Last night I called Mother. I never know if I will catch her in a clear time or if I will have interrupted a nap and find her especially foggy. This time she started, as she often does, with "Oh, I'm fine- not doing anything." I said, as I often do, "Well, you deserve a rest, after all those years of caring for five children and a husband, and all the cooking and cleaning and teaching...It's like you've saved up vacation days!" She enjoyed that idea.
I told her about the hurricane and all the damage on the east coast and we got on the subject of storms. I always start slowly with the conversations to see if she is really up to complex ideas or if I should go directly to reminiscence, the safe route and always interesting anyway. "Do you remember when we went to see the movie of Carousel and the tail end of a tornado was roaring outside while they were singing 'When You Walk through a Storm" inside?" She didn't remember, but began commenting about all the severe storms we had in Michigan and that she had tried to protect us from the fear the adults were feeling. This led to her mother's many fears, especially of wind, since Grandma had grown up in Kansas.
I have been suffering the last few days from performance anxiety. I am going to finally be playing a concert after two months of unemployment, and the contractor is putting me on the first stand. It's no honor any more. I would rather sit a little further from the conductor and just do my job. There are a couple of little soloish lines to play, my hand hurts and I just want to keep life simple, but this is the reality.
So my 87 year old mother, not knowing all this, but maybe retaining a bit of her old mother's psychic instincts, began to talk about fear. "I learned not to worry. It does no good. I couldn't have stood up to sing in front of hundreds of people if I had let myself be anxious." She said she saw how anxiety had hampered her mother's happiness and determined not to have those attitudes. Of course, she may have happily inherited her father's much more relaxed temperament as well. Still, she also speculated that her marriage to our father had also encouraged her ability to live in the present and to deal with problems only as they arose, as a balance to his tendency to worry. She said his fears may have come from war experiences; I think along with an innately anxiety prone nervous system, that being responsible for supporting five children on a teacher's salary could be cause for worry. Whatever it was, she kept the equilibrium of the family, seeing to it that we had what we needed in musical instruments and lessons, clothes on sale and food on a budget, and found joy wherever she could. She sang as she shopped and scrubbed the floors and drove us around town. She laughed at any opportunity, snuggled babies, enjoyed friends and beautiful days. She gave our father friendship and support and their love was the anchor of our household.
This ability of hers to live serenely even as she has lost her husband, her career,her home, much of her health and much of the clarity of her mind is an inspiration to me. Her essence is the same as always. She is still my mother, still teaching me,still showing me the way.
Saturday, September 3, 2011
Friday, August 26, 2011
Before the Storm
Some thoughts today as everyone scurried to prepare for Hurricane Irene:
Most of us are at our best in an immediate crisis. My mother-in-law Dottie always said:" Man is a foul weather beast."
The prospect of a major storm is mostly very exciting and also allows us to put daily life aside to hole up and ride out whatever happens. I can summon all kinds of energy for a rescue- getting my friend to the emergency room in the Bronx a couple of weeks ago, taking care of a husband in his health troubles or Mother or the kids when they were little. Blizzards-driving to Michigan in '96, getting to jobs in NY through floods and snow and ice. And 9/11. The strength we all felt was enormous- we would do anything we could to save our country and our fellow citizens- many people really were heros at that time and we joined together in candlelight vigils and benefit concerts.
Then the real work began of recovering from the blow, of shaping what our new country would look like, and, mostly, the opportunity was lost in confusion and divisions and fear and all the opportunism that engenders. In those ten years we have devolved into a broke and bickering mess. We're the same people, but the crazy, fearful impulses have taken over for now.
I am the most afraid myself of the religious/political movements that are methodically determined to run the country and the world, if possible. They believe that it is a holy war, that it is their mission to rid the world of demons in the shape of homosexuals and women who want to own their bodies and scientists and generally anyone who disagrees with their doctrine. I occasionally play piano for a tiny dying congregation near me (I stumbled in on Easter) and this last Sunday the three of us heard from the pastor the words, "I don't know if you are aware, but there is a holy war in our country for people's souls." My blood ran cold. She also talked about the Second Coming as very soon, with a shining face. She may not be associated with the most extreme groups in the movement that I later heard about, but there was something that scared me.
