I am the auntie of 6 interesting young women of whom I am so proud. Each different than the other - all special.
My second (I'm the last) sister's daughter Erin is a talented singer and my very dear friend. Erin is exceptional, and I do not use the word lightly. We share the bond of a passion for making song - the polished driven contemporary pop singer with a vocal range and perfect pitch which resonates and the simple kitchen/back porch singer currently learning a Gaelic song from the 18th century. :) Surprisingly we have much in common. I am her self-acclaimed biggest fan.
It flows through our blood. My mother, her grandmother, had a lovely high soprano voice. It was full of vibrato and very operatic - truly amazing. She could have spent her life on the stage singing, but she never felt comfortable about her voice. She instead chose a life of service to her family. (One family holiday dinner, Erin stood up and sang for her grandmother – it still brings tears to my eyes it was so beautiful - the way it moved my mother. She has passed now, and I am sure Erin cherishes that memory.) The confidence my mother lacked, her grand daughter has in spades. It may be a generation or two until Erin’s gift is found again, it is that special. But then, I am her biggest fan.
Erin called a couple of days ago while stuck in traffic (how very LA) with breaking news she was releasing two original songs. Of course I was tickled pink she called considering her busy life. Although we long ago crossed the bridge from aunt and niece to friends, she still calls me Aunty and always ends with “I love you”. Nice! Anyway, she has been working, and I mean working, on this project for a long time. Thankfully, her abilities reach beyond voice and songwriting, to a shrewd sense of business. She also produced her songs, not a small feat. A beautiful girl with a kind heart, a brilliant mind and a ton of determination.
Her original (yes, she wrote them) music (2 songs so far) is posted on her revamped myspace page located at http://www.myspace.com/erinmorgado. Her voice...is completely amazing!!!! Opening the page, one can’t help but notice how pretty she is (the photos are a bit sultry so they don’t show the mischievous gleam in her eyes, but it’s there, trust me) - a super gorgeous revved-up version of my sister. Perhaps it would be better to not look and just listen, but marketing is part of the business, thus the photos. And it always helps to put a face with a voice.
Her technical singing abilities are obvious. She is a singer's singer. Unfortunately there is no video posted as I wish everyone could watch her sing. What I love most of all about my dear niece is she sings straight from the center of her heart. You can read on her face and it's a beautiful sight. There are a million talented singers – a really tough business to break into. It is the feeling Erin projects that makes her a great singer, and her Aunty Marty her biggest fan.
Saturday, April 25, 2009
Sunday, April 19, 2009
Leprechaun in lederhosen
I work in a school for higher education - specifically the doctorate degree in law. It’s a small program and my duties include assisting my friend the dean in the day to day operations, plus recruitment, admission counseling, attendance, tuition, exams, textbooks, graduation planning, keeping the faculty and students happy....the list is endless and occasionally includes plunging a toilet or two. We still do business the old fashioned way - up close and personal. I take great joy when a call comes in for my boss asking for her voice message machine, and I tell them they are speaking with it. I am without a doubt the shoulder the students cry on – the empathic listener, the go between, the boost when they are down and the raised eyebrow when they skip class. I remind them of the light at the end of the tunnel and how much I admire their personal sacrifice attending an evening program after working their usual jobs all day. Some have become my friends.
In the fall, one of our first year students was wearing a fancy fur sporran, which naturally made me curious as it is totally unusual and I had only seen pictures. (Now, I did not exactly ask to touch it at it as it is worn well, down there, and I have no interest of that nature in the man.) He had bought it while visiting Scotland (mainland - not the Hebrides) and decided it was handy for carrying stuff. In my opinion very few American men should wear a sporran, but on him it works ok (albeit a plain leather sporran would be more appropriate for casual wear, but no harm). He is a very quirky sort with an odd way of dressing/looking anyway – wispy long white hair held with a bandanna under a wide brimmed hat, full beard, suspenders, odd multi layering clothing, different accessories like a bright yellow coin purse made by women in South America…a culmination of all sorts of the unusual. The oddities make perfect sense because he is actually a roman catholic priest on some sort of leave-not exactly common knowledge. I guess when he took off the black pants, black shirt and white collar he went a bit nutty on the personal style expression. Early on, I shared with him my history with the church (raised in a strict catholic home, 11 years of parochial school, left the church on my 18th birthday…). Priests are somewhat regarded as demi-gods but not by me. As my Dad would say, they put their pants on one leg at a time like everyone else. One of our student librarians gives people nicknames, and she privately and aptly refers to him as the Leprechaun. I don’t know how he would react to such a title and I would never tell him, but I knew instantly whom she was referring to.
