Living in the Woods

The Wild & Woolly Barn

2012-02-10T11:24:00.000-08:00

1965: "Karen's Disappearance", Installment 3 of 3

2012-01-29T09:21:00.000-08:00

1965: "Karen's Disappearance", Installment 2 of 3

2012-01-25T12:01:00.000-08:00

Harvesting Wood for Winter

2012-01-23T09:55:00.000-08:00

1965: "Karen's Disappearance", Installment 1 of 3

2012-01-20T21:14:00.000-08:00

A Walk to the Post Office

2012-01-15T18:03:00.000-08:00

Newsletter: Dec. 31, 1969

2012-01-13T14:30:00.000-08:00

Smith-Corona Electra 220 with power return!

2012-01-08T14:54:00.000-08:00

Christmas Tree 2011

2011-12-24T18:04:00.000-08:00

Royal Sabre Portable Typewriter 1973-1974

2011-12-19T19:46:00.000-08:00

A Walk Up The Road

2011-11-22T15:09:00.001-08:00

The fourth Thrift Store Find of Oct. 24: Remington Quiet-Riter Eleven

2011-11-20T13:04:00.001-08:00

NaNoWriMo, Olympia SM3 & First snow!

2011-11-06T12:48:00.000-08:00

The third Thrift Store Find of Oct. 24: Webster XL-747 portable typewriter made in Japan!

2011-10-28T19:49:00.000-07:00

The second Thrift Store Find of Oct. 24: Sears Electric 10

2011-10-26T10:01:00.000-07:00

The first Thrift Store Find of Oct 24: Smith-Corona Silent Super

2011-10-25T14:49:00.000-07:00


The first two words were typed before I de-inked the ribbon.


I do need to clean the shell. Any suggestions on what to use?


I think it's way cool that this typewriter included the manual and a KEY to the case!

Autumn in The Woods

2011-10-24T10:24:00.000-07:00

Gossen Tippa B and First Northern California mini Type-In last Thursday!

2011-10-15T13:24:00.000-07:00

Thrift Store Find #1: SCM Coronet Electric

2011-10-10T18:02:00.000-07:00

Typing Gone Wild

2011-09-30T20:31:00.000-07:00

Autumn Arrives!

2011-09-26T15:35:00.000-07:00

Where do you keep your Typewriters?

2011-09-16T12:50:00.000-07:00

Royal "O" Portable and Bugs in Black

2011-09-13T17:02:00.000-07:00

Remington Model Seventeen & New Barn Windows

2011-09-02T16:09:00.000-07:00

Bathtub in the Meadow

2011-08-15T13:20:00.000-07:00

Smith-Corona Sterling portable typewriter, and a Guitar & Ukulele!

2011-08-10T20:10:00.000-07:00

A study in Red: Valentine Typewriter & Kitchen

2011-08-08T16:17:00.000-07:00

Houseguests

2011-08-07T10:59:00.000-07:00

Back to blogging, with a typewriter!

2011-08-04T09:30:00.000-07:00

Power Restored!

2008-01-16T19:26:00.000-08:00

The day after my last handwritten entry was Thursday, Jan. 10th. We woke up to find that the power was still out.

We turned on the radio and heard the following news: that there were still little pockets of settlements in Nevada County without power, especially in the Sierras where it was difficult for PG&E crews to repair the lines. Yep, that's us.

For the first time all week, our actual TOWN was mentioned by name as one of the last spots to get power restored -- projected for Saturday.

SATURDAY??? A total of eight days without power, except for that brief respite on Day #2.

James and I had hoped that the electricity would be back on by Friday at the latest; we could have held out at our place In The Woods until then -- but just barely.

The trailer batteries were nearly dead by Thursday morning, which we could tell by the very dim interior lights. This meant that we soon wouldn't be able to pump water out of the tanks.

Wood and heating was not a problem, at least, after James had figured out how to split the logs "the old-fashioned way". But the water situation was critical, and we couldn't imagine being without it for two more days.

Besides, we hadn't showered in nearly a week, and our food supply was running short.

On Wednesday, I chatted with my sister-in-law in Sacramento and mentioned the possibility of needing to come down and stay with the family if the power wasn't on soon. So she wasn't surprised when I called the next day to say we were about to pay them a visit.

We just didn't think we could make it until Saturday afternoon. Rats!

James said he felt like we were "giving up" and I knew exactly what he meant. For five days we had hung in there and dealt successfully with the power outage, and expected to make it until it was back on. All week, the local news reports had led us to believe this, but the repairs were slower than anticipated. We weren't surprised; that's just the way it goes sometimes.

We were definitely in an altered state-of-mind as we threw a few things together (including a big bag of dirty laundry!) and loaded them into the snow-bound car parked in front of the barn.

James put the cable chains on the front wheels and I swept off at least a foot of snow off the car.

Oh boy, we were going to have us some FUN getting out of the driveway and up the snowy little road, around a serious curve, followed by a section with a huge rut which was difficult in the best of conditions, then onto a slightly larger dirt road leading down to town! But once we gained this road, we would be home-free.

With cat Rupert sitting rather calmly in my lap, we set out.

I'm proud of James' driving. He first learned how to negotiate the backwoods trails of central Florida in a jeep when he was only eight years old! So he handled our bumpy, rutted, snowy and now muddy little roads (more like trails) with expert aplomb.

We were amazed at the amount of snow along the main road on the way to Nevada City. Then suddenly it vanished just above town, at about 3000 feet elevation.

This is interesting, because our place is at approximately 2700 feet. But since we're in our own little "micro-climate" nestled in a canyon by the river, we got quite a bit of snow.

We made a brief stop at In&Out Burger in Auburn and then we arrived at my childhood home in Sacramento, now occupied by my brother and his family, by late Thursday afternoon.

Not only did it feel STRANGE to be in civilization again -- after being totally immersed in our rustic woods lifestyle -- it was a shock to see bright lights and hear the hum of electric appliances and the blaring of the television.

The two grizzled, smelly mountain men coming down the hill to the Big City!

When James toted the huge sack of dirty laundry into the service porch, my brother remarked, "Who's the dead body?"

James and I usually stay in the bungalow (called "Yonder House") which my parents had occupied during their last years behind the main house in which I grew up.

This place is so airtight that when the doors or windows are opened and closed, there's a "vapor-lock" sucking sound. It's like the USS Enterprise on Star Trek.

Talk about being diametrically opposed to our usual living space in the leaky, not-quite-completely insulated Music Room out In The Woods! There, we can see cracks of daylight through small gaps in the boards at one end of the room near the ceiling, with tendrils of insulation hanging down.

Our floor is concrete, while Yonder House has mostly wall-to-wall carpeting.

A large television is in an imposing console on one wall of the livingroom. We haven't owned a TV since 2002, although we fall into its dubious charms whenever we have access to one.

There are two bathrooms with shower stalls. One of the first things we did after bringing in our stuff and greeting the family was to take warm showers. Ahhhh!

Then I felt a bit more normal; the shock of being back in civilization was starting to fade a bit.

This was helped along by a much-deserved cocktail. Or two.

James and I always seem to find ourselves regaling the family with our stories of living In The Woods. Hopefully they are not bored; they don't appear to be whenever we sit down at the round kitchen table to describe our lives up here.

We sure had a lot to tell them this time.

We've finally gotten them to understand that winter is NOT the time to come visit us. They haven't seen our little "slice of heaven" yet. James jokes that when they finally do experience it, they'll say that we're even more crazy than they already think we are!

James and I enjoyed several pleasant days with the family. We were very lucky to see my niece and her friend on college break, who just happened to be staying at the house for a few days before flying off to Boston.

We attended my nephew's district honor band concert on Saturday afternoon (he plays string bass), which was quite enjoyable. The kids played impressively; the guest conductor got a lot out of them. It was an amazing performance.

On Friday and Saturday we ran errands and pumped money into the local Sacramento economy; new tires for the car; new (real!) chains which are much easier to deal with than cables; a stylish and functional Hoover vacuum which matches our decor (very important!) and a wonderfully quiet GENERATOR for those future power outage moments!

We would have been fine up In The Woods if we'd had a generator.

We came back up the hill on Sunday afternoon, after stopping at the grocery store in Nevada City to stock up.

The power was ON at home - thank god!

We learned a great deal over this challenging week, and will be much better-prepared the next time the electricity goes out.

OH! Here's the video I promised you. I took it on Wednesday, Jan. 9th which was Day #5 of the power outage. It's funny that I didn't mention it even once; I just focused on enjoying the beautiful snowy scenes all around us.

It really was gorgeous.

When the power is STILL out...

2008-01-13T21:52:00.000-08:00

When the power goes out...

2008-01-05T16:08:00.000-08:00

*******************************************************************************

TODAY'S UPDATE:

The power came back on at 8:30 p.m. last night, ten hours after going out. We managed to get our car down the hill to the general store this morning and discovered that everyone's power and phone service is still out, but the whole town is using a Pacific Gas and Electric Co. generator which is supplying enough electricity for our needs.

This is very fortunate, because otherwise, we'd be really cut off from the outside world.

There's always more to tell, especially lately, but I'll save it for later. I want to make sure this gets posted now in case the power goes out again, which could happen at any time. Also, the snow has been falling heavily off and on since noon, and our satellite internet goes out when the snow is particularly dense.

Battling with our new stove

2008-01-02T23:47:00.000-08:00

We needed to replace our trusty and rusty Franklin stove in the Music Room where we're living this winter, because the bottom metal plate burned out last week. James did a temporary fix -- great handyman that he is! -- by placing a piece of sheet metal on the bottom.

But it wouldn't be long before the old thing would become a fire hazard.

So we ordered a new stove online and picked it up on the last day of 2006. It arrived a week earlier than we expected.

Getting the new stove was rather a flashback to the 1800s. With a few "modern twists", of course!

