Perspective from the Tramp December 31, 2013

Daughter Annie and I have just returned from a two-week holiday in New Zealand.  Prior to the winter break for each of the last ten years, I’ve contemplated a trip to New Zealand but never got up the gumption nor committed the sizeable outlay of cash that visiting it requires.  This year, however, inspired by my new freedom and by Annie’s need to escape the trio of cold, dark, and wet that characterize winter in her adopted city of Seattle, I acted.  I bought a pair of Air New Zealand tickets about nine months ago and signed us up for a guided “tramp” on the Milford Track. 

The trip was a success from the start – almost, as our flight to Auckland was cancelled and I scurried to change accommodation and car rental bookings – to finish.  On the North Island, we hiked the Tongariro volcano crossing, a 12-mile romp which included an arduous uphill of 800 meters in steps and stone to about 1900 m altitude; it was the hardest hike I recall doing but the long downhill was sensational.  The second day of the Milford Track had a similar, albeit more gradual, ascent to a summit pass of about half the altitude of Tongariro.  Still, it was not a trivial hike, and we were lucky enough to do it in excellent weather.

The Milford Track was a wake-up call for me.  It seems very unlikely I’ll be fit enough for this kind of hike even ten years from now.  I can already feel my body slowing down, and my fear of falling over and breaking a fragile bone increasing.  Now I know I need to start digging into the bucket list of adventures I’ve been contemplating, especially as Annie has turned into quite a tramper and has thrown a few ideas into the bucket, too.  The Inca trail is my next choice, while Annie is pushing for Mount Kilimanjaro.  Like the alignment of stars or the intersection of sets in a Venn diagram, Annie’s and my interests and abilities have coalesced, and her holiday schedules can be accommodated by my retirement flexibility.  It seems we have developed a new, shared passion and I certainly have sharpened my perspective for how I want to spend some of my dwindling time on this planet.

First Light December 9, 2013

I love waking up just before dawn.  Light drifts in through the uncovered clerestory windows that cap my bedroom’s east-facing wall.  I open my eyes and look for that subtle transition from streetlight to sun, when the room begins to fill with a sense of smoky blue-grey.  Shadow edges against the rising light, which reflects too from my framed photographs’ glasses.  I love thinking about the transition from rods’ function to cones’ as dim light slowly brightens and the colors of my sheets and walls begin to emerge. 

Pogo gently bumps his nose against mine to tell me now is the time to make our move.  Just another minute, Pogo!  Let me savor this one.

The Red Car Redux December 7, 2013

Having recently extolled the virtues of my new red Mini, I must sadly report that the little car has suffered the indignity of being hit and badly hurt by an SUV.  Last night I drove down to the new SF Jazz venue with my friend and neighbor Marty to meet with another friend for dinner followed by the Philharmonia Baroque concert.  We had just slipped into a driver’s side parking space on Oak Street, a one-way thoroughfare, in front of the French and Chinese American Schools, two spaces away from the busy intersection at Franklin Street.  Because we were about 10 minutes early, we remained in the car and chatted when we suddenly felt the rear impact of a large car that thrust us up onto the pavement.  The driver, who also damaged the parked car in front of us, continued through the light and onto Franklin Street, while many pedestrians yelled out and ran after him, but he continued to speed away.  The School guard came out to tell us that the whole episode was caught on tape.  The dark colored SUV had an Idaho license MB1152 and from the detritus it left on the scene we surmised that it was a Nissan.  We were stunned but unhurt.  While we stood in the cold rain, we contacted the police, the tow truck, and the insurance company, and I watched the evening and the next week disappear into dealing with this new and unexpected problem. 

This morning, Marty and I checked in with each other.  We both realized how close we had come to real tragedy.  If Marty had been getting out of the car at that instant, she would have been badly injured or perhaps even killed.  It is a reminder of the fragility of life, that we carry around that vulnerability with us at all times but try not to think about it.  Oddly, it can take a challenging moment like last night’s to wake us up and to remind us to tell our friends and family how much we love them every single day.

