Month: August 2016

1

For anybody who knows what I write about, they know I studied classical music at the age of seven. I was always very sensitive to moods, states of mind, and I responded quickly to new experiences. When I learned to play the piano I was given Bach, Beethoven, and Mozart to study but, to be honest, I was also given these composers to worship. The piano and the playing of it became spiritual. As I’ve heard before, once you learn to read music you never forget how to do it. So as an adult I started playing again as if no time had elapsed. I will write about one piece by Bach called Prelude in C Major. There is no piece of music like this one. It was included in a story I wrote. The more you listen, the more you play it, the more you find. It is difficult and easy at the same time; it takes you on a “magic carpet ride”–which will be dealt with later! It’s a magic carpet ride into your self.

Rhapsody in Blue by George Gershwin, along with the Prelude, is my favorite piece. It’s short, intensive, way too complicated for me to play. It’s written for an orchestra but has within it a piano piece. The New York Philharmonic played it with Leonard Bernstein conducting and playing the piano portion at the same time. I saw this on television when I was ten years old. Woody Allen used it in the first scenes of his movie “Manhattan.” I’m not absolutely sure if it was that movie or another one. But it was a beautiful thing to see.

2

When Elvis Presley reached his peak of his popularity I wasn’t actually a teenager yet. I didn’t respond to him at all; I was aware, though, of his being on the Ed Sullivan show and the goings-on regarding his “suggestive body movements.” I just didn’t respond to what he had to offer. However, as an adult, for some reason I got a CD of all of his #1 hits. As I listened to this I was shocked and amazed in a good way. It’s true that, upon listening, he actually did bring a lot from his southern upbringing to us in the north. A first in music, no mistake about it. In his singing he sometimes sang with a sob or cry in his voice. I think in the past I viewed him as a kind of clown-like figure…all the girls screaming, the adults protesting. A circus act. But I was wrong. What a voice, and what a technique he had for putting the precise mood and feelings into the songs. “In The Ghetto” is one of my favorites of his; also “Kentucky Rain” plus “It’s Now Or Never.” There was nothing sexier than Elvis–on fire, demanding, pleading that “his love won’t wait.” I read a quote from Bob Dylan re: Elvis–“Listening to him was like breakin’ outta jail.”

As much as I love to write about the beautiful place where I live, I was beginning to bore myself. There’s just so much green stuff you can exclaim about. I was going to write about some of the people I’ve met here but I stopped. I’ve grown to love many of my neighbors but you can’t argue with your stomach. Enough is enough.

I’ve been sitting here and listening to the Dave Mason version of “Will You Love Me Tomorrow?” By Carol King and Geoffrey Geffen. Hope I spelled that right.

Anyway, that version of the song is so hypnotic; it makes me lean back and close my eyes and dream. What child of the sixties doesn’t love all that fantastic stuff we were free to listen to? So this series, I think, will be long. There’s so much I remember, so many thoughts connected to those songs. I could go on forever.

Before I begin on describing the music of my teenage years (and later) and how it made me feel, because I’m a patriot and I love my country–I want to mention our national anthem and other patriotic songs. I love playing them on the piano and singing while I play. And relating to that, there’s the dynamic scene in “Casablanca” at Rick’s where the Nazis are singing and playing their song; then Paul Henreid, the super-hero/super-underground spy who survived Nazi cruelty tells the orchestra to play the French national anthem. Their music finally overcomes the Nazi’s music and all the French dedicate themselves to their own country. I read someplace that everybody cries during that scene, even when they’ve seen this movie ten times. I know I cry then but I used to be embarrassed about it.

So what am I saying? Music can stand for anything and everything, can make people cry, long for a lost love, give comfort. There’s a song by Elton John–“Mona Lisas and Madhatters”–that is sad and sweet and honest. I had to spend a lot of money to get the CD but it was worth it. (I’m a CD person.) It’s pretty obvious that the song describes some kind of trip to New York City and the people there were mean to Elton in some way. So he turned his pain or disillusion into a lovely song. I never get tired of listening to it. There’s a mandolin played in it, also. But just one artist could extend itself for pages. Also–I’ve never told anybody this but I also get emotional listening to “Crocodile Rock.” Why? One line: “I never knew me a better time and I guess I never will.” Unfortunately the reason for my liking this line has to stay private. But there’s so much more…

Signs From The Other World 2

As everybody who talks to me these days knows–the word “indigenous” is my favorite word. The concept sits in my heart, soul, and mind; it came to be there while watching the Nazi-bulldozers downstate. I watched everything that grew naturally torn and the earth–yes, raped. All that concrete, all those bricks, the stuff they use to make driveways and little roads–covering up what nature put there and–what came to haunt me–IT WOULD NEVER COME BACK!!! People wouldn’t be able to meet as a group and say: “We want the tiger lilies and the violets and the milkweed to come back. We want to bulldoze all the bright new houses down and go back to the way it was.” It was real death; and all done for money. I still cry and get choked up, thinking about it. I’m just grateful that we exited when we did so we could see what the earth really looks like. Of course there are towns and people and grocery stores; there’s even a college right in the middle of Bloomsburg. However, those places are quite tiny compared to the wide, wide stretches of meadows, mountains, and fields and sky.

