Long-simmered Bolognese sauce
+
red wine
+
Jack Johnson's To the Sea at top volume
+
a vase of lavendar sweet peas to sniff
+
hugs from two delicious boys
+
pastels and watercolors and doodling
October 23
10 years ago
Saturday, June 5, 2010
Friday, June 4, 2010
Chasing Shadows
Health Update: I'm OK. Totally normal.
I just have big, dense boobs with shadows inside.
Details to follow, once my mind clears and my emotions steady.
Thank you, dear friends, for wishes, love, hope, prayers and thoughts.
You buoyed me.
I just have big, dense boobs with shadows inside.
Details to follow, once my mind clears and my emotions steady.
Thank you, dear friends, for wishes, love, hope, prayers and thoughts.
You buoyed me.
Thursday, June 3, 2010
A Story and a Metaphor?
When I was in 10th grade, in Miss Keck's Virginia and US A.P. History Class (It was Virginia, and Virginia came first, because that is how it is Virginia), I once hid my eyes during a movie about the holocaust. It was a grainy documentary of Germans dumping starved Jewish cadavers into giant holes and burying them in mass graves. The movie went on and on and on. It was 45 minutes of human suffering with a muffled and disturbing soundtrack. I put my head down on my desk. For me, it was too much to bear.
Ms. Keck, a.k.a. Sgt. Keck at Wakefield Highfield School, came and rapped me on the back of a head with a ruler. I was her star student. She loved me. She was angry.
"Pick up your head and watch," she said. "You cannot look away from the truth. You need to look at what happened. Do not avert your eyes."
Then she stood next to me in the dark and made sure my eyes were on the screen. She did not move from my side until the movie was over.
What was wrong with me that I could not watch? No one else had my problem. They could put their eyes on the screen. They could watch. They did not feel sick. Or at least they were strong enough to keep on watching. And the truth is I agree with her. You cannot avert your eyes from the ugliness of the world. It is your job as a human being to look it head on, so that you feel compelled to do something about it.
But I often think back to that moment. I wonder if she found some flaw in my character. I do not want to look at the ugliness of the world. I have worked hard to take jobs, to do work, to immerse myself in the world, to be aware of what is going on. To not hide from the world and insulate myself from the ugliness and tragedy of the human condition. And yet, there are times when I just have trouble picking up my head and facing it.
I want to hide. I want to be ignorant. I want to look the other way. I want to put my head back down on the desk and cover my ears and wait until the horror has passed.
Jane Smiley has a new novel out, and I have only read the book review. But the premise is intriguing. A woman witnesses a hanging as a child. She averts her eyes. That inability to look at the lynching head on leads to, and is representative of, a passivity that affects her whole life--her marriage, her family, everything. Because she will not look at what is, she is trapped in it, and cannot move.
I am trying to moe. To lift up my head and look. But I get so overwhelmed sometimes I cannot hold there.
When Natalie was sick she spent much of her illness in denial. When I saw her I could not be in denial. I saw her disintegrating. I held up my head. I was strong for her. Then I would get on the plane and projectile vomit on the way home. Sometimes I would take to bed from the effort of looking, and of acting. And yet, I knew I did right.
Now it is time to look at my own health. I feel sick. I have not slept in three nights. I cannot eat. When I open my eyes I imagine myself back in the MRI room with blood everywhere after my biopsy. I know I need to know the answer of whether I have cancer. To take the truth head on, to see clearly, so clearly that I must act.
But how hard it is for me. I find myself full of anger. Angry at the doctors, the machines, the health care system, my husband, my friends. But in the end I know my rage is at myself. It is a rage that I have to look at the truth. That I am being dragged to the edge of the abyss and I am scared shitless because I don't want to die. I know that I would rather know than not. I know that knowing will help me to live--if that is my truth. But a deep part of me wishes I could live in ignorance. I wish I could live in a place without tests, where I would grow sick and die, slowly, without living in a constant state of fear, and a promise that technology will provide answers, when for me, it seems not to.
I crave ignorance. I know it is wrong. But I am enraged that I must look at my mortality. I feel resentful and scared.
It is the right thing. It is the brave thing. It is the necessary thing, to know. But for me, it is just as hard as 10th grade.
Ms. Keck, a.k.a. Sgt. Keck at Wakefield Highfield School, came and rapped me on the back of a head with a ruler. I was her star student. She loved me. She was angry.
