Music as Meditation Resumes

Sunday, March 3, 2019

Our spring house looking from downhill. I am grateful for the water security 

all this snow will bring us next summer. 

As  March approaches on the calendar, I'm looking forward to sharing reflections of a very snowy winter at Music as Meditation. That series of contemplative music and words resumes on Sunday, March 3 at 5 PM at Christ Episcopal Church in North Conway, NH. I have new music of my own to share, along with a student-teacher duet, and some images about the arc of life gleaned from my woods on Davis Hill and my experiences over the last few months. 

I've been traversing my little bit of woods on a pair of silly plastic snowshoes. I purchased these snowshoes at the ESSC ski sale in the fall of 2002, when I had yet to experience a New Hampshire winter. They were inexpensive and I thought my kids might use them. It turns out that these toys are my current favorite snow accouterments. They allow me access to my beloved woods despite 5 feet of snow on the ground.

     The first snow of 2002 came on October 25th--a fact I remember because it was my son's 13th birthday. I remember his joy at that first New Hampshire snowfall. I'm not sure he retained that joy in the first snow as he gained a few more years and more experience of North Country winter from the working end of a snow shovel. Now he lives in Colorado where he can enjoy winter without needing to shovel much since snow there usually melts directly after falling.  I say usually because I recently experienced the joy of walking through his snowy Colorado neighborhood with him and his dog Lucy in tow; as we made our way around the lake near his house, I witnessed sparks of that eager child still residing in my grown-up boy. 

I arrived in Colorado from my hometown of Salina, Kansas, chauffered by that really-rather-mature young man who is my son. He picked me up from my parent's house where I'd been trying to help my very competent mother recover from knee surgery. I say trying to help, because she had made such preparations, and there were so many solicitous relatives around that nobody could help much, but we all enjoyed the family fellowship and rehearsing our shared heritage through stories, knitting, cooking, and music. 

After that refreshing time with family, I found myself home and sitting at my beloved Chickering. I almost didn't know how to begin, but I reached out and played a resonant E flat chord. What came next can only be described as a gift; in one sitting, this etude fell out of the sky and into my hands. I'll be playing it at Music as Meditation.  

My friend Ann Strachan will join me for Arvo Pärt's Spiegel im Spiegel. This piece never fails to smooth over any ruffled feathers I have and make me aware of the essential peace subtending our temporal existence. Ann and I, who are age-mates, have spent some time talking about this peace as we've prepared this music and enjoyed sharing life stories. 

    

Though it is true that we cannot transcend our time of life, we do have the ability to experience something of the eternal through our reflections. This season, I've been contemplating trees and how those beings exist in the eternal cycle of growth and decay. You can read a photo poem called Amid The Forest by clicking on the page by that title on the right-hand side of this blog. 

     

     

Salina Meditations

    Tomorrow is the first Sunday of February. I had planned to return to my Music as Meditation Schedule, but priorities I often forget to pay attention to caused me to change my mind. I am spending some time in my hometown--Salina, Kansas, instead. Don't come to Christ Church tomorrow. I do hope to be back at the Steinway in beautiful North Conway on the first Sunday in March. In the meantime, I'm engaging in some Salina Meditations.

    Today is a beautiful spring day; I know the calendar does not indicate spring on this groundhog day, but the temperature and the humidity do. If I lived here, I would be tempted to plant some peas today in the hopes that I would get a very early crop. The air is rich with moisture, the sidewalks are wet, and the ground smells like Kansas. 

     This morning I played Mary Had a Little Lamb on the piano in my childhood living room with grand-niece who is seven years old. She just had her first piano recital, shepherded into this experience by my sister who is also a piano teacher. Later today, my sister and I will likely make some family music. 

     Every time I visit my family and this town I am grateful for the strong heritage the "accident" of my birth gave me. I drew my first breath in a musical family living in a musical town. I began piano lessons even before I could really read words, making music a language as natural to me as the brand of English people speak out here, giving extra vowels to many syllables and making a breathy sound at the beginnings of WH words. I even heard my mother say "strip-ed" (two syllables!) yesterday. 

    So instead of a Musical Meditation this month, I offer you a photo meditation of my hometown. I just wish you could hear the accent embedded in the photo captions. 

Yes, Grain elevators really do look like that. 

You can't really see the mural painted on the glass windows that top this Art-Deco warehouse in the North end, but they always remind me of the art classes I attended in those warehouse buildings.

I'm fascinated with this old warehouse building which belonged to the Lee company. I've taken many artsy pictures of it over the years. This is the latest.

This is the bike bike rack stationed at the City's new "Field House."I love its self-referential nature. 

And this is home.

I'll see you all in March. Several people are planning to play with me. We'll have some violin and piano music, and some flute and piano music. Who knows what else the Kansas light and landscape will inspire.