My girl.

This is a The Teardos Special Edition.

You know I had to.  I just had to.

Today is Palm Sunday, the official start of Holy Week.  Translation for the Teardo household:  utter chaos and not much seeing each other until a week from this afternoon.  But this year, things are a little different with this "kick-off" as we also get to celebrate one of *my* favorite days of any year:  Leslie's birthday.  It's true that I may not be very fond of my own birthday, but I relish in others.  Celebrating life is a good thing - something we all ought to do a bit more often in my opinion (just not on my birthday). Celebrating Leslie's life today is, ironically, a way of expressing gratitude for my own.  Simply put, my life would not be as wonderful, love-filled, richly blessed, delicious, warm, clean, color-coordinated, organized, easy, kitten-adorned, fashionable, fun, funny, and plain worth living if not for Leslie being at the very center of my existence.  Without her, I merely exist.

Thank you, sweetheart, for allowing me to share your life adventure with you.  Happy Birthday!!

And now, payback time, courtesy of my father-in-law.  Thanks Robert!  Of course, the joke's on me, since she's the cuter one.

Here she's already practicing for Palm Sunday:

And now for your "Moment of Irony".....

Bet she didn't see THAT one coming!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, LESLIE!!!

Mah man.

Today we celebrate the birthday of a very special man. His dedication to the highest musical standards has inspired so many people. His skill at improvisation is a God-given-gift. And his marriage is founded on mutual love of music.
Who do I speak of? Why, J.S. Bach, of course! Tee hee.

Photo taken (by me) at the Bach Archive, Leipzig

Oh! And it's Fred's birthday too! (the brilliance and dedication apply to him too, dontcha know)
You guys know that I am terrible at keeping secrets. I once famously told my father, "You're never gonna guess what Mommy and I got you for Christmas! It tells time and you can wear it on your wrist!" (In my own defense, I was 5 at the time.)
So when I was scheduling out blog posts for March, I put down "ft tribute" and then promptly showed Fred that page. Good work, Leslie.
Fred has never really liked his birthday (or Valentine's Day, or any personal holiday, for that matter) and every year I take it upon myself to try and do things that he will enjoy for his day.
And so, when he begged kindly asked me not to do a mushy gushy Fred-love post today, I decided to oblige. (That being said, I didn't promise for any other day. It's like stealth-blogging. You never know when its going to come, but you know it will! Muah-ha-ha)
But, I couldn't let the day pass without a teeny weeny bit of Fred celebration, therefore I decided to share a few of my favorite "Fred on other birthdays" pictures.

Sidenote- I finally just realized where Fred's love of cake originated. Look how scrumptious those are!

Okay, this last one isn't from a birthday, that I know of, but it is my very favorite in the whole wide world:

Isn't that just the joy of childhood in a picture? So happy :-)

P.S. I want shoes like that.

So there you go, some pictures of the child that became my handsome, brilliant, caring, dedicated, and loving husband. (You didn't honestly believe this would be mush-free, did you?)

Fred (& Maggie) on his 29th birthday

Baptism by Mitre

Pop quiz:

It's your first service as the newly-appointed Director of Music and Organist of a major Cathedral in the Episcopal Church. Your first service, no less, is a Diocesan service for the ordination of two Deacons. The Bishops and every important official in the Diocese are there. The first thing you conduct in the service is the Psalm (mind you, from a completely different translation of the Psalter than you are used to). At the appropriate point of the service, you walk up to the conductor's stand only to discover that one of the acolytes (not from the Cathedral) has placed the Assistant Bishop's mitre *on* your stand.

What do you do?

You conduct the Psalm from memory. *That's* what you do!

Thankfully, the Bishop realized what had happened, mumbled a few words to the acolyte, and made sure it was not there for the Offertory Anthem. Needless to say, I was grateful to him for rectifying the matter.

Re-entry

Good morning, faithful readers. That is, if you're still there. It's been a long while since my last post, and my posts seem to coincide with waiting in airport terminals. I hope you'll forgive me for the lapse in communication. Things have been busy to say the least.