If it is "end times", it is not because of some preordained supernatural event. It is not God or Jesus. It is human beings in their complicated brains, capable of genius and love and self sacrifice but also greed and power hunger and deep anxiety. Probably the very anxiety that would have saved the lives of many early men is now gone wild in the modern world, seeking ever more complex ways to have control over other human beings in the mistaken belief that it will make the winners safe. It is an ancient response to believe in magic when natural disasters occur or when humans do terrible things to each other. But it is the fear response that can also lead to tyranny. I pray-yes, pray- that the true source of strength and goodness prevails over those who would cause "end times."
Meanwhile, we can enjoy a short term crisis, something tangible, also something beyond the power of man. It is good for our souls to know that Nature is still bigger than we are.
Most of us are at our best in an immediate crisis. My mother-in-law Dottie always said:" Man is a foul weather beast."
The prospect of a major storm is mostly very exciting and also allows us to put daily life aside to hole up and ride out whatever happens. I can summon all kinds of energy for a rescue- getting my friend to the emergency room in the Bronx a couple of weeks ago, taking care of a husband in his health troubles or Mother or the kids when they were little. Blizzards-driving to Michigan in '96, getting to jobs in NY through floods and snow and ice. And 9/11. The strength we all felt was enormous- we would do anything we could to save our country and our fellow citizens- many people really were heros at that time and we joined together in candlelight vigils and benefit concerts.
Then the real work began of recovering from the blow, of shaping what our new country would look like, and, mostly, the opportunity was lost in confusion and divisions and fear and all the opportunism that engenders. In those ten years we have devolved into a broke and bickering mess. We're the same people, but the crazy, fearful impulses have taken over for now.
I am the most afraid myself of the religious/political movements that are methodically determined to run the country and the world, if possible. They believe that it is a holy war, that it is their mission to rid the world of demons in the shape of homosexuals and women who want to own their bodies and scientists and generally anyone who disagrees with their doctrine. I occasionally play piano for a tiny dying congregation near me (I stumbled in on Easter) and this last Sunday the three of us heard from the pastor the words, "I don't know if you are aware, but there is a holy war in our country for people's souls." My blood ran cold. She also talked about the Second Coming as very soon, with a shining face. She may not be associated with the most extreme groups in the movement that I later heard about, but there was something that scared me.
If it is "end times", it is not because of some preordained supernatural event. It is not God or Jesus. It is human beings in their complicated brains, capable of genius and love and self sacrifice but also greed and power hunger and deep anxiety. Probably the very anxiety that would have saved the lives of many early men is now gone wild in the modern world, seeking ever more complex ways to have control over other human beings in the mistaken belief that it will make the winners safe. It is an ancient response to believe in magic when natural disasters occur or when humans do terrible things to each other. But it is the fear response that can also lead to tyranny. I pray-yes, pray- that the true source of strength and goodness prevails over those who would cause "end times."
Meanwhile, we can enjoy a short term crisis, something tangible, also something beyond the power of man. It is good for our souls to know that Nature is still bigger than we are.
Friday, July 15, 2011
Healing at Camp
This week at Noyes Camp in Connecticut was especially important to me. The probable dissolution of my job at NYCOpera is something I have to face. I've been lucky to have worked in orchestras my whole career, with benefits and tenure, but now, at 64 and Bob with health problems and only 55, the company looks ready to collapse. I've made big changes before, but it has been 26 years. Here is some of what I wrote from my tent in the woods:
Remember this dappled breeze, the light lined between the trees, the relief of the air moving, the leaves leaning and rustling, peace. Nothing else matters. The crows clatter, the huge young hawk cryoohs for its mother and father, it may rain later, it may not. In this sanctuary of loving people, long history and the constant variety and changes of nature, any complication that may come my way seems eminently possible to handle.
The art classes have again brought me to myself with a painting of my Erato self. When I smother that, I die. I am ready for what the year brings if I keep reminding myself that this is my deepest soul and has nothing to do with age or any of the competitive places in life.
