Wednesday, June 30, 2010

Week 23 through 26

06.05.10 to 06.27.10

…the Evenings

and Mornings

and Evenings blur…

…here are bits of what I remember:


06.05.10 to 06.06.10

Consumed with the duties of being a teacher.


06.12.10 to 06.13.10

Preparing for the Salon...









06.05.19 to 06.20.10

in Residency, Saturday my workshop free day, I read, took notes, polished writing, gathered thoughts and on Sunday met with my genre group.


06.26.10 to 06.27.10

There was a bridal shower at 11,












and a funeral in the backyard at 2

where, once upon a time

we draped our bodies

like velvet across giant

cable spools and rolled

merrily through summer:











Spools.

Wish there was time for spools,

time for summer,

but life rolls merrily along

wearily chasing Sabbath.

Monday, May 31, 2010

Week 22

Evening





















I pulled out my paints and the canvas in process. Here’s what I learned this round:

1.Spent too much effort correcting lines after I began painting.

2. Color: have a plan while the canvas is bare.

3. I can pull a tight effective composition together.

4. Have “my” technique down pat.

Morning

Made a household plan for the week and charged to the market.

Evening

One.

Taylor performed again today, same place, same time one week later. I have to admit, even making the conscious decision that the concert was a Sabbath event, I went to work.

Here were more than a dozen kids working tirelessly to sharpen their musicianship. Still, this is the third performance this spring where I was squirming in the audience because the mentors will not acknowledge entropy staring them in the face.

I can understand the lack of audience at Hannah’s performance—stubborn leadership. I will never forget the snippet of dialogue I had with the head of the Music Department when we met to inquire about the program:

“So I understand that the university has quite a reputable Film Department, second to USC…”

“Yes.”

“I am wondering if your music composition majors have the opportunity to collaborate with the film makers?”

“Oh heaven’s no.”

At this point I lost my voice. What?!!! I’m sorry, but this seems like a no brainer. I simply could not respond this woman’s indignant response. My heart sank. Why would an entire department at a reputable private university make a conscious decision to miss an opportunity? This is thwarted potential.

So here I was, for the second weekend in a row, in an audience of primarily parents facing the same problem: entropy. Somehow the music world has become elitist, disconnected from an audience at large that desperately needs to be inspired.

When the 8 year old began to play Dr Gradus ad Parnassum I caught a glimpse of the fine line. I thought to myself, "What's the difference between this child performing at this level than the six-year-old who, according to his demanding mother read at a post high school level?"

Musicians need to learn notes. Readers learn phonics. But as mentors, we must walk the fine line to help them know that music is more than notes and reading is more than phonics.

When it was time for Taylor to play, I think the audience caught a glimpse of potential, not just his potential, but "potential period" in his original composition. Looking down the right hand side of the program I saw impressive composers: Liszt, Mozart Beethoven, Mendelssohn, Chopin, and Bredberg. Surreal.

After the concert, I was struck how many parents came over to talk with my son. But one father’s comments made my ear perk, “You told a story, it was very visual experience.”

SEE… I was WORKING!!!!

Two.

LOST! I’m still processing all of this, another end to another era. I began watching the Pilot Part 1 (my third time around) after dinner and that led to the Pilot Part 2, but I couldn’t stop there with Tabula Rasa next in the queue.

Massive procrastination?

Intellectual stimulation?

Creative muse?

What if this recent Dharma drop is manna?

Jack: “Three days ago we all died we should all be able to start over.”

I’m always trying to out run something that is slowly gaining. No matter how much tenacity I muster, I eventually loose steam. Terrified the beast will devour me when I collapse I’m surprised when the thing just passes by. Life’s not a race it’s a journey. What if Sabbath is an opportunity to start over?

Friday, May 28, 2010

Week 21

05.22.10 to 05.23.10












Evening

Twenty weeks ago I was sure contemplating Sabbath had everything to do with silence. But the chase is more like sifting for sound in a chasm of noise.


Morning

I spent the morning marketing.


