My best friend is getting married today…

We have been friends for over 30 years. Brad has had my back through thick and thin. I am so excited for him, his lovely bride Missy and her two adorable boys. Brad also has two grown young men from his first marriage.

I will be adding photos and info later…

For now, let me just add that this takes place 11 years to the day of the death of my mother, Katherine, whom I consider to be the real Queen of the Night. She bewitched us all with her charm and dark powers, but now, we are all coming into the light of day…

Here is her obit…

https://www.nj.com/hunterdon-county-democrat/2009/10/former_flemington_resident_kat.html

To make matters even more exciting — if that is possible — today is also the open house of the new owners of the barn where my horse is stabled. That will be, to say the least, utter Dylerium. I hope I don’t have to pull Miles off the ceiling when I get there, as there will be over 200 people, it looks like, as well as hay rides (next to his pasture) and a band and who knows what else…<groan>…

So, if you follow along with the plot of Mozart’s last major opera, The Magic Flute, you will see that we have come to the end of it…with Papageno and Papagena living happily ever after…the Queen, the Kingdom of the Night and Monostatos’ power is destroyed forever…

And you just might want to listen for the voice of Wolf in his Zauberflote as well…

Update on Mozart’s Die Zauberflote…230 years later…

Today we celebrate the 230th birthday of the debut of Wolfgang Mozart’s last major opera, The Magic Flute. Beloved through the years and around the world, few operas, if works of art as a whole, have been so wholeheartedly embraced by the public. But, of course, Mozart, being a genius of incomparable stature, has added a mystery into the opera. And God has granted him favor of an extraordinary kind — the opera has come alive, and is right in front of you…

What? you might ask…well, yes, the characters — bad and good — exist in real life. One or two of them you may already know…

Why have I not heard of this? You might ask…

Well, there has been a cover-up of staggering proportions…in fact, my family and I have been targeted and hunted down by those trying to cause us bodily harm as well as slander us…all of this done in the airwaves but below the level of the press…so that criminal activity can continue…

For one thing, it seems we are approaching the part where the Queen of the Night and Monostatos have joined forces to try to destroy Sarastro’s Temple.

I call this Minnegeddon…

However, the Queen of the Night — my mother, Katherine, has been replaced by the wanna-be — my sister, Angela. And, if that name rings a bell (Angel this and that, Angelina) you might be guessing that the likes of Bob Dylan (pursuit of the Nightingale in a number of his songs) has been a part of the cadre I call Monostatos — which also includes Dylan’s mini-me — ex-husband (who also adopted my children) Bill Scrickel of the Minnesota Orchestra…

We could, in fact, say that Bob and Bill are telling us just how Mozart is treated…(stay tuned for further discussion on this…)

Papageno — my best friend, Brad, has found his true love, Missy, with her two lovely children…

And my three fabulous children, the three K’s, as well as their families, are protected by the great Zauberflote…

Speaking of a real-life Sarastro, that is Wernher Von Braun, extraordinary genius who took us to the moon and beyond; with, however, a severely flawed background…beloved Papa…

We mourn those we have lost — my mother (Dylan’s Queen this and Queen that), and my father (Dylan’s Jokerman)…

and

We especially grieve those we have recently lost — my wonderful husband Donner Brown and dearly loved stepson, Kevin Dixon…

And as for Wolf…well, I think you’ll hear his voice in the sound of the Zauberflote..

This has been an arduous journey…our family was torn apart to get the lawlessness out…

You can read all about the Bob Dylan connection at my blog, Dylagence…

https://dylagence.wordpress.com/

Here’s my song Pamina’s grief…

Why I teach…

I can say in all honesty, looking back over my experiences, that without my teachers I would not be alive today. In fact, I probably would have died long ago. The persecution by my birth family was so severe I barely had the will or energy to keep on going at times.

Most of my teachers had no idea what was going on in my family’s house. How could they? A possibility of being caused bodily harm, verbal and emotional abuse were not subjects even discussed back then. And how would they have known? I did not have the words to tell them.

Some of my teachers seemed to sense something. I love them, every single one of them. A few of them tried to help. The first was a piano teacher who insisted on teaching me chord structure and voicing at a very young age. I had started taking piano lessons by the time I was three years old. My Mother uncovered my composition book and promptly fired the teacher.

The band director at Andrew Warde High School went out of his way for me. He mentored me into a spot as the Principal Flute of the University of Bridgeport Orchestra when I was a sophomore, as Warde had only a band. He enlisted the help of a teacher there as well. The teacher my Mother selected had me practicing Kulau exercises to perfection. But with the university teacher, before I knew it, I had learned the Mozart D Major Flute Concerto. I used it for the Connecticut Allstate audition and won a spot as first flute in their Concert Band. Mr. German then insisted I perform the Concerto for the school, which I did, to an astonished and enthusiastic response. I then went into the Girl’s bathroom and broke down sobbing. No one from my birth family attended the performance.

It was the first performance of Mozart playing Mozart in about two hundred years. My best friend, Allison, attempted to console me, to no avail.

