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.