MY MUSICAL LIFE

Posted on May 20, 2010 by Judy

My friend, Amelie, took this black and white photo back when we were in high school.

I love music and my rediscovery of it has been very recent. I started this writing blog about in February, and at that time I had only begun to avidly play my guitar again after 30 years.

I have decided to begin to share my recent music.

I am a passionate songwriter.

I wish I were a better singer, but at this juncture in my life – I have no constraints. I have no vanity. I simply have excitement over the release and expression that I can achieve through singing and songwriting.

There is nothing more meaningful for me than singing my own words and music!

I play acoustic guitar, and I have written approximately twenty-five songs. My songs are like my children. Each one is unique. Each one is special for me, and addresses different emotions. My songs have a life of their own.

Sometimes I feel like my life is a musical!

I started taking voice lessons about a month ago at a local park. I am hoping to have my songs recorded. I have no illusions that I’m an accomplished singer, however, I am eager to share my melodies and lyrics!

There is so much vulnerability when I think about sharing my singing on the Internet. However, sharing my progress through singing is also part of my journey.

Because of my trepidation about opening up in this area, I originally thought I might do a separate blog for my music. However, I’ve decided to keep music as part of this blog. It’s all one package – it’s about my life and my insight. Music is a form of expression about my life!

Taking this chance is something that I’m hoping everyone could relate to. Without risk, there are no rewards.

I can only remember about twenty of the approximately thirty, original songs that I wrote prior to age 21. I did rewrite the lyrics to a few of my songs.

The small, digital recorder I’ve been using to record myself in the bathroom has been helpful for me. It wasn’t too expensive and it’s an improvement over my cassette player.

Recently, I’ve learned more about working with audio on my computer. My daughter showed me how to use Garage Band.

I was very sad when John Denver died. His songs were a significant part of my repertoire. There were two in particular that I used to sing quite often.

Just mentioning these two songs invokes beautiful memories for me. I would watch the sun setting, and my fingers might even be quite numb in the salty air. I would be sitting on a beach blanket as I sang my heart out. The songs were, “Looking for Space” and “This Old Guitar.”

Here’s an excerpt of the lyrics I loved from This Old Guitar:

This old guitar taught me to sing a love song; it showed me how to laugh and how to cry. It introduced me to some friends of mine, and brightened up some days. It helped me make it through some lonely nights. What a friend to have on a cold and lonely night . . .

Here’s an excerpt from Looking for Space:

On the road of experience, I’m trying to find my own way. Sometimes I wish that I could fly away. When I think that I’m moving; suddenly time stands still. I’m afraid ‘cause I think it always will.

And I’m looking for space, and to find out who I am. And I’m looking to know and understand. It’s a sweet, sweet dream – sometimes I’m almost there. Sometimes I fly like an eagle, and sometimes I’m deep in despair. . .

I’m typing these words from my memory. They might not even be exact. I still have a songbook of the music I used to sing.

At one time, I had at least two hundred songs memorized. I loved Bread, Jim Croce, Judy Collins, Joan Baez, Janis Ian, The Carpenters, and I could go on and on!

I’ve appreciated the sound of Joni Mitchell, and I used to listen a lot to Carly Simon and Jennifer Warnes. I am certainly someone who appreciated the singer/songwriters from the 70’s.

I don’t have to be any other artist. I don’t have to sound like anyone else. I am just Judy.

There can be a place for me!

I’ve also decided I might try some live performing again. I’m going to investigate some “Open Mic,” venues and give it a shot. Why not?

I feel what is more significant than musical perfection is my message.

My message is this: Life can be joyful for me now. I am fifty and I have gotten ten years younger in only a few months.

I am passionately alive and I love what I am doing. Sharing my feelings with other humans has been wonderful.

For anyone that has suffered or is suffering, please don’t give up!

In honor of Peaches, here are some illustrated peaches of mine!

“My life lessons”

I’m always amazed that I walk into a gymnasium at a public park for my voice lessons. Two years ago, I took my youngest son to have voice lessons at this same park. His teacher’s name was Peaches.

About two months ago, I lamented the fact that I had lost my singing voice because I hadn’t sung in 30 years. My son said to me, “Mom! Why don’t you go to Peaches? I’m sure she can help you.”

Well, he was right.

I have written about my voice lessons with Peaches, aka Sienna Ray Star. I’m so enthused about the turn my life has taken that I’ve decided to share more. I don’t know how to share video yet, but I’m hoping to down the road.

