Sunday Psalm

Yesterday's Psalm spoke to me.

Lord, you have been our refuge
from one generation to another.

Before the mountains were brought forth,
or the land and the earth were born,
from age to age you are God.

You turn us back to the dust and say,
"Go back, O child of earth."

For a thousand years in your sight are like yesterday when it is past
and like a watch in the night.

You sweep us away like a dream;
we fade away suddenly like the grass.

In the morning it is green and flourishes;
in the evening it is dried up and withered.

Return, O Lord; how long will you tarry?
be gracious to your servants.

Satisfy us by your loving-kindness in the morning;
so shall we rejoice and be glad all the days of our life.

Psalm 90:1-6; 13-14

I've been feeling a bit like the tree in the photo above...struggling and weatherbeaten by the winds of life. One evening last week, all of a sudden, something went wrong with my left eye. I was seeing flashes of light and big black blotches everywhere. I was scared. Everything that just a minute before I'd taken for granted seemed to be at risk. But fate was kind and the next morning, after some frantic searching, I got an immediate appointment with a specialist only 5 minutes away. The technical diagnosis is posterior vitreous detachment which will likely heal itself if I can rest and avoid heavy physical activity and reading.

Yes, reading...that's a hard one. Of course I read music, too, and my usual solitary hours of practice are out for awhile. But I now have the OK to do what I need to in order to play on Sundays and keep my students in order.

I am grateful that healing has begun and you can believe that I will take care of my eye. And that means signing off now...but one more thing: this Psalm spoke to Brahms, too-he used it in his Requiem.

Summer of Love

This was the summer for memorable weddings. First it was the one with Yo-Yo Ma and then Emily's on August 14. And between these two I played for a same-sex commitment ceremony at St. Saviour's. Although it is not yet legal here in Maine for a same-gender couple to marry, I am fortunate to work for a church and denomination that allows and even encourages blessings for gay couples.

Rick and Josh are about 40, I'd guess, and had a civil wedding in DC. But they wanted a church blessing as well, and being die-hard Episcopalians fate led them to us. I realize that gay marriage is controversial and I'd dare say some of my dear friends and family would not support the idea. But I am of another opinion and feel that two people who love and care for each other have the right to get married, period. I know several long-term gay couples that could teach us heterosexuals a thing or two about a loving relationship.

For the purpose of this posting I will call Rick and Josh's ceremony a wedding. And what a glorious one it was...never have I worked with a couple so intent on designing a service which spoke to their love for each other, their friends and family, and God. Every hymn and scripture reading was carefully chosen and their vows, while traditional, included some timely modern adaptations. Communion was a big part of the service, and the hymns chosen for that spoke inclusively of God's love for all. The whole thing was capped off by their yellow lab emerging from the wings to recess down the aisle with them.

I have played for so many weddings where the couple and their friends are ill at ease and just anxious to get to the party. Not this one...I felt that we were all part of something beautiful, meaningful and even eternal...the way weddings should be.

Harvest

It's fall here in Maine-sweaters and fleece jackets have come out of storage, nights are cool, and the furnace has even been on a couple of times. A fire is laid and ready to go in the woodstove. As hard as it is to give up what was a beautiful summer, there is one thing I'm happy about and that is the garden is just about finished! I've slaved over pasta sauce from our tomatoes and pesto from the basil, and numerous servings of both are in the freezer for a cold winter night. I'm glad that we still have chard, lettuce and herbs, but I've cooked and eaten enough green and yellow beans to last a year. By far, though, it's the summer squash which have just about driven me batty. Almost every day since late July Bill has harvested one, or two, or three, or the occasional zucchini baseball bat. A plethora of squash, yes. If man could live by squash alone...

In the past couple of weeks I've served the following dish 3 times at dinner parties and potlucks, always to great acclaim. I like it because it uses up lots of squash and you can put it in the oven and forget about it. And, by the way, it tastes great! Enjoy.

Scalloped Squash

1. Preheat the oven to 350. Butter a 9 x 13 baking dish.

2. In a medium saucepan over medium heat, melt 3 tablespoons butter. Whisk in 3 tablespoons flour to make a smooth paste. Whisk in 1 1/2 cups milk and bring to a boil. Reduce heat and stir in 1 1/2 cups sharp cheddar until melted and sauce is smooth.

3. Slice 2 medium yellow squash and 2 medium zucchini in rounds. Slice or chop 1 onion. Layer these in the baking dish, sprinkling with salt and pepper frequently. Cover with cheese sauce and 1/4 cup dried bread crumbs.

4. Bake for 60 minutes, uncovered, and serve hot.

Vacation

Bill and I have just returned from Cape Breton Island, the northernmost part of Nova Scotia. We spent 4 nights in the town of Cheticamp, exactly 550 miles from our house, as part of a much needed post-wedding getaway. Across the street from our cottage was a quiet, almost deserted beach, perfect for early morning and sunset walks. We explored every inch of the charming Acadian village, with its impressive St. Pierre Church and Les Trois Pignons Museum. But best of all we were near the Cape Breton Highlands National Park where we took many short hikes and stopped at every scenic overlook. I was overwhelmed with the amount of wilderness there...one could look off into the distance for miles and miles and know that there were no roads, no trails, no people. The scenery was stunning and unlike any I'd ever seen-so beautiful that I can't find words to describe the beauty, so I'll say it with photos.