The Audition November 26, 2013

For the past five months, I have been living, sleeping, and breathing with one intention: doing a successful audition for a slot as an extra chorister with the San Francisco Opera.  Lessons, coaching, practicing, auditioning, keeping colds and flu at bay – all funneling into that very brief performance of the Jewel Song from Faust on the fifth floor of the opera house on a Tuesday mid-afternoon.  Of course, I was terrified that I would forget a few words or even worse – faint or vomit.  But I didn’t.  At age 60, after a 20-year hiatus from singing, I was able to produce a sound much to my satisfaction, and I was prepared and poised enough to make it through the aria smoothly.  

My nervousness wasn't just about the audition.  Because I decided to chronicle my year of transition in this blog, I felt the weight of boomers everywhere who are also trying to move on to some new challenge.  I really didn't want to disappoint whomever might be reading this (those one or two of you!) with a failure.  

Still, failure, I'm sure, is the result of my effort.  I knew immediately that I would not be offered a slot because they did not ask to hear a second aria (I had prepared S’altro che lagrime from Clemenza di Tito by Mozart).  Moreover, on the way out of the audition, I was handed a one-page summary of information about the Chorus, including the statement that this year very few positions are available in the chorus (italics is theirs). In fact, I learned today that the SF Chronicle critic Josh Kosman recently published an article on the opera chorus, including how tough it is to get a slot in it. “Robertson [the chorus director] hears about 100 to 150 auditions for new members each year - even though, he says, the turnover rate for the orchestra [sic] is only about one singer a year.”  I knew it was tough.  I knew it was nearly impossible.  But if only they knew how much I wanted to sing with them!

Bicycling November 17, 2013

Before I went to see my coach Cathy last week, I pulled out a journal I had kept during our initial work together and was reminded that one of the things I desired in my life was more outdoor activity – bicycling, golfing, skiing, maybe even joining an aging ladies soccer team (though I have no experience or skills in that sport whatsoever).   The weather today was crisp and sunny, and, instead of going to a musical event I had planned on, I filled up the tires of my rusty bike, dusted off the helmet, and headed for Golden Gate Park.  This is a short route – down the slope from my home on Woodland Avenue to Stanyan Street to the Panhandle, then left onto JFK into the Park and down to the ocean, and back again – that I had done many times in the past, particularly with Annie when she was young.  I still remember the first time we went down with her trailer bike, its little orange flag sticking up to signal her presence, and my difficulty in pulling her weight plus mine back up again.  For many years, we would go to her tennis lesson in the Park by bike, and then to the Academy of Sciences to see the “fishies”.  But once Annie became too cool to ride a bike, especially with me, I had somehow relinquished the pleasure of this little ride altogether, as though doing it without her was unimaginable.

Probably five years had elapsed since I last rode to the ocean.  Is that possible?  I was surprised to see that nothing much had changed. The in-line skaters still jitter at 8^th Avenue as do the Lindy swing dancers nearby, the model boats still float in Spreckles Lake, the buffalo still roam in the paddock, and another generation of little children and their families bicycle together.  I rode in a swarm of happy memories, and by the way, easily made it back up the hill.

The Journey November 17, 2013

I am lucky to have some very insightful friends who occasionally shower me with their wisdom.  On Wednesday over a cup of coffee I told Carl of my recent progress with singing, that I had now moved on to a simple state of joy and was really enjoying practice again.  We talked about this issue of being impatient with life and wanting to get to the goal rather than settling in to embrace the journey, and he pointed out that in fact 99% of any endeavor – in his case it is finishing a book he’s been working on – is in the doing itself, not the actual ending.  “This is how we actually live our life,” he said.  Fortunately, I am a big fan of the journey, more and more so the older I get, but it is nice to be reminded and to be more conscious of this point every day.

The Red Car November 15, 2013

As I was approaching R-day, it was time to turn in the silver Prius I had leased three years before and to decide what car to lease or purchase for the future.  A decision of this magnitude – well, let’s be honest, a decision of any magnitude – for me is a challenge.  Though the Prius had great mileage, comfort, and sufficient roominess for two bicycles or lots of soccer-playing girls on its side, it also had major blind spots, both front and back, rattling me on many journeys.  I can’t tell you how many people in crosswalks I had nearly wiped out or how many cars I had nearly crashed into while changing lanes during those three years!  

