family – Page 2 – BethSings

So Long Summer

Summer 2015 is quickly coming to an end. It’s been a lovely, eclectic time. A few weeks each year filled with spontaneity, reflection, productivity and just plain being lazy on some days. Dare I admit it, summer is fun even without my kids.

http://www.puckermob.com/lifestyle/11-things-sentimental-girls-want-you-to-know

Being sentimental doesn’t make us pushovers or weak. Reflective. Future thinking. Grounded in kindness.

These summer days brought me to a deeper understanding of connecting the past to the present.

Next week school starts. Thirty plus years teaching music, private voice and now theater has taught me that maintaining connections are important. This art is a new addition to my classroom this Fall.

Each one of us is on a journey with

a unique story.

A new school year is always a time of re-commitment and discernment. New journeys and stories to share.

On the Road - Dallas — On the Road – Dallas

Looking for signs along the way.

Chicago and EWF - July 2015 — Chicago and EWF – July 2015

Companions to sweeten the journey.

Time for quiet and gratitude.

I recently read that energy and wisdom need each other. That idea is what still draws me to teaching: youth and it’s energy encountering whatever wisdom I may have. I certainly don’t have all of the answers but life experience and “journey”. If we listen to one another we both learn. A collaborative experience.

Here’s to summer’s refreshment and here’s to the new school year in whatever you do.

Puzzle People

Driving home from my oldest’s friend’s son’s wedding last Sunday it occurred to me that life is like putting together a puzzle. At times we’re not quite sure what the picture is unless we look at the box.

Not too long ago someone said they had seen some of my photography, asked when I took lessons. On that drive home I recalled those “lessons” and others in the process of putting ‘the pieces together’.

Mr Galleon was my 7th and 8th Grade Science Teacher. Unconventional, he believed in “life lessons”. He built a dark room in the science lab so that those of us who were interested could learn photography. He took photos around town for everything from sports events to weddings. What a profound influence both he and my band director, Mr. Howard Jackson had in my life. Mr. Jackson rebuilt the old Paramount organ at the school. The band room was the place everyone would hang out. That was over forty years ago. Both Mr. Jackson and Mr. Galleon were educators who went beyond the classroom. They were servants, not people showing up to do a job.

Follow your bliss and doors will open for you that you never knew existed. Joseph Campbell

We are all worth more than the worst thing we have done in our lives. Sister Helen Prejean

In mid-June the final pieces of the puzzle for a composer’s forum came together, numerous artists and arts organizations sharing their time and talent to bring about an amazing weekend of art song and opera, some had never been performed in Louisiana. For over thirty years I’ve been an events organizer but this puzzle was different. Given the opportunity to discuss and collaborate with the creators of the works, our artistry was called to a deeper place. We were called to a place of patience, understanding, forgiveness.

Sometimes puzzle pieces fit. Other times the discovery takes sifting for the picture to become clear.

In the summer, my grandmother always had a puzzle going. The creativity of each individual piece fitting into another individual piece.

People and their lives are like that. There’s always another piece of the puzzle waiting. My theater friend Carole had figured that out. Eighty years old when she died a week ago Friday, she volunteered not only at the theater but also with St. Vincent de Paul. Lovingly nicknamed “Moose Lady”, she was a puzzle person.

Lately I’ve been less concerned with the big-picture….and enjoyed the pieces. Like Mr. Galleon, Mr. Jackson, my grandmother and Miss Carole, hope that makes me more of a puzzle person.

Sparkle

It’s been more than a month since the last blog. In these last weeks my daughter and youngest child received her Master’s degree. Tomorrow my son celebrates his twenty-ninth birthday. These words and photos come with thought. T wenty-five. Twenty-nine years. Maybe a life time.

Several years ago, I arrived at a lonely, uncommon place, at least for me. Feeling obsolete. I had always been keenly aware of others needs: daughter, wife, mother, educator. Hormones aside, it hit me that May day that life was evolving into something different and very quickly. I began searching for a different place, a new voice. Today on the cusp of my son’s birthday I feel anything but challenged. Joy. Pride in what has been accomplished by them, I suppose in myself for seeing them into adulthood and certainly grateful to the many who have supported and loved our family along the way. It takes more than a village…

It’s natural for my thoughts to have drifted to my parents during these weeks. Their sacrifices. My children are thoughtful and considerate. Was I appreciative in my twenties?

