Countdown to Wakuendings and Hokkaido Travel

Wakuwacky day.  The concerts are winding down or heating up.  Our conductor accidentally flung his baton into the viola section and continued to conduct with a huge smile on his face.  I'm sure that all the children were smiling as well at such a dramatic bit of flare, but due to an apparent school regulation, the emotions of their lower faces were hidden from view in an attempt to keep the germs at bay.  As the white stage lights dimmed in a show of the lighting capabilities of the HPAC center, their masks glowed purple in the black light making perfect rows of ghosts throughout the whole hall.  In the instrument demonstrations, the trumpet section started playing "Won't you be my Neighbor,"  from Mister Rogers and in answer to our unspoken question, "But where is Sean?" the stage door opened and Sean walked in playing the melody on his trumpet, wearing an orange cardigan.  He took off his shoes and sweater, changing into his concert jacket.  Only two more instrument demonstrations tomorrow.  Only two more chances.  Fridays have a tradition for being longer.  What will happen?

Had another very impromtu jazz dinner tonight.  When going on a trip, food needs to be eaten so it won't go bad, so Melkorka and I ate delicious cheese from Amsterdam, eggplant, sweet potato, and salad.  And with the internet taking a bit of an unexpected and confusing yasumi (break) from working in my apartment, we extended our moveable feast to her apartment for dessert.  Life tastes so good.

Wakuwaku Wind Down

I suppose Wakuwaku can't go on forever.  No one said that it would.  But what a sudden surprise to realize that we have only four more performances of this program remaining.  In two days, less than 48 hours from now, this Wakuwaku year will come to a close; Smetana's famous melody from the Moldau and the lively wedding folk dance will be laid to rest.  No more the excitement of Rossini's William Tell Overture or Bizet's Intermezzo and Farandole.  (Fear not, the Radetzky March will surely escape this coming end.) The carefully made arrangements for viola sextet and bassoon duet will be stacked on someone's dining room table for a few weeks until being filed away for next year or until the memory of love's labor is forgotten into the every-other-Monday paper disposal.  A computer file lives forever...

In this last week, our new steady-hearted conductor revitalized some very small things in our well-worn performance patterns, pointing out intonation in places where we'd never really heard the harmony, addressing ensemble in places where it was never quite together, pulling out the melody from the dustpan.  There's only so much you can do in a short one-hour rehearsal on music that has been engrained in 30-plus performances and will only live on for a few more for the benefit of a sleepy group of middle-schoolers.  I feel really lucky whenever I encounter those who do it anyway.

A Saagy Evening...

Oh the pleasure of a long preparation and delicious reward!  Good friends and good food- a cozy evening in Akuradanchi!

warming the nan dough to make it rise on top of the heater in the practice room

Nan!  Melkoraka made nan!  (a miracle!) 

Adding the garlic butter to nan- quality control

the table- almost ready

stack of delicious garlic nan

Yay!  It's time to eat!

MmmmMmmmmMMMmmmm
saag chole with garlic nan- a very yummy and lovely evening-
go team!

Family Skype

This morning there was a layer of snow covering the sidewalks, and the streets, and the optimistic flowers.  Cats left their footprints in it before it sunk into the playground sand.  It reflected the sunlight up into the buildings and the tree trunks, brightening winter in an upside down sort of way.

I saw it from my window;  and then from miles away I heard my aunt's voice, and my mother's and father's.  I saw my brothers and the huge cat that was just a kitten 6 months ago.  My whole family was gathered last night to celebrate my brother's birthday.  Grandfather, my brother's girlfriend, cousin, too.  They told me about the trial of new gelato, paw paw flavored, a fruit from the midwest or the south of which I had never heard, never tasted.  And my mother sang the two repeated lines she could remember of a childhood song about paws paws, picking them up and putting them in her pocket.  I told her I liked her sweater and we set another date for Skype, one nearly a month away.

There are things that are shade life right now.  There is a color in which I'm embedded and can't even see.  The way my landscape is shaped by the people around me and those far away, by the routines that I fall into and construct, by the books that I read and the conversations that I have, by the pieces I practice, by the themes that I pull out of this daily living and on which I choose to focus.  How can I see their effect?  These temporary things in life.  What stays and goes?  Perhaps it is only relative.

But what came before family?  What has been more consistent throughout all the changes, near or far, for better or worse?  On and on for generations, this personal religion of sorts, handing off from one to the next, changing and growing, but always there.  Around us and inside of us.  As sure as the stars.

Winter Homesickness with Kaneko-san

Sometimes there are things inside of us of which we are unaware.  It's winter and I retreat from one corner of my apartment to another, avoiding the cold; half of my living space sits unused behind closed doors, holding empty boxes.  I sleep in my heated practice room, moving the mattress as needed.   It's a funny thing, the transition to winter and where it takes us.

Last night I had a surprisingly emotional dream about missing my family.  It stuck with me this morning, a harbinger of homesickness and the conscious feeling of physical isolation.  The winter retreat.  I wonder how much is my own state and how much comes the world around me.  Sickness, loneliness, days spent indoors.  It seems the world is regrouping, alone and collectively.

This morning after I got up I started to write my essay for dear Kaneko-san.  I started to write about writing letters to friends, how I was far away and liked letters.  I kept myself from staying on this topic for fear that I would accidentally inflect an emotional situation more dower than I meant and confer upon him some awkward responsibility.  I just wrote about upcoming plans to go to Hokkaido, strategically informing him that I would miss next week's lesson but would still study Japanese.

But it's so hard to hide the truth, even as gentle as this winter missing is these days;  and so as we worked on ways to say that we want something (a new car, a cell phone, a friend), I replaced my initial response of "lunch," (apparently not acceptable with this particular vocabulary and grammar) with "a ticket to America."  I didn't mean to say it, but of course it was the first thing that came to mind (well, after "lunch," that is).  And dear, dear Kaneko-san looked at me.  "Oh, homesick?"  And I said yes.  And then he started to ask me about home, about my parents, what jobs they had.

It's such a gift to find ourselves in another person's kindness.  That we hide these things, perhaps unknown even to ourselves, and yet there are those who are waiting to catch them with no great drama, but with simple graceful respect.  A minute of asking, of unadorned caring, and nothing more.

Light Snow

From where did the snow on the ground come?  Just a light dusting, offered like a magical visit from Santa when no one was looking.  How did it happen?  Sometimes when I'm looking the other way, miracles occur.  I open my mailbox and pull out a bank notice which I can't read.  I hear some people arguing indecipherably.  I live in Japan.  I play the cello.  I have friends and family who shape and support me.  Where was I looking?  How did this all happen?

The Flu in Japan

It's flu season.  America seems to have had an early start and now finds itself in an epidemic.  And Japan has decided to get on board as well.  Several musicians have had to back out of concerts this week and quite a few more are wearing the symptoms.  When I look out to the audience, white masks look back.  Here, the issue of health is more a communal concern than an individual inconvenience.  The board backstage which announces our concert information contained an additional flyer today about taking care of our health.  It reminded us to wash our hands, rinse our mouths, avoid public places if possible, and wear a mask if we felt sick in order to keep the germs from spreading to others.  And if we are feeling ill so that we cannot play, we should call or email the office immediately.  These precautions in order to keep the highest quality of performance possible.  We should keep ourselves healthy in order to play well, but if we become sick we should promptly inform the office so that a substitute player can be contacted immediately in order to have a good replacement.  We should take care of ourselves for the good of everyone.  Perhaps it's touching that the whole world can share this illness together, but together, in our own endeavors, we can help one another return to health.