#A-TO-Z-CHALLENGE THEME REVEAL KIND OF

Well... shit. Here I was going along, having survived stupid mopes invading my home. Beating up two muggers, getting past essential tremors and burying a companion who was one of the best people I ever knew. I had generally just stopped writing, because my viola playing had more or less taken off again, and I was getting to play challenging things in orchestras like the Tampa Bay Symphony. I was also getting out and about again; I'd recently become an Inspector for the Clerk of Elections of Hillsborough County and was working all of the General, Primary and Special elections, when one of my online viola students, whom I'd been teaching for several years, thought we'd make a pretty good team in life together. I wasn't averse to this idea; I'm not someone who wants to spend the rest of my life alone, but I'm not looking for just any old body either; we share much of the same outlooks and values and have the same quirky sense of humor. Since irl match-ups have been so horrible, I thought this might worth a shot.

"Wolf" was the unwitting matchmaker

Since we were very familiar with one another and talked several times a week, I thought “why the hell not”; I packed up my computers and my viola, “Wolf” and headed to South Carolina, to live with a man, I'd never met irl. Being legally blind, I was having trouble getting rides to the TBSO, and fed up with all of that, I quit. My newly-minted fiancé assured me that all the rides I ever could need would be provided happily and he's been great with that. We set up house in the country, filled it full of cats, with a dog for security and three birds, just for the hell of it. We run a sort of half-assed cat rescue for tuxedos, in memory of my poor Bootsie, ("Bootsie's Retreat") who was so cruelly treated by my ex-husband, that he died of starvation, less than a month after I got him out of the house that I was forbidden to enter, when we divorced.

My ridiculous dog, Ripley, wallowing on the bed, I just spent 20 minutes making. He's also a riot.

The cats are a hoot; tuxedos HAVE to be the clowns of the cat world. We fostered one tiny two-month old kitten, named “Eddie”, or “Eddifur” as I call him. The night we brought him home, he was introduced to our husky-hound mix, “Ripley”. Eddie looked at Ripley and did the puff-up-walk-sideways and backed into his little kitten house. He was so tiny, he couldn't figure out how to un-puff himself, so he circled around backward about three times, before he figured that shit out. Later on that night, after James had fallen asleep, this tiny creature proceeded to cavort all over James and turn somersaults, when his itty-bitty claws got caught in the blankets. James slept on, and I cackled much like Muttley in delight, as quietly as I could; it was so funny.

Eddifur, in front, photo-bombing Allie. Eddie is the sweetest boy and I call him "son". He's really a gentle cat. His favorite pastime is to "supervise" in the kitchen.

A week later, we adopted another tuxedo, named Allie, for “Allie Cat”. She too, puffed up and walked sideways when she saw Ripley. The most notable thing that she and Eddie did together, other than multiply exponentially in the mischief department, is they showed me the meaning of good housekeeping, and by that, I mean, unplugging appliances, when you are through using them. One calm evening, when all was quiet, James, Ripley and I were all tucked up nice and snug in the bed, snoozing away, when HOLYMOSESONACRACKER! SOMEONE DROPPED A 747 ENGINE IN MY HALLWAY!

"Allie", alias "KittenMcGrabbyPaws". This is the squirmiest, grabbiest kitten I've ever had. She tries to stand up and walk on her hind legs like a little person, and she made up this game one day, where she grabbed my hand, walked me over to a box (sorta on her hind legs), sit down, and then grabbed my hand and led me away from it, only to repeat said action. I know not what the object of the "game" was. She looks like she has wool on her hind legs, so naturally, all of our little darlings suffer terribly from "catwool", whatever that is...

Nope; it was just two tiny kittens assing around the vacuum cleaner and they turned it on. This is one of those big ones, that will suck up the entire living room, if you're not careful. The kittens, of course became ghosts. My hilarious friend, Alex, asked, “Did you turn the kittens into ghosts for that, or did they just evaporate?” Ha ha. “They just evaporated”, I answered. James observed “At least this is different than them Singing The Song Of Their People at 3 am!” Sort of, I guess?

A short time after that, James came home from work, and as he opened the front door, he says “Mary! How did the kitten get out of the house?”, and he was bent down picking up a tuxedo kitten, about the same size and configuration of our two. I hadn't been outside the house all day, so I at first thought “Hmmm, this is James' sneaky way of getting another kitten in the house!” I said, “Look behind me, here are our two chuckleheads!” and he looked. He was probably thinking, “Hmmm, this is Mary's sneaky way of getting another kitten in the house!”, but he brought this kitten in, who was about the same age as the other two. The kitten was in distress; hot and frazzled. James gave him a bath and we called our county's ASPCA. Both of our kittens had been vaccinated, but this one had not, so we weren't worried that this new kitten would make them sick. When it was apparent that the shelter had no room for him, we figured we were in for a penny; in for a pound and added him to our brood. James named him after my father, “Glenn Wallace”. The exponential quality of mischief-like behavior continued, only instead of four, we now had nine little busy-bodies and boy, are they something.

"Glenn Wallace" or just "Glenn" or "Chucklehead" or "Asshat" (which applies to all 3). Smarter than hell. He knows his name and he bonded quickly with me. His idea of a good time is to snooze in my lap all afternoon, even if I'm practicing.

About this time, I thought up the idea of a “Tuxedo Rescue” and mentioned it to James as we were driving off to the Walmart. He smartly returned with, “Hey, we're really close to the Harris Psychiatric Hospital! Would you like a short stay there?” After a good laugh, he said (being the compassionate soul he is)
“Maybe there's something to this idea....”

