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I love flowers. One of the fringe benefits of my castle gig is that on Sundays I often get the spit back flowers from whatever event has taken place on Saturday night. Often these events are weddings. So I will play the wedding on Saturday, scope out the flora and then make nice-nioce with the banquet manager on the next day. I have come home with some spectacular bouquets. I have also ended up with a few things that would more appropriate at a funeral. But whatever, I take the flowers and then come home and turn them into "art." I took a course on how to make a nice bouquet, so I'm pretty good at it, but basically I prefer a couple of white long-stemmed roses in a clear glass vase.

Sometimes I have to be sneaky because it's never a good idea to have the event planner from the Saturday wedding catch the pianist (on Sunday) stuffing the bride's discarded floral arrangements into her Mazda. But my banquet guy works with me. And I know the secret passageways.

In Hamburg I was driving around with the presenter of the Consulate gig before the show, so I ended up going with her to pick out my own flowers and then acting surprised when she gave them to me after the show.

The Germans are generally really good with the flower thing. We'll see what happens tonight. Orchids would be swell. They last at least ten days.

And, orchids truly show that the giver spent sincere thought in considering what an artist really wants... in keeping with how special the performer's gift is. The language of flowers is very explicit. A gas station bouquet says, "I am cheap, horrible, and too uncaring and insensitive to be ashamed of what I am doing in front of the whole house, many of whom I am humiliating and offending."

It would make a nice little scene in a movie. The audience applauds, the artist bows, the impresario offers the bouquet from the gas station. The artist ignores the impresario, and bows again to the audience. The impresario insists, and the artist, without a look or a word, hurls the flowers into the wings and takes his seat for the encore.

We are fortunate in California to be able to grow several orchid species as a garden flower. They are very easy, minding their own business in a favorable sheltered spot, yet when they bloom they are as spectacular as any variety from the hothouse. This is somewhat like the pianist who practices in private, unseen all the year, then bursts into performance.

Princess Charlotte of Monaco has been in my thoughts, in this season of wedding dearth. Hers is quite a story--- maybe two stories, or even three. She'll have to cook a little longer, but I will quote the last paragraph from the Wiki article...

"...Late in life she went to college, obtaining a degree in social work. After her son assumed the throne, Princess Charlotte moved to live at Le Marchais, the Grimaldi estate outside of Paris. Despite the objections of her children who feared for her safety, she turned the estate into a rehabilitation centre for ex-convicts. She lived at the estate with her lover, a noted French former jewel thief named René Girier and nicknamed "René la Canne" (René the Cane)."

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Charlotte_of_Monaco

...and from the article about her father, Prince Louis II of Monaco:

"...A political crisis loomed for the Prince because without any other heir, the throne of Monaco would pass to his first cousin Wilhelm, the duke of Urach, a German nobleman who was a son of Prince Albert's aunt, Princess Florestine of Monaco. To ensure this did not happen, in 1911 a law was passed recognizing his illegitimate daughter, Charlotte, as Louis's acknowledged heir, and making her part of the sovereign family. This law was later held to be invalid under the 1882 statutes. Thus another law was passed in 1918 modifying the statutes to allow the adoption of an heir, with succession rights. Charlotte was formally adopted by Louis in 1919, and became Charlotte Louise Juliette Grimaldi, Princess of Monaco, and Duchess of Valentinois..."

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Louis_II,_Prince_of_Monaco

These little snips are far from doing justice to the story. But, then. If you think your wedding was hard to arrange, what about Charlotte's. The Legislature had to pass laws twice, and that's no easy job.

Would the proper wedding song for her be Gershwin's "She's the Illegitimate Daughter of an Illegitimate Son of an Illegitimate Nephew of Napoleon"?

Just popped in to catch up on one of my favorite threads.

I have two little stories to share: one my own, and one borrowed.

My sister got married three weeks ago. Legally. This is a big deal, for there aren't too many states in the US where she could. She lives in Washington state. She and and her fiancee and my niece came across the country to visit us in Massachusetts to make it really legal.

Of course, they picked the wedding date based on the calendar (the equinox) rather than the convenience of the hostess (that would be me) who was supposed to be on a business trip that week. But I figured out how to make it work (they arrived on Sunday, I took the week off of work, except Wednesday, when I had to fly to Washington DC for a board meeting). The wedding would be Friday evening.