I went to my last lesson exhausted from the rigors of being a “sandwich.” I wish I could eliminate all of the stress in my life. I told Peaches about my recording session with George. She shared a lot of her insight and experience with me. I am going to share that on some audio files.

There is a major, major drawback to recordings done at my voice lessons. While I am in that back room working with Peaches, there is a dance class going on.

Unfortunately, that translates to a lot of extraneous, background noise.

I wish I had the skill to edit those distracting sounds out.

Perhaps my readers are not interested in my musical journey. That’s okay with me. I’m thrilled that I have been improving in so many areas of my life.

If my dreams don’t go anywhere, it doesn’t matter. I’ve already arrived at a destination I could not have dreamed of a few short months ago.

LESSON EXCERPT WITH PEACHES #1

LESSON EXCERPT WITH PEACHES #2

LESSON EXCERPT WITH PEACHES #3

My diary from 1979

© Judy Unger and http://www.myjourneysinsight.com 2010. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Judy Unger with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

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MY FATHER

Posted on May 20, 2010 by Judy

My father as a young man in the army.

In honor of my dad’s birthday tomorrow, I want to write something about him. Very few of my relatives are aware of what I am sharing today about my father . . .

My husband was very close to his paternal grandmother. His father was not willing to address Michael’s severe, learning disability, but his grandmother was very supportive of him. Long before it was considered a significant form of therapy, my husband was given horseback riding lessons – paid for by his grandmother.

While I was dating my husband, we went together once to see his grandmother in a hospital. She was very elegant and articulate; she spoke perfect English. I remember being very amazed at how different she was from both of my grandmothers.

Both of my grandmothers were from Russia, and I could not understand their English. They were immigrants and had endured very, hard lives. My maternal grandmother’s name was Anna. She was very loving and warm; I didn’t understand her “Yiddish” language, but she always slipped me coins. She would grip my hand tightly, and put something in it. Then she would put her forefinger to her mouth in a gesture indicating: do not share this with your mother! My mother knew, but pretended she didn’t see it. Just picturing this again is very sweet and endearing for me.

Anna Zerner – My maternal grandmother

My paternal grandmother was very different from my maternal grandmother.

Her name was Miriam. She barely escaped from the Russian Cossacks during a pogrom. A pogrom is defined as, “A massacre, or ethnic cleansing.” The story I was told is that she had to leap over a fence that was “taller than her,” and hide while being chased. She eventually came to the United States on a boat with her husband.

She arrived in New York and worked long hours in a grocery. I never met my grandfather. My paternal grandfather died from Multiple Sclerosis before my parents were married.

My father and his mother, Miriam. On this day, he received his Ed.D in education.

My father was an only child. He grew up very isolated and lonely; his parents were working all the time.

My father is a hoarder. I have wondered if that was based on his background of growing up during the Great Depression. My mother was very, very poor. However, she does not hoard. She has suffered greatly due to my father’s disorder.

My parents in a photo taken in 2006. So much has changed since then.

Despite growing up with significantly more financial stability than my mother, my dad could not discard anything. My belief is that hoarding was a replacement for the lack of attention he received while growing up.

My father has always been impatient with my children; he still is. He shows his affection by constantly trying to teach them mathematical facts! He loves to tutor, and has had a significant impact upon my oldest son. I could not handle my father teaching me anything. My daughter won’t allow my father to tutor her.

While I was growing up, my father was a different person. He had a lot of energy, and he smiled more.

I haven’t seen my dad smile like this in a very long time.

Who is this man?

I saw my father in a different light after my son, Jason died.

My father never paid much attention to Jason. He did take a lot of videos at family events; because that was the role he played. However, I didn’t see him extend any affection toward Jason. Jason died before he was old enough for my father to teach him algebra.

However, my dad was always there. He was there when Jason was born, and he was there with my mother when she was helping me through those difficult, five years of Jason’s life.

My father with Jason and my mother with my nephew, Sean.

A rare picture of my father with Jason.

My father came in with my husband and I to say goodbye to Jason when he was dead. He spent time alone with Jason’s cold body.

It was after Jason died that I realized how deep my father’s pain was.

Someday, I will write an essay on the excruciating grief that grandparents face when they’ve lost a grandchild.

For my mother, a lot of the pain she expressed was not so much her own grief, but that of seeing her beloved daughter’s (me) grief and agony.

My dad was different. He was suffering with his own grief. He frequently sobbed openly.

