An Instrument

 

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace...for years that has been a favorite prayer of mine. There are some beautiful choral settings and I often say it in times of despair or when I cannot sleep. And always, I feel that I come up short. An instrument of God's peace? How can I, living my small life in a small town, ever hope to achieve that?  I want world peace, for God's sake, and I'm not making any progress with that.

But last weekend, in the midst of services and concerts, I heard this line differently...I noticed the word instrument, and for a change saw it literally rather than metaphorically. Hey, I know what an instrument is! I play 2 of them quite well! Could they be a pathway to offering peace?

In short, yes. I provided organ music for the funeral of a beloved church member and resident of my town. The church was packed and there were many unfamiliar faces. They sang with full voices in celebration of this woman's rich life and shed tears of grief at her passing. And the music comforted them, touched them, and brought them peace.

The next morning I was back on the bench, playing a completely different set of hymns and organ voluntaries. And again the congregation sang out, praising God and also asking for mercy. They listened quietly to the organ solos (really!). They prayed with a comforting Taize chant. And left with courage for the week ahead.

Later that afternoon I accompanied Thomas Beard in a program of spirituals at a church in a Baltimore suburb. Thomas is a superb performer and made the mostly white audience feel the deep pain of slavery. There were many tears as well as shouts of Bravo, bravo! And once again music made people feel as one and brought them hope.

So perhaps I am an instrument of God's peace after all?

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace.

Where there hatred, let me sow love; where there is injury, pardon;

where there is discord, union; where there is doubt, faith;

where there is despair, hope; where there is darkness, light;

where there is sadness, joy.

Grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled as to console;

to be understood as to understand; to be loved as to love.

For it is in giving that we receive; it is in pardoning that we are pardoned;

and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.

                                                                                        attributed to St. Francis of Assisi

Autumn Apple Cake

Although I didn't grow up eating apple cake, I've made one in the fall for many years. It most likely was inspired by the plethora of delicious apples grown in Maine. I've never had a special recipe-just used what I found in the paper or online. That is, until this year.

There have been a few mistakes through the years with my apple cakes. A few years ago I hosted an American Guild of Organists potluck and my cake got stuck in the bundt pan. There was no covering up the disaster and we just had to make do. This group of folks had no idea that I (mostly) know what I am doing in the kitchen, so I was rather horrified!

Lat fall the Washington Post had a recipe that was billed as "THE apple cake you will make from now on." It was complicated-soaking nuts and dried fruits, making some sort of syrup-but I took on the challenge. I took it to another potluck and fortunately it easily came out of the pan. And it was delicious-moist and flavorful.  But worth all that effort?  Not really. It was meant to be served as is, simply, with no adornments. So I was not happy when the hostess brought out canned whipping cream and bottled caramel sauce to slather on top!

This year I have found THE recipe, courtesy of my friend Karen, who visited recently. Simple and mixed by hand, it covers all the bases and is MEANT to be served with a scoop of vanilla ice cream. I made it for guests last night and they scarfed it down.

Here's Karen, working her magic on fresh green beans from the farmers' market. And here's the recipe, which she found in a Neiman Marcus "friends" cookbook and originally came from a farm in New York State. I hope you'll give it a try- it's perfect if someone at your Thanksgiving table doesn't like pie.

Apple Cake

1. Cream together 1/4 cup Crisco (yes, really), 3/4 to 1 cup sugar, and 1 egg. 

2. Stir together 1 cup flour, 1/2 teaspoon cinnamon, 1/2 teaspoon nutmeg, 1/2 teaspoon baking powder, 1/2 teaspoon baking soda and 1/2 teaspoon salt.  Add to creamed mixture.

3. Stir in 1 teaspoon vanilla, 1/4 cup chopped walnuts or pecans and 3 cups peeled and chopped apples.

4. Cook at 350 for 40-45 minutes.

It takes a bit of elbow grease, but you really can mix this all by hand-it's rather fun to do that. Enjoy!

