"ONE and two AND three and FOUR and ONE and two AND three and FOUR and"
That's my mantra for the day, to get the musical syncopation into my entire being by tomorrow morning. I'm part of a worship band at my church, and we play on the first Sunday of each month during the academic year. Tomorrow is the only time we play in Lent, and we ordered special music (published just this year) for it.
The music is extremely contemplative and ethereal. It sounds simple and on the page looks simple, yet there are subtleties in the soul of the music that bedeviled me at today's rehearsal. Actually this happens every month if I haven't really practiced before the rehearsal, but I had been doing better this year up until this month. And I assumed the piano part was simple, and by itself it is.
However... with music this delicately layered, the piano part is truly just a component, and must align tightly to a cantor, and to the assembly. The whole thing needs to work together, and the cantor and the band (and in this case mostly the piano because we dropped the guitars for this month) need to be able to cue the congregation.
In a way, I wish I didn't have to do the music tomorrow. For the first time in a long time I've had a stretch of worship services in which I don't usher, play music or fill the assisting minister role. I've gotten to just absorb all the sights and sounds of the services of and in Lent. But I'm glad for tomorrow's opportunity: I get to contribute music to the service. And with enough practice tonight, the melodies, rhythms and words are in my entire being, ready to share tomorrow morning.
Oh, and the words that go with my counting mantra above? They are:
"Hold us in your mer - cy. Hold us in your mer - cy. "
"ONE and two AND three and FOUR and ONE and two AND three and FOUR and"
[This blog automatically feeds my Facebook Notes page; click here to see the original blog]
Saturday, March 6, 2010
Friday, March 5, 2010
Lent Day 15: TGIF / TGFT
TGIF -- Thank God It's Friday
If you believe Wikipedia, it's a term coined in the 1970s as a "common expression of relief at the end of the work week and anticipation of relaxing or partying over the weekend."
I've never been into the "party hearty" aspect of it although I enjoy weekends -- and I've never felt the relief of Fridays at the end of the work week as much as I have recently. Part of that is the workload at the office, part of it is that all my outside activities seem to be converging into a perfect storm of time demands.
Perhaps it's the fatigue talking -- I tend to get overly sentimental when raw from lack of sleep -- but I'm grateful for every single day. I've been blessed with many things, mostly the people in my life. I couldn't ask for a better family and in my darkest thoughts I might think I don't deserve them.
And as solemn and sober as this Lenten journal may have sounded (but it wasn't my intent at all), it's because I'm realizing how fragile all of this is... but I'm not downbeat about it. Quite the opposite in fact, I feel renewed by it. By turning off the radio during commutes and giving up most of my TV time to write every night, I see my life in sharper focus, more grateful for all my experiences, bad and good, challenging and rewarding.
And I'm not only thankful for (people/things in my life), but thankful to... thankful to God.
TGFT -- Thank God For Today
[This blog automatically feeds my Facebook Notes page; click here to see the original blog]
If you believe Wikipedia, it's a term coined in the 1970s as a "common expression of relief at the end of the work week and anticipation of relaxing or partying over the weekend."
I've never been into the "party hearty" aspect of it although I enjoy weekends -- and I've never felt the relief of Fridays at the end of the work week as much as I have recently. Part of that is the workload at the office, part of it is that all my outside activities seem to be converging into a perfect storm of time demands.
Perhaps it's the fatigue talking -- I tend to get overly sentimental when raw from lack of sleep -- but I'm grateful for every single day. I've been blessed with many things, mostly the people in my life. I couldn't ask for a better family and in my darkest thoughts I might think I don't deserve them.
And as solemn and sober as this Lenten journal may have sounded (but it wasn't my intent at all), it's because I'm realizing how fragile all of this is... but I'm not downbeat about it. Quite the opposite in fact, I feel renewed by it. By turning off the radio during commutes and giving up most of my TV time to write every night, I see my life in sharper focus, more grateful for all my experiences, bad and good, challenging and rewarding.
And I'm not only thankful for (people/things in my life), but thankful to... thankful to God.
