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...

Conversion

Since last October our daughter Emily has been studying Judaism at Sixth and I Synagogue in Washington, DC. Initially she began the classes to learn more about her future husband's religion, but rather quickly became fascinated and decided to convert.

Until she went to college church was a big part of Emily's life, whether she liked it or not. Going to church on Sundays is just what I do, so naturally Bill and Emily would go with me. As a baby she was baptized a Methodist and when we moved to Maine we all slipped easily into the UCC (Congregational) church. For awhile I think she even had fun going to church (good chance to see her friends, play on the elevator, run wild around fellowship hall)...but all that came to a screeching halt in 8th grade when we had to beg and bribe her to roll out of bed on Sunday mornings. It didn't matter that our church had an active youth group, opportunities for mission trips, and a good youth choir-she just didn't want to go.

We mamaged to strike a compromise...she would sing in the choir (directed by me, of course) but not have to attend regular services. I came to depend on her sweet voice, capable of singing either soprano or alto depending on what I needed, yet I struggled with the knowledge that she did not want to be there. In high school Bill and I persuaded her to be a part of the confirmation class, with the caveat that she could make up her own mind when it came time to decide whether or not to become an official member of the church. Not surprisingly she chose not to be confirmed.

As I look back now I can see that this is a normal progression and rebellion for many children, particularly for those who have a parent working in the church. Unfortunately, for a time I took it personally and was even embarrassed in my role as Music Director. But as my own theology and spiritual direction have changed and grown I have come to accept and have faith that Emily has her own path to follow.

I was surprised and even thrilled at her interest in Judaism. In my own quest to learn more about the religion I find I am impressed with its emphasis on education, history and the importance of family ties. I hope that in the not-too-distant future Bill and I can attend a Passover Seder with Emily and Jeff.

At the end of the conversion process, which included a bet din with 3 rabbis (all women) and a ritual bath (the mikveh), Jeff, his dad Marty and I were invited to be part of a welcoming ceremony. Emily received her Hebrew name (Binah) and the rabbis blessed her. We were invited to give our blessing as well, and I bungled mine big-time. Yes, I got choked up and could not get the words out (preview of the wedding?) and so now, dear Emily, here is my blessing for you.

For my daughter:

Since you were small I have known that there is a part of you searching for that which is beyond our everyday existence. I am grateful that you have found something which will sustain and honor that desire. It is your path and one that is full of richness, tradition and meaning. May your spiritual journey be a source of joy and comfort, and always know that you have my blessing.

Advice to Myself

Think not of the amount to be accomplished,

the difficulties to be overcome, or the end to be attained,

but set earnestly at the little task at your elbow, letting

that be sufficient for the day.

Sir William Osler, physician (1849-1919)

Visit from the In-Laws

Earlier this month Emily's future in-laws, Marty and Jenny, spent a few days with us. We are so fortunate- even if our 2 families were not going to be joined by marriage I think we'd like to be friends. We were busy with wedding preparations from sunrise to sunset, and what a beautiful wedding it's going to be. We visited the Bar Harbor Inn, site of the ceremony and reception, had dinner there to decide on the menu, visited the old schoolhouse where the rehearsal dinner will be held, met the barbeque caterer, wrote the invitations...well, you get the idea.

About the schoolhouse...we didn't merely walk in and look around. Actually, we broke in...that is, my 77 year-old husband found an open window and with a boost from 70 year-old Marty climbed in. The door was supposed to be unlocked, we needed to see the place...what were we supposed to do?

Not to be undone by our older husbands, Jenny and I decided that sampling the beer options for the rehearsal dinner would be in order. We marched off to the local grocery to purchase a Bar Harbor Brewery Pleasure Pack. And did we live it up? Let me count...I believe we downed 3 1/2 bottles among the 4 of us.

With all the goings on, not to mention the frantic cleaning spree before our guests' arrival, I needed something delicious and easy to serve for dinner. Grandmother's crock pot came to the rescue, with a very tasty recipe for short ribs. Enjoy!

Short Ribs with Chinese Flavors

8 short ribs, about 3 pounds

1/2 cup soy sauce

1/4 cup sugar or honey

3 star anise

6 scallions, trimmed

1 3-inch piece cinnamon

5 nickel-size pieces of ginger

1 teaspoon peppercorns

Combine all ingredients in slow cooker. Cover and cook until meat is very tender, 5 hours or more on high, 7 hours or more on low. Taste and add salt if necessary. Serve over rice or quinoa garnished with scallions or cilantro.

Organ Adventure

I've recently returned from playing an organ recital in Stamford CT. Our friends Christie and Jay (see Cooking with Christie, January 2010) attend the Unitarian Universalist Church there and late last fall came up with the idea of having a recital to raise awareness of the church's instrument and money for its upkeep. It is a notable pipe organ-an 1870 Johnson-that's rarely played.

The Johnson firm built hundreds of organs in the New England area and this is one of the few that remains in its original location. It sits high up in a loft in front of the church and commands one's immediate attention. I had not played the instrument before and arrived 2 days ahead of the recital in order to have time to adequately discover its beauties and adjust to its inevitable eccentricities. The first of these oddities made itself apparent immediately-the bench was designed for someone much shorter than my 5'9, so I had to prop it up on hymnals. This in turn made it near impossible to get my right leg under the keyboards to control the swell pedal. Anytime I wanted to control the volume with that pedal I had to twist my leg into a bizarre position, all the while playing away seated on a tottering bench. My finesse in crescendo and diminuendo was not quite what I wanted!

But that was the worst of it, and I generally found the organ to have many lovely sounds and to be perfectly suited to the room. It spoke clearly into that space, whether with a tender flute or the full, booming plenum. This instrument is generally played only at Christmas and Easter and I had the enviable responsibility of showing the audience what it can do. After studying the stop list from 450 miles away, I carefully chose my repertoire to demonstrate what I surmised to be the organ's possibilities and I got lucky. I began with a Voluntary by William Clarke, a New England composer working at the same time as Johnson, then played Bach's sublime Pastorale, which showcased the warm flute stops. A terrific pianist, violinist and violoist performed in the middle of the program, then I finished it off with Denis Bedard's Suite du premiere ton. This work made use of the expressive oboe in one movement and ended with a pull-out-all-the-stops finale.

This was such an exciting experience and I wasn't even all that nervous. Instead of obsessing about every detail of my playing I thought instead of how much fun it was to put the organ thru its paces and show it off to the listeners. Afterwards I invited interested folks to climb up to the loft...and they came, from gifted organists to those who had never seen an organ up close. Perhaps, hopefully, some new organ enthusiasts were born.

Duets with Mary

Earlier this month I was in the New York City area and had the privelege of meeting Jeff's (son-in-law-to-be) grandmother. Mary still lives in the Lower East Side apartment where she raised her family. One of her great pleasures in life has been playing the piano and a small Steinway grand sits prominently in the living room. Mary is deep into Alzheimer's, but remnants of her former self still show forth in her sparkling eyes and sweet smile.

A collection of Beethoven's piano sonatas sat on the music rack and I asked if I might play a bit. I began with the slow movement of the Pathetique and before long I heard Mary, sitting nearby, humming along. She moved over to the bench and played a little piece for me, over and over, something I didn't recognize. I suggested we play together, and while I read thru the Moonlight she watched my hands like a hawk and tried to imitate what I was doing. Occasionally she would go back to her own piece and the resulting cacophony was both hopeful and bittersweet.

I will not forget that afternoon of playing duets with Mary. It is another reminder, among many, of the power of music to heal, to cross boundaries, and to connect us with one another.