In Memoriam

Lucius Stickann
1994-2007

I loved my friend
He went away from me.
The story ends, soft as it began,
I loved my friend.

Langston Hughes

Split Focus

I'm in New York City for two days.

It's a beautiful, warm sunny day. Not a cloud in the sky and the city is glorious. I had meetings at City Opera for a piece I'm staging in the fall and I'm having dinner tonight with a friend who I get to see so seldom that it almost seems criminal. I should be singing down the street, skipping to the rhythm of the traffic, throwing my hat up to the tops of the building.

This city turns me on like no other.

I am, however, under a pall of sadness and perhaps fear for my kitty, Lucius, my best friend for twelve years. In the two weeks that my husband was in Cooperstown breathing new life into me and us, his health declinded rapidly and as John arrives in San Diego this afternoon, we may be making decisions that mean the end of an incredible relationship of mutual love, laughter and comfort.

It kills me that I can't be there. It also kills me that, even being in the most distracting city in the world, I am no closer to shutting my mind from the grief-house in San Diego than I was yesterday in my little room in Richfield Springs.

It's the waiting that's unbearable.

Half of Me..

I just boxed up part of my life and entrusted it to UPS for a week. It should arrive in Cooperstown on Tuesday and as soon as I open it up I'll be a little more at home in a foreign land. Every time I send a package off into the ether, I worry that it will never reappear. I track it obsessively.

I think because of my small trip to the UPS Store, I was in a terrible mood the rest of the day. I snapped at John and shuffled around grumbling to myself.

Acutally, now that I think about it, I had other reasons to be in a terrible mood. I woke up and stepped off the side of the bed onto a pair of jeans I'd left on the ground, which is not the bad part. It seems that Lucius didn't quite make it to the litterbox last night. Immediately after, I realized as he climbed onto the couch that he's terrible at hygiene generally...

I love my cat, but he seems to have a knack for making me worry or curse to myself. I try to laugh myself out of it by giving him nicknames like "poo tail" but deep down it immediately puts me on edge about his health.

I'm trying to enjoy my last few days with John before I leave, but nerves and stress seems to keep getting in the way.

Biding Time..

It's the beginning of Memorial Day Weekend and I am NOT in Terre Haute, Indiana, at my family's huge annual reunion. I will NOT be waking up at 5am to pile into a van and caravan to Speedway, Indiana, to sit in the stands at the Indianapolis 500, eat burgers and drink sweet tea, cheer for Danica Patrick and watch the policeman stand on the seat of his motorcycle as it careens through the pits. No looking through binoculars at the checkered flag waving madly or wandering through the muggy caverns beneath Tower Terrace as the cement shakes from the power of 33 cars racing by at 200 mph. I'll miss my cousin's dogs romping through the halls of the Holiday Inn, a double wedding shower for two cousins (also sisters) getting married and hours of watching rugrats romping in the Holidome, their little feet slapping the wet tile as they run to grab on to their mothers.

It's okay. I'm spending the weekend with my husband, with whom I have one more week before I fly away to Upstate New York for a summer at Glimmerglass Opera. He and I have been spending as much time as we can muster together. I've even gone so far as to volunteer my services to him as he conducts interviews for a show about the Old Globe Theater's Summer Shakespeare Festival. The television station he works for is relatively understaffed right now so I like to help where I can, hooking up cameras, unrolling cords, putting together laveliere mics. It's fun to watch John work and even more fun to work with him. The picture above is a small break from our last day of interviews. John is thinking about a lighting problem while I relax against the wall. Lighting is not my forte.

I went to my second dance class this morning. Again with Jean Isaacs. I owe her a debt for getting my butt up and moving. Today I felt much better. I made it through the entire class with no qualms at all and, because I'd done all of the phrases on Tuesday, I could cycle my body easily through the movement without my muscle memory giving way to crazy improvisational seizures. And after it all, I still felt sweaty and energized, my shirt soaked and my face flushed and prickly. I'll be back next Tuesday.

Class was followed by a trip to Office Depot to buy supplies for "Orphee" and a box to send some stuff ahead to Cooperstown. As much as I'm trying to delay my inevitable departure in my mind, it is still coming with great speed and I am forced to address it. The big box sitting in the middle of the living room is now a consistent reminder that I will be separating myself from this little family of mine again.

