My voice teacher lives in a small apartment in Park Slope, Brooklyn, high above 7th Avenue. Her apartment is always radiator-hot, and she cracks a window (the way one unfortunately must in New York) at the beginning of our lesson, letting some cool air and faint traffic noise seep in. She assures me that her apartment has thick walls and that the neighbors can't hear me. I don't believe her, but I pretend, and I tell my subconscious to follow suit, so that I don't get too shy and sing in a whisper. (I'm a quiet talker by nature, and I hate being overheard by people I'm not talking to. Singing, of course, is worse.)
Her cat (she has two, but one's in hiding) is fat and friendly, and my teacher has told me he sometimes sings along. I'm not sure if I should take offense that he hasn't done a duet with me yet. In any case, I like that he permanently hangs out beside us, sprawled on his side and blinking in a satisfied, lazy way.
At first we warm up our voices, doing silly voice arcs and staccato scales (ha-ha-hee-hee-ho-ho), and making certain I'm breathing from my diaphragm rather than higher up in my lungs. (She pays attention.) From there, we move onto the keyboard -- she plays, and I match the notes. I sing along with it for two octaves (strained at both ends), oh-ee-oh-ee-oh-ee-oh-ee-oh, sung in a mountain-shape -- low at the ends, and peaked in the middle.
Not surprisingly, singing actual songs is the more satisfying part. We choose the material together -- her, selecting material at my level, and me, picking out songs I like the sound of. Initially I gave her a list of suggestions (to help her know what types of music I was interested in singing), with little idea how difficult they actually were to master. We've abandoned all of them except for 'Crazy' by Patsy Cline. I've wanted to abandon that one too, believe me, but she thinks it's a good way to mark my progress, as I slowly start to conquer it. ('Stormy Weather' is my favorite one that she's introduced. She seems to think my voice goes well with jazz.)
As a kid I loved singing in choirs (and occasionally I sang solos, despite that I wasn't really cut out for it, voice- or personality-wise). As an adult, though, I don't have a lot of faith in my voice. It's almost as if I have no idea what will come out of my mouth; my singing voice is about as predictable as my pool game, and the variables that determine how it'll go are mysterious to me.
Which is the reason behind the lessons, really. I want to know my voice a little better, and to like it, trust it, and control it more, and to be able to feel okay about being overheard. So far, that seems to be starting to happen. And the lessons are actually really, really fun.
When I get home, I ramble to Todd about all the things we sang and what my teacher said about this or that, like it was my first day of kindergarten, and then I try out my latest material on him, a cappella, while he grins at me. Just as I sing the last note, I instantly become shy and I duck out of the room.
I never knew much about weddings before. Actually, I still don't know much, but I'm learning! Here's a sample of what I've picked up just in the last two weeks:
1. People who have obsessive tendencies should not plan weddings. There are so many avenues to explore and details to consider that you will forget to look away from your computer at all, for any reason, really. Somehow I've also collected a pile of papers, jackets, and shoes all around my desk. Normally I keep it pretty tidy, but now it appears as if I'm sitting in a pile of trash.
2. Wedding dresses are boring and all look the same. Ninety percent of them seem to be strapless. They also look remarkably different on models than they do on real brides.
3. Sapphires aren't always blue, platinum is expensive, and avoiding diamonds has been harder than I thought it would be. We may have found something, though. I think it's a good sign that after discovering one particular setting, I became indifferent to everything else and kept drifting back over to it and studying it.
4. When people leave shiny stones in front of me and then walk out of the room, I feel inclined to lay my hands out flat on the table, just to let them know I didn't steal anything.
5. Shopping for a fancy ring may be the thing that shames me into not making my cuticles bleed. It'd be kind of a disgrace to have such a pretty ring on a monster hand.
6. I don't want a traditional wedding, and I don't want a deliberately non-traditional one. I'm discovering it's more difficult when you make it all up as you go along. (Unfortunately, that's how I approach just about everything.)
7. Trying to determine the guest list may make you irrational. For example, I had the fleeting idea to ask two single friends to start dating so I could knock off their plus-ones.
8. Brainstorming and finding ways to incorporate our friends into our wedding is actually pretty fun. We're lucky that we both know a lot of creative people.
9. My parents are even more easy-going than I thought. When I mentioned to Todd that I'd read that family members' personalities are exaggerated during the engagement months, Todd asked, "Does that mean your mom is going to become even more laid-back?" Apparently it does.
10. I like being engaged.
