The Riddle of the Sphinx

"What goes on four feet in the morning, two feet at noon, and three feet in the evening?"

So just when I should be leaping out the door in that teacher’s “School out!” exultation, I spent the entire day in my house yesterday. Some of my avenues for re-charging and maintaining my energy closed with big roadblocks, but luckily, I could still play piano— and did for some five hours. I could still sit and write and started to make a list of the top 100 jazz tunes. I could still lie down and read— and finished Ben Sidran’s thorough, engaging and informative book on the role of Jews in American popular music. I could watch Fred and Ginger in “The Gay Divorcee” and think about making those little doll puppets for the kids next year (see the opening scene).

But just when I had hoped for time to bike and hike and exhale into the beginning of summer, the riddle of the Sphinx knocked on my door. For those who don’t know, here's the answer: It’s a person who crawls as a baby, walks as an adult and uses a cane as an elder.

And so here I am with my pulled muscle hobbling around with a cane and it’s not a good feeling. Only two weeks max, the doctor says, but a sense of coming attractions when my world will start shrinking and I will proceed so slowly, limping from one thing to the next.

But as I said last entry, small problem in the face of all that could have happened— and

by the way, is anyone else noticing this epidemic of school shootings? According to the recent news, 74 since Sandy Hook. Shouldn't we be paying attention to this?

Last day of meetings today, report cards still ahead, one week before heading off to Ghana.

Hopefully, with the cane left at home.

Good News/ Bad News

The good news is that the Staff beat the 8^th grade in the annual end-of-year basketball game.

The bad news is that I injured myself in the first quarter.

The good news is that I didn’t tear my Achilles tendon.

The bad news is that I pulled my calf muscle and am hobbling around with a cane.

The good news is that I have ten days to heal before going to Ghana.

The bad news is that my rare free week in San Francisco (finished school today!) will be spent lying around with ice, Advil and an elevated leg.

The good news is that occasionally I can be large enough to be grateful that it’s not worse and to put my tiny problems in a wider perspective that amplifies that gratitude.

The bad news is that I haven’t been able to do that yet.

To be continued.

Fish Story

What did we do before videos on phones and Youtube? Our instinct to capture and share life’s surprising and memorable moments would have to go the artistic route, distilled in language or painted images or organized sounds or choreographed dances or film. But to witness an extraordinary moment and grab it on the spot simply wasn’t an option— we could only hold it in our memory.

Well, today was my fish story about the one that got away. Believe me, I anticipated it would have been worthy of film and did my best to arrange it. But it was hard enough to talk to all the teachers, kids and parents involved, arrange the transportation and the car seats, get the emergency release forms and execute the plan with an injury sustained one hour earlier in the staff-8^th grade basketball game. My friend who has been showing up everywhere all Spring to film the music program couldn’t get away. It was the last day of school and everyone else was busy. I did bring my camera, but knew I’d be playing piano and someone else would have to film. But I’m ahead of myself here.

The short story is that last Friday I sang some twenty “happy songs” from the Great American Songbook with my nonagenarian friends at the Jewish Home for the Aged. When I told them that I was teaching these songs to preschool and elementary kids, they were both impressed and a bit dubious. So I decided that even if it was the last day of school and absolutely insane to throw one more thing into the mix, that I would invite four particularly animated girls—two five-year olds and two eight-year olds—to come and sing for a half an hour. And so I did.

When we arrived, only Fran was in place, so I called the girls over and said, “Let’s warm-up and go over the songs while the others are coming.” We sang one or two songs and then sure enough, some ten other residents came wheeling over. So we started again with Five Foot Two with two of the girls doing the motions they created. 94 –year old Cyril came over and joined in, the girls on either side of him in his wheelchair, and I quickly handed my camera to Fran to start filming.

And that was the one that got away. Cyril’s animated face, great singing and motions picked up from the girls were a wonder to behold. Simply one of the most joyful moments I have ever witnessed. The girls went on to sing Ja Da, Mares Eat Oats, When You’re Smilin’, High Hopes, Skinnamarink, Side by Side, The Sunnyside of the Street— and then continued with ­She’ll Be Comin’ ‘Round the Mountain, all with motions and with every resident smiling ear to ear. By now, it was time to get back. When I told the girls, one of the 5-year olds said in dismay, “But I thought we were just warming up!”

I got them back in time for the last day of school closing ceremonies and when I had a moment, took a peek at Fran’s video. It lasted for 20 seconds and then my memory had run out. On the camera, that is. The image in my mind is forever.

Zen Oatmeal

Every morning, I do two things the same:

1.     Put a cup of boiling water over a half cup of fine-cut oatmeal and cover it with a ceramic lid.

2.     Sit cross-legged in Zen meditation for 20 minutes.

Today, the oatmeal sat while I did. And it seemed like the same thing was happening. The hot water was seeping into the flakes, enlarging them, becoming part of them and making them into food for the body. Meanwhile, following my breath, I could feel World enter and enlarge me, become part of me and make food for the Soul. Both processes took about 20 minutes. After eating my Soul food, I sat down to a refreshing bowl of oatmeal, all ready to go. Two for one!

It’s a nice way to start the day. 

Classic Rap

Standing in line at Amoeba Records, I saw a category “Classic Rap?” Really? Rap is already “classic?” Well, why not. In the dizzying pace of change, some 40 years since rap and hip-hop began to brew in the South Bronx probably qualifies as classic.

About that rate of change. By the time I write this sentence, a job, a technology and or a kind of store (including Amoeba Records?) may become obsolete. We’ve never seen anything like it in the long history of the human experiment and have no idea how to navigate it. When being swept down the roaring rapids of rapid change, I imagine four choices:

1)    Give into it. Just let the mainstream sweep you away and take you wherever it will. Which will mostly be to sensation addiction, expensive upgrades, hyperspeed nervous system and pure surface with little substance.

2)    Cling to a rock. The rise in Fundamentalism and return to archaic, narrow, dogmatic thinking is epidemic and that desperate reach for some kind of security at any cost, is attractive to some.

3)    Get out of the water. Move to a remote part of the world. But hey, I’m sure they have wireless Internet there and cell phone service.

4)    Discover, maintain or create a series of eddies off to the side to rest from the rapids. Places where old practices that feed life and happiness still can thrive, be it Zen meditation, gardening, storytelling, family or neighborhood singing, walking in the woods— without your portable devices.

I needn’t say which one I would recommend. But if you’re going to choose number 1, at least listen to some classic rap!