 

Blessing In a Storm

 

    Last night we had a storm, and I mean a STORM. We could see it coming-great dark clouds rolling across the dining room window with increasing thunder making a molto crescendo.  Then the lightning, such as I've never experienced before. Jagged rods of light dancing across an unsettled sky and accompanied by incessant, timpani-like booms.  Sideways rain pelted the windows and the thirsty earth slurped greedily.

    Dear Prudy huddled in my lap, shaking and panting, and independent Moxie was even glad to come in the house. The lights flickered once, twice, and then they were gone. 8:30 pm and complete darkness.  I was annoyed-me, in my safe, sturdy house was unable to go ahead with the evening's plans of reading and knitting. That annoyance should have turned to prayers for those not so lucky, don't you think?

    So, an early to bed. Prudy and I chose the downstairs guest room-cooler, I thought, while Bill braved the upstairs. Within a few minutes the house became stuffy and hot and I was sweating while simply lying on top of the covers. And here comes the blessing...I opened two windows, put my pillow on the floor underneath them, and felt a breeze. AND I was able to hear the tree frogs, owls and crickets, normally shut out by closed windows, air conditioning and fans. I basked in their happy, contented sounds and perhaps even learned a lesson from them.

    My story is a drop in the bucket compared to the numerous climate tragedies the world is experiencing this summer.  Are you scared? I am. Worry gnaws at me and my baby efforts seem to amount to nothing.

I fear for my grandchildren and all those of future generations. How about you?

Higgledy-Piggledy

This is my higgledy-piggledy garden-a what, you say? According to the Merriam-Webster dictionary higgledy-piggledy means in a confused, disordered or random manner. That's my garden, for sure, but I've done it this way on purpose.

For years I've wanted to be the type of gardener that finds pleasure and healing in working in the dirt, the person that gets lost in the plants and looks up to find darkness descending. That has been quite a struggle-too often gardening was merely a chore and more the idea of working in the yard, as we said in Texas. Weeding for fun? Not for me.

Until...I began to notice the flower gardens of a couple of my friends (Doug and Debbie, that's you). Each had a contained space which was a repository for cuttings and transplants from others, end-of-season annuals and perennials, and plants that would self-seed year after year. No formal borders, no graduated heights. In short, a beautiful higgledy-piggledy display.

I loved these gardens and when we moved to Maryland I asked Bill to dig up a space for one as a birthday gift. As you might imagine that is a lot to ask for, but two years ago my dear husband did just that. The first year was spent getting the soil ready, weeding, removing rocks and planting a big red rose bush that blooms all summer. At this point it was starting to feel like a chore, sadly.

And then the pandemic happened and I had time, lots of it. A neighbor gave me iris, I planted leftover Easter lilies from church, I went to garden centers and bought just what I liked with no thought of color scheme or blooming schedule. I began to be that person that goes out to weed for pleasure!

As you can see from the photo above it really does look a mess, but that's exactly how I want it. Most days in the late afternoon I spend some blissful time checking on it-trimming, weeding, watering, clipping blooms for a bouquet. I sit down in one of the blue chairs and just look.

Lately I've been thinking of my life in terms of higgledy-piggledy.  Director of Music at an Episcopal church, accompanist for a community chorale, spiritual director, retreat leader, devoted wife of 38 years, mother of dear Emily, Nana to 3 beloved grandchildren, daughter whose role is quickly changing, fortunate friend of many.  Sometimes I struggle to keep my life's garden watered, weeded and trimmed. And I wonder is it too full?

As far as the flower garden goes, though, Moxie is always there to help and here he is in the nasturtiums.

Beauty

 The heavens bear witness to your wonders, O Lord

                                                              (Psalm 89: 5)

Mount Desert Island, Maine

Tuckahoe State Park, Maryland

Pikes Peak, Colorado

My garden, Maryland

As Mother Earth screams for attention, I contemplate her beauty and wisdom, and I grieve.

Quiet Mystery

 The clouds and light this morning colluded to from this impressionistic photo of the Tuckahoe River.  It looks as if I've used some sort of filter or edit function, but I don't even know how to do that.  The photo describes how I've felt the past few months-murky, dark, the line between reality and fantasy unclear.  Every day a step out into a world in which I am a stranger.  Waiting, waiting.

