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

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.

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)

Threshold

On June 1 I retired from teaching piano.  That word retire is not easy for me to say, but I am making myself use it as a way to honestly acknowledge a big decision.

(And just for the record, the house above with a wall of windows looking out on the water is not ours!)

For more than 35 years my workday afternoons have been filled with all sorts of fingers playing the piano, from very little ones to those savaged by arthritis, and all ages in between.  Although it was often a frustrating job it was always rewarding and I had many students whom I came to love deeply.  It was a gift to watch a young child tentatively place their hands on the keys and years later see them playing a Beethoven Sonata.

Teaching piano was not just about notes and rhythm-it was about helping someone reach into their soul and express what they found thru music.  That was the most difficult part of teaching as well as the aspect I enjoyed most.

When we moved to Maryland almost 4 years ago I mistakenly assumed I would have all the students I wanted.  And I was counting on that financially, too.  I compared everything to my studio in Ellsworth/Bar Harbor, where I had a group of exceptional young pianists with supportive parents.  Well, let's just say the past few years have taught me a lot about the folly of expectations.  I struggled mightily to start a studio and even to convince my young students' families that piano was worth taking seriously.

At the same time that I was spinning my heels a growing call to something else started to emerge in my heart and I began to discern whether or not I should let the piano studio go.  Contrary to my teaching, I was having much interest in my Quiet Day retreats both at church and a nearby retreat center.  I felt energized and excited by this new work and knew that the Spirit was speaking.  Last year I also received a certificate in Spiritual Direction and began offering this guidance to individuals.

It's so clear when I look back....but all the same giving up teaching was a hard decision.  It has been a huge part of my adult identity and I've always felt privileged to do that work.  I suppose it's good practice when even bigger retirements inevitably come along, such as church work and accompanying.

At the last recital on June 1 I felt like an observer, an outsider looking in.  My head had said goodbye and I think my heart, too.  It feels good, right.

Vienna Pilgrimage

One may not think of Vienna and pilgrimage together-the city is grand and rich, while a pilgrimage brings to mind silence, simplicity and searching one's soul.  But a pilgrimage to Vienna is exactly what I undertook last November with a small group from Abbey of the Arts and my dear friend Pamela. 

The trip was centered around the Rule of St. Benedict and each morning we spent time in both meditation and conversation around a particular aspect of the rule and then went out into the city to put that rule into play.  For example, one of the rules speaks of seeing the sacred in every person. This big city gave one ample opportunities to do that, from the wealthy, beautifully dressed retiree to a beggar dressed in rags sitting by the sidewalk.

Vienna is very Catholic, with a Baroque church on just about every corner.  As awe-inspiring as the ornate interiors covered in gold leaf seemed at first, I did grow tired of it.  But those churches were a haven for heavenly music, from organ concerts to a mass which featured an orchestra and choir in a Missa Brevis by Mozart.

About three days into the trip we went by bus to Heiligenkreuz Abbey in the countryside. This abbey is Cistercian and in a much more simple style than the gilded Baroque churches.  Walking into this space reminded me of the palate-cleansing course during a fancy dinner!  I immediately felt calm and centered and in the presence of the divine.  We were able to hear the monks chant a noon service and I still wonder about the effect that would have on a person over the long term.  Chanting the psalms in unison, over and over, for days, weeks, years...a lifetime.

Of course one thinks of a certain kind of Viennese food, too, and like the excesses of the Baroque style, I found that a little sausage, sauerkraut and potato salad goes a long way...at least I earned this plate of calories by walking 2 hours though the beautiful Vienna Woods to the restaurant.

Brahms and Beethoven were both known to have spent many hours walking these woods in search of inspiration.

I love having a coffee in Europe (surely this afternoon pause is in St. Benedict's rule?), where there's nary a drive-up or paper cup in site.  Hear my friend and traveling companion Pamela is just getting started on her exquisite cup of coffee, served on a silver tray with a small chocolate and a glass of water.

Well...one does not just have coffee for the pausa...I think we would have been run out of the cafe if we'd passed on the pastry.  And this is not just for tourists...the lean and fit Viennese were also enjoying a pastry with their coffee.

