New Years day once again... and that means that I have been doing a bit of reflecting on the past year, and thinking about the next one. I took a look back at my resolution post from last year and saw the irony in that decision. It appears as though my first thought last year - which was to persevere - is the one that stuck. I made it through 2010, and that was about it. With all the overwhelming sorrows of 2010 behind me I have decided it will remain at the top of my list for the worst year ever. So then I had to look toward this new year and all its new opportunities.
In the next few weeks I will be moving from Michigan to Kansas. I will be leaving behind the comfort in familiarity, my home of 15 years, my network of wonderful friends and, last but most important, my family. There is an element of sadness connected to leaving which threatens to overshadow my excitement with the changes I am facing. I poured my heart into creating the home where my children both came of age, to make it a warm and welcoming place where everyone would feel welcome and safe. So many wonderful memories - birthdays, snow days, holidays, friends, laughter, dancing, music, and tons of food! So it is bittersweet to be leaving - and I seem to come easily to tears.
On the other hand, I am so excited to have the opportunity to move to this wonderful little town and work at a job that I know I will love. I accepted and signed the job offer on the 30th, so it is all official and I will be the Assistant Director of the Writing Center at the University of Kansas beginning on January 19th, 2011. In some ways it feels like all the other things I have done in the past have been in preparation for this new career. Really, this is my third or fourth career, but the one I plan to do for the rest of my working life. I am excited and at the same time, overwhelmed. I have to find a place to live, pack up whatever I am taking with me, go to Lawrence, move in, unpack and then start.
So I have been thinking about the "one word resolution" for this year. The first thought that popped into my mind was 'change'. But change is inevitable, no matter what we think, so I tossed that word aside. I have decided upon 'create' for my word for 2011. This year I will create a new life in many ways: a new home, a new job, a new network of friends, a new community, new relationships, and new goals. I will have to find a new grocery store, new doctor and dentist, maybe a new choir, and definitely a new routine for my life. I am excited about the changes and optimistic that I can 'create' this new chapter in my life in ways that will bring back my sense of adventure and joy. Happy New Year - and Welcome 2011! I will create this year, may you flourish and prosper in 2011!
Saturday, January 1, 2011
Friday, December 24, 2010
Good-bye 2010
While the Busch De Noel is baking I thought I would pass along a few thoughts which have been running through my mind all day today as I have been putting the finishing touches on our Christmas celebration. 2010 was pretty much a terrible year for me and my family. I won't rehash all the dark days here, but instead I am remembering all those who were kind to me this year and I find myself feeling optimistic tonight, for the first time in many months.
I went to Kansas in early December and interviewed for a job at the University in Lawrence. It was a wonderful experience, I felt right at home because the people there were wonderful and I fell in love with the town. Last week they called to offer me the job and I, of course, accepted. The trick is that I need to be there in mid-January, which has been a bit distracting from the holiday, I have to admit! But I am honestly thrilled to be going there and looking forward to being the Assistant Director of their Writing Center. I am excited to get to know my co-workers, the tutors and the students, the town, nearby Kansas City, and other things which I have yet to imagine. It is truly a new beginning, and a much needed one.
So tonight, on Christmas Eve, with most of my family around me, my wish for all the good people of earth is for them to have a wonderful new beginning in 2011. Peace on Earth, and may all my friends flourish and prosper in the New Year.
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
One Door Closes...
I have had a whirl-wind couple of weeks. My Mom passed away very early on a Tuesday morning. Wednesday I had a telephone interview. Thursday morning I flew to San Jose for another job interview. Friday I flew back to Arizona and was joined by my husband, my son and my younger brother. Saturday was the memorial service. Monday was my youngest's 21st birthday. The boys left on Wednesday. and 10 days later, with the car packed to the brim, I headed for home - with a stop for a flurry of interviews in Nebraska on my way home. I made it, but it was the journey itself that I want to write about today.
I realize now that I felt very trapped by the situation in Tucson. Never in my wildest dreams would I have thought that my Mom would hang on for 8 months after my Dad passed. I remember saying at the time, "I'll just rent a house for a couple of months", feeling sure that she wouldn't stay with us even that long. Even though we had a spectacular view of the mountains, and wildlife abounded in our back yard, I felt trapped. Life was out there - beyond my reach. I was in wait-mode, and I hate waiting. It is such an effect point in life. The only thing I could cause, was to keep Mom comfortable and somewhat entertained. I had begun to feel like I would never get my participation in life back. A sort of numbness enshrouded me as I waited, unwilling and perhaps unable to feel anything.
