I miss you...

I'm not often lost for words. And it's not that I am now, but I'm trying to turn some awfully swirly thoughts into a clear post.
Let's start here: Today, I rocked an audition. I rocked it so hard.
Remember I mentioned my Grandma was a singer? She died before I was born. Throughout the years, every time I've come across someone who knew her, they only have the most wonderful, magical things to say about her. It seems she lit up a room brighter than anyone and touched everyone she met.
One day my senior year at NU, I brought in her copy of "My Funny Valentine" to Music Theatre class. It must have been from the 50's or 60's, a little browned, with her original markings in it. I set it down on the piano for Patrick (who had been accompanying these classes and my lessons on and off for two years) to play. He handled it like I imagine an Archeologist would handle a fossil. I think he told me I shouldn't have even brought the original in, but it was still cool. Anyway, I mentioned it was my grandma's, that she had been a singer around Chicago. He asked her name.
"Phyllis Spellman," I said. "But her stage name was Phyllis Parker."
He gasped.
"Phyllis Parker was your grandmother?!" I had stirred the soft spoken right out of him.
In the day of the big bands in ballrooms, I guess they all knew each other. Plus, I think Patrick and my grandma worked on a TV show together, too.
Ever since then, when I see Patrick at an audition, I treasure that for that 30 seconds, I'm performing with someone who knew my grandma, who respected her, and who lived through the things she did. (Of course, I've been doing this with my mom my whole life, but not at an audition, you know?)
So today, I get to my audition, I walk in, and (I've already ruined my punchline, but...) I see that the accompanist listed for the day is Patrick. There's a little tug on my heartstrings.
I greet a friend I haven't seen in far too long. A few minutes later, it's goodbye again, with a hug and three words whispered in my ear that give another bigger tug.
I think about the song I'm about to sing. It's about a pianist, but I've been thinking all week that it's actually a great description of what it feels like for me to sing. Tapping into that passion and emotion has already come easily. But on audition day, I, more often than not, fall victim to some amount of nerves that either leaves me feeling like I wasn't absolutely, completely in the moment, or I under or over sang just a little bit. Yes I'm hard on myself, but I know my 100%, and I don't often hit it when I get in the audition room. I know that's my job and all, but you all know I've been on this mission to be back to my old self, not me at 85% or even 90%.
So there I was, with this perfect material, this screaming heart, and a very warm welcome when I walked into the room.
Patrick and I were so, so in synch, building the song together as if we'd rehearsed it. It was effortless. And beautiful. And I was completely there, soul and voice.
I've said this before--I love the way it physically feels to sing. And I love to sing emotion--I've always felt the music along with the text. Today, I let myself go and do exactly what I love to do. No stifling of any sort. Just me, as I should/can be every time, pouring out... everything. And it wasn't just an audition win--I was able to enjoy the ride... so, so much.
Patrick told me after that I brightened his day, and when he told me I was great, he had that look in his face that meant it was more than a courtesy compliment. I really nailed it...

There are two reasons we don't get hired: 1) The audition wasn't great. 2) We just weren't right for the job (or someone else was more right).
Job or no job, this time I know I did everything I could. That's a pretty great feeling. And I am going to carry that feeling to the next one and as many more as I possibly can. Confidence goes a long way, and what I did today leaves me both hungry for more and very, very satisfied.
So... who wants to come tug at my heart next week? Actually, never mind. I think I've got it.

Ode to my audition book...

My music sleeps in a white binder that is falling apart.
I've had it for years. It's been carried through Chicago and New York and Chicago again.
The front cover is one of those where you can insert a page or a picture. Mine holds the photo and resume of my mom's mom and a picture of my parents so that I have my musical genetics with me at all times (I keep meaning to put something of my grandfather's in there). The back cover has this Queen Victoria cartoon my mom gave me one day, and there's an old guest pass from when Equity was in the CPS building that I think has become permanently attached.
Songs have come and gone, but I've stuffed more and more pages into that book... and I've noticed a few times that it's showing its age. But until just now, sitting here thinking about replacing it, I never realized how much it means to me that it's been with me through my whole post-college (maybe even some of college?) life. Take an already sentimental person, and hand them an object that's literally been in their arms through so many emotional peaks. Toss in a little stage superstition, too. And I'm suddenly thinking of space age duct tape and a book that wears its battle wounds rather than facing the black hole of a garbage chute.
It's funny sometimes how the casual thought of replacing something can bring on a flood of memories and attachment and an entire blog entry. But I think maybe some of you out there can understand how between those two flaps of plastic, I've built the library of songs that make up my life. I think a little part of me lives in that library, too, and I don't think I'm quite ready to relocate just yet.

The end of fatty vacationitis...

I haven't written in a while.
Why?
Because I've been doing things. Things like reading and researching and singing and auditioning and working out and writing and actually completing songs. So instead of stopping to write about what I've been up to, I've gotten up to something else. It's been great and busy, and there have been twists and turns both personal and professional. And maybe I'll delve into those later. What I will say is that I've been very busy. And my calendar tells me that's going to continue.
My life right now is at a point that can best be compared to cleaning out an office. First, it looks like a paper explosion, piles everywhere... And then, items find and take their places, and it's all in line again, a working machine. I've been doing so much, and I have a lot of projects in the air without much product to show for it yet. So when asked what's new, all I can say is that I've been doing a lot. And something will be new soon.
And you know what? I'm proud of myself.

Anyway, I've started some big things, but I find it's the little everyday stories I always wish I wrote down. So I'm here tonight to do that.
Oh, the fatty vacationitis thing? That's what I'm calling the phase between surgery and when I was able to get back to business. 

So, the everyday things:
First of all, I need to add an addendum to my last post. Part of the reason I thought to write about my days as a Lyric kid again is because sitting at Ravinia, trying to articulate my feelings to my friends, I had a realization. No matter how perfect my descriptions, there are only a handful of people who actually know what I'm talking about from experience, and I think the only one I'm still in touch with is my sister. There's no facebook group for Lyric alums, so JPL's the only one I can talk to about it. She's wonderful and all. It just got me thinking about the importance of having people around who can truly relate to your life. I have more 9-5er friends than I do performer friends. Close friends, I mean. I know all my 9-5ers are there for me, though sometimes I can't imagine they truly get it. Then sometimes I think they do. And sometimes I think it doesn't matter either way. But sometimes I feel that desire to tell someone something like, "it was just like Lyric," and know they can understand, know that we've had a shared experience as well as a shared appreciation of each other.

Shoot. There's so much more to write, but I had to take a break to walk the pup. Now my eyelids are getting heavy. I'll leave you with a story and continue the update tomorrow.
A few days ago, I was walking Blitz. We came upon a lady with her little dog. The boys sniffed each other in a very common dog greeting. The odd part came from the human. Without having ever seen me before, before even sharing her name, this lady began thus:
"I was just reading about the Shepherd who got decapitated. (Continuation of gruesome story of a few people torturing dogs around the city.) And one of the guys was already wanted on another count. All these people are against gun control, but if we all had guns, we could just shoot people like that. And Quinn's against the death penalty. Someone's gonna shoot him. We're already living with socialism with Obama."
After a moment of silence, I believe I uttered something to the effect of, "Well, alright, bye."
In the middle of Chicago, having never met me... that rant... I just don't understand people sometimes.
I made it about half a block before realizing what I should have done was turn to Blitz and say, "Come on Barack." Next time...