Night at the Opera II

I was a little suspicious when Ed told me to try on the new oven mitts. he had just given me for my birthday. But I put one on anyway. “Buka Buka!” I said, making my mitt talk to my giggling girls.

“You’d better try on the other one, too, just in case!” Ed said. Okaaaaay…now I was more than a little suspicious! So I tried on the other oven mitt, and pulled out two tickets to the opera! I guess he was serious last year when he told me he would go to the opera again.

When the day of the opera finally arrived, I looked into the mirror and carefully applied eye liner. I had to laugh that while I was preparing to go listen to Verdi’s Aida, my children were blasting Taylor Swift’s CD in my bedroom.

As Ed and I sat in our car on the Kennedy, we could see the Chicago skyline glistening in the late afternoon sun. But we weren’t getting any closer to our destination; we were stuck in gridlock traffic! We could have taken the ‘L’, but getting onto a dirty train dressed in our opera finery was not appealing.

We finally arrived at the restaurant, 30 minutes late. Fortunately, there was still a table for us. When our food was served, I took a bite right away…I was starving! When Ed said his seafood stew looked so pretty, I had to have him take a picture…it did look pretty! (It was called something much fancier on the menu, but I will never be able to remember what it was. Seafood stew will have to do.)

Ed's seafood stew

It was a lovely evening and we strolled hand-in-hand to the Lyric Opera House. The vestibule was full of people trying to get in; men were out front holding up fingers for the number of tickets they needed. Aside from the tuxedos and heels, it was almost like a sporting event.

We made it to our seats, and the music began. Ah! It was so beautiful! Hearing a live orchestra is so wonderful; the singers were amazing; the whole experience…amazing! I don’t even want to try to find a recording to share with you, because it just wouldn’t be the same as a live performance.

Aidahas four acts, and there were two intermissions. Part of the fun of going to the opera is people watching; we saw men in tuxedos and T-shirts; women in furs; some fabulous dresses and some not so fab.

View from the Mezzanine
View from the Mezzanine

We both came home with stars in our eyes. *sigh*

If you were able to go to an opera or musical, what would you like to see?

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Voice Lessons

victorian girls with piano

The two of us huddle together under the grand piano while Frances plays and Mom sings. My little sister and I are coloring. We take the trip down to Champaign-Urbana every week for my mom’s voice lessons. On the weekends, we are with my mom up in the balcony as she sings solos at weddings and funerals and our first grade teacher accompanies her on the organ. It is the very balcony where, with my gangly arms and legs, I trip up some carpeted steps and cut my head open on the radiator. My mom holds my head in her lap staunching the bloody cut while my first grade teacher drives us to the emergency room, 35 miles away, in the same city where Mom takes voice lessons.

Then, for a few years, voice lessons are on hold. My little brother and other little sister have arrived, and there is no time for voice lessons. But the singing in church remains. Praising God with song always remains.

All four of us grow up. Mom begins taking voice lessons again, this time in Chicago.

I accompany my mom to auditions, to support her and calm her nerves.  Mom wears her grandmother’s confirmation ring on her thumb for good luck. Her other fingers are too slender to wear the golden band. She sings her signature piece from Handel’s Messiah over and over again:

 Rejoice greatly, O daughter of Zion; Shout, O daughter of Jerusalem: behold, thy King cometh unto thee.

One choir rejects her. But another one accepts her! She has the perfect voice for baroque music, and becomes a singer with Ars Musica Chicago. She has the opportunity to perform in the chorus of an opera, La púrpura de la rosa, and I am in the audience, shouting “Bravo!”

As the years go by, Mom becomes an elementary school music teacher, and leads her students in song. When she has retires from teaching, she helps my dad with chapel time at their church’s daycare, and teaches little preschool children how to praise God with song. Mom joyfully becomes a grandma. She rocks my babies and sings them to sleep.

And in that last year, even though the radiation to her skull steals not just her hair but her singing voice as well, she sings to my children in a whisper.

I am Jesus’ little lamb; Ever glad at heart I am. For my Shepherd gently guides me; Knows my needs and well provides me. Loves me every day the same; even calls me by my name.

Praising God with song always remains. I imagine she is still praising God with her singing.

 

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Written in memory of my mom, Loreeta Brammeier, Sept. 16, 1942-Nov. 23, 2009