Can it be that we will make it thru the pandemic? That we will go to the grocery without fear, sing together, hug our loved ones? Hope is drifting in around the edges-a quiet mystery that I feel it yet don't quite trust. The anxiety that waiting brings seems all the more intense.

And yes, there have been silver linings to this enforced time of isolation.  Less rushing, more time for reading and gardening, gentle evenings with my husband.  I want to carry these forward as we go back to "normal."

Our world is reeling from so much loss.   Let us practice compassion and work for the common good, sustained by what unites us.

Days pass when I forget the mystery

Problems insoluble and problems offering

their own ignored solutions

jostle for my attention, they crowd its antechamber

along with a host of diversions, my courtiers, wearing

their colored clothes; cap and bells.

                     And then

once more the quiet mystery

is present to me, the throng's clamor

recedes: the mystery

that there is anything, anything at all,

let alone cosmos, joy, memory, everything,

rather than void: and that, O Lord,

Creator, Hallowed One, You still,

hour by hour sustain it.

                                           "Primary Wonder" by Denise Levertov

Thin Place

 

Perhaps you are familiar with the idea of thin places, where one feels as if they have one foot on the earth and one foot in heaven.  It can happen in so many life situations and I myself have felt that way many times. From being held by a loved one to walking the cliffs of Inis Mor Island, it is a powerful, other worldly experience. And now, as I await the birth of a new grandchild, I am in a thin place once again.

Early on the morning of February 17 our granddaughter is scheduled to be born in Colorado.  This knowing that a new being will enter the world 2 days from now is a thin place for me.  The earthly part is substantial-surgery, with all the preparation, risk and recovery it involves.  And the heavenly? That's more difficult to wrap my mind around, but my heart knows it is true.  A new little person, one of God's beloved, is on her way.

How well I remember the first time I saw Zev and Ari.  For Zev, I walked up the outside stairs, schlepping my luggage, and standing in the door was my beautiful daughter holding her newborn boy. A piece of heaven, my heart overflowing.  And Ari?  Bill and I held him the day he was born. What else can I say? New life, firsthand.

This time we are 1600 miles away and due to Covidtide I will not be able to go and be with them.  I grieve, I pray, I look forward to holding her, and I wait, in this thin place.

Ode to Wendell Berry

 

When I despair I gather myself,

put the dog on a leash and

head out the door.

Walking thru a grassy field

I hurry

to the creek.

Hundreds of geese are honking

as they welcome each other back

from a day in the fields.

Overhead the buzzards circle

before smoothly landing

in just one lone pine.

I like to think they are

settling in for teatime

or happy hour.

This is the setting each winter

no matter the pandemic,

the unrest,

my personal despair.

Life goes on as I continue

to take comfort from

the routines of nature,

of which I am a part.

                                Inspired by Wendell Berry's The Peace of Wild Things

Ring Out the Old, Ring In the New

                 Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky,

                    The flying cloud, the frosty light:

                    The year is dying in the night;

                Ring out, wild bells, and let him die.

                Ring out the old, ring in the new

                    Ring, happy bells across the snow

                    The year is going, let him go;

                Ring out the false, ring in the true.

                Ring out the grief that saps the mind,

                    For those that here we see no more;

                    Ring out the feud of rich and poor,

                Ring in redress to all mankind.

                Ring out a slowly dying cause,

                    And ancient forms of party strife;

                    Ring in the nobler modes of life,

                With sweeter manners, purer laws.

                Ring out the want, the care, the sin,

                    The faithless coldness of the times;

                    Ring out, ring out my mournful rhymes,

                But ring the fuller minstrel in.

                Ring out false pride in place and blood,

                    The civic slander and the spite;

                    Ring in the love of truth and right,

                Ring in the common love of good.

                Ring out old shapes of foul disease;

                    Ring out the narrowing lust of gold

                    Ring out the thousand wars of old,

                Ring in the thousand years of peace.

                Ring in the valiant man and free,

                    The larger heart, the kindlier hand.