I'm not much for "bucket-lists," but for years I've wanted to pay homage to the great composers and give thanks for how they have enriched my life.  Among others, the Vienna Central Cemetery contains the graves of Beethoven, Schubert and Brahms and I put a rose on each of their stones, spending a little extra time with Brahms, my favorite of all.

Often I feel out-of-step with the world, in part because of my love of classical music and art, and because of my desire for silence and contemplation. Vienna allowed me to feed my soul and spirit, through the arts and through the sacred.  The capstone of the week was seeing Dvorak's Rusalka, a fairy-tale opera for a fairy-tale week.

Superstition

For almost thirty years I have been working on Sunday mornings as an organist and choir director.  I've made the rounds thru the denominations-Methodist, United Church of Christ, Episcopal- and although one should not think of this work as a performance, any wrong notes, missed entrances or hymnals falling across the keys are heard.  It's understandable, don't you think, that I might be just a bit nervous or anxious each week?

I can't quite remember how it started, but shortly after I began working in the church I had coffee each Sunday morning in the above mug.  This habit quickly turned into a superstition, as in I can't play if I don't use this mug!  At times I've even grabbed it out of an unsuspecting guest's hand, having to sheepishly explain.

Soon after Bill and I married in 1983 we took a trip to England which included a tour and Evensong at Canterbury Cathedral.  That's where I bought this beautiful mug with a Celtic design and somehow it just seemed to be the right one for Sunday mornings.  Several months ago it chipped badly and that was the beginning of the end. Eventually it slipped from my hand into the sink and shattered.

Knowing we were going to Ireland in a few months I searched thru the cabinet for a temporary substitute. For awhile I used a pretty deep purple mug-a good liturgical color, right?

I had fun looking in the Irish shops for just the right new Sunday mug...but I couldn't find it.  Everything looked like touristy gift shop, if you know what I mean.  I was sure I'd know it when I saw it and had resigned myself to looking at some Irish sites online when we returned.

The day we left Ireland we arrived at Shannon airport with loads of time on our hands and guess what- a gift shop with beautiful, quality woolens, sterling silver jewelry and Belleek china.  I spied the mug immediately- a lovely creamy bone china with a Trinity knot.  It fit perfectly in my hand and I had not a moment's doubt.

Memories of MDI

MDI...that's short for Mount Desert Island in Maine, home of Bar Harbor and Acadia National Park. Bill and I have just returned home from a wonderful vacation there, seeing friends, making music and soaking up the beautiful landscape and spirit of coastal Maine.

We spent several nights in our friend Debby's guest house, which doubles as an office for her rare print and book business.  The many books there were such a temptation that I'm afraid I didn't read a single word of the novel that I'd hoped to finish over the vacation.

Have you ever seen such a big pepper mill?  It is truly inspiring and makes one want to use a lot of pepper!  I believe Debbie said it belonged to her grandparents.

No trip to Maine is complete without a fresh lobster roll...there is just nothing like it.  Sure, you can try one somewhere else (even in Annapolis), but it is not the same.  This one is from the Bar Harbor Inn and was served at an outdoor table overlooking the harbor.  Couldn't be better.

One really should follow a lobster roll with some locally made ice cream. I love to treat myself to a single scoop at the above place once a year.  Interesting and unusual flavors combined with lots of cream-a winner!  Now I hear they are opening a shop in Washington DC- a fun outing for Zev and me, perhaps?

Bill was thrilled to see his chamber music friends Heidi and Nancy.

Our time on MDI was partially a working trip for me, work that I was more than happy to do.  I played a noon recital at St. Saviour's in Bar Harbor and spent several days with my good friend, the Visser-Rowland organ.  How I love to make music on that instrument.

My dear friend and organ technician extraordinaire, Bill, surprised me by showing up for the recital. Just a couple of days earlier, when I'd been in touch to complain about the Swell Gedacht, he'd claimed to be way too busy to make the trip from MA.  How I miss his good ear, troubleshooting ability and concern for the instrument, not to mention his ever-present sense of joie-de vivre.

We spent a couple of nights with Debby and Paul, their three Corgis and four cats, and had our annual lobster dinner.  Just before I took this photo one of their kitties was peering down from the piano lid, eyeing the lobster with a gleam in her eye.

