As I wrote about last week – for SoCS and as a personal reflection – my birthday was on Saturday. We were able to get away for a few hours to the Ithaca area for a walk along the Gorge trail to Taughannock Falls, followed by dinner at Taughannock Farms, where we had a table overlooking Cayuga Lake with some of the trees showing their autumn colors. It was a wonderful break from our recently expanded eldercare responsibilities.
A few photos from our walk:
Today is my 54th birthday. Not usually considered a milestone birthday, but it is a poignant one for me. Fifty-four is the perpetual age of my friend Angie.
Angie called us “October babes.” She was born in 1950 and I in 1960. It didn’t feel like we were ten years apart in age because we had children in the same grades in school, although – bonus for me – she also had a child who was two years ahead of my elder daughter in school, which meant that I had a preview of coming attractions.
We were different in a lot of ways. I’m 5′ 1.5″ and Angie told people she was 5′ 12″ because she thought it sounded less daunting than saying she was six feet. Angie was raised in New York City and thought of our mutual home now as small. I was raised in a New England town of 200, so our current hometown of 20,000 was as large as the city I traveled twenty miles each way to attend high school. She was a trained artist and skilled in decorating and entertaining, with a great and quirky personal style, which included rocking her signature look – overalls. (Trust me – it was amazing.) I am not known for any of those things. She had a great talent for storytelling, complete with different voices and accents for the characters. I am better with the written word than the spoken word. She had a vast array of friends in various circles of the community and was well-known, while I had far fewer friends and was more comfortable working behind the scenes.
We were, however, both personally dedicated to volunteering, and met when I joined a site-based decision-making team at our district middle school. Angie had already been serving as one of three parent representatives and we quickly became friends. She helped me navigate the surprisingly intricate educational world and introduced me to a lot of new people and ideas.
Even though she had many friends, she was near and dear to all of them. She was a wonderful listener and a wise advisor. She was unfailingly kind and generous. The kind of person everyone hopes to have in their life.
Because her husband was a doctor, she had many friends in the medical community, but had a heightened awareness of the possible health calamities that happen to people of various ages. She talked about being worried about turning 50, because she had known so many people who succumbed to medical problems in that decade. When she turned 49, I gave her a box with a penny from every year of her life, which meant that I gave it to her with fifty pennies in it, and the promise to give her a new penny each year on her birthday. I thought already having fifty pennies in the box might help ease her into her next birthday.
Within weeks of her 50th birthday, a nagging cough turned into a diagnosis of stage 3 lung cancer.
It was a shock. Angie had never smoked, but through some combination of factors – growing up in a congested city when vehicles still used leaded gasoline? lung damage from infections? genetic vulnerability? secondhand smoke, as she was growing up before anyone had even thought of smoke-free rooms? – here she was with a frightening diagnosis.
Treatment was aggressive and achieved a remission. There was a big 50+1 birthday party, which served as a charity fundraiser. But, as we all feared, there were metastases that developed and more treatment with some short breaks but then the next problem and the next round of radiation or chemo until finally around the time Angie turned 54, there was nothing else that could be done.
After the new year started, I began searching for a 2004 penny for her box. We knew she would not live to see her 55th birthday and I hoped to get the penny to her while she was still able to realize it, but even the coin shops did not have them available so early in the year. Angie died in March.
When I found the penny later in the spring, I sent it to her husband to complete Angie’s box.
I still miss Angie and honor her memory. One of the ways I do that is by donating to the fund set up in her memory which raises money for scholarships and for the LUNGevity Foundation, which supports both lung cancer research and patients and their families.
Another way is to spread as much love as possible and to dedicate as much time as possible to caring about and serving others.
And for this year, Angie and I will both be 54.
This is the first of what I hope will be several followups to the Smith College Alumnae Chorus celebration of Alice Parker ’47 which took place on September 21. I thought it best to begin with a post concentrating on Alice Parker and her music.
The Alumnae Chorus sang two sets of Miss Parker’s compositions, Three Seas, with three poems by Emily Dickinson as texts, and Incantations, with four poems by Elinor Wylie. We also sang a Parker arrangement of the spiritual “Come On Up.” Miss Parker conducted her pieces in the concert, although we were able to rehearse with her only on Friday afternoon and Sunday morning.
The music was challenging, especially under the circumstances, with each member of the chorus learning the pieces on her own before coming together to have everything performance ready in under 48 hours. (We also prepared three Ralph Vaughan Williams settings of English folk songs, which were conducted by Jonathan Hirsh, the current Smith Glee Club director.) I knew there would be mistakes in the concert, but the performance was successful because we were able to communicate the poetry, music, and mood to the audience. We were relieved to hear Miss Parker reminds us several times during rehearsal that there is no such thing as a perfect performance.
