A high B-flat~the one two octaves above middle C, cutting through the overcast sky on a grey day in Washington, DC. Seventy five high school students, and 10 adults, standing shoulder to shoulder, each one holding tightly to a small portion of the gigantic American flag blanketed in front of them. The last verse of the Star Spangled Banner~"the land of the free"~the held note on the word free, and one soprano lifts her voice above all others, bravely jumping the octave and landing squarely on that high B-flat, which soars like an eagle in flight. Recalling it now, 15 years later, my arms are covered in goosebumps. I love musical goosebump moments, those instants when the music, the performer, the atmosphere, all come together and create a moment of such power and beauty that a shiver runs down your spine, and your flesh prickles with delight. I've been lucky enough to hear quite a few in my years as a musician. Often, it's not just the music itself, or even the performer, but the circumstances that lend the magic to the moment, setting the goosebumps to rise. On that choir trip to Washington, we visited Fort McHenry, where they unfolded the largest American flag in existence, allowing us to stand outside holding this massive piece of cloth which symbolized all the hopes and dreams of the American people. Singing the national anthem at that moment was thrilling enough - to hear that beautiful high note, completely unplanned, was certainly the icing on the cake. Since that day, every time I've sung the anthem, I hear that note in my head, and remember Kelly McBride, the young girl who sang it. My emotional involvement with the high school students adds to my enjoyment of their performances, and increases the opportunity for goosebump moments. But I also have them listening to Measure for Measure, my husband's men's choir. Last winter, eighty five men, the last verse of Franz Biebl's Ave Maria, the funeral of the groups beloved founder and director~a huge goosebump moment. And when I was playing regularly with Classical Bells, I had a few such moments ~ a bell festival in 2000, our solo piece, Debussy's Arabesque, watching the festival director (who was French) listen to the flowing arpeggios with his head back, eyes closed and a wonderfully satisfied smile on his lips~sent shivers down my spine. Playing music, listening to music, creating music, is a natural high for me. It stimulates some nerve center in my brain that fills me with delight and deep satisfaction. As a musician, one of my goals is always to have the listener experience one of those thrilling moments when the music touches them deeply enough to cause a physical reaction~ that little frisson of pleasure you feel down your spine or in the pit of your stomach. Last spring, our final concert at school, a fabulous arrangement of How Can I Keep from Singing, my husband hugs me afterward and says, "Wow, I can't believe how well you played that - it gave me goosebumps!" for more goosebump moments, go here
Bored
This might be the only time you ever see that word on my blog~ but there it is. I'm bored. I know, you're all shaking your heads saying "What the heck? First she complains about never having any time to herself, and now she's bored?"
Human nature is perverse. From September to June, when I'm working two jobs, performing in three or four musical ensembles, and trying to run a household, my body is on overdrive. I'm always longing for just a day or two of empty calendar space. Then, during the summer, everything shuts down. Even my office job fizzles to nothing. For about six weeks, I love the quiet, empty hours, the time to read, write, play whatever music I want, stare out the window, lie in the grass...all that summertime stuff. But, now it's August, and the back to school ads are popping up everywhere. Maybe it's just my body kick-starting itself, but I feel restless and itchy to do something different.
When my son was small, he was always dreaming up creative projects for himself. I've never known a child who was always so busy. But occasionally, he'd meander out to the kitchen or family room, hang around momentarily, and then utter sheepishly..."I'm kinda bored." "Well," I say, rather nonplussed, "you could go for a bike ride. Or clean your room. Or..." "Never mind!" he'd say, brightening suddenly. "I just thought of something!" Off he'd go, back to his room or the basement, where he'd disappear for hours completing his next story, drawing, video...whatever great idea had popped into his head.
I guess he gets that from me, because boredom is a rare occurrence in my life. I'm not one who can sit still for very long (unless I'm writing or playing music)~truthfully, I don't even like to go to the movies because sitting still for two hours is painful. Lurking in the back of my mind is always a long list of other things I'd like to be doing.
But this week, I must admit I'm "kinda bored." I could wash windows, or clean the basement, or catch up on some ironing...actually, never mind. I think I just thought of something....
One Deep Breath-Evening
summer ends~
evening shadows
fall too soon
Just this week, there is a noticable difference in the length of days. By the time I've cleared up supper dishes and watered plants, the western sky has started to glower at me. Hurry up, it chides, put on your walking shoes or grab your bike, there's not much time left before darkness swallows the sun.
Sunday Scribbling-Decision
When it comes to decision making, I'm a ditherer, a hand-wringer, a me-oh-my what shall I do-er. Shall it be fish or chicken for dinner? Florida or California for vacation? Walk in the neighborhood or park? Fiction or non-fiction for Sunday Scribblings? Just DO IT, my inner voice persistently chides me. To quote my high school orchestra director ~ "For god's sake, girls, just do...SOMETHING!" Invariably, though, once I've embarked on one route, I immediately start wishing I had chosen the other. "Decidophobia" it's called, and there are a plethora of Internet cures available, from wonder drugs to hypnosis tapes.