I think I will try making a daily schedule that includes writing and practice and exercise. The non-working days can become aimless or filled with busywork. Where will I find nature in the city? And stimulating company? That's the challenge.
This, anyway, is the image: my beautiful Emily teaching the movement classes, leading us to other dimensions; all the birds talking away; cool breezes, layers of light and green in the woods as seen through my reading glasses- only light and green and shimmers where the air catches the tops of the trees.
Remember this dappled breeze, the light lined between the trees, the relief of the air moving, the leaves leaning and rustling, peace. Nothing else matters. The crows clatter, the huge young hawk cryoohs for its mother and father, it may rain later, it may not. In this sanctuary of loving people, long history and the constant variety and changes of nature, any complication that may come my way seems eminently possible to handle.
The art classes have again brought me to myself with a painting of my Erato self. When I smother that, I die. I am ready for what the year brings if I keep reminding myself that this is my deepest soul and has nothing to do with age or any of the competitive places in life.
I think I will try making a daily schedule that includes writing and practice and exercise. The non-working days can become aimless or filled with busywork. Where will I find nature in the city? And stimulating company? That's the challenge.
This, anyway, is the image: my beautiful Emily teaching the movement classes, leading us to other dimensions; all the birds talking away; cool breezes, layers of light and green in the woods as seen through my reading glasses- only light and green and shimmers where the air catches the tops of the trees.
Sunday, June 5, 2011
The Beautiful Girls: a Wedding
When I saw my daughter Emily standing at the front of the tiny chapel in her wedding dress, time stopped. All the complications and conflicting emotions were nothing beside this iconic image: the slim, vulnerable figure in white, a spiderweb thin shawl over her bare shoulders, sunlight from the open door striking her shy and shining face. She thought she was alone, pacing a little, waiting for the next part of her life.
At college graduation time I first imagined my daughter's marriage. I met the parents of her boyfriend of the last couple of years and liked them very much. I thought, I could really enjoy these in-laws! Of course, the relationship didn't last.
My daughters are twins, always closer to each other than to anyone else. Alison lived with a woman for two years after Bryn Mawr, was very active in the LGBT community, then after the breakup, only dated men. I enjoyed meeting the girls' loves, but I learned not to count on anything. They were finding their way.
Their model of marriage was none too strong: their father and I had married at nineteen, lived through the experimental 60's era, and finally divorced when they were eight. He had remarried, re-divorced and finally was alone. I have remarried but have never lived full time in the same city as my husband.
It's a time of marriage transition and re-evaluation, for sure. Since procreation is not its only purpose and women are no longer property or dependent on men, a huge shift has occurred. All the preconceptions are out the window: sexuality is a continuum and the freedoms my generation pioneered but hardly knew how to experience are real for my daughters. They have found their way back to commitment based on love and mutual respect as human beings.
When Emily decided to try Match.com, she registered as seeking both men and women. The person who matched was Colleen, and this is who waited to make formal the bond they had made long ago.
They live in Massachusetts, so their marriage is legal, but many federal benefits are denied them. They are limited in where they can live. And, many Americans hate them without knowing them and think that their innocent and private life together somehow threatens the "institution of marriage."
The ceremony was held outside on that lovely spring day, as it was chilly inside the chapel. The girls were barefoot in the new grass, a mountain stream tumbled over rocks in the background. Friends of theirs, a female couple, officiated. Colleen read "Will You be My Personal Penguin?" Emily read her own vows with only a little shake in her voice. Alison welcomed her new sister and promised she wasn't jealous. I read this to them:
Dearest girls:
May your walk together be
serene as the waters at dawn
sweet as the first bird piping
long as the whole fresh day
strong as the sun at noon
deep as the quiet beneath the noise
of life going about its business
and you being lively and crazy and fussy and busy.
May you walk at your own speed
and sometimes run
and sometimes dance for joy.
We danced in a circle, even their father, who never dances. He said later that this was the most honest wedding ceremony he had ever seen. This is a union of pure love, in every way blessed.