We started looking at all the shelters in our area for tuxedos. We found a blue-and-white one recently. Her name is “Misty” and she was in a situation where the people hoarded animals. She has no teeth, and must eat soft food. She's just the sweetest thing and will play if she thinks no one is looking. She and Glenn are the smartest, with Glenn being scary-smart. He knows hand commands and they all know their names. I guess this is my dotage. Not bad, coming from the 'hood and a horrid situation. We look constantly; they are few and far between...

Misty is tiny, tiny, tiny. I'm not sure if she was malnourished when she was young. I do know that she was only spayed a year ago -- she's six years old -- and has had at least one litter of kittens. She's really a good cat, and sneaky fun. You have to catch her at playing. 

My health is better than it's ever been; I've put on fifteen pounds and I feel great. I'm playing well (I'll get to why I'm writing now in a moment), after I fell and cracked my elbow. But, I fell and cracked a rib and I broke my hip and had it replaced in October of 2018. I had the fastest recovery and rehab EVER then, as I lived alone and you cannot show weakness in the jungle of Nebraska Avenue. I can still kick the shit out of people, but have no reason to do that anymore.

Glenn is also the longest cat I've ever had; he's a full four feet, when stretched out. He has really long whiskers, so I sing to him, "Scaramouch! Scaramouch!... CanyoudotheFandango?, in a high voice and he looks at me like I'm an idiot.

Anyway, I joined a new orchestra, here in the Carolinas; the Foothills Philharmonic, conducted by the wonderful Kory Vrieze. we were practicing “Scheherazade”, much to my delight. We did such an awesome job with it in 2015, with Mark Sforzini and the Tampa Bay Symphony, and we were going to do just as fine a job here.

Alas, a thing called a pandemic intervened. Coronavirus shut down the orchestra, along with the rest of the country. I've worked at a tertiary care facility, and did so for four years. Virology always fascinated me and I understand disease vectors. I knew six weeks ago, that I would be in a quarantine of my own making. I'm at high-risk, and I've survived too much awful shit; had so much good luck, that I cannot continue to bank on that happening indefinitely, so I ran right to my doc's office and we did our shorthand discussion: “triage”, “shortages of supplies”, “out-of-date infrastructure”, “lack of leadership” and so on. I was supposed to take a trip out-of-state to meet my fiancé's parents, later on in the summer. Since they are elderly and since I am high-risk, none of this is happening. It's no one's fault; it just is.

However, now that I am blogging again, I can also freely express my total dismay and contempt for what I see happening; not only in our own government, but around the world. I do feel that our so-called President has finally found himself in a position that he cannot possibly lie or backpedal his way out of and his actions, even before his taking of office have been treasonous, illegal and immoral. I will never accept what he has done to our Supreme Court, and his minions within the Senate and Congress, should all be held liable. This is the kind of thing that in times past, would bring about Revolution; line 'em up against the wall, shoot 'em and start over. Lenin had it right.

Anyway, I'm back, and while I'm happy in my life and having a great time, I fear for our WAY of life. Looking forward to #a-to-z-challenge!

#IWSG – DECEMBER CHECK IN – TROTSKY FILLING IN THIS MONTH!

Sorry, Viola Fury couldn't make it! She all tied up in symphony rehearsals and many viola playing! Playing otlichno viola! Is korosho? You think for once in her life, she could post decent check in that let everyone know she care about writing? Bah! All she care about is stupid viola and music! Not give one damn about me and her kinda crappy about goals!

D'obro Vechir! Mena Zavut Trotsky!

They all play lovely Rachminov “Variations on a Theme of Paganini” in some alternate universe, when they should be playing Schumann's Symphony Number 1, in B flat Major in Tampa Bay Symphony. But... Nyet! They all run off and find some wizard of a pianist!

“Play Rachminov!”, she said! “Stay home!”, I said!

Never! Off she goes with viola and leaves me alone to pine! “Sigh!” It is sad to be a Russian Blue... Maybe I go off and sing the Blues... Is that allowed here? In the USA? Now, that President Obama is not going to be in White House?

This Trump Turnip? He say he knows Putin? I think Putin will, how you say? Have his lunch... maybe eat him for lunch. More like it; Putin very, very wily and smart; this Trumpkin Turnip. He dumb, like bag of hammers, or napkins; he a goner. For sure, he no President; he think he smart? Ha!...

I wish my redhead would come back to me. She was my one and only; actually I left her. I came to her when she most needed me; left her when she most needed me, but I couldn't help it. I was so old; sick beyond sick. She know that; she still pine. Now, she doesn't really need me, but... I need her. How do I get her back? Does anyone know? Or am I with her always in her memories.

ViolaFury and stupid viola, "Wolf".

    I should be in lap, not piece of junk wood! >.<

Da, that is it... we are interwoven. Well that is #IWSG for now. She will not be here in January. She will be in another country, with her beloved viola, playing. There is a saying in my country, in Rodina, da. “Your first love may be great, but your last love will be perfect.” I truly believe this, and as she has had tough times, she crafted her well-earned perfect life, but is still waiting for her perfect love. Spaciba and D'zvadanya! More drivel in февраль, 2017. Maybe she write some words, but she still be playing many viola in Tampa Bay Symphony. Bye Bye, as you say, for naow!

