Snowfall of December 31, 2009
Rose Smeenk
The day before New Year's and here I am trapped in the house because of a heavy snowfall. In the morning I began as usual, coming downstairs after the phone call from Pedro from the van to take me to the Y. However we didn't get far because Pedro did not think it was safe on the road. The van's new tires were slipping and sliding and so was the van. Pedro drove everyone back home. So I was feeling blue and lonely, missing my writing and sketching classes. My memory drifted back to the winter of 1946. The snow blocked all the streets. Our milk delivery truck was stuck on 201st St. for three days. Snow was shoveled into 2 foot piles at curbs. In front of our house we had built up a 5 foot high pyramid. Children from all over the neighborhood were sliding on it or playing king of the mountain. Some kids made a fort and passersby had to be alert to avoid being hit by stray snowball ammunition.
Then I recalled the winter weekend at our trailer in Harrisville, New Hampshire. This was our summer retreat place but on this weekend our friends who lived there year-round called to say that their refrigerator had conked out; so we brought up our old one, which we had just replaced. The lake in front of their house was a huge white prairie surrounded by frost covered trees, a fairyland of fluffy white forest. Our friend, whom we called 'Pop' because he was older than us, had drilled a hole in the icy lake and caught several pickerel which we enjoyed for lunch. Pulling our son on a sled, we hiked along snow-covered paths through the woods bordering the lake.
In my youth, I used to ski in the Berkshires and at Jiminy Peak in upstate New York. Speeding down the snow covered slopes was thrilling. To breathe the pristine air and to enjoy the easy comradeship after skiing was also wonderful. However these are just memories; and the present is only a view from my window of snow-decked buildings, slippery sidewalks and a distant glimpse of the Palisades. Tomorrow is the beginning of 2010, pristine in a fresh mantle of snow. Happy new year!
Have you realized your potential?
Florence Glucksman
Perhaps I look at this question with a jaundiced eye. Let us explore my thinking. There is a Hebrew word 'halacha' which is taken to mean 'law'. But actually it comes from the word 'holech' or 'walk'. While one lives there is always a walking, a going, or a striving. This striving makes daily life livable -- each day we strive towards our future. We change with different experiences; our personalities expand or lessen in meaningful ways as we react to multitudes of perceived knowledge. I maintain that the striving itself makes life interesting, fascinating and challenging. This is my thinking as I face each day.
Or
Living up to my potential
Ira Stulbaum
As both my insight and foresight are limited, I must confess that I truly do not know if I am living up to my potential. However, I will venture an educated guess and say that I am not. Although deeply ensconced in my sixth decade of life, I feel as new as the first bloom on a willow in spring. I bound about with the joy and enthusiasm of a Cocker Spaniel puppy, home from the pet shop for the first time. I have embarked on two new exciting and frightening endeavors. I soon hope to be a working writer and actor.
I know, deep within my soul, that these crafts require meticulous work and dedication. Many talented people are pursuing these dreams. Fate, timing and luck play important and unpredictable roles.
I consider myself truly blessed however, because although I have goals to aspire to, I am immensely enjoying the embryonic paths and processes ensconced therein. I am learning all the time and my life is exponentially richer for the pursuit. I have not reached whatever potential the Almighty has given me in terms of the kind of person I want and aspire to be. What a great incalculable joy it would be to say in all sincerity that I treat myself and others with as much honesty, clarity, kindness, consideration and love, as the good Lord has seen fit to bestow on me. That my good friends would be cause to celebrate indeed!
Realizing a potential
Jennifer Egyes
I was never sure I had the potential to be a voice teacher. I was surprised when some of my classmates at The Manhattan school of music began giving voice lessons. How curious I was to know how they went about teaching this art when they themselves were hardly experienced singers. Not being able to see the vocal cords, a teacher must rely completely on the ear and imagery. I too wanted to teach voice and was eager to unlock the secret before venturing out to teach this intangible art. First I had to understand how the breath connects to the vocal cords to produce sound without air escaping. I had to understand what an open throat meant and how to convey that idea to a student. These are important secrets I had to unlock before I could even dare to call myself a voice teacher.
After studying for many years and working with the best coaches in the world, I took on my first voice student at the Brooklyn Conservatory of Music, where I was hired to teach 22 years ago.
As a student I bumped into the opera star Beverly Sills at the Ansonia Hotel in New York City. I was with some fellow students when I heard voices saying "There's Beverly Sills." Dressed in a sensational fur coat, she turned her head to acknowledge us. She looked like a diva and you knew instantly she was a star. For a moment I got a glimpse of her vivacious smile, the smile that made her mother nickname her 'Bubbles'. Her vocal cords were like the strings of a violin. Standing there in awe of her presence -- and what a presence she had -- I wondered how she produced such beautiful sounds.
Another superstar encounter occurred in the Metropolitan Opera House where I was going upstairs to hear Aida. Grace Bumbry was singing the role of Amneris and that's why I was attending this performance. Suddenly walking through the door was none other than the diva herself. As always when I saw one of my favorite opera singers I was awestruck. I scurried up the stairs not wanting to miss a beat of her singing. The curtain rose and out walked Grace Bumbry. It had taken her only minutes to change into her costume and there she was on stage sending out her luscious tones to the Met audience. I listened with big ears and also with my binoculars glared down her throat hoping to unlock the secrets to becoming the best singer I could be and hopefully the best voice teacher I could become.
While teaching I was also learning, from my students, from my performances and by watching and listening to other people. My quest included attending master classes at Juilliard -- taught by Marilyn Horne -- hoping to find something I did not already know.
After leaving the Brooklyn Conservatory I began teaching privately at my home studio in Nyack, New York. Later I moved to Westchester and was hired to teach at the JCC in Tarrytown and at the Rockland country Day School. This was not enough to satisfy my appetite for teaching, so I applied for and was hired to be music director for the Northern Westchester Center for the Arts. I was challenged as I had many voice students and was able to showcase their talents and the result of my teaching twice a year. Increasingly I was becoming adept at this art form. The great thing about music is that no matter how many times you perform it is never the same and so it is in teaching, there is always another road to go down.