As I started out on my cross-country drive I wondered, "I should be excited... why don't I feel that flutter of excitement in the adventure of this?" I tried to create it, but - nothing. Equipped with a route print-out from google maps, and the Garmin that Danny had lent me, I climbed onto the freeway and started out with the same kind of numbness surrounding me. The first day I crossed Arizona and drove into New Mexico, stopping in the tiny town of Hatch to pick up some of their famous peppers to bring home. The Rio Grand runs through Hatch, but it was a pitiful excuse for a river - more like a stream - cloaked in small trees and fields where they grow all kinds of peppers. I stopped at one of the many road-side stands where three women were stringing peppers with deft fingers into all kinds of beautiful arrangements. I bought a variety of traditional strings from the young Hispanic man, loaded them into my back seat, atop the blanket covering the load of artwork from my Mom's, and got back on the highway.
Still, no excitement. After stopping in Santa Fe the first night, I made it all the way to Goodland Kansas the second day. Only once that day did I feel anything - and that was somewhere in Colorado when off in the distance I saw a couple of towering mountains, and my heart lept for just a moment. It was harvest time and there was a steady stream of trucks on the road outside my hotel, dumping their loads into mountains of golden corn to be shipped to God knows where at the nearby train depot.
I then stopped in Kearney Nebraska for a few days which were laden with interviews, presentations and tours. Everyone there was nice. They were beyond nice, they were kind, and funny, and smart, and lovely people. The job itself sounded like a challenge, but I felt that it would be a lot of fun. Of course, they were bringing two other candidates to the campus to interview, so there was no point in getting my hopes up, but I felt very comfortable there. Comfortable, but still nothing beyond that.
I set out on Saturday morning for the toughest part of the drive, across Nebraska and Iowa. Long and flat and straight for most of Nebraska, I wasn't sure the car needed me to do anything except navigate around all the trucks. I was listening to a book on CD, and if it weren't for the story, I am pretty sure I would have fallen asleep! Then somewhere in Western Iowa the ground began rolling, and as I came up over a hill, flanking both sides of the freeway, there were dozens of huge wind turbines. Again I felt my heart start to race as I tried to keep the car in my lane and see both sides of the road at the same time. They rose like giant trees, whose leaves were blowing in unison on either side of me. They were graceful and lovely. But as soon as they receded in my rear view mirrors, the numbness settled around me again.
After spending the night in a hotel along the Mississippi River, I began my final leg of the journey. It was raining. I crossed Illinois and drove out of the storm. With partly cloudy skies I skirted Chicago and then along the lake shore of Indiana. And then I saw it. A big blue sign hung across the road far ahead of me, "Welcome to Michigan" I knew it said, and I started to cry. Tears were pouring down my cheeks as I drove beneath it, and I realized that I had really thought I would never get home. The sun was shining brightly as I passed beautiful multi-colored forests, and crossed rivers that had actual water flowing in them. There was an urgency in my heart as I thought, "I am almost there!" Most of the state passed my windows in a kind of blur, as I saw familiar signs for familiar places and my heart sped up once again. It was all I could do to keep my vision clear enough to drive as I neared home, fighting the tears that kept threatening to flood my view. As I turned the corner onto my very own street, I couldn't hold them back any longer, and by the time I pulled into my driveway, I was sobbing. I had made it. I was finally home, and life could start again.
I realize now that I felt very trapped by the situation in Tucson. Never in my wildest dreams would I have thought that my Mom would hang on for 8 months after my Dad passed. I remember saying at the time, "I'll just rent a house for a couple of months", feeling sure that she wouldn't stay with us even that long. Even though we had a spectacular view of the mountains, and wildlife abounded in our back yard, I felt trapped. Life was out there - beyond my reach. I was in wait-mode, and I hate waiting. It is such an effect point in life. The only thing I could cause, was to keep Mom comfortable and somewhat entertained. I had begun to feel like I would never get my participation in life back. A sort of numbness enshrouded me as I waited, unwilling and perhaps unable to feel anything.