Back then, many people lived in rural areas and bought stoves and other household goods through the Sears catalogue or something similar. The stove might be shipped by train and dropped off at the station, where the purchaser would bring their wagon to pick it up.

The distribution center for our stove was down in West Sacramento, about 80 miles away. They called us to say that they could meet us in Colfax, which has an exit at I-80. This is about a 45-minute drive from our place In the Woods.

When James asked the person on the phone why they couldn't deliver the stove to Grass Valley -- where they had JUST delivered a stove to our next door neighbor a few days before! -- the person said, "We won't go that high".

In elevation, he meant.

Okay, whatever.

So we met the driver of the truck bearing our stove at the Colfax Starbucks. Ah, that ubiquitous purveyor of caffeine and sweets and mugs and CDs comes in handy yet again! We have a love-hate relationship with that chain.

The driver fork-lifted the stove, encased in cardboard and wooden slats and scrawled with the handwritten calligraphy "MADE IN CHINA" (isn't everything?), onto the bed of our pickup truck.

On our way home, we stopped at the hardware store in Nevada City to pick up various configurations of stovepipe, "Where every visit is at least $200" quips James to the sometimes-amused cashiers.

It was too late on New Year's Eve to install the stove, so we uncrated it in the truck-bed and then hoisted it down to the ground by the back door.

We attended a New Years Eve party at a friend's cabin a few miles up the Sierras and arranged to stay overnight, so we didn't get back to our place In the Woods until noon the following day.

We planned to put in the new stove then, but James suddenly realized that if something went wrong and we needed to go to town for more stovepipe or whatever, we'd be sh**-outta luck on New Years Day, and we'd be as cold as ice! So we decided to wait until today to install it.

Ha ha.

We got up this morning and took out the trusty rusty Franklin stove, which served us well. It didn't put up too much of a fight.

We put the new stove on a dolly and wheeled it into the Music Room. No problem.

We hooked it up to the eight-inch stovepipe which was already in place, and fired 'er up.

Smoke, smoke, smoke!

Ooops.

We determined that we needed to get six-inch stovepipe which would match this particular model better. This meant a trip down to "Big Town" (what the locals call Nevada City) to our favorite hardware store.

And we must be one of their favorite customers, as we spend money at that store so frequently. This place is requiring quite a bit of materials and tools to bring it up to speed. We don't mind.

We returned home at 4:30 this afternoon with five 2-ft. sections of stovepipe, along with a rubber mallet to hammer down the sections, and two sexy Mag-Lite flashlights to illuminate our work on the outside stack. We've been wanting decent flashlights up here, in any case.

James wrestled with the recalcitrant stove pipes to put them together, with what seemed an interminable time. Then he hooked them up to the stove, and we fired 'er up again.

Smoke, smoke, smoke.

We let the pieces of wood die down and then we added more height to the outside stack.

Lit the stove again. More smoke. But with slightly more draw now.

We've spent the last four hours trying to keep the fire going in this stove! It is so very different from the Franklin stove. We believe that it will ultimately be more efficient. We think that we overloaded it at first, which caused a lot of smoke. So James took everything out and started all over again.

The new stove seems to prefer very small pieces of wood at first, certainly a lot smaller than the Franklin stove required. It took several days for James to learn how to deal with the Franklin stove, so we should expect nothing less with the new one.

We measured the total amount of stovepipe that we installed and it turns out that we are a couple of feet short of the required minimum of fifteen feet, so we need to go BACK to Big Town tomorrow to buy two additional sections of stovepipe. We hope that this will solve the problem. It seems essential to have the proper amount of "draw".

Hopefully this small crisis will have a simple solution. I keep reminding myself to keep the faith, as I am not by nature a handyman and don't know how things work, really. James has been rather stymied by this, although tonight he is steadily accumulating information on the Internet about how to deal with woodstoves.

At this moment at near midnight it is 61 degrees inside and 28 degrees outside. The fire is trying to stay alive, with James' constant nursing and encouragement. It's gone out repeatedly and James brings it back to life each time with the bellows that my Dad made many years ago. I treasure this memento, and it comes in so handy in our present situation!

I am wearing my hoodie and a jacket and am warm enough, although my feet are always a bit cold this time of year.

This room smells of smoke and we've put our cat Rupert into the trailer for the moment. I just asked James if we should sleep in the trailer tonight, and he says not. We will be plenty warm in our bed with several layers of blankets and quilts. There is only a small cloud of smoke hovering about the ceiling right now, with the attendant odor.

Live and learn, we remind ourselves. This is just a learning experience. We love living in the Woods, even with these little challenges.

I'll keep you informed.

2007 in Retrospect

2007-12-30T11:41:00.000-08:00

The final countdown of the year always make me think about what happened over the course of the past 365 days.

Each year seems to have a theme, or a certain quality. 2005 was a very difficult year, for example. My mother died in March and we had a serious accident with our first Airstream trailer on July 4th. (Our "big boom!")

2006 wasn't as difficult. We spent the summer touring Canada with the show (better then than in winter!), and unfortunately had to put down our dear cat Mary while at our first stop, in Vancouver. She had been ailing for several months.

2007 has been a very eventful year, with many changes.

A year ago today, James and I left Bisbee by car to go back on the road with Phantom. Our destination was Toledo, Ohio. Our first overnight stop was Albuquerque. It had just snowed a record 22 inches, and I-40 was closed. We were stuck at a Motel 6 for three days!

We barely made it to my first rehearsal for the show (2000 miles away), two days later.

In January, my 90-year-old father contracted pneumonia and went into the hospital. He was in and out of various facilities for the next six weeks, and died on February 17th.

My final show with Phantom was the next day!

James and I came home to Bisbee and experienced a "crash course" in small-town politics and small-town mindsets. We must have been wearing blinders for the past five years!

Our house was filmed for national television (HGTV) on April 9th, because of James' wonderful artwork inside and out. What an experience that was!

On May 15th (the day after James' birthday) we decided to move to Northern California. The first of several trips took place a few days later.

On June 9th, my brother Buzz hosted a wonderful Memorial for my parents at the family house in Sacramento. Many friends and relatives attended, and we shared many special moments which I'll treasure always.

We went back to Bisbee a few days later and started packing. Then we realized that we needed to prepare the California place better to accomodate all our stuff! So we went back to CA on July 6th to clean out the barn.

We didn't return to Bisbee until past the middle of August. We packed up the rest of our stuff and rented a small truck to haul it to our new home.

It's hard to believe that we haven't been in Bisbee since the end of summer!

We've been fixing up the place here In The Woods, and have come a long way since late Spring. And an even longer way to go! ;)

I have been pleased to get some horn work in Sacramento and San Jose since October. My most recent stint was playing the Nutcracker in San Jose. It had been eleven years since I had performed this wonderful holiday music, and it really put me in the mood!

So it has been an excellent year, taken all around. James and I are very happy in our "little piece of heaven" (as our Florida friend Arlene just termed it).

May 2008 bring each and every one of you happiness and prosperity!

Mixed Emotions

2007-12-20T12:31:00.000-08:00

I just received word this morning that a former musician colleague of mine was killed in a motorcycle accident on Tuesday night.

He was riding his motorcycle down a two-lane highway and hit someone in a pickup truck turning into the roadway. Mark was immediately killed while the lone occupant of the truck was uninjured.

How tragic. Mark leaves a wife and three teenaged children behind.

I feel a combination of sadness and guilt. The first is totally understandable. The second is a bit more difficult to process.

You see, Mark was not well-liked in one of the orchestras I played in. He was Personnel Manager for a number of years and did some things which were definitely not supportive of the musicians, whom he was supposed to represent.

He was also a bridge between musicians and orchestra Management. This is a very difficult position for someone who was also a member of the orchestra. One foot in each camp, so to speak. Which way was the wind going to blow?

I think that it's best to hire a Personnel Manager who's not a musician in the orchestra, but this does not often happen.

Some orchestra personnel managers lean more towards the musicians, while others favor Management. The former sometimes lose or quit their jobs, so it is no wonder that the latter wants to "play it safe".

In late 1990, Mark went out of his way to disenfranchise one of the musicians in the orchestra.

The musician in question took one sick day a year, during the run of Nutcracker ballets in December. He took off for a matinee and was back in time to play the evening performance. It was sort of a long-standing "tradition", understood by musicians and even the conductor that this person would take off in order to go skiing. A sub was always notified in advance.

This was no big deal, although it wasn't strictly "kosher". This particular musician did not abuse sick-leave at any other time during the nine-month orchestra season, unlike many of his colleagues (including Mark).

But Mark and another musician who had a bone to pick with this person, decided to take matters into their own hands.

They followed the "sick" musician up to the ski resort in the Sierras with a video-camera, and documented his activities away from the orchestra.

This resulted in a suspension of the musician for an entire month. No pay.

You can see why I have mixed emotions about this. One can say that Mark was just doing his job. But most members of the orchestra were horrified at this Gestapo-like behavior, going to such lengths to discredit this musician.

Also, this event came at the worst possible moment, because the musicians were then embroiled in contract negotiations with Management. (I was on the Orchestra Committee, in the thick of all this.)

The organization had just hired a new Executive Director, who needed to flex his muscles and show the musicians "who was boss".

Mark chose to align himself with the Executive Director rather than with the musicians, who were fighting pay cuts and new restrictive work rules proposed by Management. Together, they undermined the musicians' position.

This video-taping event ripped the orchestra apart. It was the beginning of a very long, agonizing, lingering demise of the organization. It wasn't the cause of its eventual death in 1996, but it was the first nail in the coffin.

There were many hard feelings. The other musician who had participated in the videotaping made a public apology, but was never quite forgiven over the next six years of the orchestra's existence.

Mark held fast to his beliefs that the "sick" musician was in the wrong.

