Up to San Francisco

We travelled along the 101 from LA up to San Francisco, through green empty hills and dust-blown towns along the coast.  I find myself in a country that I don't really know full of questions.  What's in that truck, why is the pavement sparkly, why is there no development on the hills, how do the parking meters work and what do the signs mean?  My time in Japan has renewed that child in me that has this faith that there are answers to the things around us that perplex us.  But so often there just aren't any answers or there are but I don't have the key to them.  I must continue with simply not knowing.

In San Francisco we played a concert at Classical Revolution, at its birthplace, the Revolution Cafe.  The audience was packed, quiet, respectful, and very appreciative.  It was wonderful to be back in the setting, to be feet away from an attentive crowd, able to feel the change in their breath with the character changes in the piece.  And it was tiring to remember the work of hosting that sort of evening, juggling all the performers, organizing the readings, trying to balance how to make everyone happy enough and to at least just smile for those who can never be completely satisfied.  It's a different audience from Japan- is that really true?  They clap faster, they cheer, but they are both so friendly and open to enjoying the evening to whatever the performers have to offer.  And I think it is this openness on the part of the performers and the audience, this mutual act of receiving, that made the project so rewarding for so long.  As I've stepped away from it, I appreciate this opportunity to look at it from afar, with no expectations, hopes, or wishes, but to more objectively ask what I wish from and for it and how I might be able to get there.  Perhaps in Japan, perhaps when I find myself here again.  There is something about it that keeps me coming back.