Red Plush

Easter Weekend 2007 - As I brought Rudy in for the farrier, I put my hand on his warm neck as we crossed a patch of rough ground. His coat felt like bunnies or puppy fur-the feel of it stirred my memory. What was it? Climbing the hill made me short of breath and Rudy was eager to reach the gate and get his treat. I couldn't think then.

As I brushed him, I noticed the long coarse guard hairs of his winter coat were mostly shed but the soft undercoat remained to keep him warm in this uncertain spring. Even the color of the westering sun on his chestnut coat struck the chime of memory. Rudy poked me with his nose, demanding attention, and played with his hay bag. I was too busy to remember.

After everything was done, and Rudy returned to the field, then I could remember "Big Red". Somewhere between five and eight, I got a stuffed horse which was one of my favorite toys. He was red plush with a plaid saddle blanket and he had to be stitched up under his neck and chest because those seams tended to give way when "galloping". What I liked best about Big Red was imagining that he was real.

Sometimes dreams come true. I have a real horse of red plush now, sometimes covered in dirt and mud, always exhibiting attitude and personality. The red plush will shed and stick to my clothes. These are the gritty details I couldn't imagine all those years ago. I'll cheerfully take shedding in spring, flies in summer and all the other inconveniences that year-round horsemanship entails to have Rudy's inquisitive nose, interested ears, humorous twisting neck, reaching stride, strong back, sturdy legs and calm, intelligent gaze.

Tuesday, 13Feb 2007 -Climate Cocktail: St Louis Recipe
St Louis, which prides itself on its geographical position as "the top of the South, the bottom of the North, the end of the East and the beginning of the West" operates as a stewpot for mixing up weather systems. Here, warm moist air from the sultry mouth of the Mississippi River Delta gets mixed with the crisp refreshment of the Canadian Clipper. St Louis's recipe for the perfect Mardi Gras weather: begin with a madcap rainstorm, sprinkle with sleet, then proceed to freezing rain until everything has an even coating of about one half inch, indulge in micro-hail until the windspeed can blow a pickup truck off the road and then go all out with a white-out blizzard. Voila! See the merry motorists skid gaily around--you don't need skates! Send whole weather system east so the rest of the country can enjoy. Ohio, we love you! New York! It was good enough to play in Peoria and now you're finding our weather system has closed down the town!

Horsemanship Field Test

I took the rubber dog grooming mitt out to the horse pasture to conduct an experiment. This implement is made of soft rubber and has rounded nibs on one side and longer rubber bristles on the other and is easily obtainable at pet supply stores. My horse seemed to prefer this mitt to the conventional rubber curry.

The experiment was inspired by my own new bath brush. Washing with the brush was heavenly on my back. For the first time, I had some insight as to why my horses liked being groomed. Horses have more sensitive skin then humans and are very individual in their grooming preferences. I wanted to try the "apparently approved" grooming implement on my horse when he was loose so that he could move away from any uncomfortable sensations.

Background: My horse currently lives in a 40-acre field with about 17 other geldings. He is accustomed to the concept of a "social call" in which I go out to the field just to check up on him. I always take a halter and lead shank since these can be swished at other horses to discourage their approach. All my horses are trained to come to me, to stand on cue and allow me to check their feet without being haltered or tied. To be able to do this experiment with your own horse you must be able to cue him/her to stand still and to walk around him in both directions.

Action: The test subject (a chestnut gelding, breed probably Tennessee Walking Horse, age somewhere between 12 and 18 years, answers to name of Rudy) approached, was given normal greeting and piece of candy. From horse's left side, cue to stand given and all four feet were inspected in random order to prevent horse anticipating which foot came next. Itchy spot on chest scratched by hand as reward for standing still. Using the rubber bristle side (the most intense side) and starting from the left side (most familiar handling zone), the experimenter first applied gentle pressure in a circular rubbing motion to the following areas in order: withers, neck, belly, rump and chest. If the subject did not move away the pressure was gradually increased. Both sides were tested, although a problem developed.

