grace and serendipity...

I am humbled and blessed beyond belief. I just discovered that oh-so-very-dear, 'follow your heart' Jane Ellen has written the most sweet and kind entry on the subject of my blog. Now, you have further evidence of her wondrous heart.

This is where 'blogland' truly makes me feel that we are sitting on a couch together -- and oh, how I'd love to be sitting on a bench next to her, in the idyllic land of Jane's Journal pictured on her blog, right now.

She is such an encourager of humankind. So, by her example, let's play tag. I've borrowed the image of the heart above from Spasmically Perfect, a Wordpress blog, as is hers. Photography, poetry, thoughts du jour... a birdwatcher (doves!!!)... and, when I dig further, a 'quoter' of Christina Rosetti. Wow. You might want to check it out.

Ah...let's give thanks for grace and serendipity.

Thank you, Jane.

P.S. Jane's lists of 'Currently' this'n'that -- what she's reading, listening, watching, etc. -- are always worth checking out. I've just realized that my attempts at listing such - or at least the idea thereof, as I never keep up - undoubtedly came from my initial contacts with her website features & writings.

Vidi Aquam

From the photo files of the National Cathedral

I'm way overdue for a tome on (the great) Holy Week music at St. John's. While I'm collecting my inner musings on all that was so artfully and soulfully done by the choir, here's a poetic splashly excursion into the heart of the traditional* Vidi Aquam baptismal sprinkling anthem text, by Fr. William McNichols

Mesmerized inside -
reeling from
winds of change,
and only God knows
how many false prophets,
dreams and voices,
I saw water gushing
from a hydrant
on Houston Street,
near the church
where the Child
touches Anthony
so gently,
so gracefully.
Water flooded the streets
pouring out
like a miraculous
healing font,
and once it
touched and swirled
around my feet
there was
Peace.

While searching for a version of the traditional text for my own musical setting** a handful of years ago, I stumbled onto this inspiring, grace-filled, spirit-tingling poem. It inspired a rhapsodic piano accompaniment.

This year, the choir did a wonderful, dramatic, monastery-droning setting by Charles Hammell of the latin text. Loved it! We felt inspired to walk the aisles, as if in cloistered corridors, but we would have collided with Father C on his sprinkling route.

*I saw water flowing from the temple, from the right side, alleluia; and all those to whom that water came were saved, and they shall say: alleluia, alleluia.

**Yes, Felipe, it's still not officially finished...

Eastertide offering: York, England, 2005

Magnificent organ pipes

Expectant Choir steps

Rehearsing for Evensong

Intersection of arches

Looking up at the Yorkminster cross, suspended from the Tower,
draped in an Easter swath of resurrection cloth.
Yes, it's a side view.
For some reason, it seems to lose something when it is rotated.

B-

I'm giving myself an overall B- on my eating slowly/chewing each bite 50 times project. I do well sometimes...and am definitely feeling the benefits. But when I fix a bowl of sprouted grain cereal, pour raw milk over it, add frozen wild blueberries and then think, gee, with healthy ingredients like that, it's probably OK to chew 5-10 times! - like I did last night. Well, I had to average in an 'F' for yesterday.

On to another worthy project: BREATHING!!! Yes, it's not completely optional anymore! It's become completely evident that I hold my breath at the times when it is most important not to. This would generally apply to anything that requires concentration: writing, practicing... anything that falls under 'performing'... and even things that are fun, but intense. It's the epitome of working against oneself.

An awareness of the roots of the stressful state that ensues has been growing in me in the past year. Some months ago, I began gradually incorporating some deep yoga breathing into my life . For some reason, it didn't seem natural to simply, 'just do it'. I discovered that, for me, repeating phrases of the Jesus Prayer, entwining it into each breath, gave me a complete spiritual-breath experience. It still does. And helps immensely....when I remember to do it.

picture courtesy of Laura

hummingbirds...almost... fledged

Friday morning, a hummingbird check revealed that one of the pair had fledged. That's great -- but the remaining sibling looked forlorn. Out of the comforting nest, he was sitting on the pipe, facing the big world. I had a great view of his tiny body. Alarmingly...there was no wing buzzing.

