Timelessness

Every now and then I'd follow my husband into that Parallel Universe known as the professional orchestra. He'd sit first chair (that's the concertmaster), and I'd sit last, as an extra player. I didn't mind the work. We'd joke that I was concertmaster of the behind, which soothed my fragile ego.

The orchestra had their moments, of course. Some days were better than others. An inspirational figure on the podium infused the musicians, weary from the usual dot and dash talk, with raw energy, vitality, and curiosity. My hands down, favorite guest conductor over the years was Asher Fisch. Sigh. Can you imagine, Fisch turned me from a Wagner hater into Wagner lover? This he did during the Seattle Opera production of Parsifal in 2003, a work I considered a sleep aid. But under Maestro Fisch, playing Wagner was more like having an out-of-body sensual experience, those lugubrious phrases of Wagner's melodies suspended into timeless beauty. And if Asher Fisch, an Israeli Jew with a sexy accent, didn't appear to be offended by Wagner's virulent, anti-semitic remarks, why should I let the well-documented hatred destroy my personal experience? Instead, I chose to focus on Wagner's obsession with French, silk underwear.

The following year after my infatuation with Parsifal, I performed the Beethoven Violin Concerto in addition to all ten piano and violin sonatas. I was in for a surprise: Through Wagner I got Beethoven's slow movements, learning to linger on those beatific phrases without feeling the least bit hurried. Thanks, Maestro Fisch. Too bad I seem to have ended up on the blacklist in this town, or as Wagner might have said: Sie wird in dieser Stadt auf die schwarze Liste gesetzt. It would have been my pleasure to have learned more from you.

Painting by David Hellman 2006

Pew

The Salvage Store was downtown, in an area unfamiliar to me. Michael, our neighbor introduced me to the place. He had finished transforming a useless basement room in our home into a marvelous music studio, the walls lined with shelves, resembling the library of my dreams. The timing of the renovation was fantastic; the studio was completed while Ilkka and I were away with the symphony on tour. We'd end up needing that extra space, only, we didn't know it at the time. We had no idea our lives would depend on renovation and reinvention, and that teaching would be our salvation, each student a blessing.

The store, crowded from floor to ceiling with rare treasures, fascinated me. An antique, oak banking desk held amazing potential as a dining table. The drawers for deposit/withdrawal slips might have stashed knives, forks and linens. I desperately wanted the collectible desk but couldn't afford it. My spirits sank.

"Hey, what about this?" Michael asked, inching his way through stacks of knick-knacks and furnishings to an imposing, red velvet covered pew.
"You've got to be kidding."
"It'd be perfect for the studio," he said.
We stared at one another. I could no longer be an impulsive shopper. Gone were the days of reckless spending and the sneaking of merchandise into the house. During the mid 80's when we lived in Los Angeles, I had a soft spot for Boston Terriers and adopted three of them from Beverly Center. I bought them while Ilkka was guest concertmaster of Seattle Symphony. By the time he found out about the dogs, it was too late; they were my children. It'd be tough to sneak an eleven foot pew into the house. I sank deeper into my thoughts. Would we even have students after the media's slanted reporting?
Michael rattled away. He discovered donation envelopes still hidden in the bench: First Christian Church on Broadway
And his finger traced a beautiful etching of a cross on the side.
"I'm Jewish," I said.
"I'll carve a star of David for you right next to it," he persisted. "You'll need this—for students and their parents. Students will sit and listen to one another, like a class. It'll be a fresh beginning, a new life for you and Ilkka."
I thought about it.
"I don't know, maybe—ok." I caved in. "I'll buy the pew. Who knows? After being vilified by the press and having our reputations smeared, if students still come to us, I might turn into a Believer, yet."