"Pick up your head and watch," she said. "You cannot look away from the truth. You need to look at what happened. Do not avert your eyes."
Then she stood next to me in the dark and made sure my eyes were on the screen. She did not move from my side until the movie was over.
What was wrong with me that I could not watch? No one else had my problem. They could put their eyes on the screen. They could watch. They did not feel sick. Or at least they were strong enough to keep on watching. And the truth is I agree with her. You cannot avert your eyes from the ugliness of the world. It is your job as a human being to look it head on, so that you feel compelled to do something about it.
But I often think back to that moment. I wonder if she found some flaw in my character. I do not want to look at the ugliness of the world. I have worked hard to take jobs, to do work, to immerse myself in the world, to be aware of what is going on. To not hide from the world and insulate myself from the ugliness and tragedy of the human condition. And yet, there are times when I just have trouble picking up my head and facing it.
I want to hide. I want to be ignorant. I want to look the other way. I want to put my head back down on the desk and cover my ears and wait until the horror has passed.
Jane Smiley has a new novel out, and I have only read the book review. But the premise is intriguing. A woman witnesses a hanging as a child. She averts her eyes. That inability to look at the lynching head on leads to, and is representative of, a passivity that affects her whole life--her marriage, her family, everything. Because she will not look at what is, she is trapped in it, and cannot move.
I am trying to moe. To lift up my head and look. But I get so overwhelmed sometimes I cannot hold there.
When Natalie was sick she spent much of her illness in denial. When I saw her I could not be in denial. I saw her disintegrating. I held up my head. I was strong for her. Then I would get on the plane and projectile vomit on the way home. Sometimes I would take to bed from the effort of looking, and of acting. And yet, I knew I did right.
Now it is time to look at my own health. I feel sick. I have not slept in three nights. I cannot eat. When I open my eyes I imagine myself back in the MRI room with blood everywhere after my biopsy. I know I need to know the answer of whether I have cancer. To take the truth head on, to see clearly, so clearly that I must act.
But how hard it is for me. I find myself full of anger. Angry at the doctors, the machines, the health care system, my husband, my friends. But in the end I know my rage is at myself. It is a rage that I have to look at the truth. That I am being dragged to the edge of the abyss and I am scared shitless because I don't want to die. I know that I would rather know than not. I know that knowing will help me to live--if that is my truth. But a deep part of me wishes I could live in ignorance. I wish I could live in a place without tests, where I would grow sick and die, slowly, without living in a constant state of fear, and a promise that technology will provide answers, when for me, it seems not to.
I crave ignorance. I know it is wrong. But I am enraged that I must look at my mortality. I feel resentful and scared.
It is the right thing. It is the brave thing. It is the necessary thing, to know. But for me, it is just as hard as 10th grade.
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
Das Walkyries
The best.
By night two the crowd was buzzing. Everywhere you stopped for a minute you could hear Wagnerian professors and musicologists comparing courses they teach and the best Ring cycle they have ever seen. A huge diagram of the Gods and the mortals and the half Gods and the Dwarfs sat on a stage on the second floor. Neophytes like us studied it between Acts. We were there for 5 hours.
I thought this: Wagner demands something of his audience that makes the whole experience more intense. He demands commitment, time, passion. Those of us there for the cycle have committed 18 hours of opera in 8 days. Crazy. It demands endurance, patience, and you are completely immersed in his music, his poetry, his myth. He takes over your mind.
It is hard to explain. But there is something about his deep dark chords that gets you on a level so deep it is hard to put into words. Wagner had special Bayreuth tubas made just to create his unique deep, dark sound. You can hear the characters in the music. You can hear the characters who are dark, the characters who are light, the characters who are evil, and the characters who are fighting, loving, and doomed. It makes you wonder: What would my leitmotif be?
But like an energy worker Wagner does get inside you. I believe he is shifting me in my darkest places. I cannot say it is completely pleasurable. But it is powerful, intense, and a once-in-a-lifetime experience.
Jonathan is already preparing for our second Ring cycle.
He texted me yesterday: "San Francisco, Summer 2011?"
Will we become like the crazy British gentleman? Jetting around the world to see the Ring?
Who knows? It is a transformative experience.
And the transformation is not yet complete. Back to Seigfried on Thursday, and Gotterdamerung on Sunday.