At college graduation time I first imagined my daughter's marriage. I met the parents of her boyfriend of the last couple of years and liked them very much. I thought, I could really enjoy these in-laws! Of course, the relationship didn't last.
My daughters are twins, always closer to each other than to anyone else. Alison lived with a woman for two years after Bryn Mawr, was very active in the LGBT community, then after the breakup, only dated men. I enjoyed meeting the girls' loves, but I learned not to count on anything. They were finding their way.
Their model of marriage was none too strong: their father and I had married at nineteen, lived through the experimental 60's era, and finally divorced when they were eight. He had remarried, re-divorced and finally was alone. I have remarried but have never lived full time in the same city as my husband.
It's a time of marriage transition and re-evaluation, for sure. Since procreation is not its only purpose and women are no longer property or dependent on men, a huge shift has occurred. All the preconceptions are out the window: sexuality is a continuum and the freedoms my generation pioneered but hardly knew how to experience are real for my daughters. They have found their way back to commitment based on love and mutual respect as human beings.
When Emily decided to try Match.com, she registered as seeking both men and women. The person who matched was Colleen, and this is who waited to make formal the bond they had made long ago.
They live in Massachusetts, so their marriage is legal, but many federal benefits are denied them. They are limited in where they can live. And, many Americans hate them without knowing them and think that their innocent and private life together somehow threatens the "institution of marriage."
The ceremony was held outside on that lovely spring day, as it was chilly inside the chapel. The girls were barefoot in the new grass, a mountain stream tumbled over rocks in the background. Friends of theirs, a female couple, officiated. Colleen read "Will You be My Personal Penguin?" Emily read her own vows with only a little shake in her voice. Alison welcomed her new sister and promised she wasn't jealous. I read this to them:
Dearest girls:
May your walk together be
serene as the waters at dawn
sweet as the first bird piping
long as the whole fresh day
strong as the sun at noon
deep as the quiet beneath the noise
of life going about its business
and you being lively and crazy and fussy and busy.
May you walk at your own speed
and sometimes run
and sometimes dance for joy.
We danced in a circle, even their father, who never dances. He said later that this was the most honest wedding ceremony he had ever seen. This is a union of pure love, in every way blessed.
Saturday, March 12, 2011
New York State of Mind
March 7th
I came up yesterday to hear Killian's band from Western Michigan U. play at Jazz at Lincoln Center. I was so energized by being back in the city and then by the terrific concert, hearing and seeing all those talented kids have a peak experience of their lives. They had been there for three days, and there was the band set up in the Allen Room, the backdrop huge windows looking over Columbus Circle and the lights of New York City. The arrangements were tight and intricate and everyone gave their all. An old guy to my right dressed in a pin striped zoot suit with a purple shirt and fez, a former member of Manhattan Transfer, was clapping and shouting out his approval , the audience was rocking.
A recording is not even close to the power of a live performance. I couldn't stop moving with the music and realized afterward that all my neck pain and shoulder aches were gone. When the rhythm is coming up through your feet and the sounds are all around your body, you can't worry- you can't think too much- you want to dance and that's all.
I had a good talk with Killian before he had to get on a bus for a group party to end the visit. It sounded like he'd used every minute of his trip- good eating, going to MOMA, and a great experience at a Small's jazz club in the Village where Wynton Marsalis showed up to sit in with the group they'd gone to hear.
As I walked- almost ran to my parking lot, I got that New York pace back: fast walking with no effort, that thrum around me, all the possibilities, all the aliveness.These beautiful talented young people, all their lives ahead of them, aware but undeterred by the idiocies of previous generations, undeterred also by how hard it might be to make a living doing what they love. They'll find a way, make new opportunities. Thank God for them and their teachers who encourage them. And thank God for this city that sometimes even makes me feel that there's dance in the old dame yet.
I came up yesterday to hear Killian's band from Western Michigan U. play at Jazz at Lincoln Center. I was so energized by being back in the city and then by the terrific concert, hearing and seeing all those talented kids have a peak experience of their lives. They had been there for three days, and there was the band set up in the Allen Room, the backdrop huge windows looking over Columbus Circle and the lights of New York City. The arrangements were tight and intricate and everyone gave their all. An old guy to my right dressed in a pin striped zoot suit with a purple shirt and fez, a former member of Manhattan Transfer, was clapping and shouting out his approval , the audience was rocking.
