Before I came here, I only knew that the town was nicknamed "The City of Trees and PhDs," and that David Foster Wallace lived here until he killed himself. But I don't think anyone blames Claremont for that. And my friend M lived here as a youth and his father owned a liquor store in Pomona, I think; at least he was in one of the nearby towns into which Claremont merges. I noted that it was 30 miles east of LA, and up against the foothills, and my hostess said that down the street from the house was a trail up into those very foothills. I have yet to take that trail: the daily dog walk goes past the trail-head, but apparently it's not a good venue for Cookie and Didi, and it's been too hot to hike later in the day after the walk.
I figured I'd probably go into LA several times and that there would be wineries and parks and things to do in the area. Well, that is true, but it took some time to get out of the house. Halfway through the stay, I finally planned a trip to LA, to the Mark Taper Forum. I hadn't heard of the play, Heisenberg, but many of my favorite actors have worked there, so it's been on my list. Otherwise, I've let fear of traffic and the non-pedestrian-friendly vibes keep me solidly home-based.
My first week was spent getting the dogs and cat to love me. Actually, that was very easy. They are affectionate critters, and they miss their peeps, so they have snuggled with me from the very start. After the first week or so, they stopped taking C and S's tshirts into the living room when left alone, and started toting my clothes instead. Fortunately, all they seem to do is lick them: the fabric is still intact.
My first Friday here I checked out the downtown music scene: there are 4 outdoor venues scattered about, and different music is featured in each. Jazz seems to be centered in the Plaza area, which is where I located the local cinema and some really nice looking restaurants. The other nice restaurants seem to be around College and 2nd street, near the Library (which I didn't visit until the end of my stay.) I didn't get a picture of the fountain that night, because it was surrounded and filled with people, and it's architectural and winding in nature, so it isn't easy to capture the stone and metal dragon that it seemed to be.
I used the online city calendar to locate events and places to visit, and C left a list of places to check out. I developed a shopping routine and a schedule for walks and swimming in the pool: the former needed to happen when it was coolest, and the latter when I felt like taking a nap or when I returned from an excursion, hot and sweaty. And, as I've said in other posts, I have enjoyed not being forced to explore the city or the area.
Now I am embarking on my last week. I'm at the Huntington Gardens, watching people wander into the ornate and mannered structures of the Chinese Garden, listening to their inanities (but somehow it's okay if the words are tinged with an Asian accent or the people are speaking French: those are the most common voices.) I bought a membership after the first visit, because I had not managed to make it to the Library, and at $25 a visit, it seemed to make sense. It actually doesn't, but I will likely break even, and it's good to take some time to absorb the beauty. It also feels like I did something besides sit under a dog.
In addition to exploring the neighborhood on my walks and joining the Vocal Forum, I have explored some of Claremont. I went to the art museum and learned about the Russian Village and heritage trees. I attended the Butterflies and Brews event at the Santa Ana Botannic Gardens. I wandered around Pomona College at the fireworks and attended a play at the Greek Theatre (but left early because I was sooo sleepy.) I did some research at the Library, which looks like a bunker but is blissfully free of the smell of the unwashed which characterizes most downtown libraries.
If I lived here, I'd probably go to Pasadena for most things: I've fallen in love with the various museums and have discovered some fabulous ice cream places. But, Claremont is a pretty community. The trees and architecture make for pleasant walks and drives. There are outlets for music and the arts, especially because of the Claremont colleges. I met up with some people attended a string quartet workshop at Scripps: if I'd been aware in January that I was coming here, I could have done that!
Showing posts with label community. Show all posts
Showing posts with label community. Show all posts
Monday, September 11, 2017
Monday, August 14, 2017
Joyful Noise
A few weeks ago, I texted with one of my sisters. The topic was worshipful songs: she is the only sibling who goes to church and is interested in discussing spiritual matters, so I turned to her naturally.
