I glanced behind me while sitting on the Funky Patio and saw something white. Investigating further, I realized it was a daffodil! A little miracle that popped out of the gravel by the porch. I’m so glad I didn’t yank it, thinking it was a weed.
These little wonders are everything.
Wind. It woke me up last night. It’s going on all day today. I moved all my pots to areas on the porch that, hopefully, will shelter them a bit. In the meantime, I’ll try not to scream too much.
________________________
Back to the story of my career:
A dusty framed photo of yours truly in my office at Boston University. The longtime faculty of the School of the Arts had the offices with windows. Mine was windowless. Nevertheless, I loved it. A wonderful voice teacher from the School of Music had the office directly across the hall from me, and I had the pleasure of hearing him sing as well as his students. Richard Cassilly was his name. He was an operatic tenor who had had a long career singing opera all over the world, including La Scala, the Vienna State Opera, the Metropolitan Opera, and the Royal Opera in London. He was a kind man and a gentleman. The wonderful thing about BU’s School for the Arts at that time was the fact that theater, music, and art all shared the same building. How can that be anything but exciting and stimulating? The Dean of the School for the Arts was famed American opera singer, Phyllis Curtin, who I was honored to call my colleague and friend. She was beautiful, elegant, funny, and wise.
Note in photo: My dark hair, which you rarely see here on the blog, my cheekbones, which I used to have in abundance, a desk phone (no personal computers yet, no cell phones), and my Filofax! I remain a planner addict to this day.
I’ve said before that my favorite time in my career was the five years I taught at Boston University. I don’t think I’ve ever been as stimulated. I felt good about myself (my peak years – I think – were my thirties and early forties) I loved the students, I worked constantly, and I loved living in my rent controlled apartment in Cambridge. I didn’t have a car, so I took the “T” everywhere and I walked and walked and walked, just as I had in Philadelphia. I loved nothing more than exploring neighborhoods, visiting historic sites, people watching. I lived just down the street from Harvard. In fact, I lived on Harvard Street.
If I was earning more than I was, I would have stayed, because I was perfectly happy there. There was nothing I didn’t like – except being relatively poor.
Two things happened that made me start to think about leaving. My brother, who had been fighting lymphoma since the tail end of my time in Philadelphia, grew worse. Right after I returned from chaperoning our students on a trip to the Edinburgh Festival (where they performed two plays by BU alum, Craig Lucas,) my mom called me. She had held off telling me that Dave was critically ill because she didn’t want to ruin my trip. Within a week of my return, Dave passed away. This was in September of 1991. I won’t go into details but Dave’s death at the age of 44 was devastating. It still is. My students were incredibly loving and supportive when I returned from Michigan. They literally wrapped their arms around me. Then, the next year, I turned 40. Decade birthdays have always been hard for me, but ultimately positive. My 30th birthday generated some self-reflection that led to me auditioning for grad school. My 40th led to me saying out loud that it was perhaps time to move on to a job that paid better. My wish list was this: a teaching position in an MFA, rather than BFA, program and one that was affiliated with a major regional theater. BU was affiliated at that time with the Huntington Theater (which was in residence at BU’s theater space near Symphony Hall.) I had coached there several times and was starting to amass a lot of professional credits, in addition to all the productions (at least a hundred) that I had coached at BU. I worked with many well-known actors there, some of whom I worked with again years later. My professional world was expanding.
Dave would have urged me to take a chance.
I said it out loud. I owned it.
Rick, who was my colleague at BU and had become a good friend, was also thinking of moving on and we talked about what we wanted in our next positions, wherever they might be.
These conversations led, in a strangely wonderful way, to my next job. More later.
Rest in Peace, Johnny Crawford, of The Rifleman fame. I loved that show and I loved him. I got to meet him several years ago at the Old Globe Gala. He had his own orchestra and they supplied the music. I was star struck and he was awfully nice to me.
Stay safe.
Happy Friday.
