32. Master Class

This month I spent a week at the Sewanee Church Musicians Conference in Monteagle, Tennessee. Situated on the beautiful Cumberland Plateau, the area is full of winding roads and lush forests. Many artists and writers call this part of the state home, and for good reason. It is high enough to be away from the unrelenting heat of the Deep South and far enough from a major city that the night sky is brilliant. Although Monteagle is the base for our activities, a number of events also take place on the beautiful campus of the University of the South in nearby Sewanee.

This was my 4th year to attend the conference and by now it is sort of like a homecoming...I've made a number of good friends there as well as many acquaintances, and reconnecting after a year is both fun and interesting. Most of us work as organists and choirmasters in Episcopal churches and that common bond usually allows us to converse on a meaningful level despite political and theological differences.

Each day begins with a Eucharist at 7:30 (I confess to not always attending these) followed by rehearsals, workshops, lectures, recitals and music-reading sessions. There is not much free time, but I try to squeeze in a swim now and then and a late night walk with friends. And of course, there's the food...tons and tons of marvelous southern-style cooking served 3 times a day. Grits, sausage, barbeque, chess pie-we all laugh at our expanding waistlines while we continue to shovel it in. I dare say 100% of the attendees are on a diet this week! But along with the food come great opportunities for ample conversation with folks from all over the US, and this year, Barbados. Most evenings after dinner a large group gathers on one of 2 verandas to have a drink, tell a joke and wind down.

Yes, it's a lot of fun, but the musical and liturgical ideas plus the training I receive are on a par with none other. This year that was especially true because I signed up to play for a master class for our organist clinician, Peter Richard Conte. Peter is a world-class performer: in addition to his duties as organist-choirmaster at St. Clements's Church in Philadelphia he is the Grand Court Organist for the Wannamaker Organ at Macy's department store in the same city. The famous Wannamaker organ has 6 manuals and 28,000 pipes. When not touring Peter performs there twice daily, 6 times a week.

The master class took place on the next-to-last day of the conference. I had plenty of time to get used to an unfamiliar instrument, but it also meant that the event was hanging over me for most of the week. It is not easy to play for a famous organist and your peers! I was nervous and particularly struggled to put it out of my mind at night; however, at the same time I really wanted to play.

I chose Louis Vierne's Clair de Lune, an evocative, somewhat hazy piece of about 10 minutes duration. I did alright: as with any performance some things turned out very well, others not. But I was able to hold my head up afterwards and best of all I got some very practical tips from Peter on registration, articulation and phrasing. The end result was definitely worth the effort.

I am grateful to my friends Ellen, Elise, Nina and Lyn (left to right, below) for their encouragement and support. When I threatened to back out they would not hear of it, and on that free Saturday afternoon when they could have been out exploring the countryside they came to hear me play. Thank you! I hope I can do the same for you all next time.

31. For the Beauty

An exceptionally long and mild spring, a beautiful beginning to summer in Maine, and a recent roadtrip rambling thru the backwoods of Vermont have reminded me of a favorite hymn. How lucky I am to breathe fresh, clean air...to see the ocean everyday as I drive to work...to walk on still forest paths...to look up at a bright night sky and see hundreds of stars...to be loved by dear friends and family.

For the beauty of the earth, for the beauty of the skies,

For the love which from our birth over and around us lies,

For the beauty of each hour of the day and of the night,

Hill and vale, and tree and flower, sun and moon, and stars of light,

For the joy of ear and eye, for the heart and mind's delight,

For the mystic harmony linking sense to sound and sight,

For the joy of human love, brother, sister, parent, child,

Friends on earth and friends above, for all gentle thoughts and mild,

Lord of all, to thee we raise this our hymn of grateful praise.

Folliet Sandford Pierpoint (1835-1917)

30. Drowning in Stuff

When I was in Washington last month for graduation, Bill's daughter Bettina hosted a celebratory luncheon in the co-op apartment she and her husband Ilia bought last fall. It was such a treat for me to be a guest there. By many standards it would be considered small- a one bedroom, one bath, with scant storage or closet space. But it has an ample, renovated kitchen , several large windows which provide good light, and is in a charming older building in a great DC location. Bettina and Ilia have creatively solved the storage problem with the help of Ikea and the place looks great.