I didn't say most of this in my segment of the video, but I find myself thinking about it now that I am preparing to leave this religious community. I feel like I have joined them under false pretenses. Still, when I joined the group, my first words were "Is music happening here?" And I never claimed that I was Lutheran, or even Christian. But most people think that someone joins a church choir because of a belief in the liturgy. That is not the case for me. I join because it's a comfortable way to join a community and make music. And, I'm curious. I continue to read about many forms of religion, worship, and spirituality. Right now I'm reading Karen' Armstrong's The Great Transformation. Some concepts resonate more than others. Some of my friends are Christians, some are Buddhists, some have evolved a practise that works for them, and some are permanently alienated from the whole idea of religion. I'm not alienated, but I still remember my Grandma Shapira telling me that I could meet a nice man if I went to church, and I responded that I didn't want to meet a nice man. I was in my 20s, but not much has changed in that regard. Suffice it to say, I have been involved with many churches (and men for that matter), but have formally joined none of them. As a source of spiritual meaning, the jury is still out on organized religion. I find the familiarity comforting and the sincerity of the religious people I've met is very attractive. However, if I'm looking for community, I usually go for musical organizations. And if I'm looking for the divine, I go towards nature or the Swedenborg concept of god in the here and now, an infinite being made finite by time and man's ability to experience it. Here in Claremont, the two sources dovetailed.
I found this group through the Claremont Chamber of Commerce calendar, the same way I found Sumi and the Farmer's Market. The Vocal Forum met for 8 weeks in the summer on Wednesday evenings. It took place at Good Shepherd Lutheran Church, so I checked out the description on the church web page and learned the following:
Good Shepherd is proud to host group vocal classes focused on technique, diction, anatomy, and worship. Come and be surrounded by fellow singers all engaged in a common goal, to sing to our God-given potential. The event is led by Music Director and organist, Adan Fernandez. Masterclasses will be given by soprano Dr. Candace Bogan. Materials are provided. All you need to bring is a willing spirit and joyful song!
It sounded worth checking out, even though they were already 3 weeks into it: I've sung all my life, but it's been awhile since I've taken any voice lessons. Various choral directors have taught methods and I've learned vocalizations and physical ways to influence the voice, like using the Alexander Technique. The Unitarian Choir had annual workshops, and the Choral Arts Ensemble met at Menucha every fall for a weekend of instruction, community-building, and learning music. But all this was long ago, in Portland, and it had been a year since I sang with the Taos Community Chorus, and several years since I sang with the Santa Fe Orchestra Choir and the Coro de Camera.
Practical matters aside, it seemed like a good way to connect with part of the Claremont Community. There really is nothing like a shared goal to bring people together. I hit the jackpot in another way, as well: since basically everyone in the Forum was part of the music making at the church, I had a built-in weekly activity as well.
I learned at the recital that Adan had an equally practical purpose in conducting the forum: he takes his role as music director very seriously, and he wanted to address the annual musical hiatus that takes place in most churches. The Forum gave the choir members a chance to learn musical techniques, build musical confidence, and prepare for the next year. The real goal, though, was to give people a chance to express themselves musically. And he reached that goal. I was impressed that he found a way to help each person improve. Some could not read music, some had no breath support (hey, that's me!), some had difficulties with finding and reproducing notes, etc. etc. And sometimes Adan addressed those issues, but mainly he found a simple thing that, once recognized, made a world of difference. By the time of the recital, the improvement was amazing, and the recital was great fun.
You would think that, since this was a church-sponsored group, the music would be sacred. You would be wrong. I had a chance to find my inner torch singer with Cry Me a River. One of the younger singers gave a powerful rendition of Jekyll and Hyde's Confrontation (and I thus learned of another Wildhorn musical and spent much of today relearning Pimpernel songs.) W sang a Disturbed version of Sounds of Silence, which was a revelation to me. There were several Disney songs, and songs from other musicals that I hadn't heard in years. I learned about the Lumineers, via a moving version of Nobody Knows. What it comes down to is that you don't need to be singing religious words or tunes to be making a joyful noise. Just as it is possible to pray by experiencing the beauty of nature, so it is possible to worship by the mere act of breathing in air and letting it back out in song. It's not as complicated as I make it out to be.