Technically Mark was correct. But the lengths he went to to discredit this musician seemed overly harsh, especially at such a vulnerable time for the musicians at the bargaining table. It had devastating effects on the orchestra, and ultimately on the entire community when the organization declared bankruptcy six years later.

A few months following this incident, Mark stepped down as Personnel Manager. Shortly thereafter, he resigned from the orchestra.

Sigh. I do feel sad that Mark was killed. It is very tragic, and my heart goes out to his wife, children, family and friends who have lost him so suddenly.

I had not intended to go on so long about this, or even write about it at all. But I do feel that I've released something in the process.

Rest in peace, Mark.

2007-12-18T12:56:00.000-08:00

Late Sunday night, the patter of rain on our tin roof changed to the sizzle and plop of snow, as we had hoped.

James threw one last log on the fire in the Franklin stove as we went to bed, burrowing under the layers of quilts and blankets, greeting the immediate warmth of flannel sheets.

A few hours later, the snow had accumulated an inch. It was a light storm at this relatively low elevation of 2600 feet, with higher accumulations further up the Sierras, just a few miles away.

There was another inch by the time we got out of bed at 8:30 Monday morning.

I stayed snuggled in the warm bed while James went out with the camera to capture the beauty of the snow on the trees near our barn compound.

After I got out of bed, I took a picture of the view from my computer chair, looking out the windows:

Then I brought out the video camera to capture our cat Rupert's first experience with snow here. He might have seen it in his previous incarnation in Vancouver, but we will never know for sure.

We'd like to think that this was Rupert's first time. For the sake of dramatic license.

I spent several hours on the video yesterday. After editing, I added original music and subtitles.

It's the first time I've ever tried setting music to video; something I've always wanted to do. In a parallel universe, I would have liked to become a movie soundtrack composer.

After several fits and starts, I managed to post Rupert's video on his blog. Please check it out, and Rupert welcomes your comments!

The Adventures of Rupert

Same Blog in two different places

2007-12-16T14:00:00.000-08:00

I started with Blogger a couple of years ago, then switched to WordPress because I liked its overall lay-out better.

But today I have decided to revive my (renamed) blog here on Blogger because it is javascript-enabled, which means that I can use the syndication service BlogRush. Hopefully my blog will get more traffic as a result.

I will continue to post in my WordPress blog of the same name.

A Ray of Hope?

2007-02-13T07:03:00.000-08:00

A few days ago, I hesitated to post my earlier entry about my Dad being on his deathbed, because now several days later, he "ain't gone YET!"

I just now spoke on the phone with my brother Buzz, who said that Dad was transferred to the hospital yesterday after being in a "skilled nurse facility", and is actually hanging in there. The doctors have stabilized Dad's heart (apparently he'd had a heart attack somewhere in the past several days!) and are now getting a grip on his ongoing pneumonia infection.

Buzz and my oldest brother Chris conferred with the doctors today, who suggested that there's an option of a more "aggressive" treatment of IVs that could be tried.

My brothers don't want this to happen, and I absolutely agree; this should NOT be done. Dad is ninety years old and has already suffered so much in the past few weeks; he doesn't need more needles stuck in him now! The doctors are already pursuing a reasonable, non-invasive course of treatment.

The next 24 to 48 hours will be the determining factor, which way Dad's condition will go. If it deteriorates, my brothers and I agree that there should be no more "feeding tubes". We all know that Dad would not want this. Let the man die with dignity if he chooses to check out!

Hooters byline on their website: "Delightfully tacky, YET UNREFINED"

2007-02-12T18:04:00.000-08:00

I don't believe it -- James, Ricklen and I just went to HOOTERS for lunch!

This could have been an episode from "Queer Eye for the Straight Guy".

None of us had ever been to this Bastion Of Straightdom before, and James and I always been curious "what the big deal" is about this chain of advertised buxom, revealing smorgasbord of delights.

Now we KNOW. There IS no big deal -- at least at this far-flung Hooters location in West Des Moines, Iowa.

Hopefully it's more cloying in more exotic locations, for you straight guys. Here, they weren't very responsive, interested, or stimulated by the female employees in the Breadbasket of Amurrrika.

The food was definitely below-average, and the waitresses were attractive enough -- but they sure didn't look like the strippers as I had expected from the advertising.

What fun is that? These young women just looked freezing cold in their scanty short pants and low-cut blouses. Oh well, I guess a girl's gotta make a living!

Our waitress was a slim mulatto girl with frizzy, burnt reddish hair. She introduced herself as "Tyke". (As in...like little kid?)

She seductively smoothled down a post-it note with "Tyke" and a happy face on our table after our drink order, to make sure we'd remember her.

Mission accomplished!

It was two o'clock on a Monday afternoon so the place wasn't very crowded. However, there was a boisterous table behind us with two guys and a gal, busily playing a video machine which involved firing with a gun. They were whoopin' and hollerin' at top volume during most of our lunch. Woo-hoo!

Then there were the four guys at a neighboring table, subconsciously begging for makeovers. (If they only knew. Hey guy, please lose the Bill Cosby multi-colored, bulky sweater and beige chinos!)

Our waitress "Tyke" sat herself down companionably at our table (is this a Hooter-ism? Anyway it was a "first") and breathily asked what we'd like to drink. I glanced at her low-cut blouse, when she gently wagged her chest back and forth as she stared soulfully into my eyes, huskily whispering the drink menu.

Again...a girl's gotta make a living. I bet she has some interesting stories to tell about this job!

The menu did not include Vodka, or any hard alcohol. Just beer and wine. But we could "walk on the wild side" with sangria. (UH-oh! Were we detected??)

I went for a wheat beer on tap. Ricklen had a half-bottle of white whine. James had a Pepsi.

When the four guys arrived at the next table, I couldn't stop thinking about that show "Queer Eye for the Straight Guy" who might/could work wonders with them. There was LOTS of material to work with: bad haircuts all around; rumpled shirts which didn't even remotely go with the pants, the Bill Cosby multi-colored sweater...it reminded me of kids at their first day of Kindergarten, dressed haphazardly without their mommy paying attention.

Sorry guys....there's nothing really wrong with your outfits....it was just sort of a shock to be jolted into this emphatically straight world.

This was wake-up call to Mainstream America, which James and I usually don't participate in. I appreciate it, actually -- it provides a perspective.

Wow -- I guess we're really weird. And that's okay.

At the end of our visit, to wrap it all up, "Tyke" sat back down at our table and asked if everything was okay. Yes, my dear, it was fine. Thanks for joining us.

What a different world. Fascinating and informative.

But not to be repeated anytime soon.

Oooohhhh...I can hardly wait to GO HOME!!!!

My dad is "checking out"

2007-02-09T12:19:00.001-08:00

I just got a call from my brother Buzz who said that my dad is getting quite a bit weaker, and isn't expected to live long. He's been in the rehab facility for a couple of weeks, and his body systems are shutting down -- he's not eating or drinking, and hasn't spoken in several days. Apparently he can still hear. Buzz and my other brother Chris are talking to him a lot.

Dad hasn't been able to recover after his bout with pneumonia last month, which is not surprising for a ninety-year-old person.

Buzz is now having a meeting with the doctors, and hopes that Dad can spend his last moments at home -- maybe rent a hospital bed. I sure hope that this can happen, so Dad can be in a warm, familiar environment, surrounded by his family. Except for me, of course....

I'm struggling with this situation, wondering if I should fly home now.

But basically Dad & I don't have any unfinished business. The last time I spoke with him on the phone a few weeks ago (while I was in Toledo), I told him how much I love him, and he said, "I love you too, Cam".

I don't know if my presence would make much of a difference at this point, for Dad or for the rest of the family. Is this weird of me to think?

I've always been the odd man out, and am on a different wavelength than the rest of my family. I don't know if they could accept the kind of comfort and perspectives that I could offer now, anyway.

It's like....no-one is suggesting that I come home. They know I'm on the road with Phantom. When my mother died nearly two years ago, I was in Boston playing the show. As a theatre person herself, Mom wouldn't have wanted me to "make a fuss" and come home as she was dying. I can hear her in my mind's eye: "Cam, you have a job to do. So DO it!"

I'm thinking that my dad understands this, too, and that his pragmatic side would agree that there would be no point for me to come home now. He's "checking out", no question. My coming home won't change that, and although my presence wouldn't be unwelcome, I'm thinking now that it wouldn't make much difference.

Such a dilemma.

So now I await updates on Dad's condition.

I am SOOO tired of being cold!

2007-02-08T09:58:00.000-08:00

This frigid weather is ridiculous. I've never been as cold as I have been here in Des Moines for the past two weeks. In my entire life!

The temperature has not once risen above 14 degrees, and it's dropped as low as -11. I'd say that the thermometer has stayed in the 5-degree range pretty much the whole time.

A small blessing: it has been mostly sunny, and our hotel window faces southwest, so we're getting decent light.

My body is not only rebelling against this bitter cold, it is also reacting adversely to all the chemicals and salt thrown on the roads to de-ice them. I'm coughing and my chest feels congested, but it's not really a cold. I really believe that it's because of the road chemicals.

James and I have visited the nearby shopping mall a few times to get some exercise, "doing our laps" around and around both bottom and top floors. Other people have the same idea. It's just too cold for us, at least, to exercise outdoors.

I have a blogging friend who jogs in this kind of weather (you know who you are!) and I admire her for being able to cope with it. But I cannot. Being a native Californian, it's just not in my blood. I've never been able to get used to really cold weather.

Good thing I live in Arizona, and will be going back there soon!

Fun at the Grocery Store

2007-01-25T13:27:00.000-08:00

This afternoon, James and I went to the Kroger grocery store we've visited several times in suburban Toledo and had a rather amusing experience at the check-out counter.

