not sure if money was involved, but I do know that some pride was involved. And Arlene just had a way of getting people to do what she wanted them to do... I think she worded the bet so that Christine just felt compelled to do it; she just had to say that line, or lose face. In spite of which, Arlene really didn't think Christine would do it and was totally shocked when she did. Too bad Colleen and I had no idea that this might even be a possibility....maybe if we were half expecting it, we could have controlled our giggles.
But actually, I am glad it happened just the way it did. If we had sung the song perfectly, without a hitch, it would have been just one more performance blending into dozens of other performances. But thanks to Christine and her surprise line, this memory is crystal clear and always makes me smile! As memories go..."it's fabulous!"
This not-so-fabulous picture of Marie Christine and I was taken in August 1974, a few years after our fabulous singing experience. Presently, she is known as Marie, her first name. And she is still a fabulous sister, no matter what we call her!
In the summer of 1971, Marie Christine came to our house to stay. We were so excited to have a real person from France coming to our house. Mom and Dad were really worried about having a guest from a venerable civilization of decorum and refinement come to our farm almost in the middle of nowhere. They were so worried that Dad put in a new cistern, which was fabulous for all of us, because our old cistern only held one tank of water, and the new one held seven! (So less worry about running out of water.) And Mom bought new glasses, because we couldn't have a guest from France drinking out of plastic! (And that summer we set two records: A) for most spilled drinks and B) for most broken glasses!)But Christine, as we called her in those days, was just your normal, down-to-earth person; she didn't care about how much water was in the cistern or what the glasses were like. And soon she was just one of the girls, and we all felt like sisters, Christine, Colleen, Arlene and I.
Our cousins Rita and Lori Navratil both got married that summer of 1971. Lori was planning to have a program at her reception, and she asked Arlene and I to sing. Arlene and I often sang for weddings and receptions and other occasions, usually with our cousin Marie. We usually did all our own arrangements of the songs we sang, from sheet music or transcribing from recordings. Since this wedding was on our Hancock side, just Arlene and I were asked to sing. We decided to sing a song that was on a 45 rpm recording that my mom had. The singer was Charlie Gracie, whose voice was kind of Elvis Presley-esque. The song was called "It's Fabulous" and it had been #16 on the Top Forty charts in 1956. (Thank you, Wikipedia!)
And I just bet you want to know how it goes:
I always knew
I was crazy for you,
But how'd I know
You'd thrill me so?
If this is love....(h)it's fabulous!
Your lips close to mine,
I get chills up my spine,
But when they touch
I thrill so much!
If this is love...(h)it's fabulous!
I read in a book
About love and its charms
But I never knew
'Till I held you in my arm! (my arms)
When I hold you tight,
Well, I know, I know I'm right
'Cause only you
Can do what you do!
If this is love...(h)it's fabulous!
It had some interludes for dancing, and some doo-doo-dooing and oh-oh-oh-ohing. Cool fifties stuff, with the cute little hiccup of "h" in front of the "it." And prominent "ch" on "touCH" and "muCH." Oh, yah. Good stuff.
You probably want to hear it, too.
Arlene and I decided (read: Arlene decided and I nodded my head "Yes, dear sister Arlene!") this song would be fabulous as a quartet. That way we could dress two people as guys, and two as girls, and it would make the dance routine in the middle more interesting. We decided that Colleen and Christine should be the other half of our quartet. They protested that they didn't have the stage experience we had, but we insisted they participate. Colleen and Arlene would sing soprano; Christine and I would sing alto. It would be fabulous!
I don't remember what the "girls" were wearing, though I believe dresses and long beads were involved. The "guys" would tie their hair back, wear white pants and red alpaca sweaters, and we borrowed white straw hats with red bands and canes from someone to complete their ensembles.
We choreographed our musical number, complete with twirling canes and hats. It really was fabulous! We sounded good; we looked good.