The best part of the experience of working with Miss Parker was hearing her talk about poetry, her process as a composer, and her life. She read the poems to us in rehearsal – and to the audience in the concert, relishing not only the meaning conveyed but also the sounds of the vowels and consonants tumbling along one after the other. She talked about how poems in English fall into rhythms in groups of twos and threes, which results in so much of her music being written in 5 or 7 (3+2 or 3+2+2) to follow the word rhythm. Miss Parker works only on commission, so she always has a specific group for which she is writing and a deadline to deliver the score. She explained that once she has chosen the texts, she reads them aloud over and over and, as she begins to compose the melody for the text, sings and dances the poems, filling in the harmony and counterpoint in her head. She wants the music to be fluid and alive as long as possible, only committing it to paper when the deadline is looming. She said, “The page is nothing but a prison for music.” I was so struck by that statement that I hurriedly wrote it down. It will always remind me that music is alive and not the static black-on-white notation that we struggle to replicate.
Miss Parker also told us stories from her life, especially her famous association with Robert Shaw, with whom she collaborated on many arrangements before taking on solo assignments from him. The director of the Binghamton University Chorus, with which I have sung for years, also worked with Mr. Shaw and loves to tell stories about him, so it was fun to hear stories about him from a different perspective.
What was most heartening was seeing a woman born in 1925, still engaged in creative work and still engaged with family, friends, community, and her alma mater. Should we all be so blessed.
Last night, we went to see a production of Stephen Sondheim’s Into the Woods at our local professional theater. “We” equals me, my spouse, and my parents. My mother-in-law was to have joined us, but she is having difficulties with her back and couldn’t sit for such a long performance.
Into the Woods is one of my favorite musicals. I find the interwoven fairy tale adaptation fascinating and love Sondheim’s ability to pack both wit and depth of feeling into the lyrics, which move the plot along even more than the spoken dialogue. I also have a longstanding relationship with the musical because it was a favorite of my daughters when they were young. We watched it many times through a recording of the original (1988) Broadway cast. For quite a while, I only let our younger daughter see the first act, which ends with the somewhat expected “happy ever after” vibe, shielding her from the much darker second act, until her four-years-older sister told her what happened and my shielding tactic became moot.
I enjoyed last night’s performance because the brilliance of Sondheim and James Lapine, who wrote the book, shines through. I especially enjoyed the performances of CInderella, the Baker’s Wife, and Little Red Ridinghood and the singing voices of the two Princes. Some of the other performers were occasionally flummoxed by Sondheim’s complex melodies, although those in the audience who have not heard the music over and over might not have realized it.
My major disappointments were with the technical aspects. The lighting was often too dark – and, yes, I get the whole being-in-the-woods thing, but it would have been better to use dappled lighting to give the illusion of moonlight through trees, rather than just not having enough light to see the actors. There was also a gaping hole in the back wall of the set, which was only used in one scene in the second act. It was very distracting to look at it for two and half hours when it was so little used. The stage could also have used some pitch, as quite a few songs took place sitting on the stage; alternatively, the actors could have been placed more upstage to make them more visible to those in the back rows. (The seating is cabaret style, so there aren’t many rows, but each row is deep.)
I was also disappointed with the costuming. Many of the costumes were too drab. A number of them were ill-fitting, especially too tight.
The theater company is in the midst of a change in leadership. I wonder if some of the technical problems are the loss of a long-time team experienced with this theater, which was once a storehouse for apples. It is a tricky space in which to work and the new team may be groping a bit as they adjust to its idiosyncracies.
One of the surprises last night was of a more personal nature. I found that the second act’s deaths of a number of mothers of varying ages hit me hard. As I have said, I know the play well, so I knew what was coming, but I found myself tearing up as the losses mounted. Sitting beside my mother, who had a heart attack on July 31st, missing my mother-in-law who is suffering from osteoporosis, having spoken earlier this week with a friend who recently lost her mother, and anticipating the upcoming birthday of a friend who died much too young nine years ago, my heart was aching more than usual in reacting to the losses in the play.
The loss of a mother – at whatever age – represents its own brand of pain and even fictional losses on stage can echo or foreshadow that pain in our own lives.