Much has happened since my last post: starting a brand new job right before one of the busiest seasons of the year; unpacking (gradually); setting up our wonderful new home (more gradually); Thanksgiving and beyond with a small, uneven (read: loathsome) oven; Christmas Eve; Christmas Day; the world's stickiest toffee pudding; New Year's; more travel woes en route to recitals; bishop's mitres; affordable boutique burgers; hissing cats; failed Beef Wellington (damn oven) but successful roast duck and mediocre first stab at capon (can't blame the oven this time...twas my own carelessness); new cars; and much, much more.

I promise to be better about keeping you posted. I really, really do.

Stay tuned.

Another day, another recital

Kidding! I'm really excited to be here at Church of the Ascension in Montgomery playing my first Alabama recital! Fred played a magnificent recital last weekend at the Cathedral and now it's my turn, although I had to travel quite a bit further...

Here are some snapshots I grabbed while I'm preparing/registering/getting used to the instrument.

More 1am Glamour

We needed to clean the rug that is going underneath the breakfast table and took the opportunity to clean the media room couch, which has seen it's fair share of kitten warfare. Pictures below.

Oh yeah, we're classy II

We received a gorgeous welcome basket yesterday. In it was a selection of cheeses, olives and, not to leave out our four-legged-friends, 2 tins of cat food! So sweet.

We dug into the cheese today and enjoyed the sparkling rose that was also included. The "bride" and "groom" cups we've been using had cola in them, so we decided to go hipster-style and use ball jars. Tee hee...

Top 10 things I love about Birmingham thus far

(These are in no particular order, other than the order in which I thought of them.)

1. Drive-through dry cleaners
2. The "traffic" (insert Yankee snicker here for the so-called "rush hour". A friend and I saw 4 separate accidents on the road yesterday and were delayed maybe 10 minutes)
3. $3.29-a-gallon gasoline
(Fred does not approve of this one- but he thinks it should still be a dollar...)
4. The fountain that greets us as we enter our neighborhood. (Although, it really does need a light for at night. I'm going to start resenting our HOA fees if I can't see the fountain we're paying for... *grumble grumble*)
5. That I have yet to meet a single unpleasant or ill-mannered person.
6. That it is the first week of November and it was 68 degrees and sunny.
7. That it never takes more than 15 minutes to get anywhere, from anywhere.
8. Two words: Super. Target.
9. That parking for the symphony took all of 2 minutes. (although, I hope that attendance improves!)
10. That we got to meet the star chef in town even before we moved here. (can you tell Fred suggested this one?)

So, yes, we're loving it here!!

On the road...FINALLY!

I've decided to wait until now to keep everyone abreast of my travel dilemma in getting to Birmingham today in time for my first choir rehearsal at the Cathedral. Why? Mainly because I'm ridiculously superstitious, and clearly my last post on the subject ("As long as the airport isn't still closed, I'm golden") jinxed the whole thing.

After cancelled concerts, closures of airports, MBTA and roads, and all manner of hurricane precaution, US Airways kindly rerouted me through Bradley Airport in Hartford, which is a convenient 45 minute drive from my parents' home. Awesome. Until late Monday evening (like almost midnight) when I received an automated phone call notifying me that my new sweet-chariot-coming-for-to-carry-me-home-in-the-literal-and-not-metaphorical-sense was cancelled again. Upon talking to the extremely gracious and helpful US Airways agent (no sarcasm intended, honest!), the hopes of making it to Birmingham in time for this crucial first rehearsal were quickly vanishing. What will these poor people think of me? Slacker, surely. My only hope at this point: drive to Philly and fly out of there. And with both the Garden State Parkway and the NJ Turnpike shut down, the prospect of actually making this happen was quite grim. Quite grim indeed.

Yet, while I was on the phone with the agent, she disclosed that other carriers were not canceling flights - this was a mystery to me but whatever - and that if I could find a way home on another carrier, I'd receive a refund for my ticket. Thanksbye.