#IWSG – NOVEMBER CHECKIN – “THE I ALMOST FORGOT CHECK IN”

Coming on the heels of the Tampa Bay Symphony's fall concert series at the St. Petersburg Palladium of MacDowell, Richard Strauss and Anton Dvorak and winding up in a pub a few blocks away after a wonderful concert to watch the Cubbies, now helmed by the former Tampa Rays' Manager Joe Madden, beat the Indians, in a 9 to 3 drubbing, and slurping down some Guinness Ales, gobbling up pizza (thank you Paul for treating us all!) and being driven home by my friend Julie at 1 am, only to have her completely electric car run out of electricity, and then sitting rather alertly now, waiting for the “Supercharger” to “Supercharge”, so we could get the hell outta one of the worser places in Tampa, and flying into my house like a commando dropped in a war zone; locking all doors and then, collapsing for the evening, it wasn't until today that I realized, oops.

I almost did it again. Missed a check in. So, here's what I did over the past month. Fought with insurance and dental companies and Medicaid; summation. They're all on the take, or complete idiots, or both. I wrote another short story for #StoryTime BlogHop, called “9-1-1”. I'd had the idea for a long time; I just didn't know how to get it started. Many, many thanks to Juneta Key for that! And I practiced. Practiced, practiced, practiced the viola. And wrote; I have some ideas I've been jotting down (a very creepy incident got me going on my 3^rd short story) and made some headway on “Nebraska Creepers”, but it's not coming together the way I'd like it to. I'm just going to keep on it. Lots to do between now and January and Japan as well! Anyway, happy #IWSG'ing! 

#ROW80 – SUNDAY CHECK IN – SMARTPHONES AND BICYCLES

Last week I got a call from my favorite 1^st violinist, ever. I kinda have to back this up a bit, to last August. I had been unable to play viola for several years, as I have essential tremor. It is an inherited condition and my mother had it. Like just about every neurological condition that is not present from birth, it took a while to sort it all out and figure out how to treat it.

In the meantime, I got to learn how not to be frustrated with buttoning things, trying to cook and eat neatly, comb my hair, or deal with putting on make up. The condition itself can manifest much like Parkinson's Disease although the etiologies for the two are completely different and the treatments are different. Besides these ever-constant tremors, I also got the “bonus symptoms” of drooling at times and loss of smell, which around here, is not so bad.

God Bless the Parkinson Foundation. They not only pay for my world-class neurologist, they are actively seeking cures for these elusive, highly misunderstood and secretive disorders.

At any rate, after I began treatment, the tremors were eased, although they never truly cease. Emotion, and stress will make them worse, and lack of sleep is a killer. It's nothing for me to snooze away 12 or 14 hours, although I really hate that and I don't always feel refreshed for it. Eight solid hours is good, but if I go six or less hours for several nights, I really feel it, and the tremors become unholy. They're not going to kill me; nothing I have is. I have a bunch of annoyances that just need managing. Most people my age do.

However, one of the things I missed and missed terribly was playing and last August, I scrunched up the courage to reach back out into the musical community and see if there wasn't still a place for me somewhere. I decided to check out the Tampa Bay Symphony as it had been the first really good group that I played with when I moved down here to Florida. I looked at their website and discovered that they were still going strong. Dr. Jack Heller, who had founded the orchestra twenty-eight years ago, had retired and the present Conductor, Mark Sforzini, has been a Tampa Bay area mainstay and most excellent musician and proponent of sharing music and bringing it to others for years.

It has actually been closer to 15 years since I've played in a symphonic environment. I've been a "free-range" violist and thus, I had to re-learn a few niceties, something our principal Cellist was happy to do when I was imitating a panzer division during the Shostakovich's 5th Symphony for Big Orchestra. We laughed after the rehearsal; it takes a while to realize that "piano" really means "piano" not "just a little less louder" like when I toured with Styx.

There were no openings for violists, and I was disappointed at first, but I noticed that they were performing Beethoven's Fifth Symphony in C minor on their first concert and I took this as a sign, because Beethoven has been a part of my life since I can't remember when, and not only for his music, but for his own tenacity during times in his life that were not easy. I could identify with him and so, I contacted the Tampa Bay Symphony and heard back from them a few days later, with an application, the audition music and choice of times to play.

Ugh. I feel about auditions the same way I feel about having the shits, throwing up and dying, but orchestras use them and they are the way of gauging an artist's nervousness, because they sure as HELL do not gauge really whether or not you can play worth a damn! That is not entirely true. A good panel can listen through all of the stress and nervousness and wrong notes and train wrecks and get some idea of what they have to work with, provided they don't have you taken out back and shot for attempting to impersonate a string player.

Every facet of my life has been seen through the prism of this man's own approach to life and his search for excellence. I, as did he, had our own falls from grace, but what, in the end does that really matter. Beethoven's absolute and unswerving integrity shone through his music and his search for perfection. If you can't attain it, you can at least strive for it; none of us are perfect.

I practiced each of the excerpts until I could play through them flawlessly in my house, knowing that this was not going to happen during the audition, and sure enough it didn't. The other factor that arose, was the wonderful “tremor factor” went into high gear because I was so nervous. However, Mark Sforzini our Music Director, heard something he liked, or else he felt bad for me, because I was shaking so badly, I could barely keep my bow on the string, because he stopped me before the audition ended and conferred with the other two committee members there, and they asked if I would join the symphony.

