shadows of gray

I grew up thinking things were black and white.  Right and wrong.   Good and evil. 
Things were nicely compartmentalized.  Clean cut.  Sealed in nice boxes.


But, as I've grown older, I have come to realize that the world I live in is gray.
Things are messy. 

I am a musician.  Things are never as good as they could be.  We spend our time reaching for some attainable "white" perfection, which never comes.  Yes, that may be the best I've ever played it, but I still didn't get that one phrase - and that chord wasn't voiced the way I wanted it to be.   There are specks of black in the whiteness, and they meld together.      gray.

I am a Christian.  The Scriptures inform my theology, and yet my experience sometimes tells me, even screams, the complete opposite.  The wrong seems oft so strong, but God is the ruler yet.   How do I turn this truth into experience?  How do I reconcile the God of the Scriptures with the world I see around me?  There is much wrestling to be done, but I find hope in the Apostle Paul's exhortation: continue to work out your salvation with fear and trembling.  On the one hand, it is finished.   Done.  Complete.    But on the other hand, it is up to me to work it out in the day-to-day.  What does it mean to live it?       gray.

I am human.   And on weeks like this, I am disgusted, mortified by what we are capable of. The darkness seems overwhelming.   daunting.  black.   And yet, there is beauty.   There is laughter.   I hosted a game night at my house at seemingly the worst time.   Finals.  The busy Christmas season.  On a day of terror and vileness and mourning and grief.    Black.    And yet, it was exactly the right time.  Because joy can exist simultaneously with sorrow.   They are not mutually exclusive.   Because tears of mourning can flow beside tears of joy.   Because we are capable of good and of evil, sometimes in the same breath.      gray.


This is why I love Advent.

Because Advent is gray.
Advent is not either-or.  It is both-and.

Advent doesn't ignore the pain.  the longing.   the sorrow.  the darkness.
Advent is waiting.   It is crying out "how long?"
Advent is need.  desperation.
Advent is black.

But Advent is also about hope.
Advent is living in the light of the promise. 
Advent is living the truth that the Baby is on His way.
Advent is clinging to the hope that it will not always be like this.
Advent is white.


Sometimes it's easier to live in a black and white world.  It seems simpler.  And the truth is: there are things that are black and white.  And for this, I'm grateful.

But I am thankful that there is also room for the doubters, the questioners, the wrestlers.
I am thankful for the permission to struggle, to work through my faith.
I am thankful for Advent - for it's rough, and even sharp, edges.  For it's messiness.  For its assurance that expressions of hope and despair can come from the same lips, in the same breath.
I am thankful for the cross, where sorrow and love flow mingled down.  Where the dark, grotesque, bloody blackness of our sin meet the unceasing, resplendent, life-giving whiteness of God's grace.

I am thankful for gray.

Don Giovanni in Pictures

Outside the box office.

The Graveyard Scene with Leporello, Giovanni and the Commendatore.

The stage at the Lyric Opera House. The harpsichord is in the far left corner of the pit.

And, here I am in my own little corner of the pit!

The view from the podium.

The principals (minus Donna Elvira and the Commendatore):
Don Giovanni, Don Ottavio, Donna Anna, Masetto, Zerlina, Leporello.

My parents came and saw it!

Sarah, the fabulous, the amazing, the wonderful assistant director.
We spent many hours together.

Our wonderful maestro.

My friend Nadja and my teacher Eileen.

The after-party, with the Commendatore and Leporello.

farewell donny g

I'm not sure how to even begin processing all that has transpired in the last 2 months of this journey of working on the production of Don Giovanni (actually, my journey began in May when I started learning the score myself!).  It has been one of the highlights of my time at Peabody, and I still marvel at the fact that I got to be involved, not only in the process, but also the final performance.

I have much to be thankful for, as I look back on this journey.

I am thankful it was this year.  I had a rough first semester of grad. school, and I know that had I been thrown into this experience right off the bat, I wouldn't have enjoyed or appreciated it in the same way. I am thankful that I had a year under my belt - so I was able to fully engage in the entire experience.

I am thankful it was Mozart.  Last year's opera was Stravinsky, and I know it would have been an entirely different ballgame, had I been assigned to that.   Sure, there is a part of me that is ready to be done with this show. There are things I'm tired of in the production as a whole.  But I am not sick of the music, not in the slightest.  It continues to amaze and surprise and thrill me.  And it continues to bring me life and energy.