                    Ring out the darkness of the land,

                Ring in the Christ that is to be.

                                            Alfred Lloyd Tennyson, In Memoriam

                    

Autumn 2020

When we lived in New England, fall was a bittersweet season.  The colors were stunning and the crisp air invigorating, but underneath it all lay a sense of darkness and farewell.  It's quite a different story here in Maryland. Autumn brings a great sense of relief from summer's intense heat and lasts a long time. Especially during this year of the pandemic I am grateful for the chance to spend time outside almost every day. We have entertained frequently on our front porch-what a blessing that's been during this time of isolation! (One or two guests at a time, socially distanced, of course).

There is much to complain about the pandemic, for sure, but there are unexpected gifts as well, if we will only look. One of the biggest gifts for me has been more time with my husband, including lunches together al fresco and evenings at home with no rehearsal tthat requires rushing out the door. Another gift is the time to really cook-thoughtfully, carefully- and to come up with my own recipes.

In an effort to use what's in the fridge I've begun making what I call "refrigerator review" soup.  Frustrated at reading recipes and trying to gather all the ingredients (and make another Covid-exposed shopping trip) I threw up my hands and just improvised.  Here's how it works:

Saute an onion and a clove or 2 of garlic in olive oil.  When softened add whatever vegetables you have on hand-I usually have some carrots and celery, a few pieces of squash or broccoli, a potato or two.  When these are softened add a can of chopped tomatoes with their juice, a quart of chicken or vegetable stock, and a can of beans. Salt and pepper to taste and throw in some dried herbs such as basil, oregano or thyme. Let simmer for 30 minutes or so; taste and adjust seasonings. I serve this piping hot and add a handful of fresh spinach to each bowl. Stir it in and it will wilt immediately.

Why did I ever need a recipe for this?

I've also begun making Irish Soda Bread and boy does it work well with this soup. There's a story to my soda bread, which I'll save for another post. You'll see it in the photo below, which shows a recent al fresco lunch. Bon appetit!

 

Summer's End

 The summer of 2020 was exceptional and I feel a great need to document it with words and photos. In some ways it seemed to endlessly stretch from one impossibly hot and humid day to another, while concurrently it was over in a second. With the advent of an early fall my head and heart have been restored a bit and I can see more clearly.

The first few months of the pandemic allowed us time to expand our vegetable garden, which ended up being a huge disappointment.  We have not managed the transition to gardening in Maryland particularly well!  Have you ever heard of a gardener bemoaning the lack of zucchini? Well, that's us. The basil, on the other hand, was spectacular, and I'd guess that we supplied at least a dozen folks with enough for a good batch of pesto.  Bill's signature crop, garlic, did well-enough.

This was the second year of my higgeldy-piggeldy garden and it came into it's own. Do you know what a higgeldy-piggelgy garden is? The definition of that term is in a confused, disordered, or random manner, and that's exactly what my garden is. Anchored by a few perennials, the garden is home to whatever is on sale at the nursery or has been given to me by friends.  I love it!  St. Francis is hiding in there somewhere-next year he needs moving.

For a few blissful days we were restored by the peace of a cottage in Central Maine.  It was a different sort of Maine trip, due to the pandemic, but I cherish every moment we were there.

The summer was notable in that we finally ate crabs, after 5 years on the Eastern Shore. Courtesy of dear son-in-law Jeff, we sat on the porch and made a huge mess.  Wow, crabs are a lot of work!  I really don't mind eating mine in a crab cake, tho.

And then...it was the summer of our family's relocation to Colorado Springs.  Zev spent a few days every week at Nana Camp and Ari made frequent visits as well.  It was intense, exhausting, and life-giving. There was time to introduce Ari to the books of Robert McCloskey and weekly trips to a farm market for lovely produce and yummy ice cream (especially the peach!). Zev and I greatly expanded our baking repertoire from blueberry muffins to include oatmeal cookies, homemade bread, blueberry crisp and banana muffins. Did we ever make a mess...but oh so much fun.