By night two the crowd was buzzing. Everywhere you stopped for a minute you could hear Wagnerian professors and musicologists comparing courses they teach and the best Ring cycle they have ever seen. A huge diagram of the Gods and the mortals and the half Gods and the Dwarfs sat on a stage on the second floor. Neophytes like us studied it between Acts. We were there for 5 hours.
I thought this: Wagner demands something of his audience that makes the whole experience more intense. He demands commitment, time, passion. Those of us there for the cycle have committed 18 hours of opera in 8 days. Crazy. It demands endurance, patience, and you are completely immersed in his music, his poetry, his myth. He takes over your mind.
It is hard to explain. But there is something about his deep dark chords that gets you on a level so deep it is hard to put into words. Wagner had special Bayreuth tubas made just to create his unique deep, dark sound. You can hear the characters in the music. You can hear the characters who are dark, the characters who are light, the characters who are evil, and the characters who are fighting, loving, and doomed. It makes you wonder: What would my leitmotif be?
But like an energy worker Wagner does get inside you. I believe he is shifting me in my darkest places. I cannot say it is completely pleasurable. But it is powerful, intense, and a once-in-a-lifetime experience.
Jonathan is already preparing for our second Ring cycle.
He texted me yesterday: "San Francisco, Summer 2011?"
Will we become like the crazy British gentleman? Jetting around the world to see the Ring?
Who knows? It is a transformative experience.
And the transformation is not yet complete. Back to Seigfried on Thursday, and Gotterdamerung on Sunday.
The Ring
This is a protest on the first night of The Ring in Los Angeles. The scraggly group--who could really sing-turned out to be a group of angry music teachers demanding to know why LA County spent $14 million on The Ring, but is cutting music teachers. In addition, they protested, Wagner was pro-Nazi and an Anti Semite.
By the end of the opera on the first night, I thought this was all part of the drama and emotion stirred up by Wagner. Love him or hate him, he touches people in deep, dark places.
Regarding the protesters--at first I thought, Hey, they are right. Music teachers are worth more than The Ring. But then I thought about every public school I know--at least at the elementary level--and they all have to raise their own money to pay teachers. Does anyone still have music teachers in this city? I thought they were cut long ago.
And I know the Nazis loved Wagner. But can an artist be blamed for the actions of evil people who love their work 80 years after their death? That seems a little unfair.
But the Ring itself. Why did we go?
I don't even know. I bought the tickets in a moment of extravagance. They are Jonathan's Christmas present--four nights of opera (18 hours) packed into 8 days. It is the first staging of the Ring ever in Los Angeles. I don't even know Wagner, and from what I heard, I thought I probably wouldn't. But I can never say NO to a once in a lifetime experience. This may never happen again.
Ringheads from all over the world flew in for the performance. Before we went in, while we were sipping cheap champagne from plastic glasses out in front of the Dorothy Chandler Pavillion in the sunshine, we met a guy who had flown in from England. This was his 20th Ring. He was giddy with excitement. (England rewards this kind of wacky eccentricity!)
Despite our promises to ourselves to enroll in online courses on Wagner and the Ring we had done no preparation except to read a very detailed synopsis from an old book on Opera that Jonathan had swiped from his grandfather's house after he died.
The British gentleman said The Ring was the greatest opera ever. a total experience. He said his first time did not affect him deeply. The second time left him hooked for life. Several years ago he was listening to the Flight of the Valkyries in his car and he drove into a wall. "It will be transformative," he promised us. "If you get lost, just follow the music."
The staging was magnificent, even from up in the nosebleed section where we were. (On the way down our four flights of stairs on the way out we saw a woman who really did get a nosebleed!)
It is hard to explain the power of the performance, which only grew stronger on night 2. It is not like opera in the traditional sense. It is not gorgeous harmonies or duets. I do not like the singing as much as Mozart or Puccini or Verdi. But the music of the orchestra, the power of the mythical story, the dark philosophical questions that are raised, they get you at your core and seep into you unbeknownst. The evil dancing dwarfs, the agonizing Gods, the guardian mermaids, they are all like a dream.
Jonathan and I both had strange dreams the night after the first performance. I likened it to a Jungian dream. It as if, with his music, Wagner unlocks our unconscious. He wiggles down into the murk and stirs you up in a way that just sneaks up on you. Weird.
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