A Personal Advent

For most of the western world the Christmas season is in full swing.  Decorations, music and ads have been appearing since Halloween and the frenzy of holiday shopping was encouraged by Black Friday, Small-Store Saturday, Cyber Monday and even Giving Tuesday, of all things.  Many folks lament this commercialization, as do I, and I try not to be a part of it. 

Many years ago, full of loneliness and confusion after a divorce, I was headed home across north Texas on Christmas Eve.  The radio was playing- there were precious few stations to choose from- and of all things I heard the hymn O Come, O Come Emmanuel for the first time.  At that moment I fell head-over-heels in love with Advent.

Growing up as a Southern Baptist I’d never even heard the term Advent, much less observed it as a holy season.  There was nary a single Advent hymn in our hymnal at that time and the church Christmas tree and poinsettias went up the Sunday after Thanksgiving.  This idea of waiting, of expectation and hope, filled a need in my soul, and still does.  Now a church musician and an Episcopalian, Advent has become my favorite sacred season.  No church decorations or Christmas carols until after the fourth Sunday of Advent for us, just the way I like it.  And twenty-four Advent hymns, yes, that’s correct, twenty-four.

I am feeling this season more profoundly than ever this year because I believe that I am in the midst of a personal Advent, one that will likely last for months or even a few years.  As I approach my 60^th birthday, as my church continues to struggle, as my new grandson grows and changes daily, and as my husband enters a new stage, we must decide where we want to make our life.  Do we stay in Maine, which has become our comfortable home, or do we move closer to family, to share our lives with theirs more fully? It is a decision which should not be forced and which I am confidant will be revealed, in due season.  In the meantime, we wait.

O come, thou Wisdom from on high,

who orderest all things mightily;

to us the path of knowledge show,

and teach us in her ways to go.

                                      Latin, ca. 9^th century

A New World

In the summers of 1979 and 1981, more years ago than I can wrap my mind around, I worked as Staff Accompanist at the prestigious National Music Camp in Interlochen, Michigan.  Affectionately known simply as Interlochen, it changed my life.

Twenty-fours years old and reeling from a divorce, I needed a fresh start.  I was a sheltered Southern Baptist girl with a long list of do’s and don’ts who had rarely left her home state of Texas, all of which made me question who I was and what I was doing.

Well, everyone was not Baptist at Interlochen; in fact many were not even Christian.  And yes, that was a shock.  I quickly made friends with other staff and faculty members and we set about solving the world’s problems in addition to going out for beer and polka-dancing. I heard the f-word from one of these friends…and it was ok.  Only a week or two into the summer session I realized with a start that non-Christians can be good people, too…does my naiveté shock you?

This was the time I first talked to a gay man about life in a heterosexual world, what it’s like to tell your parents, how one has to hide it…remember, this is 1979, decades from where we are now.  I ate my first-ever bagel at the canteen, a Lender’s frozen one, no less, and I loved it.

More than this eye-opening, though, Interlochen was about discovering myself as an artist and committing to making music as my life’s work and passion.  I played the piano all day and every evening there, just about working my fingers to the bone.  Sometimes boring, sometimes incredibly challenging.  But I found I could do it, and do it well.  And it was the life I wanted.

I am writing about this now because last week I was there, visiting for the first time in thirty-two years.  It is hard to describe the feeling that came over me when I stepped onto the campus.  The ladies at the information booth were so excited at this alumni’s visit and peppered me with questions…but I only wanted to be quiet, and to hear the sounds around me.  One hears music everywhere: fingers flying in the Schumann piano concerto coming from a stone practice hut, kids practicing their ‘cellos outdoors, a junior choir doing vocal warm-ups with the doors of the studio thrown wide-open.  As we approached the impressive open air auditorium, Kresge, I fought back tears upon hearing the orchestra rehearsing…all of a sudden I was 24 again.

So many memories, so much time passed…

Thank you, Interlochen, for showing me a new world.

Chamber Music Intro

Earlier this week two of my young piano students, ages 9 and 10, spent a day at a chamber music festival in Blue Hill.  Based on an earlier audition tape, they received music about eight weeks ago which was to be thoroughly learned by festival day. I gulped when I saw what they were to learn-it was quite a challenge!  But we dove in, section by section, week by week, and they were ready.

Lily played two movements of a Mozart Serenade for strings and keyboard, while Mia performed a Purcell Chaconne for 2 violins and keyboard.  Oh my, was I ever a proud teacher.  Each group marched confidently upon the stage and took a professional bow together.  The girls played on a beautiful Steinway grand in one of the best halls for chamber music in Maine.  And afterwards I cheered for them as if I were at a rock concert.

I can never say what music has meant to me other than it is my life, whether performing, teaching or listening.  I see myself as a youngster in these two girls and take seriously my role in guiding them along this path. What a hopeful and inspiring afternoon, to hear them make music with others.

Bravo, Lily and Mia!