I now have a good idea of which sections of my horse fall into the following categories:

ticklish (girth area, lower belly and flank),
neutral (very small area on neck),
itchy but approach from proper social angle (shoulders and withers),
I'll-stand-forever-if-you-scratch-me-here (top of rump and back of hind legs above hock) and
yesyesyesDON'TSTOP (chest, underside of neck).
Experiment had to be halted because test subject (estimated weight 1200lbs) kept trying to apply latter area to grooming implement. Really amazing contortions were achieved with trying to test the right side as horse kept trying to present his chest. The only area that could compete with the chest was the rump. I had to cue the stand, which messed up the premise of the horse free to move during the experiment. Even then, when I quit rubbing the rump the test subject attempted to switch position of head and rump without moving feet. I put the halter on Rudy as a signal that the game was over and then he made faces and kept tilting his head comically, one way he has of playing for human laughter.

Pilgrimage to Jasper

30 September 2006 - Had to see a man about a horse cart on a "ranch" located near Jasper, MO. I estimated the distance at about 300 miles each way. I told myself I was over the post-traumatic stress syndrome from the accident where a Palmentere Bros. semi slammed into the back end of my old red pickup truck Victor. I was determined to drive there and back in one day, but I took my dog with me, just in case and to ride shotgun. All in all it was a pleasant outing, green fields on either side, NPR on the radio, leaves starting to show fall color. There were
odd things on the road, like the "Mule Trading Post" selling life-size replica draft horses. A little further down the road someone had a lifelike but fake Appaloosa tied to their front porch. Yeah, I could see something like that in my front yard but it would be a kid magnet, better not.

I was looking for cheap gas. Gasoline in Belleville IL was going for $2.16 (down from the summer high of $3.09) but gas in St Louis was mostly $1.97. I didn't find anything cheaper as I headed towards Joplin, in fact prices spiked up around the turnoff to Branson. I settled for $1.99 and filled up the tank west of Springfield. As I was pulling back on the interstate, it was one of the Situations of my PTSS nightmares, the one where I'm trying to merge in traffic with a big truck overtaking behind. I dithered, said I'm over this, stomped hard on the accelerator and merged okay. Looked in the rearview mirror and almost had a heart attack. Being dsylexic meant I could read the "Palmentere Bros." logo on the truck behind me. Looked up in front--there was another one. I was in a Palmentere Bros convey. The driver behind me dropped back rather than tailgate. Maybe my suing them has had this good effect; or maybe the driver who tailgated me, hit me twice and then stalked me with crank telephone calls was an aberration.

I got to Jasper, loved the look of the cart and took home one fully assembled, well bungied down in the bed of the truck. I can recommend dealing with Brad and Lynda of Frontier Equestrian. They also have draft horse saddles and bridles as well as harness and tack for minis. I will say that driving home was more nerve-wracking and not just because I was tired. People had to pull right up behind me or alongside, I guess they were trying to figure out what that strange object was. Sad that lots of people have never seen a horse cart.

Sammy's Brief Career as a Bloodhound

At 3am this Sunday morning I threw the dogs outside, not aware that the gate was open. When I got up at 6am, Sammy came running from across the street where he had been playing (!) with the enormous but gentle St. Bernard who has to live on a chain. Tara was nowhere. I walked up and down the street with no luck, then thought of trying to get Sammy to help find her. Alas, he led me straight across the street to the neighbor's hot rod and sat down at the driver's side door. When "lifted" and set back on the trail, he went a little further -- choosing another hotrod. I decided I could do better without him. By 8am, I had scoured the neighborhood. By 10am, signs were posted. The temp was rising.

Someone had sent me an email -- send out to 10 people and make a wish. So I tried that. I'm happy to report that Tara is home, safe and sound. She found somewhere to hole up during the heat and then returned home -- only to discover that she was a wanted fugitive. None of the neighbors were able to catch her. I returned from checking on Rudy and found her still evading pursuit -- so much for my fears of her being dognapped! I don't know -- credit apparently goes to the email. Now I have to go take down all the signs.

Fire and a Freak of Luck

30 July, 2003 - Driving to work today took me past a dramatic fire in downtown East St. Louis, IL. One of the abandoned brick buildings in the middle of the row near the MetroLink stop at Fifth and Missouri was sending out a plume of greasy brown smoke, while fire engines shot jets of water and the police cordoned off the roads. There was the small fire engine stationed behind the building which all the MetroLink riders would have gotten close view of, then the larger fire engine and the crane in front, firing down through the collapsed roof. It looked as if the fire would soon be out.

Coming home was merely normal: the usual traffic accident, construction and stupid drivers cutting one another off. The light was flashing on my answering machine: St.Louis Public Library calling to say I've won two tickets to a Cardinal's game.