A huge sigh of relief. I said “yes”, of course and I was on my way. Since I am unable to drive to and from rehearsals, I had to figure out how I was going to leap my next hurdle. I found the bus schedules from Tampa to St. Pete and going there is no issue; coming home would be, as the buses stop running at 7 pm, and our rehearsals don't end until 9:30 pm. So, at the first rehearsal, a cellist and her husband drove me home, but it was hard for them to keep doing that, because she's brand new to the area and this area I live in is rough; I couldn't blame her.

Not everyone is as used to seeing the thuggery or gangsta culture out here as I am. It is possible to live among it and not get killed. Julie understands that and so do I. Our mutual cellist friend is actually from Hungary and was not used to seeing all this.

However, there was this 1^st violinist, named Julie who lives not far from me and was more than happy to have a ride-along each week, in exchange for gas money and free entertainment as a raconteur and it's worked out really well, for both of us. She's such a sunny, happy and funny individual and a superb player. She is also a 3rd-degree Black-Belt in Tae Kwon Do and she and her boyfriend own a Dojo in Ybor City, not far from where I live. She just earned her 3rd-degree this past year, when they went to an International convention in Vancouver.

So, as we've gotten to know one another, we've had lots of interesting talks, ranging in everything from music to mortality. She met Jim a few times, and was almost heart-breakingly empathetic to his pain and she was right; it was hard to watch, and I don't think that he was telling me or his doctors everything. Maybe all people do that when it is coming close to the end. I fully believe my mother was much sicker than she was letting when she died. At any rate, the best we can do as family members is be by their sides; that's what they really want.

Julie was one of the first people I talked to after Jim's death, and like me, she too, felt it was a release, not that there isn't a sense of loss, of course. We talk back and forth. I had to get a new phone, as Metro PCS was changing satellites, or cleaning them or something. Well, this has unveiled an unbelievably new low in idiocy, even for me.

All of these apps, features, gizmos, whats-ises and doo-dads. Yet, a phone call still sounds like it's being phoned in from the era of two tin cans and a string.

I've butt-dialed people who are then treated to 10 minutes of ambient noise: scratchy and boomy speakers from da 'hood, dogs barking, and random yelling. It took me me four damned weeks to get logged into Chrome or Google and now, I wish to hell I hadn't. Random things pop up on this damn phone; pet astrology, recipes, sports trivia, news from every outlet under the sun, along with games with names like “Lookithat!”, “Tanki”, “InsideOut Thought”, “Cooking Dash 2016” (there are like a JILLION cooking games, why?), and “Dragon Friends”, all of which have appeared unannounced, unasked for, and after brief fumblage, unwanted.

I was at Rose Radiology for a routine Mammogram, and my phone hollered at me, and some guy wearing a Viking Helmet started bellowing at me in Norse. I almost jumped out of my chair. I said to the room at large, as I was sitting next to this cute-as-a-button, little old lady, with a snow-white cap of downy hair, in a wheelchair, and who was at least 112, “I don't know why I got this phone, it's over here living its own life. I have no clue what it's doing and when I try to dial a number, it's the wrong number. Am I the only idiot with this problem?” She just giggled and raised her hand. “Me too. It's so silly! Mine wants me to buy Butt Enhancers!” She showed me the ad. Sure enough. I made my pal for the day. After I got rid of Viking guy, something else popped up; the weather for the tri-state area in New York. I have my own zip code programmed into this booger. Oh well.

Anyway, when I first got the phone, I thought I was looking at the camera function, but I was really calling Julie. She thought that was hilarious. She had her own horror stories to tell about smart phones and just about the apps in general, but somehow we got onto the subject of Jim's bicycles.

I may have mentioned in my last post that he had no hobbies, which is not entirely correct. When he was in better health, he did have hobbies, one of which was “going to be” fixing bicycles. This would have been great, but we never got around to the fixing part. We were just at the collecting stage. For a long time, we had five or six bicycles in the living room, and not much else. They all needed some type of help; a seat, maybe a tire, or some brakes.

A buncha bikes in Amsterdam

But, for months, we had to claw our way through this jungle-gym of metal, rubber, oily and poky things in order to get to the rest of the house. Jim's criteria for buying bicycles was a bit odd. He bought one from a guy, 'cause the guy needed help. In a pig's eye. The guy was a drunk and probably stole it from somewhere; I suspect that's the case with a couple of those bikes. He bought one that was blue, because I like blue. He was going to fix it up for me to ride. Hello! I'm legally blind! I have no depth perception and my eyes don't track. I'm pretty sure that bike-riding is not in my future. He was going to ride the red one, with his bad hip and blown-out knees. I'm laughing as I type this.

This was to be used for the equivalent of raising the dead to walk again. I love dreamers, being one myself.

Oh, it should be mentioned as well, that his entire “bicycle fix-it” kit was a tire patch kit. He had a formidable set of tools for drywall and heavier construction-type jobs, but really nothing very good for bikes. So, after a few months of climbing over all of these bicycles, I persuaded him to move them to the back of the house. Why not the back yard, you say? Because we would have been buying them back from the McDrunkleys that would have stolen them from us the previous night.

We'd both probably fall for, "Well, we found this" and buy it back. Jim did have the softest heart. He'd give the McDrunkley 15.00 for it and say, "We'll fix 'er up and sell it for 60.00." Yeah, well, all the bikes went to bike heaven, or that big scrap yard in the sky.

Once they were in the back of the house, they proceeded to multiply or something, much in the manner of wire coat-hangers. They just turned into this huge ball of metal, that was becoming more and more impenetrable by the minute and I do believe had we been able to fix them, we really couldn't have made one entire WHOLE bicycle out of this mess. I do have to tell you that Jim had fixed two of them and gave them to some children a few doors down. They came to pay their respects to Mr. Jim after he passed; it was sweet.

