Music is Change

Change of Blog

2009-12-31T13:59:00.003-05:00

I've decided it's time to say goodbye to my Music is Change blog and begin "Music is forever". This blog was good for me and helped me grow, but it rings of an era that I've said goodbye to. Feel free to take a peek at emmyb2.blogspot.com for my newer thoughts and insights!
Happy 2010.

My Cat Gnome Project: Cleo Abroad

2009-04-30T15:21:00.004-04:00

Cleo in Paris...

Cleo in Berlin...

Cleo in Holland....

Cleo in Ireland...

Hope my parents have a good journey!~

Musings

2009-04-15T15:19:00.002-04:00

I've been sick for a while--probably more than I've ever been in my life (but that's not saying a lot; I've been blessed with good health)-- and in my inability to move around, I've been able to think. Sometimes these thoughts have been odd. For example, after reading lots of fantasy novels, a head clouded with pain, medications and residue from fever can really conjured up odd images (and songs) of dancing pixies. Scary.............................. But I've been in good spirits and I realize that maybe I have reached my own limits, maxed out in the "I can do anything/everything" department. So that's good. And I've read two books worth noting below:

Jeremy Fink and the Meaning of Life (by Wendy Mass--- I also love her novel about synasthesia and her coming of age novel "Every Soul a Star")
I am impressed at how she is able to develop a mystery/excitement about a boy's trying to find the keys to open a box that his deceased father left him, containing (supposedly) The Meaning of Life. The people he meets and the conversations he has on the way are just priceless....philosophical but not preachy.

A Hat Full of Sky (by Terry Pratchett--who can't go wrong by me, but this was unusually profound).
I love the coming of age of this young witch, and the bumbling characters she meets. I love the idea of a witch with two bodies (who was her mentor). I also am very touched by the subtle anti-commercialistic messages that Granny Weatherwax teaches, leading to the young witch's letting go of her need for a store-bought starred hat, and needing instead to find her own natural hat full of sky.

Gratitude

2009-03-27T08:39:00.003-04:00

Winter has passed.

The first earthworms were out yesterday.

I am tired...so I write simply. Life is good. I am grateful for a job I love, people I care about, a cozy and safe house to return to at night........

Music is change. Life changes. I'm not always happy with the losses.

In this photo, my grandparents always dance together joyfully.

Dances end.

I hope I can always hold onto the joy, and the memory of joy.

Today's Thought...

2009-01-17T17:26:00.001-05:00

I was just doodling, and this is what I came up with.... Note the forsythia in my window is taller than last year...

Hopeful Worldwide Moments

2009-01-01T13:01:00.002-05:00

I've been thinking about the world of news lately, and about how exciting 2008 was for me. So often, the external world shares bad news. My first forays into daily newspaper reading were in the times of Chernobyl, the bombings of Libya, and the Challenger's fiasco. Now, over 20 years later, there have been so many other devastating events--some on a larger scale, some on a smaller scale. I have been pulled into stories of failed airplanes and failed nations. I have found myself following how the potential for a national surplus shed into a humongous national debt. I've followed the news about wars and disease. Please don't think I've enjoyed learning about these aspects of the world; au contraire, I've hated it! However, I want to be an informed human, and I believe that by knowing the world, we can better make changes in it.

So...why is this blog entry called "Hope"?

Looking back on the past, I can think of a few HUGE moments that gave me hope. The first biggie was the launch of the first Space Shuttle. I was in first grade, and it was my first time watching the news on TV. My dream was to be an astronaut. (Challenger ended that!...and if it hadn't, my own motion sickness would have!) Having a space ship that could come back to the earth and then take off again was thrilling. After that, happy news stories involved Mary Lou Retton's success in the Olympics, or the Mets' winning a World Series. Perestroika was hopeful in my dreams of a world peace, but shaded by my concern at the long bread lines and growing poverty. I dreamed of meeting a marrying a cartographer as the maps of Eastern Europe were being redrawn...but I wasn't sure if that was hopeful. I've been thrilled at much of the progress in medicine that I've followed online; I am still awaiting a definitive cure (vaccine?) for AIDS and cancer. Another hopeful moment for me was when smoking was banned from many public places. Also, I loved watching the rise of children's literature... especially the addition of a Children's Books Bestsellers list in the NY Times.

However, 2008 takes the cake.

I have never ever ever felt such hope on a national and global scale as I did with the series of events leading up to Barack Obama's election. I still feel a frisson of excitement (is that redundant?) when I remember the moment when I knew that the numbers would work out for changing him from the nominee to the President Elect.

I hope that he will be able to guide the world towards a safer, kinder place, and help restore our education system and create a health system that works for all.

I know that the world will put road blocks in his way.

I know that all the hopes of change will not be fulfilled and that change takes work and compromise.

I know that one person alone cannot make ALL that change.... and yet, his election was the result of many, many people. And one person can make an awful lot of change. I live my life hoping I can make the world better on a local scale. Here's hope that with a new regime this world will begin to repair itself.

So..............what are other hopeful moments in YOUR memories?

Figment

2008-12-31T17:20:00.002-05:00

As a child, my favorite Disney attraction was EPCOT's "Journey into Imagination". It helped confirmed my childlike zest for life and creativity, and I simply loved the purple dragon, Figment. (I was also into Elliot, the green dragon in Pete's Dragon.) In a world where there are always so many pressures to be "grown up", the message in the old ride was that anyone can be playful, not only children. I just found a youtube video of the old ride: www.youtube.com/watch?v=TI2VcQRMOM0&feature=related

Some years back, they did away with the Dreamfinder who leads the ride, and replaced it with a different kind of mad scientist. Figment was taken out of the ride for awhile. It was, consequently, with some trepidation that I returned to the reconfigured ride.

My response? Drum roll please.......

It wasn't as dreadful as I feared. That is: They kept the theme song. Hurrah! Hooray! Oh Frabjous Day Calloo Callay! (Some lyrics were altered.) They kept the value of imagination, and added the idea of teaching HOW to imagine by using different senses. In fact, it was more of a lesson in imagining than anything else.

However, I don't understand why Dreamfinder was removed, and why the playful, capricious side of creativity was underplayed.

I'm glad I had the old ride as an influence on my earlier years.

Eat Pray Love

2008-12-30T22:32:00.003-05:00

I just finished reading this book, and enjoyed it thoroughly. This may surprise you, because (unless it's by Jodi Picoult or Elizabeth Berg) I rarely go to grown-up books! (Okay, 3 Cups of Tea and the Camel Bookmobile were exceptions too...maybe I'm growing up a bit?) I tend to gravitate to coming of age fantasy and science fiction YA books. This was a more mainstream book than what I'm used to.
However, I was inspired by the book to think about what is most important to me. Normally, I say people, creativity, nature, learning, and appreciating life are crucial for me when trying to create a life well-lived. However, those are big ideas, not goals. This week, I'm trying to give words to three overarching goals for my life, ones that I can check in on each day, ones that I can make sure aren't at odds with one another.

So far, this is what I have:

a) I want to be aware of my life, and appreciate it as I experience it. All too often, we look back on the past and see that we didn't notice important details because we were too busy brooding over what has been lost or worrying about what's ahead. I think of Emily of Our Town, and how she realizes how much she missed of life when she was living it. In my younger years, I tried to solve this problem by recording everything in my journal. Now, however, I want to solve it by living life with an appreciative heart.

b)I want to be a purveyor of hope, joy and compassion for the people in my life, a positive force for growth. There are so many splendid people who have helped me get to where I am today by being kind, by listening, by recommending a book or guiding me through hard times. I hope that I can pass this kindness forward....without being judgemental.

c) I want to go beyond thinking creative thoughts; I want to perform actions that make the world better. Tikkun Olam.... I want to create songs and stories and lessons and photos that will endure beyond my life span, that will be a record and a source of hope or amusement for people in the future.

I think I'll need to compact these values, these goals... but that's where I am today.
What about you?

Winter Break

2008-12-30T21:05:00.002-05:00

I planned the winter break well, for once! On the first night of the vacation, I rushed to NY to see my first childhood friend and her family, because she was in from CA and it was my one chance to see her. We laughed, ate, and laughed some more. Arriving home at 2:30 in the morning, I napped a tad and then zoomed to Philly airport in the morning to fly down to Florida.

Ah! Warmth! Family! Nature! I enjoyed the wildlife in Hommosassa Springs. It would be great to have a photo of the manatees here, but instead, a hippo will have to do. (Yes, I had "a Hippopotomus for Christmas"... Lou was his name and he ate pumpkin pie and melons. He had his dessert first.) I loved walking on the beach and looking for hermit crabs with my niece, digging to reach water with my niece and nephew, talking with my sisters and seeing dolphins. It was luxury to be able to swim outside and chat with my mother, and to see how happy my father was to have us all together. We needed this family time. (I'll add that it was odd for me to be in my deceased sister's part of the world, to see the hospital where she had stayed, and to know she is gone.)