Here's the musical part. My sister had asked my 10 year old son, monkeyfingers, to play guitar at the wedding. She also wanted my daughter, choochiefingers, and my niece to sing (they are both 13). The song was Free in You by the Indigo Girls.

OK, so it's kind of low pressure, since the only people at the wedding would be immediate family--8 people if you include the minister. But monkeyfingers is really kind of a beginner. He's been taking lessons with an absolutely fabulous flamenco guitarist for a few years, but frankly is finally just getting his chords down. So I was interested to see how this would all develop.

Jon, the teacher, spent one lesson about 6 weeks in advance working out the chords. And then we went on vacation and Jon got married and life happened and they skipped four lessons.

And I nagged--"You have to practice for your aunt's wedding." "Yeah, yeah, mom, I will." "When?"

So what do you do when what you are doing isn't working? You try something else. I backed off.

Our guests arrived. The kids had almost a week to get it together. But the brides were in the house during the rehearsals, and they were pretty anxious about what they were hearing, especially my sister, who is cursed with the perfect pitch our dad had.

I teeter from being ticked off at my son for not having prepared to being annoyed with my sis for being too demanding. I'm also stressed that my house is a wreck, though nobody else cares about that.

In the meantime, we're closely watching the weather forecast, because the ceremony is to be held on a tiny little island on the pond behind Town Hall where there is no shelter and which gets really muddy in the rain. And I'm trying to decide whether or not to tell the brides that on our last recon mission to the island, my husband saw a huge rat.

Back at the house, the song starts to come together. Except that monkeyfingers has never learned the bridge. Whenever they get to it, he stops playing. His aunt asks him what's going on. And he says he doesn't know it. And she asks him to please learn it. And he says he will. But he doesn't.

I know it will work out. How will it? It's a mystery.

The wedding day arrives. The forecast is for heavy rain. And that's exactly what we get. All day. I call the party rental place to see if we can arrange for a tent. It's way beyond the budget. I call a friend to borrow one of those pop-up canopies. She's at work, like most normal people.

The brides make an executive decision, really the only one possible, to move the ceremony. To the screen porch of my house. Which hasn't been painted since it was added to the "new" garage in 1955, long before our occupancy. The screen porch is our kids playroom, and it is full of Little Tykes plastic--a kitchen and tool bench and vanity and ballet bar-- and toy bins and trampolines and train sets from their toddler days.

So, on their very special day, the two brides and I and my husband clear out all the junk, vacuum the ancient indoor/outdoor carpet, get a bucket and scrub down the dusty railings, and make a sacred wedding venue. In about 2 hours.

The flowers arrive. The heart shaped tart arrives. The minister arrives. The brides are still getting degrimed. Everybody's a little edgy.

We fix garlands in the brides' and the girls' hair. We arrange the flowers and the altar. Everyone takes a deep breath.

The minister begins by saying that we hope one day all people everywhere will have this same right to be married. We all realize what this day is really about.

The ceremony is lovely. monkeyfingers begins to play. The tempo is s l o w. The girls sing. They sound beautiful. The bridge comes. monkeyfingers plays a flamenco rhythm on the strings with no chords. The girls sing a capella to the rhythm. At the verse he resumes playing the chords he knows. The girls are still on pitch.

The brides promise each other.

Then, by the power vested in the minister by the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, she pronounces them married. And every one of us has tears in our eyes.

And nobody notices the peeling paint.

Here's a little something borrowed.

I was in London last week and was lucky enough to attend the Idina Menzel/Marvin Hamlisch concert at the Royal Albert Hall.

Idina, for those of you who don't know, was the original Elphaba in Wicked, was in the original cast of Rent, and has been making guest appearances as Rachel's Mom on the TV show Glee.

And the lady can sing.

And she tells a mean wedding musician story too.

Before she was "discovered", Idina was a wedding/bar mitzvah singer on Long Island.

She marveled at how popular the song "Saving All My Love for You" is as a bride and groom's special song. Especially since it is a song about infidelity.

She also said that once a bride's uncle collapsed on the dance floor. Idina was only 15 or 16 at the time, and didn't know what to do, so she was going to stop singing. But the clipboard lady came over to her and said "What are you doing? You can't stop! Keep singing!" So she did.

Until the bride came out and started screaming, "What are you DOING? Have you no HEART? Can't you see my uncle is sick! What is WRONG with you?"

At which point Idina said she decided to stuff her face at the dessert table.

