Critics, beware! Some performances are more unpleasant than you ever imagined.
Dark Times in the Theatre
6
We are All Lost at Times
Awake or asleep, physically or only in spirit, we all have moments to wander. It may be that we do so with good reason, or without any sense of reason at all, but the roads we take can twist and turn unexpectedly. What we do with these surprises can be the crux of real meaning in our lives. Or it can lead onward, ever onward, the mystery never seeming to abate and its clews unravel intelligibly before us…
Singing Our Song
The original ‘our song’ I shared with my true love, because he was in the midst of rehearsing his choir for its performance when we came together—so intensely rehearsing, in fact, that in pretty much the only time I’ve ever known him to talk in his sleep, he whispered dreaming sweet nothings to me in Church Slavonic. Good times!
The expression ‘they’re singing our song’ refers, generally, to recognizing a tune or lyric that carries particular personal weight for a pair or occasionally, slightly larger group of people. It’s our school’s version of Alma Mater, the theme song of our organization, the song that accompanied a memorable first date, first dance, first kiss. Because of its power as a connective tool in communication and in recollection, music is bound to evoke potent responses and pull us into the examination of them, regardless of their current context. I’m one of that lucky class of people for whom music is a pervasive and positive element of my daily life, but I still have some specific favorites not only for what I find appealing about them musically or in their mood, style, and character—and yes, those range pretty widely—but also for the few that stand out in mnemonic and sentimental ways.
There are songs that reconnect me instantly with my childhood, something I suspect is quite a different experience for the younger generations than for mine and earlier ones. Until my youth, childhood songs came not exclusively from radio, films, television, and other distant, anonymous, fixed, or recorded sources but first from the relatives, friends, and teachers who shared them with us and often expected us to sing along. When my family sang in the car on a road trip, it might have sometimes been along with whoever was singing or playing the radio’s pre-packaged tunes, but as often as not it was singing folk songs we’d learned by rote, silly playground songs and game-narrative ones, bits of summer camp songs, rounds, and easily harmonized songs that were popular long before I ever stretched my little pipes to sing. I don’t imagine there’s so much of a lingua franca of family and playground singing not derived from Disney scores and downloads nowadays. There’s lots of delightful and even sophisticated stuff in those, to be sure, but I would guess that there’s a whole lot less that would be in any way distinguishable as historic, traditional, or regional, let along cultural, landmark music that’s just sung for fun anymore unless it’s loaded with undercurrents of market- or message-driven content. Is Mrs. Grady‘s daughter even known, let alone adored, by anyone under a half-century of age anymore?
It’s not strictly old-lady cantankerousness or being prudish, prune-ish, and nostalgic for what may be rose-colored memories that makes me sad for this sort of loss, though there are assuredly elements of those. It’s also a bit of longing for the subtle societal glue that resides in knowing a song: if I spontaneously start to sing an “old familiar lay” under my breath, will there be anybody within earshot who will hear, remember, and join in the song? Are all such endeavors relegated to prearranged flash mobs now? I had a couple of reminders of this urge, recently, and they renewed my quest for an expanded casual-singing culture of the kind that doesn’t require sets, costumes, death-defying choreography, and Auto-Tune.
The first such occasion was, unsurprisingly, in a church setting. Western churches of many sorts are still places where communal singing is common and many songs known to many of the participants by heart. I was at a Protestant church service where, as is typical during communion, the church choir sang anthems and the congregation then sang a hymn or two as well; when the high attendance at the service made communion stretch far longer than expected, the experienced organist got right on the task of keeping the flow going by playing an old hymn. After a few seconds, choristers started softly humming or singing the lyrics along with him, then grew bolder and harmonized, and gradually a number of congregants in the pews were joining in as well. It was really quite sweet, and I certainly thought it perfectly appropriate to the whole concept of a Communal event. But even there, I quickly realized, the truly familiar old hymn couldn’t quite be carried in the old way, because even the choir members clearly only knew one verse by heart, and while it was a lovely bonding experience for everyone, it was fleeting; at the end of Verse 1, a collective dive for hymnals to search for the words (what’s that eponymous first line, again?!), then the resignation to repeat the first verse or fall silent.