TGFT -- Thank God For Today
[This blog automatically feeds my Facebook Notes page; click here to see the original blog]
Thursday, March 4, 2010
Lent Day 14: Blessed in Public (Transit)
"Have a blessed day... thank you for riding MetroLink."
I love having different ways of commuting to work, be it the roar of the car or the whoosh of cycling. But traveling by light rail provides me with a sense of actually living in a city. The St. Louis mass transit system is modest compared to others I've known, especially compared to New York (where I grew up), or San Francisco, Chicago, Boston and Washington DC. Add to that Hong Kong, Taiwan, Seoul, Tokyo, Beijing and Amsterdam -- hmm... I hadn't realized I've really traveled quite a bit.
All those cities require mass transit to sustain their populations; perhaps that's one reason St. Louis has never grown that much, at least since Prohibition. It's a choice the metro area has made -- to not support growth of the system but rather continue funding a motor vehicle-centric economy. And if one reads the forums of the local newspaper, it's apparent that many think that all train commuters are poor, people of color, rude and drags on society -- and get their rides paid for by the tax dollars from "upright honest citizens" -- and really like to "troll" the forums.
My own experience on MetroLink is that the ridership is mostly hardworking people just trying to get to and from work, school, the hospital, the ballgame, or shopping. People are mostly courteous and even quite helpful if they notice a novice rider. And it's great to be able to sit back and read, think or even sleep on the way to work.
But there's one thing St. Louis has that the other mass transit systems don't: the conductor/engineer announces all the stops. There is no pre-recorded voice on tape (long ago) or digital media (I was really impressed by New York's new subway trains last Thanksgiving). St. Louis offers personalized experiences that vary by conductor and his/her mood and I'd swear that's affected by the weather and other factors. Some are monotonous, leaning towards the pre-recorded messages; others become downright sing-songy.
But my favorite is: "Have a blessed (one syllable) day.. thank you for riding MetroLink."
Granted that "blessed" means different things to different people and might even be offensive to some. But I interpret that farewell in its most positive sense -- reflecting God's relationship with the conductor and him sharing that with, in this case, me and God's relationship with me.
To me it's special. And helps put me start the day on an upbeat note.
[This blog automatically feeds my Facebook Notes page; click here to see the original blog]
I love having different ways of commuting to work, be it the roar of the car or the whoosh of cycling. But traveling by light rail provides me with a sense of actually living in a city. The St. Louis mass transit system is modest compared to others I've known, especially compared to New York (where I grew up), or San Francisco, Chicago, Boston and Washington DC. Add to that Hong Kong, Taiwan, Seoul, Tokyo, Beijing and Amsterdam -- hmm... I hadn't realized I've really traveled quite a bit.
All those cities require mass transit to sustain their populations; perhaps that's one reason St. Louis has never grown that much, at least since Prohibition. It's a choice the metro area has made -- to not support growth of the system but rather continue funding a motor vehicle-centric economy. And if one reads the forums of the local newspaper, it's apparent that many think that all train commuters are poor, people of color, rude and drags on society -- and get their rides paid for by the tax dollars from "upright honest citizens" -- and really like to "troll" the forums.
My own experience on MetroLink is that the ridership is mostly hardworking people just trying to get to and from work, school, the hospital, the ballgame, or shopping. People are mostly courteous and even quite helpful if they notice a novice rider. And it's great to be able to sit back and read, think or even sleep on the way to work.
But there's one thing St. Louis has that the other mass transit systems don't: the conductor/engineer announces all the stops. There is no pre-recorded voice on tape (long ago) or digital media (I was really impressed by New York's new subway trains last Thanksgiving). St. Louis offers personalized experiences that vary by conductor and his/her mood and I'd swear that's affected by the weather and other factors. Some are monotonous, leaning towards the pre-recorded messages; others become downright sing-songy.
But my favorite is: "Have a blessed (one syllable) day.. thank you for riding MetroLink."