Since returning to Maine, to our four bedroom house on half an acre of land, I have not been able to stop thinking about what life would be like in that sort of place. At the very least it would mean one could not accumulate stuff in the normal American way. And I find that idea extremely liberating.

Exactly four years ago Bill and I moved to Ellsworth to be closer to my work in Bar Harbor. We were able to buy a beautiful, restored Dutch Colonial which very nearly fulfills all our dreams of a Maine house. When Emily first saw it she exclaimed why couldn't we have had this house when I was growing up??? Having been built in the 1940's it, too, is rather short on closet space, but it has a huge, walk-up attic, and therein lies a problem. Our move happened very quickly and we didn't have time to clean out or have a garage sale. So for the most part we just moved everything, right up to the attic.

Of course I had planned to carefully go through the accumulations of the nine years we lived in Camden. But I was so busy commuting to a new job that there were literally not enough hours to do things right. The day the movers came I wasn't even able to follow the truck to our new house because I had an important rehearsal for an upcoming tour to Ireland and Wales. My good friend Kate was Bill's surrogate wife that day, going to our new home with him, helping place the furniture and boxes, and making runs for pizza and beer.

I don't consider myself a packrat, but when I look around my house I start to believe I've been fooling myself. Let's start with the kitchen and dining room: I have five sets of china, three sets of flatware, Waterford crystal, stemware from my grandmother as well as some from a trip to Germany, and a lot of hand-thrown pottery that I began collecting when we first came to Maine. I have inherited a lot of these things, but all the same there they are, making clutter and taking up space. Yes, I love to set a beautiful table...one set of china and flatware at a time.

Like most women I like clothes...and shoes...and jewelry. (I will not admit to the number of pairs of shoes in my closet here!) And I am just frugal enough to keep things just in case. Our bookcases are overflowing despite my constant weeding, and CD's, cassette tapes and LP's fill several storage spaces. Then there is the nature of my job...I have a lifetime's accumulation of piano music and my grand is piled high with music for my students. In my office at church are shelves of organ music and filing cabinets of teaching music, and littered across the floor in orderly piles are all the choral anthems I someday hope to conduct. The music bench by the organ is full of music to try, or to learn, or that I'm playing in the near future.

Lots of stuff...on most days, though, if you were to walk into my house or office, you might be deceived and think things were mostly orderly and neat. But then, I won't take you to the attic, that repository for all things overflow. There you'll find everything we should have given up when we moved, on top of Bill's even larger accumulation of stuff from his five-plus decades of music teaching and performing.

And so...I am starting to feel burdened by all this stuff. Out-of-sight, out-of-mind does NOT work for me. Sometimes the size of our house weighs on me, too, although it is nearly perfect for our life of teaching, entertaining and hosting friends and family. Does my feeling of being overwhelmed have to do with age? Does it speak of a spiritual need? Do I feel guilty because I have so much? I wish I knew...

I have read numerous books and articles on the popular idea of simplicity as a lifestyle and discipline, and have even adopted many of the tenets of that movement to my own life. I honestly don't know where these current thoughts of mine will lead...a couple of weeks ago I spent an hour going through all my personal piano music and moved two dozen or so scores on to a music library. It felt good, very good.

I am just finishing a rigorous period of work and obligations, causing me to feel unusually weary and drained. I suspect that my long days are contributing to this sense of being overwhelmed, of drowning. But beginning the first day of summer I have 4 weeks off! This time is a combination of sabbatical, continuing education and vacation during which I plan to rest, feed my soul and...tackle the stuff?

I'll let you know.

29. Graduation

Another milestone... I recently wondered in these pages how I could be old enough to have an 80 year-old mother. Now I am wondering how can it be that my daughter has a master's degree? Wasn't it only a few years ago, not decades, that I earned my graduate degree?

Bill and I were recently in Washington, DC for the graduation celebration at George Washington University. Emily's studies are in Museum Education from the Graduate School of Education and Human Development. We were also there 3 years ago when she received her bachelor's degree and I consider myself very fortunate to have been able to attend 2 ceremonies at that university. They do it up right!

This year was especially impressive because Michelle Obama was the commencement speaker. There were at least 25,000 of us on the National Mall straining for a glimpse, but I only managed to see her on the nearby jumbotron. All the same it was an exciting occasion, particularly for those of us who live in the boonies of Maine.