Anyway, he stopped by the office last week to say hello and as usual, I stopped my work to touch base. He said he was looking to buy one of those leather Bavarian shorts worn with suspenders. No disrespect to my Dad's ancestors, but good lord, not lederhosen! (Stereotypical visions of little boy embroidered short shorts crossed my mind.) I could feel my head and shoulders drop and my hand go to my forehead and through my hair in agony. Such was my fate to speak what he so desperately needed to hear. Without hesitating I told him absolutely NOT – to not even think of it. He already has his own style thing going, but there are limits. Get a pair of lederhosen and wear it to Oktoberfest and drink some beer and have fun, but that’s it. No lederhosen in Chico (leather shorts when it's 110 degrees? are you crazy?). No.
Then he said he was thinking about getting a kilt; how comfortable it would be. Are you kidding me!?! My answer was obvious (and no, he was not baiting me). I could not stop myself. Looking dead straight into his eyes, I told (ok more like scolded) him under no uncertain terms did I ever want to see him walk through the school doors wearing a kilt. Chico is not in Scotland, nor is he Scots! They make fun of Americans who do and he has to trust me on this. It would be ok to wear as formal attire at a wedding (kilt, jacket, hose, shoes and all is very handsome and appropriate), but not walking about town. No, no, no. If you have some sort of desire to feel the rush of air - wear it at home and in the yard, or go to a Highlands games in the Bay Area – knock yourself out. But no walking about town in a kilt.
After 25 years or so in the priesthood, the poor man just does not have a clue on how to fit in to secular society. One has to learn to check personal freedom from time to time. Even our college-age town transvestite dresses appropriately - simple blouse, skirt, heels, not too much make up - on a man way over 6 feet is quite unforgettable, but he pulls it off (of course it helps he has a pretty face and figure).
Why my otherwise intelligent student would want to open himself up to ridicule by wearing lederhosen or a kilt, I do not know. There is a time and place for such attire, and about town it ain't! Sadly, people might be judgemental and less likely to want to know the person he is inside. I am all in favor of personal style and rather like to see diversity, but there are boundaries (especially in the legal profession - especially if you hope to be employable). I could see he was a bit crushed, but it was for his own good and I told him so. (He actually said I was taking away his fantasy. What?!? This is his fantasy? Again, oh lord - they don't pay me enough for this.)
It was not easy to kindly give the hard truth knowing feelings might be hurt, but in good conscience I had no choice. Perhaps that is why he asked in the first place.
Guess I should now add “fashion consultant” to my job description.
In the fall, one of our first year students was wearing a fancy fur sporran, which naturally made me curious as it is totally unusual and I had only seen pictures. (Now, I did not exactly ask to touch it at it as it is worn well, down there, and I have no interest of that nature in the man.) He had bought it while visiting Scotland (mainland - not the Hebrides) and decided it was handy for carrying stuff. In my opinion very few American men should wear a sporran, but on him it works ok (albeit a plain leather sporran would be more appropriate for casual wear, but no harm). He is a very quirky sort with an odd way of dressing/looking anyway – wispy long white hair held with a bandanna under a wide brimmed hat, full beard, suspenders, odd multi layering clothing, different accessories like a bright yellow coin purse made by women in South America…a culmination of all sorts of the unusual. The oddities make perfect sense because he is actually a roman catholic priest on some sort of leave-not exactly common knowledge. I guess when he took off the black pants, black shirt and white collar he went a bit nutty on the personal style expression. Early on, I shared with him my history with the church (raised in a strict catholic home, 11 years of parochial school, left the church on my 18th birthday…). Priests are somewhat regarded as demi-gods but not by me. As my Dad would say, they put their pants on one leg at a time like everyone else. One of our student librarians gives people nicknames, and she privately and aptly refers to him as the Leprechaun. I don’t know how he would react to such a title and I would never tell him, but I knew instantly whom she was referring to.