I am thankful it was Don Giovanni. This opera is a true masterpiece.  It is a difficult piece, on every level, and demands a great deal from its performers and directors.  And I am fortunate now to have it in my ears, in my fingers, in my heart.  I have a vivid memory of my piano professor at Whitworth referencing it one day. I was playing a Mozart Fantasy for my senior recital, and the opening reminded her of the overture to Don Giovanni.  Now I know why.  She was exactly right.   And this week, I got to sit in the orchestra pit as they  blew the socks right off that same overture.  What a privilege.

I am thankful we had the conductor that we did.  I learned so much from his approach. I watched the singers rest in the security that they could trust the person in the pit; he had their backs.  I respect that greatly, because it's the same sense of security I hope to foster for the singers I play for.   His goal was to enable the singers and instrumentalists to sing and play freely - and to get out of their way as much as possible.  And he did just that.

I am thankful it was an ensemble show.  Sure, there will be "divas" in every production.  But overall, there was a commitment to the production as a whole.  This was most evident in the assistant conductor and assistant director, who devoted their time (and then some) to make sure that every detail was taken care of behind the scenes.  They even held extra rehearsals for the understudies, who weren't getting much of a chance to learn their parts in the normal rehearsals.   But the most poignant picture of humility came during the understudy performance.  They are given one chance to run the show, sans costumes and orchestra (or even much of an audience).  I was playing harpsichord and wasn't able to turn pages for the pianist.  The stage manager ran up to the auditorium to find a volunteer page turner.  And as the pit door opened, I found myself tearing up.  It was the lead of the show: Don Giovanni himself.  And at intermission, the other lead, the guy playing Leporello, took over.  Of all the people, they deserved to sit and relax and enjoy watching the understudies perform.   Instead, they saw something that needed to be done, and decided to honor the understudies as well as the musicians in the pit with their service.    Talk about ensemble spirit.

I am thankful I got to be a part of the rehearsal process.  It was incredible to watch the director interpret the story and pull the character and emotions out of the singers.  I loved being a part of each stage of the learning process; it makes the final product that much more rewarding.

I am thankful I got to play for the performances.  I have never performed on a harpsichord before.  The role of the harpsichordist in the opera is really the musician's role.  The average audience member probably won't give a second listen to the harpsichord, and it certainly won't be mentioned in the reviews.  But the musicians on the stage, in the pit, and out in the house know my role.  The singers know that they are dead without me. The handful of people who know the score are aware of when I cover up the singers' missed lines or words.  Those who are listening closely will hear how I'm working to set the mood.  But most of the people who sit in the audience will forget there even was a harpsichord!   It really is my ideal role.  I get to support what's going on up on the stage, and be in the pit with the orchestra, and no one really listens to me!

I am thankful for the people that supported me along the way.   My teacher was the first to push me towards volunteering to play harpsichord.  The principal coach, who is currently the interim opera dept. chair, and the maestro offered me feedback and coached me through the process.  My roommate packed me lunch AND dinner on more than a few long rehearsal days.   My parents came out and enjoyed their first opera (twice!).  A group from my church came to opening night.   And the list goes on.  Don Giovanni was an ensemble show.  But my life is also an ensemble show...I am well aware that I cannot do it alone.


So, it's time to say goodbye to my dear Donny G.  We've gotten to know each other pretty well over the past few months.  We've had some laughs, and our fair share of tears.  We've shared early mornings and late nights.  We've met over coffee and over wine...and always over chocolate.   We've survived hundreds of hours of rehearsals and even hurricanes.

It's hard to say farewell, but I'm confident we'll meet again.
But until we do, all I can say is:

Thanks for everything, Donny. You'll always have a special place in my heart.

sandy's visit

My apologies for not updating sooner after the hurricane. But for those of you wondering about Sandy's effect on Baltimore, it was very minimal.

We were fortunate that the worst of the storm hit just north of us - so we didn't bear the brunt of it. Sure, there was some flooding, and many lost power, but it was nothing compared to those to the north of us.

I did have a leak or two, but nothing compared to all the tripping-over-buckets I did last year when Irene came to town. As we rode it out, I kept waiting for the winds to get worse, as they did with Irene, but they never really did.

So for us, Sandy was an excuse to take two days off of class...have a slumber party...make apple-cinnamon baked oatmeal...play a few board games....watch a few movies....and maybe study a little bit of Mozart.

The first day back to school was not a fun one - and losing 10 hours of rehearsal for Don Giovanni wasn't so fun either. But, overall, we were so thankful to have an unexpected, and much-needed break.

finding a groove

It's been a good, albeit busy, few weeks.