As I started out on my cross-country drive I wondered, "I should be excited... why don't I feel that flutter of excitement in the adventure of this?" I tried to create it, but - nothing. Equipped with a route print-out from google maps, and the Garmin that Danny had lent me, I climbed onto the freeway and started out with the same kind of numbness surrounding me. The first day I crossed Arizona and drove into New Mexico, stopping in the tiny town of Hatch to pick up some of their famous peppers to bring home. The Rio Grand runs through Hatch, but it was a pitiful excuse for a river - more like a stream - cloaked in small trees and fields where they grow all kinds of peppers. I stopped at one of the many road-side stands where three women were stringing peppers with deft fingers into all kinds of beautiful arrangements. I bought a variety of traditional strings from the young Hispanic man, loaded them into my back seat, atop the blanket covering the load of artwork from my Mom's, and got back on the highway.
Still, no excitement. After stopping in Santa Fe the first night, I made it all the way to Goodland Kansas the second day. Only once that day did I feel anything - and that was somewhere in Colorado when off in the distance I saw a couple of towering mountains, and my heart lept for just a moment. It was harvest time and there was a steady stream of trucks on the road outside my hotel, dumping their loads into mountains of golden corn to be shipped to God knows where at the nearby train depot.
I then stopped in Kearney Nebraska for a few days which were laden with interviews, presentations and tours. Everyone there was nice. They were beyond nice, they were kind, and funny, and smart, and lovely people. The job itself sounded like a challenge, but I felt that it would be a lot of fun. Of course, they were bringing two other candidates to the campus to interview, so there was no point in getting my hopes up, but I felt very comfortable there. Comfortable, but still nothing beyond that.
I set out on Saturday morning for the toughest part of the drive, across Nebraska and Iowa. Long and flat and straight for most of Nebraska, I wasn't sure the car needed me to do anything except navigate around all the trucks. I was listening to a book on CD, and if it weren't for the story, I am pretty sure I would have fallen asleep! Then somewhere in Western Iowa the ground began rolling, and as I came up over a hill, flanking both sides of the freeway, there were dozens of huge wind turbines. Again I felt my heart start to race as I tried to keep the car in my lane and see both sides of the road at the same time. They rose like giant trees, whose leaves were blowing in unison on either side of me. They were graceful and lovely. But as soon as they receded in my rear view mirrors, the numbness settled around me again.
After spending the night in a hotel along the Mississippi River, I began my final leg of the journey. It was raining. I crossed Illinois and drove out of the storm. With partly cloudy skies I skirted Chicago and then along the lake shore of Indiana. And then I saw it. A big blue sign hung across the road far ahead of me, "Welcome to Michigan" I knew it said, and I started to cry. Tears were pouring down my cheeks as I drove beneath it, and I realized that I had really thought I would never get home. The sun was shining brightly as I passed beautiful multi-colored forests, and crossed rivers that had actual water flowing in them. There was an urgency in my heart as I thought, "I am almost there!" Most of the state passed my windows in a kind of blur, as I saw familiar signs for familiar places and my heart sped up once again. It was all I could do to keep my vision clear enough to drive as I neared home, fighting the tears that kept threatening to flood my view. As I turned the corner onto my very own street, I couldn't hold them back any longer, and by the time I pulled into my driveway, I was sobbing. I had made it. I was finally home, and life could start again.
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
Long time - no post
I am not really sure where to start, it has been so long since I posted anything! This has been partly due to the circumstances here with the care-giving of my Mom during her last months. It isn't that I haven't had an abundance of time on my hands - because I have. It isn't because I haven't had an abundance of things that I have wanted to say - because I have. I guess it has been because I have spent the past few months watching and doing my best to help my Mom let go of this life and get ready for her next adventure, and it has not been a lot of fun.
When I started this blog I imagined lots of amusing little tales about life in general, but more specifically about those things we all experience at one time or another. And believe me when I tell you that there is very little that is amusing about the end of life process. So I have been hesitant to write about it. And it is not for lack of trying - I have started several blogs about my experiences here - but I just haven't been able to bring myself to posting any of it. I guess maybe that was because I didn't know how this chapter of my life would end. And now I do.
I gave birth to my two boys at home naturally - no drugs, no intervention, no internal fetal heart monitors - in my own bed with my loved ones surrounding me. That is the way I chose to do it. So I wanted to give my Mom the opportunity to have that kind of control over the end of her life. Although I must say, in hindsight that there is very little one actually controls about the end of life. So it becomes the responsibility of the care-giver to try to honor the wishes of the dying person as best they can. And it is not an easy task. I have done things in the last few months that I never thought I would have to do. The parent became the child, and the child became the parent. I have often thought about the parallels between the beginning of life and the end.