Thank goodness mom, in her incomparable wisdom, had not only attached bugs the ceiling, barely out of reach unless one lifts off slightly, but also laid in a supply on the pipe supporting the nest. There little Buddy sat, pecking a bit at the ones close by, preening a bit. But way too quiet.

A new cashier at the Summit has gotten into birdwatching. She thinks it's sweet how much I care, but has become an avid hummer watcher herself. Yesterday, I made a handful of visits, instead of just one. On my first arrival, she said, 'One of them is gone!!!' The next, ' Some of the students have noticed what you're watching. Just think, they're so close...but hadn't realized what a miracle is happening on the other side of the glass.' By this time, she could tell I was concerned, and, when I returned for a late lunch, she tried to reassure me: 'He'll be fine', and gave me 50 cents off my teriyaki rice bowl.

That's when I started hating that it was Friday. What would happen to him? How will I know he made it out OK...will he be cold tonight without his sibling? I had never seen one outside the nest: Was something wrong? Could there be a wing equipment malfunction?

I did my last check after work. There he was. Sitting and staring. I stayed longer than my usual brief visits, hoping to see Mom swoop in and give him a pep talk. I started wondering if this might really be Mom herself, sitting, pondering motherhood, cleaning up the scene a bit.

Then - a bit of wing buzzing! Then more and more. Then, Buddy made some quick, short flights, directly under the overhang and not anywhere near the exit arches of the wall, always returning to the pipe. I finally pulled myself away, at least knowing he was gaining confidence, but wondering now about his sense of direction.

It's Saturday. I think I'll stop in at work.

Wish I could give proper credit for the photo, but sometimes there's not enough info on a Google image search.

new problems & old friends - or the other way around: trippin' around the blog block...

I've been bopping around Blogland just a bit. It's a village, a community, where my login is a free pass. Unfortunately, my first stop was my own, where I slammed against a wall: I AGAIN had trouble posting a picture -- tried a few from different sources. It's happened before: won't post or wouldn't stick. Either way, a squashed orange outline box was the sole evidence of the attempt. I did a search on an html tag imbedded in what was supposed to be a picture: 'deselect blogger image gracefully'. Huh? Is that a clue from a virus that 'gracefully' (ha!) attacks pics? Curiously, a search in blogger help didn't turn up any such phrase. At last, this morning, a pic of an orange dress stayed put. But I'm still puzzled.

I've been craving an elegantly beautiful template for my other blog and found a lovely garden-themed one on a Blogspot link. Even successfully installed it. However, it also hit a wall as I discovered that the flowering vines on the template obscured (obliterated?) any and all of the necessary maintenance and navigation buttons a blog should have...including the 'dashboard' one I needed in order to get rid of said new malfunctioning template. Interesting complication there. Luckily, I had a second tab open to the same blog...earlier version...which I then went into to re-select the original old boring template I still want to climb out of.

From there, journeying took a refreshing turn outward. When I had googled the mysterious 'deselecting' pharase, I found a link to a lovely blog which is now on my friend's list. And, yes, she had a squashed outline box at the top of the first post, right where a pic was supposed to expand it and have its being. I see she has since repaired it. A conversation on religion caught my eye here, as well as her photos.

And, speaking of religion: Lately, I've been a nearly invisible observer on some Seabury Divinity School students' bloggings. (A marvelous post by Anglicamp on the Virginia Tech tragedy was irresistible and so I left a comment). I find them a refreshing, sweet, transparent and deep group. Within this close-knit blog community, I happened upon a certain familiar name. And, when Fr. C reminded me we have an old friend going to school there, I read him more deeply and realized it is our 'C': a former piano student (I in my late 20's then, he in his late teen's) . I was a bridesmaid and reader at his wedding in Oregon (I'm honored to be doing that again for a former student -- which says mounds about her imagination and generosity as I'm 30+ years older than said bride). For now, I enjoy being incognito...but, then, with blogging...you never can be sure of that.