Mama said, “Darling, don’t make such a drama. A little less thinking, a little more feeling”. I suppose “thinking and feeling” is what middle-aged women do. There wasn’t much time for it when our children were growing up. We were too busy balancing life, spinning plates. Now, at a safe distance, we can Monday morning quarter back but not for long. There are always new adventures waiting.

Do we all have fleeting moments wondering if we’ve become our parents? Mine in this last month was recalling something that my mother used to say: that ‘children’ are never really ours but on loan to us.

Isn’t she/he beautiful, though?
You would have liked her/him
Mama did things no one had done
Mama was funny, Mama was fun

Children and Art – Sunday in the Park with George by Stephen Sondheim

Mama was funny and fun….Life was art.

A favorite quote from Auntie Mame “Life is a banquet and some of the poor fools are starving.”

For Patrick and Sarah and all of our children….

23 Brilliant Life Lesson from Anthony Bourdain

Here’s to parents and children. Both continually growing.

You would have liked her
Honey, I’m wrong
You would have loved her
Mama enjoyed things
Mama was smart
See how she shimmers?
I mean, from the heart

Parents and children. Both works of art. Shimmer. Sparkle.

A letter home…

Spring has been opera performances, conducting musicals, organizing a cabaret, teaching. A last minute trip to visit my son for Easter. Preparations for my daughter’s Masters degree graduation in Boston. My hesitation in blogging has something to do with all of that activity but also with tomorrow. April 19. Thirty years.

A letter that’s long in coming but has been formulated in my heart and mind for quite some time. A letting go.

It seems odd to write. Over these decades you have been a part of the journey. Some days, like today, it’s a fleeting flashback, almost relegated to a hashtag. How you visited with women in the Monroe A&P. We’d get animal crackers. Now, I understand the significance of those grocery store chats. What is said in those whispers on the aisles. I understand a lot more than I did thirty, forty, fifty years ago.

You’d be proud of your grandchildren. They are creative, generous, intelligent, funny people. There has never been a time I haven’t enjoyed their company —-from the first moment I held them to the last moment we spoke. I hope they can say the same of me. You were right. Children grow up very quickly. It’s hard to believe that Sarah (named for your grandmother) is the same age I was the last time I saw you. Patrick (named for your great-grandfather) is now the age I was when I had Sarah. I remembered what you said… to spend time with them. . . the dishes and everything else did keep.

During most of my life I had a clearly marked ‘road map’. About four or five years ago things seemed very murky. Hormones and a redefined self-image…. I recalled one of our last conversations: about middle-aged women – – – a complicated conversation that I didn’t understand at the time. Now I understand the aging process: physical and spiritual. You prepared me for those steps just as you prepared me for so many others. It’s hasn’t escaped me that like many women, you found passion in your 50’s—-yours was public service and education. It’s not that you weren’t interested in public service before, after fifty you just had time to dedicate. Freedom and independence are exhilarating. That was our last conversation April 17, 1985.

You and Daddy taught by example that each day is enough. I hope Patrick and Sarah know that too. Finding the ‘simple’, in themselves and in others; Sifting through life’s concerns with style and grace. Keeping their ducks in a row….sometimes alone, sometimes with others. Always remembering….Family. Friends. Respect. Love. Laughter and fun along the way.

Yeah…it’s more than enough….and the conversation continues….

An Elephant’s Eye

One day I will find the right words and they will be simple.

Jack Kerouac~The Dharma Burns

Almost midnight. I’ve just returned from the theater. A preview for the musical Oklahoma that’s opening tomorrow night. Between performances of Madama Butterfly and music directing this show there have been a lot of late nights this month. Tonight the right words came to me watching this cast capture the simplicity of these characters.

Life is pretty simple. We complicate it. We create drama. Sometimes operatic….hiding behind masks.

Don’t get me wrong…music, opera, theater is glorious. But at the end of the very long day drama belongs on the stage. There’s plenty enough pathos and comedy in our lives without creating more.

