March 2014 – BethSings

How Can I Keep From Singing

“There’s only us
There’s only this
Forget regret– or life is yours to miss.
No other road
No other way
No day but today” (from the musical~RENT)

Saturday night I found myself standing at a well.

Staring at the darting fish, I considered the woman at the well. Dry. Searching. Avoiding. “No day but today.” Like her and even the koi, at times I’ve experienced isolation or chosen to hide under a rock. As I stood there staring, pondering….I heard these words: Women by May Swenson

I laughed. At the words. At myself. At my arrival at that profound, perfect moment.

“No day…..but….” So many times we stop short. Second guess. “What if”. Think too hard, too much rather than swimming forward or even resting in the possible….we stop short of ‘today’.

The now. A present. Gift.

“There’s only yes
Only tonight
We must let go
To know what is right
No other course
No other way
No day but today”

Music and especially singing has brought delight to my life, especially nurturing singers. Mythologist Joseph Campbell wrote: “Follow your bliss”. Often, singers take an abstract approach to the art form surrendering to the possible through imagery. We balance both worlds: Art and science; collaborating, joining with others to bring about a cathartic experience. To achieve this, artists become vulnerable and relinquish control. Call it serendipity. Magic. Miracle.

“No day but today.”

Just as the woman at the well, our souls and spirits thirst. We hide in shadows or dart about under rocks searching for who knows what until we find or remember those like-minded others.

“I can’t control
My destiny
I trust my soul
My only hope
is just to be”.

Busy. Excuses. “Let go.” “No day but today.” The path is there just as surely as the notes on a page. Trusting and saying ‘yes’ to the possible then trusting others….

We’re told that ‘hope does not disappoint’. Sometimes we don’t know for what we hope, which makes the quenching more difficult.

Standing now at a different “well”. This one is in the knowing that all will be well, grateful for the path and song that lead me to this day. There really is “no day but today”. Seize it! And SING!

“There’s only now
There’s only here
Give in to love
Or live in fear
No other path
No other way
No day but today”

Vernal

The first day of Spring after an unseasonably cold Winter. Others far more eloquent than me have set “Spring” to poetry and music as well as captured her visually. Virginia Woolf got it right when she wrote: ““I enjoy the spring more than the autumn now. One does, I think, as one gets older.”

New life is BURSTING forth.

It been a full week. A challenging week. Solace came in knowing there would be time with a camera lens and music. Hearing students singing: “la, la, la la…it’s Springtime, it’s Springtime, it’s Springtime…. WAIT! That’s Antonio Vivaldi, Ms. Beth!” The Spring song continues….

Spring reveals herself in lady-like splendor. Creatively.

Rumor has it that the vernal equinox is the only day of the year when an egg can be stood on its end. When my kids were little we tried the science experiment. Sadly, it didn’t work. Even though it’s not true, we can admire the imagery. Eggs are nature’s perfect symbol for springtime and new beginnings. In March, when life is quickening in its seemingly miraculous annual way, we can’t help but ponder the cosmic egg of creation. Our newly hatched world is green, new, fresh, and as innocent as the dawn.

I can but trust that good shall fall at last–far off– at last, to all and every winter change to spring. —Tennyson

Silver and Gold

“Make new friends and keep the old.

One is silver and the other’s gold.”

Ask any Girl Scout. They’ll tell you the first song they learned as a Brownie. The spirit of those fourteen words runs through our veins

just as surely as cookies in March.

My grandmother was a woman of few words. Kind. Loving. A woman of faith and peace. We shared a birthday. She taught me many things:

mundane things like how to make the perfect roux and proper ironing technique by putting the wet, starched items in the freezer before ‘doing the deed’. More important life lessons: smelling a lie and prioritizing family and friendships.

She spoke of choosing friends wisely by modeling the passage from Sirach: Faithful friends are a sturdy shelter; whoever finds ONE finds a treasure. Faithful friends are beyond price, no amount can balance their worth. My grandmother always punched the word one as if there could only be one in a lifetime. Past the half century mark, I better understand what she meant.

Friendships are indeed treasures. The best are based on qualitative not quantitative factors. Time and geography aren’t a part of the equation.

Life was slower paced for her, my mother. Yes, even for me growing up. It was common place and even expected that families and close friends lived across the street, around the corner, across town, in the next town. FA-57140 was dialed on a red rotary then on a pink princess push button. The soundtrack of our lives was played on 8-track tape players or cassette decks and answered to names like “Davy”, “Bobby”, and “Donny”. Even when we dreamed of moving beyond the four walls of home we never imagined leaving behind such good friends….blood brothers and sisters….we could and would never forget. How could we? We would never forget such treasure….it’s buried in our hearts forever.

Silver. Gold.

There is a second verse of that Girl Scout song:

A circle is round. It has no end. That’s how long I’m going to be your friend.

The story repeats itself with each move. Each breath. Never leaving behind. Waiting. We carry with us those special ones. Always faithful. Always sturdy. Treasures.

Like silver and gold. No sum can balance their worth.

Phoenix Rising

Louisiana and Mardi Gras. They go together like red beans and rice. New Orleans and Jazz.

Mardi Gras isn’t just one day but a season, an attitude. Carnival season starts when the first King Cake appears on the Feast of Epiphany. In turn, the day following, “Ash Wednesday” is determined by the date of Easter which is set as the Sunday following the paschal full moon, which is the full moon that falls on or after the vernal equinox. A. Mouth. Full.

Like so many things in South Louisiana, the lines between sacred and secular are often blurred. Easter is late this year which made for a long Carnival season.

“Throw me sumthin’, Mister”!

Young. Old. In-betweens. The art of the ‘catch’. Balls. Doubloons. Pearls. Krewes. Kings. Queens. Floats. Flambeaux. Laissez le bon temps rouler. Let the good times roll.

It’s taken me over two decades to appreciate the finer points of the culture and tradition of Mardi Gras. Joie de vivre Twenty-five years of living here, this North Louisiana native-Irish-Catholic is still much more at home on Ash Wednesday; however, I have come to appreciate the rhythm and cadence of the changing seasons. Last summer I went to a parade back home in North Louisiana only to realize that most parades pale in comparison once you’ve been to any parade in South Louisiana.

Saturday I attended a local Mardi Gras parade with friends. A beautiful,warm day. There are no strangers at these events in South Louisiana. At one point the parade stopped for over 30 minutes. While we waited, music from the floats continued playing. A beautiful little boy, eight or nine, started dancing. The woman next to him joined in. Total strangers dancing together, joined in community. Diverse in age, race. No labels. Serendipity. Joy. The moment was beautiful.

As with all good things the parade ended. My son Patrick always liked the ‘last float’: the street sweepers. He enjoyed seeing the beads attached to the brushes. I always thought it was a nice segue from Carnival to Lent, a cleansing. Some of the things I have in my life need cleaning up, sprucing up.

Lent. A good street sweeper would do the trick. Slowing down after the parade. There are a few remnants of the good times had but cleaning up, examining the leftovers. Taking time. Thinking about others.

Finding the old leaves and burning them could be the right idea after all. Starting fresh. A phoenix rising from the ashes.