I think the end starts with loosing the ability to drive. When most Americans turn 16, they get their drivers license and with it comes all kinds of freedoms. When they age, eventually they loose the ability to drive safely, and with their license goes a lot of their freedoms. As ones health fails, they then loose their personal mobility, the ability to get up and go where they want, when they want. This is followed by loosing the ability to care for themselves, so they need help feeding themselves, going to the bathroom, showering, standing, sitting, and so on. The parent becomes the child and the child becomes the parent.
Let me say that my Mom went peacefully, in her sleep, and that I think her final days were as good as could be expected considering the amounts of drugs that were necessary to keep her from being in pain. She was in a space that I had created for her, where she could watch the humming birds and the sun rise and set on her beloved Catalina Mountains. I am grateful for that. We had a lovely little service for her at Southside, which I think she would have liked, followed by an ice cream sundae bar - which I know for sure she would have liked. She went to be with my Dad so I know she is happy now, no longer in pain and ready for the next adventure.
Which leaves me here, in Tucson, wrapping up all the lose ends, and facing an unknown future, once again. Many people have thanked me for what I have done these past few months. And while it may appear that I am some kind of good Samaritan or something, I have told them bluntly, "Do not kid yourself, I have done this in the hopes that when my time comes, someone will look after me. Karma." She would have liked that.
When I started this blog I imagined lots of amusing little tales about life in general, but more specifically about those things we all experience at one time or another. And believe me when I tell you that there is very little that is amusing about the end of life process. So I have been hesitant to write about it. And it is not for lack of trying - I have started several blogs about my experiences here - but I just haven't been able to bring myself to posting any of it. I guess maybe that was because I didn't know how this chapter of my life would end. And now I do.
I gave birth to my two boys at home naturally - no drugs, no intervention, no internal fetal heart monitors - in my own bed with my loved ones surrounding me. That is the way I chose to do it. So I wanted to give my Mom the opportunity to have that kind of control over the end of her life. Although I must say, in hindsight that there is very little one actually controls about the end of life. So it becomes the responsibility of the care-giver to try to honor the wishes of the dying person as best they can. And it is not an easy task. I have done things in the last few months that I never thought I would have to do. The parent became the child, and the child became the parent. I have often thought about the parallels between the beginning of life and the end.
I think the end starts with loosing the ability to drive. When most Americans turn 16, they get their drivers license and with it comes all kinds of freedoms. When they age, eventually they loose the ability to drive safely, and with their license goes a lot of their freedoms. As ones health fails, they then loose their personal mobility, the ability to get up and go where they want, when they want. This is followed by loosing the ability to care for themselves, so they need help feeding themselves, going to the bathroom, showering, standing, sitting, and so on. The parent becomes the child and the child becomes the parent.
Let me say that my Mom went peacefully, in her sleep, and that I think her final days were as good as could be expected considering the amounts of drugs that were necessary to keep her from being in pain. She was in a space that I had created for her, where she could watch the humming birds and the sun rise and set on her beloved Catalina Mountains. I am grateful for that. We had a lovely little service for her at Southside, which I think she would have liked, followed by an ice cream sundae bar - which I know for sure she would have liked. She went to be with my Dad so I know she is happy now, no longer in pain and ready for the next adventure.
Which leaves me here, in Tucson, wrapping up all the lose ends, and facing an unknown future, once again. Many people have thanked me for what I have done these past few months. And while it may appear that I am some kind of good Samaritan or something, I have told them bluntly, "Do not kid yourself, I have done this in the hopes that when my time comes, someone will look after me. Karma." She would have liked that.
Sunday, June 20, 2010
Father's Day
This is one of those days that is really hard when you have recently lost your Dad. It's been just over three months since my Dad passed away and, yes, it was hard. I have found myself fighting back tears repeatedly today... as I helped my Mom dress for church... As we sang Amazing Grace, which was one of my Dad's favorites... when I took my Mom to see the little memorial Dad for my that has been put up in the Fellowship Hall at their church... when I had to sing my solo....
The wise and wonderful Dorothy gave me a song to sing this week. I wasn't sure I would be able to get through it since it was titled "My Father Watches Over Me." But before I got up to sing, I said my favorite little prayer... "Please, God, don't let me mess this up" and I managed not get all the way through it without bursting into tears - which was my fear. Yeah me. Somehow, Dorothy knew that I would have to pull myself out of the grief I am feeling today and put my best face and voice forward... and I did. So today, while I am missing my Dad so very much, I am also thankful for Dorothy and her wisdom.
