New (Liturgical) Year's Resolutions

Remember these?

So far I am at least blogging a little more regularly. Not every day yet, but I hope to get there sooner or later.

I am not eating better or getting in shape. That will have to wait until Winter Ordinary Time. But what can I say? It's almost Christmas. I'm exhausted from the preparations for the concert and for all the stress of the holidays in general, and I can barely wait until Christmas Day is over and I can get some SLEEP. I'm so sleep-deprived I can barely stay awake at all, especially in these long days at the office. I am working extra long hours this week so that I can take next week off -- and I need the rest.

But I am practicing more. I sang a Handel aria yesterday morning for church, and a song to the Blessed Mother by Gounod. And I have had to practice organ more because I am playing some very important Christmas stuff next week, and I want to sound good.

I have tried to stay in better touch with friends, but haven't really connected with my numerous siblings so far. I am still debating whether to have a big post-Nativity dinner thing for them all. Of course, if I commit to it now, I'll go through with it; otherwise, we will find reasons to rest instead!

So that's my progress so far. I'll continue to report on these throughout the rest of Year B. (I presume the 'B' stands for Blog.)

Christmas Concert Postgame Show

Okay, without giving away too much, last night we gave our Christmas Concert at the Church to be Named Later. We had the best crowd we've had in years, thanks to a parishioner who stepped forward, recognizing my lameness in the publicity department, and took on the responsibility himself. I told him he's already hired for the next gig.

Most things went well. There was one small, potentially embarrassing gaffe during one of the baroque pieces, but I doubt anybody much noticed in the crowd. Let's just say I'm pleased enough to cancel the weekly rehearsal -- our Midnight Mass music is going to be a subset of the concert music anyway, and it's all fairly well rehearsed.

Dang! I wish I could write in more detail, but if I tell a few things about the concert, like what we sang, or about our church, I'll be ready to BURN. And I am not ready for that just yet. But maybe one day . . .

One of the great things about blogging . . .

. . . is that you encounter some very nice people.

I first ran across Rachel's blog a few months ago when she was writing about her poor dog. Of course I was instantly hooked because, well, you know how I am about dogs. I have a soft spot for them -- okay, let's be honest, it's as big as I am. And that's big.

Today, though, via Julie's blog, I read a hilarious story about Rachel's performance with her four young sons in a reenactment of an Advent wreath. Go, read.

Rachel isn't all that far from Yurodivi's digs. But I'm not telling exactly how far, nor in which direction, lest someone surmise too much. I'm still not ready to BURN (Blog Under Real Name), and as long as I work for the Church, I doubt I ever will be.

The Composer's Mating Call

Another interesting artice in today's Torygraph. If you saw A Night at the Opera, you have seen this lady: she plays the nice soprano, the love interest of Allan Jones. Well, she's still living, 70 years on from that memorable film, and has plenty to say about the Marx brothers.

"George Gershwin asked me to marry him, but I knew he didn't love me, so I said no. He was sweet and vulnerable, successful and good-looking with an instant appeal. So terribly boyish. But he needed constant approval. So he had constant ladies. Whenever he met one, he pretended that he had written a waltz, just for her, that moment. He'd always use the same lyric and just put her name in the blank space. It was his mating call."

Via Arts Journal, a recommended daily stop. They do such a good job at digesting the British papers, which no one has time to read.

I confess: I once recycled a piece I had written by adding a dedication to a girlfriend. She loved it, and things were good. I never told her it was an existing piece, because even Yurodivi is not that big a fool.

Writers . . .

. . . what do you do with them?

Orwell, by his own admission, was unfaithful to his wife, but it was a durable relationship, characterised, at least by the male half, (Eileen's views are not recorded) as "a proper marriage", by which he seems to have meant one involving rows and disagreements but always redeemed by the underlying bond.

Go and read this fascinating article about George Orwell's first wife, who passed away tragically young, and who has always been a bit of a puzzlement for Orwell's biographers. It seems a cache of her letters to friends has recently been brought forward, and their content sheds a great deal of light on Eileen O'Shaughnessy.

Interesting detail: she signed all her correspondence with her husband as "Pig." There's got to be an interesting family anecdote behind that.

Hat tip to Arts and Letters Daily.

Las Apariciones Guadalupanas

This past Saturday, the hispanic community (which has grown up seemingly out of nowhere in the last ten years in my church) held their annual party for Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe. I have to admit, I didn't know too much about the story, but the hispanic community addressed that need at the Saturday vigil mass: they gave a little ten-minute pageant in English to educate the Anglos about this very beautiful story.

I am baffled and slightly apprehensive about miracle stories. After all, there is no greater miracle than the consecration of the Eucharist, but still we want more. These stories often put me in mind of the story of the beggar Lazarus and the rich man who "opened up his eyes in Hell," as the KJV used to put it. Here is the relevant passage from Luke 16:

I pray thee therefore, father, that thou wouldest send him to my father's house: For I have five brethren; that he may testify unto them, lest they also come into this place of torment.