At the end of the trip, I spent one day at Epcot. My Grandma had taken me there as a special trip the year after my grandfather had died, the year the park had opened. Therefore, I have always associated the park with her. Ironically, I stopped going to FL for the holidays in my late teens, and ended up spending winter break largely with Grandma while my immediate family went to the parks, and so I also associate NOT being at Epcot with being with Grandma. Anyway, the last time I was there, Gram and I had flown down from Islip (Macarthur Airport) and she was well enough to do so. Mel was alive and had driven down with my parents. Nana and Papa met us down there. At that point, Pocahontas had just been out in the movie theaters--it was that long ago. We didn't have home email accounts yet. So much has changed in my life.

My niece is now the age I was when I first went to Epcot. It was hard for me to watch her and imagine her remembering this trip 25 years in the future, after so much more will have been lost. I miss my Grandma a lot. And yet, she would have been so unhappy with this war, this 9-11 and post 9-11 world. I went on a ride alone (Spaceship Earth-- which had broken down for about an hour with us on it, many years ago), and just thought about her with loving memories.

I loved having my nephew on my lap, late in the evening, just before the fireworks. He was so tired, and so at ease with me. I felt part of an eternal rite, being Auntie. Lucky me!

After a goodbye breakfast with my parents, I flew back to Philly and made it home in time to go to a party at a friend's house. The next day, I had friends visit, and today has been a calm day to "regroup", to gather photos, to clean up after the cats, to buy a new winter coat and some socks, and yes, to see Desperaux and finish reading Eat, Pray, Love.

Best of all--- I still have 5 more days of vacation!

I hope you are as peaceful as I am!

Thoughts on a Snowy Evening

2008-12-16T20:22:00.006-05:00

A gentle snow tonight...and some time to catch up on letters, photos, and sleep.

School is going well. I'm not a morning person, and I didn't know how I would manage leaving for school before sunrise. Instead of resenting the early start, I am looking forward to my first period class each day. How lucky! I'm even beginning to regret all the sunrises I missed in my late-morning days.

I have a few photos that belong on this blog about change. They are both from Thanksgiving morning. I went for a walk on the beach with my friend Liz. What a perfect visit! Anyway, along the shore we found some petals left over from someone's celebration. That's the first picture. The second one is just a simple waves on the shoreline picture. "Life's vicissitudes".... In and out... Up and down.... Winter and summer.

To continue my free association random thoughts of this posting, I have to comment about accompanying the school choruses. It's such a funny world--when I started out in this district about a decade ago (!), I became close friends with Karen, the music teacher. She is still one of my kindred spirits to this day. For all of the concerts, I enjoyed accompanying her groups, and through our interactions I regained my love for music. Now, I'm back in the district again, and accompanying the choruses again for the winter concerts. Several of the songs are even the same as I played for Karen's choruses. It's equally fun for me, because I love accompanying. I enjoy working with the choral conductor-- he's very talented. It's just a very very different experience. I'm older. The students are older. The conductors are different. Time has changed. And yet, in this instance, music is the same.

That's all for tonight! I hope everyone is well in this busy time of year!

It's been a long time

2008-11-02T09:32:00.004-05:00

I haven't updated this blog in a long time, but now it is time to resume my blog-writing.

In the past few months, I have been writing a lot, but for myself. Now it is time to share again.

Just a few brief comments, though, in this posting.

a) I LOVE my new job. I finally feel like what I'm doing is personally meaningful and has a potential for impact. I'm also growing immensely (emotionally and intellectually.) Middle school was a nightmare time for me, and now, being in a middle school each day, I am actually happy!

b) It snowed last week. Here: this is a photo of the October 28th snowstorm. I couldn't get home that night, even. So many trees fell down. I didn't memorialize THAT; instead, I memorialized the beauty.

c) Clinton Area Stage Troupe involved me in their second production, a Ziegfeld style "Fall Follies". I played the piano and recited a poem (with comedic additions from a guitar player and other sound effects.) Clinton used to have two active theater groups, but they faded with time (and falling finances.) I hope that this theater picks up. We need the arts in this world.

Anyway, between the two performances, I walked to the lake and just sat there quietly, admiring the honking geese and ducks, the glimmering light reflections on the water, the steadfast mill. Above all, I loved watching the crescent moon rise and the stars push out, slowly, from the sunset to the night sky.

catch-up

2008-07-06T11:38:00.003-04:00

I haven't written for a while, but now it is summer and my whole world has changed.

On my 34th birthday, I resigned from my previous job as a Spanish teacher. I have taught Spanish for 13 years, as long as I was in the public school system as a child. It was time to move on. I am sad about the goodbyes (said and unsaid...I didn't know I was leaving on the last day of school!) and I know this move is necessary for me.I signed a contract to be a middle school "Gifted and Talented" teacher in my former district.
I am SO excited about the change. I will meet so many new people and have so much to think about, so much to create, so much to do.

Now it is summer, and a buffer zone between two worlds. I'm doing lots of curriculum work for different places (ESL for the county, Jewish history for a Sunday school, Gifted for my grad school practicum). It's a time for visiting with friends, gardening, reorganizing, reading, lollygagging, and traveling a bit. I went to California for a week, and I have a visit to Kansas ahead of me. Also, I'll be teaching at the Summer Institute for the Gifted again this summer, down in Princeton. This is a good time, and a time of change.

So............that's my excuse for not writing!

A Few Spring Nature Experiences...

2008-06-01T22:03:00.002-04:00

...and the inspiration they have given me!

This photo, which I think is one of the best ones I have ever taken (!), is of a lake in the Stokes Forest where I was camping with the Peretz school this weekend. When the weather forecasted intermittent rain (and much of the state was under a tornado watch), I did not expect to be able to go canoeing, hiking, and flute-playing by in the woods. In the creative arts, the element of surprise does add a certain joy or catchiness to a work; after a dinner-time rainstorm, the lighting outside was so dramatically exuberant that I just had to photograph anything I could! I want to ponder how light has an effect on photography like instrumentation has an effect on music composition. Likewise, the ever-changing light of a day really is an element of the ephemeral in this artform.

Over Memorial Day weekend, I spent a day at Ringing Rocks Park in PA and then had a picnic by the Frenchtown (NJ) bridge with some friends. I grew up on Long Island, and my water time was spent either at the beach or at duck ponds. Rivers are such a huge part of my life here in NJ, though. There is a mix of constancy and change. There's the drama bit too; unfortunately I have seen first hand the results of the Raritan overflowing in Bound Brook and other places. There's a serene part about having time to sit by the river, or a day to walk along the tow paths between the rivers and canals. And then there's that factor of "You never stand in the same river twice"--just like no song is performed exactly the same way twice.

Here's my photo of Ringing Rocks Park. If you have never been there, you'd really enjoy visiting this glacial field of stones. Bring a hammer; these rocks are like no other I have ever seen or heard! They RING (think xylophones!). I've been there three times this year, and each time I have enjoyed making music with friends on the rocks. I'm filled with wonderment of how the stones got here, why they ring the way they do, and what the stories are of all the people who have visited this site.

My last "nature" photo is of a squirrel on the Princeton campus. About a week ago, I visited my college roommate (and good friend) and we chose Princeton as a practical half-way place between our houses. When I saw this squirrel munching on some scavenged food on the garbage can, I just had to take this photo. You see, years ago, when I was looking into colleges, Princeton seemed like a good choice for me. It was the caliber I was seeking, the right size, AND the right distance from home. However, on the day I visited the campus, it was raining and gloomy and nobody seemed very friendly. It was just the luck of the day I was there, but that visit set my mind against ever attending that college. (Since then, I have had experiences teaching there at a Summer Institute, but that's another story.) Anyway, I always said that the most friendly being at met at the school that day was a squirrel. Well, here was another friendly squirrel from my visit!

Anyway, it has been great to have such kind weather for being outside. Somehow, I'm posting more photos on this blog than I intended, but it's an added bonus about this multi-media journaling, and something I didn't expect when I set out to experiment with the blog form!

Enjoy the spring!

Pride!

2008-05-30T09:30:00.002-04:00

Just a brief note---music is change, and change can be growth--and yesterday, with the support of a friend, I survived going to the dentist....for the first time in MANY MANY years. "Look ma, no cavities!"....What a relief! It wasn't comfortable; it wasn't easy; AND I survived. (Such a big baby!).

I sang ancient melodies in my head -- old, wordless nigguns-- and comforted myself, too.

It's over!

And, afterwards, I made an arbor for my wisteria. It's struggling with its own weight pulling it down, and needs something to rest upon, or reach up to. Nature is healing.

I'm proud. In the past few years, I've conquered so many of my old fears.

Tikkun Olam

2008-05-26T11:06:00.003-04:00

I am often inspired by my friends; what luck I have to know the people I know!
One of my friends is, like me, by passion a composer. It may not be his career, but it is certainly his gift. Last year, my orchestra played a piece that he wrote; we did not do it justice, but we certainly loved working on it. I wish I could find another orchestra to perform it!