I feel blessed to have reconnected with old favorite songs, to have become acquainted with new ones, and to have allied myself with a welcoming community. At dinner after the recital (a dinner that was curtailed before it started by a blown transformer in the neighborhood), I learned a bit more about just how welcoming this community is. One audience member joined us, and thanked us for our gift of music: she is undergoing dialysis, and music is healing to her. I thanked the group for letting me in, and they responded with a prayer circle of held hands and a wish that God bless my travels, and that I keep in touch and return. It reminded me of being held in the thoughts of my fellow Chamber Choir members at the Portland UU First Church, during post-rehearsal sharing time. And on the drive home, I sang in the car, making a joyful noise.
- Btw, the music director is in charge of the service this Sun, and he's interviewing some of the vocal forum people regarding a favorite worshipful song and why it's a favorite. He asked me to be taped and I'm having a hard time thinking of a song. Any ideas?
- Some of mine: Lord of all hopefulness, what wondrous love is this, Praise to the Lord, Love Divine all love excelling
- I don't think I know any of those! 😄
- I do like immortal invisible
- That was Dad's favorite
- Maybe that's why
- Check out the others sometime. Great melodies, harmonies, and lyrics. Oh, and Joshua fought the battle of Jericho.
- Of course, there are oodles of Christmas favorites. Check Wikipedia: did you know Immortal Invisible was a Welsh tune?
- Most of my favorite hymns started out as secular tunes
- Love divine has several tunes, but I think the one you like is probably Hygrydol, a "stately Welsh tune". Unitarians sing it to different words: blue boat home
- And Praise to the Lord the Almighty the king of creation? I know that one too. Good choices
- Love Divine tune was written by Rowland H Prichard. It was one of the first songs I learned to sing harmony.
- Now I have to pick one and say why... it's all in the music of course
- Yeah. I can't just ignore the words. My favorite may be Lord of all hopefulness because it is
- a prayer that covers the whole day.
- Maybe I'll just read this discussion!
- Just listened to it on YouTube: I love that one too!
- 😊
I didn't say most of this in my segment of the video, but I find myself thinking about it now that I am preparing to leave this religious community. I feel like I have joined them under false pretenses. Still, when I joined the group, my first words were "Is music happening here?" And I never claimed that I was Lutheran, or even Christian. But most people think that someone joins a church choir because of a belief in the liturgy. That is not the case for me. I join because it's a comfortable way to join a community and make music. And, I'm curious. I continue to read about many forms of religion, worship, and spirituality. Right now I'm reading Karen' Armstrong's The Great Transformation. Some concepts resonate more than others. Some of my friends are Christians, some are Buddhists, some have evolved a practise that works for them, and some are permanently alienated from the whole idea of religion. I'm not alienated, but I still remember my Grandma Shapira telling me that I could meet a nice man if I went to church, and I responded that I didn't want to meet a nice man. I was in my 20s, but not much has changed in that regard. Suffice it to say, I have been involved with many churches (and men for that matter), but have formally joined none of them. As a source of spiritual meaning, the jury is still out on organized religion. I find the familiarity comforting and the sincerity of the religious people I've met is very attractive. However, if I'm looking for community, I usually go for musical organizations. And if I'm looking for the divine, I go towards nature or the Swedenborg concept of god in the here and now, an infinite being made finite by time and man's ability to experience it. Here in Claremont, the two sources dovetailed.
I found this group through the Claremont Chamber of Commerce calendar, the same way I found Sumi and the Farmer's Market. The Vocal Forum met for 8 weeks in the summer on Wednesday evenings. It took place at Good Shepherd Lutheran Church, so I checked out the description on the church web page and learned the following:
Good Shepherd is proud to host group vocal classes focused on technique, diction, anatomy, and worship. Come and be surrounded by fellow singers all engaged in a common goal, to sing to our God-given potential. The event is led by Music Director and organist, Adan Fernandez. Masterclasses will be given by soprano Dr. Candace Bogan. Materials are provided. All you need to bring is a willing spirit and joyful song!
It sounded worth checking out, even though they were already 3 weeks into it: I've sung all my life, but it's been awhile since I've taken any voice lessons. Various choral directors have taught methods and I've learned vocalizations and physical ways to influence the voice, like using the Alexander Technique. The Unitarian Choir had annual workshops, and the Choral Arts Ensemble met at Menucha every fall for a weekend of instruction, community-building, and learning music. But all this was long ago, in Portland, and it had been a year since I sang with the Taos Community Chorus, and several years since I sang with the Santa Fe Orchestra Choir and the Coro de Camera.