Anyway, he stopped by the office last week to say hello and as usual, I stopped my work to touch base. He said he was looking to buy one of those leather Bavarian shorts worn with suspenders. No disrespect to my Dad's ancestors, but good lord, not lederhosen! (Stereotypical visions of little boy embroidered short shorts crossed my mind.) I could feel my head and shoulders drop and my hand go to my forehead and through my hair in agony. Such was my fate to speak what he so desperately needed to hear. Without hesitating I told him absolutely NOT – to not even think of it. He already has his own style thing going, but there are limits. Get a pair of lederhosen and wear it to Oktoberfest and drink some beer and have fun, but that’s it. No lederhosen in Chico (leather shorts when it's 110 degrees? are you crazy?). No.
Then he said he was thinking about getting a kilt; how comfortable it would be. Are you kidding me!?! My answer was obvious (and no, he was not baiting me). I could not stop myself. Looking dead straight into his eyes, I told (ok more like scolded) him under no uncertain terms did I ever want to see him walk through the school doors wearing a kilt. Chico is not in Scotland, nor is he Scots! They make fun of Americans who do and he has to trust me on this. It would be ok to wear as formal attire at a wedding (kilt, jacket, hose, shoes and all is very handsome and appropriate), but not walking about town. No, no, no. If you have some sort of desire to feel the rush of air - wear it at home and in the yard, or go to a Highlands games in the Bay Area – knock yourself out. But no walking about town in a kilt.
After 25 years or so in the priesthood, the poor man just does not have a clue on how to fit in to secular society. One has to learn to check personal freedom from time to time. Even our college-age town transvestite dresses appropriately - simple blouse, skirt, heels, not too much make up - on a man way over 6 feet is quite unforgettable, but he pulls it off (of course it helps he has a pretty face and figure).
Why my otherwise intelligent student would want to open himself up to ridicule by wearing lederhosen or a kilt, I do not know. There is a time and place for such attire, and about town it ain't! Sadly, people might be judgemental and less likely to want to know the person he is inside. I am all in favor of personal style and rather like to see diversity, but there are boundaries (especially in the legal profession - especially if you hope to be employable). I could see he was a bit crushed, but it was for his own good and I told him so. (He actually said I was taking away his fantasy. What?!? This is his fantasy? Again, oh lord - they don't pay me enough for this.)
It was not easy to kindly give the hard truth knowing feelings might be hurt, but in good conscience I had no choice. Perhaps that is why he asked in the first place.
Guess I should now add “fashion consultant” to my job description.
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
super cute highland calfs
Seeing Simon's handsome photo was just too much to bear, so until I do a new post, here's some Highland mamma cows and their SUPER CUTE babies. :))
Stewart's herd on the Isle of Eigg.
Stewart's herd on the Isle of Eigg.
Sunday, April 5, 2009
Simon
Spring has sprung - bulbs are flowering, darling baby lambs are testing their legs, birds are returning/nesting, grey skies are lessening and the sun feels warm and promising.
Time moves on, but the Isles are in mourning.