90 seconds of iPhone app-ing later, I booked a Delta flight from Hartford to Detroit to Birmingham. It costed a little more than my original ticket, but at this point I just wanted to be assured of getting home. Enough is enough.

My parents very sweetly woke up with me this morning at 4:00 am and drove me to Bradley. I'd be lying if I said it wasn't reminiscent of leaving for college. One more "So long!" to the parentals - who have literally been there for me every step of the way - before taking off to begin a new chapter in the life of yours truly. I'll miss them dearly, but I'm comforted by the fact that even though I am moving farther away, I may actually get to see them more often because my schedule will hopefully not be as insane as it was in the city! Ironicallike.

I haven't been to this airport in a very long time. It seems that nothing has changed, and it's amazing how life just comes full-circle at times. In the gift shop/newsstand, I experienced another blast from the past: Hartford Whalers team wear, brand new, by a company specializing in vintage sportswear. My childhood friend and groomsman John Geigle got me into hockey in high school, and we were die-hard Whalers fans. Then in '97 Peter Karmanos (Whalers owner and all-around party pooper) moved the team to North Carolina, where in their first year there became Stanley Cup finalists. That was a rough time for the Nutmeg State. In any event, it seems that someone did not get the memo. ;-)

Images from the day

If you can't beat 'em...

COOK!

When my parents and I realized I would not be going anywhere in the foreseeable future, we decided to make the best of it. Saw some beautiful American lamb shanks at BJ's, and I got sample hands (apparently I get a sheepish demeanor and do this thing with my hands whenever I see free food samples - ask Leslie for more details). I also jump at the chance to cook for anyone, let alone my parents - it's one way of showing my mom that her amazing culinary skills in all things Italianissimo have been an inspiration to me my whole life, and continue to be.

Dinner was scrumptious. Let me know if you'd like me to post the recipe, but be forewarned: in doing so I'll divulge why you should never pay $30 in a restaurant for this very easy-to-make dish.

I love a braise.

A dream come true...

I'll never forget my first time attending a service at Saint Thomas Fifth Avenue. My high school organ teacher and long-time dear friend Stephen Roberts took me shortly after I began started studying with him. It was for Evensong in Eastertide. Words cannot describe hearing the incredible Choir of Men and Boys in that palace of pomp and pageantry. Not to mention the masterful improvisation at the organ by none other than Gerre Hancock. I don't think I had ever experienced anything so beautiful in my life up until that point, and from that day on I had always dreamed of becoming an organist at Saint Thomas.

With that experience, I caught the "bug" - the Anglican choral bug. Off to buy every recording of every Men and Boys Choir I could get my hands on. At the time, John Scott with the St Paul's Cathedral Choir was producing more of these recordings than anyone else. Hardly a day went by that I didn't listen to John's recordings of Stainer's "I saw the Lord" and Howells's St Paul's Service.

Suddenly, beginning in 2006, the dream actually came true, and those recordings had literally come to life. Unreal stuff.

I can't talk too much about this. Yesterday's services were incredibly emotional - so much so that I had to really "switch off" in order to be able to do my job as best I could one last time.

I'm eternally grateful to John, the Choir, Fr. Mead, Kevin, and everyone else I worked with. Thank you for the most amazing musical experience one could ever hope for. In spite of my generally bad luck (ask Leslie - *she's* the Irish one), I am incredibly fortunate.

Below is a photo that my dear friend Jonathan Ryan took during my last Evensong. He was one of a handful there on account of Hurricane Sandy. Thanks for being there, Jonathan.

Farewell Fifth Avenue!

Boston or...nope. Bust.

Let me start off by saying that I will never name any future daughter, pet, or worst enemy by the name "Sandy".

