Another Day

And now I’m back to just another day. In spite of how we mark them—birthdays, graduations, weekends, whatever— that’s pretty much what it always is. Just another day. To be fortunate enough to wake up to it is reason enough to celebrate. 

 

Meanwhile, my birthday was just right. Breakfast at a traditional spot with my beyond-wonderful colleagues,  a walk through the town of Carmel and stroll down the beach. Back to the hotel to swim my 73 laps, my life before my eyes (in my imagination) in slow motion. Then finally the long-anticipated (by me only!) cornhole tournament! At one point, I got five in a row into the hole! (But still we lost one game). 

 

There was a lovely birthday canon sung to me at dinner by my Level III, a few sweet cards with kind words that help me feel I’m not a total failure as a human being and then on to watch this year’s “Sunday Night Movie” selection, The Summer of Soul.  A small audience as folks were busy finishing up weekend homework and those that weren’t wisely realized that their lives in this special place were more interesting than the movies. Which is almost true, but in this case, the movie is pretty extraordinary. I had already seen it, but it certainly is worth multiple viewings. 

 

Today has been an auspicious start to my 74^th year, teared up twice in my morning sessions, both times from the overflow of truth and beauty. It’s another perfect temperature (70’s) sunny day and part of my longs for the summer leisure to swim, sit and do a Crostic, find a piano and play. But alas, I’m behind on correcting the homework assignments and I can feel myself at their water’s edge, putting off the moment when I have to dive into the cold waters of “must do.” But once I’m in, I know I’ll warm up and enjoy it.

 

1-2-3—Splash!!!!

Onward!

2024. 2023. 2022. 2021. 2020. 2019……

 

These days when I’m filling out those drop-down forms to get to the year you’re born, 1951 is feeling really far away! And it is. In the SF School preschool, there was a suspended paper- mâché solar system hung from the ceiling with a big sun at the center. When a kid had a birthday— 3-4-5- or 6 years old— they walked around that sun their number of years. That would be quite a long trip for me these days!

 

It was quite a different world into which I was born. TV was in its infancy, with I Love Lucy and Dragnet some of its early shows. Audrey Hepburn made her film debut (Laughter in Paradise), The King and I opened on Broadway and Showboat premiered in movie theaters. The Census Bureau used UNIVAC, one of the first official computers, to help do its work. People back then used to write letters by hand and novels on typewriters. Men wore hats and smoked like chimneys, women were expected to stay in the home, the “Leave It to Beaver” suburbs began to define both American mythology and housing. Thelonius Monk released an album, Sonny Rollins began playing with Miles Davis, Rock and Roll had yet to burst on the scene. 

 

Notable people born my same year include Indian tabla player Zakir Hussein, First Lady Jill Biden, actor Michael Keaton, musician Sting, jazz musician Bill Frisell, author Bill Bryson. Santiago Calatrava, a Spanish architect and engineer, shares my exact birthday. Notable deaths that year include Sinclair Lewis, Andre Gide, Ludwig Wittgenstein, Arnold Schoenberg, 

 

The political world was its usual catastrophe, with the Chinese invading Tibet, the Korean War heating up, the execution of Julius and Ethel Rosenberg, a military coup in Bolivia, 4000 white people in Cicero, Illinois attacking an apartment building that housed a single black family. A couple in Sweden were fined for the obscene act of kissing in public. 

 

Like I said, a different time. In the 73 years that followed, no one could have predicted what would follow and who we would be now. But as Dickens spoke so eloquently, every time is the best of times and the worst of times. We have evolved in countless ways and backtracked to our worst selves in almost as many ways. With less excuses, as we should indeed know better by now. 

All I can do on the occasion of my birthday is remake my perpetual vows to bring as much love, joy, fun and good music to everyone I meet at the peak of my capacity, to continue to speak out against all the forces of evil that continue to plague us and hopefully, be blessed with the health and energy and determination to keep moving forward. Starting with today’s brunch with my comrades-in-arms, a cornhole tournament and perhaps a walk on the beach.

 

Onward!

 

73/73

 

Today is my last day of 72 years old. With great gratitude, let me report it has been a fine year. I’ve had the good fortune to continue to keep all the parts of myself I care about well-exercised and moving forward. Published my 10^th book, published another Orff book of essays by multiple authors, wrote another book that I sent out to publishers. Got to teach both kids and adults in some seven different countries, played for the elderly, performed at SF Jazz Center and in Grace Cathedral. Babies born in the families of two nephews, another nephew married, my daughter’s new (and delightful) boyfriend, a wonderful bike trip in Slovenia with my wife and friends, great visits with the grandkids  Of course, some difficult losses as well, especially in both my generation and the next generation up of Orff colleagues. 