Another reminder came in one of the places where such random burst-into-song things do still exist beyond the borders of the performance hall but are perhaps not exercised as often as they used to be: a choral convention. The regional and national gatherings of musicians devoted to choral music—the composing, conducting, rehearsing, singing, performing, and yes, enjoyment of music made for groups of singers—are a great source of education, entertainment, and vivifying energy for me as the partner and follower of a choral musician. And even at these, it’s not as though I hear people breaking into song together, unless they’re rehearsing to perform for each other. Attending an enormous regional musicians’ convention recently, followed ten days later by an equally huge national one, was both exhausting and energizing. And at such events, I don’t often find people gathering to sing together outside of the so-called All Sing sessions, which are of course organized, arranged, led, and regulated nearly as much as any choir’s regular rehearsals.
The point of such conventions isn’t necessarily to build ‘casual relationships’ with singing. But mightn’t it be a fine thing, really? I would guess that the expectation that singing just because, at unplanned moments, with other people, could in fact lead not only to greater interest in and better understanding of more formal choral experiences but also to a more connected social world than social media alone can provide. As the 1971 Coca-Cola advertisement—yes, a commercial jingle—encouraged such idealism and eventually did indeed manage to build into a hugely popular, ex-post-brand-name sing-along song, I [would] Like to Teach the World to Sing. But obviously I can’t do it alone.
This is, in a unique way, truly Our song, because Richard Nance composed it as an anthem for our wedding, and it both became widely popular as an exquisite modern choral piece and remains deeply personal as a gift to my beloved and me from one of our dearest friends.
I Dream the World
I dream the world will learn to sing ‘Til joy suffuses everything—
When peace and happiness abound, I dream a song will be the sound
Most widely heard by every ear Around the globe that longs to hear
A note of kindness, care; of grace, When melody wraps its embrace
Around us like an angel’s wing—I dream the world will learn to sing!
I dream the world will learn to sing And make earth’s darkest corners ring,
Will throw aside all warring ways, Mend brokenness, take up the phrase
That calls to harmony all souls The way a carillon bell tolls,
First, lone and softly, then a pair Joins in, and more, and then the air
Is filled with song, like bells a-swing—I dream the world will learn to sing!
I dream the world will learn to sing And this, the message it will bring:
We must not wait in silent nights, Unsung ’til happiness alights,
‘Til care and kindness, sweetness, peace, Miraculously buy release
And save us from our voiceless state: If we don’t sing, it is too late,
So let our song rise up and ring—I dream the world will learn to sing!
A Queen among Women
For one wonderfully sweet and lovely woman I know, I struggled to decide what to give her for a token of my respect and affection on her birthday. Then, because she is a superb singer and I, an admirer of her glorious singing, I decided to write her the lyric text for what might—with a composer’s help—become her own sort of theme song someday. For now, it’s simply Bea’s own poem. She said I could share it with you.
For a Lady of Great Beauty
For the song, bouquets of roses
For the day, a joyful start
For the labor, peaceful evenings
For the care, I give my heart—
For the wisdom, inspiration
For desire, a glorious year
For the wish, the starry heavens
For delight, companions dear—
For the sorrows, deepest comfort
For the friendships, never part—
For the moment that I met you,
You resided in my heart.
&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&
And since it’s her favorite of my other poems (so far, I hope), I’ll repost the following one. For good measure.
Been There; Dumb, That.
Do not visit The Depth of Doom except as an unbiased observer or high-speed passerby. Trust me, that locale is ever so much funnier when you don’t live there.
Then again, hard to appreciate fully unless you’re an escapee. Laugh it up, y’all!
Foodie Tuesday: Are You Growing a Mustache, or Is That Chocolate on Your Lip Again?
With sprinkles. Because, Sprinkles. You have to ask?
If you’d told me years ago that I would become such a chocolate addict, I’d probably have snorted and chortled my way right onto the floor. I always found it okay, but if given a choice would undoubtedly have chosen any number of other flavors as my preference over chocolate. So I’m still occasionally a little bit surprised at myself and my evolution into a veritable chocolate fiend.