Practical matters aside, it seemed like a good way to connect with part of the Claremont Community. There really is nothing like a shared goal to bring people together. I hit the jackpot in another way, as well: since basically everyone in the Forum was part of the music making at the church, I had a built-in weekly activity as well.
I learned at the recital that Adan had an equally practical purpose in conducting the forum: he takes his role as music director very seriously, and he wanted to address the annual musical hiatus that takes place in most churches. The Forum gave the choir members a chance to learn musical techniques, build musical confidence, and prepare for the next year. The real goal, though, was to give people a chance to express themselves musically. And he reached that goal. I was impressed that he found a way to help each person improve. Some could not read music, some had no breath support (hey, that's me!), some had difficulties with finding and reproducing notes, etc. etc. And sometimes Adan addressed those issues, but mainly he found a simple thing that, once recognized, made a world of difference. By the time of the recital, the improvement was amazing, and the recital was great fun.
You would think that, since this was a church-sponsored group, the music would be sacred. You would be wrong. I had a chance to find my inner torch singer with Cry Me a River. One of the younger singers gave a powerful rendition of Jekyll and Hyde's Confrontation (and I thus learned of another Wildhorn musical and spent much of today relearning Pimpernel songs.) W sang a Disturbed version of Sounds of Silence, which was a revelation to me. There were several Disney songs, and songs from other musicals that I hadn't heard in years. I learned about the Lumineers, via a moving version of Nobody Knows. What it comes down to is that you don't need to be singing religious words or tunes to be making a joyful noise. Just as it is possible to pray by experiencing the beauty of nature, so it is possible to worship by the mere act of breathing in air and letting it back out in song. It's not as complicated as I make it out to be.
I feel blessed to have reconnected with old favorite songs, to have become acquainted with new ones, and to have allied myself with a welcoming community. At dinner after the recital (a dinner that was curtailed before it started by a blown transformer in the neighborhood), I learned a bit more about just how welcoming this community is. One audience member joined us, and thanked us for our gift of music: she is undergoing dialysis, and music is healing to her. I thanked the group for letting me in, and they responded with a prayer circle of held hands and a wish that God bless my travels, and that I keep in touch and return. It reminded me of being held in the thoughts of my fellow Chamber Choir members at the Portland UU First Church, during post-rehearsal sharing time. And on the drive home, I sang in the car, making a joyful noise.
Tuesday, July 11, 2017
Community
People ask how I'm liking retirement. They ask how the assignments are working out. M, my slow travel expert, asks how I'm connecting with people and places while I'm traveling. Do I have intentions to become part of the communities in which I stay? If so, what will I do 1st, 2nd, and 3rd to see what's available to me?
To answer the first two questions: I'm loving it. I was mainly exploring during my time in northern CA, as well as setting up logistics. And of course, I started with the sister trip in May, and in June had a week with G in San Francisco and its environs. Now I'm in the first few weeks of my second longest assignment: Claremont, CA. I'm trying to set up a practice and writing schedule. I am following through on my daily texts and 4 minute diaries and budget entries, but otherwise I'm most successful at walking dogs and swimming laps in the house pool. Other than feeling guilty for being so unproductive, I'm ridiculously happy with this. I send messages about the triple digit weather to obviate my guilt: see, it's TOO HOT to explore, my asthma kicks in if I'm out in this poor air quality for too long, etc etc. But really, I need to stop focusing on that. As Abraham (Esther Hicks) would say, I need to activate something better than guilt, something more vibrationally satisfying than asthma. Or, as the Buddha would say, I need to stop focusing on desire, the desire to be an admirable self.