And so it was that I fulfilled my destiny, presaged – or should I say “instructed” – by the fortune from a Chinese cookie about a dozen years ago when the Mini was released and which I have carried around with me ever since.  It said, “Buy the Red Car.”  And so, finally, I did. 

Now you will find me in a little button of a chili-red Mini Cooper, changing lanes faster than you can say “Bob’s your uncle” and taking that little spot between two San Francisco driveways that defies parking by any other car.  I can honestly say this is the most fun car I’ve ever owned (except maybe the red Fiat I drove as a graduate student, which my father always referred to as the red lemon), and gosh, it took retirement to get there!

Check-In November 12, 2013

It has now been three months since I started The Passaggio blog and four since I retired.  Since I’m planning to keep up this blog for one year only, I thought it was time for a little “check-in” to assess how things are going and to re-group if necessary.  (Just think, faithful readers, you are already one-third of the way through, too!)  Check-in here is not unlike writing the summary and conclusions in the old gridded lab notebook, recording what have I done, what has worked, what hasn't, what does it all mean, how should I proceed.  

Let’s start with project numero uno: singing. I’ve leapt with typical verve and commitment into a completely new life.  My two music classes at College of Marin are awakening me to a whole new world, but these are hard subjects and are not coming easily to me.  I am learning a whole new language, one which would have been much easier to grasp at age ten, with music theory being the written word and ear training being the spoken.  It is a steep learning curve, which I love, but tedious, which I don't.  In principle, I should be good at this, but I’m simply not.  I’m going to keep going for now and try to work a little harder at it; maybe there is just a little hump or activation barrier I need to vault over to really get it!

Added to that is how frazzled I feel by my singing practice, which I dutifully attend to almost every day.  With a new teacher, there were many new or long-forgotten ingredients to meld into my voice, with only occasional satisfying results.  I simply wasn’t enjoying practice as much as I used to; it seemed to take inordinately long to coax out a beautiful sound, and I had to ask why.  If you read “Daruma Doll” (November 10), you’ll get part of the answer, and here I did need to regroup, prune away one teacher, and recommit to the joy and the intellectual and physical challenge inherent in singing.  Performing in Pirates and Tosca - indeed, just practicing with other singers - is so enjoyable and powerful for me that I know this is what I need to do. 

One perk of retirement in concert with an empty nest is the ability to be spontaneous.  I feel like a social butterfly who has emerged from a seemingly impenetrable chrysalis.  Movie?  Sure!  Concert?  Yes!  Art exhibit?  I’m there.  Drink afterwards?  Why not!  A walk?  Let me get my shoes!  So let’s put that, together with the many friends who share in these delights, in the plus column. 

But am I really moving into a path that is deeply meaningful?  My meditation practice has been replaced by obsession with my art projects.  I now leap out of bed to play with paint and paper at my kitchen table rather than settling myself down onto my zafu cushion.  One of my hopes for this year has been to initiate work with a spiritual teacher – I already know whom I intend to approach for help – but I keep avoiding contacting her because I know it will be another large time commitment.  Clearly, delving further into Buddhism is not my priority at this time.  It will come.

The blog itself, though, is a small platform for meaning, "writing as meditation practice", as they say.  Those of you who keep a blog – Chieko and Molly I’m thinking of you – know how time-consuming it can be to turn a little thought into a paragraph.  But, in terms of a path, it somehow makes you accountable and adds an extra dimension to your experience.  I’ll keep going.

The Daruma Doll November 10, 2013

I had previously mentioned Cathy, my life coach, who prompted me to start singing again after a twenty-year hiatus to raise Annie and to care for my lab.  Cathy, who is of Japanese descent, gave me a Daruma Doll, a little wooden model of a Zen Buddhist with two eyes missing.  “The idea,” Cathy instructed, “is to paint in one eye with an intention of something you want to accomplish, and then to paint in the other eye when you have achieved it.”  Immediately, I painted in one eye with a black Sharpie and wrote the words “SF Opera Chorus” on the bottom of the doll.  It became my intention to audition for the San Francisco Opera chorus and my hope to get a slot as an extra chorus member. 