 

A few health challenges with those three major incidents of extreme vertigo, a 10-day Covid, more aches and pains than I remember from previous years. It was the year I broke down and got hearing aids, though have held steady with my 2.5 reading glasses. However, quite pleased to report that I often walk 5 to 7 miles a day, can bike 20 or 30 without much effort, can swim 1200 strokes (yes, I count them). I can still sit in half-lotus posture during meditation, can still run if I have to catch a bus and can still perform a pretty hot Steppin’ body percussion routine. I can teach 6 hours a day for 7 days (or more) straight and feel energized by it rather than tired. 

 

I’ve loved visiting friends in distant places and re-connecting with some folks I hadn’t seen in ten or more years. Reading (and listening to) books remains a steady diet and I apparently haven’t run out of things to say on this Blog. My film ran on PBS (and still is available there) and inspired a few radio, podcast and TV interviews. 

 

Meanwhile, I realized that this last day of 72 is really the last day of 73 years on the planet —when you turn “1,” it means you’ve lived a full year. So tomorrow when I turn “73,” it’s not the beginning of my 73^rd year but my 74^th. 

However you look at it, it’s a lot of years. Tomorrow I’ll try my ritual swimming of 73 laps in the (luckily) small hotel swimming pool, trying to recall something about each year. Wish me luck!

Petitioning Together

And so we finished the first week of our Orff Course with our traditional “Thank God It’s Friday” canon. Dinner out in town and back to the campus to see the opening of the Olympics. Here we were, gathered in this magical spot in Carmel Valley in a course that over the years has hosted people from 44 countries, so it seemed fitting to peek in on this other larger gathering. 

 

But the price was high—10 minutes of cheering for the boats gliding down the Seine in alphabetical order or watching some Hollywood-glitzy choreographed dance/ music followed by 10 minutes of boring ads repeated each time. The 10/10 ratio was grueling, anti-musical, unsatisfying and ultimately boring. So to pick up the pace, I spontaneously invented a game in which I tried to predict which country would come next in the alphabet (no cheating on the phone!) and if I got it right, my new friend Mark had to take a sip of wine. Fellow teachers Sofia and Eloi got into the game and it was a good brain work-out to mentally scan the world’s countries and try to come up with the right answer. Which we did surprisingly well. 

 

Another game we could have played was to sing a song from each country represented. In just these five days of two 45-minute classes daily, my Level III alone has done music from the U.S., England, Germany, the Philippines, Bolivia, Finland, Ireland, Thailand, Bali, China, Ghana, Uganda, Slovenia, Hungary, Lithuania, Bulgaria, Serbia, Azerbaijan, Zimbabwe, Netherlands. (That unusual order represents the melodic/harmonic sequence we are following). Pretty impressive list for the music educators I hope we can be!

 

I finally gave up at the letter P—it was getting late and I just couldn’t stand to see the roofers commercial again. So much happier being in this small human-sized community of some 100 beautiful souls that in the big spectacle of thousands with the cameras rolling 24/7. But hoping that the unity of these extraordinary athletes who recognize their shared lives of intense training to go beyond any physical norm does its part to heal division. I hope they and the world remember that the root of the word “competition” is to “petition with,” to understand that in appearing to compete against each other, they’re spurring each other on to greater heights in service of the same gods that they are petitioning for blessing and success. 

 

Of course, all the public cares about is “Who won the most medals?!”, which is why I also prefer this community of teacher/artists. We also are petitioning the same gods of artistic expression married to love for teaching children, but nobody wins here by “beating another.” The only winning is emerging yet more fully from our chrysalis from our own efforts, of using the safe space to build the shell that can house our larger self, of throwing each other into the waters that gives us life and is our true home. (See the Lobster, Butterfly, Starfish Blog post).

 

And at the end of the first week, I’m happy to report that is exactly what we are doing. 

 

Traveling on the Wings of Song

Though I find it deeply disturbing that the left side of our national consciousness is refusing my unshakeable belief that we all belong to each other, nevertheless I persist. Why can an American play in a Balinese gamelan and a Japanese join a bluegrass group? Because we all have that inner gamelan and banjo player inside of us in potential form, alongside the Zen practitioner or Sufi poet or Slovenian basketball player and a thousand more potentials only awaiting the kiss of exposure to a person, place, book, film, recording, culture to awaken it. On that journey, it is worthy work to be aware of historical power imbalances, not as impediments, but as reminders to learn responsibly from our teachers and pay back any unearned privileges. I refuse the ”back to tribe” mentality that insists that you can only explore what your gender/ skin color/ country gave you as a starting point. 