In my need to be productive, I am not seeing the reality, which is perfectly delightful. I have dogs to cuddle, books to read (or listen to), tomatoes to harvest from the garden, good pinot grigio to drink. When I feel sleepy, I go out to the pool, usually sans suit. I take a slow breast stroke/scissors kick towards the deep end and the sitting garden, looking at the tall bird of paradise trees, the flower arch with bright pink blooms, the little smiling turtle light. At night, the arch is outlined in tiny white lights, and the solar lights in jars line up along the pool. I reach the end of the pool and lean back for the even slower side wiggle back stroke. At the shallow end, I flip my feet under me and go back towards the garden and the deep end. The water is warm later in the day, cool in the morning, silky on my skin. Sometimes the surface is dusted with pollen and little seeds and occasionally I dodge a fuzzy insect body, pushing it towards the filter or away to the side. Although I am swimming laps, I do not count them or work at them. I swim until I don't feel like swimming any more. Sometimes I lie on the lounge chair, baking both sides before sliding back into the now-chilly water. Sometimes I read, sometimes I listen to an audio book, the ipad carefully placed in the shade under the plastic side table. Sometimes I nap, but not too long. Even with sun-screen, I don't want to hazard this heat for too long. The dogs come out through the kitchen flap and circle the pool, watching me and then finding a shady place to wait while I finish what I am doing. They are very attentive to me, as the source of food and cuddles and walks.
I did look into some things to explore. As with Santa Rosa, my host had some ideas of things to do: the Huntington Gardens, the Arcadia Arboretum, 4th of July fireworks, the Botanic Garden, Monday night concerts in the Park, Temecula wineries, Santa Monica 3rd street shopping, Long Beach, Descanso Gardens. Then, as M suggested, I looked into ways to be part of the community. The Chamber of Commerce had a calendar of events and activities for Visitors, and I discovered the Claremont Forum as well. The result is a Google Calendar filled with events that I may or may not attend: outdoor concerts (it's TOO HOT), the weekly Farmer's Market, art exhibits, Shakespeare in the Park (Much Ado, and Hamlet, quite the contrast.) Those were not really ways to connect with the community, so I looked at classes and music offerings. I am now involved in the Vocal Forum, classes put on Wednesday nights by the Good Shepherd Lutheran Church, and as an offshoot of that, I'm singing in their summer choir. On Sunday, the communion music was provided by an excellent violin/flute duo, so I approached the violinist after church and asked her about local amateurs with whom I could play (she was clearly a professional.) She took my number, and we'll see. Today I connected with a fabric artist who teaches Japanese at the Claremont Forum, and we're booked for a single session at $50 to get me started on my studies in preparation for the December gig in Nagano.
These are all pleasant ways to occupy my time, but they don't feel necessary. It's nice to have something to write about in my daily texts, of course, and it soothes my guilt to think that I'm being productive. The vocal class even got me to get out my violin and do some practicing, thereby justifying both my Housesitter Profile title (Musical Librarian) and the space and logistical issues caused by lugging the instrument around. Today I practiced voice, violin, and Tai Chi Chih, And now I'm writing. So, see? I'm being productive!
But....I don't really feel invested in any of this. I am happy just being. My day has a pleasant arc to it: wake up to the meowing cat, pet the dogs. If it's early enough, take a walk, either before or after breakfast for all 4 of us. Sit with coffee and toast and the crossword. Check email and Facebook. Then progress with the day. Do I need to go shopping, clean up the house, water plants? Do I have something scheduled for the day? Do I want to log into Tutor.com and float, in hopes of some tutoring sessions? Do I want to write? Practise? Swim? Listen to an audio book and knit? Write? Call a friend or family member? Eventually, I take a nap, sometimes inadvertently. Soon it's 5 pm, and time to look at the evening. If I have nothing scheduled, do I still need to walk the dogs? Go to class? Log in for a tutoring session? I need to send a text to the folks who are tracking me, reassuring them that I'm still alive and well. And the next thing I know, it's time for bed. The dogs, who have been following me all day, follow me there as well, and we all settle in. I don't feel like I've wasted the day, but what have I done? As I texted once, don't know where this day went. Surely I didn't spend the whole day sitting under a dog and coloring online? 'Fraid so. And that's fine. When it's time to get active, I'll get active. And phooey on the whole meditating (Buddha) and examining (Plato) options. That's another sort of desire, it seems, the desire to reach some sort of meaning or nirvana, to have purpose in my life. Right now my purpose is to keep someone else's fur babies happy, and that seems sufficient.