The 7 Stages of Vacation Preparedness

Stage 1: From the end of the last vacation to 6 months: It’s over. You grieve but come to terms with it, and go back to work.

Stage 2: 6 months to 2 months prior: A faint hope dawns. Pleasant memories resurface and go back to sleep.

Stage 3: 2 months to 1 month prior: Practical arrangements are considered.

Stage 4: 1 month to 1 week prior: Anticipation builds. Practical arrangements are made. Packing is mentally organized. Lists are made. This time, one will not leave town in a hideous last-minute scramble.

Stage 5: 1 week to 1 day prior: Laundry, work and loss of lists interfere with orderly preparation. Anticipation turns to despair, rage and exasperation. Practical arrangements frequently become unstuck at this point.

Stage 6: The night before: Washing machine breaks, dishwasher explodes and coyotes trash garbage bin.

Stage 7: The morning of: Stuff dirty clothes hamper into truck of car, set timer on detonator to dynamite under house to explode in 50 minutes and drive off. Return 45 minutes later to retrieve toothbrush. Forget to turn detonator back on.


Vacation!


Return to find house still standing. Cancel insurance claim. Resume Stage 1.

Sudden Storms

Saturday July 22, 2006 - The story really begins with the heat wave that
blanketed much of the country earlier this week. The St. Louis Metro
area was locked down under a hot, humid lid of air that became hotter, more stifling and more polluted as the week wore on. The electric power
grid was strained even before the storms.

The first storm hit my neighborhood around 7pm Wednesday night. Sammy, my weather predicting Shih-tsu, insisted on crawling into his crate around 6:30pm. I went to bed early as well. The storm did not seem that serious inside my well-built house. The big tree in the front yard shed a few twigs and some leaves. Thursday morning, driving into the office in Fairview Heights, IL I could see
branches down and every other traffic light was not functioning. The radio recited a litany of storm damage: part of the roof of the airport blown off, widespread power blackouts, buildings collapsed and the Cardinals baseball game
delayed. I arrived at the office at my usual time to find the power out in our building. No phones, computers, lights or air conditioning and the forecast for Thursday July 20 was that it would be the hottest day of the year with temperatures reaching a life-threatening range.

My coworkers and I would have preferred to go home. We bitched and moaned about making the long trek into St Louis, made doubly difficult and dangerous by the condition of the bridges across the Mississippi. The Poplar Street Bridge which carries three interstates has been partially closed by construction and was obstructed by a tractor-trailer accident. The Eads Bridge which carries the
MetroLink trains had been shut because of the collapse of the Switzer Building, a decrepit brick structure beside the Laclede Landing/Arch stop. Only the narrow and nasty King Bridge continued to link downtown St. Louis with the Illinois hinterlands.

But management asked us to go. The Lackland Hills office in suburban St. Louis has an emergency generator; it had power and was already taking our calls. And despite all the bitching and moaning, most of my coworkers braved the bridges (reopened by 9am) and debris-strewn roads to go in and help our travelers. We had to use other people's desks, chairs and computers, arranged to their
convenience and not to ours. We didn't have our "stuff" - the printouts, notes, manuals or phone rolodex files that have the details of serving our special accounts. The fumes and the noise of the generator made us a little sick. We weren't as productive. Yet we answered the phones with bright cheerful voices
and did the best we could. Management bought in lunch. With great relief, power was restored to Fairview Heights by the middle of Thursday afternoon.
Business as usual tomorrow. Hooray!

Friday morning found us happily working at a relaxed pace. Someone checked a doppler radar website and said that new storms were on the way. The storm broke with a burst of rain and wind around 11:25am. Power went down and the computers died. Power staggered up again a few minutes later, and I had just started to reboot when it crashed again. We were herded out of our glass-walled office into the atrium. That building is not well-designed for a tornado zone and there is limited space to shelter away from all the glass. The storm didn't last long,
but the power didn't come back.

It was my normal lunchtime. Management had planned a "Festa Day" and had nacho fixings in the break room. Because of our staggered lunch schedules, I never see more than a few of my coworkers at lunch. This was almost like a party. People were chattering in the dark, loaning flashlights and cell phones, pointing out the location of the chips and the soda. After we had eaten, we drifted around, waiting for power. At least this storm had cooled things down.

