Spring Walk

I awoke this morning to the unwelcome companions of aggravation and annoyance.  Family, friends, pets, unwashed dishes, laundry waiting to be folded, piles of correspondence, myself-it didn't matter, I was annoyed.  So on a cold and windy spring day I put Prudy in the car and drove to one of my favorite walks in the town of Hancock, about 10 miles away.  The trail follows an old rail bed and meanders thru beautiful forest for several miles. Prudy and I had it to ourselves and we walked about a mile to where the trail crosses a quiet tidal cove.

It seems I haven't been outdoors for months and months.  I was cold this winter and could rarely make myself don down jacket, scarf, hat, gloves and boots for a substantial walk.  Perhaps I was lazy, too.  But this morning got me on the right track and I came home renewed and right with the world.

Counting the Days

Thank you, dear grandson, for waiting until after Easter to make your appearance in this world. Anytime is fine now; I can't wait to meet you.

Something New

For as long as I can remember I have prayed.  Growing up as a Southern Baptist in the Bible Belt my prayers tended to be either asking God for something or trying to make a deal.  This selfish, shallow and ultimately meaningless type of prayer has been a hard habit to break, despite my having left the Baptist church decades ago.  But being the restless spirit that I am, I’ve kept on trying and searching.

A few years ago I began hearing bits and pieces, here and there, about something called contemplative prayer.  Little did I know that there was an entire movement just waiting for me to discover.  I stumbled upon a gem of a book, Zen for Christians, by Kim Boykin, and voilá, I was onto something. But how to find out more?

A casual conversation with a summer parishioner a couple of years ago led me to the Shalem Institute in Washington, DC. Please check out their website and you’ll understand why I became so excited that I could hardly contain myself.  I knew that I had found something to help me along this new path. 

What is contemplation?  Classical spiritual authors use the term to mean a sheer experience of loving presence.  A simple definition could be “loving presence to what is.”  For Christians it is finding God in all things and all things in God. For so many years this was the religion I wanted and instinctively felt in my heart; I just didn’t know how to verbalize it.  And to find out that many, many others feel the same way- my spirit is now free and bounding thru space at this discovery.

In February I began a 16-month course thru Shalem called Transforming Community:  Leading Contemplative Groups and Retreats.  The work consists of an extensive reading list, a dedicated daily prayer time, work with a spiritual director, writing, two residencies and the leadership of my own contemplative prayer group. It is time-consuming, daunting and expensive…and I am thrilled to be doing it.

Will I someday make this my life’s work?  Will I give up being a church musician, a piano teacher?  I don’t think so.  I don’t know where this is leading, but right now I’m doing it for me.

Somehow I will banish those Southern Baptist remnants!

Welcome to the 80's

So said my mother to Bill upon his return home from the hospital.  Thanks to the encouragement of several choir members Bill and I arrived at the Ellsworth hospital emergency room shortly after church on Sunday.  And not a moment too soon-he was one sick man.  Pneumonia, flu and a surprising diagnosis of diabetes.  At age 80 my husband spent his first night ever in a hospital.

Hospitals are humbling.  The straight talk about bodily functions, the dire situations of many patients, the presence of death.  And the tremendous amount of trust that goes into turning one’s beloved over to the hands of others…that, too, is humbling.

This was a good time to live in a small town.  The doctor on duty was Bill’s primary physician, our neighbor, and the father of two of my former students.  The next day doctor was both my friend and piano student as well as the mother of two of my young piano pupils.  Bill received very personal care from doctors who know and like him and even the cell phone number of one of them, to use if necessary.

My husband is home now, adjusting to new medications, routines and diet.  We have received a reminder, duly noted, of the importance of each other, our family and our friends. And of the great gift of health.

How to Survive a Maine Winter

Toulouse, stretched out on a warm radiator

My Life in Paris

Well, one glorious week that is...Bill and I went the last week of January, during the heart of the French winter.  We took our LL Bean down coats, hats and gloves and the 44 degrees felt downright balmy to us. The upside was that there were no crowds; the only place we stood in line was at the Louvre.