Anyway, he went and "did it again" this year; last week, my secular humanist Jewish school had its annual graduation, and the kids sang a song he composed about Repairing the World/ Tikkun Olam. (It's a belief that I hold too--I am in this world to help make the world better, wherever and however I can.) Again, I hope that in the future he can get a more professional recording of the song; I think he's working on it. It's a completely different genre than the orchestra performance of last May...and it's clear that the kids loved singing it. Here's the link to the song. It's a video of the kids performing it. (I wan't involved except as a delighted audience member. Sometimes that's delightful, too!).

It's refreshing to know there are other people creating and working to make the world better. Sometimes I feel like I'm alone on my journey. In contrast, sometimes I feel like I'm not doing enough!

Country Mouse, City Mouse

2008-05-23T11:11:00.003-04:00

On Tuesday afternoon, I took a ride to New York, to visit my niece for her birthday. A drive that could have normally taken under two hours found me in the car for about four hours. Rain, traffic, construction and bad luck kept my car under 30 miles an hour for most of the journey. It was worth it----I love my niece, and her excitement to see me made it all worthwhile. (Plus, she deserved a few piggy backs and Auntie Em twirls...)

I realized, while driving, that in my local life here in NJ, I hardly ever experience traffic. When I do, it's usually linked to a slowdown because of deer in the road, or a tractor trying to make its way down a county road. On my way to work, I don't pass any traffic lights; although, my hunch is that in the next few years the stop sign at the intersection of crossroads for my hamlet will probably transform into at least a blinking yellow light. Here, I live in the most densely populated state--and the traffic is just not an issue. (With gas prices approaching $4, that's a good thing.)

I've always been interested in infrastructure. Although the view below (of Manhattan) isn't beautiful to me like the view of my stream, I appreciate the planning and science and math and social-research that went into making the city work. I've always said that if I didn't love people so much, I'd love to be the person who anaylses traffic patterns to figure out the locations and timings of traffic signals. There's a rhythm to the flow of people that just fascinates me. It's a music of its own!

I also like reminding myself to observe the structures around me. If you're interested in this, there's a great book, Outside Lies Magic, but John Stilgoe. It inspired me to look outside at the telephone wires, curbs, fences and other structures in our society to figure out their contexts and meanings.

Here's a structure that is not man-made; in fact, just about now, most of my friends and colleagues are growing very frustrated with the abundance of these gypsy moth caterpillars all over the school grounds!

Isn't it extraordinary how they congregate, then spread out and populate just about every crevice of a few select (doomed) trees? I've been watching one cocoon at school get bigger and bigger; you can see in this picture that there are the caterpillars inside AND outside. Do they sing like the mining dwarfs in Snow White? Do they communicate with one another? I'm curious! (And I don't want them to land in my hair. Ugh.)

Anyway, I called this post "Country Mouse, City Mouse" because when I was little, my sisters and I had a copy of the book pictured above and we read it often when we were up in our Vermont house. I don't know why I remember it so vividly, but it told the courtship of s country mouse and a city mouse, and had a recurrent line: "Is this the house of Mistress Mouse"? (I just noticed that it's the title, too!). I'm realizing this year that I am a mix of city and country mouse. Right now I live in the countryside, and yet I am different from a lot of the people who live near me because I appreciate the diversity, culture, hubbub, creativity and possibilities of the city. But when I go back to NY (even to the suburbs where I grew up), I am different because I yearn for green space, open fields, and parking that isn't parallel parking!

Well, those are my thoughts for today!

Wisteria and the land

2008-05-17T19:51:00.008-04:00

I have a lot of nature friends who share my land with me. Here's today's frog. (I'm still waiting to get a photo of the bluebirds --not blue jays, real bluebirds!-- who are living in my house!)
This is my thinking place, the happy brook behind my house where I spend precious time reflecting.

My land is alive in the spring. I think of the folk song's lyrics: "When I first came to this land, I was not a wealthy man. So I bought myself a shack and I did what I could. And I called my shack "break my back", But the land was kind and good and I did what I could."
My wisteria had its first blooms ever today!
This has been a very hard fortnight for me, and if ever I needed the wisteria to bloom, it is now.
Thank you Grandma!

The Digital Age: a Scanner!

2008-05-06T00:11:00.004-04:00

I usually don't---and I usually won't--- put pictures of people on this blog. However, I think Papa and Mel would have both liked this one that my mother took years ago...

I won't say much about the picture; their posture, and the light in their eyes says it all. Some things--not all--seemed so much simpler then. I'm glad so my mom photo-documented so many happy moments. I wish I could have the younger, healthier days back again; through the photos, at least I can have the memories.

The main point of this post, then, is to share my excitement. I just got a photo scanner! Over the next few months, I'd like to digitalize a lot of photos, so that the single enduring copy of some precious photos won't feel so fragile. It also will help organize the pictures and make them more shareable. In this year of death, photographs have become so important to me. There...I want to look at the picture above, once again. I wonder what they were laughing about!!!! I wonder what I would tell my sister-the-toddler and my still-brown-haired grandfather...

Last August, when I started the blog, I felt the crush of impending mortality. Today, the spring is bursting forth in color and light and song. I don't feel dread right now; rather, in the style of Emily in Our Town, I feel an intense need to notice everything, to take in every bit of contact with the world that I can. I want to use my words and my songs and my photos (and my scanner) and my seedlings to celebrate and express everything that matters to me. I am so alive.

And yet, even the living exuberant must sleep. The photos and illuminated computer screen will wait for another day. Maybe the memories will greet me gently in my dreams.

Musical of Musicals: Mid-run

2008-05-05T15:39:00.002-04:00

This Saturday's performance of Musical of Musicals was so thrilling for me. The audience was laughing for the better part of the second act, and this made us perform even better. What synergy! I was tired on Sunday, and played well enough, but not my best, and it was a let-down. It's amazing how energy ebbs and flows, and how one day (and one audience) can be so different from the next. It's also interesting how Friday nights are usually more tired (hence, quieter) than Saturday nights, and matinees are something completely different, too.

Anyway, the website with pictures from the show, along with puns from it, is linked here.
Enjoy!

Immigration and change

2008-05-05T09:35:00.004-04:00

Yesterday, my secular Jewish community commemorated Yom HaShoah, Holocaust Remembrance Day. I had never been to this ceremony before, and I was very moved by the mix of simple, heartfelt language, heart-wrenching songs, and genuine reverence my friends and colleagues shared. We acknowledge that lighting candles, sharing poems and singing songs that extol human strength and hope (despite evil) is not enough---just as at Passover we extend the "dayenu" of old ("it would have been enough") with a list of goals for what we want to achieve to make the world better, freer, kinder.

I think about how lucky I am to have grown up in a country and era where I have religious/spiritual freedom, where I can be a ruggedly independent female, and where I am not bombarded with bombs, drugs, poverty or illness. Mostly it was my great-grandparents who came to the US, but my Papa was a first-generation American, arriving at Ellis Island in the 1920s. He would rarely talk about his childhood in Poland, but a few farm images were imprinted on his memory, as were memories of arriving at Ellis Island with his mother and siblings, and seeing his father for the first time in several years. His family, and my other ancestors, made huge changes and said important goodbyes (and hellos) which led to my growing up in Long Island...and avoiding the discrimination that tore apart European Jewry in the 20th century.

In 2003 and 2006, I went on trips to Eastern Europe. First, I went to Romania, and found myself for the first time in a country where many people looked like me! Parts of the trip were scary--especially trying to find a place to sleep in Brasov, and worrying about theft. Parts of the trip were gorgeous and poignant, like walking through the ethnography museum and the old village, speaking with a rabbi at the Choral Temple, and making chamber music with a group in Bucharest. On my last day in Bucharest, I was on my own, because my friend had to get back to London for work. Walking through the Parcul Herestrau, I realized that I was the only single female spending a Sunday afternoon alone in the park...except for an old beggar lady. Everyone else was in groups. I may have looked like some of the folks I met in Romania, but my not-thinking-twice about walking outside alone in the midday August sun is something I've acquired as a product of my American childhood.

Second, I visited one of my best friends, who was living in East Berlin at that time. Mostly, the trip was about spending time together and catching up and hearing about her experiences walking along the Camino de Santiago and sharing my teaching experiences. It was also about seeing the university where she had been studying, and philosophizing about hopes and goals and families and change. We did take two day trips, though. One was to a monastery in Chorin--a beautiful place, and a beautiful memory for me. The other trip, on a rainy day, was to Poland. I didn't get far into the country of my Papa's birth, but we did get to Szczecin, and we did get to traipse through the city. Seeing the sign I posted above was particularly meaningful to me, because ...well.. how often in your life is that you're able to see a sign to Danzig/ Gdansk, an old port which immigrants used to head to the US? I believe that's the port Papa left from. Also, it was funny to see how a few older ladies treated me as they passed by me on the street--touching my (very frizzy) hair. A new friend who was translating for me pointed out that they were observing "Jewish hair", affectionately, like they hadn't seen since their childhoods. EEK. It was extraordinary to me how many people were in church, too, because it was Sunday. This was also an interesting experience for me because for the first time I was in the birthplace country of a relative I knew.............and for the first time in my grown-up life I was in a country where I didn't know the language!