I would hear his car drive up. He would be in my driveway a long time. Finally, I’d go outside to check. There he was. Sitting in the car with his head draped over the steering wheel. He was a grown man and he was crying so loudly that I could hear his sobs from my front door.

His most often repeated lament was this: “I’ll never have the chance to teach Jason algebra!”

My mother told me something during that time.

She had found out only then something that my father had never shared before!

My father confided in her. He was not an only child. He had a brother that died before he was born.

My father used to take me to visit his mother. It was very interesting to watch their “mother/son” dynamic. They would not speak to each other at all. My father would doze in a chair while she watched TV.

His mother, Miriam, was quite morose. The best way to describe her was to say she never smiled. I knew this woman had a very hard life. But so had my other grandmother, and she smiled all the time.

Miriam wasn’t warm to me. But she wasn’t mean either. She just had sharpness, and I imagined that it wasn’t easy for my mom having her as her mother-in-law.

When my parents lived with me, my husband said, “You feel this obligation to take your parents in. However, your parents didn’t take their parents in to live with them!”

That was true. My parents didn’t have any room, though. However, I’m sure if Miriam had lived with my parents, my mother would have had a tough time of it.

One day, I was alone with Miriam. My father went somewhere – I don’t remember where; but it was just the two of us. Miriam said, “You know, Leo, was just a young boy when he enlisted in the army. He was seventeen years old; he was a baby!”

I perked up – I wanted to know more about my father’s war experiences. She continued by saying, “He was very traumatized by what he saw. He saw everything! He was there when the concentration camps were liberated. He was not prepared for the carnage, because he was very innocent. He will never speak of it. When he returned he refused to discuss it. But it happened! He saw things that no one could ever imagine; they were so horrible!”

Was she telling me something that wasn’t true?

I doubt it.

I asked my father about it.

He said, “I never saw much action. I just walked at the front lines toward the end of the war.”

I have often heard from my mom that my dad was in the infantry. She explained that it was the reason why he hates to walk. My father used to drive and circle a parking lot ten times in order to find the closest parking space. My husband has gotten angry with my dad because he has tried to help our children avoid walking. Michael has explained to my father, “Walking is healthy – it is not something to avoid, Lee!”

My mother and I know that my father will not watch any movie or see anything on television that’s related to the Holocaust. He runs from the room immediately.

Did my dad really experience what my grandmother mentioned to me that day? I have asked him so many times.

Some day, will he tell me the truth?

I doubt it.

Something my oldest son wrote for a school assignment in 2004.

November 18, 2004

My greatest influence in my life is my grandpa. He always pushes me forward. He is very smart. He has a quote that I like very much. “Life’s a battle.”

I think that this quote means you must try hard to make a difference in life. He is very intelligent. He was a math professor and a history teacher. I don’t think he understands the difference he has made in my life.

My father is still driven to help my son. It has become his existence.

 

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THOSE WARM TEARS

Posted on May 19, 2010 by Judy

A picture taken of my parents for a brochure at their facility.

I received a phone call today. My 84 year-old mother will be moving tomorrow morning! She will be transferred to a different, nursing facility, which is closer to where my father has been living.

Although they will not be sharing a room together, now they will get to see each other every day!

My parents have not been together for the last six months, since my mom fell and broke her shoulder. In a few months, they will celebrate sixty years of marriage.

Since my mom’s illness, my father has weakened considerably. He lost his driver’s license a month ago. When he was on his way to see my mom in the hospital on the day she fell, he caused an accident. Fortunately, he wasn’t hurt. He failed a retest that was required of him.

My father’s depression and withdrawal has made any visits to see my mother very difficult for him. Seeing my mother in the hospital was too traumatic for my father. He made just a few visits. This was from a man who liberated a concentration camp in World War II. He never, ever talks about that.

My father has said to me so many times, “If your mother lived at the same facility where I am, I could do so much for her!”

Here’s the ultimate irony. My lonely father doesn’t realize how much my mother could do for him! He has been so lonely, and does nothing but sleep all day. It might help him to focus on her care once again.

My mom has recovered a lot during these months since her discharge. She has been working very hard at physical therapy, and can walk slowly using a walker again.

However, she is off-balance and it has become clear that she will never again be in a more independent setting. She requires nursing care to be safe.

My mother has not adjusted well to being dependent.

Her sadness has translated to anxiety and worry. It has been a slow and imperceptible march. Her forgetfulness and searching for words has also been steadily increasing. Because I’ve been also recovering in my own way over these months, I was fairly oblivious.