Friday, June 11, 2010
Amazing Grace
So a few weeks ago, the amazing Dorothy cornered me during choir practice. "Meg", she said, "I want you to sing a song for me on Sunday". "Yes, Ma'am." "I have a particular song in mind for you...and I want your Mama to hear you sing." It turned out to be a song written to the tune of Oh Danny Boy, which was ironic on several levels.
To make a long story shorter... we went through the song two or three times during choir rehearsal and I was expected to sing it on Sunday to the congregation. Often in this choir someone sings the verse to a song solo and the choir sings the chorus, or some variation on that kind of idea... but this time, I pretty much had to sing the whole song myself, with the choir joining me for one line of the chorus.
Okay, so it had been a while since I had to sing something solo... a very long while....like twenty five years or so... My older brother, Paul usually records the service every Sunday on a little digital recording device, so it can be transcribed. So when he walked over and put the device on the pulpit I didn't think anything of it... and the service went along as usual... then it was time for me to sing. The lyrics of this particular song meant a lot to me because it starts out,"Amazing Grace will always be my song of praise" and Amazing Grace was my Dad's favorite song in church.... As I was singing, I could hear some of the parishioners clapping and calling out encouragement... and when I finished, they stood and applauded as I went back to my seat. Applause is not unusual in this particular church, but standing and clapping...
There is a time during the service each Sunday when the pastor, Alison, walks around the congregation and people can ask for the church to pray for their causes... family members, political issues, environmental issues, etc. When she neared my brother, he stood and asked for "prayers of thanks for my sister and her gifts." I was very moved.
It turns out that even though he has been my brother for 52 years, he had never heard me sing. I think he was shocked. He went home and took the little digital recording device and made CDs of my performance and sent it to my siblings. I have a copy, and to be honest, I think I was a little pitchy. But it made both my Mom and my brother happy... and it was such a simple thing to do. Now I have been assigned the 4th of July, (unofficially 'old white guys' Sunday, this year) wherein I am supposed to sing all of the music for the service. I will do this not only because I love to sing, but because it is something I can do which brings joy to those I love.
To make a long story shorter... we went through the song two or three times during choir rehearsal and I was expected to sing it on Sunday to the congregation. Often in this choir someone sings the verse to a song solo and the choir sings the chorus, or some variation on that kind of idea... but this time, I pretty much had to sing the whole song myself, with the choir joining me for one line of the chorus.
Okay, so it had been a while since I had to sing something solo... a very long while....like twenty five years or so... My older brother, Paul usually records the service every Sunday on a little digital recording device, so it can be transcribed. So when he walked over and put the device on the pulpit I didn't think anything of it... and the service went along as usual... then it was time for me to sing. The lyrics of this particular song meant a lot to me because it starts out,"Amazing Grace will always be my song of praise" and Amazing Grace was my Dad's favorite song in church.... As I was singing, I could hear some of the parishioners clapping and calling out encouragement... and when I finished, they stood and applauded as I went back to my seat. Applause is not unusual in this particular church, but standing and clapping...
There is a time during the service each Sunday when the pastor, Alison, walks around the congregation and people can ask for the church to pray for their causes... family members, political issues, environmental issues, etc. When she neared my brother, he stood and asked for "prayers of thanks for my sister and her gifts." I was very moved.
It turns out that even though he has been my brother for 52 years, he had never heard me sing. I think he was shocked. He went home and took the little digital recording device and made CDs of my performance and sent it to my siblings. I have a copy, and to be honest, I think I was a little pitchy. But it made both my Mom and my brother happy... and it was such a simple thing to do. Now I have been assigned the 4th of July, (unofficially 'old white guys' Sunday, this year) wherein I am supposed to sing all of the music for the service. I will do this not only because I love to sing, but because it is something I can do which brings joy to those I love.
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
Choir practice
It is Wednesday, and that means that I have choir practice tonight. But choir here is unlike any choir that I have ever been involved with, and I have sung with a lot of choirs. For those of you who do not know me well, I have been singing since I was a child - all the time.
It really started the summer after seventh grade when I was sent to the University of Illinois Summer Youth Music program. I did that program for several years, and sang with many other choirs as well. I sang with my family's church choir in the early 1970s. That choir was blessed with one of the professors of vocal music from MSU as it's director, and he gave us Gospel to sing on occasion. My high school choir was pathetic, so I went to the community college and sang with their 'honors' choir - the TOTS. (Tommy O Thompson Singers)
In the mid 1970s I sang in a wide variety of musical groups: rock bands, horn bands, jazz bands, I did country, funk and everything in between! I sang on artist's demo tapes, did background on albums, and sang a variety of jingles. All very interesting and fun, however not particularly lucrative or stable. Later, I sang to my children, like most mothers do. I tried to make sure that they learned to appreciate all kinds of music and encouraged them to sing as well.