I had to leave at 1:30pm to go to the doctor's. None of the traffic lights were working and big trees were down. Sullivan Road between Lincoln Trail and Frank Scott was bumper to bumper because of the lack of traffic lights. Once I crossed North Belt, everything was working. I was 15 minutes late at the doctor's, but they had other people running still later. When I went to my usual Walgreens to file my prescription, they told me the wait would be 45 minutes rather than 20--they were helping other drugstores in their chain who had
lost power. Pharmacists from other stores were running in and taking out
loaded baskets of prescriptions.

When I got back home, I could tell that my house had lost power since the clock on the stove was blinking but that the power outage had been brief since the kitchen radio still had its alarm setting. Sammy was worried but fine. This morning my dentist's office called and cancelled my appointment. Because of the power outage, all water from the tap must be boiled. St. Clair County, where
I live, is part of the disaster area.

If you are reading this, take a moment to give thanks for the blessing of power and the miracle of light. Consider also the importance of civilization, which requires heroic effort to keep going. I am fortunate to be only lightly touched by a local disaster. Compared to some of the other disasters in Indonesia, North Korea, Israel, Lebanon, Iraq and China, St. Louis is a better
place to be.

Talegate of Two Trucks

Sunday, March 28, 2004 - I'm still laughing over a pickup truck that was sitting right in front of mine at a red light yesterday. It was a big Dodge, bright red. Along the roof of the cab in letters upside down ran the slogan: "IF YOU CAN READ THIS, ROLL ME BACK OVER". Emblazoned on the window behind the driver was a Dodge Ram emblem with the words "BAD ASS" under it. On the passenger side window was the motto: "Git in, siddown, shuddup and HANG ON!"

Despite these words, not a single ding, dent, or scrape marred the finish on this beautiful new truck, which looked like it has just been waxed and washed. Sitting in my own 10-year old pickup, I started to laugh. My truck has a dent in the passenger side door, and numerous nicks, dings and scratches. These have been honestly earned hauling horses, hay and picnic supplies, carrying supplies, equipment and volunteers for three day events and helping friends and neighbors move furniture. Every scratch and dent represents a good time had or a good deed done. Which pickup truck is more beautiful?

A Keeper

Today, I became very aware of the importance of "keeping" and very grateful to
be able to forward this message and to return it to the friend who sent
it to me.

Last week for only the third time in the nine years I owned it, my
pickup truck, affectionately named "Victor", wouldn't start.  This
happened in the parking lot at work, and fortunately, my brother could
come and get me and recommend a good repair shop nearby.  It took nearly
$500 to replace the coil and ignition wires, but Victor was worth it,
for all the furniture and hay hauled, all the volunteer work done, all
the hours of safe commuting, all the horses safely hauled.  Victor
represents a link to my life in Kentucky and besides, "he's paid for".
A good pickup truck well maintained and gently driven will easily go for
300,000 miles.

Yesterday afternoon, as I going home in Victor, a sixteen-wheel semi
tractor/trailer commercial vehicle rearended me, forcing out of the
rightmost lane of the interstate into the ditch alongside.  My momenteum
carried me up the bank, fighting to steer so as not to flip my truck
which overran four or five poles of the chain link fence set to keep
pedestrians off the highway.  It was like being on a train track. The
right wheels of the truck were running over the chainlink and the poles
wouldn't let me get off.  Something on the ground flipped the truck off
the bank back on the interstate at right angles to the flow of traffic,
back in front of the semi which had struck me earlier.  I tried to
steer, got the truck pointed right and for a nanosecond thought I might
be able to regain control.  I think the semi hit me again, and that was
when the tailgate of the truck came off.  The truck was propelled off
the road and plowed thru both ditch and chainlink fence. The brake
fought me, but I got both feet on it and got the truck stopped about 25
feet off the road.  The top guide wire of the fence got caught in the
truck grill and this probably helped.

I've got a bruise on my left leg and marks from the seat belt.  I'm
still replaying that frantic five seconds described above.  Victor has a
smashed left tail light and a clear impact on that corner where the semi
first hit.  The tailgate was on the side of the road under the back
wheels of the semi when it stopped.  Victor's right side is scraped from
the fence and there is a deep impact just behind the cab and just
forward of the rear wheel.  The body damage is probably repairable.  The
unknown is the undercarriage which took an extensive beating.  I may not
be able to keep my beloved pickup any longer, but thank heaven, it sure
did a good job of keeping me.

The Tree Trimmer

I had an appointment with Bill Reagan to trim and reset Rudy's shoes today so I was late getting back home. As I turned into my street I noticed a big pickup truck parked in front of my house. When I backed into my driveway, I was aware of "something different"--there seemed to be an unusual amount of blue sky behind my house.

