Riding the Wave

I haven’t written a blog post in weeks – maybe even a couple of months. What’s that about? Well, I have been very busy! And that is good news.

In March of 2010 I was dragging and upset with the world because I wasn’t feeling good. This year I am so busy I can’t find time to sit still. I am really enjoying all of the activities I have going on in my life right now. The only problem is finding the time to do everything.

I am still following the food plan that I started on January 2, 2011. No dairy, no caffeine, no flour, no sugar. Shopping has been difficult and I have had a couple of close calls due to misrepresentation. I got all excited about Crystal Light having a new product that they were calling “Pure.” No artificial sweeteners. I was thinking that they were using stevia, but when I checked the package the first ingredient was sugar! A person has to be careful every minute.

People are telling me that I look healthy and happy and I have gone down a couple of jean sizes. It’s all working!

During the first week of April I went on vacation to Virginia Beach and Norfolk, Virginia. I lived there for 26 years and after being in New Hampshire for six years I was completely flummoxed by the traffic. I thought the turnpike between Nashua and Manchester was bad, but it has nothing on the expressway between Norfolk and the Oceanfront of Virginia Beach. I swear that two motorcyclists passed me doing at least 90 miles an hour while weaving in and out of traffic.

All that traffic didn’t slow me down though. I managed to see almost everyone who wanted to see me and who I wanted to see. I spent a couple of days walking in the Norfolk Botanical Gardens with my best friend, Barbara, had dinners with Laura and Chris, Deb, and Grace, walked in First Landing State Park with Peggy, and spent time on the beach with Suzanne and her kids. I also visited the shelter where I used to work and saw all the wonderful work that is being done there. I was so grateful to see Donna, Willmers, and Fran and the new stainless steel refrigerator in the shelter kitchen. I had wanted one of those for years and Fran had managed to find the money to get one!

I also was able to sit under my favorite tree in the world. It is an oak tree in the Norfolk Botanical Gardens under which I have sat with most of the people that I have loved. I have also spent a lot of time meditating there and I was grateful to see it still standing. I also managed to get some great photos of one of the eagles who have been nesting in the gardens.

The day after I got back from vacation I was at the Bike Barn in Manchester picking up the bicycle I had on lay away all winter. I managed to ride ten miles that first day and another seven the next. It felt so good to be back on wheels. I used to ride a lot back in the 80s and early 90s and I find it is like meditation for me. It clears my mind. When I was a teenager (and going through all the angst that is involved in those years) I used to get on my bike and ride for miles much to the dismay of my parents. One Saturday afternoon I got on my bike in Superior, WI, where I was in college, and rode the 50 miles to the town where my parents lived. Only one person knew what I was up to and she wasn’t going to tell anyone. I ended up at my Uncle Tiny’s bar and he loaded my bike in the back of his truck and took me the last three miles to my parents’ home. There was one last hill I didn’t think I could make before dark. It didn’t dawn on me until years later how much terror that had caused in my uncle and my parents. It had been less than two years since my favorite and beloved Uncle Elroy had been killed while riding his bike just three miles away from his home. This was a man who had ridden his bicycle the full circumference of Lake Superior and then died so close to home. I think I have a lot of him in me and I miss him to this day.

The week after vacation I came down with a stomach virus that had me down for at least six days. I managed to get through yoga teacher training weekend without a relapse but didn’t really feel I was going to live until the weekend was almost over. In fact, it was about 2:00 on that Sunday afternoon that I lay back on my yoga mat and said “I feel better!” I couldn’t believe it. It had happened in an instant. The only problem was that my appetite came back with a vengeance. Isn’t that how it always works?

Then I had String Camp at the music school for three evenings this week. I was so glad I was feeling better because I really wanted to get a taste for what it would be like to play chamber music with other musicians. It was wonderful. I managed to make a few contacts that could lead to playing in an ensemble this fall. The best part, though, was the concert on the last night of the camp. Well, actually the best part was the Pre-Twinkles playing their violins. The Pre-Twinkles are three, four, and five year-olds who are take Suzuki violin lessons. They were so cute! They were all dressed up and had little teeny violins. One little girl even had a pink violin. There was one little boy, though, who had stage fright and ran off to his mother as soon as they started to play. They did very well, though, considering, for most of them, it was their first time playing in front of an audience.

I have had a couple of people comment on what a nice life I have. It is true. I do. I worked long and hard to get here and there were a lot of really bad years. I have had jobs that were precarious, homes that were shaky, relationships that were iffy, and a lot of time spent wondering if life was ever going to get better. It has. I also know that life is like riding a wave. Sometimes I am on top of it and other times I am slammed face down in the sand. I am going to enjoy riding this wave as long as it lasts.