Our groceries are mostly fresh vegetables, which have item numbers that the clerk needs to enter. The pleasant-faced, middle-aged woman clerk was apparently new to the job, because it took her a long time to find each item number for the veggies. She asked the help of a much younger, sort of punk big gal with darkly-dyed magenta hair and sporting a nose-ring (who must have been an experienced Kroger clerk, maybe even a manager) for the item numbers. Miz Punk barked them out while glaring at the clerk along with James and me, because we were engaging the clerk in conversation and possibly distracting her.

The fortyish sour-faced woman behind us in line had only a few items, mostly cosmetics and what used to be called "sundries" -- oh, how old-fashioned this makes me sound! -- and she became more and more impatient for the clerk to finish ringing up our groceries. Her face became increasingly sour as our transaction proceeded to lengthen into a full-fledged "visit", as James chatted up this clerk.

Meanwhile, I went to my usual "post" at the foot of the counter with my own canvas bags, to stow the groceries myself. This in itself is considered "weird" in most stores. I usually encounter resistance from the baggers, and at the very least, surprise. Sometimes it's fun to tweak them and other times it's tiring to deal with their hostility.

Miz Punk shot me an exasperated look when I said, "You really know your vegetables!" as the new clerk asked her for yet another item number.

I don't think that these clerks are used to "socializing", as James and I always try to do with such people. He tries to lighten things up and add a bit of personal interaction to an otherwise robotic, frantic world.

I guess we're really weird.

This new clerk was clearly taken with us, asking the usual question if we were twins or at least related. "No", we told her, although sometimes we lie and say "Yes, how nice of you to notice".

She made the observation that we looked "fashionable and unusual, like movie stars from Beverly Hills!" and James told her that we tour with Phantom.

Then James told her the story of being in a grocery check-out line at Straub's in St. Louis, when (another) black clerk asked the same twin/brother question, and James quipped, "No, we're not, but you know we white guys all look alike!" Everyone within earshot had cracked up.

But today in Toledo, the sour-faced woman behind us flinched after hearing this story, and shifted one impatient foot to the other.

The clerk seemed to find it faintly amusing, but she didn't know quite how to react. Miz Punk manager, however, did not find it funny at all.

As the veggies made their leisurely way down the conveyor belt and I put them carefully into the two canvas bags, I made a point of smiling at the impatient woman as well as Miz Punk. James also included them in his witty repartee, which served only to irritate them further.

This in turn amused me all the more; the whole thing began to assume truly comical proportions as well as surreal ones.

James apologized to the woman behind us for taking so long, and her glare imperceptibly softened, but only for a fleeting instant. She stubbornly held onto her impatience and irritation.

Oh, what a cold world we have become! Most of us are in such a HURRY these days, getting bent out of shape at the least delay. People forget to breathe.

And heaven forbid that one should try to engage them in any personal interaction! I'd say that at least half the store clerks don't know how to respond to our pleasantries.

I almost burst out laughing when the clerk messed up James' credit card transaction and had to begin again. I flashed a smile at the woman behind him, shrugging my shoulders. Her glare deepened.

As we finally took our leave, I said to the woman, "Thank you for your patience" and she nodded her head curtly, while the clerk looked rather surprised.

At least we brought a little joy and entertainment to this new clerk on the job, and diffused whatever "angst" that may have existed in the situation of fumbling for item numbers. Perhaps she felt pressured by the manager who was standing impatiently at her elbow. And the woman in line behind us was NOT amused, but that was her issue, and her choice.

As James and I pulled out of the parking lot in our (equally weird) Scion XB, I waved at the impatient woman who had just emerged from the store, while James smiled at her.

This little scenario makes me yearn for the relative grace and laid-back atmosphere of our beloved town of Bisbee, Arizona, where folks are not such in a hurry and are more friendly. It won't be long before we're back home, thank God!

In Northwestern Ohio, at last

2007-01-10T11:37:00.000-08:00

Quoting part of my previous entry: "We will be driving, and hope to avoid the interesting weather we've been 'enjoying' in the West lately."

No such luck.

James and I left Bisbee on Saturday, December 30th just before noon, and all was smooth until we reached Albuquerque at 7:30 p.m.

We had first noticed the snow, dusted along I-25 just past Socorro, 75 miles south of Albuquerque. It was just a trace at first. As we headed further northward, the snow upgraded from "dusting" to "blanket". Bigger mounds of the white stuff were piled along the road's edges.

By the time we arrived in Albuquerque, it was obvious that a major snow event had taken place in the past few hours.

James' usual prescience kicked in when he suggested that we stop at a Motel 6 south of town for the night, rather than brave I-40 in the dark. We would face it in the morning.

We got our first inkling at the magnitude of this storm when we noticed the foot-high stack of snow atop the low, umbrella-shaped bushes flanking the Motel 6 lobby. It must have come down in a WHOOOSH, in a very few short hours.

"Yes, indeed", the motel clerk told us at the front desk. The area had received eight inches of accumulation during the previous week's storm (the one which socked in the Denver airport for two days before Christmas) but then on the 30th, over SIXTEEN more inches fell that afternoon, only several hours before our arrival.

We were lucky to get a motel room. Most of the guests had been stuck there for an extra day. We got the second-to-last room available.

I turned on the TV for the local news, which announced that I-40 was closed from the Tramway exit north of town all the way eastward to Tucumcari, not far from the Texas border. This is a distance of 175 miles! Police were not able to say when this major highway would be open.

Road crews were in the process of de-icing the very treacherous roads and there were hundreds of travelers stranded along the highway, especially in the Clines Corners area, 60 miles east of Albuquerque. Efforts were being made to escort them to nearby shelters. But many ended up spending that long, cold night in their vehicles.

Had James and I not stopped for the night, WE would have been among them. This would have driven me absolutely bonkers.

Those poor people.

I-40 was closed all day Sunday, the final day of 2006, and through the night. HAPPY NEW YEAR!

The highway was finally re-opened on Monday morning, January 1st, but with warnings to drive slowly and carefully because of the widespread ice.

We left Albuquerque shortly before 10 a.m.

The highway was indeed treacherous in spots. Traffic was often backed up for miles as the endless string of boxy trucks snaked into the distance. The left lane was often crusted with ice, from the banks of snow trickling down from the divider, which meant that traffic had to go in the right lane.

Stop and go. We inched slowly forward, off and on for several hours.

There had been thick fog overnight, which froze in the frigid temperatures. It coated all the trees along the highway with a filligree of sparkling crystal, which was indeed beautiful but added to the ice danger on the road.

The snow was indeed thicker at Cline's Corners, and my heart went out to all those hapless travelers who had been stranded there for 24 hours. What a mess that must have been!

Luckily the sun was shining and the temperatures crept above freezing as Monday progressed, and so we finally reached Tucumcari in early afternoon.

I suggested that we stop at Denny's for lunch, which turned out to be an unfortunate decision, as everyone else on the highway had the same idea. As we parked our Scion in the icy lot, several groups of people queued into the building and there were groups of people walking up quickly behind us.

This Denny's location in Tucumcari was half-asleep with minimal staff on New Year's Day; there were only two cooks and two waitresses who couldn't handle this sudden influx of people. James and I stood in line for several minutes before deciding to leave, and grab lunch further down the road.

It was definitely "group think" that day, with so many travelers who had been delayed for many hours.

We stopped at a Cracker Barrel in Amarillo, Texas at about 3:30 p.m., nearly two hours later.

There was even more traffic backed up coming from the opposite direction (westward bound) with miles and miles of mostly trucks, off and on all the way from Amarillo. So I guess we were lucky, in a way, and I tried to count my blessings during this stressful, long trip.

Since our three-day allotment of time to get from Bisbee to Toledo was now compressed into only two, we really had to haul ass to get there. We decided to try to drive all through the night if possible.

Through the Texas panhandle...into Oklahoma...horrible roads just before Oklahoma City...then northeast on the turnpike heading for Tulsa.

We stopped for dinner at a Denny's in Tulsa at 11 p.m. The ugliest fake, barely-decorated Christmas tree I've ever seen greeted us just inside the front door.

It was interesting to see the large number of Hispanics as employees and customers -- who would have thought? But this is farm country, after all. The Land of Opportunity.

From the plate glass window of our booth, we watched a couple of police cars with flashing lights pull over a driver on the frontage road and administer the young man a sobriety test.

Stomachs full, we hit the road again. 113 miles later found us just over the Missouri border near Joplin. I was behind the wheel for one of my rare occasions (James drives us practically everywhere; I'm a habitual passenger) and noticed a highway patrol car parked along the side of the road. I passed him with a vague sense of foreboding, although both James and I always drive the speed limit. The cruise control held steady at 70 mph.

It was 1:30 a.m. on Tuesday (Jan. 2) and I-44, heading northeast towards St. Louis, was pretty much deserted.

Then I saw headlights in my rear-view mirror, which stayed the same discreet distance behind our vehicle for about five minutes. I couldn't shake that strange feeling, though.

Sure enough! Suddenly those headlights were right behind my car, and the blue and red lights started flashing.

Gosh...I hadn't been stopped since my birthday in 1998, when I was speeding from Virginia Beach to Raleigh, NC. It felt weird -- and sort of a violation -- to be pulled over when I certainly wasn't speeding this time (and haven't in over eight years since that ticket).

I stopped and a young cop came to the passenger side, which we hadn't expected. Startled, James rolled down his window. The cop asked to see my license and said that although I wasn't speeding, he claimed that I was "weaving slightly" and he was concerned that I was falling asleep at the wheel. I assured him that I was wide-awake (pointing to my can of Coca-Cola).

The cop said that he wasn't going to issue a ticket but that he would like to check my license, so I was asked to accompany him to his cruiser. He gestured for me to slip into the passenger seat as he punched up my license on his laptop computer. I was tempted to make small-talk about his "cool computer" but refrained.

Of course everything checked out fine, and I was free to go, with an admonition to "stay awake".

