Tuesday, July 26, 2016

July 26: Flicker

Life is best lived in snatches between sameness, stations flaring up out of the subway's dark.

I go to list what I've done today and come up short.  Blamed myself for eating too much goat cheese. Unloaded the dishwasher. Fretted over topics one through twelve.  Lain in indecision.  Hurried.  Hugged.  Tried to clean the counter.

Sunday, July 24, 2016

July 24: Catholics

The Catholics are 100 times more prescriptive than other denominations.  Your hands should be empty. Please do not treat the host like a pair of keys.

Saturday, July 23, 2016

July 23: Music

Church this afternoon for evensong.  It may take a two-year-old for me to enjoy music.  Instead of the review I'm going to write, or the difference in the way I would have played that phrase, or the undeservedness of X's career, or the ways in which Y outclasses me, or my fears and hopes for Z, or even how to jam this particular sound into a sloppy container of words- all I've got left is listening with one ear while the other stays alert for insurrection.  Take Me Out to the Ballgame overlapping the anthem; Elmo's World inserted in the prayers. 

Friday, July 22, 2016

July 22: Teaching

I love its layering, the way, in each hour, in each interaction, I must listen while shaping, analyze while remaining genuine, think ahead while giving my full attention to the moment.  I love that I'm helping people to feel empowered to make music, no matter their level.  I love when a student takes pleasure in her progress or is able to appreciate the beauty of a tune or the challenge of inching forward.  I love the thrill of figuring out what a student needs and helping them identify and achieve their goals.  Not much more exciting. 

Thursday, July 21, 2016

July 21: Shopping

I went to World Market today.  And Trader Joes.  And Target.  I could have bought a rug.  Or Pocky. Or a secretary.   The sheer panoply made me numb.  What is the point of bridling words, or chaining a few sounds together on a metal disc?  What's art but scrabbling at the infinite.... and the infinite is already on offer.   There are more things in Target and Lowes, Anne, then are dreamt of in your philosophy.

Wednesday, July 20, 2016

July 20: Heat Advisory

The fact that I have been advised, officially and sternly, using the self-important graphics of the National Weather Service, makes me cautious.  The National Weather Service is an enigmatic agency, and that opacity forces me, despite myself, to pay attention.   I can't see the man behind the curtain so there may not be a man at all.

The heat advisory will last for seven days.  Cautious is the wrong word.  It makes me craven.  I doubt the hot weather skills I know I possess: to throw on a white dress, drink a full glass of water, slip out the sliding glass door and pick my way from shadow to shadow.  I used to walk this way every day of summer, paddling against the hot-tub air, monitoring the sweat that pooled behind my neck and knees before it outgrew its surface tension, dribbled to slick my calves and my back.  I like the way hot weather walking feels like both succor and masochism, the air laid across your face like a warm washcloth, a mild punishment.

Now, advised, I'm indoors.  Sweatless.  Tapping out other hot weeks, other hot worlds. 

Monday, July 18, 2016

July 18: Rabbits

I know the saying speaks directly to their multiplicity, but still, the number of rabbits in my new neighborhood verges on disturbing. How is there sufficient grass?  How are there enough places to hide, enough spots to go and be rabbity in the dark?  On my neighborhood walks I see so many rabbits, rabbit after rabbit after rabbit, that the whole enterprise takes on a rabbit-hole, mad-hatter flavor.  Is there nothing to do in this place but hop and munch and flee?