Climb Every Mountain

There is nothing so impressive as a coloratura soprano really bringing home those high notes.

Being an alto myself, I guess you could say I have range envy.

I was watching/listening to 'The Sound of Music' and appreciating the range and quality of Julie Andrews in her heyday. While the notes that she and the mother superior could sing are well out of my performance range, they are certainly not out of the reach of my ability to appreciate the graceful leap from low to high, from delicate to powerful and from the simple to the sublime.

My late mother was a coloratura soprano who could make Snow White's voice slip from her throat in an effortless moment of joy for her children. Even shortly before she passed on, she could summon Snow White or Maria von Trapp for the entertainment of her family and friends.

One holiday season, years and years ago, I was asked to put together a program which would be our musical Christmas gift to the community. As the closing number for the program, the pianist and I had decided that 'Oh, Holy Night' would be the finale. It wasn't the wimpy choir version that most people remember from the junior high school Winter Pageant.

Instead, it required the gifts and talents of a coloratura soprano to hit the high note and go up from there to the musically dizzying heights of beautiful bell-like wonder that was as a fresh breath in the cold or a brightly wrapped surprise beneath the tree. I had asked Momma to sing this particular piece and the praying began.

Between the pianist, myself and Momma, I am quite sure the Good Lord got an earful on a routine basis during the rehearsals. Not to mention the prayers of the faithful choir who sat each rehearsal with anticipation for the last few measures that were never unfolded to them.

That night, with a chapel packed with those who recognized the wonder and joy of a musical Christmas, the heavens opened and a musical mountain was climbed. Within those soaring measures of musical perfection, my mother amazed and astounded us all with the precision and skill that only practice and prayer can make come to pass.

The entire audience took in as one a breath and held it in anticipation of what was to come, for better or worse, during those last few notes. Either the solo would reach high into the stratosphere for an echoing glimmer of heaven in musical notation or it would simply remain an earthbound but nice closer for an average program.

I can honestly say that night I was witness to a miracle of great proportion. The literal spirit of God touched hearts and shared the joy as everyone indeed climbed the same mountain and hoped against hope to plant their own spiritual flag into the mountain peak of attainment enfolded in the closing strains of that hymn.

When the last echo faded away, the applause was thunderous. My mother graciously acknowledged their love and appreciation which they returned to her and, in short order, she reverted to being that timid and shy woman who shunned the spotlight.