We just found out that our firstborn daughter and her husband will be visiting from Hawai’i for Thanksgiving week. This will be their first visit since Christmas 2011, when we were happy witnesses to a Christmas morning marriage proposal. To make this visit even better, our secondborn daughter will be home all that week on break from her first semester of graduate school. So, YAY! Thanksgiving with our daughters and son-in-law and the three grandparents will be soul-warming and prefect, even if the turkey is slow to cook or the pies don’t come out perfectly.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Linda’s Stream of Consciousness Saturday prompt was use of ordinal numbers. Please join us! Details here: http://lindaghill.wordpress.com/2014/09/26/the-friday-reminder-and-prompt-for-socs-september-2714/
Badge by Doobster @ Mindful Digressions 
Early tomorrow morning, I leave for Northampton to participate with the Smith College Alumnae Chorus (SCAC) and the Smith College Chorus and Glee Club in a tribute concert to fellow alumna Alice Parker ’47. We will be singing some of her compositions and arrangements and she will be conducting some of the performance herself, at the age of 89! Here is a link to the campus press article about it: http://www.smith.edu/news/the-power-of-womens-song-alumnae-chorus-to-honor-composer-alice-parker-47/
Because the members of the SCAC are spread out across the country, we have been learning our parts on our own and have an intensive rehearsal schedule from Friday afternoon to Sunday morning to be ready for the concert Sunday afternoon. Of course, I am looking forward to the music itself, because I love to sing. I have sung a number of Alice Parker’s works over the years, beginning when I was on campus as an student, including a premiere written for the 25th anniversary of Helen Hills Hills chapel during my sophomore year. (Yes, for those who aren’t familiar with Smith, Helen Hills Hills is correct; Ms. Hills married a cousin.)
I am also looking forward to being back on Smith’s beautiful campus as summer turns to fall. Paradise Pond and Island, the gardens, and the arboretum, which is located throughout campus, will be just beginning to show their fall colors.
I am very excited to see my SCAC friends, especially my college roommate Mary, with whom I will be sharing a hotel room. She lives a couple thousand miles away from me, so it is always an event when we can get together! I’m proud to say that our class of ’82 will have five members in the chorus this time around, among the other singers who will range from class of 1958 through class of 2011.
Besides the alumnae from my era that I know, I am also looking forward to seeing some of the women I met when SCAC did its first international tour to Sicily in 2011. We sang Mozart Requiem in three fabulous cathedrals and had amazing sightseeing tours and some of the most delicious food ever! It was my first – and so far only – trip to Europe and memorable in so many ways. Here are links to Facebook photo albums from that trip:
In and near Palermo: https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.1886246721373.2096968.1397554070&type=1&l=1cec6fc201
On the road and Agrigento: https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.1888024885826.2097042.1397554070&type=1&l=3750b71abbCatania/third concert: https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.1889498042654.2097145.1397554070&type=1&l=c4bb1ef847
Mount Etna: https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.1889812410513.2097161.1397554070&type=1&l=0fcd144dab
Taormina: https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.1902946218850.2097804.1397554070&type=1&l=7e109ce0b2
Giardini di Naxos and the first two concert churches: https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.1904778064645.2097873.1397554070&type=1&l=510431c641
Thankfully, there are no photos of the goose egg I got on my head after I walked full-tilt into a glass wall!
This shot is included in one of the albums, but I had to share it here, too, as I know it is a favorite of some friends. My luggage had gotten lost and it didn’t catch up to me until we were in our second destination. I was very happy to have it back! This is currently the photo posted on my Top of JC’s Mind Facebook page, which you are invited to visit and like. (Hint, hint.)
I had to miss the second tour, so this will be my first opportunity to re-connect with the SCAC members I met in Sicily. One of them, Anne Harding Woodworth ’65, is a poet, which I hadn’t realized when we were traipsing about in Sicily. We have communicated by email a bit and she has graciously agreed to look at my first attempt at assembling a chapbook.
So many threads coming together! I don’t know if I will get any posts in while I am gone, but wish everyone a fabulous weekend. I fully intend to be having one myself!
When I was in college, senior week/commencement happened at the same time as all the reunions. My house always hosted the 60th reunion, with alumnae staying in the rooms vacated by the undergrads. A few undergrads stayed to help out with the activities or because they were members of Glee Club and needed to stay to sing. Of course, all the seniors were there enjoying the campus for the last few days before graduating. I was always really taken by the vitality and zest for living of the alumnae there for their 60th – in their early 80s, they were excitedly meeting up to chat, climbing the stairs without seeming exertion, heading out to activities, and marching in the Ivy Day parade without any problems. My friends and I marvelled at their long-standing friendships, intelligence, wit, and wisdom and hoped that, in 60 years when it was our turn to be back there, we would be as gracious and engaged with life as they were.
The one comment that always gave me pause, though, was many of them saying that years at Smith are the best years of life.
We students had just all come through another hectic semester, filled with learning and friends and growth, but we were also often anxious, sleep-deprived, and overwhelmingly busy. I would think – please, no, tell me that this is not as good as life gets.