It’s so fun to read about your career. What an interesting profession you chose, much less the interesting people you have had the privilege to know.
Ah yes…cheekbones. I remember those well, too. Lol!
Enjoy your day! ;)
I miss my cheekbones! They’re still there, just not as defined!
Stay safe, Donna.
Did you ever want to pursue Doctorate?
I think tenure is very difficult without that degree.
No. Unless you’re teaching academic Theater, a doctorate is useless. I taught students who were being trained as actors, which involved doing and being as opposed to theatrical history or literature. Most of my colleagues who have tenure and teach in professional training programs got tenure with an MFA.
Stay safe.
Hi,
What a wonderful life you have had and continue to have. I love reading about your life in the arts. It is very educating.
Take Care,
Kaye
Park City, UT
Thank you so much, Kaye!
Stay safe.
Love the photo. I look at old photos of myself and miss that ‘girl’ but I’m blessed to have lived a life. Your story is so interesting and I thank you for sharing it with us. Hugs!
I miss that girl, too. I wish I still looked that way, but there’s nothing I can do about it, so onward and upward!
Stay safe, Linda.
This is so interesting to me, Claudia. I can see why you loved the job and the place. Boston is a remarkable city — steeped in history but with all the energy of a modern city, which it is. And I love Cambridge, too. I came very near to moving there in the late 1980s, but ended up staying here because my dad was really beginning his downward spiral (he died several years later) and as an only child, I didn’t want to move him to a new place or go so far away. I’m not sorry I stayed but I sometimes wonder what my life would have been like had I gone. Much different, I know.
Sometimes you just know when it’s the right time to go. It doesn’t mean anything was “wrong” with where you were (except the pay) but it was time to move. I’m sorry you had to lose your brother in such a hard way and so very early. Things like that always have me wondering, “Why?” But they are also moments that make us think about our own mortality and what we are doing, how fragile life can be.
A friend’s daughter attended BU and found it an incredible experience. She was in technical areas and worked with the Huntington on staging/sets/lighting, etc. What a fine program. I’m glad you were once part of it and have maintained those relationships.
The Huntington and BU Theater have recently parted ways. I guess the Huntington purchased the BU Theater and BU has built a new mainstage. But I loved that old theater, truly grand. Though it needed a lot of repair. Don worked there, also, in a production of The Seagull with Kate Burton, oh, about 6 years or so ago.
Stay safe, Jeanie.
I didn’t know Johnny Crawford had died. Hadn’t I at some point come across that he suffered from Alzheimer’s? I’ve just recently been recording old Rifleman episodes on the TV, just for the fun of it/nostalgia. Childhood!
Parallel life in one form: I lost my brother when he was ten years younger than yours and the year before. Is still the worst death of my life, affected me worse than the expected death of my aging parents because my brother’s passing from a sudden, fatal heart attack was completely unexpected.
Indeed the first thing that hit me when I saw this photo of you was the rich brown of your hair! Mine was like that once, too; as was Mom’s. And you do look so happy in the picture.
Before I forget, awesome daffy in the first photo. But have to go on to say that your career has been quite a ride, Claudia; wonderful, satisfying accomplishments with a lot to reminisce over; all those ladder steps to the top.
I was single for many years as a younger adult, and I think the mid-30s age was when I really began to hammer down, in the pursuit of happiness, what I needed to make me ‘full’. I mean, I really began to plan it. It was a mission; intense focus. I changed jobs, I changed cities, I changed how I lived; I changed friends. And, for once, it wasn’t about a man. Which was precisely when I met my husband, because I wasn’t looking for him.
With me, it’s not the cheekbones; it’s what’s become the eyes sinking into my face. I’ve noticed you don’t have that, Claudia; you’ve got lots of room for eye shadow (whereas I have disappearing eyelids). I suppose at some juncture I’ll have to have a brow lift for the saggy skin just so I can see. The same thing happened to my father. It’s plastic surgery for essentially medical reasons. It wasn’t pleasant for him, but the end result meant he could still drive the car!