Be that as it may, practically every time I put up a dessert or sweet-related post on this blog, it seems to include chocolate in some form or other. Why resist, eh! There are worse compulsions to have.
Spiced Chocolate Power Pudding
Beat 4 eggs thoroughly and set aside. In another bowl, set
1 avocado
1 ripe banana
1 splash lemon juice
Pinch of salt
1/2 teaspoon pure almond extract
1 teaspoon ground cardamom
2 scoops vanilla whey protein powder
Mash them together thoroughly! In a saucepan, pour
2 cups whole milk
Heat just until steaming.
Melt in 1/4 cup coconut oil and
5 ounces chocolate (I used Ibarra Mexican chocolate).
When it’s all melted together smoothly and
back to steaming (not scorching) temperature,
pour it in a thin stream and stir it carefully into the eggs.
Put this blend back in the saucepan and stir it constantly
over medium-high heat until it thickens.
Let it cool to room temp. Mix the egg blend and the
avocado mixture thoroughly and refrigerate the total until
well chilled and set. Overnight is good.
Deliciousness abounds.
Weather Report
An afternoon with you
What splendid light comes blazing from the blue
No matter what the promise of the day
When one sweet presence chases drear away:
The prospect of an afternoon with you!
How do you change the climate to such ends
Effortlessly, it seems, with one small grace,
Bringing your cheering spirit to this place
And on its strength, inviting full amends
For every sting of sorrow or of pain,
For any old frustration or regret,
Making the clouds all part, and me forget,
I thought I’d never see such sun again?
All afternoons with you become blue skies
Simply because love shines out of your eyes!
Chaos is the Order of the Day
Whenever I think I’m finding my balance, getting the hang of things, or otherwise making rational sense of my life, something happens to remind me that in my reality, these things are impossibilities. And probably unnecessary anyhow. The longer I look at anything, the more its illogical qualities emerge; the more illogical and foolish the world appears to me, the more at home I feel in it. Go figure. 
If Words are Food for Thought, Writers should Always Play with Their Food
Writing, like most other creative problem-solving processes, can sometimes best coalesce into sense out of utter nonsense. Untrammeled play is often the precursor to productive work, and if it remains unproductive, there will be less cursing afterward anyway. If you know what I mean, and since you’re hanging around here I can only assume that you, too, understand the importance of letting your silly side out for regular exercise.
So today, no more from me than a hearty helping of hooey. How shall I refine the ridiculous on this occasion? Perhaps not at all. Maybe I’ll just throw it on the table and let you decide what’s worth a nibble or a nosh, for once. Play on, pals.
Noises On
Bye bike bicycle
Far farce farcical
Pop plop Popsicle
Drip drop dropsical
Miracle spherical
Fanatical dramatical
Hysterical historical
Oracle Coracle Rhetorical
Trickle mickle pickle tickle fickle nickel prickle
Hackle spackle cackle grackle tackle
Chuck chuckle chuckling Buck buckle buckling Suck suckle suckling
Duck…Duckle? Duckling…
Oh, F…I mean, Yuck.
Definitive Thoughts
Aberration [/ˌæb.’bɛər.ˈreɪ.ʃ(ə)n/ noun]: the odd ursine meal.
Harbinger [/ˈhɑːr.bɪndʒ-ɜːr/ noun]: one who chortles incontinently.
Jasmine Tea [/’dʒæz.men.ˌtiː/ noun]: Thelonious and Tatum play golf.
Protuberance [/prə.ˈtuː.bər.əns/ noun]: in favor of liquid-cleaning one’s brass instrument.
Rapscallion [/ræp.ˈskæl.i.ən/ noun]: green onion that induces stream-of-consciousness chanting.
Raisin Bread [/ˈreɪ.z.ˌɪnˈbred/ noun]: what’s the matter with cousinbrother Raymond.
Saline [/ˈseɪ.lɪŋ/ verb]: what square-riggers do over the bounding main.
Scalawag [/ˈskæl.ɪ.wæɡ/ noun]: opera house humorist.
What, you wanted sense? Why’d you come here, then?