I have loved playing for the Don Giovanni rehearsals. After a long day of classes and practice, I often look ahead to the 3 hours of rehearsal that await me with a sense of dread. Where am I going to find the energy?   But after even just a few minutes, I find that I have more energy than when we started.  There is something about Mozart's music that brings life.  How can I not love life when I get to spend time playing his music?

I am excited to be able to play the harpsichord for the performances in a few weeks.  An opera is similar to a musical in that there are sections of dialogue interrupted by a musical number.  However, in opera, these sections of "dialogue" are sung. The singers will sing their lines at their own speed, pacing things according to the rhythm and flow of the language and the needs of the drama.   And, since the singers are given liberties to sing these lines as they see fit, it is impossible to coordinate the entire orchestra underneath them.

Enter: the harpsichord.  The harpsichordist's job is twofold.  First, to keep the singers oriented to the tonal center.  And second, to propel the drama.  As the sole accompaniment for the singers during these dialogues, the harpsichord provides the musical commentary and creates a specific mood.  If the characters are angry, the harpsichordist might play quickly.  If they are in love, slowly.  The chord changes are indicated in the music, but it is up to the player himself to improvise and play them in such a way that supports what is going on onstage.  In Mozart's day, he would have sat at the keyboard himself, and perhaps even conducted the orchestra from there.

So I get to follow in his footsteps, and imagine what he might have done.  It is a lot of work, more than I signed up for in being a rehearsal accompanist.  I have to know exactly what the singers are saying, word-for-word, all the time.  Since the opera is in Italian, that's easier said than done.  I spent more than a few hours translating my score.   I have to know what they're feeling, what the motivation is behind any line, at any given point.  I have to know the staging - where she might pause to move to stage-left, or how long it takes them to get on stage when the orchestra finishes.  I have to watch the conductor, as we attempt to coordinate smooth transitions between harpsichord and orchestra.  I have to know the Italian - I'll be singing the lines along with the singers, so that I can time my chords correctly.

All of this translates into a lot of extra time OUT of rehearsal as well as extra time in the rehearsals themselves. Basically, the more rehearsals I go to, the better - even if I'm not specifically assigned to them.  But it's exciting as well, to learn a new skill and to get to be a part of this big production.


I wish that I could just put all my time and energy into Don Giovanni. But somehow, I'm also supposed to keep on top of school and all the other music I'm responsible for.  This week, I had another monumental performance, as Thomas Hampson made a visit to Peabody.

For those of you who don't know about Thomas Hampson, I suggest you Google him.  He's kind of a big deal in the music world, and he happens to be from Spokane!  He gave a masterclass yesterday at Peabody, and I got to play for one of my singers who performed.   It was an amazing experience. I loved getting to hear him work with the singers, for 3.5 hours (he was scheduled to be there for 2!).  He had incredible wisdom to pass on, and often times I couldn't write it all down fast enough.

More important for me, however, was my own performance.  Grad school has not been easy on me, and I have not felt free in my playing since I've been at Peabody.  It has been a long year of trying to incorporate everything my teacher is telling me.  And in that time, as I have attempted to work in all these changes to my technique, I have not been able to play freely. I haven't played my heart.

So I was determined, on Friday, to do just that.  I was playing a beautiful song, that had great personal significance for me.  I was playing for a packed house.  I was playing for Thomas Hampson.   And, it was just time.

To my surprise, when I sat down at the keyboard, I wasn't nervous.  I was ready.  Mr. Hampson had talked about not trying to "portray" something when you sing or "convince" anyone of anything.  He encouraged the singers to simply "be."  An honest expression will move more people than a forced one.

When we finished, I felt almost nothing.  I didn't think about mistakes I had made.  I didn't wonder what anyone had thought of it.  I wasn't even aware that there were 200 people watching us.  I simply was.

And in that moment, I knew.

I'd played my heart.  I'd laid it on the keys.  I didn't care how good my sound was.  I wasn't aware of how I had approached the technical aspects.

I had simply, played.

And it felt good.    To be at home at the keyboard.   To find my voice.   To think less, and express more.   To release the song that has been trapped in my heart for awhile.   To play for myself.


I always know when I've played my heart, because it doesn't matter what anyone else says.  I don't seek the approval of my teacher or my colleagues.  I don't spend time analyzing what could have gone better.  I don't hold on to any compliments as affirmation that I sort of know what I'm doing, somehow.

So when compliments come, they are the icing on the cake.

My teacher was delighted.  She has never heard me play like that, because, well, I really haven't at Peabody.

My response was simple: "That was my heart; that was Mary."

