never too late to learn

A FEW years ago { thought 1 owed it to myself to pursue

soruething i'd always dreamed

of — studying voice. At that

point, at the advanced age of almost 30, I became what is
affectionately called an ‘adult learner.”’

This is really a term for people
who take too long to decide what
they really want to do ir life. (In
university they are referred to as
“‘mature’’ students, but I disiike
the stinky cheese connotations.)

Teachers are often heard com-
menting how fast adult learners
pick up material (mortality is a
great motivator). What they mean
is ‘‘new’’ material.

I soon realized that as an adult
learner of music, half of my
learning curve was unlearning all -
the bad habits (shallow breathing,
slouching) I spent most of my life
acquiring and perfecting.

Tiny, comforting little postures
such as clenching my jaw became
horrendous obstacles to achieving
success. ;

_ J was a walking collection of
nasty subconscious habits,
thwarted in my quest for self-
actualization.

| Suddenly my.music lessons were
supplemented with payments for
massage therapy, acupressure and
acupuncture. ;

1 suffered emotional setbacks
after reading about Pavarotti in
the New Yorker magazine. The
article could easily have been sub-
titled “Singing in your twilight
years.”

In brutal detail it documented
the irreversible atrophying of the
very body parts I was hopingto /
train. ; /

Worse, the writer points out ”
that this process begins at age 30.

In a fit of non-singer glee, he
describes the deterioration. of
muscle tone in the abdomen, the

lack of flexibility in the neck
__ bones, the ossification of the car-
‘ tilage in the larynx; the thinning
of the vocal cords... and so on —
putrefaction of the flesh that ~
never stopped any writer from
honing his craft.

No wonder Pavarotti finds
comfort in large plates of pasta.

The odd thing is that, while I
was feeling rather old at my new
topic, it was at the same time like
revisiting childhood.

/

By Barbara Black
Contributing Writer

At my Grade | theory exam, for
instance, I had school Mashbacks
as I was being swept along the
halls in a tidal wave of distraught
six- and seven-year-olds, all
clutching their treble clef. pencil
cases.

I prided myself on not having to
get up and use the potty during
the exam.

In the first year of studying
voice, children were not only my
peers but my tormentors.

While adults would gracefully
acknowledge my faltering efforts,
kids were up front about them. |

One of my early vocal exercises
was a scale with a trilly bit at the

‘top that sounded like a police

siren,

Neighborhood children
delighted in imitating me in their
back yards at the top of their
lungs, while jumping on the tram-
poline (as if to prove they could .
do it even better).

Although voice had become a
passion, I was beginning to regret
choosing something so ‘‘per-
sonal,”’ something that seemed to

" require exposing oneself (figura-
_ tively speaking) to make progress.

What began as a quest for
self-fulfilment soon became an
exercise in isolation.

Being ridiculously self-conscious
in the early stages, I could never
practise when my two roommates
or the basement tenant were
home. ;

On days when the roommates
had miraculously disappeared i
would peer out back to see if the
downstairs person’s car was in the
garage. It always was.

Sometimes I would drive home
on my lunch hour and practise
guiltily in the living room, running
to the kitchen in between exercises
to snatch bites of a sandwich.

Finally, in a state of despera-
tion, I began driving around in my
car at night to practise.

Once, at 11 p.m., a police of-
ficer pulled me over for speeding.
I confessed that 1 was so busy
singing I hadn’t noticed my ex-
cessive speed.

He smiled knowingly, making a
vague reference to car stereos. |
don’t have one. Not even a radio.

I laughed and said, ‘‘Oh no, !
was doing my vocal exercises.’ He
looked at me quizzically but didn’t
give mea ticket.

I finally moved to a house
where | didn’t have to wait for all
my roommates to go out so |
could practise.

One night, seized by an artistic
fervor, [ sang spirituals until one
in the morning. I didn’t realize till
the next day that the window had

“been open.

The next morning we met our
new neighbors over the fence.
'The gentleman turned to me
and said in a lovely English ac-
cent, ‘‘You must be the singah,”’
to which I responded, ‘‘yes,’’ and
the conversation promptly ended.

We inherited an old cat after
moving into the house. | thought
she was rather fond of my singing.

She would curl up in the arm-
chair in my music room and look
at me adoringly (as cats can
sometimes do) as I trilled my way
through the Schumann lieder.

I thought she was cultured,
genteel, a musician’s discerning
feline. She even drooled.

We later found out she was
deaf.

As the months passed and the
vocal exercises got to be more
challenging, 1 lost my debilitating
self-consciousness.

1 kept singing when the
mailman came.

One day, when | opened ihe
door to a parcel delivery man, he
said, ‘‘Was that a real person
singing?’* 1’m not sure, but I
think it was a compliment.

Now, I even sing with the.win-
dows open as an act of defiance
and I scorn articles on ine aging
process.

I’ve learned that, although it
could have been socner, it’s still
never too late.

— Barbara Black is a Victoria
writer.

We the people govern ourselves

Dear Editor:

_ This letter is addressed to John
Ingram and others like him who
think that voting in a democracy
is a privilege.

The best definition of
democracy I have ever seen is in
the Gettysburg Address, where
Abraham Lincoln described it as
“*government of the people, by the
people, for the people.”

We the people govern ourselves
by. mutual consent and appoint
representatives to hash out the
details on our dchalf as we see fit.

Voting is our right, our duty
_and our obligation.

There have always. becn and
there will always be those who
think they know better than the
people. They are always ready and
trying to impose their solutions
upon us whether we want them or
not.

To them voting is a privilege
that the people exercise to confirm
their ‘‘right’’ to govern as they see
fit.

Whatever else you wish to call
it, their idea of government is tyr-
anny.

1] agree that Coun. Clark’s sug-
gestion to fine people for not
voting is nonsense. Mutual con-

sent requires that we exercise our
rights freely and without coercion.

Democracy is the only form of
government wherein the people get
what they deserve.

If we allow tyrants, vested in-
terests or nitwits to usurp our
government, whether they call
themselves Conservatives, Liber-
als, New Democrats or anything
else, then we can blame no one
but ourselves for giving them the
opportunity.

Democracy is difficult tc keep
and easy to lose.

It requires continual vigilance to
guard against those who would
impose their wills against the

[KEN BAXTER
LAWYER |

24 Years
Experience

mutual consent of the people they
claim to represent.

It requires that we the people
accept responsibility for our own
fate.

It requires that we exercise our
tight to vote intelligently and per-
sistently to get rid of those who
think they represent their own and
not our will.

If we do not, then we will no
longer have government of the
people, by the people, and for the
people.

And it will be we, the people,
who have lost it.

Michael Wassii
North Vancouver

TONSDALE QUAY
NORTH VANCOUVER

988-6321

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