Heaven on Earth

This Place






+ These People



= 5 Days of PERFECTION. Shopping with mom, sisters, and a supportive but perhaps scarred 17-year old brother. Trying to count the number of times my 11-year old brother said "MOM!!! She's being SO childish!" And doing everything possible to make him say it again. Picking out my sister's outfit for her first day of high school. Holding my new, almost-6-month-old nephew for the first time. Daddy. Getting my daily hug ration. Organizing a family yoga session for some of the tightest hamstrings ever created and enjoying the hilarity that ensued. Catching up with old friends. Seeing tears of pride roll down Grandma's cheeks after giving a synopsis and sampling of Peter Grimes--I blame her for my love of literature. Playing in church. Waking up early for family scriptures. Wishing I could stay longer. And praying for safety and strength for all until I see them again.

My heaven on earth.

I was born to play football. And people tell me that all the time. I mean, my stocky build, speed of lightening, and just overall toughness seem to make it pretty obvious.

So, I guess I just missed my calling in life. As is: I. Love. Football. Period. (emphasis added) Mostly in person---I attended every home game possible at the Big House during my two years at the University of Michigan, even braving the wrath of my teacher and skipping studio class to attend the Ohio State game. WHO in their right mind is going to miss that kind of rivalry...for piano?!?! (Despite said statement, I. Also. Love. Piano. Period.)

Friday night I found myself here:

That's right. Back at a high school football game. Baking in the sun on the bleachers, the crisp feel of autumn setting in as the sun went down, the speculation about the upcoming season. And I loved it. Especially when I heard my little brother's name called over the loudspeaker, vicariously fulfilling my lifetime calling. I saw his first two receptions of the season, the two resulting first downs, some fantastic blocking, and VICTORY! I still find it a bit mind-boggling that my "little" brother was a participant---when I left home he was 9 and I could still take him. Now he clocks in at 6'4" and 185. And obviously I could still take him. If I wanted to.

It's possible you won't see me out on a field in a football helmet and pads anytime soon. So the fates have willed it. But as football season is upon us, I'm training as if I'm a starter. First, I'm altering my Netflix lineup to include every football classic film: Rudy, Remember the Titans, The Blind Side...feel free to add your recommendations to the list. I'm already shredding, thanks to Jillian, so no worries there. And I caught AND threw a football today! SO maybe I actually don't need to train. Like I said, I was born to play football.

I Hate Goodbyes

EXHIBIT A:


Occasionally moments arise when I'm convinced I picked the wrong profession. And I can predict those moments down to the day, or at least the week (I'm only leaving off minute to avoid sounding pretentious---but I could). Add that to the "Special Skills" system of my resume. Along with my recorder playing. SO, when do such questions of doubt pervade my being? The End. It might be the end of a season. Maybe the end of summer. The end of a program. The end of a production. Time's measured differently in the opera world, so there are endless possibilities for The End. Regardless, in The End one thing is inevitable: Goodbyes.

I HATE GOODBYES!!! Consider Exhibit A, carefully labeled for your convenience. I love the travel, I love the new places, I love the new friends, I love the variety and change, I love being employed, and I love my actual work. There's a lot of love going on here. And then there's that bit of hate; capitalized, italicized, and bolded(?), also for your convenience.

I started this summer off in full-out tears when I had to say goodbye to Houston at the airport. I found myself blurry-eyed at our post-rehearsal hangout Clyde's when The End of American sojourn came and my peeps moved to Vienna. "But you don't cry!!" Exclamation of my roommate CM when I teared up with pride post-her rocking recital performance. Which may have been true (excepting of course in that well-known tear jerker film "Blow").

But what are you supposed to do when you have to say goodbye to this???

What happens when you have to split sisters and souls, yet again???

How do you just leave colleagues that in 3 short months have managed to become lifelong friends???

It's not that you'll never see them again. And it's not that your life won't go on perfectly smoothly without seeing them every day. "The End" in the opera world isn't actually permanent, after all---can't even begin to count how many times Tosca or Butterfly will resurrect just to kill themselves again. But life spent with the people you love is just better.