Then when my youngest, Nick, was in the 5th grade, he told me to get a life so I went back to college. On a whim I signed up for the choir and rediscovered my love for choral music. Before I knew it I was also singing with their "Chamber Singers", and loving every minute of it. When I finished school, I did a short stint (one season) with the Flint Festival Chorus (the choir that sings with the Flint Symphony). At one point during all this - while Nick was in 7th grade, he was singing with five choirs and I was singing with two - and our rehearsal schedule was brutal. But we did have the opportunity to perform together on several occasions, and those concerts will be with me for ever. (I get kind of teary just remembering them.)
When I was teaching in Istanbul last year I had the opportunity to sing with the Istanbul European Choir - which was a marvelous multi-cultural experience. Singing an Italian Requim in Latin.... in a French Cathedral... to a largely Turkish-speaking, Muslim audience in Istanbul is something I will never forget! Music is the universal language - despite what the mathematicians tell you!
So now that I am hanging out here in Tucson, my brother has strong-armed me into singing with the choir at Southside Presbyterian Church and it is a unique experience on several levels. First of all there are more men than women in this choir - I have never experienced that before! Second, there is no written music involved here - none. The director, Dorothy, is a sixty-something African-American woman, who teaches us the gospel songs we sing each week through rote memorization. Third, I have to sing in Spanish every week - and I no hablo Espanol! Yikes! While I have sung with multi-cultural groups most of my life, and in all kinds of different languages, this choir and this church have a different kind of multi-culturism and I am being challenged in new ways. I like that. There is a surrealism to singing gospel music with a bunch of stiff white Presbyterians (and a few Hispanics) every Sunday. And I can't help but wonder... what will be next?
It really started the summer after seventh grade when I was sent to the University of Illinois Summer Youth Music program. I did that program for several years, and sang with many other choirs as well. I sang with my family's church choir in the early 1970s. That choir was blessed with one of the professors of vocal music from MSU as it's director, and he gave us Gospel to sing on occasion. My high school choir was pathetic, so I went to the community college and sang with their 'honors' choir - the TOTS. (Tommy O Thompson Singers)
In the mid 1970s I sang in a wide variety of musical groups: rock bands, horn bands, jazz bands, I did country, funk and everything in between! I sang on artist's demo tapes, did background on albums, and sang a variety of jingles. All very interesting and fun, however not particularly lucrative or stable. Later, I sang to my children, like most mothers do. I tried to make sure that they learned to appreciate all kinds of music and encouraged them to sing as well.
Then when my youngest, Nick, was in the 5th grade, he told me to get a life so I went back to college. On a whim I signed up for the choir and rediscovered my love for choral music. Before I knew it I was also singing with their "Chamber Singers", and loving every minute of it. When I finished school, I did a short stint (one season) with the Flint Festival Chorus (the choir that sings with the Flint Symphony). At one point during all this - while Nick was in 7th grade, he was singing with five choirs and I was singing with two - and our rehearsal schedule was brutal. But we did have the opportunity to perform together on several occasions, and those concerts will be with me for ever. (I get kind of teary just remembering them.)
When I was teaching in Istanbul last year I had the opportunity to sing with the Istanbul European Choir - which was a marvelous multi-cultural experience. Singing an Italian Requim in Latin.... in a French Cathedral... to a largely Turkish-speaking, Muslim audience in Istanbul is something I will never forget! Music is the universal language - despite what the mathematicians tell you!
So now that I am hanging out here in Tucson, my brother has strong-armed me into singing with the choir at Southside Presbyterian Church and it is a unique experience on several levels. First of all there are more men than women in this choir - I have never experienced that before! Second, there is no written music involved here - none. The director, Dorothy, is a sixty-something African-American woman, who teaches us the gospel songs we sing each week through rote memorization. Third, I have to sing in Spanish every week - and I no hablo Espanol! Yikes! While I have sung with multi-cultural groups most of my life, and in all kinds of different languages, this choir and this church have a different kind of multi-culturism and I am being challenged in new ways. I like that. There is a surrealism to singing gospel music with a bunch of stiff white Presbyterians (and a few Hispanics) every Sunday. And I can't help but wonder... what will be next?
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