Friday was the funeral of 21 year old South Uist son Simon MacMillan. Simon had recently joined the navy and made an unexpected visit home for Christmas when his ship dry-docked. What a wonderful surprise for his parents! That joy however, was short lived. On December 26th (Boxing Day) Simon was heading back home from a dance at St Peter’s hall in Daliburgh with a bunch of friends packed inside a minibus, when he got out to walk the couple of miles to his home. It was the last time anyone saw young Simon. The search was massive - 200 island volunteers participated as well as numerous divers, dogs, boats and helicopters - his father, his friends, his family searched and searched with no avail. Weather conditions were extremely harsh, thus hindering their efforts. How awful to sit indoors knowing he was out there somewhere! No doubt there were many arguments between his friends and their parents not to go off half caulked. Another tragedy would be even more unbearable.
Two weeks ago his body was found in a freshwater loch by five women, including his aunts. I was somewhat hoping it would be by loved ones and not the Coast Guard, but to find your nephew's body and take him in your arms is beyond comprehension. I do not know how one recovers. Simon's family had been living in the depths of the unknown. Closure helps but sorrow never goes away. Their boy/brother/nephew/friend comes home on leave and dies in a senseless accident. Life will continue - summer will follow spring and so on and so on, but it will never be the same.
To not make mention of Simon would seem wrong, for his death reached all the way across the ocean and into my heart. It is not out of the realm of possibilities my ancestral family knew, or knew of, his ancestral family. Paying respects is just what we do, regardless if his family ever knows.
Rest in peace Simon.
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
1. Black is the Color (virgin effort)
Because they asked, and I love my sons, I found some courage. Settling my psyche down to find my center was a lesson in itself, and one I did not quite fully achieve much to my dismay. I have so much respect for artists who do this for real. Despite being completely out of my comfort zone and nervous as heck, the results are acceptable enough for a virgin effort by a kitchen singer. I guess. Going back to re-do some notes is a possibility, but for now it will remain raw and flawed. I would rather not take it all so seriously. It’s just for fun anyway. :)
Natalie Merchant said I could sing one of her songs (thank you Megan). However, after two takes it didn't feel or sound right. So I switched, and tried my variation of a classic song I dearly love, the timeless and heartfelt Black is the Color. And it stuck.
The whole experience felt a bit surreal. There's a recording studio in town, but I choose the one inconveniently located way out in the middle of nowhere. (Likewise, it's always been Margaret's Hebrides and not John's Edinburgh.) The drive is about 12 or so miles down a lovely winding country road; the kind of road whereon the locals drive like maniacs and the new-to-the-area like cautious grannies. I had not been on the road since the wildfires tore through the canyon and up the butte walls last summer and it was wrenching to see the charred remains. The road follows alongside Butte Creek, past the historic Honey Run covered bridge, and further up the road over the steel bridge (the starting point from where I tubed down the creek so many years ago - a right of passage for all Cheekoians), past Centerville Cemetery, past the point where the road narrows and there is no longer a center line, and then down, down a rutted side dirt road to the studio. Settled amongst scrubby woodlands and a towering butte for a backdrop it is quite the picturesque spot and well worth the drive to get there and back.
Natalie Merchant said I could sing one of her songs (thank you Megan). However, after two takes it didn't feel or sound right. So I switched, and tried my variation of a classic song I dearly love, the timeless and heartfelt Black is the Color. And it stuck.
The whole experience felt a bit surreal. There's a recording studio in town, but I choose the one inconveniently located way out in the middle of nowhere. (Likewise, it's always been Margaret's Hebrides and not John's Edinburgh.) The drive is about 12 or so miles down a lovely winding country road; the kind of road whereon the locals drive like maniacs and the new-to-the-area like cautious grannies. I had not been on the road since the wildfires tore through the canyon and up the butte walls last summer and it was wrenching to see the charred remains. The road follows alongside Butte Creek, past the historic Honey Run covered bridge, and further up the road over the steel bridge (the starting point from where I tubed down the creek so many years ago - a right of passage for all Cheekoians), past Centerville Cemetery, past the point where the road narrows and there is no longer a center line, and then down, down a rutted side dirt road to the studio. Settled amongst scrubby woodlands and a towering butte for a backdrop it is quite the picturesque spot and well worth the drive to get there and back.
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