ON ONCE IN A BLUE MOON RECOGNITIONS AND PREMONITIONS

I always had an artistic streak. But I come from an Eastern European family where the streak was never encouraged.  In fact, even if it was noticed, it would have been swept under the carpet.  Art was a hobby.  It was never meant to provide a living.  So, anything I drew, sang, or danced was met with a hesitant smile and a remark like, “That’s nice. Now go do your math homework.”  Math and science make money. But there were hints we received along the way.  It’s like when Siddhartha’s (prior to becoming the Buddha) father, King Suddhona, leader of the Shakya clan, insisted on teaching the young Buddha all the skills of being a warrior so that he could inherit the crown.  But we cannot control the paths of others. And this exact message was relayed to the king by a Brahmin priest who very specifically told the king, “Just as you cannot control the flow of a river, you cannot control Siddhartha’s destiny.  It is already written in the stars.  Siddhartha is not a warrior.  He will travel a different path.”  And just as the king did not pay attention to this warning, neither did my parents.  Clueless me continued to receive clues.  Some school kids would say, “you’re just different. You’re not like everyone else.”  But how?  I knew I was different, but how, and why?  I didn’t want to be different.  I wanted to be the same as everyone else. One of my friends said, “Sharon just feels more deeply.”  Yes. This is true.  Today I’ve learned that that’s called being an Empath. This was also the start of my yearning to be recognized for my talents, even though I didn’t know what those were yet.  That was my ego talking – for YEARS it would talk and talk and talk!   One of my teachers in elementary school called me a Utopian.  I asked him what that meant.  He said, “an idealist”.  Yes.  I suppose I am.  I am an open and confirmed PollyAnna. I try to see the good in everything, and to turn any negative into a positive.  So what?  What does that “skill” translate into?  Certainly not a traditional career.  Maybe because my parents couldn’t see my natural talents, I needed the rest of the world to see them, to acknowledge them, the way I thought my parents should have done.  Mine would not be the money making route my parents so desperately wanted for me.  And more hints would arrive, but not very often.  And I remember each one, as if it just happened yesterday. We were assigned art projects from time to time.  I don’t remember which class, and I don’t remember which teacher.  I had many of the necessary supplies because my father had a toy and stationary store.  I learned this technique where you’d put black poster paint over colored paper, and then with a wooden pencil-shaped utensil, draw the designs on the black surface so that the colors underneath would bleed through. I’m not at all sure why I was allowed to work on this for months and months, but I guess they saw how important this project was to me. Finally, one summer I was asked to submit my masterpiece.  I was taken by surprise when, at my elementary school graduation ceremony, the piece was finally presented, by our Principal, Mr. Johnson – for the entire student body, parents, teachers, and faculty to behold!  It had taken me the better part of a year to complete.  It was a village – hundreds of small homes with brick pathways leading up to the doors, chimneys, windows, surrounding trees, interwoven cobblestone streets…all of this was etched out through the black poster paint to reveal the rainbow colors  of the poster board beneath.  It was magical – truly magical.  Mr. Johnson called me up to the raised stage to present it.  I had no words.  I just proudly showed it to everyone.  There were some gasps from the audience.  Nobody could believe the intricacy of the piece, and the passion I had poured into it – it was all visible for them to see in my multi-colored night village. Another year, there was an announcement that the local arts council was having a poster contest for Halloween.  All the kids were talking about their ideas.   There would be haunted mansions, ghosts, goblins, witches, spiders, and vampires.  I wanted to be part of it so badly, but I couldn’t come up with an image.  I was comparing my feeble and inadequate poster ideas with everyone else’s, and it was clear that I was nowhere – blank slate figuratively and literally.  My mother kept reminding me of the entry deadline.  She saw my desperate struggle to find an image to draw.  Day after day – nothing.  No lightbulbs went off.  Every idea had been taken already, or so I thought.  It was slow and agonizing torture.  I think it was the final day I could enroll in the contest, and the idea came to me!  It was simple.  What’s wrong with simple?  I was looking for something fancy, crazy, original, and the entire time the answer lay in simplicity.  It was a gigantic jack-o-lantern pumpkin sitting on the ground against a starry night sky.  I guess something about the night sky always fascinated me.  It still does by the way.  I drew the giant circle that would be my pumpkin in pencil first, then the vertical grooves down its sides, then the carvings for its eyes and jagged toothy smile. I can’t remember if I included the traditional triangular nose. Then I drew the stem.  Simplicity was key!  Then when the penciled outline was just right, I went over it with black magic marker, so it popped.  Besides the smell of model glue, I loved the smell of magic markers too. (insert any hallucinogenic, addiction related judgmental comment here)  Then I filled in the entire circle with orange.  I must have used up two or three markers. I wasn’t one to leave white spaces in my drawings.  I also never colored outside the lines.  Today I ALWAYS color outside the lines, so to speak.  After I put the finishing touches on the night sky, I submitted the poster and then promptly forgot about it.  But this one gave me a different feeling.  I felt that in my discovery of simplicity being the answer, that I had unlocked the secret doorway.  It stood out, not because it was fancier, but because it just screamed the Halloween theme so elegantly.  I kept my secret hope alive. I felt that the silence of this wait for the winners to be announced was different than other silences.  It had a little sparkle in there, and I felt it.  I always feel sparkle, even when it’s not visible.  My feeling was right.  One sunny afternoon, my mother said I won first place in the poster contest.  She presented me with my little yellow square plaque with gilded edges, with my name on it – first place winner!  A small, yet major triumph for me.  And then came a completely different kind of artistic win.  I was in chorus. I auditioned.  I got in.  I don’t know how. I liked it, but I never loved it because I didn’t think my voice was anything special. Every week we would rehearse the tunes our chorus teacher selected for us.  I loved Mrs. Satterwhite.  She made everyone feel as if they were an operatic sensation even when it wasn’t true.  But then one day it happened.  The unthinkable.  Mrs. Satterwhite, thought MY voice was worthy of a solo!  A solo!  The song was Eres tu, written by Juan Carlos Calderon and played by the band Mocedades, representing Spain in the 1973 Eurovision Song Contest.  It placed 2nd, and then became an international hit.  I walked down from my usual chorus spot to the front where the microphone was and started off timidly, but with each chorus of Eres tu (It’s You), my confidence grew and this Mezzo Soprano belted it out.  Can you hear me?