To which she reach out her hand and replied, "Well, it's nice to meet you."

boston in the fall

Once upon a time, my friend Meghan and I met up in Boston for my fall break.

We ventured to Cambridge...

...and wandered through the alcoves of Harvard.

The campus was stunningly beautiful...

....and I'm pretty sure we got smarter just walking through it.

We traveled to the fishing village of Rockport, MA out on the Atlantic Coast.
By the way, there's a large building on the left side of the photo. It has a big set of
windows facing the sea. On the other side of those windows is a Steinway grand.
What a place to perform...

The weather could not have been more perfect,
and there happened to be a harvest festival going on that day as well.

We wandered down little alleyways and enjoyed the view.

We meandered through fall-colored foliage.

We wandered up the coast a bit to a state park,
and enjoyed some quiet time on the rocks above the water.

We felt our souls exhale as we gazed out into the open sea.

And, when it was time, we climbed back up the hill and headed back to town.

We watched the sunset behind sailboats and lobster crates.

We met Robert McCloskey's ducks in Boston Public Gardens.

We couldn't resist the urge to enjoy the leaves.

We happened upon a NW treat...and may
or may not have gone back for more a few hours later...

We made friends with some fish.

We hiked up to the Bunker Hill monument...

...and looked back to the bottom, after climbing the 294 steps to the top.

We couldn't resist a few more leaf photos.

We took a walk on the Freedom Trail...

...and ran into Paul Revere and the Old North Church.

We wandered through Beacon Hill.

We sat on the banks of the Charles and watched the sailboats.

We enjoyed being together.

Sea spray.  Crunchy leaves under foot.  Gas lantern-lined streets.  Crisp autumn air.  New England charm.  Lobster pots.  One if by land; two if by sea.  Creamy seafood chowder.  Real coffee.  Cobblestone streets.  Businessmen on bicycles.  Morning strolls on sandy beaches.  Crocs and fleeces and flannel.  Downton Abbey marathons.  Good conversation.  Great food.   Drivers that stop for pedestrians.  Tour guides in Colonial dress.  The open sea.  Sun-kissed faces.  Tired feet.  Happy hearts.

You may have heard about Boston in the fall.

I will tell you that it's all it's cracked up to be.

the maestro changes everything

I've spent a good amount of time with Mozart in the last few weeks. Not only am I working on Don Giovanni, but the arias we've been studying in my accompanying class have all been from Mozart operas thus far. So when I get sick of practicing, listening to, or writing in the translation (for the entire opera) for Giovanni - and when I'm sick of carrying around my 3 different editions of the score....I think to myself, "OK, I should take a break and do something else."  The only problem is....the "something else" is MORE MOZART.

Mozart and I have always had a great relationship.  I love his music.  In fact his Requiem is on my top five list, of all time.   If it were possible for me to have a favorite composer, it might be him.  But as I told my friend last week: if Don Giovanni and I are going to make it for the long haul, we're going to need to start seeing other people NOW.  So occasionally, I try to practice some Debussy or Strauss. That worked for awhile....

But on Saturday it happened.  I played through the Act I finale as well as the entire second act during my practice time.  I sat in the library for 3 hours (a total of 10 hours last week) writing the translations of the recitatives into my score.

And at the end of that, I was officially sick of Mozart.   <gasp>


Lucky for me, the maestro changes everything.

Our guest conductor will come every couple of weeks for an intense day of rehearsals.  Yesterday was the first of those days.

I sat in on the afternoon ensemble rehearsal.  I am not scheduled to start playing until later this week, but I have been going to a few rehearsals to get an idea about tempos, etc.  So, lucky for me, I was free yesterday to give up three hours of practice/study time to observe the rehearsal.

And I'm glad I did, because the maestro changes everything.

I first noticed it in the energy level of the room.

He brings authority.   People stand up straighter.  They're quicker to respond. They're on their best behavior.  Some are dressed nicer....attempting to make a good first impression.  There's a buzz, a nervous energy.  Make sure you're in your seat, or at your stand, pencil in hand, when he walks in the room.

He brings new tempos.   Some feel twice as fast as I thought were possible.

He brings his wealth of wisdom.  Here is a man who knows this score inside and out.  I watch him mouth the words along with the singers, as his hands maintain the pulse.    He knows it all.   The lilt of the language.  The shape of the phrase.  The delicate details of each character's inner monologue.

A native Italian speaker, he corrects the singers' diction as they go, helping them form the proper vowel shape - and reminding them when they add a double consonant where there is only a single.

An experienced conductor, he pauses from time to time to explain how the different lines work together - referencing what the double bass is doing in that measure, or the counter-melody provided by the woodwinds.