Granted that "blessed" means different things to different people and might even be offensive to some. But I interpret that farewell in its most positive sense -- reflecting God's relationship with the conductor and him sharing that with, in this case, me and God's relationship with me.
To me it's special. And helps put me start the day on an upbeat note.
[This blog automatically feeds my Facebook Notes page; click here to see the original blog]
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
Lent Day 13: "Mulligan" Needed (Tech Version)
I spent an hour writing tonight's entry, and blogger.com lost the entire entry, despite the "autosave" feature. D**n technology.
I knew something was up when the "Saving Draft" button got stuck. I couldn't get back to the edit buffer when I tried to copy the text to another program, like Word.
Huge bummer... I had just finished the final proofreading and was about to publish the post.
I'm too tired to re-create it tonight. I'm calling a mulligan and will try to do it again tomorrow.
[This blog automatically feeds my Facebook Notes page; click here to see the original blog]
I knew something was up when the "Saving Draft" button got stuck. I couldn't get back to the edit buffer when I tried to copy the text to another program, like Word.
Huge bummer... I had just finished the final proofreading and was about to publish the post.
I'm too tired to re-create it tonight. I'm calling a mulligan and will try to do it again tomorrow.
[This blog automatically feeds my Facebook Notes page; click here to see the original blog]
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
Lent Day 12: Clarification on Hindu Rituals
Despite life getting in the way* I am committed to doing something for today's Lenten journal entry.
Yesterday I finally had the chance to follow up with N about Hindu traditions and clarify what he meant by being able to forget anything within 12 days. The initial conversation took place on Mardi Gras (two weeks ago) and wasn't nearly as long or in-depth as I would have liked. Thankfully there will be more discussion to follow.
I should have interpreted N's original comment as his psychological take on the Hindu mourning rituals that last 12 days. It's not that one forgets anything in those 12 days, it's that the initial mourning phase seems to take 12 days to complete. (N even cited studies that showed elephants who remain with a deceased elephant for about 12 days before eventually leaving the body.)
And it (the long prescribed mourning period) makes a lot of sense to me, or at least more sense than what this country allows or expects from the work perspective: the typical bereavement time for corporate America is five days. Even if one wanted to use vacation days for extended grieving, there would be a huge challenge when returning to work. It's difficult enough to take off two weeks when planning for it; even worse when it is an unplanned absence.
N also described follow-up mourning rituals that take place monthly and quarterly. They're designed to remember and respect the departed. Clearly the goal is not to forget anyone or anything. My bad, in trying to reflect upon a rushed conversation that darted from topic to topic. In any case, I look forward to my future conversations with N, which I know won't be nearly as rushed.
*Today's "life getting in the way" included my own weekly volleyball game, attending the high school basketball playoff game (which we -- the home team -- won 78-32), and then dealing with my credit card company about possible fraud alert, which thankfully was a charge that I really made but they flagged as being an unusual pattern. It still took quite a bit of time to follow-up and resolve.
[This blog automatically feeds my Facebook Notes page; click here to see the original blog]
Yesterday I finally had the chance to follow up with N about Hindu traditions and clarify what he meant by being able to forget anything within 12 days. The initial conversation took place on Mardi Gras (two weeks ago) and wasn't nearly as long or in-depth as I would have liked. Thankfully there will be more discussion to follow.
I should have interpreted N's original comment as his psychological take on the Hindu mourning rituals that last 12 days. It's not that one forgets anything in those 12 days, it's that the initial mourning phase seems to take 12 days to complete. (N even cited studies that showed elephants who remain with a deceased elephant for about 12 days before eventually leaving the body.)
And it (the long prescribed mourning period) makes a lot of sense to me, or at least more sense than what this country allows or expects from the work perspective: the typical bereavement time for corporate America is five days. Even if one wanted to use vacation days for extended grieving, there would be a huge challenge when returning to work. It's difficult enough to take off two weeks when planning for it; even worse when it is an unplanned absence.