I thought of you all. And the concert was amazing.

rustyfingers - I love it that monkeyfingers used the flamenco rhythm on the bridge! Necessity is the mother of creativity - you have no idea how many times I've done something like that. He has the soul of a true performer

And your sister will cherish that wedding in that venue with those musicians forever

Cathy

"...But the clipboard lady came over to her and said "What are you doing? You can't stop! Keep singing!" So she did. Until the bride came out and started screaming, "What are you DOING? Have you no HEART? Can't you see my uncle is sick! What is WRONG with you?..."

I've been waiting for this choice morsel for some time--- I knew we'd get there (though I thought it would be Robin who threw the firecracker under the clipboard lady). "Godzilla Meets Mothra--- at the Reception." Sensational kick-off post, rustyfingers!

I suspect these little scenes play out all too often, but most are hushed up. Better to have these sparky little frictions with the hired help, who are dismissed, paid off, and discussed for years rather than with the kinfolk. And there lies the secret of why no one mentioned the housework--- necks would have been wrung and tongues pulled out on the spot. For there is always the unspoken threat: "You're right, dear, the place is a pig pen. Maybe we should move the wedding to your house."

It is the worst and most disgraceful bad manners a guest can have, if they criticize the hostesses' housekeeping to her face. I'm glad your inlaws made it under the limbo bar.

We always spot a million delinquencies when the guests start to arrive. But how welcome you make them feel is what they remember, as long as the bathrooms are presentable and the champagne is dry.

On the whole, I think you did very well with this one, rusty. And my best wishes to the brides.

cheers to monkey fingers Rustyfingers. Nice little story

Rusty, that is a charming story, and so nicely written! Thanks for posting. The rat, the flamenco plucking, the parent-child squabbles, the heart-shaped tart, the buckets of grimy water—I loved it all.

Oh dear, Idina worked on the LI wedding scene. There is not a working musician anywhere who has not been through some version of the collapsing uncle story. STOP THE MUSIC! PLAY,PLAY,PLAY!!! What's a musician to do? Take a break and head for the buffet. That's what I say. Idina's instincts were spot on. If I was poor Uncle Ed, lying on the dance floor, the last thing I would want to hear is a wedding band playing Smooth Operator (or anything at all by Sade).

PS: This weekend's flowers included dark red roses and bright orange dahlias. Sounds odd, but it worked!

Cathy, I think you may be right about their memories. I hope so. I can just imagine you improvising your way out of a tight spot.

Jeff, yours are words to live by (that I need to remember)--it isn't the state of the house, but how welcome you make people feel.

This experience has given me new respect for all of you who navigate the wedding waters professionally.

I never did tell sis about the rat. Maybe I will some day.

Writing is cathartic, isn't it?

Apple and Robin--thanks for your kind words.

Robin: The red and orange arrangements sound like a perfect combination for an October wedding in Germany. I hope you brought some home.

Stop the presses--- I have to issue a retraction about the lack of marriages in October.

Today in Wedding History:

October 20, 1968: Jacqueline Lee Bouvier Kennedy becomes Jacqueline Lee Bouvier Kennedy Onassis, upon her marriage to Greek shipping tycoon, Aristotle Onassis.

This excerpt from the Wiki article plays down the dust-ups which occurred, and which were considerable: both upon her marriage (from the press and public) and upon her second husband's decease, from natural causes (from his daughter, Christina):

"...In June 1968 when her brother-in-law Robert F. Kennedy was assassinated, she came to fear for her life and that of her children, saying "If they're killing Kennedys, then my children are targets...I want to get out of this country."[56] On October 20, 1968, she married Aristotle Onassis, a wealthy, Greek shipping magnate, who was able to provide the privacy and security she needed for herself and her children.

"The wedding took place on Skorpios, Onassis's private island in the Ionian Sea, Greece. Following her marriage to Onassis, Kennedy-Onassis lost her right to Secret Service protection and her franking privilege, both of which are entitlements to a widow of U.S. president. As a result of the marriage, the media gave her the nickname "Jackie O", which remained a popular shorthand reference to her. She became the target of paparazzi who were following her.

"Then tragedy struck again, as Aristotle Onassis's only son Alexander died in a plane crash in January 1973. Onassis's health began deteriorating rapidly and he died in Paris, on March 15, 1975. Kennedy-Onassis' financial legacy was severely limited under Greek law, which dictated how much a non-Greek surviving spouse could inherit. After two years of legal battle, she eventually accepted from Christina Onassis, Onassis's daughter and sole heir, a settlement of $26 million, waiving all other claims to the Onassis estate.