As I got back behind the wheel and we continued on our way, I felt a mixture of gratitude that the cop was actually doing his job, and appeared concerned that I might be sleepy. But on the other hand, this young trooper did seem a bit over-zealous, as though he was just using the situation "for experience".

James surprised me by saying that I actually do weave a bit sometimes, which he attributes to my "lazy left eye". I admitted to him that my current nighttime vision with the soft contacts is not 100%. The "monovision" concept of using the same prescription for both eyes is not totally optimal for nighttime driving, in particular. But I really didn't think that I was actually weaving.

Perhaps I should wear my regular glasses for night driving.

This whole thing made me realize just how seldom I do actually drive; James and I rarely go anywhere separately and he's almost always the one behind the wheel. Have I gotten a bit rusty from many years of not driving? This kind of shocked me; I've certainly never been accused of "weaving" before! (I still think the cop was being a bit too zealous.)

Oh well.

We stopped for gas and then James drove another 100 miles to Lebanon, Missouri, where we finally pulled into a Holiday Inn Express hotel for much-needed sleep. It was already 3:30 a.m.!

I've always been curious about this hotel chain. It turned out to be a lot more expensive than Motel 6, and not really worth the value to me; who cares about labels on the pillows "soft" and "firm", or extra shampoo and soap in the cluttered bathroom, or the "designer" curved shower-rod, or extra-fancy bedspreads? And they demanded an extra $25 for our cat. (Why not make it a refundable deposit if the cat incurred no damage to the room?)

A few short hours later found us back on the road again at 9 a.m. Although exhausted and somewhat stressed, James and I were both psyched to get to Toledo by the end of Tuesday.

It was 163 miles to St. Louis, which we passed through around 1 p.m.; then 242 miles to Indianapolis, at about 6 p.m. Another similar chunk of miles to Toledo, where we finally arrived at our StudioPlus corporate apartment at midnight.

As I read back over this entry, it is interesting to note that we often stopped after driving for 250 miles at a stretch, which roughly corresponds to the Scion's gas capacity (usually get 300 miles to the 10-gallon tank). We're thankful that our car gets reasonably good mileage for a "non-hybrid".

For future reference, laughs and/or sobs: gas averaged about $2.46/gallon on this trip. The total journey from Bisbee to Toledo was nearly two thousand miles.

* * * * * * * * * *

I was almost completely exhausted for my first day back at work with "The Phantom of the Opera" on Wednesday, January 3rd, but I somehow survived.

It's taken nearly a week to regain some semblance of "normalcy" (thanks, Warren G. Harding, for that word!) after this unusually stressful, long trip. But James and I are both glad that our next stop, Des Moines, is "only" 550 miles from Maumee, Ohio, which will take place in three weeks.

By the way, here's Another pic of our Bisbee House

It always amazes me how there are new pictures of our place posted by strangers on the Internet almost on a daily basis. But I suppose that judging from James' imaginative, fun and funky decor on the outside of what would be an otherwise ugly building, it shouldn't be such a surprise after all!

It's become a very popular Bisbee tourist attraction. Maybe we should put out a donation box! ;-)

I'd BETTER update!

2006-12-29T19:15:00.000-08:00

After a fallow, almost blogless year, I write a few lines to assure all you cyberspace travelers that I am still alive and kicking. There's nothing worse than a blog which hasn't been updated in months.

Besides, I've made a few comments on other people's blogs recently and it just wouldn't *DO* for them to come visit here and see that I haven't updated since our Summer in Canada.

J. and I enjoyed our first holiday season for the first time in NINE years at home, in Bisbee, AZ, which should have its OWN blog; this town is indeed fascinating, and the subject of many a picture online. J. has decorated the outside of our house to the extent that there are pics of it on Flickr and elsewhere on the net.

Here's one (top right in this series of photos):

Our house

But alas, we must take leave of our abode to go back ON THE ROAD tomorrow, rejoining "Phantom of the Opera" in Toledo, Ohio starting on January 3rd. We will be driving, and hope to avoid the interesting weather we've been "enjoying" in the West lately.

It has snowed in Bisbee several times over the past few days, which is infrequent; it usually happens only once or twice each winter. Unlike places further north and east, the snow here in the high desert disappears within twenty-four hours.

It's beautiful. Now it's gone! How perfect is this?

Anyway, I've heard that Toledo is lovely this time of year. "Luuuuv-ly" as in the south Georgia pronounciation and meaning -- thank you, J.!

At least the good money will be rolling in for the next seven weeks. After Toledo, The Masked Man moves on to Des Moines for three weeks, which should also be lovely -- in February.

Then -- unemployment! Back to Bisbee, our beloved home. We shall see if we can make a living.

I AM NOW IN CANADA, until the end of October.

2006-08-10T11:49:00.000-07:00

The show is currently in Vancouver for another seventeen days, then on to Edmonton for a month, and then Winnipeg for another month.

J. and I had good visits with family and friends in California on our way up here from Arizona, although it was during that horrible heat-wave a couple of weeks ago. But it was great to see everybody, and reconnect with my considerable past history in the Golden State.

We had stopped in Lafayette (east bay), Sacramento and Nevada City. Then after visiting friends in Truckee, our trip to Canada truly began.

Early on Saturday morning, July 29th, J. and I drove to Reno and caught highway 395 heading towards Mount Shasta.

It was a beautiful sunny day, not at all hot up north, and Mount Shasta glimmered with snow above the rich green pines.

There was a LOT of smoke on the CA-OR border; there must have been serious fires in the area. The sky finally cleared up about halfway up the state.

We stayed at a nice RV park just north of Eugene, then continued on our way early Sunday, July 30th. It really doesn't take much time to get through Washington, and before we knew it, we were getting close to the Canadian border!

We decided to go on through the check-point and arrive at the RV park in Vancouver a day early; we were originally scheduled to arrive on Monday, July 31st.

Unfortunately, the traffic at the border crossing was HORRENDOUS because of the week-end at the height of summer season. We ended up getting in the right lane which was a mistake, because there was an entrance ramp ahead of us on the right where many cars "in the know" cut in line ahead of us. But we finally arrived at the booth an hour-and-a-half later.

Since I am working in Canada for an extended period of time, the border agent waved us to the side after looking at our passports, and we had to get out of the truck and walk to a nearby building to show them and the "introductory letter" from the Phantom company to the agents there. Thankfully, that's all the documents they requested and we were processed quickly.

On to Vancouver! We arrived just after the sun set, and all the skyscrapers twinkled with myriad lights. It's truly the most amazing skyline I've ever seen; many of the buildings actually relate architecturally to one another, creating a unified whole. The hills and water and general ambience remind me very much of nearby Seattle.

Since we had forgotten our detailed map, we had to navigate with a tiny inset map of Vancouver included with the Rand McNally atlas page of BC. We wended our way through the twisting, congested downtown streets with the trailer (!!) and managed to find the RV park across the river in North Vancouver.

This is when the "fun" started.

The RV park turned out to be very unpleasant. It seemed to be run by Native Americans, much like a casino; very high prices, poor service, and a "f___-you-all-we're-just-going-to-take-your-money-and-if-you don't-like-it-you-can-go-somewhere-else" kind of attitude!

So we DID leave, the next day.

Since we had arrived a day early, and the RV park was utterly and completely full, we had to park without any hookups in an "overflow area", and still paid top dollar for the privilege.

We were exhausted and J. certainly didn't feel like cooking, so we walked to a nearby mall and found a pub which had a full dinner menu.

It was a very interesting dining experience.

The pub was very dark and there were quite a few tables and booths set apart from the bar, which had two giant screen TVs blaring out soccer (also TVs in each corner of the room, as well) and music from the '70s/'80s was going nonstop. The place was pretty deserted late on a Sunday night, with the surprising exception of a huge family with a bunch of screaming rug-rats, eating dinner at a corner table at nearly 11 p.m.!

J. and I sat at a booth with a big window overlooking an outdoor patio. A young guy and gal obviously on their first date sat at a table immediately on the other side of this window, which was very disconcerting to me. It was like they were sitting at the same table as us, separated only by glass.

There was no privacy whatsoever....it reminded me of those "reality dating" shows! I saw all sorts of scenes which were straight out of TV. The young gal was obviously very taken with the young man; had her hands all over him all the time, and they paused often between sips of wine and occasional bites of food and drags off his cigarette to cram their tongues down each other's throats. This happened literally three feet away from me!

This "dating show" theme was taken to a new level when the young guy excused himself to go to the washroom, and the gal helped herself to the rest of the guy's dinner (she had already wolfed down her own). I could just see the caption on the screen: "DATING NO-NO #3: EATING LIKE A PIG".

After the guy returned to the table, looking at his bare plate with perplexity, the gal excused herself and went inside. The guy immediately activated his cellphone and I wondered if he was either giving a buddy a progress report or perhaps lining up another date with a more promising prospect?

Anyway, these young people were certainly not doing anything wrong and were having a good time, but I probably should have insisted that we move to another booth. Oh well -- it was entertaining, in a way!

J. and I got up early on Monday morning to see which lot we were going to be situated at, since a huge group of people had just left (the managers couldn't tell us which lot we were going to occupy; not very organized, just greedy).

We finally parked the trailer at lot #8, tightly jammed between two other RVs -- the place was truly packed like sardines! -- and then we spent the next several hours trying to line up internet service in the trailer.

When J. had first made reservations on the phone, he was told that there WAS indeed service at the park, but it turned out to be two casino-like "slot internet machines", one in the front office and the other in the rec centre/laundry room, which cost $1 for only 12 minutes, and were always occupied by young kids. This was totally unacceptable to us!

So J. spent a lot of time on the pay-phone with both the phone and cable companies, surrounded by screaming kids in the rec room (along with yet another young couple sucking face!), trying to line something up....and it turned out that this particular RV park neighborhood was one of the few that didn't have either of these services!