The interesting part of this is that I was never what people call a “tree-hugger.” I’ve always gone my own way kind of quietly, not protesting the status quo. But what was actually happening was this–I know that if there was a way to effectively protest what was going on around me, I’d be first in line. But it wasn’t like that. I saw literally waves of evil overlapping where I was standing!! Like the Nazis who burned people and books. The word “holocaust” means “a burning.” Was I being actually burned? Of course not. But what made up the best part of me was in deep distress and lost in the cloud of evil.

Too dramatic? Slightly crazy? Nope. Just a 66 year old woman telling the truth.

Whenever I go anywhere I see signs of the other life, which isn’t actually true anymore; that life isn’t “other” anymore. It’s in me and I’m in it. What are these signs? Nobody, and I mean nobody, cares about their lawns being thick, velvety, and deep green. There aren’t any “lawn care” companies here, nor is there a business that will install a private swimming pool at your home. There’s a garden center where plants are sold and of course, not “indigenous” ones. But it’s a small company and only runs on a part time basis.

And all along the smaller roads, the roads that extend from Bloomsburg in every direction, there’s a feast of green, growing things, what people I think would call weeds except they’re not “weeds.” They have a right to be here. There’s a certain plant that I had never seen before, and it grows all around here. It’s so strange-looking that it fascinated me and I looked it up in one of our field guides. This plant is called “mullein.” There’s a base of leaves and a large, thick stalk rises from that base. This stalk is covered with buds which bloom into bright yellow flowers. I read that ancient women used this plant for many medical needs. It can be dried, roasted, and used to treat infections, colds, headaches, and more. It has never seriously occurred to me to try doing this; however, the thought crosses my mind. Also, I think in terms of stories and I have this idea to write a story about women, living in primitive times, and fantasizing in terms of what their lives were like–and how they had this mullein plant as the center of their culture. We now have five or six of them growing here now.

What else is growing here? I have a friend who comes here and loves to take rides along the back roads while identifying masses of plants. I can’t keep up with her so I just sit and listen and look.

You don’t move here for the economy–even before the recession there were few jobs here; you don’t move here to have a glamorous social life; this really makes me laugh. You don’t move here for the food, and here’s another family joke. I like to say that our leftovers are better than any food served around here in diners, etc. But we still go out to eat and relax, as long as we accept that all bread here is terrible.

Signs From The Other World 3

A final anecdote. Right before my mother became ill and couldn’t travel on her own, she took the train from Pittsburgh to Harrisburg and we met the train and brought her here. It’s a long ride to Harrisburg except that it isn’t very far once you’ve been here for a while. Always a nature lover, she really got the essence of the place, why we love it, and what it is doing for us. No explanations were necessary. I took her on long drives so she could see what I love and she “grokked” it.

A funny thing happened. I was driving along the road that divides our neighbors’ farm in half. That’s where the cows and the bulls are kept. My mother went into raptures: “Oh, just look, cows and animals are living right here, right by your house…” So I pulled up to the fence and a bull came right up to us as my mother was bubbling over with joy. The bull, keeping eye contact with us, began to paw the ground. I knew two things: 1) the wire fences really were not put there to keep the bulls forcefully in, they were just flimsy wires and these fences convinced the animals that they were not welcome to leave; 2) a bull pawing the ground and standing inches from us meant trouble. So I drove away quickly.

My mother wrote me a letter after returning to Pittsburgh. She was full of enthusiasm for our home, the breath-taking views, lack of “civilization.” She thanked me over and over for having her as our guest. However, here’s the important part. Decades went by when my mother and I were totally at war or on uneasy terms. Didn’t get much praise but I went my own way and I have no complaints. But in this letter my mother apologized for not seeing my strengths and denigrating me. This was partly due to the fact that I showed her the house where I lived by myself with my poor cat, working and creating a situation that allowed us to get the mortgage. How many people get letters like that from their parents?

You see?? This place is full of–whatever you want to say…good vibes, finding a source of strength? It is everything.