Last Full Day in New York

This was it, the final last day in New York.  I went for a run before the incredible heat and humidity hit, or at least before it got worse.  I ran through Riverside Park, past the field where I've done Tae Kwon Do, and to the beautiful garden that I've loved seeing so many times in the morning

And went home and again, packing, packing, cleaning, organizing and packing.   And then we decided to go to Andrew's favorite restaurant, Cafe China, via a long walk through Morningside and Central Parks.  From 118th on the Upper West Side, to 37th East of Fifth Avenue.  We saw hot birds panting, people lying in the shade and in the sun, every living thing was as quiet and still as possible, save for a few children that hadn't yet learned to be miserable when it's so hot.

We exited Central Park and walked along Fifth Avenue, seeing all the window displays, and soaking in the gusts of air conditioning from opened doors as we walked by.

And then finally Cafe China, for a nice lunch.  We walked over to Times Square to catch MTA home.  Various errands here and there, but managed to catch the last light of the sun setting over the Hudson River.  Our last sunset in New York.

Final Gig (They All Saw a Cat)

This morning was my final gig in New York, and my last hugs to some of my favorite students that came to see it.  It was also goodbye to some of my colleagues and friends.  And now we have a horizon of packing and loading and driving, and new, new, new.  Soon I will have to return Manhattan......

Breathing Away

I woke up this morning with a new kind of realization about the coming move, that it means not only leaving behind people, but also this city.  I don't take advantage of all the walks and museums, and parks that I could, but knowing that they are there is a somehow comforting.  A person could be thinking in any language, something unrepeatable happening at any moment in any square inch of the city.  It's condensed living, potent and powerful and often overbearing.  And to be able to step away from it, ever so slightly, allows the breath it needs to become wonderful and humane.  Would it be possible to have both?

Rehearsals and Boxes

I happened to be on the same train as my friend and fellow musician this morning and after meeting on the other side of the turn style, we went up the 66th St. subway stairs together.  After walking half a block, a young voice got our attention, asking us if we went to Juilliard.  No, my friend had, but we were headed to a rehearsal a block away.  But that was enough.  Her mother an orchestra teacher from Georgia, asked if her daughter could have a picture with us.  She had beautiful red hair, and apparently plays the accordion and piano, and maybe sings.  They were looking for an opera singer next, probably a bit harder to identify unless you have the right nose for those things.....

Across the street we entered the LDS Church on 65th St and made our way upstairs for our exciting rehearsal.  The flute player has been smuggling coffee in for these morning rehearsals.  We admire her self-assuredness, something unbreakable, neither capable of injury or sanctity, but unapologetically and transparently offering.

Rehearsal for 2.5 hours, cleaning things, understanding more of the piece and the people playing it, bringing greater clarity to the new work based on a beautiful children's book.   And following that, a creative composition that will be created by the audience at the performance.

Strawberries, a walk to the edge of Central Park with a Brooklyn friend that I don't get to see enough (because it takes 1-2 hours to get to Brooklyn), and then a return home to pack and email potential participants in the next chapter of life.  The boxes are piling up, the cabinets are opening, the closets are spilling out, the book shelves are becoming more vacant and lonely.

Goodbye to Westport

Another last day, this one in Westport.  Although it was an ending, today was a novel teaching experience for me, one that I hope will dovetail into the next chapter of my life.

And afterwards I visited the home of a wonderful student and family, was treated to freshly cut mango, and enjoyed a long lesson with her on scales.  I spoke with her mother about Indian cooking, and how much I've loved working with her and her daughter.

And then the sunset on the train ride home, which I only glimpsed as I crammed in score study for a piece that I'm rehearsing tomorrow.  It's been a good few days of score study for the sake of teaching and playing.

Tomorrow, my final final lessons.

Late June

After the last two moves being overseas, this is going to be a piece of cake.  We finally started today, a week away from departure.  We could have easily put it off for a few more days.

More pressing are the things I need to be doing to be ready for the week.  The lesson plans for Dalcroze-inspired classes, the score study for a friend's new composition, and then another piece that I haven't even cracked yet.  It will all happen, and all of it is very exciting.  It's an exciting week to be alive.

And despite the planning and packing that needs to be done, I couldn't turn down an invitation to join Andrew for an evening run along the river and through Riverside Park.  What a beautiful time this is.

Walking in Small Towns

I'm in the beautiful old German town of Bethlehem, PA for a 3-day Suzuki workshop.  After dinner this evening, I went for a walk on the brick sidewalks, in the untamed green coming up through the cracks and over the fences, guarding the centuries old buildings.  I walked through Lexinginton, KY my first home away from home, and I walked through Madison, WI, my second and slightly more distant one.  I remembered the expansiveness of finally living in a different city, the curiosity of finding all its nooks and crannies and quirks.  And how quiet it was.  

Walking felt like stepping out of a cocoon that had been holding me in place and molding me.  Freedom maybe, but discomfort, too.  Without the constraints of a city and millions of people, what's to keep me from drifting away in a place like this?  When I moved to those smaller towns 10 years ago, I was happily drifting, and happy to be taken away on some new adventure.  And now, for some reason, I have this adult idea that I should be building something, and I'm busying myself with searching for the materials.

 I'm curious to make a move to a place similar from my past, and yet for the time that I've covered, now very different.  I walked to the edge of a park, found the local library, ventured to peak at the Japanese Serenity Garden.  Perhaps that curiosity is still there, just a little stretching needed in a bigger space.