"During their marriage, the couple resided in a home they rented in Bernardsville, New Jersey."

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jacqueline_Kennedy#Onassis_marriage

Did you know? Jackie was a three-pack-a-day smoker, only finally quitting upon the onset of non-Hodgkin's lymphoma, upon the insistence of her daughter.

THAT'S a lot of cigs. I smoked like a house afire at one time, yet at my worst it was never more than a pack a day. But she had a much tougher job. Interestingly, although she was the most-photographed woman in the world at one time (edging out Elizabeth Taylor), I have never seen a photo of her with a cigarette in her mouth--- nor ever seen a mention of it in the press. But in her time, press circumspection smashed like an egg, along with the development of really good telephoto lenses.

Really, I can't blame her for wanting to get out of the goldfish bowl of public notoriety, and for doing something with her life that she enjoyed.

My first math professor chain-smoked unfiltered Camels through his lectures. Someone in the class tried to keep up with him and could not. He would be in front of the classes with a piece of chalk in one hand and a cigarette in the other. He seemed like such a gruff old German professor, but every once in a while, his wonderful sense of humor would come out. I especially appreciated how you could ask him a question, and the next day he would have the answer written out. I wish that I was as good at waiting until I had thought out the answer before responding. I wish more people were, especially politicians!

He gave up smoking them not long afterwards—he would stick them in his mouth and not light them. Eventually he did not need them at all.

I tuned for his wife, who was an avid amateur singer. The first time I tuned for them was just before Davies Hall was due to open. After I finished, she told me she was glad I could come, because her cousins were playing for the opening of the hall. We were going, so I knew who it was: Claude Frank and Lillian Kallir. This was a great lesson for me. I knew that I could never slack off when tuning, because I could never tell who was going to play the piano next.

They were a lovely couple. She died six years ago, and he died last year at the age of 95. I guess giving up smoking helped him live to such a ripe old age.

my first chef training came from Ari Onassis's personal chef.

Don Pepe

Hi there. Just got back from Berlin, where I did an encore performance of my Piano Girl program. I was there in October and sold out, so I was invited back to do another show. This sounds impressive, but Steinway Haus in Berlin only seats about 40, so it doesn't take much effort to sell out. What a great room, though. First time I played a wonderful B. This time I played a C, which was a first for me. Loved it, but it was almost too big for that small space. But what a treat to play such a gorgeous instrument.

Last night, right after I returned to Cologne, I played one of those Titans of Industry private parties (at another castle, not my own) on a Bechstein grand that was at least 100 years old. Oy. It would be a nice instrument if only the hotel would pay to have it restored, but no way that's going to happen. 200 men there, drinking and talking loudly. Could hardly hear myself. Such is life in the music business—from one extreme to another.

Big wedding coming up on Saturday, then another one in early December. In between I have my annual stint in a fairy costume, when the castle presents my musical for children, "Hobo und die Waldfeen." It's a lot of fun, but I'm a little old to be playing a fairy. The musical has become very popular though, so I fear I'll have to wear the fairy suit for the rest of my life. I'm gonna be 86 and still carrying a wand. At least I don't play the role of the rabbit—that involves hopping.

Last year the actress playing the rabbit pitched a diva fit (rivaling the best of the brides) and missed a major rehearsal because she was fighting with her real life husband, who is the musical director and plays the tree. I would have canned both of them, but I couldn't find another pianist willing to wear a tree costume.

What, and leave show-biz?

I am happy to be home. The travel part of my book tour is officially over, so now I can deck the halls, eat the gingerbread, and drag out the Christmas music. I have to do those things now, because once I drag out the fairy costume ( a white tutu, a Dolly Parton wig, and lavender rubber boots) there's no time.

Hark! The Aging Fairy Sings . . .

I had an exciting Saturday with not one, but two big band performances. One was a matinee, and the other, a real-life dinner dance at my club. No piano at the latter, but I have tuned for that band before. I talked to the singer, and told her that although she did not know me, I had accompanied her many times before as the tuner.

This year I bought some LED pinspots for the mirror ball at my club, and I got some nice comments about them. Next year I want to put in stage lighting. LEDs make it possible, because they do not need to have the building rewired for all the extra current draw.

BDB, could have used you last night on that Bechstein. The technician did a good job, but it slipped out about 2 hours into the gig. As for lighting, well, I can always use good lighting. do those LEDs come with pink and amber gels?