A dedicated student of the libretto, he observes the process, allowing his perception of the character to inform his musical interpretation, and vice-versa.  He pauses to discuss who this character is....what their motivation is. Mozart most definitely knew what he was doing in the way he set the text, so much of it is already in the music, but that doesn't mean we can slack off on doing our homework.

A wise teacher, he does not waste time pampering their egos.  He compliments them once at the beginning of the rehearsal.  And then they get to work.

He is not a screamer, which I appreciate.   He is kind to the pianist.   And he has a great sense of humor.   I try to count the number of times he says "Don't make an aria out of it."      I lose count.


And then the moment comes.  I feel the spark.

I love this.

I don't always love practicing.
I don't even always love performing.
But when it comes down to it, I always love rehearsing.

I love the dialogue.  The discussions of characterization and phrasing.  I love the perfection process.  I love the mistakes and the laughter.  I love the journey.


and yes,
I love Mozart.

well-intentioned

It's no secret that Baltimore is not my favorite city in the world, although it does boast of being "The Greatest City in America."  It took me awhile, though, to figure out just what was wrong.  I don't even know when it hit me - but all of the sudden, I knew.  Baltimore is always well-intentioned, it just lacks a little bit on the follow-through.  Let me give you a few examples.

Scenario #1:

It's Saturday morning.  I'm sitting at the desk at work.  Across from me, there are two bins: one for garbage and one for paper recycling. The recycle bin is clearly labeled with a large sign: PAPER ONLY.  Good idea, right?  
I watch as the janitor comes in to clean the lobby area. First she takes the bag out of the garbage can and replaces it. She sets the full bag on the floor, and picks up the paper bin....and then proceeds to DUMP THE PAPER INTO THE TRASH BAG.

well-intentioned.


Scenario #2:

It's Wednesday evening. I'm on my way home from school and I decide to stop by our neighborhood grocery store to pick up a few things. As I go to check out, I notice the large sign next to the cash register. "Plastic bags available only upon request."  Awesome idea, right?
The cashier takes my items, rings them up, and proceeds to place them directly in a plastic bag, without a second thought.

well-intentioned.


Scenario #3:

When I moved into my apartment one year ago, it wasn't quite finished.  One of the problems I inherited was a leak under my kitchen sink.  It had probably been leaking for months, if not years.  And as a result, the boards underneath it had rotted out.  The leak got fixed right away - but the cabinet was going to need to be replaced.  Which never really happened.  I was OK with that - the boards weren't too gross, and with only one of me, I wasn't desperate for cabinet space.

Fast-forward one year. With a new roommate moving in, I decided it was time to put in a work order and get it fixed.  Lucky for me, the maintenance manager and property manager are fond of me, so they decided it would be best to give me all new cabinets and countertops.  Basically, a full kitchen remodel.  I didn't complain.

So it was a Thursday afternoon, when I came home to beautiful shiny new cabinets. I walked in my kitchen to admire them. It looked great - definitely an upgrade from before.  But in the back of my mind, I realized my garbage can wasn't where I'd left it that morning.  I didn't think too much of it.   Because we'd had to move everything out of the kitchen, I figured it was in one of the other rooms under a pile of dishrags or plates or something.

6 hours later, when I was fast asleep, Rebecca came home and, as I had done, wandered into the kitchen to admire the new cabinets. She did so, and had only taken a few steps, when she realized that her feet were wet.  She opened the under-the-sink cabinet door to find the garbage can that I had missed a few hours before.....full of water, and overflowing.

Which means this:
1. The leak was back.
2. The cabinet (the original inspiration for this whole remodel) was ruined a second time. Granted, it's not nearly as bad as the time before - and it is still usable.  But still, it's sad to see such a lovely cabinet end up warped....in less than a day.
3. The maintenance manager KNEW about the leak!! He put the garbage can there to hold the water until the plumber arrived the next day....but didn't think to inform us about it.

well-intentioned.


See, in all of these situations, someone had a good idea, a good intention.  Let's put a paper recycling bin in the lobby.  Let's force people to use reuseable bags and not give out plastic bags automatically.  Let's put new cabinets in this kitchen.

But somewhere along the way, someone didn't quite follow through.

I was lucky enough to have a fellow-Northwesterner here early this summer. Emily and I went to Whitworth together and were excited to discover that our time in Baltimore overlapped by a few months.  We were able to share coffee a few times and share in our homesickness for the NW.