The truck belonged to Paul Krantz, owner of American Tree and Shrub, who had given me a bid on $1000 to remove the carpenter-ant riddled maple in my backyard. This tree was at least 60 feet high and so hemmed in by fences and houses that it could not be reached by heavy equipment--companies who bragged of their 65 foot bucket trucks were giving me estimates of $2500 and telling me that they would have to take down all my fences to bring their equipment in.

Last night, Paul had assured me that he could climb the tree and bring it down by hand without damage to anything. He had told me that it would be at least 3 weeks before he could work it into his schedule. He took credit cards and would work with me on payment. I called the credit union today but their interest rates weren't as good as I hoped.

What had happened was this. Paul had another job scheduled about 2 blocks away to trim a tree that had a power line running right through it. The electric company cancelled on him at the last minute so since he had the equipment and a crew of four handy he just came over to my place. My next door neighbor said he arrived around 7am and it took him most of the day to bring down the tree in sections using ropes and scientifically cutting out wedges. She said when the main section came down it shook her house like thunder.

I had requested Paul to leave the stump, as I would like to mount a tabletop on it to replace the rotten picnic table. He left a stump slightly shorter than I wanted but I think it will work. He saved 5 large sections of the main truck that were sound and free of ants as I want to do a mini-Stonehenge along my back fence line where it is too shady to grow anything. He apologized but he said he couldn't stand the poison ivy and brush, so he cleaned that out of my back treeline, around the pool--cleaned up everything and didn't charge a penny extra for it.

The bare section of trunk where the bark had been peeled was almost completely gone, and the tree could have fallen on my house at any moment. Even before the two big branches had come crashing down I had been worried about that tree. Besides the obvious four foot scar where the bark had been ripped off facing the house, the tree had been abused in various ways by hanging swings and chains. It seemed spindly for its height. Besides, I was allergic to the blooms in the spring and it produced millions of gutter clogging whirly-gigs.

Although I will miss the shade, I look out in my backyard and see a miracle: the dangerous tree is gone, and my fences, my house, my neighbors' houses and garden sheds are untouched.

Paul said that the fine large tree in my front yard is a white ash--the largest he has ever seen. Since this is a very slow growing tree species, and the girth of my tree is double the average size for a white ash he estimates that it is over one hundred years old. It had been badly trimmed in the past, but it is healthy. He said that now was the wrong time of year to prune it and remove the stumps of hacked off branches. Give him a call in the fall, he said. I will.

How to Meet the Neighbors

I'm happy to report that I've met nearly everybody in my new neighborhood, and that the neighborhood is still standing. On Monday (July 29) I arrived at my new house at about 8pm to haul some of the debris from the redecorating efforts to the curb for garbage pickup. When I walked into the house, I smelled a strong odor of gas. I unlocked the back door and rushed over to a man in his yard -- he called the gas company on his cell phone and handed it to me. Before I even hung up, the local fire department had arrived, summoned by my next door neighbor on the right. They determined that there was an imanent danger of explosion, and evacuated the entire
block.

The fire department had to tear open my attic to clear the gas build-up there. The leak was eventually traced to a coupling between two gas pipes. Instead of proper materials, a water-shutoff valve had been used to compensate for the fact that the pipes were too short. This water shutoff had a plug to allow water to drain out of a stopped pipe -- this plug had come out, and the result was a stream of gas equivelent to "blowing through a soda straw just as hard as you could". Had I set out my garbage Sunday night and skipped my Monday visit, the entire block would have turned into a crater, no doubt featured on national TV. Had I already moved in, the gas would have killed Tara while I was at work. Had the elderly lady who sold me the house still been in residence, she likely would have been killed because the gas rapidly concentrated to lethal levels.

We remained "evacuated" from about 8:11pm to close to 11:30. My neighbors were grumpy over the disruption, but most were friendly. I spent most of the time with a neighbor kiddy-corner across the street, his wife, his married daughter and her kids. He has another married child living on the street, but they had taken refuge at the other end of the block. One result is everybody knows me and all the kids wave to me when they ride by on their bicycles.

I was held up until midnight in order to sign papers for the fire department and Illinois Power. Then I got back to my apartment and found the kitchen flooded. It was well after 3am that the apartment handyman unclogged the drain and vaccumed all the water that my upstairs neighbor had used out of the kitchen. This has not helped the mildew smell in the kitchen and since the storage drawers next to the sink also filled with grey nasty water, everything in them needs to be washed.