Change---I am American. I'm not proud of my country's politics, but I am a product of the experiences I have had here. I'm a bit of a mugwump, because I'm a bookworm and a linguist and a musician and consequently I'm not really definable as your standard American, or secular Jew, or teacher, or pianist. But I do live in this post-modern world, and I celebrate my freedoms, and my life. Had my ancestors stayed in Poland or Romania or Belarus or the Ukraine...there are no guarantees that I would have survived, and the only guarantee is that I wouldn't be who I am now!

On a distantly linked note, I just read Masha Hamilton's The Camel Bookmobile. It's a fictional account of a real-life library bringing literacy to communities in Kenya. It's about the resistance to change that some of the locals have, despite their poverty, because the old ways have worked for so long, and how can books share wisdom that the tribal elders can't? It's also about the counter-resistance in those mothers and teachers and teenagers who know that the tiredland isn't giving as much as it once gave, and that knowing how to read like the people in the Distant City will empower the community for the future. It's about the relationships and the interactions among community members, and between the American librarian and the townsfolk. Just like in Greg Mortenson's Three Cups of Tea, a crucial message is that we have much to learn from the distant cultures, just as they have much to learn from us.

I'm glad that I have read a lot about the shtetl, the old culture of some of my family. I'm glad I've interviewed my grandmother and my great-uncle about any family tales about the old dry-good store in New York, or the jewelry world in Amsterdam . There were so many question marks in their memories, and now there are so many questions in my own world. But I know that I value learning about other people's ways, and appreciating my ways (while being open to change and cultural bridges.)

Thank you, authors, for sharing different worlds with me.

Thank you, my ancestors, for bringing me to this world where I can learn about many different lifestyles.

Grandma and Grandpa memories

2008-04-29T18:12:00.004-04:00

subtitle: When oh when will my wisteria bloom?

Yes, the picture is a goofy younger me; I'm not sure when it was taken, but my guess (from the clothing and the one grown-up tooth and one gap in my mouth) that I was about 6 or so. My uncle scanned the photo and sent it to me about a year ago, and every so often I come upon it and remember for a brief moment what it was like to be "little me" at my grandparents' house.

The picture must have been taken when my Grandpa was still alive. He passed away when I was seven, and I have some very strong memories of him, but not enough. The feeling of sitting on his lap and bouncing up and down as he sang "I went riding on my horse, on my horse, on my horse; I went riding on my horse and I fell down and went BOOM!"....the feeling of his rubbing his fingers behind my neck...the feeling of being on the swings behind their house, waiting to see if I'd be allowed to go into their pool. I remember his humor, and I remember feeling like he noticed me, even on the rare occasions that I was quiet. He was my first penpal; I still have the goofy letters he wrote me. Mom has a tape that he recorded when he was traveling to Florida; on the tape he said to a one -year-old me "I won't talk to you until you talk to me!"....but there, on that cassette, is his voice speaking to me. My processing of the world is very sound-centered, and in those sound bytes he did talk to me, and he still does.

After Grandpa's death, Grandma obviously went through a mourning spell. Then, she pulled herself together and devoted her life to volunteering at a local hospital. How she loved the kids that she cared for on the pediatrics ward! She would share stories about her adventures at the hospital and about her travels...she always had something to say. When I was in high school and in college, she was as much my friend as my grandmother. After my high school graduation, she escaped with me and a friend to go to a flute concert. (We didn't know Mom and Dad had planned a graduation party at the house. Oops!). Over the summers, we went on expeditions all over the island, watching the old Columbus era fleets sail into Glen Cove, searching for fireworks, and people watching in the park. We were depressed together, too--who wouldn't be after going to see Schindler's List in the movie theaters on Christmas morning!!! Later, we laughed about our shared experiences. Sure, she critiqued me and didn't hesitate to tell me that I was spoiled every now and then; but maybe I needed a little humbling.

Anyway, this time of year I feel particularly close to her, because I remember working in the garden with her. Around the time the picture (above) was taken, she had a garden in the back of her garage. With the eyes of that 6-year-old me, I remember her cucumbers, and her noticing every change in the garden. Later, she continued to garden in keeping her sunroom fresh with plants galore...and each spring, she and I would plant annuals around the front of the house.

Above all, though, was our annual job of tending the wild wild wisteria in front of her house. My hair was wild, but this wisteria needed a good brushing (or trimming!) even more than I did. It was curious-- here, it climbed up over the neighbor's fence. There, it reached up a nearby tree. It just had personality, and needed to be tamed. I loved working on the tree with Gram, and then gathering up the branches. I remember the smell....and the feeling of accomplished exhaustion we had when the task was done.

The wisteria tree is gone now; I know, because I drove past her house this autumn. But I have a tree that came from one of its seedlings. It is growing by my shed, and every time I visit it, I encourage it to be curious and grow big and strong, and flower! It is just as wild as my hair and as its mother tree. It is big and strong. And someday, someday, it will flower.

I hope that day will come soon!

Wisteria photo credit: Robert H. Mohlenbrock @ USDA-NRCS PLANTS Database / USDA SCS. 1991. Southern wetland flora: Field office guide to plant species. South National Technical Center, Fort Worth, TX.

Something changes and something stays the same

2008-04-28T09:09:00.004-04:00

I've been helping some of my piano students with chord progressions lately, and trying to have them see that in the progressions which sound best to our ears, "something changes and something stays the same". For example, in a typical I-V-I cadence, the fifth tone of the scale is used in both chords. If a budding musician can find the note which stays the same, it will be easier for him/her to place the next chord.

Constancy and change...isn't this a symbol for so much in life?

This week, the Japanese cherry trees are abloom with pink blossoms and I remember past years with same flowers. In college days, those trees beckoned me to lean against them as I studied for exams in the bright April sun. In my early grown-up years those trees whispered to me "Find land! Make a garden! No more renting! It's time to nest and reclaim a sense of home!" Last year, the blossoms were just sadness for me; a mentor friend of mine was going through chemo treatments and all I could think of was how shortlived the trees' splendor would be and how love just leads to the pain of loss. Today, they are as exuberant as ever for me, and they just remind me to slow down a little in honor of A.E.Housman, and in honor of my own need for nature's nurture. The same cherry trees, different springs...

Certain places are markers for constancy and change, too. There is a gentle town close to my home, and its quaint main street leads to a waterfall with a mill and two small museums. When I first moved to New Jersey, I set out to explore my new state, and I decided to drive half an hour in each direction from my new apartment to find the limits of my new world. This town, Clinton, was the western half-hour mark from my first apartment. When I found it (on an expedition with a college friend), I was ecstatic to be living close to such beauty. However, at that time, most of my ventures led me eastward, and before long I forgot where the cute town was, and even what its name was. Time passed...and somehow or other I ended up moving close by! Now, I have spent so many happy afternoons and evenings with people I love in this town. Sometimes the visits are "catch-up" visits; sometimes they are events to celebrate a season or a birthday; sometimes, like last night, they are post-show calming times. The mill is always there; the waterfall always rolls; it is always beautiful.

Something changes. Something stays the same.

Life as we knew it; life as I know it

2008-04-26T14:56:00.003-04:00

Last night was an intense one for me. Our show opened, and a dear friend came with me to see it. All right, I'll confess-- I was the first person who stepped out on stage as the lights dimmed, and as I moseyed on over to the piano I tripped (oh so gracefully!) on a little piece of wood on the stage. I was so embarrassed, but handled it with something ressembling poise and then proceeded to play the introduction of the show. The show was AWESOME! It was so much fun to have a responsive, chortling, energized audience. I've loved working on this show, and opening night was just such a thrill.

After a typically deep conversation with my friend on the way home, I tried to settle down to sleep; this is a big weekend with the shows, the orchestra concert, my 4 hour college class in the morning, and my family's visit. Intellectually I knew that I had to calm down and sleep. But sleep wouldn't come. I kept thinking about my little sister; in the morning I realized that yesterday was the 6 month anniversary of her death. Sometimes my emotions about this loss are just rawer than I like to admit they are.

Rather than fight insomnia, I accepted it and read a little further in the young adult novel, "Life as we knew it", by Susan Beth Pfeffer. It received the ALA Best Book Award for Young Adults, and it addressed a post-apocalyptic society, something which has always intrigued me.
I couldn't put the book down! Against all better judgement, I read it through, from cover to cover. Somehow she was able to evoke optimism in a horrendous situation of a change in the moon affecting the climate and livability of the Earth. From reading the honest narration of a teenager's diary, I was able to be reminded to celebrate each interaction, each morsel of food, each ray of sunlight. It's funny--I pride myself on savoring life. Last night, reading that book stepped my appreciation up a notch. So, after finishing the book I just looked through my window at the beckoning forsythia, admired my sleeping cats, marveled at the fact that I exist, I exist! and so many people that I cherish exist! and it's now, and there are 8 shows ahead of me (and then so many more creative experiences!) and someday I will look back on today's life as I know it and reminisce about how I once knew it. It's like I made a back-up file for my life, saving everything in my memory as it was last night at 2:00 a.m.
Needless to say, today I'm exhausted! I came home from class and napped. And now........on with the show!

