We're Off To See The Wizard

"It just needs to be beautiful."

These were some of the words of wisdom Ian Partridge spoke today during his master class with University of York students at the National Centre for Early Music 'English Song Day.' They're such singer's words, and when he said them I sort of laughed to myself because they suggest such a simple task, and yet most of my life thus far has been spent trying to do just that - to create something beautiful, to be beautiful, to have a beautiful spirit in a world that is ugly in far too many ways. Maybe that's why I enjoyed coaching with him so much. That, and the fact that I was entirely humbled to be standing next to and sometimes singing with one of the finest tenors that has ever lived, with probably the most honey-smoothe, warm voice I've ever heard, even now when he is in self-enforced retirement from performing. The first question Ian asked me today after I sang Samuel Barber's 'Crucifixion' was, "what is the one thing that makes Barber's writing so special?" I immediately started racking my brain, trying to recall every impressive bit of Barber trivia I have up my sleeve, but I had nothing to answer this question simply. "I don't know..." I finally said, because, in truth, I was coming up with too many reasons in my head. But, as already explained, Ian talks singer speech. Everything was sort of simplified and direct, without much frill - very un-British actually, at least when he wasn't telling incredible life stories. So he answered his own question, without hesitation, as if he'd hoped I wouldn't be able to answer, "it's that he was a singer himself. He understood the voice and knew how to write for it," and I finished his sentence, "and how to create a relationship between the voice and piano." That's when we started making music together. I felt warm, eager, ready to try anything he threw at me. The warmth was a good sign, because when I get nervous I always go cold. He told me later that he thought I seemed nervous, but if I came off that way I didn't mean to, and I definitely didn't feel it at all; I was just giddy with excitement and awe, to be sharing that moment in time with someone I've admired for so much of my life. I can't describe what it's like getting to stand next to someone truly great. I am probably the luckiest girl in the world because I've been able to experience this many times now, and even in my daily life when I look at the professors around me, or the people/performing gods I get to keep in contact with on facebook and call 'friends' even though they will always be my heroes. It's such an unremarkable word - great - but it means so much, and he was it in that way that the people who change lives are, the way the best artists are, the way I want to be one day. Weak? Too honest? Maybe. But it's my truth, and it struck me today how happily swept up in this world I am. I may never be one of the 'greats', but I don't think I can stop at least trying now, and I don't think I can turn my back on the blessings that keep coming my way. I was so ready to find something new in this simply profound masterpiece of Barber's that I've come to love, and to love to sing since I first learned it almost five years ago, and I think we did manage to unlock some unexplored magic today. 

Ok, so why my Wizard of Oz reference in the title of this post? The last thing Ian Partridge said to me during my coaching was "I want you to have courage. Take risks. The beauty in performing is that there is no need to sing something exactly the same way twice. We get to try things out, tell stories, do things differently every time...Now you just need to find the courage to do it." I was completely overcome, and it hit me: there's no more room to be a cowardly lioness. I made the biggest decision of my life moving over here, leaving everything/one behind. I knew that it was worth it today. And I felt in that moment like I was being given permission for the first time ever to completely let go, submit, and love the music I love, and use my voice - not some closed-minded voice faculty's projection of what my voice should be. In a sense Ian was giving me permission to be a singer, so that from now on I can try to just "make it beautiful". There are plenty of days when I want to click my heals three times and be back in the comfort of home, but Toto, we're not in America any more. 

So I'm Told

 I'm told it is best to write what you know,

waving a sparkler in warm summer air,

telling stories to fireflies blinking by.

And while I sometimes wish it was love I could weave 

in silver streams of smoke and flickering light,

it turns out, when I spell it in the sky, 

that what I know is music.

And if I know love at all

it is only because you give me reason to sing.

Tickle-Me-Pink

Acadia. Summer, 2010

My life is a crayon box of tastes, touches, smells, sounds. It's not just the original colors, either. It's the deluxe box- Mac & Cheese, Tickle-Me-Pink, Plum, Tumbleweed, Robin's Egg Blue...they're all there too. I can smell sea salt a hundred miles from the shore; I can taste it the closer I get to home. I grew up on lakes; I didn't even grow up on the ocean, but it was close enough, and I grew older with it. Ah, summertime...Sea salt means so much. I was the little girl watching them make taffy through the window of the candy shop, tucked away in its perfectly secret corner of that tiny town. I never liked taffy much, but I liked to watch them make it whenever we visited Boothbay Harbor. I'd stare at it pulling-rolling and rolling, silky, beautiful, dishonest, with my thumb resting in its permanent place in my 5-year old, 6-year old, 8-year old mouth. The college girl home working for the summer would peer out at my shy eyes from behind the counter inside to make me feel sweeter than candy.