If you look back at the lyrics, you can see that there is a part where my arms (my arms) is repeated. That repetition was on the Charlie Gracie recording, and Arlene and I really wanted to do that in our rendition. Arlene wanted Christine to do it. You see, while I am a fake alto (as evidence, just listen to my high squeaky speaking voice) Christine is a true alto. She has a gorgeous, sultry, low-pitched voice. And she was playing a guy in our song. So her voice and her demeanor in her costume would make it perfect for the "my arms" repetition. We asked her to do it, but she said she was too shy. She could sing with us, but she just couldn't sing that line by herself.
And that was where it stood. We were doing the song without the "my arms" repetition. It was still fabulous.
So, it is the night of the reception, and we are up on stage, singing and dancing our hearts out, with the audience smiling and enjoying the music. We get to the middle part of the song, and we are belting out, "I read in a book, about love and its charms, but I, I never knew, 'till I held you in my arms!" And our arms are stretched out like they are supposed to be...and over on my right side, Christine steps forward, and in her deepest alto sings out "IN MY ARMS!" I remember being so shocked at hearing that, but Arlene, who was on my left, turned and gaped at Christine, her mouth wide open and her eyes bugging out. And then someone started to giggle nervously, and it might have been Colleen, or it might have been me, but giggles are infectious, so in just seconds, all four of us were standing there giggling. And then laughing so hard we were almost crying.
Remember in "Foul Play" when the Pirates of Penzance ship falls down in the middle of the Mikado, and the audience is just stunned? Well, that was our audience of about three hundred people in the big gym of the Stake Centre in Raymond. They were stunned, just staring at us while we were laughing like idiots on the stage. And then slowly, they all joined in, and we led the audience in a laugh-fest.
But the show must go on! And so we stopped laughing, and resumed our song. And finished it to rousing applause.
So it turned out fine, but I was mystified...how had that happened?
Well...unknown to Colleen and I, Arlene had really, really, really wanted Christine to sing that line, and there was a little private bet going on the side between Arlene and Christine. I am not sure if money was involved, but I do know that some pride was involved. And Arlene just had a way of getting people to do what she wanted them to do... I think she worded the bet so that Christine just felt compelled to do it; she just had to say that line, or lose face. In spite of which, Arlene really didn't think Christine would do it and was totally shocked when she did. Too bad Colleen and I had no idea that this might even be a possibility....maybe if we were half expecting it, we could have controlled our giggles.
But actually, I am glad it happened just the way it did. If we had sung the song perfectly, without a hitch, it would have been just one more performance blending into dozens of other performances. But thanks to Christine and her surprise line, this memory is crystal clear and always makes me smile! As memories go..."it's fabulous!"
This not-so-fabulous picture of Marie Christine and I was taken in August 1974, a few years after our fabulous singing experience. Presently, she is known as Marie, her first name. And she is still a fabulous sister, no matter what we call her!
Biker Hill
It is a good thing that my kids blog and trigger memories for me. Yesterday David wrote about a funny thing that happened on the hill walking up to campus, and Nancy responded with an incident that happened on the same hill.
And that made me remember something that happened to me on that hill a few years ago. It was probably during Winter semester 1976, I am guessing in late March.
It was Monday evening, and our BYU 100th Branch was having a ward activity on campus. My room-mate Renée and I went, and then we decided to leave a bit early (before the closing prayer--like we had always been warned not to do) and walk home. I don't remember why we were in such a rush; I doubt that we had plans to study, because both of us were goofing off more often than studying that particular semester. But leave we did, and started heading down the long sloping path down the hill on the southwest side of campus, the hill described by my son David as "Rape Hill." But to me, that hill lives in my memory as "Biker Hill."
This path could be very scary, with lots of trees and bushes for bad guys to hide behind. We had always been cautioned not to go home that way alone at night, ever. Our branch would always meet in the library every hour on the hour so that mixed groups of males and females would walk home together. Safety in numbers.
Well ,this night, it was just Renée and I walking down the hill by ourselves. We were happily chatting about the evening and whatever else was on our minds, when we realized that we were being followed by a couple of guys on motorbikes. They were just putt-putting along, staying right with us. We walked faster, they kept up; we slowed our pace, so did they. We thought we were probably just imagining things, because how silly was that for guys on motorbikes to be following us? So we got to one of the sets of stairs leading down from the hill and decided to run down them, because the motorbikes were probably not REALLY following us, and they would probably keep on going down the slope. Of course that is what they would do.
