I don’t have much on my mind this morning besides trying to get to class on time. As usual I’m not sure which studio I am assigned. But I do know the teacher (or think I do). I will easily figure it out once I get over there. As this week ends I feel that I have done the things I meant to get done. I spent Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday preparing for the first choir rehearsal of this season. I managed to get the Marimba part of my Pentecost suite ready and dropped it off to Rhonda yesterday. Last night I met Eileen at work and suggested we have a “date night,” something we haven’t done in a while. Checked on my Mom. Practiced organ and piano. Did some reading.
So it’s been a productive week. But I admit to feeling a bit disconnected from stuff. My view of life is filtered through my own little sense of what is important (people, music, thinking,ideas). This seems out of step with so much around me.
In my dream last night, I was playing in an ensemble. The piece I think we were preparing to record was in three movements. I was rehearsing with another keyboard player, younger than me. I couldn’t figure out where we were in the score. I wasn’t even sure I had the right score. The other player kept playing and smiling at me. When I looked closely at our music, it was actually laid out in pictures like a graphic novel. Then I saw mentions of my family in the score and I knew I was looking at the wrong music. The other player treated me with disdain. I remember thinking at this point that he saw me as a incompetent old man. And indeed I was confused in the dream. I kept asking him what page we were on. He never answered.
The difference between the dream and my morning mood is that I don’t mind that much if I’m not on other people’s page or radar.
It will probably be good for me to return to the ballet classroom, a place I find that I belong and am appreciated as much as any place.
It does seem to help me to spend time where what I am doing matters for the moment to the people around me. Plus a brisk walk in the winter morning will be reviving.
The title to this post is a quote from a William Berry Sabbath poem I was reading this morning. It fits my mood as well.