Some of the best days in my whole world happened with the people in this picture.

Hiking near my house, on a surprise visit in June.

Ok, so I'm feeling a little bit nostalgic for the summertimes of my life. I've had such great summers...I grew up in 'Vacationland' for goodness sakes. The camping, and the hiking, and the swimming, and the antiquing, and the tubing and the boating, and the dressing up like faeries and doing photo shoots...meeting up with lifelong friends at Lyzie's house and riding jet skis across the lake to go pick up more friends on the other side...SUCH a good place to grow up. I hadn't spent an entire summer in Maine since I left for college, until this summer, but every year was different and exciting. Being at my last Spoleto in Charleston this summer was close to perfect, but sophomore year of college was probably my favorite. I stayed in Princeton and that's when 'wine and cheese parties' were born. That was the summer I really experienced the Jersey Shore for the first time, and I fell in love with it. It was also the summer I realized just how much wine was too much wine, found a best friend in Paige, got lost in lightning storms and climbed on scaffolding on top of Riverside Church with Mike, jumped on Dr. Bartle when he gave me an 'A' in Contemporary Trends...such a good couple of months. And I'm pretty sure I still made it home at some point for time with my Bekah, and the annual end-of-August, midnight lake swim with my Joey, too.

Playing dress up at Bethy's. Yep, in high school : )

I think my mind is fixed on these things right now because I'm trying to remember what it was like before there was anything to remember. I used to really understand what it meant to hold on to moments without caring what came next, trusting that everything would fall into place according to some Divine plan far beyond the limits of my own imagining. I want to find that kind of serenity again. And I think I've chosen a wonderful part of the world to do that. York is not entirely one season or another right now. [sort of how I feel, in case the metaphor didn't stick] It isn't really winter here any more, but it's not yet spring. The snow and ice passed through like tourists, and left me behind to realize 'wow- I live in England now'. Everything's melted and the grass and strange moss on the trees are lime green. Seriously, bright, lime green. My eyes aren't playing tricks. It's not quite cold...colder than Fall, but not as cold as winter should be. This, while back home everyone is happily digging out, snow day after snow day. (I tend to go noncommittally back and forth between wishing I could have more time with winter, and aching for summer) And I find myself asking why can't I just stop wishing and dreaming long enough to savor and enjoy the way everything is right here and now? This is my next step, beginninnnggggg...now. Not that being goal-oriented and driven is a bad thing, but I think it can get in the way sometimes, or at least can overwhelm the wonderful things that are happening every minute of the day. My first Masters recital is a week from today, and the task for the week is to soak in every new experience that comes my way, every new rhythmic possibility I discover in the chants, every precious moment I have singing with a Renaissance lute and a Medieval vielle. And I refuse to worry about my looming PhD application. At most, I'm leaving that one to prayer for the week, while I enjoy submitting to the life of a performer for a few glorious days. I'm adding to my crayon box every day, and this time instead of colors, its filling up with colours.

i. was. lost. and. im. still. lost. but. i. feel. so. much. better. 

Sometimes

Sometimes it's perfect being the only one awake

to hear hushed murmuring memories,

playing like music, melodious in honeyed air,

plucking streams of cobweb strings

while I kiss the wind with all that's left

of the breath you didn't take from me yet.

Sometimes when that same sung breeze reaches my cheek,

I stop fighting my feet, and let them take me somewhere,

'til tears drip down my eyelashes like rain,

and I start to feel better,

finding there is something so deliciously sweet

about loving you on a night like this night.

[I watched this video by one of my favorite comedic teams, Garfunkel and Oates, and it put me in the mood for metaphor: Garfunkel and Oates ]

Chant and...Football?

I love early music. But I also love football, almost as much as I love watching professional soccer. This is one of those things that most people probably don't know about me, but it's very much real. Some of my happiest memories of growing up happened at high school football games, walking around the track that circled our home field with childhood friends, listening to the band play in the stands, eventually playing and cheering with them years later, wandering around cracking jokes about the boys in their silly tight pants. Last night my Facebook news feed was frantic with status updates from friends on both sides of a big Jets vs. New England Patriots game. Being from the utmost Northeast of America, all of my friends at home are fanatic Pats (and Red Sox) fans. Having spent four of the best years of my collegiate life in the Metropolitan area, most of my college friends are as fanatic about the Jets as my friends at home are about the Pats. Over the course of the last 5 years or so I have seen my allegiance to Mass-based teams dwindle, although traces remain. Either way, last night I watched two teams, both of whom I've at one time or another claimed to support, while I was editing some Medieval chant for my Masters thesis. During commercial breaks from my live online feed of the game I got a little distracted, and this is what happened...