Bill and I made a similar cross-country leap when we moved from Dallas to Maine in 1993. Begrudgingly I have to say I understand the reasons for the move to Colorado. Of course it is different here without them 55 miles down the road and I miss them terribly. But I am happy for Emily and Jeff and proud of them for trying to do what's best for their family.

How could I not say something about the state of our country and the upcoming election? I am worried, yes, and the above says it all.

Every day I make it a point to remind myself that we are all God's beloved. May we treat each other as such and work for healing and peace.

Love Thy Neighbor

Greeting God

Summer heat blistering the pavement

as I rush to start my car, turn high the a/c.

In the corner of my eye

a black man appears, gesturing enthusiastically

and pointing to my bumper.

His eyes light up as I roll down my window

and he cries, "Biden, yes! He's our man!

"We've got to work hard!"

I am honored to be included in that "we."

He and I both feel joy-his at seeing

a left-leaning woman

in a right-wing town

and mine, feeling solidarity

with him.

For a moment we feel a connection

and greet God in each other.

The Recipe

Don't you love the Lady Editors above?  I was quite surprised to see that the first edition of this cookbook was published in 1972-it seems rather late for that sort of attitude.  But I do love the homey, old-fashioned kitchen pictured on the cover and admit that it is really my dream kitchen. The minimalist style just doesn't do it for me in the kitchen.

In the summer of 1982, a few months before Bill and I were married, he introduced me to Maine.  After picking me up at the Portland Jetport we made a stop at L.L. Bean in Freeport, where I picked up this cookbook.  It is at least as much about Yankee culture as cooking, which was brand new to me.  It was a summer of planning for the future, adjusting to a different way of seeing the world, and falling in love with Maine.

As you might imagine, the rural location of our rental cottage in Central Maine was like another country to this Texas girl, who had grown accustomed to big city ways in Dallas.  I could not believe my eyes at the scant choice of produce in the small groceries where we shopped.  But then Bill introduced me to Maine strawberries, the pick-your-own kind that you just can't stop eating.

I began making this strawberry pie back in 1982 and have made at least one every summer since then. The berries have been an adjustment in Maryland for the past 5 summers- certainly better than what ones buys in the supermarket, they are not as sweet and juicy as perfectly ripe Maine berries.

My pie is inspired by the recipe in the Yankee cookbook, but I take great liberties and must say it is delicious!  Let me know if you make one for yourself.

Fresh Strawberry Pie

1 baked, single pie shell

1 1/2 quarts strawberries

3/4 cup sugar

3 tablespoons cornstarch, softened in a little water

whipping cream

Wash, hull and dry the berries (drying is important!). If some are very large, cut in half. Arrange 1 quart of berries on cooked shell. Cook the remaining 1/2 quart of berries with the sugar on low heat for a few minutes.  Bring to a gentle boil and vigorously stir in the cornstarch softened in water. Cook a few more minutes, stirring constantly, until thickened.  Let cool 5-10 minutes, then pour over berries in shell.  Top with whipped cream.

This makes a chunky glaze, which I like, but if you don't you could sieve the berries before adding cornstarch.

Tea with Mahler

In the pre-Covid world Bill and I were planning to get on a plane for Vienna today. Yes. That's been a hard one for me.

For years I've had a dream of Bill and I going to that city together-it abounds in many of the things we love in common-classical music, art museums, history, architecture, and coffee shops.  It took some work to convince Bill he could make the trip and it would, truthfully, have had its challenges.  But with supplemental oxygen, a relaxed schedule and a room at the centrally located Benedictine monastery we felt we could make it work.

It's not so easy to simply say We'll just reschedule for next year. Aside from not having any idea what travel will look like in a year, we have no idea if 87 year-old Bill would be up for the trip.  That's where I feel the loss.

Vienna fascinates me, especially the historical city at the turn of the 20th century. After hearing a Mahler symphony at the Kennedy Center in February I decided to do some research.  The above book is what I came up with-it is not only a biography of Mahler but a cultural history of that time period in Vienna, complete with tales about Wagner, Strauss, Klimt, Schiele and so much more.  Just what I wanted.

It is 700 pages long. Gulp.