A recording is not even close to the power of a live performance. I couldn't stop moving with the music and realized afterward that all my neck pain and shoulder aches were gone. When the rhythm is coming up through your feet and the sounds are all around your body, you can't worry- you can't think too much- you want to dance and that's all.
I had a good talk with Killian before he had to get on a bus for a group party to end the visit. It sounded like he'd used every minute of his trip- good eating, going to MOMA, and a great experience at a Small's jazz club in the Village where Wynton Marsalis showed up to sit in with the group they'd gone to hear.
As I walked- almost ran to my parking lot, I got that New York pace back: fast walking with no effort, that thrum around me, all the possibilities, all the aliveness.These beautiful talented young people, all their lives ahead of them, aware but undeterred by the idiocies of previous generations, undeterred also by how hard it might be to make a living doing what they love. They'll find a way, make new opportunities. Thank God for them and their teachers who encourage them. And thank God for this city that sometimes even makes me feel that there's dance in the old dame yet.
Ridley Creek Park PA
March 2, 2011
It's the mud time, the path a murk of wet leaves and dog prints, the last of the snow melt. The woods is exhausted by winter, dead vines draped over broken limbs and bare trunks, like some old woman dressed in layers of capes. I can't really get lost, though I don't know the trails, since I can see the roads through the naked trees.
Nature never fails me, even when it's not the most verdant example or when I am most hungry to "get out." I still had a few minutes of real silence, and that towhee's song and the crunch of pine needles. It's a haven in the middle of development sprawl. Just since I was last there four or five years ago tracts of mushroom houses have multiplied. Mock mansions all alike, horrible toadstool houses poking out of the hillsides- all those people paying top dollar to be nowhere.
Anyway, a day outside is a gift, and I am grateful that I have it and have mobility, both physical and automotive. And I'm glad these acres have been set aside for people like me.
It's the mud time, the path a murk of wet leaves and dog prints, the last of the snow melt. The woods is exhausted by winter, dead vines draped over broken limbs and bare trunks, like some old woman dressed in layers of capes. I can't really get lost, though I don't know the trails, since I can see the roads through the naked trees.
Nature never fails me, even when it's not the most verdant example or when I am most hungry to "get out." I still had a few minutes of real silence, and that towhee's song and the crunch of pine needles. It's a haven in the middle of development sprawl. Just since I was last there four or five years ago tracts of mushroom houses have multiplied. Mock mansions all alike, horrible toadstool houses poking out of the hillsides- all those people paying top dollar to be nowhere.
Anyway, a day outside is a gift, and I am grateful that I have it and have mobility, both physical and automotive. And I'm glad these acres have been set aside for people like me.
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Singularity
Time magazine had an interesting article this week about what is called the Singularity theory: the idea that artificial intelligence will explode exponentially until we are obsolete or at least vastly changed as a species. I felt seeing the movie "The Social Network" ( about the inventors of Facebook) like Rip Van Winkle. I have so little understanding of-and interest in- computers, other than taking advantage of email and some internet. All the technologies are for me like my car: I just want it to work for me, I don't want to take it apart. But all of this is developing at breakneck speed, and it may change who we are.
But what then will we be? What is being human, anyway, but the combination of our emotions, creativity and relationships? Our rational intelligence can be matched and surpassed by a machine, I expect. As the article said, it would be a great tool for progress in all kinds of fields, such as medicine ; in fact, it is already. So, when all the knowledge needed for survival and quality of life is handed over to Artificial Intelligence, what of us is left? Is the messy part what we really are? When I feel really bad and doubt myself and drive myself nuts, is that what will survive apart from A.I.? What is it that is me basking in the sun, loving the feel of it on my face and the smell of melting snow and fresh mud? Which part remembers my birthday party at age six when the cake with a carousel top caught fire and feels grateful for the way Mother worked to give us a rich happy childhood? Who grieves that she is not sure where she is right now? We do know what is left as her quantifiable intelligence fades away: her unmeasurable self, her sweet nature and lovingness, her patience and acceptance. Will A.I. love, dance in the woods, weep before beauty?