Abraham saith unto him, They have Moses and the prophets; let them hear them.
And he said, Nay, father Abraham: but if one went unto them from the dead, they will repent.

And he said unto him, If they hear not Moses and the prophets, neither will they be persuaded, though one rose from the dead.

If we're not willing to live by the Word when we see, taste, and absorb the Body of the Living Christ at Mass, will we really listen when the Blessed Mother appears and performs a sign?

On a lighter note, it was pretty interesting to sing all that Spanish -- I'm very glad I learned to elide my vowels in Italian class. But now I have the dreaded earworm -- I can't stop hearing Las Apariciones Guadalupanas in my head. The (Mexican) cantor had a really nice voice, if a bit brassy, and she speaks English quite well, so I'm going to try to recruit her to the cantor program and to the choir. And we're going to start incorporating more Spanish-language music into the regular program as well.

One other observation about the Guadalupe story:

Does anyone who has spent time around the chancery feel as surprised as I do that the bishop would actually get up off his cathedra and kneel in awe of the miracle? I certainly would be astonished by that behavior in any modern, American bishop. Maybe that is the real miracle. Maybe not all of their skulls will wind up paving the floor of hell, as Saint Athanasius is supposed to have said.

Look, my eyes are dry, part deux

Okay, so I’m profoundly slack. Last week or so I promised more about my charity gig for the free clinic here in town. But I never finished writing about it.

Just a few observations.

First, I’ve known a number of doctors who were also musicians of some degree of accomplishment. In fact, when the earth was young, and the heavens were a formless void, and I was in music school, the best pianist in my class was a medical student. He played with seemingly little effort and great ability. He made us all sick, as a matter of fact, because he never seemed to practice.

So this charity thing featured a number of local physicians, performing music for the benefit of the generous. I was there to help a doctor friend of mine, because he wanted to sing, and couldn’t find a physician accompanist, so I jumped in.

Second, in my small city, among the medical population, the Sons of Israel are more heavily represented than in some other professions. So what, in their infinite wisdom and consideration, did the caterers serve as the only meat choice?

Yep. You guessed it. The national dish of the South[east]: Barbecued Pork.

Fortunately many of the attendees were apparently Reform or non-observant, and they didn't raise any objections; the dish was labeled "barbecued pork," so one may be assured that no one violated his religious dietary regulations through ignorance. But come on -- how aware do you have to be to realize that you shouldn't serve pork to a gathering of doctors?

And finally, it was interesting to see (and hear) the other doctors perform. They were all very enthusiastic performers, but none of them were really of professional caliber. I guess it goes to further proof of what I wrote in my Thanksgiving post: a lot of people would give their eyeteeth to be able to play music or sing. I'm thankful my eyeteeth were not required of me to receive this talent.

Yes, Virginia . . .

. . . God really does have a Mother.

From the writings of Saint Cyril of Alexandria:

That anyone could doubt the right of the holy Virgin to be called the Mother of God fills with astonishment. Surely she must be the Mother of God if our Lord Jesus Christ is God, and she gave birth to him! Our Lord's disciples may not have used those exact words, but they delivered to us the belief those words enshrine, and this has also been taught us by the holy fathers.

The divinely inspired Scriptures affirm that the Word of God was made flesh, that is to say, he was united to a human body endowed with a rational soul. He undertook to help the descendants of Abraham, fashioning a body for himself from a woman and sharing our flesh and blood, to enable us to see in him not only God, but also, by reason of this union, a man like ourselves.

It is held, therefore, that there is in Emmanuel two entities, divinity and humanity. Yet our Lord Jesus Christ is nonetheless one, the one true Son, both God and man; not a defied man on the same footing as those who share the divine nature by grace, but true God who for our sake appeared in human form. We are assured of this by Saint Paul's declaration: "When the fullness of time came, God sent his Son, born of a woman, born under the law, to redeem those who were under the law and to enable us to be adopted as sons.

This is going in the pile of things to send my Evangelical brother when he tells me we are blowing all the Mary stuff out of proportion.

Vesper anlässlich des Hochfestes der ohne Erbsünde empfangenen Gottesmutter Maria

Or, as we call in English, Vespers for Immaculate Conception. The name of the feast is actually clearer in German, though: High Feast of the conceived-without-inherited-sin Virgin Mother of God.

As has recently been discussed, many Catholics (especially the devout ones) think that the Immaculate Conception was the conception of Jesus in Mary's womb. If we said it the way they say it in German, well. . . okay. It's awkward. Plus, it's in a foreign language. But it makes a whole lot more Catholic sense.