Forsythia

2008-04-15T13:18:00.006-04:00

All winter, I looked out the window by my bedside and enjoyed watching a forsythia branch peek in and say hello to me. It gave me such hope in the mornings when I saw its first buds, little fingers. Each day it was a little more wick, a little more alive. Oh how happy I was the day it first turned yellow! Then, fingers turned into waving hands. Yesterday, for the first time, the hands opened exuberantly. Look!

There is something so life-affirming about the forsythia. They shout out loud "I live! I live!" each spring, and are so filled with celebration. They remind me to look at each moment as spring creeps deeper and deeper into my veins; I can't help but notice as spring reaches from the deepest roots to the highest treetops and brings color and warmth back into the world.

Here's a photo of my yard. Right now, you'll see the trees are bare. Soon, soon, the story will be different. But in the meanwhile, I'm not rushing my days of forsythia.

One of my friends reminds me each year that I can cut the forsythia back to make it more bushy. She marvels at how it can grow 18 inches in a season. Sometimes I consider cutting it back, too, just because I'm not sure I want to have it blocking my whole window in a year or two. However, I'm not ready to do that just yet. I like my forsythia with reckless abandon, flying out here and shouting out there, sharing its exuberance in every which way. (Sometimes people tell me my hair would be easier if I cut it, too! That's another story...)

Making Music = Being Alive

2008-04-11T14:08:00.011-04:00

My orchestra is preparing for its April 27th concert. I rushed into rehearsal after their break last night, after my school's Open House. My plan was to use the remaining 45 minutes to work through the most challenging pieces. And so we started with Romberg's "Blossom Time", and proceeded to Borodin's "On the Steppes of Central Asia", Smetana's "Moldau" and Macdowell's "Woodland Sketches". Perhaps it was my wild energy (adrenaline after a performance) or perhaps it was just a tired evening for all, but I felt that the orchestra just wasn't focusing the way I knew they could. The Moldau isn't worth performing without passion, and my theme for the orchestra this year is playing with passion (because I'm stubborn!). So, I stopped the piece after two false starts and gave them a thoroughly Emily spiel. It went something like this:

When playing music, you have the choice to be fully alive. Each millisecond has meaning. Each movement you make helps convey your passion. You need to be so aware of every speck of ink on the paper, and every breath of every person around you. When you apply yourself this much, the music can be truly great.

I begged (exhorted?) my musicians to lean forward in their seats and play as if their favorite musical friend was in the audience. It takes a risk to put your full energy into work. You are risking failing with the knowledge that you tried (because you no longer have the cop-out response of "oh well, I could have done it better had I been focusing.")... You risk being exhausted afterwards. You risk standing out as the only wide-eyed and eager person. However, you also risk creating something truly phenomenal....or, perchance, growing.

I was so thrilled. Everyone sat up a little straighter and played with more energy. The music swelled when it was supposed to, and subdued, too, as Smetana intended. It was music. We were alive, and we were together.

Most people don't CHOOSE to be this alive all the time. I know that Thornton Wilder knew about this when he wrote Our Town. I know *I'm* not this thoroughly alive all the time; I think we all have a need to daydream at times, and relax, and vary intensity. However........to be able to choose to focus this much and create with this intensity is a true gift. I hope the orchestra will be able to do this again.

Poesia Espanola

2008-04-11T09:05:00.008-04:00

When I think of music as change, I often juxtapose the concept of poetry as constancy. Certain poems have been a backdrop for all eras of my life: "Loveliest of trees, the cherry now...", "Ozymandias", "Tintern Abbey", "Remember me when I am gone", ... "a host of golden daffodils", and above all, "Margaret are you grieving." Sometimes, late at night, I'll read these poems to myself to find comfort, insight or just a piece of eternity. They are crystallized emotions, so neatly expressed. They are reminders to notice the beauty and love and connections around us.

However, poetry isn't just constancy. It is also a meterstick for change. When I was 10, the expression of mortality in the cherry tree poem was just a mathematical challenge; I did not feel the need to worry about having a limited number of flowering seasons ahead of me. Now, at 33, I am aware that we grasp onto life with just a gossamer thread, and when I read the poem I want my older friends to savor the spring planting season. Someday, I suppose, I will look at the poem and know I only have a dozen more springs, if I'm lucky. Luckily, right now, it is just an urgent reminder for me to appreciate each day.

My poetry writing, too, has changed over the years. As a little girl, it was a way for venting my anger. With all due apologies to my big sister, one of the poems I was most proud of as a kid was "I hate Tizatoot; that's for sure/ She asks for everything and then takes more." I was outraged when she and my mother LAUGHED at the poem...but now, I see it is more cute than quality. Later, I worked hard on eliciting clever images in my poetry, and then, more recently, in mixing sounds, rhythm and imagery into intense poems. Just in the past year or so, though, I've switched to trying to hide myself less in my poetry. I'm trying to let my humanness come through on paper, and not be cloaked in intellectualism. I wonder where this will lead me.

One thing is certain: I have always valued poetry. And I fear that it is a dying art, because it isn't taught in the schools as much as in the past. I believe there is a value in learning to recite poems, as well as in learning to express yourself through poetry. I want both of these skills to be ones that my students have, and that they enjoy.

Over the summer, I prepared a poetry enrichment unit, but due to politics and time constraints, I wasn't able to pursue it outside of my regular Spanish teaching schedule. At first I was devastated, and then decided to use elements of the unit and fit them into my Spanish curriculum. My third grade students learned part of a poem by Federico Garcia Lorca, and then wrote their own versions of it. We tied it into a bilingual dictionary unit, and into our review of colors. Then they learned a poem by Gloria Fuertes (advocating a donkey) and wrote their own bilingual poems about animals, aiming to use interesting sound combinations, especially since they had the advantage of two languages. Finally, we spoke about beautiful imagery in poetry, and each class wrote a bilingual poem with interesting images about instruments. They also sang "De Colores", "Vengan a ver mi granja" (a farm song) and "En la pulga de San Jose" (a song about a fleamarket for instruments). Last night was the big performance. I was very proud of my students, and happy for them that they could get recognition for their creativity.

The most exciting part of this bilingual poetry project, for me, was when students began to bring in poems they had written at home, "just because". I am so excited that my energy and my presenting the kids an opportunity and format for self-expression inspired for them to be creative because they CHOSE to, and not because they were required to. Creativity by choice becomes lifetime creativity. Then, although poetry will celebrate change and be read differently over the years, poetry can be constancy, again, as I once envisioned it.

Today's Daffodil

2008-04-10T15:06:00.003-04:00

It is a truly balmy Spring day and I am grateful for this. I just had to share this piece of my garden in celebration!

A Passionate Life

2008-04-09T12:49:00.004-04:00

Years ago, when I was studying in France, I stumbled upon an older couple who were taking an evening stroll by the Eiffel Tower. My friends were waiting on line to ascend the monument, but I had already gone up in the past, and had chosen to take in the view from down below. The older couple was a pair of retired Parisians, Abdelkaber Bouderbala and his wife Elisabeth. As I recall, he was a retired doctor, and she was a retired teacher. Since bidding their careers "adieu", they both had proceeded to attend graduate school classes together and had acquired masters degrees in various ancient languages, architecture, and archaeology. Each evening, they walked arm in arm down the Champs D'Elysees and enjoyed watching visitors from all around the world marvel at their own Wonder of the World. Each evening, they celebrated time with one another, and shared discussions and silences while taking advantage of where they lived.

At that point in my life, I was at the beginning of an intellectual "coming of age". I had just finished my freshman year at Bryn Mawr, and was a little disillusioned with college. All throughout my life teachers had been telling me that the next level would be more academically challenging, and although I learned a lot in college and met wonderful wonderful lifelong friends (you know who you are!), I just wasn't feeling academically humbled in the way I yearned to. And although my group of friends was (most of the time) an active set of late teenagers, I was saddened by the "bubble-like" atmosphere of college, and frustrated by the general apathy around me--and sometimes within me.

Abdelkaber and Elisabeth became my penpals for several years after that chance encounter, and they inspired me more than I was ever able to tell them. That balmy June night in Paris reminded me that school learning isn't everything; the whole universe can be your classroom, and your classmates are the people you choose to surround yourself with. How you interact with the world and absorb the experiences of each day gives you more learning than the college diploma, or the eight masters degrees they had each acquired. I regained hope that night, celebrating my own insatiable curiosity while feeling less alone in the world. Ironically, that sense of peace probably opened me up to noticing other lifelong learners around me, and it was after my summer in France that my college friendships really began to blossom.

Anyway, yesterday I spoke to my parents and they had just returned from a lecture at Hofstra. I smiled and commented to my mother how glad I am that she goes to the shows and the poets' presentations and the political lectures and all the other events that are available around her. I am proud of her for researching what childhood experiences were critical for science fiction authors, and for getting up the bravery to speak to famous authors at SF conventions. I am grateful to both of my parents for surrounding me with learning and for modeling the lifestyle of learners. My life will never be boring. Thank goodness!

