36. Found in the Offering Box

The best of what makes us human will survive as long as there is just one person left who can play music like that!

As one enters the main doors of St. Saviour's Episcopal Parish in Bar Harbor there is a locked, metal box on the wall for gifts of money to the church. The above note was found in that box in August.

From June until the end of October hundreds, maybe even thousands of tourists flock thru our doors during the week and on Sundays. Being next door to Acadia National Park and sporting an unbelievable location combining ocean and mountains, Bar Harbor is a big tourist destination. The year the town will be visited by approximately 100 cruise ships alone. St. Saviour's is on the National Historic Registry and is famous for its Tiffany windows; hence many, many people want to see it for themselves.

But there is so much more to this beautiful space than the windows. There is a profound, awe-inspiring sense of the sacred here. I have witnessed countless examples of people of many nationalities and faiths (or no faith) be struck dumb as they enter the church. The feeling of something greater than ourselves is present, and I confess to being aware of it every time I am there.

I do a lot of practicing in August and many visitors sit down to listen for a few minutes. Often they are even on their knees praying. It's a little strange to be off in my own world of the music and discover that someone is listening, and I have to put that out of my mind so that I am not distracted. Sometimes someone will quietly say thank-you as they are leaving and at times the listener will have the courage to approach me on the bench. But I never fail to see that somehow the music has comforted or transformed the listeners, even if just for a few minutes.

This posting is not about me and any special ability I might have as an organist. It is about the power and meaning of music, whether new or ancient, in this special place. How fortunate I am to be the conduit for that, and I am filled with gratitude.

35. Happy News

I am delighted to report that our daughter Emily is engaged to be married. She and Jeff have been together for almost two years and I think they are a good match. As an example, he is able to make Emily laugh in a way I've rarely seen and that is good! Bill and I are looking forward to having Jeff be a part of our family, and as a bonus we really enjoy his parents, too.

This is turning out to be one of those moments when I am acutely aware of the passage of time, of entering a new phase of life, of handing over the keys to the next generation. My head is now bursting with memories of Emily's presence in my life as well as my own two weddings. I feel as if I'm on a cloud, looking down at my life and seeing many good times, mixed with a dash of regret and some mistakes.

Lately I have been listening to Elizabeth Gilbert's Committed. She is a wise and thoughtful writer and I can only wish that I had been tuned into her sort of wisdom when I was younger. Emily is 25, and by the time I was her age I had already been married and divorced from my childhood sweetheart. When I married Bill at age 28 I was only slightly more aware of what a long-term commitment involved. We have rolled with the punches, however, and in September joyfully celebrated our 27th anniversary.

From what I've witnessed both Emily and Jeff have given much thought to their vision for a life together. Is there any way I can tell them that the gift of love is what makes life worth living? Can I speak of the importance of cherishing one another above all else? Will I be able to support them during the rough spots while encouraging them to keep their faith in each other? These precepts are what I've come to believe through experience and observation. Already I see that their love for one another is deep and that brings me great joy.

Congratulations, dear ones.

34. Island Cottage

The past two months have been frenetic, rather like an Allegro con fuoco, yet full of many good things...the AGO convention in DC, a weekend with Emily and Jeff in their new place, the Sewanee Church Musicians Conference, visits from several good friends...and full of an enormous amount of work including playing two recitals and managing a concert series. I feel like I spent the entire month of August sitting on an organ bench somewhere. As the last tremendous chord of my recital at St. Saviour's in late August resonated throughout the church, I let myself think ahead a bit...vacation, a true vacation!

For 18 years we spent some time around Labor Day in the north woods of Maine (see Homage to Spencer Pond, No. 18). This year felt like the time to try something different, so for a week we rented a cottage on Campobello, a small island roughly 10 miles off the northern coast of Maine. It is reached by means of a short bridge from Lubec, and even though a passport is needed to get through customs it is the easiest international trip I can imagine. Simply by driving over that bridge you're in friendly, bilingual Canada.