So we ran down those stairs. And we got quite a bit of space between ourselves and the biker dudes, but then they started to go down the stairs, too. On their bikes! We totally did not expect that! We ran really hard. At the bottom of the stairs, just a few houses down, one of Renée's friends lived in a house. She lived on the top level of this three-story house, and you had to go in the back and up some fire-escape-ish stairs to the entrance to the upper apartment. We thought we would be able to go inside her apartment, and if the biker dudes were really following us, we would be safely inside where they couldn't find us.
It was all dark in the yard of the house. And the house was really dark too. We ran up the stairs and pounded on the door, but no one was home. The bikers by then had ridden into the yard, and were circling around below us. We were trapped up there! Luckily, it was really dark, and we cowered breathlessly in a dark corner. They didn't see us, and drove away, but came back two or three more times. They had seen us go into that yard, and they must have thought that we lived there, so had gone inside, or that we were still somewhere in the yard hiding. It was so scary! We cowered in the dark up there on that little tiny dark porch and listened to those bikes riding around in the neighborhood, coming closer, going farther away.
Finally, we decided it was safe to come down off the porch, but we didn't think it was safe to go walking down the street, because we could still hear the bikes riding up and down the street. We ran through the yard and climbed over the fence into the next yard south, and kept on running and climbing over fences until we got to the yard of a house that was facing the next street south. Unlike all the dark, empty-appearing houses whose yards we had been running through, this house was well-lit. So we went and knocked on the back door.
A really nice man opened the door, his wife right behind him. They listened to our story, and invited us in. We talked together for awhile, and then the man walked us home to our apartment, which was only about a block away. We didn't see any bikers and we got home safe and sound, but definitely spooked. That was one of the scariest things that has ever happened to me.
Here is a picture of Renée now--she doesn't look any different than she looked 33 years ago!
And that made me remember something that happened to me on that hill a few years ago. It was probably during Winter semester 1976, I am guessing in late March.
It was Monday evening, and our BYU 100th Branch was having a ward activity on campus. My room-mate Renée and I went, and then we decided to leave a bit early (before the closing prayer--like we had always been warned not to do) and walk home. I don't remember why we were in such a rush; I doubt that we had plans to study, because both of us were goofing off more often than studying that particular semester. But leave we did, and started heading down the long sloping path down the hill on the southwest side of campus, the hill described by my son David as "Rape Hill." But to me, that hill lives in my memory as "Biker Hill."
This path could be very scary, with lots of trees and bushes for bad guys to hide behind. We had always been cautioned not to go home that way alone at night, ever. Our branch would always meet in the library every hour on the hour so that mixed groups of males and females would walk home together. Safety in numbers.
Well ,this night, it was just Renée and I walking down the hill by ourselves. We were happily chatting about the evening and whatever else was on our minds, when we realized that we were being followed by a couple of guys on motorbikes. They were just putt-putting along, staying right with us. We walked faster, they kept up; we slowed our pace, so did they. We thought we were probably just imagining things, because how silly was that for guys on motorbikes to be following us? So we got to one of the sets of stairs leading down from the hill and decided to run down them, because the motorbikes were probably not REALLY following us, and they would probably keep on going down the slope. Of course that is what they would do.
So we ran down those stairs. And we got quite a bit of space between ourselves and the biker dudes, but then they started to go down the stairs, too. On their bikes! We totally did not expect that! We ran really hard. At the bottom of the stairs, just a few houses down, one of Renée's friends lived in a house. She lived on the top level of this three-story house, and you had to go in the back and up some fire-escape-ish stairs to the entrance to the upper apartment. We thought we would be able to go inside her apartment, and if the biker dudes were really following us, we would be safely inside where they couldn't find us.
