Angels of Venice: Nerio

When I didn't have the time to catch the food market, which closes at 1 in the afternoon, and on the days where I also missed the supermarket, I would go to buy my groceries at old Nerio's.
Nerio is quiet and serene, and what he sells out of his tiny little shop in the evening, most definitely covers his rent; Tourists and hungry people would have to buy from Nerio, and Nerio would have to charge a lot extra for the trip HE has made to the market in the morning, and not them.
Slowly Nerio got used to seeing me. At first I just bought a few vegetables from him, later we began to talk, and soon enough, I became a faithful customer (who gets a discount!), and a welcome guest at his shop, which could contain only two at a time.
One evening, I was feeling a great need for a piece of chocolate. I usually can manage to shoosh this screaming little inner tooth in me, but on that cold and lonely evening, I simply knew that nothing else would do; I HAD to find me a little something cocoa-y and sweet.
I passed by Nerio, bought some red wine, zucchini and eggplant, and then asked him if he knew where I could find chocolate. (His store had none of that; just vegetables and a few other curious items with which one could, perhaps, manage to make a strange meal).
Nerio peeped out of his shop, looked around with a slightly concerned face, and then said: "mmm,no. there's nothing open now... but , aspetta, wait a second..."
He left me standing alone on the narrow alley, while he turned around and took two steps into the back of the shop, and dug out a little white paper bag.
"Here, take this!" he said , and handed me the bag, which contained a stash of old fashioned chocolate bon-bons, obviously Nerio's favorites, and the ones he keeps in the shop for himself, for a moment of need such as mine.
"Nerio, of COURSE I can't take this! it's YOURS!"
" Take it ! Take it! and don't say no! Basta!" he commended, shoved the bag in my purse, and stepped back onto his shop not before giving me 2 hasty kisses on my cheeks and wishing me a good night.
I got home and carefully unwrapped the golden cellophane. Inside, I discovered, was the sweetest, highest quality chocolate of all; made of pure kindness and 100% care. Then I had a good night.

Angels of Venice: Maria

It was sunny on the day before my dress rehearsal. After I had my coffee, I decided to get out of the apartment and walk to the market and buy a few fresh vegetables and maybe some fish, then freshly baked bread and some pasta.
I needed to refill the fridge and get ready for a tight week of performances.
As I was coming out of the building, an old woman of small stature approached me.
She came very close to me and asked very politely : "are you the lovely singer who is singing Rosina here"?
"Yes" I answered, a bit surprised, as I still didn't realize how small the city is and how fast information travels over the little canals, as if the gondoliers were transporting news, headlines rumors and gossip from this part of town to another, at no time.
"gentila signora" she said " would you please be able to find me a ticket for your rehearsal tomorrow?.. I work at the hotel, right here, and would love to see the show".
I already promised my rehearsal tickets to someone else, but later that day, they called to cancel and Mrs Maria couldn't be happier to hear that a pair of tickets would be waiting for her at the box office before the show.
The next day surely arrived and like all rehearsals and performances do, this too came and went like a fast coloratura phrase.
When I arrived at my door, I found 3 roses awaiting me on the doorstep. On the pink paper wrapping them, big letters said: "BRAVA! brava! maria".
Maria has become a friend. Over the rest of my time there, I would meet her on the street, or at the store, and she would repeat to me the nice things her hotel guests have reported of my singing, and as she would tell me all that, she'd grin and be filled with joy and pride, as if she were my very own grandmother.

That which is good

Four hard shows in one week. Three of them with a bad cold, and semi- functioning vocal cords. It is hard to see the triumph through all of it if you are a self-toughy like me, so on the (depressing) day after my last show, (where I don't have any more chances to redeem my self), I am gathering a list of all things that *did* make this a victory for me, and other little stuff I am happy about;
*My public. Some of them are rough here, but as this Venice has a small-town feel to it, "what people say" counts, and they said (to each other) that they loved me. ( :-D) (ps to my friends; you can see on my site the 2 reviews I got in the papers).
* My parents who came especially to see the last show were so ecstatic and proud to watch me from their royal velvet seat at this breath- taking beautiful opera house, singing this role.
* Dozens of locals that I met here became good friends. They helped me feel like I belonged, and I will never forget their genuine kindness, which feeds my own.
*I got to sing, and live HERE! in beautiful, wonderful, amazing Venice. precious, rare, fragile, magical Venezia.
*I had a most beautiful time (and where else could it be SO romantic!) while my husband was visiting me.
* I did it. I defeated my fears, (oh no; should I admit this publicly or am I going to pay for my vulnerability later?) and I dared at the face of self doubt, and hey: I did it.
*I spoke Italian. non stop. ( even if sometime non-sense) :).
(*I now *know* where the damn supermarket is!)
*Each and every one in my cast had different stage skills I admire and can learn from.
(* And hey, miraculously, my hair conditioner, (the one and only) , lasted exactly (to the last drop) until the day I left.Ha.)

comfort

I am feeling much better, and am doing laundry. I love the sound of the tumbling washing machine. so relaxing, so homey. :)

Thank you Venezia

Last night, even with the horrible cold (which is now up in my sinuses and nasal passages), I had a wonderful and cheering and loving audience, which lifted my spirits above my physical unpleasantness.
And the kind waiter at the cafe, made me a fresh squeezed orange juice which revived me.