As I've said recently, some of my acquaintances don't understand my need to perform and create and rehearse and invent more tasks for myself... yesterday, in fact, a colleague asked me why I don't just rest at home and watch American Idol. I DO believe in resting, and have learned to love quiet. I DO believe in simmering down at the end of a day to a Scrabble game or a few minutes of the Colbert report, or private diary writing. I DO believe in going to my stream in the morning and getting my toes wet, or bringing my sketchpad and illustrating Spring's gifts of any given day. But I'm an artist and I need to perform. I'm an activist and I need to bring awareness about diversity to children. I'm a thinker and I need to read and interact and expose myself to so much of life. I'm lucky.

The best part of my luck is that I found role models as a child, as a teenager and now as an adult who also live wild, passionate lives. Some of these role models have been a part of every milestone in my life: they are family, or like family to me. Others are people I met for an evening, like my French friends. Some are people who know their impact on me, and even find it mutual. Others are folks who I watch from afar, with a respectful awe. I value my sense of passion, and don't usually feel like an odd duck because of it. Consequently, I have found friends who are passionate too. Some compose, some advocate wildlife, some teach, some are parents or lawyers or ice skaters. All of us have something to share; all of us make a point to live our lives with the aims of making the most of each day, and of making the world better each day.

I'm very aware of death this year; my youngest sister and grandfather have both passed away recently. I know our time on this planet is finite. I hope to live a long time, and create an awful lot more. There is so much to do, and so much to learn! However, I know that I have been lucky to live a full life, and to have rich, wonderful contacts with passionate people.

Patterns

2008-04-08T13:46:00.002-04:00

I've been thinking a lot about patterns lately, and why I love them so much. I used to say it was just that I'm a creature of habit, and that I like the predictability of patterns, but somehow that doesn't ring fully true. In fact, in most parts of my life, I seek a balance between the familiar and the unexpected.

For example, when I teach young students colors, they feel comfortable practicing the colors in ABAB patterns or ABCABC patterns, and so making pattern snakes out of blocks or cars or dominoes is an appealing way for them to practice........but, to keep their interest and excitement, I need to also create interactive games which are not as regimented or sequential. So what else is it about patterns that makes me enjoy them?

I'm reminded of tesselations, and so many Escher paintings that I gaze at and just fall into. There's an indescribable mix of relaxation and stimulation that I feel when looking at some of those designs.

Also, I think there's an element of having time to look at the world really closely, rather than being wrapped up in all the events of a day, or week, or month. There's something philosophical and alive about really noticing the world from different angles, and seeking out the patterns.
Here are a few photos I've taken when looking closely at the world. Enjoy!

My Upcoming Show

2008-04-06T09:34:00.011-04:00

Right now I'm working on music directing Musical of Musicals: The Musical and I'm having so much fun, both with the humor of the show and with the caliber of the performers.

CLICK HERE for the website for the show flyer:

Since my theme for this blog mixes the arts and ephemera, theater is such a perfect example. I've now done more shows than the number of years I've been alive. Some of them I've felt passionately about. I remember finishing up "Fiddler on the Roof" in sixth grade and feeling--no, KNOWING-- that nothing could ever be so exciting as playing Yente with that particular cast in that particular school for those particular teachers. Even now, I wish I could go back and have that experience again...and given the backdrop of this year of loss, I wish I could go back to being embarrassed about having my whole multigenerational family filling up the front row of the auditorium! I felt the same way about Gypsy, one of my first music directing experiences, and my big senior show.... I knew I was growing, and I was really proud.

Sometimes, with shows, though, I've become nonchalant. Younger stars sometimes weep and think there will be nothing like this ever again. They're right. Each show happens only once. Each performance happens only once. The audience differs; the mood differs; the energy level difers; the little goof-ups differ. I remember watching an outdoor performance of Dom Juan by Moliere at the Palais des Papes in Avignon, France. I was in awe of my luck to be watching a classic play in a historic site, and I loved imagining all the people who had seen that very play in that very place over the years. That night, it started to pour, and the performance. The cast improvised an ending in all of five minutes. Yes, Dom Juan had been played many times before, just as I've played the piano for many many performances of Gypsy. But it had never been played just that way before...and never would be again. My younger friends are right that there will never be an exact replication of a particular theater experience again, and that theater friendships, sometimes, are like summer camp relationships--really tight for the duration of the event, and then fondly remembered, or peacefully forgotten. I've become nonchalant, though, because I know there will always be the next show, and because I do have the fortune of long-lasting genuine friendships.

I've been lucky to spend most of my theater-making energy over the past few years at the Somerset Valley Playhouse. I'm really comfortable there, and it's kind of a home away from home. After music directing three shows there, back to back (All I Really Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten, Once Upon a Mattress, and Pied Piper), I felt particularly connected, and I look forward to working on "The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas" this summer.

However, right now I'm enjoying working with the Edison Valley Playhouse. The cast of this show is of a very high caliber, and the director knows how to mix joy and seriousness. We get a lot accomplished. I also like being in a new environment, and a little out of my comfort zone, because I used to be afraid of change, and now I know I can handle new situations. This particular play is so clever, too.

So, yes, I will be making sure to enjoy each moment while I'm working on this show. And somehow, this show feels really important to me just now.

Spring

2008-04-03T23:01:00.003-04:00

One of the questions I like to ask my friends...and that I like to pose to stump total strangers... is "If you were an Anne of Green Gables character, what would you be?" Anne is so linked to Green Gables that the house becomes part of her name for a spell...and then she belongs to other places at other parts of her life. Emily is the same way with New Moon. What about you?

As for me, I would be Emily of Springtime Song...my whole life long.

I've been so touched this year by the emails and letters I've received from friends saying that they think of me when the spring comes. YES! I get particularly energetic in Spring. The return of flowers and warm air and colors and light gives me such a surge of life and I just boom with hope and exuberance. But what makes me even happier this year is that people associate me with this joy.

I know I can be an intense person, and with that passion come dark moments. I used to fear that my bouts with depression would be a little black raincloud (to elicit my other friend, Winnie the Pooh), and that they would define me in other's eyes. My twenty-somethings are done, now, though, thank heavens!--and I have even come to find magic in the winter for the snow and for being able to see the structure of the trees.

But my intensity is not just dark moments. It's the butterscotch of the sun's return in the mornings. It's the lack of inhibitions when I just MUST run into the stream in my backyard and sometimes forget to take off my shoes before doing so. It's the wreckless abandon of rolling down hills and chasing fireflies and holding my arms out to hug the night sky and all of its constellations. It's spring again! It's warm enough, almost, to do all of this outside.

Thank you for seeing me through another winter, Mr. Orion in the Night Sky.
Now it is my season.
Please enjoy your stay!

The Tuatara (Warning: a raunchy post for sweet Em!)

2008-03-31T23:54:00.002-04:00

http://www.stuff.co.nz/stuff/4443960a6009.html

Please enjoy this site about a 111 year old lizard in New Zealand who finally found lizard love! (The photo is precious.)

There's always hope!

(By the way, I LOVE being single. Most people don't understand that. I have such a wealth of relationships and so many ways that I can be creative and connected, and I also have my own little world and lots of choices. I know that someday my life may be different, and I accept that, because change is part of life. But I'm not rushing change. This lizard was 111! And never mind that human life spans are different than tuatara life spans... I put so much joy and love and energy into each and every day, that when my end is in sight, some day that is hopefully very far off, I will know that I've taken so much out of life, and hopefully given a bit too!)

Anyway, enjoy this link, shared with humor and celebration.

Making Change

2008-03-29T23:41:00.002-04:00

I've been thinking a lot about how to make change in the world lately. Of course there's the famous Gandhi saying: "Be the change you want to be in the world"---and I do believe we need to act according to how we want people to act. However, I think it's more than that, too.
We need to understand the opposing viewpoint--no matter how hard and repulsive that may be--and offer ideas. It takes more work to change. It takes caring to change.
Last week, I held a World Fair, celebrating diversity. A friend asked me why I put so much energy into the project. I answered that it is because I want to live my life based on what I believe. I believe in diversity, in creativity, in kindness, in growth, in celebrating people at all stages of life. Holding a diversity fair for children within my community fits into so much of what I believe. Yes--it takes work, planning, and exhaustion. Passion. And it's worth it.
I'm afraid that fewer and fewer people live with intention. Fewer and fewer people want to put forth that extra effort to do what they believe. Maybe, even, fewer and fewer people know what they believe. I am lucky to be passionate.
In the same week as my World Fair, I had a run-in at the bank. The ATM machine ate a check of mine, and with horror I heard the "Crunch, crunch, crunch" sound of shredding paper. It was after hours. There was nobody available at customer service. The security phone number listed about the ATM machine was not helpful. And the following day, when I did reach customer service at the BIG bank (not the local bank), they didn't really know what to do either. It was a few days later that a bank representative let me file a claim. When I spoke to people at the local bank, suggesting that they have a number to call in case this happens, and let people know that it happens---the bank's assistant manager didn't care. She said "9 out of 10 times there is no problem". It wouldn't be enough for me to have a 90% accuracy with other people's money! I brought that point up to her.............and condescendingly I was told to leave the bank because I was upsetting the decorum.
Making change sometimes means upsetting the decorum. I have forces in me saying "be sweet", "be kind", "be gentle", "don't be obstreperous!"..... I don't plan to be a wild woman. I believe in kindness as much as I believe in passion. I need to use my strength to choose my battles----and then be willing to be treated with condescension and misunderstanding. I need to have the beacon within that tells me what I do is right.
The biggest change I wish for the world right now is CARING. The bank asst. manager's apathy really struck a nerve with me, similarly to my friends' not understanding why I put forth effort to organize a fair. We don't all need to care about the same things. But if people all found out what they cared about and worked with value towards what mattered.............imagine how the world will be.
I will try to model this.
And I think I'm going to write a letter to the local paper about the bank, and pull my money out of that bank and put it into a different, local, more small-scale one.
On to my next project--a poetry celebration for third graders!