Delightfully, an email from Jane Ellen then arrived in my inbox. I first e-met her perhaps 4 or 5 years ago while surfing for a 'Nativitas' CD (Kansas City Chorale -- fabulous group). She had extolled the beauty of it on her janeellen.com website, but bemoaned apparent unavailability. I shared with her a successful result in my search, and she mentioned me with gratitude in her writings from the heart as doing such. She's a magnificent human being -- and a composer. Her college project 'Dancing in Deep Heaven' is based on the writing of C.S. Lewis; I wish we would include it on our concert series at St. John's. She now has a blog, which is every bit as charming as I've found her website and email updates to be. A surprise here: a bit of an out-of-character stretch as she's also part of a cricket-blogging group! Versatile, I'd say. She lives a rare and beautiful life. Any and all of her links are worth checking out. (Currently, of particular note: neil gaiman who leaves me 3 degrees separated from a professor's death.)

Currently on her blog (whose layout I covet: Is WordPress a classier product?), I was drawn to a post entitled 'old friends', where she writes about a visit from a former piano student of hers and his wife and 2 children. A sweet tribute to the expanse of time and how relationships are enriched as we traverse it together or apart. I felt the comforting proximity of not-so-many degrees of separation between piano teachers and students.

From Jane's site, I link-hopped and got a bit far from home (it's always good to drop some breadcrumbs along the way - I often cannot find quite the same way back...). I picked up some new friends and and comfortingly found a familiar link that brought me full circle: Iced Mocha, a familiar name from Miz Minka's list.

It's good to be home.

dinner music for lucy

We have new neighbors. The husband loves old houses and the accompanying challenges. The wife is 'high maintenance' project also. They have a baby (a middle-school aged son has disappeared...maybe his real father lives in a better school district. I was sort of hoping he'd be a friend to Lucy) and TWO dogs.

One of those dogs, a young German shepherd, reminds me of the husband; the other ('BJ' -- the shepherd might have a name, but the owners don't need to use it), a Jack Russell terrier, reminds me of...hmm...let's see... Previously, there was a quiet dog the size of a small horse next door. Lucy loved him, and they never barked at each other. Once, when they mutually removed a fence panel and he got into our yard, she wouldn't let him leave and he was frantic and helpless. She IS a border collie, after all.

BJ is rather a challenge. When I let Lucy out for some backyard time, he begins his fence-running routine, which is punctuated by irritating bouncings off the fence. Lucy goes berserk. She's actually worn a path along the fence tracking the little demon. Both dogs are focussed and single-minded and just won't stop. This is a big problem! Lucy, who thinks of herself as basically a house dog, needs some quality backyard alone time in her own space. In the mornings, we come back from a walk around a few neighborhood blocks and Lucy, who will pee anywhere, needs to have some 'modesty time' to do her other business when we get back. She is a border collie (did I already say that???) and if there is a job to do (dog to corral), she will forget her own needs. In the evenings, she needs quality time to do her other business which fuels the morning business: she needs to eat. I can't feed her raw chicken in the house.

So, here's the new routine: At those times I would normally bring her into our backyard, I do so. BJ & the 'good shepherd' are already out and waiting. Aural mayhem ensues. I wait to see if they'll bring in the dog(s) (I know by now they won't); I let the barking continue for a minute, announce in a matter of fact voice, 'Well, we'll try again later, Lucy' and go inside with her. Repeat two or more times and, at that point, leave Lucy out to participate in fence running and noisy doggy conversation, until they get the point and bring in the little darling. There are two main drawbacks: one, this dance takes up a huge amount of my time and it's really irritating and totally not fair and sometimes they never bring the dog in, like this morning, so Lucy is 'holding it' all day. The other problem, I hate to admit, is Lucy herself.

It's a huge understatement to say she's emotionally and mentally complex. To complicate backyard matters further, she already has mixed feelings about being outside - truly has a phobia of being left out there (unless she's doing a job...)...and me 'getting away' (reference border collie). She actually keeps track of time of day and what I'm doing. For instance, when a piano student arrives, she heads for the back door and wants to go outside. Mom is safely occupied. When the last note is played and I'm up and about, she starts barking to be let in.