Well, as I was telling Julie this story about the bicycles, she was laughing harder and harder, because she recognized herself in this whole thing, as do I. She has a sewing project that is in her mother's house. She says “it's been there so long, it has become PART of the house”. Yup. I got one of those, only it's hook rugs. Back when I smoked, my mother, God rest her soul, sent me this hook rug kit.

This would look so great in the living room. She didn't send me this one.

This is beyond stupid. I can't sew, I can't knit, I can't do anything even remotely like this, but this was going to make me quit smoking cigarettes. Her rationale was, “when you feel like a smoke, do some of your hook rug”. Okay, if I feel like a smoke, why am I gonna do something I can already tell I'm gonna loathe? But, to make her feel good, I said, “yeah, Ma, I'm a workin' on that ole hook rug”. It's actually in a storage shed, or has been thrown out. Were it around, it would be about 35 years old by now. But I did quit smoking; it will be 5 years in September. Anyway, Julie is an awesome friend to have and she and I have had some meltdowns laughing. This conversation was one of those times!

My mom sent me something like this, only the lions weren't smiling. These lions are on Prozac.

#A-TO-Z CHALLENGE 2015 – LETTER “T” – THE TAMPA BAY SYMPHONY

When I first moved to Tampa from Detroit in 1994 for reasons almost too stupid to contemplate, but are rather amusing to relate, so I shall: I left my ex-husband violist who had become upset when I got a gig playing with the Moody Blues, and he didn't. Never mind that the money that came into the house all went into the same kitty, and never mind the fact that we met on a job where we both played viola (I really don't play anything else, although I've pretended to play the violin for money), he got his feelings hurt. I guess there was some expectation that the Flute or Zither Fairy would magically appear and voilà! this violist would become a flautist or a zitherist (whatever they're called); anything but a viola player, but sadly, none of that magic happened. What did happen, is that when I came in off of that tour at the end of the summer of 1992, I returned to school and picked a major that was completely different than music, viola, or anything artistic.

Back in 1967 and 1968, when I had the album, "Days of Future Passed" memorized, if anyone told me, I would one day play it with "The Moody Blues" I'd have called them a liar.

I went and majored in computer science, knowing full well that I was going to have some long, long nights wrangling with some mathematical-type concepts that I'm pretty sure I had either ignored, or never seen in the first place. I was not disappointed. This was a good way to keep my eye on the prize and off my rapidly-disintegrating marriage, as I played in various viola sections around Detroit and either entered the stage before, and left after my soon-to-be ex did, thus being relieved of the possibility of exchanging any words whatsoever with him. It was a crazy time, and intense, but in a way, a very good time, as I discovered within myself, an aptitude for numbers and logic that I had previously thought was non-existent. Up until that point, I had spent more time with my folks playing “Match Wits with Inspector Ford” as we guessed at what happened to Judge Crater, and dissected the meaning of “Message to Garcia”. My parents were kind of odd like that; they enjoyed conundrums, and what-ifs. I'm not entirely sure that either of them had both feet in this world, and I know for damn sure, that I have maybe one or two toes AT MOST in this world.

A typical Wallace photo -- taken by me. Notice that my mom's head is completely covered up by a giant-ass dog-head. Take special note of my father's (to the left) idea of "casual dress" which consisted of a ratty pair of his work dress-pants, cut off at the knees, the same shoes he wore to work and those lovely white, engineer's socks. You could not get that man in a pair of dress socks. My mom was dressed normally. I'm sure I had on jeans and a t-shirt. That gentleman lurking in the background is my godfather, Hank Birch. All of the Wallaces take pictures at LEAST this badly. Most are worse.

Anyway, I was in an accelerated program and ended up down in Hudson, Florida, at the completion of my two years, and was offered a job by IBM – I had divorced the viola player. I started working there, but was nervous, because I really wanted to play, and there were all of these little community orchestras up in Pasco-Hernando Counties and no one really knew who I was.

By chance, the third day I was in Hudson, I saw a man carrying a viola case in a local drugstore and I followed him and asked him if there were any orchestras around the area that I could participate in. He said there were, and he directed me to the H******* Symphony that was playing a concert within a couple of weeks. The conductor, a man named V****** B***, was putting together a concert, and welcomed me. There was only one viola player at the time. The orchestra is still in business and my good friend, Denise Isaacson is still playing up there. It is a nice little orchestra, but it is more dependent on the “snow birds” and is not very big. Anyway, a few rehearsals later, one of the clarinetists came to me and said, “Mary, how would you like to play in a 'real' orchestra?” I said, “What have you got?” Although I was enjoying myself, we were just kind of schlubbing our way through Schubert's Unfinished Symphony and that was rather dismal. Poor Mr. B*** seemed to not really have the concept of conducting in 6/8 and was just making circles in the air in Sarasate's Zigeunerweisen and the orchestra had taken on this sort of random, aleatory, twelve-tone quality. Thus, on the one hand, it sucked for Sarasate, but it was great for Arnold Schoenberg, I guess. My mother was in the audience, and of course, she loved it. She always loved a good train wreck and had lots of fun reliving it on the drive home.

But, I digress. My clarinetist friend introduced me to the Tampa Bay Symphony, which at the time was directed by Dr. Jack Heller, who I believe, founded the orchestra in 1986. When I joined, it was an orchestra that had many retired musicians from the Cleveland, St. Louis and Boston Symphonies, as well as students, doctors, lawyers, engineers and other professionals from different walks of life.

