friendship – Page 2

These Are That Day

And how could we endure to live and let time pass if we were always crying for one day or one year to come back–if we did not know that every day in a life fills the whole life with expectation and memory and that these are that day?
C. S. Lewis

I’ve started this one more than once. Some in my head, in traffic. Some lying in bed—early morning, late at night. Walking to work. In the shower. Finally at the computer.

Like the proverbial light bulb, something hit me.

Expecting. Anticipating. Waiting Counting days. Whether we use candles, games or in the silence of our hearts.

Waiting for….a miracle.

Fifty-six years ago tonight my parents had been playing a waiting game. The eight years between my brother’s birth and my adoption. My uncle’s untimely death. Ordinary days. Extraordinary days. Wondering, waiting, hoping and praying. ….every day in a life fills the whole life with expectation….My family were such people.

A drive to Shreveport, a family is changed. I was changed. Everything is changed…

by love….

by the gift of patient waiting.

Over these December weeks I’ve focused on giving of self rather than something that can be wrapped and tied with a bow. My parents’ ninety mile journey that December was such a selfless act….

but others also show such acts…..parents, children, friends, strangers.

Last weekend, the A Capella caroling group I sing with had the opportunity to sing for the residents of one of our local retirement communities. It was a lovely morning singing carols and Hanukkah songs as well as celebrating the 97th birthday of one of the long-time arts supporters. As we were wrapping up someone tapped me on the shoulder, asking if one of us could sing a carol in his mother’s room. We all went.

Voices of all ages filling a room. A son gently holding and caressing a hand that had once cradled him…

Silent Night. Holy Night. Sleep in heavenly peace.

…..every day in a life fills the whole life with expectation and memory and that these are that day……

Connection. Gift. Selfless……Love’s pure light.

My take-away is this: miracles aren’t the same as magic.

Miracles are found in ordinary things like oil or a baby, a song you’ve sung thousands of times, sharing time with family and friends. The gift, at least for me this year, is to remember how extraordinary ordinary is….then to wait for it…

in gratitude….. for each day…

Plenty Left

A family joke… When my typically loquacious grandfather hit his 54th birthday he became quiet and reflective. It was the age his father had died. Papa waited a year for something to happen. A heart attack. Bad news from the doctor. None came. At 55 he moved on. This all happened several years before I was born but I remembered the story. The waiting and the moving on. It must be something about the age 55.

The quiet drive back to Baton Rouge after helping my daughter move a few weeks ago cleared my head. I’ve always been of the opinion that music and the arts have value, what we do matters, what I do matters. It’s the life I would lead even if I weren’t paid for it. Thankfully, I have been able to make a living while supporting my family.

A full, fun life! This month alone…. Working on a production of The Taming of the Shrew. Working as a substitute liturgy coordinator while a colleague was recuperating from surgery. Working teaching, directing. Work.

On the drive back from Austin I reflected not just about the rigor of work but the opus – the body. The people and the beauty of creation. Loving and honest family and friends. Blessings all. So much to be grateful for! Not that there hasn’t been struggle. Those struggles help us appreciate the good times and know who the real people are. They help us find the stuff we’re made of….Yvonne Nash called it “character building”.

One year ago, driving from the theater, I was hit from behind by a car going at a high rate of speed. I had never been in a serious car accident before. It totaled my car. A few feet more, personal injury would have been much more serious than a concussion and back pain. The what if haunted me longer than I cared to admit….I avoided talking about the accident.

Then I remembered my grandfather’s story…..and that I was his granddaughter.

What’s the take away……

The first half of life is about building a strong container; the second half is about discovering the contents the container was meant to hold. Yet far too often, solidifying one’s personal container becomes a substitute for finding the contents themselves! Richard Rohr

My grandfather lived 94 years discovering both the container and contents. He, along with my parents and grandparents, taught me to build a fine container. There’s PLENTY left to fill.

Cheers!

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.

The “Always”

Friendship is such a holy gift but we give so little attention. It is so easy to let what needs to be done take priority over what needs to be lived.