Campobello is perhaps best known as the summer home of FDR, but mainly this is a quiet and often poor place, where many people just barely get by with fishing or service jobs. The island has its share of rundown houses, abandoned trailers and trash alongside the roads. It is also an immensely beautiful place with a bold rocky coast on the east side and quiet coves and harbors on the west. There is a dramatic lighthouse where one can spot whales, seals and eagles.

I wanted long days with nothing on the schedule but hours of reading, walks along the coast and quiet candlelit dinners. I got my wish, and more. Despite intense and unusual heat we dutifully traipsed out for a hike each day and discovered the natural air-conditioning at Liberty Point. I read a fantastic book, Saturday by Ian McEwan, and evenings were spent with a simple supper and glass of wine on the deck overlooking the water and magnificent sunset. Best of all, I began each day on that same deck with a cup of coffee and some poetry and realized, this is enough. I am renewed.

And now it's back to the hectic fall routine of conducting, teaching, accompanying and practicing. As I do at this juncture every year I vow to somehow stay on top of things while at the same time looking after that part of me that needs quiet and time alone. I don't have the answer to that conundrum, but I can keep trying.

33. Challenge

Last week I had the great pleasure of performing in recital at St. John's Roman Catholic Church in Bangor. This was my third time to play there, on an instrument I lovingly refer to as The Beast. A 3-manual tracker situated in a high, rear loft, the organ is celebrating its 150th birthday this year. The sounds from the pipes float out over the organist's head to fill the cavernous space. That is one of the reasons I like to play there: the acoustics are so good that the quietest flute stop will surround the audience and full organ will rattle the pews. But, as I said, I do call it The Beast for good reason: the pedal board is flat and a couple of notes short, the lettering on the stops is faded and illegible, which means I have to have my cheat sheet nearby, and there are no pistons to pre-set registrations. All those things mean that I am definitely out of my comfort zone.

This year an oboist friend, David, played on two numbers with me. I had thought that the sound of the oboe would be gorgeous in that space, and I was right. In addition to the works for oboe and organ I played several solos, including Karg-Elert's Nun danket, Vierne's Clair de Lune, some spirituals arranged by Calvin Taylor, and Denis Bedard's exciting Suite du premier ton.

The past couple of years I have struggled some with performance. There have been times when it was hard to muster enough energy for the intense preparation, when I couldn't focus as I was playing, when my nerves threatened to get the best of me. This time I was truly ready to play and I kept repeating to myself a clinician's recent advice: if you have adequately prepared, just open the door and walk thru it. As I strode out to take my first bow I saw many friends (even Christie from Connecticut), colleagues and strangers, and felt a warm rush of support for what I was about to do.

Our newspaper, the Bangor Daily News, has been following an interesting story lately. A 50 year-old woman, recently laid-off and divorced, with grown children, decided to attempt a 740-mile solo kayak odyssey along the Northern Forest Canoe Trail from Old Forge, New York, to Fort Kent, Maine. One hears about these mid-life adventures fairly often, but for some reason this one caught my eye. I tried to imagine the courage it took to even start out, the necessary preparation of careful packing and the need to be in superior physical shape. After 58 days she successfully finished the journey.

Bill asked me if I could imagine doing something like that and before I could blurt out No! something clicked inside my brain. While I'm not inclined to go into the wilderness by myself, I think playing recitals is my own sort of mid-life challenge. There are actually a number of similarities: I didn't begin playing organ recitals in places other than my own church until age 52, I am entirely alone on that organ bench, and the preparation required is long and intense. A well-played concert is a combination of the mental and the physical, plus a bit of grit thrown in for good measure.

No performance is perfect-there was a missed repeat, some new harmony coming from the pedals, and my left hand on the wrong manual at one point-but all in all I was pleased. I think, and hope, that the spirit of the composer's wishes came through in my playing and I continue to be grateful for both the ability and opportunity to make beautiful music.

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.