It's All In The Interpretation

Many years ago I was driving along with three-year old Tina in the car. Don’t remember where we were headed, but do remember that the local public radio station was tuned in to the classics hour. I have always supported public radio, not just because it has classical music, but for the variety of programs offered on both the local and national level. I have no clue if I will get in trouble for this or not, but surely they won’t mind a little free advertising if I list some of my favorites: "Click & Clack, the Tappin’ Brothers" - mostly heard on Saturday mornings at 9:00 a.m. in my area, a talk show about cars and car problems; "Wait, Wait, Don’t Tell Me" - a game about current events and famous people with a panel of very funny participants; “Says You” - a game of word and wit; "Thorn & Thistle" - Irish music; "From the Top" - featuring the finest, most gifted young musicians our country has to boast.

If you sit in my car and do a radio personality check on me you’ll find that preset #1 is public radio, #2 the local pop & rock station, #3 country, #4 more pop and rock, #5 oldies [what they are calling oldies meaning 70’s & 80’s, ha ha] and #6 jazz. Just like my mix of friends, my music is a wide range of tastes. I have the freedom to feel younger than my age, or hit the button when something comes on that brings up the ‘and they call that music?’ thought process. I have tried to stay progressive with my music. It keeps you on your toes and you can relate to your kids. Some of it is quite good and some of it is at the same sound wave that took away 73% of the clarity in my hearing back in the days of playing in bands with my first husband. The kids of today with those booming cars are going to have my hearing by the time they are thirty. My kids used to laugh at me when I would answer incorrectly to a question. My step son walked in the kitchen one day while I was making a pie and asked me, “What kind is it?” I looked up at the clock and said, “Two o’clock.” I can’t understand a word you say if something else is going on, and don’t ask me anything from behind me on the left or you will think I am ignoring you.

Segue back to the ride in the car with Tina. Uh. Oh well, nothing brilliant comes to mind. So, I was riding with Tina in the car many years ago and the lovely strains of Schumann wound down and a Wagner Opera began. After the prelude ended the lead soprano launched into her aria. A few lines went by and Tina piped up in her precious little voice, “Mommy’s singing.” I was flattered. Here was someone on the level of Dame Joan Sutherland singing at the top of her range doing the part of Brunnhilde or some other Wagnerian heroine. It was a powerful voice. It brought up images of vocal perfection, a damsel in distress, a muse in the woods calling fairies to dance, a heroine waiting for her lover to return from war, a big, fat soprano with flabby arms that looked like hanging wings which flapped in the wind when she gestured toward the horizon and a butt as big as a tug boat. Wait, I didn't think I was liking what was coming to mind. This might not have been a case of flattery if imagery went along with the sound.

Many of the sopranos in the opera world are not tiny, wraithlike, ethereal creatures. The part of Brunnhilde is usually awarded to the most seasoned soprano. That’s a good word - seasoned. Oh, yeah, the lovely, young Brunnhilde ends up being played by a soprano who has been singing for at least 45 years, she lumbers onto the stage weighing in at 750 pounds and the skinny tenor playing the part of her suitor is scared to death of the love scenes. He has his chiropractor on speed dial prepared for the scene where she will clutch him to her heart. Part of her costume is a large metal breastplate which can fracture his skull without a moment’s notice. I quickly told my daughter that mommy was not the person singing. I only weighed about 106 at the time and I was happy with my girth.

Back in high school, another brilliant segue here, I was a four foot eleven skinny, flat chested, freckle faced kid who was the Avon poster child. On my wedding day, at almost nineteen years old, I weighed in at 82 pounds. You are reading correctly. While I have gained weight over the years, I remained fairly small until about age 47. Being a small person I didn’t have the same problems other friends had regarding physical issues relating to size.

I have a friend I will call Beth. Beth is a big gal. Funny. Loving. Warm hearted. Fabulous cook. I was helping Beth clean her house before it was to be sold and I was cleaning mirrors and glass throughout the house. I called her into the bathroom and asked if I could remove the tape from the mirror. It didn’t look like it was holding anything together. Her answer was to leave it. That was to level the boys. I asked, “You bring your sons in here and line them up to measure them in the bathroom mirror?” “No, silly.” she replied, “I have to level the boys.” and she took a breast in each hand and bobbled them around. We both looked down at my chest. I just didn’t have that problem.

You know, at that 'plus' size lingerie isn’t really lingerie. It’s hoisting equipment complete with repelling clips like climbers use. I bet they could make a lot of money if they would include a two foot Stanley level in the packaging. Of course, the woman would have to go find her level somewhere in the garage after the husband got wind of a new tool in the house, but it would be a great idea and less tacky than tape on the bathroom mirror.

Well, the reason for the story goes back to the Wagner opera on the radio the day Tina’s childlike innocence started this whole mess. I was asked to sing for a group of ladies at a retreat, and one of the ladies on the panel asked me to do something funny. Right up my alley. Misbehaving with permission! I am notorious for my spoofs I do with music for birthdays, and I found the perfect piece with which to end my part of the program. I twisted, I mean tweaked, the words to a very classical piece in Latin. What I needed were props to set the stage. I really wanted to look the part of an opera character. I went to the local Wagner Opera Props R Us and asked the clerk for one of those Brunnhilde metal breast plates. He surveyed my chest with the same sage eye my friend Beth did and said, “We don’t sell cookie sheets here.”

When I introduced the final piece for my presentation I told the audience I found the book Latin for Southeast Texas Dummies and translated portions of the song. I told them I would sing some of the Latin words, then slip the English translation in so they could follow the story line. I turned my back to the crowd and pulled my prop out of a bag - a large metal cookie sheet on a pink ribbon - and suspended it around my neck. I told them the story of Tina hearing Brunnhilde in the car, my initial flattery, then my horror at the image planted in my brain. I thought they were going to fall on the floor over the Stanley level bit and one lady popped up and said, “I know who took mine. I knew my husband was lying when he said he hadn’t seen it. That’s how the pictures got hung straight in the living room!” I couldn’t have paid someone to chime in with better audience participation. The group howled. What started out as a lilting piece of very serious music went the direction I am well known for going - SOUTH and to the LEFT. I didn’t even warn the pianist accompanying me.

Benedictus, benedictus, qui ve nit in nomine domine, qui ve nit in nomine domine.
Benedictus, benedictus, benedictus now boarding Houston Metro's cross town bus.
Benedictus, benedictus, qui ve nit in nomine domine, qui ve nit in nomine domine.
Benedictus, benedictus, benedictus ain’t no smoochin’ in the back of dah bus.
**at this point in the song it goes into a soaring upper register and is really dramatic
No air conditionin’ Just ain’t you wishin’ for some relief from all these high notes?
Benedictus, benedictus, qui ve nit in nomine domine, qui ve nit in nomine domine.
Ominous. Dominoes. Ain’t no spittin’ on this bus!

After dismissing back to the general convention this women’s retreat was part of, several spouses were eagerly awaiting their wives to go to the next event. I clearly heard the question, “Well, that sounded interesting. What did you talk about and what was so funny?” One woman casually replied, “Oh, some lady sang in Latin and talked about boobs.” I prayed the Bishop wasn’t standing nearby.