I shared with her my epiphany about Baltimore being so well-intentioned.  She agreed that it suited the city perfectly. But I was not prepared for what she said next,

Well, you know what the road to you-know-where is paved with....

Touche, Emily, touche.

Please forgive my absence....

...I've been busy.

I just realized that it's been nearly a month since my last post.

Somehow, October is just around the next bend, and I'm left wondering what happened to September.

and then I remember.

Practice.   Rehearsal for Don Giovanni.  Classes.  Practice.   Rehearsal for Ariel's Tempest.  Lessons.  Practice.   Rehearsals with singers.  Homework.  Practice.  Performances.  Meetings.  Practice.  Practice.  Practice.

I spent September in a practice room.  And October will probably not be much different.

This last week I pulled double duty as I helped the new cast and music directors of Ariel's Tempest (the show Nadja and I directed last year) get things started.  It was fun to be there and help them get a feel for the music, but I remembered how much I don't miss being in rehearsal until 10:00 every night.   I am also gearing up to begin playing for Giovanni rehearsals, so I have been observing those as much as I can, to glean information about tempos, etc.   But that meant that, at times, this week, I was in rehearsal from 4pm-10pm.   There really is nothing pleasant about that.

My schedule has been full, to be sure.  But as I consider what it was a year ago, I can't help but be thankful to be in such a different place than I was then.  I am still busy, still exhausted, still overwhelmed.  But there is somehow a peace present in me, a lightness of being, that was oh-so-absent last fall.

I attribute part of that peace to a church community that I recently joined.  After a year of feeling not-quite-at-home at church, I have finally found a place to call home.  I am reminded of Michael Dennis Browne's words in the text entitled "The Road Home":

there is no such beauty as where you belong.

And I know that I belong in this community, for this season.


I am also looking forward to the opportunities ahead in the coming weeks.  One of my singers was selected to sing in the Denyce Graves masterclass this week, so I will get to play for that.  And another has been chosen to sing for the Thomas Hampson masterclass next month.  It will be an incredible opportunity to get to play for these incredible artists!

So there is much to be thankful for.  Sunny days.  The crunch of leaves beneath my feet.  The opportunity to work with some of the best musicians in the world.  Mornings spent at the keyboard - is there really any better way to start the day?    Church services that fill me with life and energy.

places to belong.

a bouquet of sharpened pencils

It's a hot summer evening in Baltimore. Apparently, no one told the weather that tomorrow is September and it's time to cool off.   However, the harvest moon that now rises before my eyes heralds the coming of autumn.

It's the dawn of a new season.  The energy is back at Peabody. New and returning students swarmed the campus this week, bringing an end to months of a quiet campus.  They bring with them excitement, anticipation.  and perhaps some fear and anxiety as well.    What will this year hold?

Things are starting to take shape for me as I look at the year ahead.  I know I'll be playing for some of the rehearsals of Don Giovanni, as I had hoped as I began learning it this summer.  I'm excited for the opportunity and the challenge.  I will also be running the first few rehearsals of Ariel's Tempest, which Nadja and I pioneered last year.  Two other gals in our studio will be music-directing it this year, but I will help to start them off with a better foundation than we had!

My classes will most definitely not be as challenging as those of last fall.  The bulk of my work this semester will be practicing, which has its pros and cons.  Sometimes it's nice to have "real" homework which can actually be completed....with practicing, there is ALWAYS more to do.

And as I write, my new roommate, Rebecca, is putting her bed together in our bedroom.  It will be both a joy and a challenge to live together, I'm sure, in such close quarters.  I am both sad to say goodbye to this season of solitude, and also thankful to welcome in companionship.  With the dawning of something new, comes the loss of something else, perhaps even something cherished.  But the moon is no different.  Would its gleam be nearly as beautiful if it wasn't contrasted against the black of the night sky?   If we hadn't let go of the brightness of day?

The harvest moon bears silent witness to the coming of a new season.   In weather.   In schedules.   In relationships.   And yet the moon also bears witness to the constants of life.  The same moon has been rising and setting - waxing and waning - all summer long.

Sometimes, as the seasons change, I find myself caught up in the excitement - the preparation, the anticipation, the butterflies, the hope of what's to come.   And sometimes, I just need to rest in the constancy of the things that haven't changed.

The Big Apple

This week I ventured up north for my very first visit to NYC. Alison, my recital partner, has just moved there, so I had a place to stay, as well as a friend to take me around the city. 

We got up early the first morning and took the ferry to the Statue of Liberty. It was a glorious sunny day, and we had an incredible view of the skyline, across the water.   And it was amazing to walk around Liberty Island, taking it all in.