Hence, the occasional hatred of my job. Which really only stems from my love of my job. And of people. Dear Dr. Suess said "Don't cry because it's over. Smile because it happened." Which is a nice thought. But as it turns out, I'm a multi-tasker.

SSSSHHHH!!! JUST GO!

The blog in which They Love, I Eat, and...You Pray?

Occasionally time stands still, the world spins a bit slower, and life comes into focus. The mistakes of the past vanish, the concerns of the future fade and everything's calm. It's like the universe gave a deep sigh of contentment, and left you with basking in the sensation that all is right in the world.

Saturday evening, in the basement where poor reception has been known to wreak havoc on my life, I started a coaching and saw my silenced phone ring. Enter unprofessionalism--I grabbed my phone and actually ran out of the room. So long soprano. Not my typical behavior, for the record, but two of my dearest friends decided to jump continents this past week and moved from Vienna, Va to Vienna, Austria. And they were calling. Bless technology! While I would have been excited to hear from them on any occasion, I had my suspicions as to the motive for the call. Suspicions confirmed: THEY GOT ENGAGED!!! Unprofessionalism forgiven, right dear soprano? I knew it was coming and had heard the proposal plan earlier in the week, but all the same, when I hung up the phone I have to say I was a bit teary. Why? Well, who really knows, aside from the fact that it seems I've recently developed emotions. It might have something to do with the fact that they're perfect for each other. Two individually wonderful people who couldn't be more extraordinary--unless you put them together. They're both on the list of people I'd like to be like when I grow up. And while their paths to each other weren't exactly direct, the EM+LMB combination seems to be living proof that things can and do work out exactly as they should. That life's as it should be and all's right with the world.

I had a Nielsen's concrete--thank you Vienna for your delicious custard!---for dinner to celebrate. And went to the park to eat it in sunny bliss.

As if that weren't enough to prove that the universe is perfectly aligned, I also found a brilliant pair of jeans during Tax-Free Weekend. AND managed to score them at 40% off. AND they're a size smaller. Thanks to Jillian, summer stresses, and pescatarian exploration (I'm sure). Did I mention they're long enough? Talk about all being right with the world!

Could things get any better? Well, I did spend Friday night sharing popsicles with my nephew and spending a chill evening with the fam--including CM. AND I taught my first Russian diction class on Saturday. To continue with the overuse of the expression: all's right with the world.

And given my Zen opening (let's be honest---probably the least Zen person you know), I'm going to end by telling you I'm excited for this weekend and this movie:

GO UNIVERSE!!!

Words of Wisdom: Age 1

Keep your eye on the target. You will triumph over those who don't.

Ice cream does actually make everything better. And there's absolutely no need to share.

Do take the time to feel sand between your toes. You might find yourself amazed at how entertaining it can be.

When said sand manages to coat your potato chips, don't sweat it. The little things bring texture to life.

When on the campus of a prestigious university, it's best to blend in. Go for contemplative.

Water features will always be a wonder of the world.

There are people who love you enough to carry all your baggage. And you. Use them.

When asked for a kiss, remember: a wide-open mouth is always best.


A view means most when you've got a hand to hold.

Wisdom comes a lot earlier than one might think.

Adventures of a Pescatarian

Let it be established that I love food. If you're new to this blog, understanding that basic fact will provide insight into the majority of my ramblings. And if you've been reading for some time and haven't picked up on that...seek professional help.

I have a colleague this summer that recently decided to be a pescatarian. And when he told me this I laughed in his face. Rude? Perhaps. But when food is the focal point of your existence, anything that limits your edible options is equivalent to starvation, dieting, depression, self-destruction, etc. You get the idea. He kindly explained his dietary choice, and I had/have a few problems with it. #1) There is no set spelling for the term. I've now found it in multiple dictionaries, spelled both with an "a" in pescAtarian, and with an "e", pescEtarian. How can anyone respect a trend that has such clear factions within its followers? #2) Did I mention how I feel about food???