All of this begs the question: am I lonely? I don't seem to be. The difference between working and living in a community and house-sitting in random places seems to be one of focus. When I was caregiving for E, I was living like this, but I felt trapped by the 24/7 responsibility of it, and I felt like I had to get out in the larger community and make music and see people. When I was working in libraries, I felt trapped by the schedule, and my health was compromised so that I didn't get out into the community enough. Now, I'm in a 24/7 situation of sorts, but I am free to get out when and how I want. And now I find that I don't want to get out much. All of that need for community and activity was apparently manufactured by some other need: the need to escape my entrapment. I find that, while I miss my PDX and ABQ and Taos and WitsEnd peeps, and I feel wistful about the various groups with which I've been involved, I'm not lonely. It helps that I have the internet, but mainly it helps that this is what I want.
I think about this. L, when she was dowsing, said that I needed a community. When I was video chatting with W, she said that people who live happily into old age do so when they are in a community. So, the question seems to be, what constitutes a community? Is it the physical contact? I get that with the dogs and cats. Is it the emotional contact? I get that through correspondence and chatting. Is it meeting needs? I get that through emergency contacts and activism. Is it passion? I don't seem to have that, but I do manage to find music wherever I go. Is it relationships? That's the missing link, it seems: can relationships be sustained long-distance? Does a community need to be local? Are the social and personal networks sufficient? Now that I'm no longer trapped and I seem to have what I want, do I have what I need? Do I have a focus? Do I have a community?
Time will tell. Or my heart will. Or both.
To answer the first two questions: I'm loving it. I was mainly exploring during my time in northern CA, as well as setting up logistics. And of course, I started with the sister trip in May, and in June had a week with G in San Francisco and its environs. Now I'm in the first few weeks of my second longest assignment: Claremont, CA. I'm trying to set up a practice and writing schedule. I am following through on my daily texts and 4 minute diaries and budget entries, but otherwise I'm most successful at walking dogs and swimming laps in the house pool. Other than feeling guilty for being so unproductive, I'm ridiculously happy with this. I send messages about the triple digit weather to obviate my guilt: see, it's TOO HOT to explore, my asthma kicks in if I'm out in this poor air quality for too long, etc etc. But really, I need to stop focusing on that. As Abraham (Esther Hicks) would say, I need to activate something better than guilt, something more vibrationally satisfying than asthma. Or, as the Buddha would say, I need to stop focusing on desire, the desire to be an admirable self.
In my need to be productive, I am not seeing the reality, which is perfectly delightful. I have dogs to cuddle, books to read (or listen to), tomatoes to harvest from the garden, good pinot grigio to drink. When I feel sleepy, I go out to the pool, usually sans suit. I take a slow breast stroke/scissors kick towards the deep end and the sitting garden, looking at the tall bird of paradise trees, the flower arch with bright pink blooms, the little smiling turtle light. At night, the arch is outlined in tiny white lights, and the solar lights in jars line up along the pool. I reach the end of the pool and lean back for the even slower side wiggle back stroke. At the shallow end, I flip my feet under me and go back towards the garden and the deep end. The water is warm later in the day, cool in the morning, silky on my skin. Sometimes the surface is dusted with pollen and little seeds and occasionally I dodge a fuzzy insect body, pushing it towards the filter or away to the side. Although I am swimming laps, I do not count them or work at them. I swim until I don't feel like swimming any more. Sometimes I lie on the lounge chair, baking both sides before sliding back into the now-chilly water. Sometimes I read, sometimes I listen to an audio book, the ipad carefully placed in the shade under the plastic side table. Sometimes I nap, but not too long. Even with sun-screen, I don't want to hazard this heat for too long. The dogs come out through the kitchen flap and circle the pool, watching me and then finding a shady place to wait while I finish what I am doing. They are very attentive to me, as the source of food and cuddles and walks.
