That, too
Because I work in human services, each week my team meeting opens with a brief check-in about how life is going. (I love check-ins.) Yesterday, my story was about how my Dad was fixed my clogged sink drain over the phone, and how in fact my Dad resolves most of my house projects by talking me through each step. (I love speaker phone.) Naturally, they were impressed that my Dad can fix things without actually being there to see what is wrong, because that's pretty damn cool. But then one of them said, "Wait, your Dad can fix things *and* sing opera?" Of course, I said, fixing things is how he paid rent and could afford to sing opera. The combination never seemed strange to me, but now that I think about it I suppose there aren't many people who can give a lecture on Puccini, sing his full tenor repertoire, and take apart a sink. Every now and then it occurs to me that while no one has a "normal" childhood, I was blessed with a particularly eclectic one.
Case in point: I live in a part of the world where there is no 24 hour classical music station. The fact that I notice the absence of such a station sets me apart enough, I suppose. But even more so: an hour ago, my sister and I got into my car after lunch, to head back to the office. The radio came on, tuned to the mid-day classical music. As soon as we heard what they were playing, we squealed, turned up the radio, and started singing along. The song? One of our favorites: the Schubert rendering of Heidenröslein. (Another case in point: last weekend the toreador song from Carmen came on the radio, and my sister and I instantly got up and started prancing around the living room, flourishing our imaginary capes in a longstanding and affectionate mocking of a dear family friend who sang that role with Dad in the early 90s. Like all in-jokes, you had to be there...)
Thanks, Dad. And happy birthday, Schubert.
Sah ein Knab' ein Röslein stehn,
Röslein auf der Heiden,
War so jung und morgenschön,
Lief er schnell es nah zu sehn,
Sah's mit vielen Freuden.
Röslein, Röslein, Röslein rot,
Röslein auf der Heiden.
Knabe sprach: "Ich breche dich,
Röslein auf der Heiden."
Röslein sprach: "Ich steche dich,
Daß du ewig denkst an mich,
Und ich will's nicht leiden."
Röslein, Röslein, Röslein rot,
Röslein auf der Heiden.
Und der wilde Knabe brach
's Röslein auf der Heiden;
Röslein wehrte sich und stach,
Half ihm doch kein Weh und Ach,
Mußt' es eben leiden.
Röslein, Röslein, Röslein rot,
Röslein auf der Heiden.
Case in point: I live in a part of the world where there is no 24 hour classical music station. The fact that I notice the absence of such a station sets me apart enough, I suppose. But even more so: an hour ago, my sister and I got into my car after lunch, to head back to the office. The radio came on, tuned to the mid-day classical music. As soon as we heard what they were playing, we squealed, turned up the radio, and started singing along. The song? One of our favorites: the Schubert rendering of Heidenröslein. (Another case in point: last weekend the toreador song from Carmen came on the radio, and my sister and I instantly got up and started prancing around the living room, flourishing our imaginary capes in a longstanding and affectionate mocking of a dear family friend who sang that role with Dad in the early 90s. Like all in-jokes, you had to be there...)
Thanks, Dad. And happy birthday, Schubert.
Sah ein Knab' ein Röslein stehn,
Röslein auf der Heiden,
War so jung und morgenschön,
Lief er schnell es nah zu sehn,
Sah's mit vielen Freuden.
Röslein, Röslein, Röslein rot,
Röslein auf der Heiden.
Knabe sprach: "Ich breche dich,
Röslein auf der Heiden."
Röslein sprach: "Ich steche dich,
Daß du ewig denkst an mich,
Und ich will's nicht leiden."
Röslein, Röslein, Röslein rot,
Röslein auf der Heiden.
Und der wilde Knabe brach
's Röslein auf der Heiden;
Röslein wehrte sich und stach,
Half ihm doch kein Weh und Ach,
Mußt' es eben leiden.
Röslein, Röslein, Röslein rot,
Röslein auf der Heiden.