It was all dark in the yard of the house. And the house was really dark too. We ran up the stairs and pounded on the door, but no one was home. The bikers by then had ridden into the yard, and were circling around below us. We were trapped up there! Luckily, it was really dark, and we cowered breathlessly in a dark corner. They didn't see us, and drove away, but came back two or three more times. They had seen us go into that yard, and they must have thought that we lived there, so had gone inside, or that we were still somewhere in the yard hiding. It was so scary! We cowered in the dark up there on that little tiny dark porch and listened to those bikes riding around in the neighborhood, coming closer, going farther away.
Finally, we decided it was safe to come down off the porch, but we didn't think it was safe to go walking down the street, because we could still hear the bikes riding up and down the street. We ran through the yard and climbed over the fence into the next yard south, and kept on running and climbing over fences until we got to the yard of a house that was facing the next street south. Unlike all the dark, empty-appearing houses whose yards we had been running through, this house was well-lit. So we went and knocked on the back door.
A really nice man opened the door, his wife right behind him. They listened to our story, and invited us in. We talked together for awhile, and then the man walked us home to our apartment, which was only about a block away. We didn't see any bikers and we got home safe and sound, but definitely spooked. That was one of the scariest things that has ever happened to me.
Here is a picture of Renée now--she doesn't look any different than she looked 33 years ago!
Monday, July 13, 2009
White Creek and Cotton Worms
Yesterday, Bruce and I drove his parents to the viewing for an old friend, Faye Stephens, who was 91 at the time of her passing. We found ourselves driving to Sandy from West Jordan through a serpentine course of orange road markers, and as we wove our way across the valley, we had a pleasant conversation about times past. Here is a picture of Evon in younger days:
Somehow we found ourselves back in time almost exactly 69 years, at Grandma Evon Layton's baptism. She was baptized during her branch's 24th of July celebration in 1940. They were celebrating the success of the pioneer trail by holding a catfish fry on the banks of White Creek. All the children were happily going into the water to play, but Evon had to wait because the missionaries were coming to baptize her. In that time of no cell phones, anything could happen and you wouldn't know about it; so you just had to wait. So they waited for the missionaries, and it seemed they were so long in coming that they must not be coming, so Evon's mother told her she could go ahead and play in the water. Just when she was well into having fun and forgetting all about the solemn ordinance she was supposed to be participating in...the missionaries finally came. And she was baptized right there in White Creek while the catfish were frying.
(This picture is not White Creek, it is Hammock Creek near Quincy, Florida, and I imagine the vegetation would have been somewhat similar around White Creek.)A year later, in 1941, when Evon was nine years old, her father was killed due to a car accident caused by a drunk driver. Wait, he WAS the drunk driver. He lived about twelve hours after the accident, then passed on, leaving a wife and five children ages 7 to 16. Evon's dad had not been the best provider, struggling with a drinking problem, but he had tried to be a provider...and now he was gone. What was the family to do? Evon's mother, Gladys, had a cotton farming brother in Georgia who decided that his sister's family could come and live in his cotton-worker's lodging, which was really just a shack. Evon's cousin drove out to Florida from Georgia and loaded the family and their belongings up for the trip to Georgia. When they got there, the shack was a disheartening sight, and worse, all over the ground there were cotton worms. 
Cotton worms are really caterpillars, and the sight of them covering the ground would not be pleasant, nor would trying to walk through them be any fun! Especially if you have an aversion to worms, as Evon does! Evon's cousin looked at the house, and the worms, and his aunt and cousins, and decided he could not leave them there, but instead loaded them back into the truck and took them back to Florida. Soon after, Evon's oldest brother Leonard took a job as driver for some cousins in Quincy, so the family moved from the tiny settlement of Hosford and had their first taste of city life in Quincy.
Cotton worms are really caterpillars, and the sight of them covering the ground would not be pleasant, nor would trying to walk through them be any fun! Especially if you have an aversion to worms, as Evon does! Evon's cousin looked at the house, and the worms, and his aunt and cousins, and decided he could not leave them there, but instead loaded them back into the truck and took them back to Florida. Soon after, Evon's oldest brother Leonard took a job as driver for some cousins in Quincy, so the family moved from the tiny settlement of Hosford and had their first taste of city life in Quincy.
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