The cats are curious about the box but don't seem to care much about my impending exit in the least. (As long as they still get fed you know..)

The roses that John gave me last week are starting to wilt and dry. Nothing stays perfect forever.

Cats Have it Easy. . .

. . .except for maybe Lucius, my aging white cat. He has a rogue claw (only one) that grows in a rapid circle and digs itself into the pad of his front paw. After five months of being away, it had stubbornly implanted itself in his little pad and I took him to the vet this morning to have it extracted.

He's doing fine but after spending any time with Lucius one gets the idea that he lives in a low-grade state of misery at all times. He's a little bit tired, a little bit gaseous, a little bit ornery and he can't stand our other cats, which makes him skittish and pissy whenever they're in the same room.

This isn't the same cat I knew a few years ago. His cardiomyopathy has changed him and I think the stress of my life over the past few years has wreaked a little havoc as well.

I know it's wreaked havoc on me.

Monty is the cat in the picture. He's our most well adjusted. He loves anyone who comes around him, sleeps all day, purrs uncontrollably when pet. Somedays I wake up and get ready for my day, look over at him and wish I were him. He's not very bright but, as John says, "how smart does he really need to be?"

He may be the only one in the house without baggage.

Midwestern Odyssey

Just a few more days in Chicago and I head to points South. Chicago has been a strange mix of old-home week and future strategic planning.

On the one hand, I am working in an extremely comfortable environment. This is the third show I've choreographed at DePaul University and the fifth time I've worked with this director. He is, in fact, the first opera director I ever assisted and this makes him a little bit mentor, a little bit friend and a little bit security blanket. I feel easy going with him in a way that I don't necessarily with other directors (especially in other houses).

On the other hand, I'm looking ahead and trying to plan out how my career is going to go. This really isn't something that's possible to do. So many established people who's brains I've picked tell me that so much of it is timing and luck. I know this, but it doens't keep my type-a personality from analyzing and reanalyzing what I've done, where I'm going and where I want to go. There's a thing so many of us say when we look ahead at our schedules and when they seemingly end. "What's coming up for you?" someone asks. "Oh...I'm at New York City Opera in September and after that I may never work again." Unrealistic for sure but it seems that way sometimes. I have offers on the table right now, I just have to sift through them and figure out what's best for me. Having the future of my career in my own hands is a relatively scary thing....but I digress.

Back to DePaul and Chicago, this has been a strange experience because it's really the first time I've run in during a rehearsal period, set some dance moves, and run back out again. I don't get to see this show open, I don't get to deal with the dancers on stage, and I didn't get to preplan by being here from the very beginning. I kind of like the limited responsibility, but I don't feel I'm bonding with it in the same way and that makes me a little sad.

The best parts of coming back here are the people. This is a director that I would follow around for the rest of my existance. I am lucky enough to have a couple of people in my life like that and I hope I know them for a good long time. They are the people who will always teach me something no matter how long I've been in the business and the people I will always be able to jump back into working with, with very little hitch and reintroduction.

I also like the fact that I've been able to watch a few of these students move through the program since I've come back about every two years. There are principals in this piece who were fighting their way through the chorus when I was here for "Idomeneo" in 2005. I love watching progress happen. The sad is end is seeing someone who hasn't progressed, but that's evident in all aspects of my teaching. I feel a little like a teacher here since this show is being put up in academia, and I like having that experience of giving back in a world that makes me feel pretty damn selfish most of the time.

The picture is a waltz rehearsal at the Music School. John took it while he was in town. I've been really pleased with everyone's progress with the dances, so I'm not sure what I'm thinking here. One student came up to me yesterday and said, "I can see your wheels turning every time we dance. It's great." They're turning pretty damn hard in this photo.

The other, other thing about Chicago is the opportunity to see family. I am staying with my little brother right now. My little brother who just turned 26 and lives on his own and has a real job and acts all adult...I feel younger than both of my brothers sometimes. I missed his birthday while I was in touring hell so I'm taking him out tomorrow night since we do not have rehearsals. My parents are coming up over the weekend so I'll get a chance to hang out with them as well. My fourteen-year-old brother will be with them. He is the one I've missed out with. I left home before he was two and sometimes I feel like I have to play catch-up with his life. He's changing so rapidly.