So, this evening, after a lot of work to 'clear the soundstage' so that Lucy can have free run of her yard, without distractions, finally the coast is clear: I put her out to eat, and then she insists on barking cuz she's left out there all alone and still will not focus on the business at hand. Back and forth. In and out. I'm exasperated. I want her to seize the opportunity. Hey - show the neighbors what quiet is!!! So, after playing some head games with her, I put her outside with her dinner again. And before she can audibly object, I sit in the darkness of the piano room...and softly play some Rachmaninoff. Something switches on (off?) in her brain. And she quietly goes about her feeding.

Ah.........

feathers...

Continuing, from a brief exchange with Robyn:

Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul
And sings the tune without the words
And never stops at all. Emily Dickinson

There was a lot of indiscriminate, adolescent wing-buzzing in the hummer nest today. They're still too tiny to fly, I say. One was barely hanging on with toenails. Surprised he didn't just launch himself into orbit.

Despite my preemptive and informative fax and email, begging them not to until all was clear, Physical Plant came to wash the window today. Granted, mom splats the plate glass with bird doo-doo, so as to obscure the view from the tables on the other side. And this is the time of year workers beautify the campus for commencement. But after they pressure-washed a nest into oblivion 3 years ago (I nearly threw up), they've received reminders & alerts from me - along with promises of keeping them informed of when they've fledged.

Employees in the area alerted them and they did a 'gentle' clean. But, what if they hadn't been caught in time? Sheesh. Pay attention. Even the smallest of all birds is supremely important.

the whole creation groans...and rages...and hums...

Yesterday's tragedy at Virginia Tech - perhaps appropriately - inspires muteness. I read the news, voraciously, but attempts at knowing and understanding do not replace shock. My heart aches for all, beginning with victims and families and ending with perpetrator and his family.

Rage is a part of what is wrong in creation. Does it just seem so -- or is it indeed more pervasive in our world, both human and animal? Is our abused planet contributing to the corruption of psyches and senses? I wonder...I groan...

Now, I'm reminded that Gerard Manley Hopkins poem, God's Grandeur quoted in a previous post , includes language of creation laboring... trod... seared... bleared... smeared... toil... bare... before it gets to the the assuring disclaimer And for all this, nature is never spent; There lives the dearest freshness deep down things...

Despite yesterday's mayhem, the Holy Ghost certainly 'broods over the bent world' today in the personage of our mommy hummingbird, whose nest is visibly stuffed with feathers and two discernable heads with beaks. Just above this hallowed nativity scene has appeared the usual annual assortment of dead bugs...adhered to the ceiling by a wisely tempting mom...who, perhaps not completely oblivious to the pain in the world, has chosen for her design not a simple circle...but a halo...to entice the babes to look up.

A note on my computer states 'Practice Resurrection'. I think she just has.

encouragement from a holistic dentist

I have a wonderful dentist. He works with me and my health in a way that I wish had been available to me some years ago when I was young and didn't have the inner strength to argue for the right to listen to my body. I saw him last week and he was extolling the health benefits of leisurely eating. Endocrinologists, he says, advocate chewing each mouthful of food 30 - 40 times!

This was a great reminder of something I already know and do advocate (ask my children). Though I rarely intentionally practice it, I can think of more than a handful of significant times in my life when I, by choice, necessity or serendipity, developed a leisurely, appreciative relationship with each mouthful of food...and it dramatically changed my health in surprising ways.

There's basic common sense here. Our processed foods are devoid of the digesting enzymes nature packed them with in their raw state. Undigested food particles ferment in the body and themselves become food for yeast and other unpleasant organisms. Some physicians feel that food allergies are basically the result of poorly digested, and therefore irritating, food sitting like a brick in our stomach. All good reasons for giving time for digestion to get more than a cursory beginning in the mouth.

Eating slowly is, in spirit, a matter of presence and relationship. I'm resolving to make it a joyous health habit.