Music and My Soul

I seem to have almost fully recovered from the nasty virus I had over the past couple of weeks so it is time to sit down again and write. I also am energized from my writing group meeting yesterday. Now I just need discipline and a lack of distractions. I often wonder how much of the novel would get written if I found a cabin in the woods with no internet or television, stocked up on tea, bread and peanut butter and just stuck with it for about a week or two. Would I go crazy or would I actually get it written? These characters are all living in my head. I know them fairly intimately. At times they demand to get out - usually at 11:00 at night when I am trying to get to sleep.
Feeling physically better means I am back on track with my health plan. I shopped for good food yesterday and have done my yoga and meditation for the past few days. The cello has also seen the light of day and is sounding fairly good. These are all signs that I am on the mend.
However, today I feel a little tender. Not physically, but emotionally and spiritually. I was finishing my yoga routine and resting quietly with my legs up the wall when Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata started playing on my CD. It was so moving and sweet that tears came to my eyes and I lost my breath. It was overwhelming and I have no idea where that emotion came from. I am often moved by beautiful music but this seemed to have gone to a soul level and I am still feeling the effects. I am now listening to Yo Yo Ma’s Appassionato CD and find myself stopping to listen to musical phrases and imagining the movement of the bow across the strings. Music has been one of the greatest pleasures of my life, both listening and playing.
I wanted to play music from the time I knew what a piano was. However, my parents both said that they weren’t going to pay for something I would probably play for a few months and then drop. I think they realized I was serious when I started playing the trumpet in fourth grade and even after two months of barely being able to get anything besides the sound of percussive farts out of the instrument I hung in there until I was placing first in music competitions in junior high band. I started playing piano when I was 12 or 13 and fell in love.
My piano teacher was like a character out of a strange novel. Her name was Betty and she was very eccentric, lived with her parents and was of an unknown age. She dressed like a gypsy in flowery dresses and skirts over crinoline and peek-a-boo toe high heels. She had long black hair that hung over her shoulders and her features were somewhat exotic under layers of blue eye shadow. Betty also had very long fingernails that were painted fire engine red. When I imagine her I can almost hear the sound of the nails clicking on the piano keys while she played.
Betty was also one of the brightest characters of my childhood and adolescence. I think her loveliness and eccentricity played a large part in my growing love of music. One day she stopped me while I was playing a Chopin nocturne and asked me if I saw auras. I replied that I had no clue what she was talking about. Then she told me that when I played Chopin my grey eyes turned brown. She said it was my passion for the music that caused this change. For some reason, I believed her. I knew that I loved Chopin and I would not have been surprised if deep cellular changes occurred when I heard his music.
I continued to play piano on and off over the years. My trumpet, unfortunately, went into its case after high school graduation and appeared very rarely after that. It was eventually sold during one of those periods of my life when a few dollars was more necessary than a battered instrument.
I love hearing music played. I have always loved hearing symphony orchestras and pianists. And I love playing music. When I turned fifty I needed a new challenge. I had reached my thirty year goal of visiting the Himalayas and had even managing to have a border skirmish with the Chinese, but needed a new challenge. I had always wanted to play a string instrument. I assessed the situation and decided that a violin would be too hard on my hands and neck so I went with the cello. I have not regretted it since. I am not a prodigy by any means, but I have managed to learn to play well enough that I can enjoy a good hour of playing on my own. I have had a couple of wonderful teachers but neither have the eccentricity of Betty. I wish she was around to hear me now.
When I listen to classical music I am particularly struck by the mellow sounds of the cello but I also love the oboe. When I think about it, the oboe’s lower notes sound very similar to the cello. I think they are often interchanged in some orchestras. I wish one of my grandchildren would play it. Katie plays clarinet and Molly plays flute. Caleb will probably play drums or a brass instrument. Maybe Lizzie will play oboe or a string instrument.
When I went to the Boston Symphony a few weeks ago to see and hear Yo Yo Ma I was seated where I had a direct view of the lead oboe player. Since the director was blocking my view of Yo Yo, I watched the oboist instead. He moved with the music, levitating slightly with the higher notes and dipping down in front of the music stand with the lower notes, swaying gently while counting measures when he wasn’t playing. I think his eyes were changing colors when he played.
Music brings out tenderness and awe. It moves me in ways I really don’t understand but I am willing to ride out that vulnerability and be in the moment that each note is played. If it makes me sad, so be it. If it makes me want to dance, so much the better. I can’t imagine life without it.