Chestnut Hill Local

Inspirational, gifted Hill musical performer, teacher

by LEN LEAR

The best teachers have that magical ability to help a child conquer all obstacles that keep him/her from achieving all that he/she is capable of.----Maria Montessori, legendary Italian educator (1870-1952)

Think back to the best teachers you ever had in your life. What qualities did they all share? Most likely infinite patience and tolerance, a passion for their students and their subject, the ability to make the most complex material seem completely intelligible, a great sense of humor, compassion, lavish praise when it is deserved, firm but fair criticism when a student's effort is deficient, refusal to give up on any student, whatever the difficulty, etc.

Based on interviews with current students, former students, parents and musical peers, this litany of attributes constitutes a perfect description of Cynthia Fleming. A 47-year-old cancer survivor, almost-lifelong Chestnut Hill resident and master of numerous musical instruments, Fleming has been an oboe soloist at Carnegie Hall and has performed with the Philadelphia Orchestra, San Francisco Orchestra, Philly Pops Orchestra, Chestnut Hill Community Orchestra under Al Conkey (as a teen), Berkeley Symphony Orchestra, Princeton Chamber...

Let me start by saying that I am an animal lover. It isn't just dogs and cats. I help earthworms across sidewalks after the rain. I gently cup moths that come into our house and let them outside. I have taken several wounded squirrels and birds to the Schuylkill Valley Rehabilitation Center to be nursed back to health. But I have my limits. I prefer to enjoy nature outside of our dwelling.

With all of the rain that we had this summer, our home must have looked like an ark to the local wildlife. I started noticing the normal tell-tale signs that we had mice: the little droppings, the hole in the bottom of the dog food bag, and that sinking feeling that I saw something running really quickly along the wall, out of the corner of my eye.

Finally, one morning I went to get my Special K from the cabinet above the refrigerator, and jumped back, screaming at the top of my lungs. He was gray with these little beady black eyes and was sniffing the air for my scent. I looked at him. He looked at me. We were both terrified and didn't know what to do next. Should I get a broom like I see the housewives in cartoons do and swat at him? Can you...

Another baseball season has passed, and fans can hardly wait for the next one. Those with less appreciation for the great American pastime might wonder why this sport fascinates so many people around the world. The reason, I believe, is because it relates to mankind's three most critical skills: running, swinging big sticks and throwing hard objects.

In prehistoric times, life was short, and the attainment of mere subsistence was no mean achievement. It was a time when men were men -- and so were women! If you wanted to eat, or needed a new suit of clothing, you had to chase it down and kill it. (Thus the origins of the expressions "I could eat a bear" and "Dressed to kill.") So running was of primary importance since men spent half their days chasing after something they wanted to eat, and the other half running from something that wanted to eat them.

Dexterity in swinging a club was also key to success in hunting, dealing with nasty neighbors and procuring a wife. These lucky primitives had no need to wine and dine the ladies of their desire. Rather, the love-struck brute needed only to bop his dream girl on the noggin and drag her off to her future happiness. (Thus the expression: "She's a real knockout!") Should the cave lady's father raise any objections, the eager suitor could give him a few bops as well.

Once the blushing bride regained consciousness, she wasted no time in dragging hubby...

What does Hiller do in Damascus during Ramadan?

by BETSY O'NEIL

Lifelong resident Betsy O'Neil, a graduate of Springside School, is a teacher at Penn Charter Middle School who has been on a leave of absence while living in Damascus Syria, where she teaches English and is taking classes in Arabic. This is the latest in a series of reports she has been sending back periodically.

It is November 1, and we are smack in the middle of Ramadan. As most of you know, it is an integral part of the Muslim religion, a month of fasting (seeam) from sunrise until sunset. During the day, a Muslim must abstain from all food, drink, gum, cigarettes, anything that can be ingested. The month is timed by a lunar calendar (hejri), and so it moves about two weeks every year. The weather is nice now in Syria, and with daylight savings the fast usually ends around 5 p.m., The cool air, even the rain and the early darkness have shown me another side of Syria. Just last night I noted how I could smell the rain in the air. It was moist and earthy, reminding me of the mountains in summer.

Syria is predominantly Muslim, so much of the daily life changes...

Eschenbach, Salerno-Sonnenberg both disappointing

By MICHAEL CARUSO

The Philadelphia Orchestra returned to its core repertoire this past weekend when Maestro Christoph Eschenbach led the ensemble in performances of Mendelssohn's Violin Concerto in E minor (with Nadja Salerno-Sonnenberg as soloist) and Rachmaninoff's Symphony No. 2 in E minor in the Kimmel Center's Verizon Hall. Saturday night's concert was completely sold out. Perhaps management should take a hint; if you program music and soloists audiences want to hear, you'll wish that you still had available those 400 extra seats at the Academy of Music to accommodate the overflow.

Although Rachmaninoff composed his Second Symphony a decade before the outbreak of the Russian Revolution in 1917 sent him into permanent exile -- he eventually settled in Beverly Hills, California, of all places! -- it, like virtually all of his music, sighs with the melancholic nostalgia for a civilization soon to be "gone with the wind," to borrow a phrase about our own nation's Old South.

The Philadelphia Orchestra has a long history with not just the music of Rachmaninoff...

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