But we're in a pandemic and I have time, right?  Most days I reserve 30 minutes for "Tea with Mahler."  I make the tea in a pot and in proper Viennese fashion have a little treat to go with it.  For a couple of weeks now I've been able to sit outside and am joined by a symphony of birdsong. And I'm halfway thru!

Here's the recipe for my afternoon muffins-they are even somewhat healthy with oats and very low sugar. Try them and let me know what you think.

Mahler Muffins

Combine 1 cup milk (any kind) with 1 cup old-fashioned oats and let soak 15 minutes.

Beat 1 egg with 1/4 cup vegetable oil, then stir in oatmeal mixture.

In a separate bowl mix 1 cup flour, 1/4 cup sugar, 1 teaspoon baking soda, 1/2 teaspoon salt and 1 teaspoon cinnamon. Add the wet ingredients to this bowl and stir in 1 teaspoon of vanilla.

Gently stir in 1/2 cup or more of add-ins such as raisins, chopped nuts, or chocolate chips.

Transfer to greased baking tins and bake at 400 degrees for 15-25 minutes-check early as these are not good if overcooked!  Makes about a dozen.

An Uncertain Season

The liturgical calendar says we are in Eastertide-do you feel that way?  I don't.  As much as I search for new life and resurrection in the everyday I am still beset by a low-grade, ever-present sense of uncertainty.  And perhaps therein lies the lesson-it's there, it will continue to be there for the foreseeable future, and I need to learn how to welcome it.

This is the first Easter in decades that I haven't come home from church and collapsed for a multi-hour nap.  My church held a "parking lot" service on Easter Sunday which was actually quite beautiful, all things considered. The congregation had to remain in their cars and communion was spiritual.  We sang a hymn, listened to a sermon and closed with a stellar recording of Handel's Hallelujah.  It was a gorgeous spring day and the birds added their chorus to ours.  It was an out-of-time and out-of-place experience with a steep learning curve, but ultimately a time of hope, filled with the Spirit.

As I was not worn out from Holy Week duties I had the energy to make a delicious Easter dinner, using my grandmother's china and the sterling from marriage #1.  Fresh salmon from our local market, newly picked asparagus from a farm nearby, and apple crisp from cold storage apples.  And a nice red wine.

So as we enter week six of the pandemic I am trying to be both productive and reflective. And I am ever-mindful of the sick and those out-of-work.  I'll close with a prayer which is comforting to me and which I believe-that Love's desire is for health and wholeness.

 Prayer for People Facing Great Uncertainty

God of the present moment,

God who in Jesus stills the storm

and soothes the frantic heart;

bring hope and courage to all

who wait or work in uncertainty.

Bring hope that you will make them the equal

of whatever lies ahead.

Bring them courage to endure what cannot be avoided,

for your will is health and wholeness;

you are God, and we need you.

Amen.

                                                                                          (from the New Zealand Prayer Book)

Quiet Time

So much has already been said about this time we are in-what can I possibly add?  I spend my days as many of you probably do-getting a bit of work done, taking more walks than usual, cleaning the house, catching up with friends and yes, watching Netflix.  Playing the piano is bringing much-needed joy to my heart and I still walk over to my church to work on some new repertoire for the organ.

And I pray...for my family and friends, our leaders, healthcare workers and everyone affected by this virus. I pray also without words, silently searching for what I might learn and how I might change.  As hard as it may be to admit, there will be good that comes from this moment in history.

I actually love all this quiet time, yet it is undergirded by fear of getting sick and fear of the economic repercussions.  Bill is at very high risk therefore I must take great care not to bring something home.  So, short of being extremely careful, what can I do?  The answer is cook! Healthy, heart-warming, pantry-friendly recipes which at least make me think I am taking action.

For years I've alternated between Moosewood Cookbook and The Barefoot Contessa for delicious lentil soups. As good as they are I was ready for something new.  Just last week I discovered the following and it's a keeper.