N also described follow-up mourning rituals that take place monthly and quarterly. They're designed to remember and respect the departed. Clearly the goal is not to forget anyone or anything. My bad, in trying to reflect upon a rushed conversation that darted from topic to topic. In any case, I look forward to my future conversations with N, which I know won't be nearly as rushed.
*Today's "life getting in the way" included my own weekly volleyball game, attending the high school basketball playoff game (which we -- the home team -- won 78-32), and then dealing with my credit card company about possible fraud alert, which thankfully was a charge that I really made but they flagged as being an unusual pattern. It still took quite a bit of time to follow-up and resolve.
[This blog automatically feeds my Facebook Notes page; click here to see the original blog]
Monday, March 1, 2010
Lent Day 11: "Peanuts", Parents and Privateness
Dena Bertina Halverson Schulz died on this day in 1943.
I've never met anyone who knew her personally but in an indirect way she touched the lives of millions of people around the world. She was the mother of Charles Schulz, one of my all-time favorite creators because his Peanuts comic strips and cartoons.
I've loved Peanuts for as long as I can remember, and like most serialized art forms I can't pinpoint the exact time when I started reading the new stuff vs. going back and reading anthologies... but I'm pretty sure I recall reading about Snoopy's moon mission references in the newspaper strips themselves. One of my prized childhood possessions is the book Peanuts Classics, not just because I've reread it dozens of times but because it used to belong to my Aunt Carol Ann. She used to work in the city (New York) and visit us on Long Island frequently on the weekends. And because I loved the book so much she just gave it to me one day. I even brought the book with me to San Francisco two summers ago for her memorial service as part of my remembrance of her. My own children now enjoy the book as well.
I think the classic appeal of Peanuts is rooted deeply in its characters, reflecting universal truths cloaked in cute little kids. Despite that surface attraction, even as a kid I sensed something deeper about these paneled strips. There's an aura of longing and alienation in most if not all of the characters and the humor comes not from a bombastic event, but rather in the nuances of the characters' reactions. All kids feel alien or alienated in one way or another, and Peanuts resonates true to them and the insecure kids in all of us. Or at least that my nickel's worth of pop psychology analysis.
From where did this creativity about alienation come? Like many of my favorite artists, it comes from an unresolved relationship with a parent. One example includes all of the Marx Brothers (especially Groucho) -- who were the product of a strong-willed stage mother, so much so that the vaudevillians were known informally as "Minnie's Boys." Groucho (Julius) continued to crack wise on and off the screen and married many times, Chico was a gambling addict and chronically in debt, and Harpo (Arthur) was the only one of the successful performing brothers who achieved a harmonious family life and financial stability. I've read many biographies of Groucho (and the whole family), but the one that clicked most for me was from the angle that Julius could never find a woman to match the intense relationship with Minnie, and that his identity of Groucho was the manifestation of that failed search.
So when I picked up Schulz and Peanuts - A Biography by David Michaelis in a clearance bin just before Lent I was stunned when I read the first line:
I'm still reading the book so I still haven't reached the beginning of the Peanuts strip but have seen the artistic and creative foundation being laid. But what is clear is that Sparky was on the path of alienation and remoteness because of his intense and detached relationship with his mother, and that she never got to see his success, for him, never receiving her approval. For over 100 pages Michaelis describes Sparky's childhood through post-high school (and being drafted), and for nearly half that time Sparky was kept in the dark about Dena's condition. Even though he didn't have a name for it, he sensed something was wrong, and that she wasn't well.
But no one in the family ever talked about it. And after she died, Sparky went right back to the barracks where grieving was not an option (else be labeled a "momma's boy") ... and he was definitely already a loner. The emotional isolation, contrasted by the physical and mental rigors of army life, was just crushing.
As much I started this Lenten journal with entries about a visitation, a funeral and a discussion about dying and death, this biography was already bubbling in my conscience.
[This blog automatically feeds my Facebook Notes page; click here to see the original blog]
I've never met anyone who knew her personally but in an indirect way she touched the lives of millions of people around the world. She was the mother of Charles Schulz, one of my all-time favorite creators because his Peanuts comic strips and cartoons.