Growing up Oklahoma would come on television every Thanksgiving evening. It was part of our family tradition to watch it. “Family picnic” in the living room my mother would call it. A happy memory. Watching the video monitor at tonight’s final dress rehearsal I looked down to find a text from my brother just about the time my favorite childhood scene was happening. Newlywed Laurey discusses the problems facing her with Aunt Eller. Upset, she says: “I don’t see why this had to happen when everything was so fine.” Aunt Eller’s response: “That’s alright, Laurey baby. You can’t forget, just don’t try to. Oh, lots of things happen to folks. Sickness or being poor and hungry, being old and a feared to die. That’s the way it is, cradle to grave, and you can stand it. There’s just one way: you gotta be hardy. You gotta be. You can’t deserve the sweet and tender in life unless’n you’re tough.”

Laurey’s wish is to be like Aunt Eller. When I was younger my dreams were of Laurey. The trappings. The things that fade. What did I know about hardships. Now I think Laurey had it right. Aunt Eller is a pretty wise bird.

Sure, it’s fun to play…but at the end of the long day. Or the long month it’s going to be just as nice to discover the simplicity in a nice shot with my camera again.

That message I got from brother Foley…..

Finding Home

Sometimes the questions are complicated and the answers are simple.

Dr. Seuss

….music (especially singing), theater, photography, writing, pork roast, mashed potatoes, asparagus cooked al dente, soup, reading on a rainy day, watching the sunset or sunrise, travel, cooking, spring gardening, touching base with friends and family…..

Don’t we all have a list of ‘comforts’ that keep us grounded, reminds us where we came from, keeps us centered in today, challenging us into tomorrow?

Two days after Christmas a friend and colleague for over twenty-five years went into sudden cardiac arrest. His condition was ‘serious’ at best, so I postponed my Christmas trip home. Over these weeks he has miraculously recovered. Two weeks ago I was finally able to make my Christmas trip home to North Louisiana. Home. Comfort.

In these weeks since Christmas I’ve thought about friends and family: the comfort they bring. Hopefully the comfort I bring them. What home means.

I once thought that “home” was about reinventing what my parents had created, a magical place from my childhood. I wanted magic for my children, a place the three of us would find safe, warm and filled with love, understanding and acceptance. Ultimately, we created our own rhythm and brand of magic. Home. Comfort.

Earlier this week on my way to run errands, out of the corner of my eye I noticed someone opening one of those clothing drop-off boxes. The person was on a bicycle so it seemed odd that they would drop off anything in a rainstorm. Suddenly they went head-first into the box. My heart stopped when I realized what I had witnessed. I’ve been haunted by that image. Home. Comfort.

Coming back from that Christmas visit I reflected…maybe we’re all turtles in a sense,finding home in each place and carrying with us those people and things that bring us comfort. Maybe that’s what that person in the parking lot took with him/her into the drop-off bin….memories and comfort. I never saw a face. When I drove through the parking lot the next day he/she wasn’t there.

Home. Comfort.

My little brother Mark will tell you I’m convinced that life can be boiled down to The Wizard of Oz…..there IS no place like home….wherever you find it.

Solid Ground

I have often had a retrospective vision where everything in my past life seems to fall with significance into logical sequence. ~ Ansel Adams

“When I was just a little girl
I asked my mother
What will I be
Will I be pretty
Will I be rich
Here’s what she said to me

Que sera, sera
Whatever will be, will be
The future’s not ours to see
Que sera, sera
What will be, will be”

Every year at the school fair my best friend, Leslie and I would stand in line to get our fortunes read. Now, I’m not so sure if we did this because we really wanted to know our futures or because we wanted to sneak into the sixth grade class room. Looking back, it seems like the same thing now. Either way, going to that fortune teller was a HUGE deal. As big as visiting with friends at the chicken spaghetti dinner or landing on the winning number at the cake walk.

Have you ever had moments of such clarity you felt as if you had lived the moment before? Déjà vu. From crossing a street I’ve walked hundreds of times to accepting a temporary position at place I was once employed. Good news, not so good news. Life returned to normal last week. Peace covered me like a warm blanket. Lessons learned.