There we were, paying top-dollar to stay at this RV park, not only with no internet access to our site, but they were charging us $2/day to keep our cat, who never leaves the trailer -- later we found out that this was NOT any kind of Canadian ordinance, it was just at the whim of the RV park management.

So we called the other RV park in the Vancouver area, a bit further away from downtown (it's actually in Burnaby, east of Vancouver), who said that there was plenty of space there and that they DID have internet access at each site! So we drove out there to check it out, and it is the cutest RV park imaginable, and cheaper than the first one.

We returned to the bad park to hitch up the trailer and leave, and I received a full refund of my money. I explained to the management why we were not staying, and they were not at all apologetic or sympathetic. The Native American man who seemed to be running things just stood stoically with his arms akimbo in the background, looking like a chief carved in stone, while I firmly but politely told him along with the native receptionists that this is the 21st century and that they need to have internet access at each site like most RV parks do across North America, and that they're charging too-high prices for very little service in general. I also complained about the $2/day pet thing, and the guy said that it was some sort of "law". Later I found out that this was NOT the case, so he was just being greedy. Ugh, and double-ugh!

At the next RV park, the manager was supposed to set aside lot #121 for us; she assured us that it was ours. But when we arrived there a few hours later, we discovered that it had been rented to someone else in the interim. Uh-oh! Not more problems!

However, there was another available site with phone service, although it wasn't as nice as the first, and a bit farther away from the wi-fi tower in the main building. Well, okay....it was still much better than the previous park.

We finally got settled in around six o'clock Monday night. I practiced a bit of horn, took showers and then we crashed early.

I forgot to mention that when we checked out the second RV park, we took the SkyTrain system to downtown Vancouver and back to see if I can take public transportation to work. It turned out to be pretty nice, but the trip can take up to 50 minutes each way. If J. shuttles me back and forth, it's an 11-mile, 20-minute drive. Gas works out to be over $4.00 a gallon here, so it's probably best that I take public transportation as often as I can. The stations are pretty near both the RV park and the theatre downtown.

We've been in Canada only a few days, but already see that it appears to be a bit more polite than the States, at least here in the Vancouver area. People don't seem to be quite as much in a rush, and they're very helpful and friendly. They're sort of innocent in a way. Also very serious and earnest. There's a lot of ethnic diversity here, except for a lack of black people. LOTS of Asians and a few Middle Easterners.

A friend who has visited Canada frequently made the observation that she thought that Canadians' behavior is very similar to ours back in the 1950s, and this does ring true for me as I observe these low-key, courteous people.

I was surprised to find that the SkyTrain tickets are on the "honor system"; you buy the tickets at a machine but don't insert them anywhere later; an agent may check for this "proof of purchase" on the train at any time, but chances are, they won't -- so conceivably, one could ride the rails for free.

Certainly some Americans would take full advantage of this, but it doesn't seem to occur to the Canadians to abuse it -- at least, as far as I can tell at this early stage. Very, very interesting difference here.

A couple of days ago, J. finally had to buy gasoline here in Canada for the first time since we arrived; the tank of our Chevy "hog" truck was nearly empty. Guess how much it cost to fill up?

$138.51! A new record.

Good thing I'm taking the train to and from work. Hopefully we can last on this tank of gas for our remaining time in Vancouver.

Last night on the way in to the show, there were several interesting characters to observe on the train.

A very proper, squat elderly man sat primly across from me, stocky legs squeezed together. He was wearing a black suit with checked shirt and typically British collar, tie, sensible black shoes....and he had some sort of Knights of Columbus or Masons pin affixed to his left lapel. It had that Maltese cross kind of look. He sported a short grey beard and had black bushy eyebrows; the right one was way up his forehead, while the left one scowled just above his eye. His dark eyes popped out of his head in an eternal look of surprise, while his mouth was fixed in a permanent grimace. Perhaps he'd had a stroke.

The young obviously college-age girl sitting next to him was fresh-faced and earnest in that Canadian way, dark pigtails, zip-up grey hooded sweatshirt, jeans and flip-flops. She was studying out of her notebook with all sorts of scientific scrawls and diagrams, while reaching into her knapsack periodically to eat mushrooms! Whole, cleanly white large mushrooms. Yummy!

I got off the first train to make my transfer to the second; waited at the platform along with a few other people. Some weird emanation of energy made me look at the man at my left, and I suddenly realized that he was the SAME crazy guy who'd been on the train over the weekend, yelling at a father with two pre-teen girls, warning them to stay clear of the doors. The father had yelled back at him that he "had the situation handled" and it escalated into a heated arguement until the little family disembarked a few stops later.

Then the crazy guy started talking to everyone in general, insisting that he "meant no disrespect"....."if those little girls want to kill themselves, just go ahead; I don't care anymore!". Later, he asked me what time it was.

He looks to be in his late fifties, possibly a Vietnam vet (didn't seem quite Canadian), maybe an alcoholic or reformed drug user. In any case, it looks like he's lived a hard life. Maybe he's made a career out of riding the trains. What are the chances of encountering the same person twice in such a big city?

It's been raining "frog piss" style for two days now. The air feels very heavy and moist here, which zaps my energy. But at least I'm not broiling in 100-degree-plus temperatures as I did in the States!

Caught Between Two Worlds

2006-07-09T19:40:00.000-07:00

mood | sad ]
[ music | none. sound of traffic sporadically driving past our house. ]

J. and I are currently at home in Bisbee, AZ....for only two weeks.

It is becoming increasingly hard to leave home, every time we have to go back on the road after these all-too-short breaks.

But it is very, VERY nice to be home right now -- perhaps the lesson really is, to ENJOY THE MOMENT and not think about anything else.

But this is sometimes more of a challenge than we would like. But it is a worthwhile goal, and we will indeed rise to the occasion!

(Ah, a ray of hope amidst my pensiveness this evening.)

The TOP TEN Questions People Ask the Pit Musicians

2006-06-26T07:58:00.000-07:00

I was recently asked the question (paraphrased), "Do people from the audience talk to the musicians in the pit orchestra?".

Yes, they DO!

Some pits are more accessable to the audience seats than others; it depends on the theatre.

The front row of seats can be so close to the edge of the pit that people cannot move freely along it; it is only accessable to the occupants of those particular seats. So interaction between audience members and musicians is reduced.

Other times, the pit-rail is either too thick, covered with stage lights which separate them from the audience, or the pit itself is considerably lower than the seat level of the auditorium. In these cases, conversation between audience members is minimal.

Occasionally, people overcome these obstacles by yelling "Hey YOU!" or "EXCUSE ME!" at the musicians. In those cases when they're particularly rude, we simply ignore them; otherwise, we usually respond.

After nine years and thousands of performances of "Phantom", a definite pattern of recurring questions from audience members has emerged! We in the pit call it "The Top Ten Questions People Ask":

THE TOP TEN QUESTIONS PEOPLE ASK THE PHANTOM MUSICIANS

1. Do you travel with the show?
2. How long have you been playing with the show?
3. Where are you from?
4. Where are you staying?
5. Where do you go next? (or, where were you previously?)
6. Don't you LOVE playing this music? (or, do you ever get TIRED of playing this music?)
7. Where's the trumpet? (or organ, trombone, oboe, bassoon, harp etc.)
8. How many musicians are playing?
9. How do you like St. Louis? (or Denver, Buffalo, etc. We've been to most big cities.)
10. Is this all you do?

It is a very interesting process, answering these questions which people have asked us pit musicians so many thousands of times. We are flattered that they show an interest, so we try to answer as politely and completely as possible. On the other hand, it is a challenge to keep from being annoyed at being confronted with the same old questions, over and over again, year after year.

But it is just part of our job, and we accept that. We musicians are on the "front lines"; "ambassadors" for the company as it were -- the first ones to interact with the audience members before the performance begins, as well as during intermission.

This is quite different from my previous jobs with symphony orchestras, where there is virtually NO interaction between audience members and musicians; we're tucked away onstage at a considerable distance from the audience seats.

Most folks are polite, but occasionally we'll get a real stinker! In the worst cases, we usually ignore them, which is often possible because of the distance between the edge of the pit and the musicians' chairs; we can always pretend that we didn't hear them, or that we're about to tune, or that we're diligently caring for our instruments, or we're looking over our parts (like we NEED to, after all these years!)

Yes, it is a very interesting job. In a future entry I will document some of the more interesting questions people have asked over the years, that are NOT on the Top Ten list above.

A Young Woman Horn Player's Visit to the Pit

2006-06-25T07:04:00.000-07:00

Last night, I came back into the pit at the Fox Theatre at the end of intermission and witnessed the tail-end of a conversation between the Principal horn and a young woman from the audience.

She was leaning over the pit rail to look at our music. E. asked her how long she's been playing the horn. She replied, "Since sixth grade, about eight years ago, but I don't play much now that I'm in college".

E. commented that playing the horn for FUN is the "best way"....not to try making a living at it! (I laughed inwardly.)

The young woman asked, "How's the music?" and E. said, "It's fairly difficult, with a lot of high notes and loud playing". She peered at his part again and noticed a high C-flat. "That's not so hard. The music looks only 'medium' to me".

E. held up his horn towards her and said, "Here, would you like to play it?"

"Oh, no", she muttered, and quickly disappeared into the crowd.

Explosion Follow-up

2006-06-24T08:38:00.000-07:00

The night following the explosion, my colleague on Principal horn gave me the inside scoop on the gun's "premature emission" last Tuesday night. His girlfriend works in the Wardrobe Department, so he hears about virtually everything which happens in the company.

Apparently, the actor who plays the Marksman got some of the gunpowder in his eye and had to go to the Emergency Room at a nearby hospital. His eye was flushed out successfully and he's all right, thank goodness.

He insists that he did NOT pull the trigger prematurely; that it was a "pyro issue" with a overly-hot mixture of powder. This is what I figured had happened.