The other picture is of me at my sister-in-law's house in Cleveland, holding her cat, Jerry. That's the other thing I got to do here. John came in, we drove six hours to Cleveland, and I got to meet my father-in-law for the first time. It was a completely whirlwind trip in which we got into town at 4 in the morning and stayed for less than 48 hours, but I think totally worth it. Family is extremely important and I sometimes forget when I'm caught up in the opera of the day. Travel does one of two things. It either makes me forget completely about the existance of family or it makes me wallow in the fact that I am not around them.

John's family seems far away sometimes and I want to know them, so going there and having dinner and laughing, seeing pictures of John as a kid, was healing and encompassing. I am a part of a larger chain.

I think that's all the news that's fit to print right now. Life keeps moving forward and I am constantly readjusting to fit myself in. Career is absolutely important but sometimes we just have to look at it cross-eyed and have a beer with a friend, chase our brother's cat, sit in a coffee-shop and stare at the passers-by...

In Memoriam

Abby Stickann
(2002-2007)

My mother's beautiful 50th birthday tabby, peaceful, soft, comforting, died suddenly last night after only five short years of bringing joy to my parents and brothers (and sometimes Slim Shady, who would hang on the door of the back porch to get her attention). My memories of her consist of her silky gray fur slinking through the living room after I first walked in the door, of her watchful eyes bearing down on me from high above the great room as she perched on the shelf by the ceiling, of her fast asleep under the Christmas tree, curled up by Baxter, and sitting on her scratching post waiting for Dad to pet her as he passed by.

May she rest in peace.

Blown Away

It's really windy tonight. The trees are casting strange moving shadows on the wall in my room and the sound is sometimes overwhelming, reminding me somewhat of a tidal ocean crashing against the side of the house. I feel sturdy in here but with every gusty crash I feel nerves creep in. I don't particularly like extreme weather but am somehow a magnet for it wherever I go.

The picture is Chai, of course, my new best friend. He has taken to lounging lackadaisically on my bed while I'm working. Last night he chased constantly after my papers wherever I set them. He is as perverse and anti-work as any cat I've ever met.

I went to dinner and a movie tonight with people from the opera. We saw "History Boys," the Alan Bennett play-cum-movie about British prep-school boys in the eighties and the long debate over teaching for test scores or teaching how to think. I thought the film was beautiful and raw and sexually/emotionally/ideally edgy in a way Americans can very rarely perform. It makes me wish I'd seen the stage play as I've read in several places that the play runs rings around the film. It's exactly the same cast, so I'm curious how the production transferred (and how it could fall - in some people's eyes - so completely short in the film incarnation).


Rehearsals are going very well. We will finish the architecture of the piece tomorrow or the next day, which is fast work. The arias still need loads of work and the recits are pure hell in their length and specificity, but we are getting there and having a few big laughs along the way. The pic to the left is a constant in most opera rehearsal rooms: cough drops and antibacterial gel. It's unbelieveable how much of this stuff we go through. All performers fear illness in the course of a show, but singers are by far the most paranoid. I think because, while dancers and most actors can perform while they've got a cold, singers really cannot. If a voice is compromised by intense congestion or (heaven forbid) throat pain, the performance is lost. What a precarious place to be. For some, even the suggestion of a throat tickle leads to a hypochondriac fit.

I am feeling homesick right now and hoping this will pass. It's bad to start with that feeling so early in the process. I don't particularly care for pining and wish my heart could go along with my head in its understanding of the makeup of my life. This is what I do - this travel for my work thing. It means that home is tangible but distant and I must find comfort in the little bits of life I carry with me: my sheets, my pictures, my Eyeore mug, my pillow. John and I talk every night (and sometimes day) and the internet is always there.

It's hard to be an emotional person with a job that is so mutable. This life requires hardness and cynicism.

I put up a brilliant cyncial front but I'm really rather soft inside.

Merry Holidays!

Happy holidays to everyone, no matter what celebration you take part in. John and I are relaxing this Christmas Eve. I think we are both a little sad not to be back in the Midwest with our families, but, as you can see, our tree is full and we are looking forward to having a relaxing Christmas before I run off for a very long time.

I've always celebrated Christmas as a secular holiday. I was not raised with any particular religion and didn't really know the origin of Christmas (the story of Jesus and the Nativity) until I was well into my grammar school years. My grandmother always had a nativity set up under the tree with all of the animals and wise men and baby in a manger. When we went to Florida for the holidays, my brothers and I would play with it as we would any other set up; it was fun, we made the people talk to each other. It wasn't until much later that I understood why it was always there at Christmas time.


