The Music!

The music, ah yes. There was my re-entry into 1958 and my re-entry into now.

Music had become a large part of my life. I married a violinist, my daughter took up violin and is now a professional violinist in LA. That's Los Angeles, not Louisiana. I sang in many choirs and choruses; I sang in Scotland, in Carnegie Hall, at Davies Symphony Hall in San Francisco, in Grace Cathedral. And then the Crash. This is hard to write.

In my 70th year, my husband left me. I was devastated, immobilized, changed, hospitalized, therapized, for two and a half years. One of the things he took with him was music. It became impossible for me to listen to any kind of music at all; waiting rooms were a torture, the few concerts I tried to go to set me back on my heels for days. I tried to continue with the local community chorus, but could not.

While I was actively singing, before the Crash, I was struck at my college days' stupor that didn't tell me that I could sing with the chorus. I often wondered if the stream of my life would have taken a different course had I done that. (I've often wondered what course the stream of my life has taken!)

Around came the 45th reunion, and I promised to go, stay with my old roommate, Karen, and sing in the Memorial Choir. This was before the Crash, but clearly, I was already in bad enough shape that I backed out - skulked out - shortly before the reunion. Maybe it was money; maybe it was ill health; maybe it was the unperceived state of my marriage; I can't recall. The thought just came into my head that maybe I was, in those late days of my marriage, waiting for my husband to love me before I did anything.

This year, I struggled out of my despair, and called Karen and promised her again that I would go. I took the leap of sending in the five hundred dollars or so to reserve my place. I answered Jamie's call for the chorus, got the music, didn't look at it. Didn't print it out. Certainly didn't practice. Two days before I was to leave for the east coast, I was talking to mentors about perhaps not going. Some said that I didn't have to; others said that I did have to. Up to me now.

Somehow, I packed, left my dog and cat and house in good hands, and got on the airplane.

I think this is a place to stop, until tomorrow, where you'll find me in the basement of Mem Church.

Memorial Church; memorial choir; memories.