The gas leak was repaired yesterday (Tuesday). Electric power was restored today. I've found a good local carpenter. He made a temporary repair to the attic to seal it against weather, and he should be able to fix the decks so the stairs are easier for me to manage. He also has good ideas on how to revamp the bathroom cheaply. This is important as I doubt I will have as much to spend on this as I'd hoped, because extensive work remains to be done in the attic.

Traiteurville Farm Fun Show

May 21, 2005

Besides the Egg & Spoon and Ride-A-Buck classes which are a fixture at
these kinds of affairs, the "Open Barrels" class was not precisely what
you would think. The "barrel" was a large plastic sleeve open at both
ends. It was placed at one end of the ring. The competing horse and
rider dashed from the starting line at the other end of the arena to the
barrel, where the rider dismounted and crawled thru the barrel. Then in
theory, remounted and dashed back. Fastest time won. The folks with
highly revved up speed horses were at a certain disadvantage: their horses
either wouldn't wait, spooked when the rider emerged from the barrel or
could not be caught for the remount. I was most impressed by the paint
who wheeled on a dime and sprinted back to the finish line before his
rider had emerged from the barrel.

The "Gaited Pleasure" class I wanted to enter was cancelled for lack of
enough entries. Consequently, Rudy and I competed in classes that were
timed or had a speed component.. We got second in "Musical Plates" (a
mounted version of musical chairs) and third place in "Walk-Trot" Flag
which required picking up a small flag from a bucket of sand on a barrel
and carrying it thru a simple course to plant in a similar bucket on
the other side of the arena.

Since we had not competed together in five years, I was pleased by
Rudy's sagacity, response and performance in the arena. He was,
however, a little bit bad in the Grand Entry, which required him to
stand quietly in a line. He was restive in the holding area--which was
the space where the sheep herd and emu are normally penned and which had
two pop up canopies for the entry table and the "kitchen". He did not
object to the mob of horses or all the human activity--he just refused
to stand still. As long as he could keep moving, he was fine. Just
before our entry into the area for the second class as we waited "on
deck", Rudy started doing his little "popup" rears where his front feet
leave the ground by about 4 inches. I smacked him twice and he willingly
entered the arena and did well enough for third place.

Immediately upon exiting the arena I took him out of the holding area
and dismounted. As I checked the girth, I discovered I had been riding
one hole too loose! Rudy has enough wither that the saddle did not slip
sideways but it had slid forward. The ground slopes steeply to the
in-gate and the damage might have been done at our first entrance into
the arena for the Grand Entry parade. I scratched from the last class I
had planned to enter which was "Walk-Trot Barrels". Fortunately, Rudy
didn't seem sore when I tested his back and I blessed the makers of my
endurance saddle and the heavy Western pad.

A show at home can be a challenging test because it means disruption in
a familiar environment. I was not expecting to ribbon especially when I
discovered that people were trailering in to compete at Traiteurville
rather then the St Clair County Show on the same day. Rudy was
competing with a missing hind shoe and a slipped saddle and an
overweight, middle-aged rider who simply does not have the time to ride
every day. I think he did rather well, earning two ribbons in two
classes!

Phillippe Jaroussky-another star countertenor?

Jan 30, 2006-Judging by the new CD of Vivaldi cantatas released by Virgin, this boy deserves the buzz stirring in the ranks of countertenor aficionados. His voice exhibits exceptional quality, clarity and lyrical expression combined with stunning virtuoso ability. It is also individual: for the most part like a boy soprano with an engaging strength and "roughness" in the deeper areas of his range. Here is a high range without shrillness, brightness with a hint of shadow. Most intriguing, and added to my automatic collectible list. Pity that the other two known recordings by him are not available in the USA.

The Packer

When the sign went up at Traiteurville Farm for the Annual Pig Roast
(September 16, 2006) I was pleased to see that a trail ride was also
planned for 1pm that afternoon.  The only problem was that I was out of
shape and out of practice as allergies had kept me confined within doors
all summer.  I also worried about Rudy's bare feet.  I spent way too
much time fretting as the day came out perfectly.

