In my career as a musician, I have had many mentors. They have all shaped me in one way or another, whether it be my teaching, conducting, piano playing, or singing. They have been the subject of countless essays over the years when I was asked to "describe someone who had an impact on your life."
The one I never wrote about, though, was the subject of a vivid dream I had last night. It was one of those that leave you disappoionted and even sad when you awaken only to realize that it was in fact, only a dream. You see, I lost touch with this person many years ago. My other mentors have either passed away or moved on and I know where they are, but this one? I don't have a clue and neither do any of the college friends I have reconnected with over at Facebook.
My Big Plan™ for my life was to be a choral conductor. When I was 5, I wanted to be like my church choir director. I even lined my dolls up and directed them, proudly telling my mother who I was pretending to be. Then there was horses, and being a nurse, or a mommy, or being married to Peter Noone of Herman's Hermits. (Or Davy Jones, Bobby Sherman, David Cassidy ... etc.) You get the picture.
Then came Junior High and I rediscovered choral music. That was when my Big Plan™ was firmly cemented. My music teacher convinced my parents I needed a piano and from that day on she became the subject of all of my essays. My high school music teacher encouraged me further and gave me my first voice lessons after school twice a week at no charge.
I went off to college to become a music teacher only to be told (snootily, over the rims of their well-educated reading glasses) that I didn't have nearly enough experience in piano to count it as my major instrument. Let's rewind that a bit, shall we? I was 500 miles away from home, already enrolled and set up in my dorm room.
"The voice auditions are down the hall." They sent me on my terrified way and I was accepted as a voice major. Not that I (or they) thought I was that good, but at the age of 17, I was on par with other freshmen voice majors.
I spent the next three quarters trying to "find my vocal placement" and feeling like a failure when I couldn't. Apparently it was the Holy Grail for singers and I just didn't get it. Fast forward to the following summer when I was officially informed that I had flunked out. Who knew you actually had to attend classes? Sheesh, it sure was harder than high school had been. Tail between my legs and embarrassed to the max, I went back home and signed up at the *shudder* Junior College. The one my sister had attended fourteen years prior, and the one my parents had wanted me to attend in the first place. But no, I was a big girl. I was Going Away to College!
I was assigned to Rosemary as a do-over freshman, and she was a breath of fresh air. I was no longer pigeon-holed into singing things just because they suited my voice, or being told
"you can't sing that, it's not written for Your Type™." Sounds condemning, yes? It did to me, too.
But Rosemary let me try anything and everything. Too high? So what, let's work on the breathing instead. And on and on it went. For two years I was exposed to a wealth of vocal music the likes of which I would never experience again, at least not in a private studio. We laughed together, she directed the small ensemble I was part of, she even had a hand in introducing me to my husband of almost 35 years.
Last night I dreamed that I found her. She simply showed up to an event that now has no significance. All I know is that I was elated to see her again and she had hardly aged a bit, and I told her so.
I don't know where she is. I have Googled her, I have asked others, but I just don't know. I never thanked her for what she did for me. I was too young to know how important that was for a teacher to hear. As a former teacher myself, now I understand.
Rosemary? Thank you, from the bottom of my heart.
