From the Sublime...

This morning I sat in Orchestra Hall, listening to pianist Emmanuel Ax's fingers fly over the keys filling the Hall with the joyful, sparkling tones of Mozart. His playing was so effortless, the communication between he and the orchestra so relaxed, it was like having all 50 of them in my living room playing just for me. Sublime.

Then over lunch I was perusing the news, where I read about a 56- year old student at one of our local universities who may sue the school because he was banned from campus for writing an essay about his sexual fantasies regarding his creative writing teacher.

Ridiculous.

But it got me thinking about what it takes to be a true artist, the responsibility of the creative person, and the right of free speech. The artist I heard this morning has been performing internationally for over 40 years. His playing reflects not only dedication to his art, but true love and respect for the music. He presents Mozart to the listener with such love and pride, rather like a dear friend would offer a beautiful bouquet or poem as a gift to another.

The student at the university claimed in his "essay" that he wanted his teacher to "kick his ass into being a real writer," and then proceeded to discuss the ways in which  her physical appearance would "distract him from learning anything," thus demonstrating very little respect for the craft of writing and even less for one he's asking to teach it to him.

In his remarks about the possibility of legal action against the university, the student writer sites his right to "freedom of speech." It pains me how often that phrase is used to defend egregious and selfish behavior. As with any "right," this one also bears a responsibility - to act with the best interests of the common good and to refrain from unnecessary harm to others. I don't believe this student's essay qualifies on either count.

In order to be a master at any art, to be a "real" writer or musician or painter or dancer, you must take the work seriously, you must believe in its power and purpose, and you must treat your audience with respect. Above all, you must perform your art with dedication to the highest possible quality you can provide, whether it's lifting music off the piano keys or putting words on the page.  When you can honestly say you've done your best at all those things, then you might approach the kind of sublime experience I had listening to Mozart this morning.

And who wouldn't rather be sublime than ridiculous?

 

 

 

Five Reasons Why Writing is My True Love

This Valentine's week I find myself thinking about all the people and things I love. Writing, is of course, at the top of that latter list.

Here are five reasons why I love to write:

  1. Writing helps me make sense of the world around me. When I write about what's happening in my life -either in my journal or on the blog or in a long email to a friend - my feelings become clearer and my thoughts begin to make sense.
  2. Writing gives me an opportunity to connect with other people. I think every writer wants readers, wants someone to read the words we've put together so painstakingly. Luckily the internet gives us the ability to do that. Through blog writing I've met many interesting people from all over the world whom I can now call friends.
  3. Writing stretches my mind. Like daily exercise for the body, writing is a way to stretch my brain. Coming up with ideas for things to write, gathering information, putting the words together so they convey my message, all expand my mind and my imagination.
  4. Writing lets me play with words. I like to arrange words on the page like a quilter arranges blocks of fabric or an artist mixes colors on the canvas. I love learning new words and finding places to use them in my writing.
  5. Writing gives me a way to tell my stories. Every one of us has a story to tell. Life happens every day and what happens to us is important. Sharing those stories with others brings us together with other humans in a way that makes life more meaningful and bearable. Writing is the way I tell my stories.

How about you? Why do you love writing?

Very Valentine

I consider myself pretty lucky that for the past 38 Valentine's Days, I've been assured of a date for the evening. Not that we always celebrate in style, especially in recent years. Sometimes sprawling out in our comfy clothes on the couch with some popcorn, a glass of wine, and a good movie on the DVR is everything our little hearts desire. Occasionally we're at our home in Naples on Valentine's Day and then we tend to do it up right, with a fancy dinner at Bistro 821 and a stroll down 5th Avenue. Oddly enough, two of my most vivid Valentine's Day memories don't even involve my husband. The first was the day I received my first marriage proposal. I was eleven years old, and it arrived in a handwritten note mailed to my house on Valentine's Day. It was from a boy in my class with whom I'd been in hopeless puppy love all year. "Dear Becky," the letter said, in his best loopy cursive. "When we grow up I want us to get married. We will move to Canada and live on a farm, where we'll have horses and cows and goats and sheep and cats and dogs. I love you very much."

As you can plainly see, it was a memorable missive, although even then I wasn't too keen on the whole farm thing.

The other Valentine's Day memory that is particularly special is related to my uncle, the one who passed away in 2009. When I was three years old, he started giving me a box of chocolates for Valentine's Day, and every year after that, without fail, he brought me a box of chocolates on February 14. Didn't matter what else was going on, I knew I could count of that box of candy from him every year.

Until 2007, when Alzheimer's Disease stole his memory and he forgot all about Valentine's Day. I never thought I would miss a box of candy so much.

Valentine's Day - like most of those "Hallmark Holidays" - gets pretty short shrift around our house. We tend to say, "Oh, we're too old for all that nonsense." Or "Don't buy me anything, there's nothing I really want."

But perhaps we shouldn't do that.

Because it's not about being young or wanting things, is it? It's more about being noticed- about someone taking the time to buy you a card and a bouquet of flowers or a box of chocolates. It's about doing something that makes you special and cherished.

And there's no age limit on the desire for those feelings.

I really do appreciate having a steady date for every Valentine's Day - not to mention every other day of the year.

Perhaps I should take this opportunity and let him know.

How about you? Do you do something special to celebrate Valentine's Day?

 

A Peaceful Interlude in Honor of a Good Man

Winter finally made it's way here today. The sky was heavy with snow-laden clouds which decided to divest themselves of their icy burden a few minutes ago. It's been snowing like the dickens ever since, and it's only because the weather people have promised that it will all end just after midnight that I'm able to remain sanguine about it. I know I should be grateful -we've had beautiful weather all winter long, with no measurable snow, lots of sunshine and mild temperatures - who could ask for more in Michigan?

But like most humans, I'm greedy. I wanted it to go on and on that way.

Especially since Thursday was the most beautiful of days I can ever recall for February. I drove out to the Irish Hills area of Michigan during the afternoon to pay my last respects to my uncle, my father's youngest brother, who died on Tuesday. Once you get off the expressway in Chelsea that area of Michigan is pure country, with winding roads and gentle hills. There was very little traffic, so I was free to meander the two-lane road at my own pace. My little red car was freshly washed, I had a good book to listen to, and I enjoyed the trip perhaps more than I should have given the nature of the errand.

But my uncle would have appreciated that sentiment. He lived in a small house on the lake there in the Irish Hills for decades. He loved puttering around in his garden, playing pinochle every night, spending time with his grandchildren, going out on the pontoon boat and cruising around the lake, .

He was a kind and gentle man, who knew how to make the most of life's simple pleasures.  And from the numbers of people gathering to say goodbye to him on Thursday, that was enough to make him very well loved indeed.

How about you? What simple pleasure in life do you most savor?