As I've been writing this, I've been wracking my brain, but I do not think that I had to audition at that time. I ended up sitting 3^rd chair, and we played all kinds of great music, along with a lot of crowd-pleasing stuff. We had guest soloists and Young People's Artists and we still do now. The main difference lies in the approach of the two conductors. It was fun working with Dr. Heller; he's a good conductor, and we would always be able to pull off whatever it was, we were trying to play. We were a bit unruly. In particular, I remember when we had gone over one passage several times and it wasn't getting any better and he yelled out, “Violas! You're not a panzer division! Quiet!” This is no better or worse than the conductor in Detroit who hollered at the 2^nd violins during Respighi's The Pines of Rome, “Second violins, when you run out of notes, STOP playing!”

THIS is a panzer division!

courtesy:studio.americanviolasociety.org

This is NOT a panzer division!

I played with the Tampa Bay Symphony the first time for a couple of seasons, but time and other commitments forced me to give it up; IBM and later Verizon, was perfectly happy to have me take a laptop on the road, when I was touring as a free-range violist with Anne Murray, Styx, Smokey Robinson, Bobby Vinton, Alan Parsons Project, or whoever, and work from a hotel room, wherever I was. It was a great life. But, like all great things, they pass.

I had a really, really bad marriage, that certainly didn't help the latent health issues I was harboring. I went blind, and developed congestive heart failure. After an acrimonious divorce, I lost a house I was trying to buy and spent two years fighting the bank. I ended up homeless and my essential tremor finally came to the fore. I was forced to stop playing in 2008. That was crushing. When I finally, finally, finally, got a diagnosis in 2013 and treatment to stop the tremors, I had to work up the courage to play again. I waited for a sign. Last August I got one. The Tampa Bay Symphony was going to be playing Beethoven's Fifth Symphony in the fall. They weren't listing any auditions for violas, but, hey. If you don't venture, nothing is gained.

I ventured, went and played probably the most spastic audition ever; I thought it was horrible. Mark said “This is why we have lots and lots of rehearsals!”, then asked me if I would join. Hell ya!

I'm so glad I took that leap; the musicianship has improved, the morale and the overall musical artistry of the orchestra has improved immensely. Mark is the glue that makes the whole thing cohere. The wonderful thing that I love is that he treats us as fully mature artists in this musical journey we're all taking together. If we are struggling as a group, he will find a way to bring us together, usually with a clever little exercise that involves counting – music is 80% rhythm, after all – and we will go through that process a few times, generally under tempo, and then bring it up to tempo. He deliberately tries to keep our performances as true to the composer's intentions regarding tempi and interpretation as much as possible and it really shows. This orchestra which, a few years back, may have seemed like a run-of-the-mill volunteer group, is really something to hear. I listened to the raw recording of our performance of Edward Elgar's Enigma Variations and was knocked out by what I heard. I will leave you with an excerpt of the 3rd movement of Brahms' Third Symphony. I was not in the orchestra at the time, but the musicianship and playing are superb!

Postscript: I am aware that I am exceedingly late for my "T" letter. We currently have hospice in our home, for end of life care of my partner. I will participate as much as possible until the end, but things are more disordered than previously, and I must beg you extend the courtesy of allowing my erratic posting. I will not "claim" that I win the challenge, but will consider myself a participant. It is a sad time, but it is also one with great purpose and clarity. I can do no greater thing for a fellow being than to ease his way from this life and I will be fine, and back here for more next year. You will see a few more posts from me this year, just not in the way, I had originally planned, as things are moment-to-moment. 

#A-TO-Z CHALLENGE 2015 – LETTER “S” – MARK SFORZINI, AMERICAN COMPOSER, CONDUCTOR AND BASSOONIST; DMITRY SHOSTAKOVICH, RUSSIAN COMPOSER

Let's face it; life can be a mess at times. Mine's been total chaos for a while, and is likely to remain so, until. . . whatever. Anyway, now that I've finally wrested control of my system back from She Who Will Remain Unnamed, I can get this here posty-post on the road. It isn't exactly what I was planning, and poor Mark is up to his ears in Shostakovich, Copland and Prokofiev, so, we DIDN'T get to finish our interview. We WILL however, fill in some blanks now, as Mark is a highly interesting person, as well as a highly entertaining one (don't tell him I said that!). But, I am easily amused as you can tell by this sound clip:

'MURRRICA

Actually, I think pretty much everything is back-breakingly hilarious, so who am I to judge? Anyway, apparently, Mark had a seemingly normal childhood in Alabama playing the bassoon, and being a kid. I'm jealous of the fact that he was a 1979 World Hula Hoop Champion during a time, when Alabama was still in the 50s and Hula Hooping was cool. Fifteen years earlier, when Hula Hooping WAS cool in other parts of the U.S., I stunk at it. Like “stink on ice” at it. One hoop rotation, and that piece of plastic was on the ground. My folks could Hula Hoop. Hell, the DOG could Hula Hoop. I couldn't. But my slinky didn't slink either, so I was like caught in some kind of nerd hell-scape from my day of birth.

courtesy:downtownstpete.ilovetheburg.com                              

I think Mark is the only person I know who could pull this off and look cool doing so.