Rudy was not thrilled to be called in to work, and attempted to hide
behind a mule.  I suppose he thought the long ears would cover him?
Last year, he showed concern about the roaster. The smell of cooking
meat, so yummy to me, doubtless seemed ominous to him.  This year it was
just part of the landscape of home.  When he saw all the other horses
being saddled, he became very alert.  Instead of expanding his chest to
prevent the girth from being drawn tight, he sucked in his ribs and I
was able to tightened the girth one hole tighter than normal.  We were
mounted and ready on time.  Jim the trail boss began hollering for
riders to fall in: "Let's go! let's go!"  Rudy was ready to rock. He
bunched up under me, chuffing like a freight train and kept begging for
more rein.  Rudy fell in line behind Jim's big horse Buck, and although
he was willing to patrol down the line, he was not going to walk at the
back behind all those slow Quarter Horses.

Jim led us through the woods behind his house, knocking down the spider
webs as he went.  We wound around trees, over uneven ground, dry stream
beds and fallen logs.  Sometimes the trail dropped at a stiff angle for
a horse length or two.  Sometimes we had a little climb.  The shade and
the green were wonderful.  Rudy kept his head low and relied on me to
signal what lay ahead.  Dressage rocks, he said, shifting right as my
left leg signaled a drop on that side of the trail, coiling under
himself at a half-halt to take a drop and sliding left to avoid a
stump.  Jim warned everybody that there was a big log coming up.  The
horses may want to jump it, he said, but if you take it slow they can
step over it.  The log was big, over two foot in diameter.  Buck eased
over it.  I took a grip on the handle of the endurance saddle, but Rudy
angled his body so his right shoulder was closest to the log, then swung
his right foreleg over the log without bending it.  He then brought his
left foreleg over and tucked each hind foot in turn against his belly.
Neatly and sweetly over!

The horse behind us tried to jump and the little boy who was riding in
front of his mom got caught in the stomach by the horn of the western
saddle.  When we emerged from the woods, I heard him telling his mom
that he wanted to go back.  By this time, we had been out an hour and
although Jim had more to show us I thought I would go back also as I
wanted to save a little energy for dancing and partying at the pig
roasts.  Rudy was not adverse, but he suffered a moment of confusion as
the others went on without us.  He wanted badly to catch up with another
rider who had headed home earlier, but he stopped and stood while the
mother halted to let her son turn around.

A packer is a horse who will carry anything: cheers to Rudy, my
Tennessee Packing Horse!

Handel's Messiah

Performed by the St. Louis Symphony Orchestra and Chorus

December 13, 2003

The challenge with most modern productions of The Messiah is achieving the balance between instruments, soloists and chorus. Handel's original production was a tight ensemble work. The massed choruses and full orchestras pose a danger of overwhelming the soloists. Itzhak Perlman conducted for balance and drama, showing great sensitivity to the way each instrument and voice must shine forth at the proper time. His signals were fun to watch, now
muting the players for a soloist, now calling for dramatic thunder from the chorus. He seemed aware that The Messiah does not so much tell the story of the Life of Christ as dwell on its implications and he drew out the introspective side of the music..

In many ways, the chorus has the juiciest and most dramatic passages. The St. Louis Symphony Chorus sounded as if these demanding polyphonic pyrotechnics were like a walk in Forest Park. I wonder, however if something couldn't be done about the chairs they were using. Whenever the chorus rose or sat down, the steel legs of their chairs resonated against the stage and the music had to pause, breaking the flow of the work somewhat.

Regrettably, the tenor soloist was not in voice. Robert Breault showed great intensity, fire and a deep understanding and love for the work. But I suspect that age is flattening the
tops of his notes and that his voice is past its prime.

Kevin Deas, the bass, had to overcome an interruption in the performance. Due to the inclement weather, a large mob of latecomers was seated after the first tenor aria and
following chorus. David Daniels, seated next to Conductor Perlman, was watching the audience keenly while waiting to sing his alto part. He leaned over to the conductor who, seated with his back to the audience and unable to rise without picking up his crutches, could not tell what the source of the disruption was. Perlman wisely stopped to allow people to get settled. On Deas fell the responsibility of regaining the momentum. Fortunately, his rich voice is truly extraordinary, "shaking the heavens and the earth" and providing the perfect foil to the alto aria that follows.

Daniels, who in addition to his perfect "boy soprano" voice, possesses the soul of a showman. Seeming pleased by the now full auditorium, he launched into the aria "But who
may abide the day of His coming..." without reference to his songbook, holding it as a prop but singing directly to his audience. Daniels is probably the leading interpreter of Handel currently performing. His relaxed, confident performance throughout the program reinforced
this.