More challenge

While we were rehearsing, close to opening night, my (absolutely fantastic!!!!!) tenor was complaining of a sore throat. Not that we kiss or anything,( but it doesn't matter, we hold hands and fake our kissing throughout the show), in any case I started taking the minimal amount of "Wellness formula", just to be safe. However, it didn't really entirely save me; On the evening before my second show I got a very painful red throat, and throughout the entire night, I was sweating and suffering in bed (and extremely worried). The second show was a matinee. Dear God.. How does one sing Rossini SICK?
well, I did. (never under estimate the will power of a paid-per-show artist... ) Luckily, the soreness hasn't effected the cords, it just was extremely difficult.
They are shooting this into a cinematic broadcast, and onto a DVD, and I am sure my face, in close-up , looked like I was about to be executed at any given moment.
But I managed to sing, and I most certainly didn't forget any of my recit this time around.

:-o

omg omg i f*&^ed up a recit. lol.

We passed!

Thank GOD, Nozze di Figaro gets "Rated PG!" ..."This film contains MILD LANGUAGE AND SEX REFERENCES"
(... cherubino grin...) =:-D

venezia, week 3

Italian men, I've discovered, have a weakness for femininity. (and I mean "femininity" with the most gentle sense of the word; softness, vulnerability). From the very young waiter at the cafe to the very old doorman at the artist entrance to the shop owner and anybody else in between who happens to be an Italian of the opposite sex; They all smile at me. They kiss my hand, they flatter and adore, they are being charming. They salute me with discounts and free drinks and chocolates and do anything that would make me smile back. Maybe I am being naive, but that's all it is which seems to be their motivation.
Having been here for a few weeks , I now can generally find my way (I have little marks in my head; "at this store sign, turn left"), so I know how to get to some essential places, and finally I seem to know many of the locals by name.
Everybody is kind. I don't understand it; Even I, even I get extremely irritated by the end of the day: Way too many tourists and way too many annoying people who stop right in the middle of a narrow bridge, to take the same pointless photo of their ugly girlfriend posing. ( same fake smile, same pose, same girl, but this time around different background: some gondolas passing by behind!). (yea, yea, I'll admit I've got a few of those my self... ). Just kidding just kidding.
While enjoying the local scene and making a temporary home here, I have been extremely tired. It took me a while to figure out that I am mainly, well... a bit nervous about my debut. (Here I will explain again: I am singing Rossini; the big mamma of virtuosic italianate singing. and I am doing it with a famous italian bunch who does, some of them for half a century, only that).
But I also realized that a big part of my exhaustion, (other than singing what is not my "routine" role and using every bit of technique I might have acquired ever), is the ITALIAN it self . The Italians, mostly, want to talk their own. If they can speak any English at all, they don't care to do so; maybe it's a comfort level, maybe they feel intimidated, who knows. At any rate, as much as I am (finally!) fluent 90%, I still find it exhausting at the end of the day.(finding my words for philosophical arguments on the top of singing countless high top B's and low bottom ones as well).
I went to the open market yesterday morning and bought a bunch of bananas; I hear they help reduce anxiety but also give you energy . (and, guess what, it's the same word in all languages! yay!) A presto.

Buon Giorno

Venice is known for its pigeons. They actually seem very sweet and they make San Marco Square look like an even more happy and colorful place; They are such a perk here, that tourist with not much of a brain come from all over the world to buy a tiny little bag which contains bad popcorn seeds that some crooks here sell for a Euro fifty; (about 1000% profit), and the whole purpose is to feed these flying rats and have them gather around in demand for more (that's when one spends another Euro fifty, and proceed to photograph the event).

Well, these pigeons, about fifty of them, park outside my window. There's a low roof leveled just across from my bedroom, and there they wake up, at around 6 AM, and there they start to coo in a sound which to me resembles a bunch of religious freaks in a loud , very loud prayer, which lasts about 4 hours.

Mind you, I can't sleep come 6, and if I open the window (feathers and leaves swirl in the air and fly back at me) the pigeons don't even move; They simply stare at me with this look in their wide- awake eyes: "where's my popcorn, b*^&tch?"