I Am Not Alone (Part 3 of a 3-part series)
Disclaimer: I’m no doctor, therapist, counselor, or genius. If this post about hope in the midst of depression and anxiety and related mental-health experiences is in any way true for you, know that it might be uncomfortable to read in the first place, but much more importantly, that reading it will not, cannot save you from your troubles. What you need is not a word of empathetic support from a fellow mortal with related experiences but genuine professional help, just as it’s what I needed first. Come back and visit me if and when you’re ready. If you don’t have any such problems, hurray for you! And read on anyway, because you might be able to help another person if you know better how she or he is living. Everyone’s truth matters, even when we don’t agree with or share it.
I’ve said it before, and I’ll shout it again and again from the rooftops: ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ ASK FOR THE HELP YOU NEED! ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥
When you’re feeling strong enough to do it, fellow struggler, I want you to ask for, and find, the help you need. A friend wrote me after reading the previous two parts of this post series, quite rightly asking: “As someone foreign to what you describe here, I’m wondering whether you’ve ever found it beneficial for two people who are both despondent to work together. Can the shared despondency do some good, like two negatives making a positive?” My short answer (strictly my opinion, of course) is, Yes and No. Feeling alone in sorrow is, ironically, almost universal, but the feeling ignores the reality. Being reminded we’re ‘all in it together’ can help. Mutuality of support and dependence can be useful, but only if genuinely committed on both sides to the wellness and well-being of self and other, and only in partnership with those qualified to help. Wallowing and giving up hope together is no better than doing so alone. Find the counseling, student resources center or person at your school, workplace, or community services center, and get in contact. Do a little research to find out what’s affordable or free, and accredited, in your area. Make an appointment, and be sure to tell the person with whom you make the appointment that your need is anxiety and depression related and therefore time sensitive.
Stand up for yourself enough to insist on getting the help you need. I was really, really lucky that the counseling center my doctor sent me to visit had trained ‘triage’ telephone operators who could determine how urgent it was that we patients get in and guaranteed an appointment within a week or even 24 hours, depending on the situation. We all know that for anyone who is suicidal, only genuine emergency care will do: a suicide prevention hotline, phoning 911 [the American universal emergency phone number], or heading to the hospital is essential. But knowing that the assessing operators at my local mental health center were trained to spot the differences gave me a little needed comfort and the strength to wait 24 hours more.
Meeting with this counselor won’t be an instant solution for you, though, honestly, getting through the first step of making the contact was for me by far the hardest, bravest thing I ever did, so everything after that seemed progressively easier! I cried and sniffled and howled through the phone call, through the days (weeks) leading up to the appointment, through the drive to the appointment—wondering if I could go through with it, though I’m delighted, if that’s the right word, that I was too afraid and embarrassed to cancel and inconvenience the stranger I was going to see—and I wept through the majority of the first appointment, too, even though I had little that I believed was so urgently, impressively scary or important-seeming to say or do. That’s the nature of the beast, isn’t it. I think it’s useful, when you decide you’re in need of help, regardless of feeling ready or courageous enough to seek it, to have a few little strategies for taking the starting steps. A checklist, if you will, can make the attempt at something so large ever so slightly less daunting. From my own perspective I can offer some possible options.
Think of others. The world shrinks incredibly when one is depressed and anxious. It’s all I can do, in the midst of it, to consider that I’m not the lone creature in the entire miserable universe. But realizing that my misery spreads invisibly to others, like any kind of infection, helped me, albeit incrementally, to decide I had to make a change somehow. I could at least drag myself to strive toward health for others’ sake when I couldn’t muster it for my own sake. The one ‘trick’ that still helps me the most often is one I suggest you try even before you manage to go out and get professional help: Focus your energy, however infinitesimal it may seem, on doing whatever itty-bitty-teensy-weensy thing you can do to help someone else through a struggle. I wrote about this technique that my mom taught me in a previous blog post, and it still regularly saves my shaky hold on sanity in stressful situations where I’m not actually alone, especially at social events, which are big stressors for me. Give it a shot a couple of times, and give yourself permission to ‘play the part’ of somebody cool and confident (at least cool enough to admit to a stranger that you totally lack confidence) and you’ll be amazed, almost invariably, how much it can help you. I’ve managed to get through events crowded with intimidatingly high-powered, celebrated politicians, artists, and social giants, in countries where I spoke little or none of the local language, by doing this. I’ve also learned along the way that many of the aforementioned intimidatingly powerful persons turn out to be just as needy and insecure as I am, merely better disguised!