 

And so in the past three days, I’ve been a tour guide with 27 lovely people from 10 different countries and diverse backgrounds traveling through Bavaria, Bolivia, Bali, Bulgaria, the Philippines, Thailand, China, Finland, Ireland, Slovenia, Serbia, Hungary, Ghana, Uganda, flown to each on the sonic vibrations of songs, of xylophones, metallophones, glockenspiels, recorders, voices, drums, bells and more. Each culture a shining beacon showing the extraordinary ingenuity of what human beings can do with the same 5, 6 or 7 notes. No one has complained or asked to see my official papers granting me the authority to lead this trip. 

 

If they did, I would simply share my life story and the names of all who generously shared their culture, music and dance with me and often expressed their delight that I would introduce it to children and other music teachers. When there’s a chance to invite them to teach with me or instead of me or there’s an opportunity to help arrange further work for them or pay them further for their work, I believe I’ve always chosen to do so. I’m always clear with the adult music teachers about what is patently obvious—that I’m not a “culture bearer” of each particular music, but I am the messenger who opens the doors first to kids and then to their music teachers and shows them a larger world then they ever imagined previously. While knowing enough about each style that we feel the power and beauty of the music and feel empowered that we can make such music at an elemental level.

 

Tomorrow it’s the Netherlands, Iceland, Azerbhaijan and Renaissance Western Europe. Wish you could join us!

 

 

 

The News In Here and Out There

Some days ago, when some 100 lovely souls gathered in a “Hidden Valley” to begin their work of healing a broken world, an astounding thing happened. A humble functioning adult let go of his personal wishes on behalf of the common good and genuine hope lit up the sky. It was like the finale of a 4^th of July fireworks celebrating the promise of a functioning democracy that was in danger of dying in the hands of a narcissistic psychopath supported by an alarming number of Stepford wives and husbands. And then someone else rose up who is more than a defense against our demise, but actually represents the greatest victory imaginable— a country finally ready to consider that a mixed-race woman is capable of leading us back to an America than never was and yet, can be. 

 

“Never underestimate the stupidity of the American people” has been the voice whispering in my ear for most of my adult life and with good reason. The very fact that an incoherent mean-spirited hate-mongering self-absorbed convicted felon who has already proven himself a disaster as a leader is even allowed to run for the highest office in the land is reason enough to wonder about our national soul. But the right thing happened in 2008, 20012 and 2020 and if we can awaken those astoundingly on the fence (really?), the numbers are on our side. “Our side” is not “we win” and “they lose,” but we all win because the possibility of further healing the deep wounds of racism, of misogyny, of purposeful ignorance, of unchecked greed, of environmental catastrophe, can make it onto the table as we gather to get to the real work ahead of us. The alternative is dystopia come off of the screen and the book’s pages into the very fabric of our lives. Too horrible to contemplate.

 

On the second day of our Orff course, today’s class plans on my mind, I’m aware I’m not doing justice to this theme. But hey, what happens here is my own contribution to personal and collective healing in the way I know best. 

For now, just nine deep bows to Mr. Joseph Biden, a man I’ve come to deeply admire and am now yet more grateful for. And a shout-out to Kamala Harris offering my full support to help turn the tide in her favor. May it be so!!!

  

The Lobster, Butterfly and Starfish

(My short opening talk at the beginning of our SF International Orff Course gathering.)

How do lobsters grow? The young lobster has a hard, rigid shell to protect it. As its soft body grows, the hard shell stays the same. So the lobster reaches a point of noticeable discomfort and finds a safe place to hide. There it sheds its shell and stays hidden until it grows a new one. After a time, the new one is too small for the growing body and it repeats the process—discomfort, retreating, shedding, growing a new shell.

 

So let us learn from the lobster. Feel the discomfort, don’t rush to mask it or ignore it or medicate it or fix it. Instead, find a safe haven to retreat to where you can shed the shell and start to grow the next one that fits your changing self. We hope this will be the place you can do that, in company with caring teachers and trusted friends. This can be the place to slough off the too-small covering, feel safe while the new one develops, away from the jeers and laughter and taunting of the cruel world. 

 

Then the butterfly. A compassionate person comes upon a butterfly struggling to break out of its chrysalis and thinking he’s performed a good Samaritan act, opens the casing to let the butterfly out. In so doing, he robs the butterfly of the struggle needed to gain the proper wing strength to fly and the butterfly cannot fly. We will help each other in all sorts of ways here, but we also have to leave space for each of us to struggle through the hard parts in our own way, with our own grit and determination. And there will be hard parts alongside the great fun and laughter. 

 

Now the starfish. A woman was walking down a beach filled with stranded starfish that had been washed up on the shore. Without water, she knew they would shrivel and die, so she began throwing them one by one back in the water. A man came from the other direction and asked her what she was doing and she explained the situation. “But don’t you know that there’s probably over a thousand stranded starfish on this beach? What you’re doing can’t possibly make any difference.”

 

She reached down, picked up a starfish, threw it in the sea and said, “It made a difference to that one.”

 

The lobster, the butterfly and the starfish.  Good reminders for us all.