Thanks for today’s interesting post. Have a windless weekend (I hope). We’re 90 degrees and very DRY at 11:30am, in another SoCalif heatwave. We’ll never cool off much now, for months. And the drought monitor revealed, to no surprise, that my county is in ‘extreme drought’.
He just died. And yes, he had Alzheimer’s, and COVID/pneumonia. Don and I were saying we think he was one of the best child actors ever. Completely real and full of emotion. Never a false move.
Thanks, Vicki.
Stay safe!
I can relate. 1992…Mother lived 90 days with bone cancer…I lived in her hospital room those 90 days and nights…she was 60…my husband (we had been together 30 years…childhood sweetheart) and I did not deal with her dying well…we both loved her so…we divorced quickly…my step family disowned me…my birth father died soon after…an aunt died…an uncle died…I had surgery…a stroke…daughter had surgery…son was living across the country in college/then law school…daughter across the country college…gave ex home, vehicles, our business…went back to college and lived in a place no one can imagine…with little or no money…refused help…17 year old dog died…started over with 50.00 dollars and daughter gave me a little old car…graduated two years later and became a teacher in the south…I knew not one person…this was not all that happened in a quick time…but took me five years to get over and go on…my kids were great…that was the year/time that I have tried to determine what happened and why…went on to teach…get Master’s at 59…have lost so many loved ones…I tell my daughter and grands…we are strong…we pick up…we go on…I have been through so many tragedies in life…some I can’t talk about…too hurting…however, I have two wonderful kids and their spouses and five wonderful grands…I have been truly blessed…I can relate to what you went through…
I think we can all relate. I knew no one in Philadelphia when I moved there to go to grad school. I knew no one in Boston when I moved there to teach. And I only knew Rick when I moved to San Diego. Sometimes we have to pick up and change our lives, as you did. I never regretted any of those decisions because I realized I was much braver than I thought I was. I had a vision of myself as timid and fearful, but I wasn’t. Things happen. We lose family members and friends, or they estrange themselves from us (as with my other sister) and we do what we can to mourn the loss and move forward. All of my aunts, uncles, grandparents, and of course, my parents are gone now. I have wonderful nieces and nephews and my sister, who I thank God for every day. As I thank Him for Don.
Stay safe, Brenda.
You were bold when you needed to be! You have so many adventures to look back on. Thanks for sharing some!
You’re most welcome, Ellen!
Thank you.
Stay safe!
Enjoying the stories of your career. I wanted to thank you for bringing my attention to the book A Chelsea Concerto. I finished it and am now reading the author’s memoir The Dancing Bear which is set in post WWII Berlin. Very interesting book.
Oh, I’ll have to read that one soon! So glad you enjoyed it, Jen.
Stay safe.
so sorry for the loss of your brother … especially that way and so young. glad you got back from the trip in time and had support.
and (with the exception of low pay) that you also had a job you loved with kind people around you and you were in a fascinating city full of history, beauty and distractions. and that you found something better and it led to you and don meeting, falling in love!
the twists and turns of life, huh?
thanks for sharing more about your career and life. you have a wonderful way of writing and telling a story.
hope you are having a nice night.
i’m tired (maybe due to second vaccine this morning and for sure an extra-long work week and physical therapy) so taking it easy now.
kathy in iowa
kathy, you’re fully vaccinated … congrats!!!!
thanks, vicki.
glad you are, too.
i respect the right of personal choice, but when it comes to fighting an infectious disease, i wish the whole world believed in getting vaccinated.
hope you are in the middle of a nice weekend.
kathy in iowa
It will be 30 years since my brother passed away this year.
I can’t take that in.
So happy you are vaccinated, Kathy!
Stay safe.
so sorry, claudia. i wish you peace.
kathy in iowa
Thank you, Kathy.
I love these little windows into the past that you open for us. Fascinating and fun!
Stay healthy and garden to your heart’s desire!
Thank you, Roxie.
Stay safe!