One can't spend time in Paris without walking, a lot.  It was one of my favorite things about the trip after being cooped up for months during our current Maine winter.  During our walks we stumbled upon two beautiful outdoor markets...vegetables, meat, fish, cheese, bread, you name it.  The only thing missing was processed food, unless you count the foie gras.

Several weeks before our trip we began watching a series of DVD's about the Louvre: Museum Masterpieces: The Louvre by Rick Bretell.  Wow, were they ever helpful.  The first time I visited the Louvre, a few years ago, I became so frustrated at trying to find my way around that I sat down on a bench and cried.  I was ready this time, with a list of paintings I wanted to see and a good idea of where they were located.

The best thing about our time in Paris was sharing the trip with our dear friends Susan and Jay from California.  Having spent much time in Paris and knowing the language well, they were superb tour guides and companions.

What would a trip to Paris be without music?  A solo piano recital in an 18th century church, the Paris Conservatory Orchestra, Faure's Requiem at La Madeleine (where he worked) and marvelous organ playing by Daniel Roth at Sunday Mass at St. Sulpice.  Just imagine...the postlude was an improvisation on the day's readings.

And of course there is the food.  Croissants for breakfast, French onion soup and salad with salmon and artichokes for lunch, omelettes, croques monsieurs, and lovely dinners of fish and chicken on top of pasta. Baguettes, fruit tarts, chocolate.  But don't forget, we were walking miles every day!

A fun discovery was this tiny, quaint shop, L"Autre Monde, just down the street from our hotel in Saint-Germain.  It specialized in all things Baroque, including recordings and books about music and art, some in English.

And last, but certainly not least, the coffee.  How I love Parisian coffee- I think I may have become something of a cafe-au-lait expert. The waiter brings a cup and saucer with a small amount of very strong coffee and a stainless pitcher of whole milk heated to just the right degree.  He then pours the milk into the coffee right in front of you, finishing off with a bit of a whirl.  One does not order a coffee to go and don't even think of asking for artificial sweetener.

I loved every minute and my soul was fed by art and music and beauty and companionship. I am grateful.

How Can I Help?

My dear students Lily and Eva have lost their mother.  She died right before Christmas after a valiant struggle with cancer.

Five days after she died Lily and Eva, with their dad, came to their regularly scheduled piano lessons.  How I was dreading seeing them that first time!  I just didn’t know what I could possibly say.  So I didn’t say anything; I just wrapped them in my arms. Two precious girls, ages 11 and 8, and their mother is dead. (I previously wrote about Lily in July 2012.)

In turn they each sat down to play, and play they did, from the heart.  After a few minutes,  Lily, the older girl, said I don’t feel so good, can I lie down?  There is a soft rug next to the piano and she stayed there for a short while.  She came back to the piano, played a bit, and the same thing happened again…and again.  She will be the one who takes this death the hardest.

I have asked their father many times what can I do to help? His answer is always the same:  Just keep teaching them how to make music. So in that regard I guess I’m one of the lucky ones; there is actually something I CAN DO. 

Many years ago an adult student gave me a beautiful picture book called Rondo in C.  A young girl with beautiful long dark hair (like Lily) is playing this work by Beethoven at a recital and the author shows what memories it recalls for several audience members.  It is a book that simply speaks to the power of music.  I took it off my shelf, wrapped it in pretty paper and sent it to Lily and Eva.  In signing the book I told them how playing the piano can bring happy memories of their mother.  How I hope this is true for them.

Ann Patchett, in her new collection of essays, This Is the Story of a Happy Marriage, says something comforting about untimely death: The truth is that every life ends.  The quality of a life is defined not by its length, but by its depth, its actions and achievements.  It is defined by our ability to love.  

Lily and Eva’s mother loved them with every ounce of her being, until the very end.  May that love sustain them in their new life.