The idea behind this little corner of the Internet was that each of the members of the Engelmann Quintet would throw a little something of their perspective out into the world every Thursday. We planned to talk about anything: art we were interested in, music we love, works we’re practicing, silly videos…the parameters were pretty vague, frankly, because we’re making things up as we go along. We’re artists! “I don’t know what’s gonna come out, I just know it’s gonna be good,” to paraphrase Satchmo.
Anyway, Callie’s date is today, the current Thursday during which I’m writing this. Here is a verbatim text exchange between us:
Me [weeks ago, following an exchange with everyone about dates]: So everybody has their Thursday date! So excited!
Me [Monday]: Hello! Did you get the blog writer invite for the Sky Island page?
Callie: --
Me [Wednesday morning]: Hey, are you set up for posting something on the Sky Island blog tomorrow?
Callie [Wednesday, late]: Good god tomorrow? I won’t be doing that on time. I’ve got nothing.
Me [4 seconds later]: Haha! Okay, I’ll see what I can do. Am I allowed to make fun of you in the post?
Callie: Obviously. You have my permission to be ruthless.
So I’d like to offer for you, our dedicated followers, an inside glimpse at starting a rehearsal before noon when Callie is on the call sheet. This is best summarized as follows:
11 Texts from Callie Sent 27 Minutes Into Rehearsal
I got stuck behind a cop and he drove fifty-five down the entire interstate! Just hit the junction!
It took me 45 minutes just to get to Prince! Traffic is nuts!
This cultural events thing has me sitting through my fourth train at the crossing.
I’m on my way!
There’s some parade thing right by my house! I’m not even to the 10 yet.
There’s some kind of backed up line, probably an accident. I’m not even out of Tucson.
I thought we were meeting at 11:00! Why are we meeting at 10:00?!
I’m on my way!
There’s some arts fair thing downtown. Everything detoured. I’m not even out of Tucson.
Are you guys doing the Bach first? I can be there at 11:30, earliest. On my way.
@#$! I’m on my [redacted] way.
I like imagining those frantic drives, Callie definitely driving faster than one should, listening to NPR or podcasts or experimental Lithuanian cow punk as she speeds from one rehearsal or theater or costume fitting to the next.
Mostly, I wish Callie were on her way to my house right now—stuck behind a cop who is parked in the middle of an arts fair occurring behind a cultural parade currently stalled by seven freight trains—because she drinks gallons of coffee with us and once spent an entire evening jumping over the back of my couch with my daughter, pretending to be Ursula the sea witch, and she knows all the coolest new bands and she’s the person I throw frantic glances (and, yes, once a mouthed curse word) at when I’m lost during a performance and she once took a deep breath with me between movements and smiled with that deep red lipstick on and a “this is live performance, kid” look on her face that made me brave and terrified and so glad I was with her.
Why is Callie the late one? Because she is a conductor/actress/violinist/violist/world traveler/arts and culture aficionado/teacher who does not start her day at 6:00 am, and we continually schedule rehearsals in a different city at about the same time she usually wakes up. But there she is—about forty minutes late on average—and she comes crashing through my front door (which is, unforgivably, on the south side of town) with multiple instrument cases hanging off her and a music stand in one hand and a recently finished flagon of coffee in the other. And then what? Well, then she’s a dynamo, and she makes me better.
Why is Callie the late one? Because if rehearsals weren’t at my house, it would be me.
Tag, Hutch. You’re it.
Experimental Slovenian Neocloassical Dark Wave Band Callie Recommended Once (Enjoy!)
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