So...I decided to try it. Dizzying logic, I know. Some called the radical move "solidarity." For me, it was much more---a full-fledged embrace of an alternative lifestyle: dietary restriction. At a round-table discussion on the subject, (yes I will make our break spot sound that legitimate) a few colleagues, in turn, laughed at me for coining it thus, due to what they deem my alternative lifestlye: religion. Fair enough. Although all this time I'd thought virginity and sobriety were the norm...
Ironies aside, I was a committed pescatarian for a work-week. (Lest anyone, pescatarian and Mormon alike, find themselves offended at this point, best to get it over it. All laughter was in fact good-natured).



THOUGHTS OF A NEWLY-INDUCTED PESCATARIAN:

Day 1: This is my idea of hell. I want a salad WITH chicken on it, and that's bad for me?!?! I don't think I've ever craved chicken in my life. Until this moment. Absolute hell. Wait...I can still have sugar. Suppose it could be worse---I could be a pescatarian on a diet.

Day 2: Need food. Quick. Subway? Oh, fantastic. Let's order the Veggie DELIGHT?!?! There's a first. Foot long so I can save half for dinner. Ugh. Doomed to hunger for an entire week. What have I become...

Day 3: Enough. Going to a fabulous DC restaurant to eat more fish than could possible be good for me. BONUS: restaurant has an Office quote on the wall. Does it get higher class???

Day 4: I'm rocking this game. Bless short-term commitments. Another foot-long Veggie Delight? Bring it on.

Day 5: Let's wrap up this nonsense with a little grandeur--FRENCH! Mussels and more mussels and SALMON! I love my life. I love food. Even as a PESC(A/E)TARIAN!!!

CONCLUSION: Stephanie finds it in herself to love and respect pescatarianism. It doesn't hurt to eat healthier. And she still loves meat. And the third-person. And sugar. And food.

If you had to pick one word to describe me what would it be? Think carefully. But not too carefully. This isn't a pageant and I will not be offering prizes or scoring your descriptions. Although that sounds like a great idea as I'm typing it...

Overwhelmed with adjectives but think you have an answer? Well...you're wrong. You may have picked a brilliant word, something you felt flawlessly described me. But you don't know me. (Inflect previous statement with appropriate attitude). Actually, you might. And I hope you do if you're reading this. And maybe your word was actually correct. Retract every statement I've made thus far. You know me. Your word was entirely accurate--assuming it was positive---BUT in about 25 more days you'll want to rethink your word choice. Why???

Because I am shredding. Not a term to throw around lightly. And I just dropped it into the public arena of the internet. Bold, I know. But so is my newfound commitment to exercise videos. About a month ago I made several key power purchases. Really, they'd be better termed as investments than purchases, but no need to get into that at the moment. Especially given that my investments are safely sitting in Houston, TX. Apparently I have too many addresses on Amazon to actually keep them straight.

"But Stephanie," you ask, "how is it then that you're shredding?" Eloquently worded and wisely posed. ANSWER: a little illegal activity can get you a long way. DISCLAIMER: I don't actually subscribe to illegal activity and should any government official happen across this post, my behaviors should in no way inhibit my travels to Russia. Sincerely, me.

I'm now on Day 5 of Jillian's 30-day shred. That's right, Day 5. In case the repetition didn't clue you in, this is a big deal. You see, I don't do fitness. Love running, tennis, hiking, yoga---activity in general. But a fitness regiment? Nope. Jillian actually says it best: "Fitness is not very important to me." The End. Ok...maybe she follows it up with: "Being healthy is very important to me and fitness is a means to do that." First, I'm going to make a bold statement and say that fitness is actually very important to her. And there's actually no second. Just wanted to take a moment to call her out on her bluff. POINT: I once served my time dieting, spending hours in the gym, etc. But those were the days when I was walking around stage in a bathing suit. Adequate fitness motivation. Now I prefer my intermittent gym-going, lots of desserts, and the occasional obsession with exercise videos.

The challenge is in the 30-days. A fitness routine. A commitment. The reward? Ridiculous windmill and hip roll stretches every day AND my new one-word description:

SHREDDED!!!

And maybe I'm secretly filming an infomercial.


You could be...somewhere around...here.