Henri Nouwen~The Road to Daybreak

There has been unrest these last weeks. I found myself quiet, not because I had no opinion but because my voice in the fray seemed inconsequential. The people who truly know me also know my mind and heart on such matters of the world. Others, as my grandfather always said, don’t matter. “We can’t change their hard heads or harder hearts. We will never all agree, Baby Doll. Don’t expect them….accept them….”

Last week I was out-of-town: business, recreational, adventure. After a meeting I fell asleep with the television on for several hours. A hard sleep, June was a long busy month; I was much more weary than I cared to admit. I woke up to a familiar voice. In another life these words from Olivia Walton would’ve produced an eye-roll “….what I don’t like is the always… ” I understood she had built her life and the life of her family on tradition….but was willing to embrace change. In fact, she was restless for it, unafraid of it.

We become smug, dancing in the shadows of complacency, thinking our way is the only way.

We expect others….friends, family to believe as we do…the always….

On the drive home I made a short stop at the Beaumont, Texas Visitors Center which also houses the Babe Didrikson Zaharias Museum. For years I’ve wanted to stop, check it out but never took the time. Her life has always fascinated me. She along with Amelia Earhart, Anne Morrow Lindbergh, Eleanor Roosevelt, Katharine Hepburn and countless others who explored the world in a time when it wasn’t fashionable for women to take those risks. My mother was a risk-taker, working and volunteering for the civil rights movement in the 1960s. Visiting Mrs. Zaharias’ museum reminded me of the sacrifice that we all make for a life well lived….. On the walls and in the case hung the expected sports memorabilia from high school to the Olympics but also place settings of china and displays of her favorite recipes. Not content with “the always”, after her track and field career ended she became a world-class golfer. She learned to live in the world. Certainly in those days, one could apply all sorts of labels….but she was a woman of many talents and was successful doing what she loved. She didn’t let the world define her. She defined her world. Always.

When I took the shot of her golf portrait the museum docent was telling me that “Babe” was an expert knitter. The story was so good I didn’t check the shot.

Like Olivia Walton, Babe’s always was the unexpected. Looking for the end of the rainbow. Some people want to complicate or agitate…..Me? I’m grateful for the lesson….always…..looking for the rainbow

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.

Creative Waiting

For years there have been two books kept consistently on my bedside. One is my journal. The other is a copy of Joseph Campbell’s “The Power of Myth”. Bedtime. Rising. His words challenge and encourage.

Yesterday I finished a journal that I began in May 2011. The first entry was written in an airport on the way to Prague. I had no idea when I started that journey and journal the adventures that were in store.

Travel. Home. Joys. Challenges.

“Follow your bliss and the universe will open doors for you where there were only walls.” Joseph Campbell

Thumbing through this journal was enlightening. A Rosetta Stone.

That first journal entry on May 19, 2011 was from the Dublin airport. My plane had been rerouted from Helsinki on the way to Prague. I wrote: “Not exactly where I thought ‘d be. Then again, life has a way of surprising us if we’re open on the adventure. Delays turn into journeys. Sleepless nights turn into card games (I played cards all night with the people from Texas who sat next to me on the plane). So I stay in the moment. Open. Eyes open. Looking at the vision surrounding me. Bringing the past into the future. “And so I ceased, I carred my father. I sought my way to the mountains.” Homer?

That last line is from some place in The Odyssey. I remember having more than a slight buzz from no sleep, being in Ireland and knowing I was going to see my daughter for the first time nine months. The Homer was about letting go and moving forward simultaneously. That tug-of-war has been a theme these four years. Maybe longer.

This weekend was filled to the brim with activity…. My mother and my friend Leslie might call it “burning the candle at both ends”. The “candle” is a little weary by the end of April and ready for the soft flicker of summer.

Driving home tonight after supper with a friend it struck me that the bliss Joseph Campbell is talking about is really just peace in knowing yourself. Lessons learned. Talk less, listen more. Waiting. Creative waiting is following your bliss.

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.