I marveled as I thought of the millions of immigrants that sailed through this harbor. 100 years ago, this statue would have been the tallest structure around; I can't imagine the beacon of hope this must have been for the immigrants, seeing it for the first time, after days, weeks, months on a ship.

It was so wonderful to be out on the water, and take a whiff of the saltwater. (Although Baltimore has a harbor, the water doesn't smell the greatest...).  Being on the ferry reminded me of the hundreds of thousands of trips I took to my grandparents' home on Bainbridge Island. Needless to say, I felt right at home!

We got back on the ferry and headed over to Ellis Island. It was incredibly moving to be there, knowing that I have relatives on both sides who walked through this hall. I was really thankful for the opportunity to be there and retrace their steps.

One of the highlights of my trip was getting to see James and Jillian (my sister-in-law's sister...although, I just usually call her my sister!) - and be the first to congratulate them on their engagement. James had surprised Jillian with tickets to "The Lion King" on Broadway - so she called me on Monday to tell me that she would be in NYC.  And it happened to coincide with my trip there! James proposed the night before I got into the city, so I was so excited to be the FIRST to see the hardware, as opposed to the LAST when I'm home at Christmas time.

It rained a little...OK, a lot....so we didn't get to do much, but we enjoyed drinking coffee, and then trouncing through the puddles a bit.

The next day, Alison and I wandered past Lincoln Center and saw the Metropolitan Opera building as well as the buildings which house Julliard.

Then we found some coffee and sat down in Central Park to watch a softball game. I loved seeing all the people out enjoying the park, and probably could have spent 2 weeks there. It blew my mind - the sheer size of it - as well as all the different parts of it.

We sat for a few hours, watching the games, and then wandered past fountains and lakes...and there were times that I totally forgot I was in the middle of the city.

And, it was wonderful to spend time with this dear friend. I will miss her, now that she is graduated and making a go of it in NYC, but it was great to have this "last hurrah" together before I start school in a couple of weeks. 

I won't lie; it wasn't easy to come back to Baltimore. There was an energy about NYC that Baltimore just doesn't have. I felt safe there, at all hours of the day - which I don't feel in Baltimore, sometimes, even in the middle of the day.  And overall, I sensed a spirit of community in the people of New York - they are proud to call that city home, no matter where they hail from. In fact, I don't think I ever walked two blocks without hearing another language being spoken. It was incredible.  Baltimore doesn't share the same kind of multi-cultural community, and its residents certainly don't boast the same kind of pride or care for their city. 

So I'm glad for the experience...glad I finally got to experience "the city."  I can't wait to go back...I'd love to go see a show on Broadway or at the Met. I'd love to explore the multitude of museums and historical sites.  Or maybe I'll just go for the weekend and spend three days getting lost in the park....

communitas

I just returned from a long walk. I had planned on venturing out to Fort McHenry (about 4 miles from my apartment), which may indeed be my favorite spot in Baltimore.  However, when I was about a quarter-mile from my destination, I happened upon a thunderstorm...or rather, it happened on me.  As a result, I returned a bit sooner, and a great deal wetter than originally planned....

As I walked, I continued to ponder some thoughts that have been percolating in my mind for a few months. It's been a year since I moved to Baltimore, and in that time, I have experienced, firsthand, what it means to build community from nothing.  It's not really something I've had to do before.  When I think back on the transitions I've lived through, I've never really done them alone.  I was with my family, or in some cases, other friends had gone ahead of me.  Some of the groundwork had already been laid.

So this was uncharted territory for me.  And while I've made wonderful friends in the last year, and know that I'm not alone here, I also find myself longing for something more.

It's no mystery to me why I have such a longing.  I left behind wonderful communities in the Seattle-area and in Spokane - well, actually a plethora of mini-communities.  Colleagues at work. Small group. Church. Students. Family.  Friends.  I was blessed to be surrounded by people shared my heart to live in intentional community - to purpose together to live life together.  And, while I have seen people who hold fiercely to their independence and self-sufficiency, I hold fast to my belief that we are meant to live in community.


So then the question comes: how is community formed? Not even just, how will I find community here in Baltimore? But more than that, where do others find it?

I began to keep my eyes peeled for the answer to my question.  And I found community popping up in the most unexpected places.

As I walked downtown last week, I passed a couple of employees taking a smoke break.  I smiled to myself as I realized that I had happened upon two people living life together.  I found myself wondering how long they have been sharing that time together. Months? Years?  I wonder how much life they have processed together, as they share conversation in those few minutes several times a day.   Community.