Sweet Potato Lentil Soup

1 large sweet potato, cut into bite size pieces

2/3 cup chopped onions

1 cup lentils, rinsed (any kind)

8 oz. diced tomatoes

1 cup carrots, chopped

1/2 teaspoon cumin

1 teaspoon chili powder

salt and pepper to taste

2 bay leaves

4 cups vegetable broth

1 to 1 1/2 cups water

1 tablespoon olive oil

1. In large soup pot, heat oil and saute onions and carrots until softened, about 10 minutes. Add seasonings and garlic and cook 1 minute.

2. Add bay leaves, lentils, sweet potato and tomatoes.  Add vegetable broth and bring to a boil.

3. Partially cover pot, reduce heat and simmer about 30 minutes, stirring occasionally. Cook until sweet potatoes are tender. Remove bay leaves.

This is a forgiving recipe-use what you have and season how you will!  Tomorrow I'll post my perfect-for-tea healthy muffin recipe.

Destiny

Does it seem rather presumptuous and self-serving to talk about destiny? I have never thought much about it, honestly.  But in trying to put my finger on why I love accompanying Thomas Beard, it hit me:  I am fulfilling my destiny. 

Thomas and I performed on February 16 as part of the small concert series at my church.  The program was in honor of Black History Month and each selection was either composed by or for a Black American.  Almost everything was new to me and I haven't practiced that intensely for a long time. (It felt good!) Thomas encourages his pianist to play a solo or two (no prima donna, this man!) and with the help of my friend Lyn I discovered a real gem.  Margaret Bonds' Troubled Waters is a glorious piece-atmospheric, virtuosic, invigorating. I had my hands full, literally, and it came off very well.

But getting back to the idea of destiny...why did I feel this way with this particular program and soloist? I called on years and years of practicing, technique and experience of accompanying, from a beginning violinist who stops at the end of each measure to a choir of 70 performing the Brahms Requiem to a professional baritone at the peak of his career. Throughout all my performing experiences I've had to develop the skill of listening and second-guessing the performer or conductor.  It's something I do well.

In this stage of life it's gratifying to make use of all those hours of practice and turn them into music.  It is my destiny.

Those who do not understand

their destiny, will never understand

the friends they have made,

nor the work they have chosen,

nor the one life that waits

beyond all the others.

                                                                                                    David Whyte (All the True Vows)

Happy New Year

Last week I led a Quiet Day at a nearby retreat house. There were 18 of us there on a cold, winter day and we sat around a cozy fireplace in addition to bundling up and walking around the beautiful grounds. I asked the group to think about this season as a hinge between the old year and the one to come and the first question for silent reflection was what gift did you receive in 2019?

Having received too many gifts to even list I wondered how would I choose? But after a few minutes of reflection it came to me, the gift of friendship. Every day I am blessed by contact with friends from Texas to Maine, from childhood to now. I feel loved, accepted, respected. As I wrote about this in my journal I felt a smile on my face and warmth in my heart.

For several years now I've chosen a word for the year rather than some resolution impossible to keep.  The word for 2019 was plant.At the beginning of last year Bill and I had been in Maryland for 3 years and my feet were not yet on the ground.  I complained mightily about the traffic, the summer heat and humidity, and a seeming lack of enthusiasm for classical music.  Having lived in many different places I realized each location has its own personality and way of doing things, and to buck that only brings unhappiness.  It was time to accept, adapt and adjust. So, plan for the traffic, stay in the air-conditioning on a sweltering summer day, and listen to a recording or one of three classical NPR stations available.

Specifically, we've invited frequent dinner guests, attended community events, and hosted a neighborhood party.  And most concretely, with Bill's help, I started a new flower garden which first involved the most basic chore of digging up soil and tilling the ground.  Last summer it looked bare, with a few annuals and a couple of perennials struggling in the newly turned earth.  But little by little, year by year, it will become beautiful, assuming I put in the work.  You see, I took my word plant literally and it made all the difference.

Back to the Quiet Day, I asked the attendees to wander outside to look for signs of new life while thinking about an intent for the new year.  My intent came quickly and easily- write. For four years I have been remiss in writing this blog, which is one of the ways I notate and make sense of my life.  My intent is to post at least twice a month- there, I've said it aloud!  I hope you'll hold me to it.

Happy New Year