And so my school life became my real life, while my family life remained a quagmire. Each day I would deliberately close the door on the darkness of the Fairfield house and strive to do my best at school.

I can give you many other examples of teachers who went out of their way for me. They did not know me personally, nor were they likely doing anything different for me than they did for all the other students. But it was because of their mentoring that I kept on going.

And so, when I teach, I am shot out of a cannon every morning. I am a substitute in the public and charter schools of our area, so I usually have a different assignment every day. I don’t know who I will work with, or what will happen. To complicate things, the schools of today are a far cry from the ones I attended. I frequently feel like a sojourner in a foreign land.

But that’s another story.

I just hope that I am able to give back in some small measure what was given to me. I hope that I can provide a nurturing word or validating response that will be of value to the students. I want to make sure I don’t leave anyone out…just in case there is one dealing with what seems like an unfathomable darkness at home…

Desperately trying to turn a pig’s ear into a silk purse (vintage FB post from pre-lockout days….)

Originally published August 14, 2010…

Somebody (or bodies) has been throwing money at the Minnesota Orchestra. They have made repeated trips to Europe in the last ten years; each time, it is claimed the trip is paid for by an ‘anonymous donor’. Each trip costs at least a million dollars, so these donors must have much more than that available to them. This time it is the Proms in the UK; didn’t they do the same thing last year with the same caveat? How ironic.

Do they think that if the MO is thrown up against the wall of greatness enough times, some of it will stick? Whomever is coming up with all this money is wasting their time as well — they should have first paid the 50 dollars, or whatever it would take, to have their name changed. They used to be called the Minneapolis Symphony; but those glorious smalltown days are over. They insisted on having a wider scope, a greater message to deliver — so they are stuck with the inglorious tag of Minnesota — or Monostatos — One State. They are dragging themselves down with chains of their own making, oblivious to it all. Hilarious.

August 14, 2021

Hint: They’re still at it, only on a tad smaller scale. And, yes, when I was naively studying flute with Sid Zeitlin, the MO’s Principal Flute, he spent the better part of a lesson chastising me for over the MO’s name change. At the time, it made no sense whatsoever…

But now, I think this may be Minnegeddon, where the truth of what happened to Wolfgang Mozart is revealed…and the Minnesota Orchestra and their standing-bass player William Schrickel have a part in that…

They took food out of the mouths of my children…

Such was my life after being locked out by the Minnesota Orchestra bass player I call “Monostatos” and his cohorts. I performed concert after concert to showcase the lovely Zauberflote, but when I put up posters that included my phone number to request tickets, I received only hundreds of hang-up calls. This was incredibly distressing to us. I was especially concerned about the effect on my children.

None of them attended, of course. They could have lifted a finger to help, but did not…

Such was our life in those days. I remember feeling so jealous of our neighbors, who were lovely people who had escaped from Iran. The air around our townhomes was always full of rich perfumes and the smell of fresh fruit. They juiced melons and berries and their home overflowed with nurishment. I wished that I could have showered my lovely children with the same sort of excess.

But instead, after giving a series of concerts at the Art Room of the Hennepin Avenue Methodist Church, payments for those concerts forced me to by.a bag of potatoes, which at least I could afford. We ate potatoes in every form for a month. I called it “Potato January”. We still talk ruefully of those days…

<sigh>…

The Bob Dylan connection…looks like it’s all about the stones…

How strange it seems to be bringing it all back home to the first time I heard Bob Dylan’s song Like a Rolling Stone. I had been kicked out of my family’s home in Fairfield Connecticut right after graduating from Bucknell University, Phi Beta Kappa and University Honors (one of two and the only woman to do that) because I had taken a job in New York City. I found myself on a lazy Saturday afternoon walking down 57th street with thirty dollars to my name and a month’s railroad pass. My first month’s salary was going to pay the employment agency that found the job for me — at MONY, on 1740 Broadway. I found a place to stay and it all worked out ok, but when I first heard that song the following year, I thought it had been written about me. All I could hear was the screeching, mocking voice of Dylan. I tuned him out after that. For a very long time.

But now it is all coming together, and the connection makes sense, as it looks like Bob Dylan and his people had been receiving information about me from my birth family, without my knowledge and consent. And some of it seems to have ended up in some of his songs. The intent appears to be to create a false reality that would cause me to lose hope…

I discuss this at my blog, Dylagence…https://dylagence.wordpress.com/

Here is an example…

And at the center of the vortex…

It looks like Bob Dylan has been stoning me, to try to cause me to feel slandered and humiliated…and encouraging his insider fans to do the same with the oblique references in some songs coming from ‘inside’ information from my birth family…

The Dylan connection seems to be in the vortex.

I can’t change that, even if I wanted to.

The battle seems to be in the vortex.

The battle is already won…

Isis

It was the first of February

A cold winter day

with brilliant sunlight chasing away

the gray doubts and questions

Could this really work?

Could we make a life together

in the bitter frigid North?

