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Today, being the only day in this whole workshop which is a day off, I slept till noon. For once. The rest of the time there are vocal exercises and stretches at 8:30 in the morning. Gah.
On Billy's (countertenor of the Western Wind) suggestion, mama collected a pile of five people who wanted to go swimming, and we drove them down to Puffer's Pond, which is spectacular. I got about five tunes in my head when the vista revealed itself to me, but they're all gone now. It was a kind of dreamy, feverish swim, because, like most lakes, its temperature was not consistent, so you'd be alternately freezing (though it was worse if you swam vertically and went below the top three feet of water) and unpleasantly warm from the sun-heated parts that hadn't been churned of the top. Very strange, but completely engaging it was, and we swam the quarter-mile to the dam and lounged about on it, and swam back. For some reason even at my most relaxed pace I quickly outdistanced mama and Billy... I got to tow her for a while and it was a lot more work. We talked about various Massachusettsy things and having dogs, and it was nice to be not quite so intimidated by one of the exalted members of the ensemble. The tenor, Todd, sat with us at lunch too, and explained his love for food in a very chic, obsessively creative, gay-tenor way... Tony would have been amused.
So relaxing today, I'm finally dry after sitting in the entry hall of our dorm and making an aran for an hour (it's green-and-gold, hard to beat that) and getting all kinds of comments. I had a hard time getting through the entry of the library, too, because they're having a booksigning for some book called "Living with Dying" and it sounds interesting but I'd rather be here. And then I'm going to dinner, and then sleep and Shosti and reading, and then another grueling day of high-level ensemble singing. I've still been getting compliments for my quartets, and I still don't like it. I tend to hide in my room, or in the library, or in the lake. I wish there were a cave. Or a labyrinth. Rar.
On Billy's (countertenor of the Western Wind) suggestion, mama collected a pile of five people who wanted to go swimming, and we drove them down to Puffer's Pond, which is spectacular. I got about five tunes in my head when the vista revealed itself to me, but they're all gone now. It was a kind of dreamy, feverish swim, because, like most lakes, its temperature was not consistent, so you'd be alternately freezing (though it was worse if you swam vertically and went below the top three feet of water) and unpleasantly warm from the sun-heated parts that hadn't been churned of the top. Very strange, but completely engaging it was, and we swam the quarter-mile to the dam and lounged about on it, and swam back. For some reason even at my most relaxed pace I quickly outdistanced mama and Billy... I got to tow her for a while and it was a lot more work. We talked about various Massachusettsy things and having dogs, and it was nice to be not quite so intimidated by one of the exalted members of the ensemble. The tenor, Todd, sat with us at lunch too, and explained his love for food in a very chic, obsessively creative, gay-tenor way... Tony would have been amused.
So relaxing today, I'm finally dry after sitting in the entry hall of our dorm and making an aran for an hour (it's green-and-gold, hard to beat that) and getting all kinds of comments. I had a hard time getting through the entry of the library, too, because they're having a booksigning for some book called "Living with Dying" and it sounds interesting but I'd rather be here. And then I'm going to dinner, and then sleep and Shosti and reading, and then another grueling day of high-level ensemble singing. I've still been getting compliments for my quartets, and I still don't like it. I tend to hide in my room, or in the library, or in the lake. I wish there were a cave. Or a labyrinth. Rar.