A sense of sadness came over me as we drove off the island and headed home to Maryland.  But I also felt such a sense of gratitude- for our many years in Maine, the friendships we continue to hold, the natural beauty and the knowledge that life is deep and meaningful.  Thank you.

The Maritimes

For some reason I have not posted on this blog for over 6 months.  I don't know why. I have wanted to write about many things and have taken a lot of photos.  But still, no post.  Perhaps I could blame it on the sorry state of our country and the way that's messing with my head and heart.  I feel like it's now or never, so here goes...

This photo was taken on the Cabot Trail in Cape Breton, Nova Scotia. Do you see the winding road in the background?  Some scientists surmise that Cape Breton used to be attached to Scotland and that's not hard to believe. The mountainous highlands literally bow down to meet the sea.  The road is up and down, top to bottom, over and over.  One awe-inspiring view after another.

You might be surprised to see my friend Ray and me wearing these silly lobster bibs.  We are normally pretty serious folks, concerned about just the right articulation in Bach's Wachet auf! or the soprano's wobbly vibrato in Mozart's Laudate Dominum.  Here we are just having a bit of fun on Prince Edward Island and making a big mess eating lobster.

I accompanied Ray's choir on a tour of the Canadian Maritimes.  There is something very special about that area of the world-peaceful and spiritual-and I find myself returning over and over. This was my 4th foreign tour with the group and I experienced once again the power of music to bridge all types of barriers, whether it be cultural, language, race or others. (And I wonder if Congress might function better if they sang in a choir together?)

Many days were clear and bright, with a fresh breeze and a gentle sun. But several were foggy, and I mean FOGGY- visibility was measured in feet.  There were many complaints about that, but not from me.  Bright colors just "pop" in the fog and it makes me feel alive and well.

Daily Dose of Bach

For the past several years, instead of making a New Year's resolution, I've chosen a word as sort of an overview of what I want for the year. One year it was "health"-much too broad-and last year it was "open." Being in a new state, new town, new church, etc., I thought it would be a good idea to be open to the way things were done instead of bringing in my own ideas right away.  That actually worked very well, unsurprisingly.

For 2017 I wanted to change things up a bit.  As I said farewell to the old year I felt great anxiety and fear for what was coming in our nation. I knew I had to "do something"-sign petitions, contact my congress persons, advocate for the refugees-but I also felt I needed to take care of my own frazzled soul.

So, I've chosen to either play or listen to Bach every day.  Why Bach? Simply put it's because of the deep peace and joy I feel from his music. Whether it's a complex, dense fugue of many voices or an elegantly ornamented melody, his compositions take me to a place I want to be.

It is really not so hard to do, this daily dose of Bach. So far I've listened to the entire Christmas Oratorio, consisting of six cantatas, while cooking several weeks of dinner. For years I've brought out that recording at the beginning of Advent and only managed to hear the first few tracks! I've already discovered that listening to Bach is a much more calming influence that the afternoon's All Things Considered.

If it's a day when I'm not working and I want to play my daily dose, the Goldberg Variations are sitting on the music rack of my piano.  These 30 variations of the exquisite Aria have long been my go-to in times of personal upheaval.  But I've never played them-only listened. Now I'm trying to wrap my fingers around even a few of them.

Then if it's a working day I play some Bach on the organ- a real no-brainer, right? I could play a page a day for years and never repeat but I've decided to work and get to the nitty gritty of what makes this composer great. For years I've programmed his chorale prelude Schmücke dich, o liebe Seele and have always been dissatisfied with my performance. It is dense, the pedal is hard and there are ornaments galore, yet the organist must make it sound easy! This has been my daily dose while at church and it has been a gratifying step-back, start again experience.  Maybe I will finally play it well.

So far, so good... I will keep you posted. Thank you, Bach.

Come Together

Like many Americans (well, actually over half) I woke up on Wednesday, November 9 in a state of shock.  And yes, I was grieving that my candidate lost, but quickly realized that it was more than that. Much, much more.  Looking at the election results it hit me (bingo!) that we were a country scarily divided.

