Snowfish and Stardom

Connemara, our castle“If the INFP is a queen, then her home is her castle, her refuge and her domain.”

When I read this sentence years ago in my personality profile, I remember laughing about it with my boyfriend. Me, a homemaker? My culinary repertoire consisted of pasta and cookies, and the sight of a cleaning brush made me break out in a cold sweat. And yet now, five years later, like all terrible things, it seems to be coming true.

From looking at my humble, mismatched little apartment, you would never know it. I’m not a queen in a domestic-goddess sense. I’m more a queen in the medieval sense; I married into this position for life. I just happened to marry a TCK (third-culture king. Or was it kid?). Together we dreamed together of living in the far reaches of the world, and his vocation as an international school teacher made it possible.

In our first country, Thailand, many forces combined to relieve me of my royal domestic duties. Continue reading

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The Joys of Joiking

Reindeer of the Lapland

I’m back!

For those of you who don’t know (or didn’t notice!), after a year of writing every week on the dot, I stopped writing for the last three months. Sure, I’ve had plenty of excuses: moving to a new country, living out of a hotel room for four weeks, being in a small town with no internet café, etc etc, and I must say I quite like living off the grid, but I’ve also missed singing and WRITING about singing!

In the meantime, I’ve been collecting a good number of stories, everything from a spontaneous performance at La Scala (for the tourists in the museum, that is!) to the weeks I spent practicing in a highway underpass, since our hotel room was too small. Today, however, I want to share with you a more recent story, about how I joiked, and how it got me into trouble. Continue reading

Singing in the Summertime

Contemplating nature and each other

Is it just me, or does nothing kills a perfectly good practice routine quicker than an unlimited amount of sunshine and free time?

I’ve spent this past week revisiting my family in my childhood home, free from virtually all obligations, free to spend my hours sitting on the back porch, basking in the mild sunshine, watching Bill the cat chew catnip and Whiskey the pitbull chase bumblebees, without a single concert on the horizon to kick me back into singing gear.

And it’s therein, I think, lies the problem. Even though I dream all year of all the amazing vocal breakthroughs that will take place in the summertime, when I have seemingly infinite time to practice my exercises and learn new songs, somehow it never happens. More often than not I find myself cruising through summer sales at our sleepy local mall, running in circles around the garden, and making creative snacks out of all the random food my parents keep in their fridge. All this when I could be updating my web site and reviewing audition repertoire, not to mention finding an apartment in Milan and learning Italian.

Truth be told, I don’t actually feel that bad about my carefully selected songbooks gathering dust in my suitcase. Continue reading