I've loved Peanuts for as long as I can remember, and like most serialized art forms I can't pinpoint the exact time when I started reading the new stuff vs. going back and reading anthologies... but I'm pretty sure I recall reading about Snoopy's moon mission references in the newspaper strips themselves. One of my prized childhood possessions is the book Peanuts Classics, not just because I've reread it dozens of times but because it used to belong to my Aunt Carol Ann. She used to work in the city (New York) and visit us on Long Island frequently on the weekends. And because I loved the book so much she just gave it to me one day. I even brought the book with me to San Francisco two summers ago for her memorial service as part of my remembrance of her. My own children now enjoy the book as well.
I think the classic appeal of Peanuts is rooted deeply in its characters, reflecting universal truths cloaked in cute little kids. Despite that surface attraction, even as a kid I sensed something deeper about these paneled strips. There's an aura of longing and alienation in most if not all of the characters and the humor comes not from a bombastic event, but rather in the nuances of the characters' reactions. All kids feel alien or alienated in one way or another, and Peanuts resonates true to them and the insecure kids in all of us. Or at least that my nickel's worth of pop psychology analysis.
From where did this creativity about alienation come? Like many of my favorite artists, it comes from an unresolved relationship with a parent. One example includes all of the Marx Brothers (especially Groucho) -- who were the product of a strong-willed stage mother, so much so that the vaudevillians were known informally as "Minnie's Boys." Groucho (Julius) continued to crack wise on and off the screen and married many times, Chico was a gambling addict and chronically in debt, and Harpo (Arthur) was the only one of the successful performing brothers who achieved a harmonious family life and financial stability. I've read many biographies of Groucho (and the whole family), but the one that clicked most for me was from the angle that Julius could never find a woman to match the intense relationship with Minnie, and that his identity of Groucho was the manifestation of that failed search.
So when I picked up Schulz and Peanuts - A Biography by David Michaelis in a clearance bin just before Lent I was stunned when I read the first line:
We'll probably never see each other again.
She said that to Sparky (Charles' nickname) on Sunday, 28 Feb 1943, dying from ovarian cancer as he headed back to the army barracks. She had been dying for years, but was very private about her condition even to Sparky. The next day she fell even weaker, and by the time his father Carl had brought back Sparky from the base, Dena had died and the funeral parlor had already taken the body.-- Dena Halverson Schulz
I'm still reading the book so I still haven't reached the beginning of the Peanuts strip but have seen the artistic and creative foundation being laid. But what is clear is that Sparky was on the path of alienation and remoteness because of his intense and detached relationship with his mother, and that she never got to see his success, for him, never receiving her approval. For over 100 pages Michaelis describes Sparky's childhood through post-high school (and being drafted), and for nearly half that time Sparky was kept in the dark about Dena's condition. Even though he didn't have a name for it, he sensed something was wrong, and that she wasn't well.
But no one in the family ever talked about it. And after she died, Sparky went right back to the barracks where grieving was not an option (else be labeled a "momma's boy") ... and he was definitely already a loner. The emotional isolation, contrasted by the physical and mental rigors of army life, was just crushing.
As much I started this Lenten journal with entries about a visitation, a funeral and a discussion about dying and death, this biography was already bubbling in my conscience.
[This blog automatically feeds my Facebook Notes page; click here to see the original blog]
Saturday, February 27, 2010
Lent Day 10: Grief and the Bronze Medal, but Gold in Our Hearts
Yesterday I wrote about being extremely tired and made an Olympic comparison. Specifically
I felt like I had left everything (all my energy) at work this week and I didn't get an Olympic medal.
Part of that fatigue was that after many hours of work and having interviewed four library director candidates (I'm on the search committee for our town's public library) on two consecutive nights, I couldn't fall asleep Thursday night. So I did more of what I've done for 13 nights: watch more Olympics.