And being a Wednesday I had to prepare for an evening choir rehearsal, the absolute last thing I wanted to do. I would have preferred crawling back into bed and pulling the covers over my head for a week. But it began to dawn on me that life was going to go on and I had to make my way in it somehow.  It turns out that a choir rehearsal was hands-down the best way to do that.

I am still getting to know the folks in this choir, but I'm fairly sure that we are not all on the same page politically-I'm actually grateful for that, believe it or not-it opens my world up a bit.  However, this was not the night I felt like practicing open mindedness and understanding!  Still, it had to be done and we opened the rehearsal with the Book of Common Prayer's beautiful Prayer For Our Country.  Somehow that prayer bound us together and brought us all into the rehearsal.

And then we began to sing...non-stop.  Hymns, service music, anthems-majestic, pleading, yearning. We worked hard on Mozart's sublime Ave Verum and continued with several pieces for the upcoming Advent season.  It was the best rehearsal we've ever had and it gave me hope-these dozen disparate souls overcame our differences and we made something beautiful.

The next night Bill and I heard Durufle's transparent and serene Requiem at the Kennedy Center. Written in 1947, shortly after a horrific period of history, it continues to be a testament of faith, comfort and tranquility in troubled times.  By the third measure I was in tears-the quiet, undulating strings seemed a metaphor for my life, up and down, back and forth.  The idea of a requiem also hit me personally-the death of my own hopes for a woman president who I felt shared my priorities.  Yet as the work progressed from movement to movement I began to feel hopeful, as I'd done the night before. The 200 or so people on stage-orchestra plus a university chorus-could not possibly have all voted the same way 2 days before.  But here they were, joining together to make something beautiful.

Never have I been so grateful to be a musician.

Almighty God, who hast given us this good land for our heritage; We humbly beseech thee that we may always prove ourselves a people mindful of thy favor and glad to do thy will. Bless our land with honorable industry, sound learning, and pure manners. Save us from violence, discord, and confusion; from pride and arrogance, and from every evil way. Defend our liberties, and fashion into one united people the multitudes brought hither out of many kindreds and tongues. Endue with the spirit of wisdom those to whom in thy Name we entrust the authority of government, that there may be justice and peace at home, and that, through obedience to thy law, we may show forth thy praise among the nations of the earth. In the time of prosperity, fill our hearts with thankfulness, and in the day of trouble, suffer not our trust in thee to fail.

                                                                           Book of Common Prayer

Visit with an Old Friend

In late August Bill and I traveled to Maine to visit friends and take a break from Maryland's punishing heat, timing the trip so that I could play a recital at St. Saviour's in Bar Harbor.  I confess to having wondered what in the world I'd been thinking as I packed for the trip AND spent hours and hours practicing.

The first morning there, after having limped north 750 miles in a car with flashing service warning lights, I walked into the church with a fair amount of anxiety. I imagine it was like arriving at a reunion where it had been awhile since you'd seen the people there. The organ at St. Saviour's is a colorful individual, to say the least, and I had two days to practice-would that be enough to get reacquainted?

Tears flooded my eyes as so many wonderful memories came flying at me. I went to say hello to the two small Tiffany windows near the organ which were my constant companions while practicing all those years.

And then it was time to play...but the bench was too low and too close to the keyboard...well, of course, there is a new organist here!  But all the same I felt betrayed, as if the organ had been disloyal. After readjusting the bench I pulled out some stops and began to remember just why I had a love affair with this instrument for years.  The keys, made of rosewood, feel so good.  The tracker action breathes life into each note. The beautiful 4-foot flutes wafting thru that ethereal space made me feel as if I were in heaven.

Within five minutes I knew I'd be ready for the recital and the next few days were just like sitting down with a good friend over a cup of coffee and talking non-stop.  After the recital I reluctantly said goodbye to this Visser-Rowland instrument, not realizing that only a few weeks later I'd be back again, this time to play for the memorial service of my dear friend Sarah. On that occasion the organ and I worked as one to give Sarah a loving farewell.

Yes, I miss this instrument and the musicality I discovered while playing it. You might even say I grieve it. But I have another organ to play now-it's blander and with a more muted palette-but I know it wants to sing.  We are slowly getting to know each other.