They won. I think this is why.
: )

For Better Or For Worse

You're right. I am wild with life.
And I will keep burning, seeping, spilling,

knowing it might make you afraid

to fall so far the ground might even tremble-you
couldn't have that. And it's why you won't have

me. For the part of my life that matters

you have been the silence

screaming louder than my ticking

clock. If you'd only let yourself look you

would have found me looking back 

from behind a gossamer veil, 

woven with flecks of gold, asking you to follow,
beckoning you to come with the bend

of a finger and a smile that's always been 

ownerless, belonging to you. But if you ask me tomorrow,

if you finally see my wild eyes and don't look away for fear

of where they might take you, I'll have to swear it's all

forgotten. There is a too-late 

vow I'm taking today,

that you are not my whole wide world.

From this day forward you are only part

of it, for better or for worse.

Twelfth Night & Epiphany

The last day of Christmas is upon us, and once that happens I can finally admit and even welcome the new year. The last 12 months have been pretty incredible-it's easy to forget how much happens in just 365 days, but recently I'm finding myself thinking almost as much about the past as I am about the next year ahead. So much has happened...2010 was a year of healing, of remembering that I am passionate, remembering that I am a child of God, re-learning how to be that again like a newborn taking her first steps. I heard vibrato in my voice for the first time, I felt deeply, truly happy again, I learned that there are many different definitions of love in this crazy world. I've even learned to appreciate and value these differing definitions, all the while coming to understand and appreciate my own even more. In just one year I've graduated college, put on my senior recital, toured California with Westminster Choir,  sang at Spoleto for my last time as part of the Westminster community, been accepted into multiple exemplary graduate programs for early music, I sold my first car, packed most of my possessions away, and have embarked on the biggest adventure of my life thus far, fulfilling my lifelong dream of moving to England. 

Epiphany Times Three by Kathrin Burleson  [kathrinburleson.com]

And now here we are at the beginning of 2011...I have three graduate recitals to put on, and if all goes well then I will have my Masters degree in nine months. It's time to nurture this baby, and what better day to make this claim than Epiphany? The word literally means "to reveal." Today is a day to remember the arrival of the Magi, to reflect on their revelation that Christ was the new King. Long before He became what He was destined to be, this tiny baby was just lying there, but these Kings knew what He would one day be for the world.  And I'm left wondering what is my own epiphany for this year then? I think I know the answer. I spent the coming of the New Year with some of my most cherished friends, and as we caught up on the months that have passed since we last saw each other there seemed to be a theme of uncertainty amongst us all-each of us seemingly wondering what's next? But as I looked around I also found myself in the midst of amazing human beings on exciting paths...these friends I'm so blessed to call mine are unbelievably gifted musicians with beautiful spirits, and despite our increasing need to take naps in order to stay up late, we have so much life and energy. We find each other from all over the world, we climb snow-packed mountains together, and we dance even though we don't know how. I was afraid that it would be hard to go back to England after coming home, but I am so inspired right now, and I'm so ready to get back and take on the rest of my time in York. I sat late one night in New York City, looking across a table at one of the most amazing people in my life and I thought how awesome it is that he is pushing ahead and living a life uncharacteristically out of the limelight right now, while I believe with all of my being that he is destined for great things ahead. Not that I left behind gifts of frankincense or myrrh at his feet, but it's so wonderful to believe in something/someone and know it's real before it comes wholly to fruition, and I am so blessed to have that in my life, to be able to be a part of and watch these things play out for the people I love over the course of years. I am living in a small city in the north of England, but I'm starting to feel the stirring again of what's to come, and I can not wait to be swept up in whatever's next. God may be saying "not yet, Nia" but there is definitely something wonderful brewing. I can really feel life starting to take root and happen, for the ones I love and for myself...I wonder what this year will reveal, what I'm going to become...whatever it is, it had better be great.

For Sylvia Biggins

My best friend's grandmother passed away just before Christmas and her funeral is in Washington, DC today. I can't be physically there to celebrate her life, but, as ever, I'm with Kevin and his family in spirit, and I'm thinking of little else today. I met Sylvia only briefly, but in that time I got to see what a light she was in this world. I got to hear her laugh, and feel her hugs, and know the depth of her love through them. She loved me because I loved her grandson, and I will never forget the smile in her eyes when I met her. Kevin asked me to write something for the program when she first passed away, and this wrote itself down. I felt more like a vessel than I've ever felt before-I truly believe this is as much by as it is for a beautiful woman I was blessed to know.