Until one day it dawned on me. Her entire personality had changed!

Some days, I wake up and try to remember how she used to be. My revelation that a personal caregiver would help her was fairly recent. Even though it isn’t helpful, I have “beaten myself up,” for not thinking of it sooner.

For a very long time, I’ve operated on the mode of not being able to afford things. I’m frugal in many ways, but not in others. I’ve done whatever has been necessary to help my children. Finally I’ve realized that as the parent now to my own parents I must step up!

My mother’s new caregiver is very kind and loving. She will actually give my mom back her independence! Now my mother can have outings to buy cards or items she might want. She won’t be afraid of “upsetting” her nurses.

During my mother’s hospitalization, if I had a caregiver like the woman I just hired on Sunday  – well, I’d be far less the shell I was at the end!

It would have been helpful to have another caregiver when my mom was hospitalized. I was usually the only one visiting my mom; I went every, single day to see her and sometimes more than that. During a very difficult part of my mom’s hospitalization, my two brothers were on vacation for ten days.

I believe I am suffering from post-traumatic stress syndrome. My entire existence was devoted to my mother’s survival while in the hospital. She was on a respirator, due to complications after having surgery to repair her broken shoulder.

I was my mother’s main link to survival. I can say that with certainty.

Two days before my mom fell – it seems like a lifetime ago, or just yesterday.

However, it was exhausting and being in a hospital daily reignited a lot of my traumatic memories. That was when I started to unravel.

Before writing this story, I went back to look at the emails I sent out. I thought it might inspire me. I pasted those emails onto a document. My email messages consisting of only my words totaled eighty-one pages over just twenty days.

A good friend told me that my desperation was palpable. She described me as “a woman on the edge, about to lose it.”

She was right. I was in a pit of despair and pain. My messages became increasingly emotional. One moment I was angry; another moment I was ecstatic. I was clearly falling apart.

Someday, I might write a book about that experience. But it is still too soon. I believe detachment is necessary to write something that uncovers the insight. I waited eighteen years to write about my son’s death!

I may still write more in this blog about my experience from November through January. I’m not sure.

My mom was discharged from the hospital on January 26, 2010. I started my blog three weeks after that.

I need to continue writing. It is necessary for my sanity.

Yet, I have found some insight about all this during one of my hypnotherapy sessions. That insight was that I never would have thought it was possible four months ago that my life could be what it is today.

Just a little less than four months ago, I was a shell!

Today, when I received this exciting phone call, I wasn’t jumping with joy. I was very relieved, but it didn’t register.

Trauma is like a puddle of fuel within my gut. The “trauma fuel” lurks and it seeps into my soul, where it can be reignited arbitrarily.

My mother is on a journey, too. Therein lies my sadness that is mixed with joy.

She is moving to her final destination. I am very grateful that she will now have my dad to share life with her again. I am sobbing as I write this!

Watching my parents “deteriorate,” for lack of a better word, has been so excruciating. My parents were my support and my rock. With them, I could always feel unconditionally loved and safe – I was still a child. Of course, I still feel their love and I’m so fortunate to have them!

But at this juncture, they now depend on me very much. I have not yet settled into the new role that I’ve stepped into. With becoming their parent, comes another stark realization.

The day will come when I step into their role, and my children will assume what I am going through!

But I am jumping far, far ahead. My life is now a fairytale that I can hardly believe is real sometimes. Currently, I am savoring every, single day of my life.

I am tearful with extreme joy about my parents and their reunion.

I have no illusions about their new life closer together. My father is a control freak.

He will make my mom very upset when he organizes her purse. My mother will call my father constantly on his cell phone, and he will be very upset when she wakes him up from one of his many naps.

And I will continue to receive constant phone calls from both of them – as I do every day.

Both of them will complain about the other! My father will continue to tell me to “cut back” on my mother. He wants more time from me. I will continue to tell him, enough is enough!

Sometimes, I feel so impatient and heartless with my father. But then I remember many other children don’t speak with their parents every day. If I miss a day, my father is very sad. He counts on hearing about my life every single day!

One day, I am going to miss him very much. I know it.

I wish I could be so happy that I didn’t have tears.

This is a picture from when I was 13-years-old, at my Bat Mitzvah. I hired a photographer for my childrens’ events. I only have two photos from that day. Perhaps, I will find more pictures someday at their old apartment.

My cousin, Sandra, is on my left.