Looking down at the village of Pleasant Bay

Happy hour on the beach

The marsh behind Aspey Bay

Aspey Bay, where John Cabot is thought to have first landed in North America.

Me, rested

Emily's Wedding

Our dear Emily was married last week, a day full of happiness and joy. For several days before the event I felt very strange-an odd combination of anxiety and anticipation with a touch of sadness. I daresay I don't need to explain that to any mothers who have had a daughter or son marry. Here are some of the highlights that I will always treasure:

Before the actual ceremony there was a private signing of the marriage contract (the ketubah) with the rabbi, Emily and Jeff, the parents and a few guests. As we began the rabbi spoke some words of wisdom to this effect: We often go thru our busy lives just moving from one thing to another, hardly aware of what we're doing. Right now, Emily and Jeff are about to cross a bridge from being single to being married. Let's take a few moments to be quiet and acknowledge this step that's being taken and how all our lives will be changed because of it.

After the signing Jenny and I broke a plate together. It was made of heavy stoneware and wrapped in a cloth. Our first attempt was unsuccessful, so on the second try we slammed it down on the back of a chair with all our might and that did the trick. There are a number of explanations for this ritual, but the one I like best is that the breaking of the plate symbolizes the irrevocable nature of the wedding contract.

At a Jewish wedding the bride and groom process down the aisle escorted by both parents. As Bill, Emily and I began our walk with Elgar's Nimrod playing, Em burst out in peals of laughter...laughter stemming from pure happiness. I have never seen my daughter so ebullient. And then Bill added his own thoughts...this is quite a moment, quite a moment. On arriving at the chuppah Emily circled Jeff seven times, another traditional ritual.

The ceremony itself was rich with meaning. There was the customary stomping on the glass to ward off evil spirits, but my favorite part was when the rabbi wrapped Jeff's beautiful prayer shawl, which had belonged to his grandfather, around the shoulders of both the bride and groom.

There was a reception with good food, good music and great conviviality. We had the usual toasts and a rather unusual one...mine. I knew that I would not be able to say much without choking up, so I decided to "play" my toast. Fortunately the inn has a baby grand piano in the dining room. I began by saying that all my feelings and wishes for the newly married couple could be found in the piece I was about to play, and one could hear a hush fall over the room as I began Debussy's Girl with the Flaxen Hair. It is one of Emily's favorites and it truly did convey what I could not say with words.

Dancing the Horah was the most fun of all. Can you believe this was the first Jewish wedding I've attended? The band played Hava Nagila over and over and over and we all held hands and danced in circles, laughing and singing. The bride and groom, holding a napkin between them to stay connected, were hoisted up into chairs and promenaded around the dance floor. The fathers, Marty and Bill, were next. And yes, you guessed it, before I could even protest I was up in a chair (Jenny, too), feeling as if I were riding a roller coaster at the fair. I can't remember when I've had such a good time.

And now, a week after it's all over, I look at the photos and reflect on this occasion with awe. There is much love between Emily and Jeff, and even more encircles them from all of us, friends and family.

Music with Yo-Yo

Yes, that's me in the photo. Yes, that's the organ in St. Saviour's Church. And yes, that is most definitely Yo-Yo Ma standing next to me. This is a real photo, friends, not photo-shopped or manipulated in any form or fashion.

Last weekend I was the organist for the wedding of a delightful couple who attend my church. They are the type of young Americans that give one hope for our future. The woman went to school with Yo-Yo's children and playing for her wedding was his gift to her. Back in May, when our rector Jonathan told me what was going on, I just could not believe it! It was all very hush-hush, too, and boy was that hard.

What a marvelous experience and the opportunity of a lifetime for me. Due to travel problems Yo-Yo was quite late to our rehearsal. There was little time for pleasantries; we had to get down to work. We began with Handel's Largo and as he played the long opening note I was moved to tears by the most beautiful musical sound I've ever heard and by the realization that I was, in fact, making music with the greatest 'cellist in the world.

He could not have been more gracious, humble or generous. Before the wedding I introduced him to Bill and he handed over his Strad, offering to let Bill draw a bow. And unlike most weddings, where the prelude music serves as background for chatter, the proverbial pin drop here would have seemed like a clashing gong.

People anxiously asked how nervous I was and my answer surprised most of them. I really wasn't nervous at all, just very, very excited and filled with gratitude for this extraordinary opportunity and for Yo-Yo Ma.

Coloring Book

On these blissful summer mornings, when the sun peaks over the horizon at 4:15, I like to read some poetry before the real world takes over. Here is what I found today:

Coloring Book

Each picture is heartbreakingly banal,
a kitten and a ball of yarn,
a dog and bone.
The paper is cheap, easily torn.
A coloring book's authority is derived
from its heavy black lines
as unalterable as the Ten Commandments
within which minor decisions are possible:
the dog black and white,
the kitten gray.
Under the picture we find a few words,
a caption, perhaps a narrative,
a psalm or sermon.
But nowhere do we discover
a blank page where we might justify
the careless way we scribbled
when we were tired and sad
and could bear no more.

Connie Wanek (from On Speaking Terms)

In my sleepy daze I didn't get it at first, but slowly I began to realize that this is my story, my reason for leaving the Southern Baptist church and a minister husband, Lubbock and my home state of Texas. Even after all these years I sometimes doubt myself...my gratitude to the poet, who said it more clearly and eloquently than I ever could.

Almost makes me want to change the name of this blog to Found in Maine...