Actually, I'm not really a phobic in the strict sense of the word. These are people who are too paralyzed by fear to perform their jobs or even get up in the morning. In truth, I move through the business of daily life with great decision...I complete all tasks promptly and on time, I attack my job responsibilities with gusto. However, I admit to being stymied by personal decisions sometimes, and occasionally this leaves me feeling as if my life were a stalled race car, desperately revving its engine but going nowhere fast.
Part of the problem is often my imagination ~my penchant if you will, for seeing too many opportunities as well as too many pitfalls. It's like perusing the aisles at the grocery store - where once there were only Corn Flakes and Raisin Bran, now there's Corn Flakes with strawberries, or almonds, or organic corn flakes, or low fat cornflakes, or...well, you get the picture. Life presents us with too many tantalizing choices - how's a girl supposed to pick just one?
Therein lies my real problem with decision making, the fear that each decision is not only irrevocable, but represents an opportunity lost. There are so many things I want to experience in life, and I'm fearful that choosing one will deny me the ability to experience the other. I really do want to sample all those flavors of Corn Flakes -I'm just impatient, and don't want to do it one box at a time. I want to buy up every variety and sit down to a different one each morning. Similar to Forest Gump and his famous box of chocolates, I'd love to bite into each one and see what I get.
Unfortunately, decisions often mean irrevocable choices - that's just life, too. Because I decided to buy two homes in Florida, it probably means I won't ever be able to live in England. Because I decided to get two dogs, I probably won't be able to travel as much as I'd like. Because I decided to go back to my school job, I won't have as much free time to write this winter. Because I decided to have only one child, I'll probably never have big bunches of grandchildren to comfort me in my old age. Big decisions have big consequences, and the older I get, the more dire they seem, since there's just not as much time left to sample all of life's varieties.
I'm afraid there's no cure for my hand wringing, dithering, decision making dilemmas. I'll probably always worry my way through the process, and then later on wish I'd made another choice altogether. Hopefully, the consequences won't be too painful, and I'll be able to accept them gracefully.
Write on Wednesday-Detail Oriented
As I write this, a cool breeze from the fan overhead gently lifts my hair, the soft whirring of its blades a counterpoint to the clicking computer keyboard. One dog (Molly) lies stretched full length in the doorway, sleeping soundly, while the other (Magic) is perched on the bed gazing attentively out the window, awake and on the lookout for a squirrel, or his favorite neighbor from across the street. Dusk is falling, earlier now that summer is on the wane, and soon I'll need to switch on the desk lamp, but not yet...I can still just barely see the keyboard in the hazy blue glow from the monitor. A glass of white wine rests on a slate coaster beside me, beads of sweat forming around it as the chill liquid inside meets the warm air of the room. "Writing is about learning to pay attention and communicate what is going on," writes Anne Lamott in Bird by Bird. "In order to be a writer...you have to learn to be reverent."
Life is in the details, someone once said, and for the writer, learning to observe everyday details and make them important for the reader is vital to creating character, setting, and moving plot along. In my first paragraph, I was trying to give you a word picture of where I was (a bedroom/writing room), the weather (hot, as evidenced by the ceiling fan and the sweaty glass), the type of person I am (someone who writes, drinks wine, and loves dogs, because they lie on my bed!) But I was also trying to convey a sense of reverence for these homely details about my life and this room where I come to write.
"We are important and our lives are important, magnificent really, and their details are worthy to be recorded," says Natalie Goldberg, in Writing Down the Bones. "This is how writers must think, how we must sit down with pen in hand. We were here; we are human beings; this is how we lived."
The writing I love to read is full of details - about people and places, some might call it minutiae, but for me the details are what make the story and the era come alive. I love to know what people were having for tea in Jane Austen's drawing room, how they dressed for the party in Scarlett O'Hara's American South, and in more contemporary work, the cars they were driving, the TV shows they were watching, all those kinds of everyday details that help me identify time, place, and character. And often I am surprised by the beauty evident in those seemingly ordinary moments.
"This is our goal as writers," Lamott continues, "to help others have this sense of wonder, of seeing things anew, things that can catch us off guard, that break into our small, bordered worlds. There is ecstasy in paying attention."
Since I've been writing, I have found myself more open to observing details in the world around me, everything from the new ochre colored paint on the walls in my favorite coffee shop to the glorious rosy sky in the morning sunrise. I'm find myself thinking about the people I encounter - the young man I see walking the street morning and evening, winter and summer, wondering about the restless energy that is so apparent in his nervous stride. What is his story?
"To be engrossed in something outside ourselves is a powerful antidote for the rational mind," Lamott concludes. Finding a sense of wonder in the details of the world around us, in the people before us, all the little things that make us who and what we are.
"This is what it is to be a writer," Goldberg tells us. "To be the carrier of details that make up history."