Music Lessons

2008-03-17T10:46:00.002-04:00

This weekend, I went to Long Island to celebrate my grandmother's 89th birthday. She was in amazingly good spirits considering the recent death of her husband. I keep telling her "You are stronger than you know." After the requisite feting and feasting, I had a little time with her for making music by the piano. My sister and I fumbled through a few piano duets and I was aware of my grandmother's nostalgic kick as we played a Scherzo and the Traumerei. Then there was the call for Beethoven sonatas....a bit of the Waldstein (not my favorite), then some of the Pathetique (I love the Rondo) and lots of the schmaltzy Tempest.
I remember sitting at that piano in the blue carpeted room as a kid and soaking up special time with Nana. How lucky I was to have her as my piano teacher! Nobody has ever accused me of being a piano-perfectionist...but I have such joy when I play, and it is such a haunting way for me to express all kinds of emotions. She sat by my side, usually patiently, as I learned to do this.
Now, much of my afternoon life is spent teaching piano...both to beginners and to older students who are working the nuances. My life has changed immensely from those lesson days; now I am a grownup living in a different state, and teaching with an amalgam of what I learned from various music teachers over the years. However, sitting by someone and experiencing early music reading or advanced flowing passages has been a constant in my life. It is such a way for connecting with people, and with myself. I am very lucky.

Turn, turn, turn

2008-03-09T14:25:00.002-04:00

"For everything there is a season and a time for every purpose under heaven."

When is the time to weep?
A few days after a loss, when the rain has drenched the world in the evening and morning has come and the stream is burbling over with nature's tears.
In exhaustion, after having stood strong, and knowing with relief that that worst has past.
Alone, in the company of cats, or in the arms of a friend.
Note to self: avoid male cats. They tend to bite.

When is the time to laugh?
When overwhelmed, laughter lightens the mood.
When playing with kids.
When reading magazines and realizing how absurd humanity is.
When you need to keep going.
Note to self: it is difficult to laugh when playing the flute.

When is it the time to break down?
At the end of autumn, the garden needs to be prepared for the winter.
After a show, a set needs to be taken down.
Sometimes, it is necessary to leave a job or a town or a school or a friendship, and just cut your losses.
Note to self: The hammock needs to be taken down for the winter because otherwise it is not very strong the next year!

When is it the time to build up?
When I am getting students excited about a new project.
When I am filled with spring energy and there's so much to do!
When I have that strong nesting instinct that says "carpet your house! make your kitchen functional! go! go!
Note to self: I tend to build up too much.

When is it the time to keep silence?
When I don't know what to say.
When anger is simmering and I need to choose my words.
When I am trying to understand what is going on around me.
When it is late at night and the stars are twinkling and the windchimes are ringing and the world feels so vast and so alive.
Note to self: I used to be afraid of quiet. Now I revel in it! Maybe that's a sign of growing up.

When is it the time to speak?
When I'm teaching languages or music.
When I need to advocate a cause.
When I have stories to tell and chatting to be shared.
Note to self: Yak yak yak.

When is it time to seek?
When I have an unsatiable quest for knowledge (that is, most of the time.)
When I have no idea where I put my brush.
When playing hide-and-go-seek or kick the can.
When pursuing a dream.
Note to self: If seeking a missing brush, it's probably in the fridge.

When is it the time to lose?
When the person you're playing a game with will hate you if you win one more game.
When your king really truly is destined to be in checkmate, soon, anyway.
When you know that it's best for the person you love.
Note to self: Remember the line in Hook: " I've lost my marbles!"

When is it time to mourn?
On anniversaries of death, or on moments when you just feel close to the loved one.
When reading certain poems or playing certain piano pieces.
At first snowfalls and first crocuses and first fires and first fallen leaves.
Note to self: Sometimes mourning is beautiful, too.

When is it time to dance?
When playing with one's nieces and nephews.
When my friends are doing folk dancing on Sundays.
When fired up with energy before a show.
Note to self: I always feel strong when I'm dancing and moving around.

When is it time to keep?
When I remember who the people who wrote the letters are.
When the books are irreplaceable.
When there's still space for all I keep.
Note to self: There's a gossamer line between archiver and pat rack.

When is it time to cast away?
When the memories are painful...or meaningless.
When the memories are holding you back from growth.
When it is beautiful to watch a balloon flying, or a feather float away on the river.
Note to self: Most losses aren't cast away, but go of their own accord.

When is it time to love?
It's always time to love.

Blogs and Journals

2008-03-07T21:01:00.003-05:00

Procrastination......

It's a Friday evening, and I should be doing the dishes...or preparing a CD for my upcoming show, "Musical of Musicals: The Musical" so that the cast can practice outside of rehearsal......or I should be tidying up the pile of STUFF that has just accumulated this week. I don't mind doing the dishes; there's something relaxing about the sound and feel of the warm water running over the plates and over my hands. I don't mind preparing the CD; in fact, I'm excited about this show, and looking forward to starting rehearsals next week. And I even enjoy tidying up accumulated "stuff" before it becomes burdensome.

Should should should.....

What I am doing right now is getting back to something I love, and have always loved: writing.
For years and years I kept a diary. As a little girl, I recorded the events of each day. As a tween, one of my mentor friends suggested that I record my feelings, and so I did that, too. As a teenager and college student, I wrote less frequently, but always with a sense of urgency and deep meaning. I have many many many filled books, evidence of growth and insanity and hope and overly trite musings.

Somewhere along the line, I stopped writing for myself. I wrote letters to friends, and eventually I shifted to more emails than letters. Something has been lost--this record, this lasting testimony to a life. Beyond that, the ability to calm down and write and process and reflect is something I have forgotten to call upon. In the chaos of creating a world for myself in my 20 and 30-something world, I have stopped recording and reflecting on it.

When Papa was ill, I started looking through old letters. I save everything because I love looking at old letters, seeing old handwritings, remembering the joy of opening old envelopes. I found a poem he had written, and a few letters. I was so grateful to have them. I wish I had more. Then I started poring through old diaries, and a few key days and growth-points came alive for me again. There are so many days I have lost...and here are some that I have refound.

My instinct was to go back to journal-writing post haste. I'm always cautious with starting a new journal, though, and my new marble-covered notebook and I are in our getting acquainted mode. It feels good to write again, and yet, I realized that I feared something about the the permanence of my words in pen.

How much of what I write is real...and how much of it is just my perception? If I write something in my journal, years hence, does it become the truth? What about the important facts I leave out? Conversely, writing in a journal is a delightfully private act---but I have a splendid and snoopy younger sister who started a club, the AJC Detective Agency, whose childhood mission was to sneak into my diaries when I went into the shower. Therefore, as real as I want to be, it isn't thoroughly private.

So, somehow this blog is fascinating for me. It is ephemeral; I can erase any entry; I can play with any photo or layout; I can put things in and take them out on whim. It is also not intended to be private, although probably only I 'll be reading it in the end! Therefore, I don't need to worry about leaving things out--it is understood that there is much that I am leaving out. But what matters is what I am putting into it....and for now, it is my heart.

Now, there, I've written for today. Dishes, piano and piles, here I come!

The Carousel Picture

2008-03-06T17:56:00.004-05:00

Some friends have asked me about the carousel photo on this blog. My friend Dorothee took the photo this Thanksgiving vacation when she was visiting from Germany. She came to visit me at a sad time, just a month after my youngest sister died-------but her visit was a happy one. She joined my family for Thanksgiving at my grandparents' house (what a good sport!) and then we spent a day in Manhattan together, even braving Macy's on Black Friday. Then we returned to my home and we went for a lovely hike at the Great Swamp and she met some of my friends.

Anyway, Central Park is a special place for me. It has represented being grown-up enough to go around the city on my own....and it has represented the hope of spring (there's a corner in the park where the daffodils come up earlier than anywhere else I know.) I have enjoyed seeing The Gates in the park, and I have enjoyed climbing on the rocks. Dorothee and I played on the swings for awhile, and then I was drawn to the carousel.

