Can’t Hit the High Notes

 And  I no longer care.

from AnneMontgomery

I like to sing. I’m an Alto 2, which meanswomen at my end of the vocal spectrum don’t get those high-soaring,glass-shattering solos. If singing were a house, we’d be the foundation, deepin the ground, supporting all the fancy rooms upstairs. As an Alto 2, I am alsosometimes called “sir” on the phone.

I don’t have a great voice. I learned this when I auditioned forNew Jersey’s All-State Chorus when I was in high school and didn’t make thecut. I also got a hint when my singing teacher one day said, “You have anice little voice.”  At that moment, a bellwent off in my head, signaling that my dream of becoming a Broadwaymusical actress was probably unrealistic.

Still, I did perform in about ten schooland community theater musical productions, and I sang in two groups incollege. One was an A-cappella ensemble that, in retrospect, was ratherawkwardly named the “Swingers.” I also played the guitar with ratherrudimentary skill, which made me popular at Girl Scout camp, where singingaround the campfire was an evening norm.

Then, following college, I stopped singing. Istopped playing the guitar. Though I lugged that old Yamaha 12-string througheight states and 24 moves and would ceremoniously place it in acorner of whatever new dwelling I inhabited. I ignored it, save for acursory dusting now and then.

Fast forward about 35 years. Nowa teacher, I joined ranks with three of my brethren: three women with highlevels of performing expertise. One used to sing with big bands and playedthe piano. One was a member of the aforementioned high-soaring,glass-shattering soprano circle, and the other was a professional actress.Which, of course, made me the occupier of the lowest rung on ourmusical totem pole. We would perform around the holidays at nursing homes,singing songs from the 1940s, 50s, 60s, and 70s, everything from the AndrewSisters to the Mamas and the Papas to Simon and Garfunkel with the usualChristmas fare thrown in.

I enjoyed our practices and performances. Ihadn’t realized how much I missed music. In an effort to make myself morevaluable to the group, I picked up that old guitar. I struggled, butlearned a few songs we could perform. I also served as our MC.

Then, one day, the piano player abruptlystopped during practice. “You’re off key!” she said during one of the raretimes I sang solo. I tried again. “No! Here’s the note.” She repeatedly plunkedthe piano key. The other singers looked away, embarrassed for me.

Shortly thereafter, I got sick with what Ithought was a miserable lingering cold. My doctor couldn’t figure out what waswrong and sent me to a specialist. The nose and throat man checked me out,then explained that surgery was required to remove a strange colony ofanaerobic creatures that had taken up residence in my sinus. (Yep, it wasas gross as it sounds. Hope you’re not eating.)

I remember, prior to the operation, I wasasked to sign a batch of forms. One informed me that I might lose my eye. Isigned it. Another let me know that I could suffer brain damage. I signedit. The third explained that I might come to with my voice irrevocablyaltered. I stared at the form, then handed it back to the nurse. “I’m not signingthis,” I said, as I envisioned waking up with a voice like FranDrescher.

The thought of never being able to sing again made me sadderthan I thought possible. I know what you’re thinking. Sadder than losing eneye? Sadder than brain damage? Really? All I can say is…yes.

The good news is I neither lost aneye, was deprived of any important bits of brain matter, nor had my voicedchanged. Even better, I could once again hear notes properly. And now, thoughour little group has disbanded, I sing and play my guitar most days with awild abandon I didn’t have before the surgery. And, though I can hit even fewerhigh notes than in my youth, I don’t care as much. I’m just happy to sing.

I performed in about ten musical productions, mostly in myyouth. Here, I play Golda in my high school production of Fiddler on the Roof. Even then, I knew I wasn’t the bestsinger in the group. It took me 40 years and the prospect of losing my voice tocome to the conclusion that being the best wasn’t the point. Today, I take joyin just singing.

Please allow me to give you a brief intro to my latest women's fiction novel for your reading pleasure.

The past and present collide when a tenacious reporter seeks information on an eleventh century magician…and uncovers more than she bargained for.

In 1939, archeologists uncovered a tomb at the Northern Arizona site called Ridge Ruin. The man, bedecked in fine turquoise jewelry and intricate bead work, was surrounded by wooden swords with handles carved into animal hooves and human hands. The Hopi workers stepped back from the grave, knowing what the Moochiwimi sticks meant. This man, buried nine hundred years earlier, was a magician.

Former television journalist Kate Butler hangs on to her investigative reporting career by writing freelance magazine articles. Her research on The Magician shows he bore some European facial characteristics and physical qualities that made him different from the people who buried him. Her quest to discover The Magician’s origin carries her back to a time when the high desert world was shattered by the birth of a volcano and into the present-day dangers of archeological looting where black market sales of antiquities can lead to murder.

Former television journalist Kate Butler hangs on to her investigative reporting career by writing freelance magazine articles. Her research on The Magician shows he bore some European facial characteristics and physical qualities that made him different from the people who buried him. Her quest to discover The Magician’s origin carries her back to a time when the high desert world was shattered by the birth of a volcano and into the present-day dangers of archaeological looting where black market sales of antiquities can lead to murder.

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Anne Montgomery has worked as a television sportscaster, newspaper and magazine writer, teacher, amateur baseball umpire, and high school football referee. She worked at WRBL‐TV in Columbus, Georgia, WROC‐TV in Rochester, New York, KTSP‐TV in Phoenix, Arizona, ESPN in Bristol, Connecticut, where she anchored the Emmy and ACE award‐winning SportsCenter, and ASPN-TV as the studio host for the NBA’s Phoenix Suns. Montgomery has been a freelance and staff writer for six publications, writing sports, features, movie reviews, and archeological pieces.

When she can, Anne indulges in her passions: rock collecting, scuba diving, football refereeing, and playing her guitar.

Learn more about Anne Montgomery on her website and Wikipedia . Stay connected on Facebook , Linkedin , and Twitter .