With a few exceptions Emily has not had a lot of family around for the big events in her life. We are a small family, only the 3 of us, with her paternal grandparents deceased, her maternal grandparents in Texas, and a half-sister, Bettina, currently in D.C. But at this celebration we didn't feel small- there were 5 of us cheering her on, screaming when her name was called (despite the prohibition against that), and meeting her professors and classmates. I liked that feeling of family... Bettina and her husband Ilia, boyfriend Jeff... more than just Bill and me, talking, going to the symphony, arguing about politics, eating meals together and supporting our dear Emily.

Congratulations, Emily Kathleen Myers... I am so, so proud of you and love you from the very bottom of my heart. You continue to fill my own life's journey with a deep meaning that otherwise would not be possible, and for that I am forever grateful.

28. Follow the Leader

Lately my own theological journey has been much on my mind. (I can see the eyes rolling...bear with me.) Having just come thru a busy Lent and Holy Week I've been thinking about what it is I actually believe and at the same time realizing how very far I've come from the ideas of my formative years. As you have read here previously the Southern Baptist church was a big influence in my hometown- I guess one could even say Lubbock was a company town, with the Baptist church the company.

At the ripe old age of 8 I declared myself a sinner and "walked the aisle" to get saved. I remember my baptism clearly (by immersion) because there was a dead June bug in the water. I loved going to Sunday school, memorizing voluminous quantities of scripture and dragging the neighborhood kids to Vacation Bible School in the summer. In high school it only got worse... I sang in 2 church choirs, occasionally played the piano for Sunday night services and went on a few mission trips to save the lost. I even volunteered at a Billy Graham crusade.

I'm reciting this litany of church activities for a reason: I spent a tremendous amount of time at First Baptist Lubbock being indoctrinated with the idea that all people are sinners and on their way to hell. The only way around that is to accept that God sent Jesus to die for our sins.

I am embarrassed to think about that now and to admit my previous zeal for born-again Christianity... at some point I guess I just got fed up with the notion that everyone is inherently bad. I looked around at my family, my friends and teachers, and even myself, and I saw good, kind and generous folks. We were going to hell? One Sunday while in grad school I attended a service at the "progressive" church near the Baylor campus and when the minister began the usual rant I stood up and walked out. Other than funerals and weddings that's the last time I've been in a Southern Baptist church.

It's not that I didn't believe in a higher power or that I didn't want to worship. I just could not believe in a loving God who would condemn humankind to an eternity in hell. So I found other denominations which were not so dogmatic and which allowed and even encouraged me to keep thinking.

During Lent this year I was in a diverse study group at St. Saviour's discussing The Last Week by Marcus Borg and John Dominic Crossan. The Last Week was written as a response to Mel Gibson's The Passion of the Christ. A few years ago I did see that movie: I was curious, plus so many of my acquaintances were asking my opinion that I thought I should see it. It was inflammatory and exaggerated, and I spent at least half the time with my eyes closed.

The Last Week is an account of Jesus' final week in Jerusalem according to the gospel of Mark. Borg and Crossan, both noted Jesus scholars, chose Mark because it was the first gospel written. Using Mark they present a day-by-day account of Jesus' last week and adeptly compare Mark's story to our traditional understanding of Jesus. In particular they depict Jesus not as savior of the world but as a moral hero who protested power without justice and condemned the rich who lack concern for the poor.

I cannot recap here what it took Borg and Crossan an entire book to explain, but the dozen or so in my study group were convinced by their argument. And that is putting it mildly: we were excited to the point of almost becoming evangelistic about what we discovered. The Last Week put into black and white what many of us believed in our hearts and challenged us, in 2010, to take Jesus' example as a guide for our own lives. Do we need this sort of mentor now? Do the powerful ignore justice? Do the rich prey on the poor? One needs only to recall a couple of recent events: the Wall Street debacle and the West Virginia coal mine tragedy.

This compassionate man who advocated for the little guy and challenged the status quo every step of the way is the Jesus I believe in, and I am renewed in my own feeble attempts to follow this leader.

What does the Lord require of you? To do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God. Micah 6:8

27. Dinner for Six

Another weekend, another dinner party...that's pretty much the way it is around here. While many of you are now firing up the grill and visiting the farmers' market for fresh asparagus and greens, those of us in northern New England are still trying to push winter out the door. Our seasonal spring meals will come in May, if we're lucky.