My mother-in-law would cite the years she was at home with her young sons as the best. I loved my own young daughters and was constantly amazed at their lives unfolding before me as I tried my best to care for them and help them learn about themselves and the world. But those years were also filled with lack of sleep, innumerable trips to the doctors’ office, budgetary wizardry, and mistakes – which, even though I tried to rectify them as quickly as I made them, still carry tiny twinges of regret. So, was that supposed to be the best?
Others nominate childhood or high school – no one seems to pick middle school – as the best years. They somehow remember those times as carefree, but they are often times when young people are being pressured to conform to being members of groups that may not suit them well at all and are confronted with adult-size problems which their child or teen selves are not equipped to handle – and somehow adults expect them to make decisions like adults, which they decidedly are not.
I agree with my (very wise) mother. There is no “best age.” Phases in life are certainly unique and have their own charms but they also have their own problems. I would not trade my years at Smith for anything. College was a unique experience. I learned so much about so many different topics but most of all I learned about myself. And I learned as much from my peers with whom I lived as I did from my professors. Being in a women’s college taught me so much respect and admiration for women’s capabilities and leadership. I don’t think I would be the same person were it not for those for years.
But that doesn’t make them “the best.” That time was often difficult and sometimes lonely. I missed my family and my boyfriend (now my spouse of 30+ years). The intellectual work was stimulating, but also exhausting as I always tried to do my very best. Even at Smith, there were instances of lack of respect for women’s autonomy, especially in having to deal with church issues, which, as a Catholic organist, I frequently did.
The same mix of positives and negatives applies to other times of my life. None of them ever could or should be seen as “the best.”
What I feel called to do is to give my best and try my best at all times of life. There will always be some good even in the midst of bad times and some struggle even in good times.
But never any one time as “the best years of my life.”
This post is part of Linda’s Stream of Consciousness Saturdays. This week’s prompt was: young, old, or anything to do with age. Please join us! Details are at the link below.
http://lindaghill.wordpress.com/2014/08/29/the-friday-reminder-and-prompt-for-socs-august-3014/
Badge by Doobster @Mindful Digressions
Ninety-four years ago today, women in the United States were finally accorded the right to vote in every state and in federal elections. It was a long time coming, starting out with Abigail Adams reminding her husband John to “remember the ladies” during the early days of the republic and progressing through generations of women working for the cause, including Elizabeth Cady Stanton and Susan B. Anthony. In commemoration, today is celebrated as Women’s Equality Day.
What is so disturbing is that equality is still a work in progress. The country is still struggling with basics like equal pay for equal work. Some people feel they should be allowed to interfere with women’s personal health decisions. Women have higher rates of poverty. More women are low-wage workers, even though women have higher education levels. The work that women have traditionally done caring for home and family is not considered part of the economy of the country, unless someone else is being paid (poorly) to do it. Women are in only a small portion of leadership roles in government, companies, and educational institutions. Few jobs offer the flexibility that women want to both make a living and have a life.
Policies that would help bring greater equality to women would help men, too. Many men would benefit from greater workplace flexibility and initiatives such as paying a living wage. When will we celebrate a Women’s Equality Day in recognition of having achieved that goal, instead of as a commemoration of women’s suffrage?
I have several topics for posts hanging out in my draft folder and a few more rattling around in my head. Also, poems that need attention and revision. But I can’t manage to get any of them in a fit state to post.
There is just too much right now. James Foley. Ferguson as shorthand for racism. More violence and atrocities in the Middle East than can be counted. Severe storms and wildfires and drought and blights and disease. A national government that can’t even manage to pass desperately needed legislation. Hunger. Poverty. Pollution.
I could make the list much longer and add personal distractions, too, but it wouldn’t really matter. My brain can’t find any way to make order out of the chaos.
Maybe I’m not meant to find order or insight or solutions or just the right hopeful words today.
I’ll just handle whatever the day brings – bringing Mom to her doctor’s appointment, checking in on my daughters and son-in-law, sharing dinner with my spouse, saying a prayer for all those who are in need – all billions of us – and trying to sleep so that maybe I can do a bit more tomorrow.
A beautiful reflection on grief and friendship from a high school friend who has recently begun blogging.
A dear friend of mine lost his mother this week. The moments of death & grief unfold unexpectedly yet predictably. That is, not knowing when or how they will arrive, they will come. And as a close friend who, as any of us do, wants to help ease the pain, I realize such skill doesn’t always easily come. And maybe it’s not suppose to. I can think of no more solitary journey than that of grief. Being surrounded by love, family and friends cannot, nor should it, alleviate that sacred walk along immortality and mortality, finite and infinite. Life and death. We all breathe it everyday, witness it ad nauseum through news media which desensitizes us with over sensationalism giving little to no regard for the sanctity of life and death. And the most difficult observation while grieving is the harsh realization that life around us marches on. How is…
View original post 227 more words
Joanne Corey 