Carpe Diem. Be aware of each moment. Watch them sparkle.
Cherish your people: family and friends. You know who they are! Aretha got it right. R. E. S. P. E. C. T. Listen to them. That’s all a part of loving them.
Just like countries have boundaries that set limits for it’s citizens, we have lines that define who we are and who we’re not giving us the freedom to express our thoughts and feelings. Le mieux est l’ennemi du bien. Voltiere.
Keep the music playing. In other words. Keep singing, dancing, doing your thing. . . YOUR thing. Not someone else’s. Be realistic but DREAM BIG.

“Now I have children of my own
They ask their mother
What will I be
Will I be handsome
Will I be rich
I tell them tenderly

Que sera, sera
Whatever will be, will be
The future’s not ours to see
Que sera, sera
What will be, will be
Que Sera, Sera”

Christmas seems ages ago. I’m glad I don’t have a fortune teller’s crystal ball, just common sense balanced with a sense of humor. “We can only promise to do our best and live out our lives.” Savoring each moment….standing on solid ground.

Measuring

Since Christmas life has been going at fever pitch. These last few days there has been quiet time to reflect…rest and relax. Not as much time with the camera as I would’ve liked but those days will return. Images of this last year flashed before me….one song stuck in my head.

Signs and symbols measure our lives. Often they speak louder than words…fill us with gratitude…grace Measuring in love……

Choices in the “Woods”

The great challenge is living your wounds through instead of thinking them through. It is better to cry than to worry, better to feel your wounds than to understand them, better to let them enter into your silence than to talk about them. The choice you face constantly is whether you are taking your wounds to your head or your heart.

Henri Nouwen

I have this tongue-in-cheek theory that composer Stephen Sondheim has the secret to all of life’s situations. “The Gospel According to Stephen” has guided me along the path of life. My mantra: “Intelligent people are always on the road, growing”. However, on that path we sometimes hide our heads in the sand. We convince ourselves it’s safer but the scenery isn’t near as nice. Then, one day, something happens, either wonderful or not so wonderful and the head pops out of the sand….and we move along the road a little further.

The last few weeks have been a journey of heart and mind. I had plenty of shots for the blog but the stories seemed either too mundane or too personal. Then I re-read this quote from writer and philosopher Henri Nouwen.

Sometimes silence is the only language… Listening is the best option.

Prayerful reflection…. both “head” and “heart”. Balance.

Ron Rolheiser explains: “There’s a place in us that doesn’t want to feel our hurt, doesn’t want to take our pain to a place of silence, and doesn’t want to take our wounds to our heart. And so instead, in our heartaches and wounds, we grow anxious and obsessive, we struggle to understand, we talk endlessly to others, and we try to sort things out with our heads rather than letting ourselves simply feel them with our hearts.”

Centenniel Camellia — Burden Plantation-Camellia from a bush planted over one hundred years ago

Funny thing, more often than not people don’t take the time to know when we’re anxious or hurt….or filled with joy…. During the last three or four years I’ve purposefully had a conversation with myself walking to work…I call it checking the ‘barometer’. Delighting in all that surrounds me, not the window dressing of life. Everyday beauty. People. Places. Staying aware of each moment. I admit to my own resistance with living at a place of dis-ease. I’ve never cared for it but I’ve come to understand it is as much a part of life as a beautiful sunset or my children’s laughter….the voice of a friend….

Music. Dissonance resolves.

Moving forward doesn’t mean leaving behind. Moving forward is finding peace in the moment, taking stock of what was, deciding what is…. then discerning the possible. Discovering grace in all.

Stephen and Henri are both right….adventures change in the woods…..we sort through feelings rationally…heart and head…and I’ll add spirit.

I’ve discovered in the last two weeks I’m not one to leave anyone behind. . .

If life were only moments, then you’d never know you had one….

Another Voice–for “Auld Lang Syne”

For last year’s words belong to last year’s language And next year’s words await another voice.

T. S. Eliot, Four Quartets

Last year, as appreciation to my son for his insightful gift I began this blog journey. Searching for words, images. Days blur during holidays. Some years are like that.