Which was kind of a mistake, because I started something I shouldn't have: watching the lady's figure skating long program. I'm not a huge fan of this particular sport, but I do enjoying watching it. This year I've been amazed by the talent of the top ten skaters. And two nights prior I felt that I had seen "The Moment" of these Olympic games: Joannie Rochette skating her short program to a third place standing. It wasn't just the quality of her performance; it was the fact that she even competed at all after her mother's sudden death just last weekend. It was an uplifting performance, and it was hard not to get misty-eyed.
So I had to watch Joannie skate again Thursday night... which meant that to watch one skater I'd have to watch the entire "flight" of six skaters (and all without commercial interruption). It was well worth the time. It was one of the most riveting Olympic events I've ever watched, with each of the final six having her own scintillating story. (The schmaltzy NBC late-night round-up said there was one winner but six victors -- which annoyingly was true.) And the whole world knows now that Joannie had one of the best performances of her life and earned the bronze medal.
Honestly I was on the edge of my seat for her performance. I just wanted her not to fall -- that is I was rooting for her just to finish so she could honor her mother's memory well. Her score didn't matter; just the fact that she was competing was honor enough. When she finished and hugged her father I felt that that was "The Moment of These Games." And then she won the bronze. I was definitely misty-eyed.
Today I watched a recorded interview with Joannie by Bob Costsas, who called the performance "grace under pressure."
Here are a few quotes/paraphrases from Joannie that caught my ear:
I felt like I had left everything (all my energy) at work this week and I didn't get an Olympic medal.
Part of that fatigue was that after many hours of work and having interviewed four library director candidates (I'm on the search committee for our town's public library) on two consecutive nights, I couldn't fall asleep Thursday night. So I did more of what I've done for 13 nights: watch more Olympics.
Which was kind of a mistake, because I started something I shouldn't have: watching the lady's figure skating long program. I'm not a huge fan of this particular sport, but I do enjoying watching it. This year I've been amazed by the talent of the top ten skaters. And two nights prior I felt that I had seen "The Moment" of these Olympic games: Joannie Rochette skating her short program to a third place standing. It wasn't just the quality of her performance; it was the fact that she even competed at all after her mother's sudden death just last weekend. It was an uplifting performance, and it was hard not to get misty-eyed.
So I had to watch Joannie skate again Thursday night... which meant that to watch one skater I'd have to watch the entire "flight" of six skaters (and all without commercial interruption). It was well worth the time. It was one of the most riveting Olympic events I've ever watched, with each of the final six having her own scintillating story. (The schmaltzy NBC late-night round-up said there was one winner but six victors -- which annoyingly was true.) And the whole world knows now that Joannie had one of the best performances of her life and earned the bronze medal.
Honestly I was on the edge of my seat for her performance. I just wanted her not to fall -- that is I was rooting for her just to finish so she could honor her mother's memory well. Her score didn't matter; just the fact that she was competing was honor enough. When she finished and hugged her father I felt that that was "The Moment of These Games." And then she won the bronze. I was definitely misty-eyed.
Today I watched a recorded interview with Joannie by Bob Costsas, who called the performance "grace under pressure."
Here are a few quotes/paraphrases from Joannie that caught my ear:
- "After I saw the body... the only thing I could do to feel alive is to get on the ice."
- "I skated so that 10 years from now, no regrets. That's what my mom would have wanted me to do."
- "I needed to be be 'Joannie the athlete', not 'Joannie the person.'"
- "It was hard to be in my bubble because my mind was in a million places , not on the ice."
- "My mom always told me when you do something you give it your all."
- When receiving the medal: "On the podium I felt like I was 5 years old because I dreamt of this since I was 5... and I was was thinking of ... the one person who could not watch this moment."
- The attention being tough on her father: "he's a very quiet person and yet millions of people are watching. He's very strong."
- "It will be harder when we go back to the family house... I'll need to teach him to cook, clean... all the things my mom did. He's strong. He'll be there to support me in the future.
- "I learned English because my mother didn't have a very good education and she wanted me to do all the things I couldn't do in my life, like learn English, almost as if she knew I would be here (in the NBC interview) today."
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