When time, at last, takes me away,
I ask you and I pray:
Sing me to eternity,
and dance from night 'til day.

When dim, dear ones, seems lantern light,
think of my smile bright,
And I will light the way for you,
from everlasting flight.

My grandson, church, my family,
the world could not keep me,
but wrapped up in my Father's arms,
I'm waiting happily.

Where I have gone there is no pain,
nor is there even rain,
so smile and know the day will come
we'll be together again.

When tomorrow comes and I can not call
to laugh at things funny and small,
remember that I am now with Him
and We will catch your every fall.

When days feel long and quiet seem,
search the sky for beams-
I am the light in winter white
and will Forever be.

Thank you for being a light in my life, Sylvia Biggins. Thank you for helping to raise my best friend, making him the extraordinary man he is.  You brought unbelievable joy to my life without even knowing. That is a memory I will keep forever. Until we meet again x

First Poem in the New Year

[Reflection in a stream-Nia Rhein]


One day when I was very small

I walked along a stream

and saw beneath the water there

a face looked up at me.

I saw her eyes and wondered why

so sad they seemed to be

but tears were only ripples, lost,

then drowned in water deep

Home For The Holidays

I LOVE Christmas. 

I am hopelessly, faithfully, desperately, wonderfully devoted and in love with Christmastime. I understand why so many people find this time of year depressing, but I never get hit with clouds of sun-deprived despair until after my 12 days of Christmas have come and gone. In York, the Christmas decorations were already up when I arrived here...on the 6th of October. There were plenty of somewhat harvesty decorations, and even more rows of Halloween decor and costumes, but these items were merely nestled in between and dwarfed by already glittering aisles of Christmas. Since Halloween the city has been enveloped in holiday cheer. As I walked around city centre today doing my last-minute gift shopping I felt like I was swept up in the live-action Grinch film with Jim Carey. If people had been dressed in more elaborate, colo[u]rful dress and had somehow sprouted funny noses and hair-do's I might well have believed I was in Who-Ville. The north of England, where I am living, claims that it doesn't get much snow on a typical year, but this month has been a-typical, and there has been quite a lot of snow-so much, in fact, that some major transportation authorities in the region have resigned. The snow and ice are only just melting, in time for Christmas, and the city, until now, has been a winter wonderland these last few weeks. It's been lovely. The cracks of the cobblestone streets were filled in with ice, which was treacherous to walk on but magnificent to look at. I, however, came prepared with L.L.Bean winter boots, so while lots of crazy girls were slipping and sliding in rain boots or (more commonly) stilettos, I was embracing my inner Maine-iac self and taking warm, confident steps.  I've been asked quite a bit lately why I've chosen to go home this vacation, rather than stay in the UK to experience what Christmas is like over here. The rest of this entry will hopefully answer why I'm going 'home for the holidays.' The Maine Christmas Song...

My house in Maine last Christmas. Yes, those are icicles.

The animals snuggling in front of the fireplace. It's my favorite place in my house too.

Out snowshoeing in the woods behind my house

Happy at Home

The cousins with Nana and Poppop

Christmas in my family means 13 of us finding our way to my Nana and Poppop's in Long Island. Cousins, Siblings, Aunts, Uncles, Grandparents, (these days significant others), all find our way home for Christmas from wherever we happen to be around the world. For me, the days leading up to Christmas have always been built excitedly around the long drive from Maine to New York. While everyone sleeps in the car, my Dad and I stay up talking and singing together, and it's been this way since I was born I think. Since the advent of the Ipod I've taken on the role of keeping the music going most of the time, but 'Christmas With Delilah' is always on call, and we have fun tracing her from station to station as we travel further south. Annual highlights of the drive include passing by a gigantic cockroach statue(?) in Rhode Island, who, at Christmas, is given a huge red nose and antlers to wear by the extermination company he represents. We also stop in Mystic, Connecticut, most years, just before we board the Cross Sound Ferry.