Evening

After a week of bronchitis Taylor performed Prokofiev… I think I heard the smoking piano beg for a moment to breathe.

LOST!

Wednesday, May 19, 2010

Week 20

05.15.10 to 05.16.10

Twenty weeks? Really?


Evening

I am sick, running a fever, my head aching. I am tired.

… by dinnertime I have five, maybe more like seven hours to go until I was ready to submit the most challenging submission in the MFA process to date… hours and hours until I sleep!

Morning

Slept until noon, I suppose that is Sabbath.

Evening

Lost my voice, cancelled my Monday class, sent assignments via email.

Week 19

05.08.10 to 05.09.10

Friday leading up to Sabbath:

I was exhausted, ‘tis the season. Spending hours upon end in the confines of a booth at a curriculum fair might look like something obvious to the casual glance. Thing is, I am not a salesman. I am a person deeply invested in my philosophy of education.

I was so relieved when Shirean picked me up from the conference. So relieved that I forgot to grab my overnight bag when she scooped me up. We were halfway to San Diego before I realized my absent-minded mistake.

We made the best of it, grabbed dinner at the mall so I could run through The Gap for pj’s and an outfit for the morning.

After dinner I did something I had not done in decades: I went to a club to hear a band. My friend Shirean’s son is a musician. Suffice to say it was inspiring to see this young man doing the work of chasing his dream and to observe an audience being vicariously inspired.


Evening

Aside from holidays and a handful of family gatherings, time spent with my sister-in-law revolves around work. I look forward to show season, when we have rare down time driving to and from conferences. Tonight, exhausted by two days of grueling work, our two-hour discussion was Sabbath refreshment. Exiting the 405, five minutes from home, it dawned on me that our discussion surrounding high school culture resonated with my musings on education and left me chasing questions:

Why are so few students interested in the work of becoming educated?

What happens when we leave no room for the development of the individual?

Is traditional education breeding Acedia whose one purpose is to crush hope?

Morning

In the garden I continue to breathe.

Evening

So tired I don’t remember.

Week 18

05.01.10 to 05.02.10







Evening

After a long day of writing with editor-in-chief Sara, Il Fornaio was refreshing. Being away from the computer helped the brain cells hydrate.

Morning

Sara helped me realize Sabbath potential once again. Shovel in hand, she showed me that it's possible to dig in (literally) and accomplish what needs to be done. Out with the old dirt in with the new... five-year-old dirt was flying! Sara demonstrated the cardinal rules:

Food: 1 part peat, 1 part vermiculite, 1 part compost,

Water: vital in the garden

Companionship: till, tend, cultivate

...very Sabbath if you ask me.


Evening

With MFA deadlines looming, a mass of creative writing and revisions staring me in the face, dinner with dear old friends had that mysterious Sabbath effect of refreshing my creative drive and building more hours into the day.

Thursday, May 6, 2010

More Weeds









There simply is not enough time. I panic and move faster through another day, tackling the stacks set before me.

This time every year, I get the itch to plant a garden, “…but there are children to care for, and grades to issue, dishes to wash and clothes to fold, dinner, emails, phone calls…”

Today my friend Sara taught me to dig for sunshine, to be warmed by dirt. Just as my dear country mouse (I am, admittedly jealous, still trying to embrace the city mouse persona) was about to get into her little car, escape this city, she looked at me with that gleam in her eye and said, “Let’s do it…”

The next thing I knew I was in the garden furiously dumping ancient dirt from garden containers.

Topsy turvey.

We moved on to tackle weeds that sprung up around the edges of the fence where we would be moving the containers so afternoon sun will tempt vines to crawl up twine and drip with snap peas. But the problem was, fun as this moment was, as much as I wanted to be in the garden especially with my friend, checklists were flashing in my mind.

I was grabbing at weeds hand over fist when I came to a plant that was flowering—a single yellow flower—I paused. So pretty… I was mesmerized until I remembered it was a weed that would turn to thistle and stick to my socks. I yanked it out and noticed that the checklists disappeared, am staring at oodles of time. My schedule doesn’t actually look so bad.

So what’s up with that?