Build a DIY support network. It’s a network only if you think of it going out as well as flowing in: you’re not only asking for help but offering it, and though you don’t believe you have enough resources for your own puny self, working to give some to others will show you better what you can do. It’ll be a hard slog, since so many depressives, like me, also fight social anxiety, and either (let alone both) can make it mighty hard to openly discuss deeply personal things like our mental health. Doesn’t even sound possible, does it? But it is. Dare to test the theory; you already know that you’ve got nothing to lose.
Commit to wellness. Sit down with at least one supportive person, preferably a loved and trusted one if you have any such thing. A fellow struggler, a professional, even a total stranger whom you deem trustworthy, might offer support, and that can be useful, too. Find one, or make one. Say to your supporters how much it means to have them on your side and that you will do whatever you’re capable of doing to help each other go through this process, knowing that you’ll all fall down on the job but you will not quit trying, because you owe it to each other as much as to yourself. You might not believe that fully yet, but I promise you it’s true. Even those who think themselves insignificant and invisible aren’t; what affects them for worse or better affects all of the lives around them similarly. If you can’t seek health and happiness for your own sake, try to do it with the idea that you can aim to improve the lives of those around you by being happier, healthier, and better able to assist them through their own difficulties. Imagine your improved health and well-being first as a fantastic, romantic ideal, then as a remote possibility, and then as a goal, and you’ll have a better shot at accomplishing this amazing thing than you might guess.
Take a first step. Make the first appointment you need, even if you don’t yet know how deeply you do, with the mental health counselor or resource person. GO. If this is someone who can see you and your supportive companion together, it might make it easier for you to approach at least the first meeting if you’re there to encourage each other. The first session or two will likely be little more than figuring out your current state of being and understanding your “baseline” in any case. Be bold, and assume that you will be helped by this process, even though it might not seem so at all times, and persist doggedly. Fight for your life. Ask your professional helpers straightaway: Please tell me about all of the FREE resources you can share with me [us], refer or recommend for my needs, so I won’t have the added anxiety and depression of finding something that helps, only to be denied it for financial reasons thereafter.
Commit to continuity. Follow up, whether it’s with this same person/center, or someone/where else that’s recommended. Do your homework. A counselor should be teaching you how to assess your own situation and what you can do to have a positive effect on it, whether it’s through making lists, keeping a simple journal (your blog or diary will certainly qualify, in many instances), doing some reading, learning to meditate, doing a small amount of exercise, adjusting your diet, listening to music, or something else entirely. Do the work. It might be laborious or even painful, but every bit you get through will be something you can cross off your list of struggles.
Reward yourself with your healthiest and most affordable pleasures every single time you feel you’ve made one atom’s-worth of progress. Don’t worry about falling down on the job again tomorrow, because you will. Know that when you’ve rewarded yourself with an honest “hey, I didn’t think I could manage that until now, but I DID IT!!!!” followed, perhaps, by doing the Snoopy Dance or wallowing in an hour of reading from that really trashy, sappy book that always makes you feel like hugging the universe a little, you will be more inclined to get back up and do the work again as soon as you’re able. Keep hunting for your Happy Place among your matrix of matrices. [Have I just coined a phrase?]
If all else fails, take the time to look at your reflection in a window or mirror on occasion and practice smiling ever more genuinely and convincingly, while saying to yourself in your silliest Stuart Smalley impression: “Kathryn Sparks thinks I’m cool. And she’s really amazing, so who am I to argue with her?” Because I really do know how tough it is to be one’s best self and I truly admire all who manage to do the hard work it can take to move in that direction in difficult times.
You do matter. Your well-being matters. Your relationships with fine people (me, for example) matter. Peace and joy to all of us.
♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥
Art-Colored Glasses 