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In this blog I have created a haven, a place I allow my deepest emotions to go and sit. I can write easily about what I’ve accomplished. This biography I can recite in my sleep. But I’ve always written poetry and in diaries since I was a teenager. I continued to write poetry in my journals, and not until 2006 did I show them to anyone. I generally write every day, at the present in memoir form. I haven’t written poetry since my mother died in January, 2007. I didn’t write at all between her death and the death of my father three years later in January, 2010. On my father’s birthday in March, 2010, I began this blog, to honor my father and to help me grieve. But I also desperately needed to write, and this stream of conscious style emerged. I needed to find my organic voice.

Tuesday, July 6, 2010

I'm in a really weird place right now. My life is re-starting and I feel completely overwhelmed and not ready. I headed out to Washington DC to take lessons with my mentor/teacher; jumped into coaching repertoire for some upcoming gigs. It was a very focused In on Friday Out on Monday. Home for a few days in time to enjoy the midnight premiere of the Twilight movie Eclipse with my gurls (for which we all made t shirts)..and in the next day turn around and head out to Salt Lake City for a national conference --The National Association of Teachers of Singing, over the holiday weekend. Knowing virtually no one was a boon--an emotionally void experience which is good still for me. HOWEvER, it turned out better that I'd imagined; my roommate, a woman and a colleague who invited me to attend, was the best possible roommate for this experience. Enjoyed some very fine dinners,  attended a few well-presented sessions, and I slept very well each night.  By the third day of the conference, I was done. Full. Ready to go, carrying my notes from sessions, the new music I'd purchased, and a small gift for my husband.   Out of fourteen days, I had been home two. This is not the grounded living I need right now.

Mail piled up while I was gone; estate mail, mostly. Bills, invoices, taxes, and the cable company in CT requesting their equipment back...shall I beam it to Manchester, CT? Frustrating. I am keeping them in this pile...keeping them from me so that I can be free from them.  This time away from the grief reality has been both invigorating and confusing.

While in DC with my teacher, I took lessons, hearing my voice for the first time in many months.  We spent time together talking about singing, going to an opera, and eating delicious food.  We did, as we have done, talk about my family and its shrinking nature....I had a significant grief burst, but got through it. It felt WONDERFUL to sing to work, to focus. A matter of life and death: mine. She said "Sing! Always sing! It is better than any therapy out there.! I felt that true for me; my spirits lifted a great deal, \The last time I visited, back in March, I was barely functional, and they cocooned me when I needed it most. And so I got confidence to move on through the rest of my sabbatical observations, and then ultimately to the beach house on Sanibel to crumple on the beach. I didn't crumple as much as rest. Riding the bike to the beach, to the lighthouse, to a restaurant.

After this quick weekend with L in DC, I was home a few days, and then I headed out to Salt Lake City, Utah to attend the National Conference of the National Association of Teachers of Singing. Immersion in my field after a year of barely thinking about it. It was very easy to put this aside while being with my father, and focusing on our relationship and being a manager of his care.  I felt like a fish out of water at this conference.  I was comfortable in that I chose appropriate attire, took the time to look well, chose the sessions that appealed to me and SOD the rest. I don't yammer, kibbutz, gossip. I've been with only very small groups of people over the past 18 months, and large groups discomfit me. Especially the beasts of the singing world. Teachers of singers are of two ilks: 1> Active singers who also maintain active studio adn 2>Over the hill teachers who are past their prime in all avenues. the navigation of these events is tricky, and networking can be a nightmare. HOWEVER. My friend helped introduced me to some great people, and I met some on my own. Overall, the sessions I attended fired my soul, validated my own pedagogical beliefs, and I left feeling good!

But, my god, I was ready to get out of Mormonville and away from  the NATS cliques. Back home.

My husband made  a pile of mail with my name or my father's name....I know what's there..taxes due to the town for the house that hasn't sold, a few smaller bills for other maintenance (and helpful assistance), and something from the IRS about which I am fuming. Said Middle man made some sort of error, aftr charging me quite the fee for tax prep..the IRS is claiming they are owed more money.. AH, I am just venting, because I have taken a much needed break from the estate.

But reality calls in these piles of my mail, my estate checking account. And we are now planning a trip east to my father' house to clean out the attic and the garage and decide what to do with the wine collection and all the books. I cannot think straight where this is concerned. My heart is racing, my anxiety is at an 8,only to increase as we begin to book plane fares, schedule the dumpster, trying to leave room for the intense emotion that will surely accompany this job.I wish we were able to stay in the cradle of our friends' house, but it is not to be this time. There is much to do in addition to the manual labor; i need to meet with the accountant dude who has been incommunicado for over two weeks after a question I asked.  I need to meet with the banker, who has been the most wonderful person in this post mortem journey, and to pay the arborist who had better make one HELL of a difference for the price he is charging.

All this by the time we hit August....because I have to get ready to come off sabbatical "excited" to be back. Not. And face all the barely sincere comments " Sorry to hear about your father, " and "How was your sabbatical?" "Are your fired up to be back?"  I would have given the first of these questions a little more slack if cards or flowers had been sent by the department, or independently. How was my sabbatical? I watched my father die. How do you think it was? Am I fired up to be back? I am  looking forward to a diversion from the grief. But fired up to put up with the toxic bullshit that pervades our department? I will have NONE of it. I will be much more mindful about what I will and will not do. ANd I am blessed that I have the ability to this as needed. I don't need these thoughtless colleagues digging into my barely healed wound. I need a comeback line to shut them down.

Well, there's more on this, but the ambien is taking over...love to my friends. <3

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