Last Saturday we had a particularly congenial group of friends both old and new over for dinner. And I took a chance, preparing a recipe that I'd never made before. A few weeks earlier my friend Debby had served it at her husband's birthday party and it was so good that I left the gathering with recipe in hand. It cooks in a crock pot and along about 4:30 on Saturday afternoon I just about panicked, thinking it would not be done in time. I seriously considered dashing to the supermarket for salmon, potatoes and South American asparagus. But I decided to have faith in the instructions and everything came out well.

The crock pot I use belonged to my grandparents and has to be well over 30 years old. It is an unfashionable harvest gold and is quite large. The lid is held together by duct-tape and the exterior is covered in nicks and scars. It is perfectly dependable and I love that it has been passed down thru the generations.

So here's my new dinner party recipe, just right for a cool spring evening in Maine. I served it with Michael's Salad (see No.10, Rx for the Winter Blahs) and a guest brought dessert. Couldn't be easier.

Slow-Cooker Pork and Black Bean Stew (adapted from Real Simple)

2 12-ounce bottles of lager beer

1 tablespoon chopped canned chipotle chilies in adobo sauce, plus 1 tablespoon adobo sauce

1 teaspoon ground cumin

1 large onion, chopped

1 pound dried black beans, rinsed and sorted

1 1/2 pounds boneless pork butt (pork shoulder)

kosher salt

In a slow cooker combine beer, 3 cups water, chilies, adobo sauce, cumin, onion and 1/2 teaspoon salt. Stir in beans (yes, they will cook in time without soaking) and add pork. Cook on high, covered, until beans are tender and pork pulls apart easily, about 5 to 6 hours. With a fork separate the pork into large pieces.

Now comes the fun part: Divide among individual bowls and top with southwestern-inspired condiments such as cooked corn, salsa, sour cream, guacamole and chopped fresh cilantro. Crumble some tostada chips on top and you've got a great dish. This serves 6 generously and you'll be grateful for any leftovers!

26. Birthday

Last week my mother turned 80. So many feelings have been stirred up because of that...I hardly know where to begin. How can my mother be 80? How is it that I am old enough to have an 80 year-old mother? How much longer do I have with her? What will I be like when I'm 80 and Emily is 50?

First of all, I am so very sorry that I was not there to help her celebrate this notable occasion. Missing this particular birthday ranks high on the list of reasons not to live in Maine. And what would I have done for her? I would have had a party-all of our family that could possibly come and any of her friends, too. A house full of flowers and a marvelous meal. A cake, either homemade or the best one I could afford. For reasons too complicated to go into here, my mother did not have a birthday cake this year and that breaks my heart.

Hidden beneath the smooth veneer of good Southern manners is a somewhat strained relationship between my mother and myself. As a teenager and young adult I did not go to her for advice or to confide, fearing her stern admonition and disapproval. She had her Baptist mind set and did not like my pushing the boundaries. Throughout those years we somehow managed to get along; she, worried all the time and I, craving someone to talk to. In hindsight I'd say we were equally at fault in this impasse, unable to cross the imaginary line keeping us from intimacy and hurting because of it.

Only once in my entire life do I feel she has let me down. Being human, that is unfortunately what I recall foremost rather than the hundreds of times she has stood by me. When I left my first husband and it became clear that we were not going to reconcile, she would not speak to me. I remember calling home and talking first with my dad, and when I asked to speak to Mother, he said She doesn't want to talk to you. She might as well have slapped me in the face. But time intervened, I married a man she has come to adore, and I gave her Emily, her first grandchild. She has been the best grandmother I could possibly imagine and Emily loves her dearly.

Since my brother's death in 2004 and my parents' subsequent grief and illnesses our relationship has changed, and for the better. There have been times of closeness that would not have been possible earlier. My mother's intense desire to always do the right thing and make the right decision has been tempered by tragic experience and unwelcome accidents. We have been able to talk about death, religion, homosexuality and a host of other topics that once would have been off-limits. To my surprise and despite my left-leaning tendencies I believe she has come to see me as a wise woman and actively seeks my advice and counsel.

Sometimes, when I look in the mirror I am caught off-guard because...yes, you guessed it...I see my mother. But all in all I am grateful for that because she has taught me so much about the importance of love in this life: loving a spouse, loving a child, loving friends and loving being alive.