It is interesting to note that although the actor is supposedly "okay" now, he has NOT made a return appearance as the Marksman for the remaining shows this week!

A VERY BELATED HAPPY NEW YEAR! -- An Un-YOO-usual Night at the Theatre

2006-06-21T09:48:00.000-07:00

HAPPY NEW YEAR!! Now that it's half over...

Many apologies for not keeping this blog up-to-date! It would be a daunting task to document everything that has happened since I last wrote in December, and I'm not very good at writing a short, concise "Reader's Digest" version. But I'll do the best I can!

J. and I took possession of our "new" 1976 Airstream travel trailer in February, and we truly enjoy being back in the RV lifestyle after living in gloomy, cold corporate apartments for nine months. I'll try to post a picture of our 23-ft.-long silver baby in a future entry when I can figure out how to do that.

Phantom is in the middle of a four-week run here in St. Louis. We're staying at an RV park right downtown; the only big city in America that we know of that has an RV park in such a central location. (They're usually way out in the 'burbs.) We're only a few blocks from the Fox theatre where the show is playing. My commute is all of seven minutes, which is great.

It's VERY hot and humid here right now; temps are expected to exceed 95 today (with high moisture, being near three big rivers: the Mississippi, Missouri and Merrimac). J. and I are pretty much staying inside our little air-conditioned trailer for the rest of the day.

Last night, something happened at the show which has NEVER happened before.

The marksman, who carries a gun into the pit during Act II accidentally pulled the trigger about thirty seconds early. Or, perhaps there was something wrong with the mixture of powder; sometimes the pyro guys get excited.

No-one -- least of all the conductor, standing right next to him -- was prepared for the unusually LOUD explosion which usually takes place after a series of lines exchanged between the marksman and the actors onstage.

The explosion occured directly next to the conductor's head and stunned him to the point where he sank to his knees on the podium, moaning. The doltish actor didn't know what to do; clearly he was more worried about dropping his lines than anything else. A few seconds of shocked silence followed, then the marksman finally got off the podium while the actors fumbled around for their dialogue, which they eventually locked back onto.

Meanwhile, our conductor stumbled off the podium and croaked out to one of our keyboard players, who's also the assistant conductor to replace him on the podium. None of us knew if the regular conductor was seriously hurt or not.

He sat with his head in his hands for only a few moments, then indicated to the assistant that he was ready to resume conducting, and got back onto the podium.

He seemed okay after that, but everyone in the pit was obviously concerned. After the final chord in the exit music, people asked him how he was, and he said that he was all right.

Whew! Live theatre sure can have its "Special Moments"!

Significant Others on the Road

2005-12-20T08:32:00.000-08:00

I recently received the following question in response to my previous entry, and would like to answer in a new one rather than in "comments" -- because it is a very good question!

It was really interesting to read about your touring situation. I am curious, though..... how many of the people on the tour have significant others who live in different parts? I would imagine that it would be a real challenge to maintain a relationship while on the road.

I would say that at least half the members of the 90-member company have significant others. Of this group, probably about a quarter of them travel together on the road. The rest stay at home, or are on other tours.

In the orchestra, for example, the concertmaster's boyfriend flies out from Cleveland to visit her once a month over an extended weekend, so this happens roughly once in each new city. He is not a musician.

The cellist's boyfriend also plays the cello professionally, a freelancer in the L.A. area, and has come out to visit once in the four months that our new cellist has been with us.

The assistant conductor (who also plays one of the keyboards) had his cellist wife with us for about five years, playing in the orchestra. Their son was born while both were touring. When he reached school-age, the cellist quit the tour in order to provide him with consistent schooling. (So we got the new cello player in August.) Husband and wife take turns flying back and forth to visit each other every month or so.

The second violinist's boyfriend was the Head of our Sound Department for a number of years. But several years ago, he quit the Phantom tour to join the touring production of "Mamma Mia", currently in Las Vegas for an extended run. His schedule is fairly flexible and he often comes to see the violinist whenever we are playing. She also takes time off occasionally to visit him.

The bass player met his future wife while touring. She used to fly out to visit him every month or so. Then they got married, and she joined him on the road. Now they have a four-year-old daughter who they are "home schooling".

The other assistant conductor/keyboard player's wife and three children travel with him about half the time. Otherwise they live in Las Vegas.

One of the woodwind players is dating someone who works in the company's Hair Department.

The Principal horn player is dating a woman who works in the Wardrobe Department.

The percussionist (who's also the show contractor) is now seeing a woman who had gone to college with him many years ago, and they've recently re-connected. She is a high school band director in Mississippi. He flies out to visit her on many of our Mondays off. She has also come out on the road to visit him occasionally.

My partner J. has traveled with me for nearly seven years now. His primary "job" was to take care of our Airstream travel trailer, and provide a home for us. We had a serious accident on July 4th and totalled both the trailer and our tow-vehicle. We rolled one-and-a-half times and are lucky to be alive, emerging from the accident with only minor cuts, bruises and a little whip-lash.

We've been staying in corporate apartments (like everyone else in the company) since then, and have come to HATE it. So we have gotten past our fears and are getting another Airstream trailer and a new tow vehicle in the next couple of months, and will resume our wonderful life in the Spring. J. will have his rewarding job back!

It is indeed challenging to maintain long-distance relationships while on tour. Some do it successfully while others fail. It all depends on the couples.

Early on in our commitment, my partner and I decided that we would NOT have a long-distance relationship. He was able to leave the real estate business he had built up with his mother and join me on the road very soon after we'd met. It has been a wonderful odyssey together ever since!

How do I like touring?

2005-12-17T10:57:00.000-08:00

I subscribe to an online yahoogroups list of horn players, and receive a "digest" of emails sent daily. I occasionally post to the group, in reply to questions about my life on the road. This is how I responded today:

On Dec 17, 2005, at 8:12 AM, horn@yahoogroups.com wrote:

Cameron,

How do you like touring? It's a great place to get experience for
better things to come.

Nancy

Dear Nancy (and List),

It is the opposite situation with me. I'd already had 21 years of professional orchestra playing experience (Nashville, Mexico (Toluca), Sacramento and San Jose when I first went on the road with "Phantom" over eight years ago.

Although our 12-member touring orchestra does have some younger members (our concertmaster is 26) the average age of our pit musicians is probably around 45. I am 51. One of our musicians is in her late 50s. Many of us "older" ones have already played in major symphony orchestras. A lot of young musicians emerging from conservatories are trying to get orchestra jobs, not tour with a Broadway show.

Of course, times are changing and jobs are ever harder to come by, so this is not quite as pronounced as it was a few years ago.

This is ironic, because the current trend is to carry less traveling musicians with touring productions on new shows. Phantom, with its comparatively large amount of travelers, is an exception; this particular touring company was established thirteen years ago at a time when touring orchestras were bigger.

In symphony orchestras, I played much of the rep and experienced many conductors and soloists. I performed the "usual suspects" (Tchaikovsky, Beethoven, Dvorak etc.) many, many times. I was ready for something different by the time the Sacramento Symphony went bankrupt in 1996.

Believe it or not, playing "Phantom" over and over again is much the same as playing Tchaikovsky 5th for the upteenth time. Phantom is a bit less tiring, though.

As with any job, there are positive and negative aspects. Overall, I believe that the older musicians come to touring jobs with a broad perspective, already having had their fill of the symphonic scene. We've "been there and done that".

Of course, there's something special about playing one of the "classics" in a big orchestra -- those rare magical moments we've experienced which keeps us wanting more -- and I hope to do so again someday as a freelancer. But at this stage in my professional career, touring is a nice change of pace.

I find that the most challenging aspects of being on the road is living in cities I do not care for; having to find where everything is all over again each month; changing environments from one climactic extreme to the other which is hard on the body, and especially, dealing with horrible traffic.

Sincerely,

Cameron
horn, (US) touring company of "Phantom of the Opera"

P.S. We will be playing some cities in Canada this summer! (Calgary, Saskatoon, Edmonton and Winnepeg)

Chandelier drop -- or, "The Rain of Stones"

2005-12-15T14:38:00.000-08:00

Every once in awhile, something unexpected happens in live theatre. Phantom of the Opera is certainly no exception.

Actually, it is amazing that there are not more mishaps in this show, given the complexity of the sets (there are many electronic moving parts) and the various explosions throughout the performance. Most of the time, everything runs like clockwork.

Except for last night.

When the chandelier drops at the very end of Act I, the descent begins far above the heads of the audience, usually in the first ten rows of seats. The orchestra plays a series of rapid runs as the chandelier drops directly downward. It then sweeps horizontally towards the stage, barely missing the conductor's head on its way, and passes over the footlights.

As the orchestra plays its final punctuated chord, the lights are suddenly extinguished so that the audience does not see the stagehands behind the heavy chandelier. They are ready to grab it on both sides to keep it from swinging back and forth from the momentum of its journey.

The chandelier is tethered by a series of cables. Sometimes, in its final descent on the stage, some of the wires can become tangled as the stagehands reach for it -- especially if it is moving faster than usual. Last night was one of those nights. Some cables brushed against the many strings of plastic, faceted beads of various sizes (to look like glass, of course) and some popped off. This has happened occasionally over the years, so I've been able to collect quite a few beads which make it into the pit.

There was a huge cascade and rattle of beads on the stage, which sounded like a hailstorm.

Since I am now playing Principal for the next three weeks (while the regular 1st horn is home for Christmas) my chair is situated a few feet away from the edge of the stage, rather than underneath as usual.

I was hit on the head by a flying bead, and pulled my horn closer to my body to protect it from any further rain of stones.

The concertmaster was likewise hit (it didn't hurt, but could have scratched an instrument) and is saving her bead as a souvenir.

The flute player directly ahead of me found a bead under her chair, and gave it to me. So I've got only two new beads to add to my collection.