He cut his hair off the next day

I asked him why

He mumbled, ‘I can’t say’

and we went on

with a mystery that grew

like an octopus between us

things that came apart

we mended and repaired

But something underneath

was stalking our success

our home became divided

an invisible mess

We whirled around in the darkness

searching for our stability

we’d try to catch it

but then it would somehow slip

We bravely fought together

united we were so strong

though somehow the ground was shifting

and it wasn’t long

before we sensed a frantic helplessness

try to grab our dream and choke it

like rose petals

it scattered in th wind

I could not hold onto him for very long

it seemed no more than a day

He died in my arms in brilliant sun

and heat

surrounded us in mockery

there was so much left to say

He was like a moonbeam

fragile and yet bright

he slipped away into

the fog and night

Mr. Schrickel and Mozart’s Zauberflote…

During the approximately 666 days that my children and I were pretty much held hostage by this man there were a number of experiences that, at that time, did not make much sense. Hindsight being what it is, however, I now feel I have some sense of perspective.

At the same time Mr. Schrickel was enticing me to practice on the stage at Orchestra Hall with the Zauberflote (who could resist) there were also odd things going on behind the scenes. For one, it seemed we usually ended up in some sort of heated dispute over something or other after the practice sessions. This was all supposed to be my fault. This happened so frequently I began to wonder if there was some sort of agenda. Now that has become obvious. Creating trauma is how the Zauberflote was thought to be vampirized, to create, in effect, blood money for the attacker. (I think Wolf was treated this way too, and for just this reason…)

But another strange theme began to surface. I was being blamed for not making money. Rather than helping to establish my credentials on the world stage, he was making demands that I earn money from sources outside the world of music. Frantically, I began to look for temporary work. I did not understand what was happening. One of my first jobs was scrubbing floors at Abbot-Northwestern Hospital. He seemed pleased by that, and one morning held my hands, looking at them as though they were prized possessions. When I was offered a permanent job, I felt validated to know I had done my best. He seemed puzzled by that. Uncomfortable somehow. I graciously declined, and went on to other opportunities…

Is this possible Bob Dylan connection taking us to Warp Speed?

In the early years when I had moved to Minnesota from Boston — via San Francisco and New York City — I had never heard of Gustav Mahler. His music had been the rave of New York for some time — Leonard Bernstein being one of Mahler’s greatest champions. But I attended a luncheon concert of the Minnesota Orchestra quite by chance, and my life changed forever…

This was back in the days when the Minnesota Orchestra was not great. The players were bored. They were more interested in their poker games in the downstairs lounge at Orchestra Hall than they were in the music they were performing. They knew all the old war horses by heart. They did not even need a conductor. Even worse, the one they had most of the time was reportedly becoming senile. He had had to stop mid-stream in a performance of the Stravinsky Sacre du Printemps because he had become hopelessly confused.

–I should say that I was studying flute with Sid Zeitlin, the Principal Flute, at that time, sometimes at Orchestra Hall, so my recollections are either from things I saw first-hand or heard via him–

So there I was, sitting calmly in my seat on the isle, mid-section of the main floor, that morning, expecting to fall asleep as during a bad sermon, but still mildly hopeful of hearing something truly musical. I don’t recall the rest of the program. Whatever it was had completely lulled me into complacency.

The guest conductor that day was Klaus Tennstedt. I had not heard of him either, and was not terribly impressed with his first half of the concert. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Klaus_Tennstedt

I was prepared to accept yet another grim reminder of how not to perform orchestral music.

But then, the Mahler First Symphony began.

The ‘Titan’, it was called.

My ears perked up. Before long I was listening with my entire being. His world came alive to me. I was no longer just sitting in a cushioned seat — I was transported to another time and place.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Symphony_No.1(Mahler)#Second_movement

The Third Movement, with its mocking motif of “Frere Jacques” caused me to sit up in shock. It was as though Mahler was describing the fallen angel in the Mozart vortex who attacks my family and me. Who had caused my Father to nearly succeed in ending his own life. How could he possibly know this? I wondered. Nobody else had ever done this.

The opening passage of the last movement shrieked inside my head. Mahler was speaking to me from the vortex. I shook my head in disbelief. I thought I was going to faint.

How did Mahler get inside my head? I asked myself…

And so he had…

And my quest began in earnest…

I became a frantic and fanatic Mahlerian. I have been so ever since.

And, according to his wife, Alma, Mahler’s final words were “Mozart! Mozart! Mozart!’

Mahler was the first inter-continental conductor, transiting by ship from Europe to New York. He was one of the first conductors of the orchestra that became the New York Phil. Carnegie Hall was his venue.

I realized that it was Mahler who had brought the Mozart vortex from Vienna to New York.

At a great price — he died at an early date and in a tragic way…

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gustav_Mahler

His widow, Alma, remarried and lived a long life. She maintained a home in NYC until her death in 1964.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alma_Mahler

But what happened after that? The fallen angel kept trying to attack and entrap my children and me in Minnesota. We seemed to be free-falling into the vortex ourselves, with no direction known.

That is, until this unique and completely unexpected possible connection to Minnesota-born Bob Dylan surfaced.

And now, it just may be that this is what is catapulting us into our destiny after all…

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