I did look into some things to explore. As with Santa Rosa, my host had some ideas of things to do: the Huntington Gardens, the Arcadia Arboretum, 4th of July fireworks, the Botanic Garden, Monday night concerts in the Park, Temecula wineries, Santa Monica 3rd street shopping, Long Beach, Descanso Gardens. Then, as M suggested, I looked into ways to be part of the community. The Chamber of Commerce had a calendar of events and activities for Visitors, and I discovered the Claremont Forum as well. The result is a Google Calendar filled with events that I may or may not attend: outdoor concerts (it's TOO HOT), the weekly Farmer's Market, art exhibits, Shakespeare in the Park (Much Ado, and Hamlet, quite the contrast.) Those were not really ways to connect with the community, so I looked at classes and music offerings. I am now involved in the Vocal Forum, classes put on Wednesday nights by the Good Shepherd Lutheran Church, and as an offshoot of that, I'm singing in their summer choir. On Sunday, the communion music was provided by an excellent violin/flute duo, so I approached the violinist after church and asked her about local amateurs with whom I could play (she was clearly a professional.) She took my number, and we'll see. Today I connected with a fabric artist who teaches Japanese at the Claremont Forum, and we're booked for a single session at $50 to get me started on my studies in preparation for the December gig in Nagano.
These are all pleasant ways to occupy my time, but they don't feel necessary. It's nice to have something to write about in my daily texts, of course, and it soothes my guilt to think that I'm being productive. The vocal class even got me to get out my violin and do some practicing, thereby justifying both my Housesitter Profile title (Musical Librarian) and the space and logistical issues caused by lugging the instrument around. Today I practiced voice, violin, and Tai Chi Chih, And now I'm writing. So, see? I'm being productive!
But....I don't really feel invested in any of this. I am happy just being. My day has a pleasant arc to it: wake up to the meowing cat, pet the dogs. If it's early enough, take a walk, either before or after breakfast for all 4 of us. Sit with coffee and toast and the crossword. Check email and Facebook. Then progress with the day. Do I need to go shopping, clean up the house, water plants? Do I have something scheduled for the day? Do I want to log into Tutor.com and float, in hopes of some tutoring sessions? Do I want to write? Practise? Swim? Listen to an audio book and knit? Write? Call a friend or family member? Eventually, I take a nap, sometimes inadvertently. Soon it's 5 pm, and time to look at the evening. If I have nothing scheduled, do I still need to walk the dogs? Go to class? Log in for a tutoring session? I need to send a text to the folks who are tracking me, reassuring them that I'm still alive and well. And the next thing I know, it's time for bed. The dogs, who have been following me all day, follow me there as well, and we all settle in. I don't feel like I've wasted the day, but what have I done? As I texted once, don't know where this day went. Surely I didn't spend the whole day sitting under a dog and coloring online? 'Fraid so. And that's fine. When it's time to get active, I'll get active. And phooey on the whole meditating (Buddha) and examining (Plato) options. That's another sort of desire, it seems, the desire to reach some sort of meaning or nirvana, to have purpose in my life. Right now my purpose is to keep someone else's fur babies happy, and that seems sufficient.
All of this begs the question: am I lonely? I don't seem to be. The difference between working and living in a community and house-sitting in random places seems to be one of focus. When I was caregiving for E, I was living like this, but I felt trapped by the 24/7 responsibility of it, and I felt like I had to get out in the larger community and make music and see people. When I was working in libraries, I felt trapped by the schedule, and my health was compromised so that I didn't get out into the community enough. Now, I'm in a 24/7 situation of sorts, but I am free to get out when and how I want. And now I find that I don't want to get out much. All of that need for community and activity was apparently manufactured by some other need: the need to escape my entrapment. I find that, while I miss my PDX and ABQ and Taos and WitsEnd peeps, and I feel wistful about the various groups with which I've been involved, I'm not lonely. It helps that I have the internet, but mainly it helps that this is what I want.
I think about this. L, when she was dowsing, said that I needed a community. When I was video chatting with W, she said that people who live happily into old age do so when they are in a community. So, the question seems to be, what constitutes a community? Is it the physical contact? I get that with the dogs and cats. Is it the emotional contact? I get that through correspondence and chatting. Is it meeting needs? I get that through emergency contacts and activism. Is it passion? I don't seem to have that, but I do manage to find music wherever I go. Is it relationships? That's the missing link, it seems: can relationships be sustained long-distance? Does a community need to be local? Are the social and personal networks sufficient? Now that I'm no longer trapped and I seem to have what I want, do I have what I need? Do I have a focus? Do I have a community?
Time will tell. Or my heart will. Or both.
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