After finishing my last service at Saint Thomas, this was to be the itinerary for the coming days:

Monday am: train to Boston
Tuesday pm: play program in Harvard Memorial Chapel
Wednesday am: fly from BOS-BHM
Wednesday pm: first choir rehearsal at the Advent

Here's a snapshot of what's actually transpired in the last 24 hours:

Sunday afternoon:
- MTA announces evening shutdown of NYC mass transit
- Amtrak cancels my Monday AM train
- my awesome parents use their superhero powers to come pick me up so I wouldn't get stuck in Manhattan and still have some hope of getting to Boston

Monday am:
- start drive to Boston, and had to turn around because the Governor closed the highways
- Wednesday BOS-BHM flight cancelled
- stuck in Waterbury, with no hope of getting to Cambridge for my recital tomorrow

Thanks to US Airways, they've rerouted me through Hartford for Wednesday am. As long as the airport isn't still closed, I'm golden.

I'm hoping all my friends in the city are staying safe, as well as everyone else on the East Coast.

In the meantime, I get to spend some quality time with my parents before settling in Birmingham for good. In the end, a very welcome diversion. Sandy, schmandy. Things could be worse.

On the road again...

When I woke up this morning it was like a dream come true, with two hungry cats pinching me to confirm it wasn't a dream at all but Saturday morning in our new home. Of course, like anything else in my life, there was no time to actually take any of this in, stop and smell the carpet shampoo, and perhaps enjoy a lazy first Saturday morning in the new house brought to you by café, croissants and conversation with the still-relatively-new Mrs. T. Oh no - after a quick shower it was off to the airport for yet another full day of travel. On the way, I thought I heard a distant, almost maniacal voice asking: "Leaving so soon?"

I always knew that one of the benefits of moving to B'ham would be the ability to lead a less-crazed and slower-paced lifestyle. I was reminded of this benefit after the short and painless 20-minute car ride to the airport, door-to-door, with no wait to collect my boarding pass, and -- brace yourself -- no line at security. And not just no line - I was the only person there. I even had my pick of which security line to go through. Oh wait - it doesn't matter because there's no one here. So you mean to tell me that I can get to the airport without swearing because the E train didn't come, not having to worry whether or not the AirTrain will be working today, not even have to go to another STATE to fly away (take that EWR!), not have to wait in line for 45 minutes to practically half-undress and have some mysterious machine take naked pictures of me while I hold my hands up as if I'm being arrested, only to get to the gate and realize that your flight is delayed for two hours because they ran out of planes and need to fly one over from one of the other NYC airports (this actually happened once on my very first time on tour with the Saint Thomas Choir), then board the plane and wait on the Tarmac for up to three hours, only to arrive at your final destination after the reason you were going there in the first place has already come and gone. Heck - my flight even left BHM at exactly the scheduled departure time! Man, I could get used to this...

But then descending into the NYC area produced something unexpected: it hit me like a ton of bricks that I am leaving this great city, my over six years at Saint Thomas, and all of the wonderful friendships I've formed - some of the closest in my life - all behind for the next new and exciting chapter in the life of yours truly. It's a lot of emotion that as I write this on the M60 back to Manhattan I am trying very hard to get a handle on.

I had always imagined that my last Sunday at Saint Thomas -- tomorrow -- would be a difficult one. No surprise there. But life goes on, and when I do finally say farewell, it's all for incredibly good things.

So here I am, already back in NYC with the worst case of figurative whiplash ever, off to do that thing that I do for one last time.

Oh yeah, we're classy

What you do when you only have two cups...

Yellow Pages. No dot. No com.

We ordered pizza. Birmingham does not have seamless.com. Yet. So we went old school, and it didn't cost any data.

The things you learn...

In spite of the craze of October's end, we were diligent in ensuring that all of our utilities were set up. So when we arrived, we were surprised to learn that our water was not running. After some investigation, however, we discovered that we had to find our water meter and physically turn it on. For those of you in the know, we know you're pointing and laughing at us. For those of you not in the know, the meter is usually located in front of your house, curbside. Ours was under an iron cover. Oh the joys!