I like the idea of having a challenging goal, one which is not easily accomplished, but which has some small chance for success.  Last year I had heard a guy named Eric Maisel on the radio talking about “productive obsession”, and this notion really resonated for me.  The idea is to have both an absorbing journey and a clear destination.  The book I have been working on (that is another topic for the future) is one such perfect example.  I loved the process of research for the book, the writing and re-writing, and ultimately I hope for a real publication.  I asked Cathy for a second Daruma Doll for this productive obsession, and it has one eye filled in and labeled, “Splice”, the book’s provisional title.

Auditions for the opera chorus are now imminent, and this sincere intention – a whole Buddhist doll dedicated to the process! – has understandably ratcheted up my anxiety.  Added to that anxiety has been the mercurial behavior of my new voice teacher, who one moment supports me and the next tells me I’m not ready.  It became so unsettling, even though I have really learned a lot from her and enjoyed working with her, that I needed to end our student-teacher relationship in order to re-ground myself.  Now I need to put this audition in perspective, to think of it as a fun challenge rather than simply a terrifying, high-stake experience.  Practice, practice, and we’ll see what happens!

Hockney: The Texture Guy November 3, 2013

Yesterday my friend Beverly drove into San Francisco from her home in Mill Valley and we spent the day together.  As it happened, it was her birthday, so I was especially delighted to be with her.  We hiked the big loop up on Mount Sutro, where the hearty Sutro Stewards were working on the trails, as they do the first Saturday of every month.  (NB – I helped one Saturday and it was such strenuous work that I have shied away ever since; my vulnerable back is simply not sturdy enough for the challenge, so many thanks and kudos to those who were out there!) 

Beverly is a prominent ceramicist, and I wanted to show her what I was learning in my beginning art class at College of Marin.  I took her through the cut-outs, the values, the milk carton, the logo, and then my little scribblings of line and texture for our current book project.

From there we went down to the de Young Museum, that glorious Herzog & de Meuron copper-clad edifice in Golden Gate Park, to see the new David Hockney exhibit, “A Bigger Exhibition”, feasting first on lunch and coffee in the cafe as we waited for our timed entrance.  OMG, this was even more mind-blowing than the recent Diebenkorn show.  The volume of his output, the quickness, the colors, the use of iPad and digital cameras.  And then Beverly said, “He’s a texture guy,” and suddenly I understood what we are trying to accomplish in our line and texture art project.  Already in the past week, I had started to notice texture I had never been aware of before – the diamond pattern made on the sidewalk by light through fencing, the back side of Trader Joe’s graham crackers.  My art class has given me a new way of seeing, and I am so grateful.

Student Rush November 2, 2013

Previously I noted the little thrill of getting a senior discount at the swimming pool in Palo Alto, but full-time studenthood has gone one better with student rush at the San Francisco Opera.  My favorite spot in the opera house, after thirty years of experimentation and analysis, optimizing sight, sound, price, willingness of friends to join me, and intimacy with the production itself, is now the orchestra front row, in one of the two far left or far right seats.  Twice now with student rush, I’ve been able to wend my way a little closer to center, still in the front row, still able to take in the conductor and the marvelous orchestra, but with a fuller view of the production.  The opera house is my cathedral, and the closer I can get to the alter of music, the better.

The Book Review October 30, 2013

One vestige of my former career as a geneticist happily lingers into this year of passaggio: I am the Interviews Editor for an open access journal, PLoS Genetics.  I had suggested to my co-editors that we run the occasional book column with recommendations for good reads in and around genetics, and I also volunteered to write the first one.  We set a target date in anticipation of the holiday book-giving season, and then I was actually forced to set down a few lines about my favorite books in the science genre.  The column should appear in early December, and I’ll be curious to see if anyone out there in cyberspace will be inspired to pick up one of my choices and share in my joy.  Or perhaps whether I'll be skewered because his or her favorite book isn't on the list.  

Opus One through Four October 30, 2013

Writing a piece of music, no matter how short or how simple, was not something I thought I would ever be capable of doing.  And yet, for my music theory class, I have now written four little ditties, about 8 bars each.  “Start with the melody and add some chords – think function,” said my teacher Trevor, or “start with a bass line and add a soprano counterpoint.”  These baby steps are jittery and surprising, and like a proud mother, I have recorded these little bits of magic on my iPhone to document, to revel in and to share with indulgent friends and family.   I wonder whether these steps might ever evolve into sure footing, or even whether they will be practiced.