LEDs do not need gels. They are not white LEDs, but three colors of LEDs so they can be blended to give a spectrum of colors.

Bechsteins can have trouble holding pitch.

Well... maybe you could get the real Dolly Parton. Sounds like it might be just her idea of fun. As for being too old for the role...

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dolly_Parton

"Dolly Rebecca Parton (born January 19, 1946[1]) is an American singer-songwriter, author, multi-instrumentalist, actress and philanthropist, best known for her work in country music. Dolly Parton has appeared in movies like 9 to 5, The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas..."

... it sounds like you have quite a bit in common. And if you've seen a recent photo of Dolly, all I can say is, it looks like she has the same plastic surgeon as Susan Lucci, who is older than I am and yet looks like she is in her twenties.

Feel free to dismiss the diva rabbit out of hand. Dolly can take your role, you can sub as the tree (no hopping, I would assume), and you can go ahead and steal the show out from under all of them.

Besides the faerie are ageless.

As for appearing at the other castle, you ought to have known better, dear. At least the businessmens' convention guys were only listening to their own yaps running. The Bech could have been wired to a bank of flügelhorns or even bagpipes for all they would have noticed.

Never mind them. We have missed you here--- I certainly have.

I happened to notice that this thread is closing in on 400,000 pageviews. Not bad, not bad at all. And I'm going to an actual wedding later this week. I'll try to behave, and even the groom's favorite dog will be left at home. Last time I took him to a party, no sooner did I turn my glance away for a second than he was up on the buffet table with his snout in the dip. Even a modest wedding these days costs too much for that.

Hi, all. Thanks for the great stories. Keep 'em coming.

I just posted this story on ABF, because that's where I usually hang out. But I thought the crowd on this thread might enjoy it, so I'll copy it over to here also:

I recently spent a few days away on business. I was trapped in a sorta-nice hotel in a smallish city, and when I checked in, I noticed there was a grand piano in the main atrium. It was covered at the time, so I didn't investigate, but I filed that fact away for possible future use.

Then one day I came out of my meeting at lunch time, and there was an older woman sitting at the piano, happily playing along while folks bustled about the lobby, meeting each other or "doing lunch" or whatever they happened to be up to. As you might expect, nobody seemed even to notice her.

So I sat down and listened for a bit. She was playing Great American Songbook type stuff... jazz standards, with a few real schmaltzy ones thrown in. But the more I listened, the more it became apparent that this woman was not your typical department-store pianist. She was good. I mean really good. I mean, like she-should-be-recording sort of good.

So I sat and enjoyed, and I caught her eye from time to time. She was obviously pleased that someone had even realized she was there. Finally she took a pause and we got to chatting a bit. I asked her about her playing and she explained that she learned to play by ear as a girl, and then at some point she decided she "ought to pay attention to all of these chords and things and figure out how it all works." So she did, and she started playing professionally.

She said she had spent years having the time of her life, playing for "dance bands" during the time when such things were popular. She also said she doesn't like today's popular music because when you try to play it on a piano, "there's nothing there." If she hadn't already had me wrapped around her finger, that did it. I smiled and agreed.

She asked me if there was anything I wanted to hear, so I thought up a few tunes that I thought were in the the right range: not so obscure that she wouldn't know them, but out of the mainstream enough that only a real player would.

She of course knew them all and played them absolutely beautifully, even though she confessed to not having played some of them for many years. On one tune, she finished playing through the bridge and had just started another verse, and without stopping she said, "oh, that's how that goes... I hadn't remembered that, that's nice, isn't it... I'll have to go around one more time and get it really right" (which of course she did).

As I listened to her play the last of my requests before I had to go, I was struck with the similarity of her playing style to that of Marion McPartland. So as a parting gesture, I told her so. She beamed and told me I'd made her day, and she related a story about her getting to see Marian play once, and how she'd been mesmerized by Marion's long fingers and the intervals she could reach with ease.

Anyway, the point of my story is that this wonderful woman was an absolute gem, both as a pianist and as a person, and there she sat in this hotel lobby, nobody the wiser. I never got her name, but I feel I received a gift from her, and I'm grateful. You just never know what's there unless you take the time to stop and look.

(And PS... if there's any chance, my piano-playing friend, that you're on this forum and reading this... thanks for a delightful time. I'll come back, and next time I'll skip the meeting and sit in the lobby all afternoon. I'll buy the drinks).