This kind of "live theatre moment" helps keep this show fresh for us, many of whom have thousands of performances under our belts!

Trip from Denver to Cincinnati. HORRIBLE snowy highway experience here!

2005-12-09T11:41:00.000-08:00

This is the first time that I have been able to catch my breath here in the "new show city" of Cincinnati, after a very hectic two days of travel and then two intense days of rehearsals and first several shows. I don't have to be at work until tonight's show at 8, hooray!

The 1,200-mile trip from Denver to Cincinnati was uneventful. We left Denver immediately after the final show on Sunday night, and drove for three hours before stopping at a Super 8 motel in Goodland, Kansas, a few miles over the border, at 1:30 Monday morning. We usually try to get to the next state the first night; it's psychologically gratifying.

There was a dusting of snow on the plains in eastern Colorado and western Kansas, which gradually faded out as we headed further east. It took most of Monday to get across Kansas; the state is about 450 miles long from end to end. We passed through Kansas City during rush-hour -- not too bad actually -- and then across the northern part of Missouri to St. Louis.

That stretch of I-70 has always been dismal; it's a rutted, winding highway with lots of traffic, but it seemed slightly less horrible this time. Perhaps they've done some work on the road since our last trip across, a couple years ago.

We drove through St. Louis at about 10:45 p.m. and continued on into Illinois. J. had made motel reservations at a Motel 6 in Effingham, Illinois where we arrived at 12:30 a.m. Tuesday.

It snowed a little overnight, so we were greeted with a couple inches of the white stuff when we got up around 9:30. J. made tea for our two "bullet" thermoses, and we stopped at Starbuck's for scones and pumpkin cake for our breakfast on the road. We had about a five- hour drive remaining to Cincinnati.

It is interesting to see that Starbuck's has expanded their locations to include some highway exits on interstate highways lately. I have always noticed the glaring lack of decent coffee on our travels throughout the country; it's nearly impossible to get anything other than truck-stop rocket fuel. Perhaps this is changing now with more Starbuck's appearing at highway exits.

We continued to see snow flurries on our drive through Illinois and Indiana. We arrived in Cincinnati around 4:30 Tuesday afternoon, and checked into our hotel, the Hannaford Suites on exit 12 of I-71.

It's a surprisingly nice hotel; much better than the Residence Inn in Denver. Our place is actually a SUITE, with a separate bedroom. We're on the ground floor so the windows in both bedroom and living areas are nearly floor-to-ceiling. The lack of light in our room in Denver had nearly killed us. It was SO depressing!

Our "digs" at the Hannaford Suites are a cut above the usual bland corporate apartment setting, with sage-colored walls rather than white, and passable upholstery on the couch and chairs. J. won't have to cover them up with canvas drop-cloths, as he did in our rooms at the two Candlewood Suites in July/August, Residence Inn during November/December and the little garage apartment we had stayed at in Atlanta in September.

Like Candlewood, Hannaford Suites does not have an oven, so we're forced to use the microwave. Unlike Candlewood, however, this kitchen does not have a dishwasher!

I jumped right back to work bright and early on Wednesday morning. Here's my typical first-day-in-the-new city schedule:

9:30 - 11:30 a.m. Seating & Sound Check
1:00 - 2:00 p.m. Sound Check / Tapes
2:00 - 4:30 p.m. Tech Rehearsal
8:00 p.m. Preview #1 (first show)

But yesterday, Thursday, was the DAY FROM HELL because of the snow here in Cincinnati.

I need to rant and rave for a few moments!

It started snowing just as J. drove the twelve miles to downtown to pick me up after the matinee ended at 3:40. He said that the inbound traffic was starting to thicken up, but not too badly as the snowflakes started whirling down. And he said that there was no outbound traffic at all.

By the time we got to the outbound lanes a few minutes later, though, it was bumper-to-bumper traffic. The snow was falling rather heavily but the roadway itself was not very clogged with the white stuff, since there were so many cars driving over it.

I admire and encourage driver caution, but these people were OVERKILL. Haven't they ever driven in snow? When I attended CCM in Cincinnati thirty years ago, it snowed like this two or three times each winter. So it seems to me that people here should know how to drive in it.

But NO! Everyone freaked out. The highways were totally clogged for hours, for no apparent reason. Even at its worst, the road conditions were not so bad that drivers couldn't have gone about 35 mph, and would have been perfectly safe.

Since the average speed was 5 mph (when we weren't stopped), the highways were a virtual parking-lot. There may have been some folks with nearly-empty gas tanks who hadn't expected to be stuck on the highways for several hours, so there were quite a few cars abandoned at the side of the roads. There were even some abandoned cars right in the MIDDLE of them!

It was as though there had been a nuclear holocaust and that major panic set in -- all bets were off! Almost total panic which was unnecessary.

It took J. and me nearly an hour to drive the twelve miles up the clogged highway to our rooms at Hannaford Suites. J. had prepared a delicious dinner of posole and sauteed veggies before picking me up. As we ate, we watched the Weather Channel and local Cincinnati news stations which predicted as much as six to eight inches of snow by midnight.

We took a nap for an hour and then got up at 6:30. J. suggested that we leave even earlier than we had planned, which was already early -- just in case traffic was still horrible on the way back downtown.

Well, it was WORSE.

This time, it took an hour and a half to drive 12 miles! Incredible.

The snow had accumulated to about three inches by that time, but the road conditions were not really so bad. J., who's from south Georgia and hadn't driven in snow until he joined me on the road seven years ago, did a far better job of driving in it than these people in Cincinnati! He was cautious, but not freaked out, and could easily control the car at speeds up to 35 mph. -- while these folks couldn't seem to drive faster than 5 mph.

There were more abandoned cars along the roadway (did they run out of gas?) and some huge semi-trucks were even parked in the left or right lanes, causing traffic to snarl up even worse. At times, J. created his own lane on the right (which was just the furthermost lane, but covered with snow so no-one was using it!) and made better progress. We passed everybody else, who continued to crawl along in the left-hand lanes.

Meanwhile the snowfall had tapered off, so the roadways weren't getting more clogged. But traffic continued to CRAWL at a snail's pace.

Although we had left our hotel room at 6:40, thinking it was plenty of time to catch the show at 8:00, I was obviously going to be late. I called the Stage Manager's office to let them know. The contractor came on the line and didn't seem perturbed; said "We'll see you when you get here". I asked him to ask the Principal horn to assemble my instrument and put it on my chair, to minimize further delays when I finally did arrive at the theatre.

This was a first in my more than eight years with Phantom. I certainly hope it's the LAST time I'm late to a show -- even for only the overture and initial measures of Act I's first number. I got to the pit at about 8:16 (we usually start at 8:06).

More than half the audience was absent. It felt so weird to play for so few people. I could hear the sound of the orchestra echoing throughout the theatre, more live without warm bodies to absorb the sound. The applause was also noticeably thinner.

I'm surprised the show wasn't cancelled. But our company already had its money, so why should it care? (Wow, that sounded COLD! But there's an element of truth to this.)

Luckily, the assistant conductor was on the podium so I escaped potentially glaring looks from our regular conductor. The latter probably wouldn't have given me a hard time, though, since the snow/highway situation was indeed so bad. He would have understood.

If this situation ever comes up again on a double-show day, I'll call J. to tell him to stay home until after the evening show, and I'll remain downtown and eat dinner between performances. I never want to repeat this very unpleasant experience again!

Traveling and Local Theatre Musicians: An Ongoing Dilemma

2005-12-02T12:07:00.000-08:00

It is a beautiful sunny day in Denver; nearly 60 degrees. The weather has generally been warmer than usual (as it is most places now, during this time of global warming!) with many sunny days over the past five weeks. It has gotten below freezing occasionally, but no snow has made it to the east side of the Rockies yet this season.

After tonight's show, I've got two more days and four more shows to go in this city. Our last two shows are on Sunday. Then on to Cincinnati for four weeks (32 shows = eight shows a week).

The show's run here has been fun because for the first time, our little 12-member touring orchestra in "Phantom" has been augmented by local musicians. The violin section has been expanded from two to five; viola and cello have been doubled; the addition of oboe/eng. hn to the woodwind section; and most importantly (for the horn section) two trumpets!

Since we two horns are usually the only "live" brass (the bass trombone and two trumpet parts are synthesized in our pared-down "tour" version -- ugh!!) the addition of the two live trumpets makes our job a LOT easier. The brass chords are now filled-in nicely, and the horns are not as exposed.

It is a joy to play with these people (who are all excellent musicians) and to experience a more expanded orchestration of the "Phantom" score. I wish we could do this in every city.

But the situation in Denver is an unusual one, because of the strong local musicians union and their arrangement with the local theatre. It is amazing that both local and traveling musicians have been equally accomodated during this run. This should be a model for every theatre we play in!

Awhile ago, I told the lead trumpet player that going back to our usual pared-down orchestration in Cincinnati will feel like watching a black and white TV rather than color.

The situation with "traveler" and "local" musicians is a tough one, and not as easily solved as it has been here in Denver.

There can be a conflict of interest. Many local musicians think that traveling ones take away their jobs whenever Phantom comes to their town. When I played shows in Sacramento, I never begrudged the traveling musicians their jobs. It's THEIR gig, after all! (I had enough work otherwise.)

Touring musicians sacrifice everything to go on the road; they don't have a "life", per se. They EARN their money. Locals who have a home don't understand this.

In the largest US cities, the AF of M touring contract protects local players by establishing high "minimums" in the theatres, which displaces many of us touring musicians. We are laid off in these cases.

So in effect, the musicians union that I pay dues to turns around and puts me out of work in some cities! I have been on both sides of the fence, and understand each viewpoint. It is a tough call.

I didn't intend to go into such detail about this when I first started today's entry, but perhaps some people will find it interesting, after all!