Heidi Grant Murphy, the soprano, was another delight. Her voice is exceptionally mellow, high with no trace of shrillness. Here is one soprano that Handel would not have wished to
throw out a window. Her duet with Daniels was brilliantly done, drawing all the tenderness from the words and music.

By contrast, the tenor/alto duet (O death, where is thy sting?) that comes near the end was almost perfunctory. The tenor would not look at his co-performer and their voices failed to mesh. The unfortunate contrast between Mr. Daniels radiant countertenor and Mr. Breault's tenor was the weakest link in an otherwise strong structure. Since this was closely followed by Ms Murphy's rendering of "If God be for us..." the damage was slight.

It occurred to me that the custom of standing for the Hallelujah Chorus is the Baroque equivalent of the seventh inning stretch. No one really knows how this got started, as it is
uncertain when King George could actually have heard it performed. But it is a sensible custom, allowing the audience some respite from their chairs. This performance put a proper and sensible emphasis on all the parts of the work. The Hallelujah Chorus is most impressive in context. What followed built upon that energy and came to conclusion, not to anticlimax.

Scores of scores

Oct 21, 2006 - The "Italian Spirit" program was an intriguing mix of Baroque with a mischievous dash of Stravinsky modernizing the old Masters. Nicholas McGegan, a modern master of the Baroque, conducted a select ensemble that included David Halen as concertmaster and the dishy Daniel Lee as principal cellist. The sheer weight of discography conducted by McGegan would lead one to expect a dry and learned professor type, but "Nic", a Puckish imp in white tie, bounced out on stage like a super ball. Smiling, a Woody Woodpecker tuft of hair standing up in the middle of his bald head, he infected the audience and performers with sheer delight. At the end of the first set (Two Canzone by Giovanni Gabrieli), he inexplicably popped off the the podium and into the wings -- then returned to announce the score in the first game of the World Series, 2 to 1, Cardinals, drawing big applause. Maestro Nic, pandering shamelessly to his local audience, periodically updated the baseball score while effortlessly keeping track of his musical scores.

Vivaldi's lovely and sorrowful Stabat Mater with the alto voice of David Daniels closed out the first half of the program. Daniels, gifted with a clear and beautiful countertenor voice, is also a consummate performer. Not only can he sing, but he seems incapable of "only singing". Powerful, poignant and unforgettable--Daniels demonstrated stunning _expression. (The reviewer from the Post-Dispatch felt that the singer had been drowned by the instruments on Friday; on Saturday this almost happened, but the conductor, with a cheerful grin and a gentle hushing motion, toned down the violins to let Daniels' voice shine through.)

Daniels also provided the highlight in the second half of the program with arias from three Handel operas. These seemed to have been deliberately chosen to contrast with the Stabat Mater: the heroic "Va tacito" from Julius Cesear, the brooding "Pompe vane di morte" from Rodelinda and the martial "Fammi combattere" from Orlando -- this last bringing the audience to its feet demanding an encore. With the air of making a sly confession, Nic the conductor admitted that they had practiced "Thy Mercies Numberless" from Saul and Daniels strode out to do it. The structure of the performance had conductor and singer frequently entering and leaving the stage together and the contrast in their styles is amusing. Daniels strides onto a stage as if thinking of buying it; he would strut except it's not necessary, unless it's in character, in which case, he struts shamelessly. McGegan, on the other hand, is like a kid let out for recess. He bounces on, he bounces off, he bounces on again. One wonders if he has left his tennis racket somewhere.

The final instrumental set was tremendous fun: Pergolesi revamped by Stravinsky, "The Pulcinella Suite". It was Baroque music with itching powder; counterpoint gone punk. The musicians were either frantically busy or on the verge of laughter. The strings were either sawed as if to cut the instrument in two or plucked like wooden chickens. From my fabulous seat in the center of the third row (obtained at the last minute at a shockingly low price) I watched the gifted David Halen, first violinist, lose several strings to his bow, the loose ends flapping around maddeningly until a pause in his score allowed him to pull them off. "It happens all the time, " he told me "And one notices it right away, but you can't do anything about it until the music is over."

One of the charms of St Louis is that it just feels comfortable. An international opera star like David Daniels signs autographs in the lobby after the performance. Maestro Nic and David Halen also signed my program, a memento of a memorable evening. Oh yes, the Cardinals won that night.