I recently found this; it is the speech for my own Bat Mitzvah. It doesn’t sound like I wrote it.

© Judy Unger and http://www.myjourneysinsight.com 2010. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Judy Unger with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

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SHE SELLS SEASHELLS

Posted on May 18, 2010 by Judy

At the moment, I am awaiting word about a large, illustration assignment consisting of nine illustrations. That would definitely impact my blogging, however, it would be a relief financially. I’ll be able to justify recording even more of my music. I might even plan a family vacation. My husband has been looking a little irritated lately. His job exhausts him.

I’ve started my art blog, which now has eight posts. I have at least fifteen more posts in the works. That involves a lot of “media preparation.” I have many existing scans of artwork, but not of old paintings from college. I have been digging through some of my old portfolios and it’s been a blast. I’ve actually enjoyed seeing the box of my old, seashell collection.

I’ve decided to share a post from my art blog about my seashell painting experiences. For more images and technical information, check out the link below on my illustration blog:

#9 SHE SELLS SEASHELLS

Besides doing an art blog, I am actively involved with my music. I have been debating about whether I am ready to share what I’ve been working on. It has been extremely inspiring after thirty years to improve musically again. I would love to share this journey also.

If there were any message I could impart from my total turn around since February, it would be that there’s no time limit for following dreams!

 

In 1981, I had just graduated from college. I began my career with a portfolio of watercolor paintings.

My food paintings were my strongest. I began to create “portfolio pieces” that were of food images. Those portfolio images were created in order to sell my style. I joked that art directors would save my image of a Nestlé’s Crunch bar because it made them hungry!

I obtained a list of advertising agencies and began to contact artist representatives in other cities to see if they were interested in my work.

I made appointments to see art directors. That part was quite difficult. Most of them were too busy to make time to speak to a new artist on the phone, let alone see them. I did a lot of “envelope stuffing!” I would follow-up to see if the art directors received my postcard and promotional material.

I also decided to show my watercolors to publishers of fine art prints and posters. I went to see a publisher in Los Angeles. He seemed very interested in one of my paintings. It was a watercolor painting of a medley of seashells.

MY FIRST SEASHELL PAINTING DONE WHILE IN COLLEGE.

He said, “I could see this as a series of prints. You would need about eight paintings. These paintings should be done in pairs. Use different approaches – incorporate driftwood on two, and do a pair of large, solo shells. Do some as a medley, and a pair with variations of shell sizes. When you’re finished, bring them in for me to see.”

My foray into the world of publishing began.

I began my search for reference.

I found a warehouse that sold seashells. I walked down the aisles of seashells and marveled at the exquisite colors and shapes to choose from. I purchased the ones I felt were best suited for my paintings.

I found a “driftwood” furniture maker who had some small pieces of wood I could buy. I brought home my reference and began to take photographs. I set up a sandbox in my backyard, and this was before I had children!

MY PHOTO REFERENCE.

I began my paintings. I worked fairly large on the driftwood paintings.

I experimented to find a way to create the effect of sand. I practiced splattering with a toothbrush, so that it resembled sand. I loved the effect! My fingers became stained with dark brown.

A CLOSE UP LOOK AT THE SAND.

It took me about six months to finish all the paintings.

All of that work didn’t translate into money, for sure. However, as a novice artist I wanted to be published. I asked a friend of mine who graduated with a business major if he could “help me negotiate.” He went to speak with the publisher. The most the publisher was willing to pay me was $125 per painting. He crossed out the $100 he had initially started with.

MY CONTRACT.

I believe the publisher became annoyed by the fact that I asked my friend to negotiate for me. After that, he required me to sign another contract with his company in order to be published. This was called a “Right of First Refusal.” He didn’t want me to go elsewhere and cause any kind of competition for the seashell prints. I was able to get him to agree to a time limit on it.

AN AD FOR A PAIR OF MY PRINTS. THEY SOLD FOR $20 EACH.

There was more to my story.

I remember when the prints were all finished. In order to get paid, I was required to hand-sign the editions of prints. The edition for each print was 1,200.

There was a certain smell to a new print. It was intoxicating. I was nervous when I came to see those stacks of prints. I was not that confident about my handwriting, and wanted to have a nice signature.

It took me many hours to earn $125. After many hours of signing my name on 1,200 prints, my hand was very tired.

There were eight seashell subjects I had to do this with!

© Judy Unger and http://www.myjourneysinsight.com 2010. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Judy Unger with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

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