I marveled today as I rode the bus with a bunch of wet passengers.  There was energy and excitement and joy in our shared, common experience. Normally, we play the game of as-little-eye-contact-as-possible and maintain our solitude, even as another person is standing 4 inches from us.  But not today.  Today we abandon our independence and laugh together at our failed attempts to avoid Mother Nature's fury.  Today we are one and the same: businessmen, teenagers, mothers of three, tourists.   United in laughter as the water drips from our eyelashes.   Community.

I walk past the local laundromat several times a day, as I go to and from school.  Billy, the owner, is usually sitting in his chair outside. He waves "hello" to me, pausing mid-conversation with one of his regulars. How many stories have they exchanged, as they've waited for that final sock to dry?  Here, again, I find people living life together. Community.

Being the nerd that I am, I was curious to know the origin of this word that we throw around in the Christian world, as well as the secular.  As expected, the first part of the word comes from the Latin, cum, which means "with/together."  But I wasn't prepared for what I read next. The second half of the word is derived from the Latin, munus - "gift."

Somehow, there is ingrained in us, the knowledge that we cannot do it alone.   We need each other.  Life is meant to be lived together.   And that togetherness is a gift.   Sometimes it happens in a home around the dinner table.  Sometimes it happens in the alley with a cigarette.    Sometimes it happens in story-telling and laughter.   Sometimes it happens in silence.   But whenever it happens - whenever we stumble upon it, wherever we work to create it - life lived together is a gift.

one thousand gifts

A few months ago, my friend Katie and her husband David invited me over to their house. When I arrived, we chatted for a bit, and then they started talking about how they appreciated that I hadn't charged Katie for rehearsals with me (I played for her voice lessons this semester). They appreciated that I was a good friend to them. And then they told me they were giving me a free plane ticket! David works for Southwest, and he gets 4 buddy passes a quarter. They had decided to give the first one to me - so I had a round-trip ticket to anywhere that Southwest flies!

I decided to keep the ticket a surprise, and worked over the next few weeks to coordinate dates, work schedules, etc. My plans changed pretty much daily - so, many thanks to the folks in Washington and Oregon who were flexible as I tried to figure things out. 

On June 25, I headed to the Baltimore airport early in the morning, ready to get on the stand-by list. Again, I had to be flexible with my plans. But, by God's grace, I finally got on a flight to Chicago, and then to Seattle! Thanks to my friend Courtney who picked me up at the airport at a moment's notice!

My mother, having no idea what I was up to, had scheduled a Skype date for 7PM (her time) that evening. So I was praying I would be home in time. And indeed I was!!

Check out the video:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WBYY3aceK1g

I got to spend a few days with my parents, and do some hiking with my dad. It was great to go for a REAL hike...not a "nature walk" (I haven't found any steep trails in Maryland). It was wonderful to be in the mountains on a glorious day.  We even saw a bald eagle fly right over us, riding the wind. 

It was great to spend wonderful time with my grandma and brother and sister. I got to spend time with wonderful friends in Portland and Spokane. I got to spend some hours in the car, drink wonderful coffee, enjoy the rain, as well as some wonderful Northwest summer weather.  I got to wear a SWEATSHIRT (a luxury I don't get to experience much in this Baltimore humidity). I got to hike in the mountains, breathe fresh air, celebrate my birthday with friends and family, enjoy being home in the wonderful Northwest. 

I am still overwhelmed by all the many gifts that were lavished on me in those few days.  A plane ticket. Friends with flexible schedules and open homes and hearts.  Office managers that are willing to secretly rearrange my dad's schedule so that I can spend time with him.  Mothers that schedule Skype dates at the perfect time.  Sharing wine, meals, coffee, beer, chocolate.   Trees.   Mountains.  Fresh air. Sweatshirts.   Plans that change every other day, and yet still seem to fall into place better than I could have even imagined.   Home. 

It was so good for my soul to get a break. But every time I go west, it gets harder and harder to come back to Baltimore. It's good to know that I only have a few more months to go....less than a year now!

But there are many gifts here, as well.   People to enjoy spending time with.  Sunday morning trips to the farmers' market. Extra shifts at work. Evenings spent reading in the park. Time to practice and study. Game nights with friends.

So I continue to give thanks for the way God orchestrated so many things to enable me to be home for a bit, and I am counting down the days until I can return again. But I also recognize that if I will choose to be present in the next 10 months in Baltimore, there will be many more gifts to give thanks for.   He is a great God, and He is present here, now, to those who will be awake enough, aware enough, humble enough to receive the gifts He so graciously offers.