On the Cross Sound Ferry

It's one of my favorite places in the whole world, and it's one of the most magical places I've ever been when it's sparkling with lights. We make quick stops at Munson's candy shop where my brother used to always get a fresh, chocolate dipped banana and I would get peanut brittle or pistachio fudge. In more recent years my sister seems to get decadent truffles or chocolate "crayons." My Dad usually rushes us along so that we won't miss our boat, but my mom always comes through, taking my hand, running

Gazebo In Mystic, Connecticut

with me past the beautiful log shops, classic church, and duck-filled pond, over to the Scandinavian store-it's been my favorite store in Mystic since the source of the better part of my 300+ angel collection closed down a few years ago after a lifetime of visits and last-minute Christmas purchases. Leaving Mystic we drive on to the ferry and ride across the Long Island Sound, my dad snoring away while we eat grilled cheese sandwiches, play board games and arcade games, read magazines, etc...Then, when the time comes, we walk out into the cold, coastal air, and the sea salt means we're almost home. The last two hours of the trip are always my sleepiest. I think I sleep through them simply because I've learned how wonderful it is to wake up to the feeling of the car slowing down and pulling in to my Nana and Poppop's development. When we walk inside my Poppop will hold me while long minutes pass. He gives the greatest hugs in all the world. My mom told me that when she first went home to meet my Dad's family, before they had even said a single word to each other, my Poppop took her in his arms and just held her for seemingly hours, and she cried feeling so cherished. I live for those hugs and mushy kisses. They're like the kisses in old, black and white movies. They feel classic and entirely full of love. My nana gets tinier and tiner by the visit, and as warm as my Poppop's hugs are, I feel like I'm holding onto a delicate china doll when I cuddle into the sweater-wrapped hugs of her, her soft hands cupping my face while I look into her beautiful teary eyes. We have the same eyes, my Nana and I, and we are kindred spirits in a way that I can't possibly explain.

Nana, JoJo

Getting my license, moving to Jersey, and being able to sneak her out in the middle of the night for midnight cheesecake and tea at assorted diners has defined our relationship for the last few amazing years. Christmas Eve is the most special night of all for me. I could even go without ever opening the presents the next day if I could keep the traditions our family has always had. My Mom cooks an unbelievable meal while all of us get dressed up for church, so by the time we get home it's all ready and waiting. But first we head to Ascension Lutheran for the Christmas Eve candlelight service, and I get my fill of vestments and stunning music. When all of us cousins were young we could fit on one pew, but as the family's grown now we take up nearly two. We still act like kids though, sneaking messages to each other throughout the service, trying to make our parents laugh. All of this until the lights go down and the candlelighting begins. That's when the congregation sings Silent Night, when my Poppop kisses my Nana's forehead while she leans on his shoulder and cries for the beauty of all. It's also when we giggle at my amazing Aunt RaRa who cries at everything because she looks at all of us and feels so happy. And I listen to my mom's beautiful voice, and I listen to my Dad improvising far more beautiful harmonies than the ones that are written, and I just sigh because in that moment life is so perfect. There have also been those years when my brother accidentally lights my sister's hair on fire while passing the candle...but he got the flame out quick so all was well. Interestingly enough he's also lit my hair on fire in the past, during the ice storm of '98 actually. Once we pile back into the car we carol sing our way back to the house where we eat tons and tons of delicious food. Once the meal is over and cleaned up and Nat King Cole's Christmas cd has come to an end, everyone runs around the house putting out presents. It's incredible, and so much fun. My pile always goes under the organ...it's been that way since I was born. Coincidence? I think not. When the piles are out, everyone else bundles up, gives hugs and kisses goodbye, and heads home, but my family stays. That's when Mom brings out the Christmas jammies. If you are amongst the body of friends who have lived with me you may have noticed that nearly all of my pajamas are Christmas-themed. This is largely due to the fact that I've been collecting Christmas jammies every year of my entire life, and I love them! As soon as we're comfy in new pj's and looking especially ready for Santa to arrive my sister and I sprinkle reindeer food on the lawn (for those wondering...this is a lovely blend of glitter and oatmeal) and put out a plate of cookies for a certain giant elf, and carrots for Rudolf, Vixen, and the others. Then it's off to sleep, or rather, hours of giggling and pretending until we believe that we hear hooves on the roof. In the morning when we wake up, always ridiculously early, we run into the living room and dive into our piles, and my Mom at some point sneaks away into the kitchen to make a delicious breakfast for the whole family, filling up the house with yummy smells that mix in a magical way with the smell of wrapping paper and scotch tape. Naps are my favorite annual activity on Christmas day. I am a huge fan of taking naps, but I inevitably have the deepest, most fulfilling sleeps on this particular day of the year, in this particular place, surrounded by these particular people who make up the loud, crazy, hilarious, affectionate family I'm blessed to call mine. Since you asked, that is why I'm going home for the holidays, and that is why I am so happy, right here, right now.

Another time-honored tradition is the trip I take every year into NYC with my little sister. We go in and do every quintessential Christmas thing we can find to do in the city-Rockefeller Center, Macy's windows, FAO Schwartz, you name it and we're there. This year will bring a special trip to one of our all-time favorite spots in the city-Alice's Tea Cup