A carousel is a symbol of childhood, of freedom for frivolity, of whimsical playtime, and of the ability to squander time. It also is used to represent time, ever moving on, and ever circular. It was with pure joy that we went up and down on the horses, listening to 1970's music played on the calliope: "I'm on the top of the world looking down on creation". I was removed from the grief of the past month, and just so very alive.

This horse in this photo was alone in a darker corner: an outcast, a memory... Shyly it peeked out as us, just as a memory or a dream sometimes will. It was so subtle that I didn't even notice it at first, but Dorothee did and she shot this photo.

It seemed fitting for a blog entitled "Music is Change" because music is forever, and it is changing, and it is hence forever changing. The carousel goes around and around, and the people on it change and grow and come and go...........so do its horses. But the delight remains, and this horse remains to watch it. Who knows? Maybe it was only sidelined for repairs!

Goodbye Papa

2008-03-05T17:49:00.004-05:00

My grandfather died earlier this week. I have so many rich memories with him, and it's hard to imagine that we've come to the end of our memory making. Here I want to share some of my fondest memories.

He was a baker, and I will remember his cookies and rugelach and potato nik and latkes and I'll remember him standing by the stove with an abundance of his creations. He'd work for weeks in advance of my grandmother's piano concerts to stock the house with all sorts of sweets. One day I begged him to teach me how to cook some of his trademark recipes. I wish that we had been able to spend that time together, but he was very independent in the kitchen. Instead, he found me a copy of his Practical Baking tradesmen's book and wrote in elegant cursive, "Dear Emily, Good Luck, Love, Papa." I've made a few recipes from it, especially the rugelach, and I think he's been proud that I've tried my hardest, even if he's been lovingly critical about the result! I also remember his trying to teach us how to decorate cakes when birthdays rolled around. He was proud of his baking.

He was a comedian. I'll always remember his dancing around the living room, twirling around with my sisters and niece....or dancing the "Rumpee" dance. I'll remember him singing Old Man River in a deep deep baritone voice and playing with words like "Hippy Happy Nippy Nappy." He would sing along with the Yiddish songs in the car as we'd drive together to restaurants. There were always funny faces and antics.

He was a pragmatic, wise man and enjoyed sitting in his recliner telling me how I should always pay off my credit card on time, how I should give something lasting to the world or publish a book, how I should make the best use possible of my "s" s in Scrabble, how I should choose carefully who I spend my life with. When my great-grandmother (on the other side of the family, of no relationship to him) was in a nursing home, he drove me all the way to the Bronx so I could visit her. That was very kind of him. In another poignant moment, we were at the beach one day and I was lollygagging by the water when most of the family had already started heading back to the car. I grew nervous, and then was relieved to find him still there. He smiled and said "I will always wait for you." He also tried to get me to be more resilient--tears come easily for me. He saw my feelings and my upsets...but wanted me to be able to stay stronger longer.

In hard times when I was feeling bullied in school and lacking confidence as a tween, Papa had confidence in me. He called me his "Sponge" because I learned fast...and he tried to share with me his own poems. He tried to learn piano, and it was poignant to watch Nana teach him Beethoven's 9th on the piano. I enjoyed trying to give him confidence, too.

Sometimes Papa was very quiet. I know he was glad that I learned Yiddish, and he wanted me to pronounce words his way. I knew he came from the "old world", and yet there's so much he never told me about his childhood and his growing up. I didn't know until just a few years ago that he had a whole network of cousins and family who were here in America to greet him when he arrived. When I asked him questions, he would answer and it was clear that he enjoyed talking about his world...but often he enjoyed being quiet and just listening, too.

I am sad.........and I am doing well. Soon I will bake some rugelach in his honor. But today, I must rest.

I love you, Papa. Thank you for everything.

The Band's Visit

2008-03-02T23:00:00.003-05:00

I went with an eighth grade friend to see the Israeli film "The Band's Visit". I'm so excited that it actually made it out to a theater about 50 minutes from my home! When I saw the preview with my Mom last month (before we saw Persepolis), I jumped up and said "I have to see that" and I'm glad I did.

It's not a culturally American film. It doesn't have a thick plot or lots of conflict. The basic premise is simple: an Egyptian police band is stranded in nowheresville Israel for a night. The beauty of the slow-paced and gently humorous film is that in one lone evening, one lone encounter, people can meet and share music, words and kindness, and that connection can ease life's loneliness a little bit.

Linguistically, the movie was delightful too. My friend is fluent in Farsi and I know a bit of Farsi and a bit of Hebrew--and it was interesting to learn some Arabic while reading the subtitles. The code-switching among languages, the circumlocution of characters trying to communicate with one another and not knowing the words, and the use of language to both exclude and include people was apparent in many scenes. We also had fun reading the credits in both Hebrew and Arabic!

Another video of the music

2008-03-02T15:45:00.001-05:00

My sister had a barbershop quartet perform for my grandparents

2008-03-02T14:04:00.000-05:00

Outrage

2008-03-02T14:00:00.000-05:00

After a flier went home to all students in our school--folded neatly in a decorated envelope with the title "Good News Club"--I have done some research and found out about this scary organization that is tiptoeing more and more brazenly through our governmental system, gaining momentum and power to bring religion into the public schools. I'm a staunch separationist and am very scared about what this means. Even if I am spiritual, I do not share this with my students. I am horrified that primary school teachers in our school will change their hats at 3:30 and in the same building have a club with 1st graders celebrating the Gospel. Even if the supreme court has decided this is acceptable (and it has)--I don't think 1st graders see the difference between their teacher during the school day (as teacher) and after school (as bible leader.) I am worried about the messages this can give to our children. I'm horrified...so much that I am not very articulate!
yikes!
I'm going to do the hardest thing for me, for now, and that is be quiet about it at school and just listen to see if anyone says anything.

Peace and Fires

2008-02-27T11:10:00.000-05:00

After an intense intense intense week last week, this weekend I had the opportunity to sit by the fireplace at my mentor's house--not once, but twice! The flames are so nurturing to me. They are an outlet for rage, and a presentation of my joy. They shine in gratitude, and leave me with embers of memory. They represent my strengh and my weakness. I feel so peaceful. Thank you, fires.

February's End

2008-02-25T15:45:00.000-05:00

February is almost over....it's always a long, grueling month for me, but somehow I found a lot of beauty in the month. My plans for the World Fair are shaping up...........there was a beautiful lunar eclipse, and oh! the albedo of the snow on Friday! I even enjoyed clipping my wild rose bushes.
My reading this month has been limited--Maureen Dowd's "Are Men Necessary" (intriguing and humorous), and Katharine Weber's "Triangle" (a book I finished and then went back, immediately, to reread.)...
Musically I'm busy practicing the music for my next show: Musical of Musicals: the Musical. Also, I arranged some music for my Jewish teen group, which was fun. For Thursday's orchestra rehearsal, I'll try adding Smetana's The Moldau--------a piece which has a melancholy, sentimental pull for me. The orchestra has been getting more and more musical lately and I want to try this one, too!
Anyway, that's my scoop for now. I wonder if/when I'll write again!

Optimism

2007-08-20T10:47:00.000-04:00

First of all, last week I saw "Wicked" in NYC with my mother. It was extraordinary, and I saw it at just the right time in my life for me to really "get"the meaning of it. Interestingly, about a year ago, I told a friend/mentor that the song "For Good" made me think of her.....and she said (much to my frustration) that I should think of it as making peace with my conflicting attitudes, instead. I resented that. AND YET! when I watched the show, it did make sense to think of it as a blustery side of me making peace with the "charmed" side. Wow.

My disappointment from last week has passed, and I'm okay.

Last night, I played lots of chess with my younger friends, and they're getting better. I really like winning.......but I also like that they're getting closer to winning!

Stargirl has a sequel right now! I'm reading it slowly and joyously. I'm also reading "From Newbury With Love", about a Soviet era correspondence between a little girl and an elderly man. Precious.

The summer speeds up right around now. Sigh...

Summer Saturday

2007-08-11T22:52:00.000-04:00

The crickets are chirping rhythmically, and I spent the evening chatting on the porch with a friend. Summer is still here, and I have to keep reminding myself "I still have time. I still have ti." For some unknown reason, I'm feeling so mortal lately, like my life is about to change, like I'm about to lose myself or someone I love. Maybe it's been the cancer and chemo angst of my mentor. Maybe it's been seeing my grandparents age. Maybe it's being 33 and single and childless. Maybe...just maybe...it's August, and the summer which once seemed to be an eternity ahead of me is collapsing into a few precious days of relaxing and rehearsing. I love my life in the school year, but was too over-scheduled last year, and kind of dread re-entering the ratrace. I think I've made some changes that will make my life more tolerable once autumn returns, but I don't know if I've changed enough!

Yesterday I went shopping with a young friend of mine, and decided to change my style, moving away from the frumpy dresses I've worn for years. It was amazing--I actually enjoyed trying clothes on. Maybe I'm just changing. Growing up? Who knows...

That's it for now!