Some of the advances, like the social networks, are really an exaggeration of basic human behavior- we seek group connection and approval, and Facebook provides that over long distances and with many people. It may sometimes be superficial, but it does provide gratification, and, at its best a unity of purpose as in the Egyptian revolution. That is an exponential explosion,even if it is still human behavior. Mass movements have happened before, like the Crusades, but certainly not at this scale and speed. This is technology giving support to progress.
People want to communicate. Still, I think there also needs to be a place to be alone in quiet, a place of more ancient rhythms like the ocean or the wind blowing through a forest. Our inner strength needs renewal and recognition. As long as we know in our core who we are, the whir and chatter of a digital world can do its job for us, not be us.
But what then will we be? What is being human, anyway, but the combination of our emotions, creativity and relationships? Our rational intelligence can be matched and surpassed by a machine, I expect. As the article said, it would be a great tool for progress in all kinds of fields, such as medicine ; in fact, it is already. So, when all the knowledge needed for survival and quality of life is handed over to Artificial Intelligence, what of us is left? Is the messy part what we really are? When I feel really bad and doubt myself and drive myself nuts, is that what will survive apart from A.I.? What is it that is me basking in the sun, loving the feel of it on my face and the smell of melting snow and fresh mud? Which part remembers my birthday party at age six when the cake with a carousel top caught fire and feels grateful for the way Mother worked to give us a rich happy childhood? Who grieves that she is not sure where she is right now? We do know what is left as her quantifiable intelligence fades away: her unmeasurable self, her sweet nature and lovingness, her patience and acceptance. Will A.I. love, dance in the woods, weep before beauty?
Some of the advances, like the social networks, are really an exaggeration of basic human behavior- we seek group connection and approval, and Facebook provides that over long distances and with many people. It may sometimes be superficial, but it does provide gratification, and, at its best a unity of purpose as in the Egyptian revolution. That is an exponential explosion,even if it is still human behavior. Mass movements have happened before, like the Crusades, but certainly not at this scale and speed. This is technology giving support to progress.
People want to communicate. Still, I think there also needs to be a place to be alone in quiet, a place of more ancient rhythms like the ocean or the wind blowing through a forest. Our inner strength needs renewal and recognition. As long as we know in our core who we are, the whir and chatter of a digital world can do its job for us, not be us.
Friday, January 7, 2011
Solstice- December 2010
This year's greeting, when I was feeling pretty discouraged about the state of things, especially political.
We are at the Solstice:
Willful human darkness,
dried up dusty old ideas,
murky greed and fear
retreat
as light spreads,
freshness stirs
and cracks through to the sun.
Last night I heard a boy's clear voice singing
"O Come, O Come Emmanuel"
and hope came back to me.
He expects another chance,
he has the energy,
the world is his.
We are at the Solstice:
Willful human darkness,
dried up dusty old ideas,
murky greed and fear
retreat
as light spreads,
freshness stirs
and cracks through to the sun.
Last night I heard a boy's clear voice singing
"O Come, O Come Emmanuel"
and hope came back to me.
He expects another chance,
he has the energy,
the world is his.
Snow
This was last year's Christmas poem- I was afraid I'd lose track of it:
Snow
When it snows overnight
I hear the silence,
leap up light as a child on Christmas morning.
White sweeps clean the city,
shines like hope.
Again I think:joy!
How could we have children otherwise?
Knowing what we know,
the shadow slipping along behind us.
It is our blind and happy nature
to think it all will change,
that this Christmas will be the one,
this birth the saving grace.
Snow
When it snows overnight
I hear the silence,
leap up light as a child on Christmas morning.
White sweeps clean the city,
shines like hope.
Again I think:joy!
How could we have children otherwise?
Knowing what we know,
the shadow slipping along behind us.
It is our blind and happy nature
to think it all will change,
that this Christmas will be the one,
this birth the saving grace.
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