This picture is Stella and Monty staring at the tree. They've stayed away from it; we've been lucky. My mother's cat, Abigail, took down their 6 foot Christmas tree this year. I can't imagine. Our tree is a small table-top tree but these wily cats could still cause quite a mess if they really wanted to.


I've been prepping for Agrippina like mad. As you can see, Lucius is a big help in the process. He sits on the couch with me while I transfer one score's notes to the other and type up scene breakdowns, etc. He's a constant source of inspiration; my "mews" if you will (sorry...) . Monty sometimes joins him, but Lucius is the constant.

So, tonight John and I will play a game and watch a movie and open a present or two, we'll sleep in tomorrow, call our families and open gifts. It's a great time of year. I hope, whatever your traditions are, that you are enjoying a couple of relaxing days, you aren't stressing yourself out, and you have the opportunity to commune with those you really love. More soon from the Opera front!

It's The Day of the Show Y'All!

I think Parker Posey's line in "Waiting for Guffman" always expressed preshow jitters best. Whenever I get to an opening night, it's the first thing I think of.

John and I spent our morning buying some cookie platters at Costco and a cash box at Office Depot, and then had a nice breakfast at Brian's counter. I needed big food this morning so I don't get hungry this afternoon. Costco is a nightmare no matter what kind of stress you've got going on, but I found it particularly heinous this morning. The platters look nice though so I'm happy about that.

We'll leave here with everything in about 45 minutes and then it's the point of no return (though I think I may have hit that quite some time ago). I'm looking forward to my next gigs because they don't involve me being in charge of any kind of marketing. I only have to think about the show. What luxury.

The pictures are of Lucius and Monty expressing their giddy excitement for their mom's concert. They are, quite obviously, my loudest cheering section: )

Feeling Better Today

This picture is of my neice, Elsa, showing me how well she spins in the living room of my parent's home in Missouri. I've been thinking a lot about my neice and nephew and how far away John and I are from them. The holidays always bring up issues of family and right now I am missing all of these people I love.

I think this bit of homesickness has been part of my problem lately. I've been in a funk, as was demonstrated by my blog entry yesterday. I'm feeling a lot better today. I took a three-mile walk and got a blended mocha at this amazing coffee shop called "Mystic Mocha" in North Park, and dropped off some more postcards and, well, ultimately revved up enough endorphins to keep me out of this funk I've been in for the last week.

I think I'm on the brink right now of a lot of things. The brink of this trip to Hungary, the brink of the holidays, the brink of me leaving for almost five months, always the brink of insanity methinks. It puts me on an edge I don't particularly care for and now I'm trying to figure out how to back up.

There are people moving into the house next door. The moving van has been out front all day and I hear noises like vacuum cleaners and electric drills and tiny shouts and sometimes laughter coming from inside the walls. John and I have discussed buying a house but it's a near impossibility for artists in the land of Southern California. What an exciting time it must be for them, but I imagine, as I would be, they are also stressing about being able to keep their finances in order and their house from falling apart. It's one of those future things that I want and don't want all at the same time.

My three cats have all been really ornery with each other lately. Lucius had a huge, bleeding scratch across his face the other morning and I've been periodically hearing screeches and growls coming from the other two as they swipe at each other an jump on the other from behind. The weather isn't nearly as hot as it was and John and I have been in good spirits with each other (despite my bit of funk) so I'm not exactly sure what's going on with them. I don't recommend three cats. There was nothing John or I could do about it as we love all three of our little quadrupeds dearly and had to force them together when we moved into the same abode, but the work load increases ten-fold when you put three of them together. My cat is particularly difficult. It's too bad he's so sweet and utterly cuddly.

I'm leaving in about half an hour to go rehearse with my six-year-old performer. She has very distinct ideas about this piece the two of us are putting together and the whole process has been a huge lesson in compromise for me. I want her to be in on the creation process but we rarely see eye-to-eye about what the piece is actually about. I thought it was going to be a conversation between me and my younger self, but it's become more of a battle of wills between a type-A of my generation and a type-A of hers. The girl's got a mind like a steel trap and a sharper tounge than I ever had at her age. I admire her spunk, and it's been a huge learning process for me. I'm interested to see what we ultimately come up with.

Life never ceases to amaze me.