This Vespers was beautiful. There was a long prelude, including the Trumpet Voluntary by Purcell, or Clarke, or whoever. I can't be bothered to look that up, and frankly no one knows who really wrote it!

They sang Anton Bruckner's Ave Maria, and the Psalmody with verses sung without accompaniment by a cantor, and the antiphon accompanied by brass and organ.

One amusing moment happened when the microphone failed Cardinal Schönborn at the beginning of the reading. I could hear him whispering to his assistant. Apparently the amplification wasn't working, but the recording/broadcasting was. It's slightly comforting to know that sound problems bedevil the Big Guys too.

The Vespers was beautiful, dignified and joyful all at the same time. Really makes me want to do similar stuff at my church, but oh! for the money it takes, not to mention the people's insatiable lust for beetle grubs.

Sometimes I wonder how many more years I can keep up doing two and three jobs. But something keeps me coming back to the church job(s), and it isn't the money, that's for sure. Deep down in my cynical heart there is a kernel of hope that things can be better for Catholic music, and if I quit fighting the "long defeat" (as Elrond might say), then who will take up the banner?

End note: The link to the Vespers service above goes to Saint Stephen's Cathedral in Vienna. They have a very cool radio station that you can listen to over the Web. Since they're six hours ahead of us, it's a great way to get your mind right for an evening liturgy.

Look, my eyes are dryyyyyyyyy. . . . .

Old theater hacks will recognize the title of this post. The words come from a song that, while it is very affecting in the context of the show, is one of the most often abused audition songs. If I had a nickel for every time I've had to sit through it, or (worse) play it, while some teenaged person with incongruously high self-esteem warbled her way through it, I'd be rich.

That said, tonight I have to play some show music. But that's okay -- it's for a good cause. There's a free medical clinic in my small southern city that offers basic medical care to the indigent. Frankly I'm only doing it because the singer, who is one of the doctors who donates his time, asked me. I had no idea there was a free clinic here because I'm one of the fortunate and have never needed one. The doctor is doing a couple of solo numbers, and then All I Ask of You with a female colleague. The lady said she was "a little uncomfortable" doing this steamy love duet with some guy she's not married to, but hey -- that's showbiz!

Aside: the creepiest rendition of All I Ask of You I ever heard was sung by a Father and Daughter. You may all get the willies now, just thinking about it. Let's just say it was reminiscent of the scene in My Father, the Hero where Gérard Depardieu's daughter has just told everyone he is actually her boyfriend, and unwittingly he sings a zesty rendition of Thank Heaven for Little Girls.

So this afternoon I'm exhausted and sleep-deprived because Mrs. Y and I have stayed up way too late every night, like a couple of high school kids, and I'm steadfastly trying to avoid getting sick before Christmas, because The World Will Stop Turning if some people don't get to hear me sing O Holy Night at 11:55 PM on Christmas Eve. But I'm doing this gig anyway, for no fee, because . . . because . . . well, let's just say it's

what I did forrrrrr luuuurrrrrrvvvvvvvve.

More in the morning.

Earworm (you're welcome)

I bet you have that stupid song stuck in your head now, don't you?

I know I do. And I don't like it one bit!

Self-important Opining about Music

One of my more annoying traits (just ask Mrs. Yurodivi) is getting "hooked" on a certain piece of music and listening to it over and over again. Last year it was Lohengrin. Then it was Die Walküre. Then a CD of Bach harpsichord concerti ("like skeletons fornicating on a tin roof," as Sir Thomas Beecham is reputed to have said).

Right now it's Schubert's string quartet in d minor, D. 810, Der Tod und das Mädchen. The first two movements are so brilliant, so fresh, after nearly two hundred years -- it's astounding to listen to it.

Schubert's music has an air of sanctity to it -- not churchy, exactly, but deeply felt and elevated, as if he had existed on another plane. The beauty of the melodies is one thing, but even Donizetti and Bellini wrote nice tunes; and the startling harmonic shifts (bordering on Gesualdo-style craziness) are another. But it's the whole package, a talent so huge that the mind boggles to imagine what he might have accomplished had he lived longer than 31 years.

If only he hadn't contracted syphilis…

New (Liturgical) Year's Resolutions

You know, anybody can make regular old New Year's Resolutions. These are new liturgical year's resolutions.

1. Lose weight and get in shape.


2. Help Mrs. Yurodivi do the same. Moderate exercise actually decreases the risk of recurrence for breast cancer.


3. Practice piano, organ and voice more -- okay, at all would be an improvement over last (liturgical) year.


4. Blog more often, even if it's about nothing much. A writer writes, right?


5. Stay in better touch with friends and family -- even (maybe even especially) the ones I can't stand.

There. That should be easy!

In fact, I think I'll start the New Liturgical Year's Resolutions Meme!

I tag Penni, Julie and Piff.