Anyway, Mark went on from that triumph to become principal bassoonist of the Florida Orchestra for 15 years, and only left in 2007, to take a bold leap into the abyss and start an opera company in St. Petersburg, Florida, a burgeoning arts mecca. Since the inaugural production of La Boheme, The St. Petersburg Opera Company has presented more than 30 operas and attracted a loyal following. Not content with producing only Italian opera, as Opera Tampa is wont to do, The St. Petersburg Opera has presented Ariadne auf Naxos, by Richard Strauss, Norma, Susannah, and Samson et Delilah, by Camille Saint Saens. He tosses in a little Stephen Sondheim from time to time and many of these productions are Tampa Bay area debuts.

Mark Sforzini, Director of St. Petersburg Opera, and Conductor of the Tampa Bay Symphony

Mark's excellence, drive and energy and his ability to put people and music together and his willingness to take chances, have landed him on 2014 Musical America's Top 30 Musical Professionals (I encourage you to read this list; it is a WONDERFUL read!). The list is an international one, citing one conductor in Odessa, Hobart Earle, who took his orchestra to the Odessa open market to play Ode to Joy, flash-mob style, in a country now torn by war and strife.

Mark so aptly fits this model. He is one of the finest persons I've ever met. When we talked about this interview, I asked him why he chose the Tampa Bay Symphony. He answered simply, “I didn't. They chose me.” He had over 10 years experience conducting by the time he was approached. Most of his experience was conducting opera and he relished the idea of having a chance to conduct more symphonic music. Having played principal bassoon for 15 years in the Florida Orchestra under so many different conductors he felt like he knew the symphonic literature very well. His “audition” pieces for the positions were Smetana's Moldau, Wagner's Tristan und Isolde and Berlioz's Symphonie Fantastique. All three pieces present different challenges to the conductor and I think they're probably a good benchmark to understanding how a conductor is going to think and work out the problems each work presents.

Hobart Earle's Flash-mob "Ode to Joy" in an Odessa Fish Market is stunning. He's number 17 on 2014's Musical America's Top Music Professionals. Mark is listed at number 5. There were actually 2 nominees from the Tampa Bay Area. When Mark was asked why Tampa Bay, he looked at the inquisitor and asked "Why eat?" Good answer!

A relative later asked Mark why he would accept a position with an all-volunteer orchestra, since in professional orchestras (and even in “community-level” orchestras, where the players are paid a fee) the players have rehearsed the parts before hand, or already know the charts, the group rehearses 3 or 4 times, plays the concert or concerts and you're done; the first rehearsal sounds good, and it's a matter of polishing and interpretation, but Mark feels that:

“there is something incredibly rewarding about exploring a concert program over a period of two to three months with people who have chosen to give of their time and talent for the joy of making music. Sometimes the first rehearsal doesn't sound so good, but by the concerts, the group is playing very well – and musically, with a solid interpretation of the works on the program. Each rehearsal shows noticeable results. Players in the symphony sometimes look tired when they arrive for the 7:00 pm rehearsal after working a regular job at the office, but often at 9:30 pm they are more energized and smiling more than when they arrived. I find the special journey from the very first rehearsal to the final concert with the people of the TBS highly rewarding. I’m a teacher by nature, and the community orchestra setting allows my educator/coach personality a chance to emerge more than it normally gets to in a one-week professional engagement period. That’s not to say that I’m ‘teaching’ them all the time, though. Quite the contrary, they have taught me so much about leading a large orchestra of eighty and have brought the notes on the page to life.”

That is one great answer! For people who think they're too busy, or too important to worry about what would seem to be a rag-tag bunch of volunteer musicians, I was really humbled by this answer. We, as the players, get so much out of our rehearsals. I'm in a unique position; I'm happy to be ANYWHERE playing, but to be back where I started and have this kind of experience is just a dream for me. I've learned more, and started to remember things I'd forgotten. Mark is ever patient with us and it's fun! We have a great time, but we're taking a bit of a darker turn here; like any art, music is not all happiness and light.

We've been rehearsing Shostakovich's Symphony No. 5 for Big Orchestra. When I found out we were going to play this piece, I was ecstatic. I love playing Russian music. I'm also out of my mind most of the time. Beethoven has a stern gruffness, and whilst playing Beethoven, I feel I can take anything being thrown at me. My biggest weak spot in the whole wide world and we've discussed this (for those of you reading along at home, or on the bus, or whatever, already know) is Mahler. There are times I cannot listen to Mahler, AT ALL. This is one of those times. Right now, Shosty is running a close second, and there are times I've just about folded up on the whole shootin' match, but I can't.

His Symphony No. 5 for Big Orchestra is an oddity. I asked Mark, “Why this symphony for this orchestra at this time?”

“I would say a confluence of events at the time of picking this program: Copland’s Lincoln Portrait and the Shostakovich Fifth Symphony. At the time I was conducting Fiddler on the Roof which…. At this time, Russian and Ukraine were also all over the headlines. I kept thinking about Soviet oppression and how even though the USSR collapse in 1991, there are still so many examples in 2015 of oppression of the people. And, if you are oppressing the people, you are oppressing artistic spirit. This is where Shostakovich managed a triumph of sorts. In 1936, his writing had been called into question as being anti-Soviet. Masses of people were being executed during this time in Russia, and not just his art, but his very life were at stake. He published his 5^th Symphony with the phrase “a Soviet artist’s response to just criticism”. Yet, I, and many others, don’t believe he was simply pleasing the authorities. The amazing thing about Shostakovich 5 is that the composer manages to please the authorities and say something deeply meaningful to the common people all at the same time. There is very little marked in the score in terms of words so we must look very carefully at the notes. And a trained musician, can see hundreds of ways Shostakovich was telling his story through the music of the 5^th Symphony.

I remember when I first heard this symphony and circumstances surrounding it, and thinking “Huh, Stalin either had a tin ear, or like Richard Strauss, Stefan Zweig, and Joseph Goebbels, Shostakovich was deemed too well-known to just have him executed by Levrenti Beria in the Lubyanka.” However, on reflection, Stalin was paranoid about EVERYTHING and Shostakovich was a master at hiding his sentiments within his music. If nothing else, playing this piece has taught me that. So, I think it's a case of the former and Mark has pointed these things out to us along the way. 

During World War II, and on the Eastern Front, which incredibly, I know much more about than I do the Western Front, Leningrad, was under siege by the Nazis for 900 days. The USSR was our ally, and they actually bore the brunt of the Nazi assault along a 1,000-mile front beginning with Operation Barbarossa, on June 22, 1941, and continuing until the tide was turned and the war was taken to the Germans and ended when Germany surrendered unconditionally at Reims on May 7 1945, to the Allies. Anyway, Dmitry Shostakovich was living in Leningrad at the start of the siege, and was a volunteer fireman. He wrote the first 3 movements of his 7th symphony there. He finished the symphony in Kuibyshev, where he and his family had been evacuated and it was to have been played by the Leningrad Philharmonic, but there were only 14 members of the orchestra left, so the conductor Karl Eliasberg had to recruit anyone who could play an instrument. It should be pointed out, that no one is really sure what Leningrad Shostakovich had in mind when he wrote the 7th symphony; if it was the one that withstood the German siege, or the one Stalin had destroyed, and Hitler merely finished off. The Russians and their crazy sense of humor!

Later on,  in 1943, when the family had moved to Moscow, the tide had turned for the Red Army and the Eighth Symphony debuted. The public and more importantly, the authorities expected another triumphant piece from their pet composer. Instead, they got the Eighth Symphony, perhaps the most somber and violent in expression, within Shostakovich's ouevre to date. The government, assigned the name "Stalingrad" to the symphony, explaining that it was an expression of "mourning the dead" in the Battle of Stalingrad, and then effectively, but unofficially banned it until 1956. Shostakovich himself was to have said, "When the Eighth was performed, it was openly declared counter-revolutionary and anti-Soviet. They said, 'Why did Shostakovich write an optimistic symphony at the beginning of the war and a tragic one now? At the beginning we were retreating and now we're attacking, destroying the Fascists. And Shostakovich is acting tragic, that means he's on the side of the fascists.'"

His Ninth symphony was much lighter in tone, but that too, brought criticism. It was felt in certain circles, and again within the government, that he took the victory over the Nazis too lightly and his music was a fillip and not serious. Even the New York World-Telegram was dismissive of his work. 

Sergei Prokofiev, Dmitry Shostakovich and Aram Khatchaturian

He, along with several other composers would continue to be censured and limited in their work, until the death of Stalin. Once that dictator died, the strictures on music and other arts were freed up a bit. There is a new frost coming however, in the form of Vladimir Putin. He has made several statements and jailed several people for their musical output; the rock group "Pussy Riot" comes to mind. As long as people are not free to express themselves, people are not free. But, it's so encouraging to see people like Mark Sforzini and the men and women of Music America take their own fates into their hands and move ahead to bring freedom of expression to each and every one of us! Thank you Mark. Thank you for everything! 

#A-TO-Z CHALLENGE 2015 – LETTER “R” – RUSSIAN MUSIC

So, while the Russophile is off playing her Rachmaninoff (Рахманинов), Gliére (Глиэр), Glinka (Глинка), Rimsky-Korsakov (Римский-Корсаков), Ippolitov-Ivanov (Ипполитов-Иванов), Mussourgsky (Мусоргский), Tchaikovsky, Prokofiev (Прокофьев), Stravinsky (Страви́нский), or, I thiiiiiink Shostakovich (Шостаковича), I thought I would write a few words. She hates it when I get on HER computer.

courtesy:mapsof.net

There's a whole lotta music-writing going on here. We both love maps. It'd serve her right, if I just put a buncha maps out here and nothing else.

Oh, she'll tell you how she's in love with Beethoven and how he's her muse and all sorts of nonsense, but she's REALLY in love with the Russian composers! She can't get enough Russian music. Hell's Bells, if she could figure out a way to claim Russian ancestry she would! Then, I wouldn't have to listen to all that goddamned bagpipe music on St. Andrew's Day! That would be nice! If I have to sit through one more Bobby Burns night of drunken misread poetry at the St. Andrews' Society I may just take some hot pokers to my ears, but that might make it hard for HER to hear her precious Beethoven. Maybe, we'll just stay home and watch “Braveheart” and pick it apart for the 40^th time. That's always fun. It makes a good drinking game, but we quit drinking, several years ago.

Mary's mom saw this picture and wondered why William Wallace looked like Mel Gibson. "No one on her dad's side of the family looked anything remotely liked Mel; they all resembled John Wayne." I don't know which is worse.

Anyway, it's time for Rachmaninoff's Second Symphony; I can't get enough of the opening of that second movement. It's just heaven. Violas only! Can't have too many of those, now, can you? And by the way, since I'm such a shill. The Tampa Bay Symphony is playing Rachmaninoff's Second Piano Concerto next season. Mary will love that! She was practically humming it in the womb, according to her mom. According to her dad? She was more like four or five years old. Dad was always a realist!