Ecology

I mentioned in my last post that I'm reading The Sixth Extinction.  It's a book about the history of extinction and the many ways that humans are altering our planet and the effects on the other species with whom we share it.  Climate change is something that I am increasingly concerned about, so I appreciate this eye-opening look.  Part of that is getting closer to some of the species and their interdependencies that are being effected.  There is something very intimate about knowing the life of a particular ant, and the birds that follow in the wake of its destruction, and the butterflies that lay their eggs in the birds' droppings.  There are so many little worlds and lives going on that I have no knowledge of, so many realities in this one world, very different from my own day-to-day.  It speaks to an interconnectedness and a reason to patterns that might not have been present to the naked, or unreflecting, eye.  That one small thing may be the result of so much, or the impetus, or could be responsible for such change.  It's fascinating and beautiful and touching.  The world is going on around us, buzzing beyond immediate comprehension, spinning a texture for our backdrop.  It's wonderful to take it aside and see its magic a little more clearly.

And maybe because of this mindset, I discovered two new ecological systems of New York today.  Walking by Westside market as I'm sure I have now done hundreds of times, I finally figured out why people loiter around the entrance, crowding an already overcrowded space.  They are waiting for a bus.  They wake up, get ready for the day, and then walk to the bus stop.  And to avoid the cold and wind, they huddle inside the market.  Perhaps it took them a few times to figure out there was a place to be warm, but now this is a part of their system.  A small piece of my world, now better understood.

Later in the day, I took the train down to 14th St. and walked to Bethune St. to the Martha Graham school to take my first class in the city.  And I learned, or realized, that 10:50am classes on weekday mornings are likely not the ones that everyday people join, but rather are for the 20-year-olds at the school (I overheard one in the dressing room lamenting turning 22) or aspiring actors and dancers, looking for a class to help them audition and advance their professional career.  Dancers need classes the way I need my cello to practice in the mornings.  And this was it for them.  Luckily I had some experience and could roughly follow along, but this was not my school of fish.  I briefly got to live in the world of young girls on the cusp of forming a career in a demanding world, stressed and hard-working for it.

There are also many worlds in New York, like that of the ant/bird/butterfly, that I do not see.  Most of of them are invisible to me.  And many of them I realize I don't even look at, even turn away from.  There are so many people doing manual labor, delivering water jugs and groceries to homes, holding doors, taking care of other people's children, carting and lifting boxes of fruits/vegetables/anything, completing purchasing transactions, selling donuts in a little van, all for far less than I or many other people make.  Their lives are consumed by these actions, as well as the early morning commute to do them.  And there are the people that beg for money on the train, sometimes with a sign with pictures of their sons who they implore you to help them feed, or telling the story of a large tumor in their cheek, or the abusive relationship they are trying to bounce back from.  It is hard to face a reality in which we have little or no power to make a difference that seems meaningful.  But perhaps by trying to take a closer look, it becomes harder to turn away.  And perhaps that can awaken us to action.

Before the Turn

Admittedly, a challenging time of year.  Many people have been sick, myself included, and those that aren't, are probably trying to combat the forces encroaching upon them (germs and bad attitudes, both).  It leads to shorter, more pointed emails, to direct efficient movements, straight home straight to work.  Nothing can be spared, there are no flowers to tempt meandering.

But I'm also reading The Sixth Extinction and as barren as things seem in winter, the realization that life is so fragile makes the landscape even more dire.  We are so small in this world and in time.  This is, we are, unbelievably fleeting.  It makes me want to take in more breaths of cold air, to enjoy the winter, full of sorrow and struggle and longing for spring.

Valentine's in New York

1) from the man that works at/owns the street stand on 116th street.  Just as I was thinking about his departure from his perch to check on his gum and candy bar inventory, wondering if he does so every hour, or if perhaps he was leaving his little hut to grab a snack, he turned around and gave me a candy heart lollipop. 

2) from the two guys talking loud enough for me to hear at the Bryant Park subway station.  "Turn around, c'mon Carnegie, man she must feel good today, turn around!"  Guess I couldn't really hear them....

3) from one of my students, home made soap from her and her mother, beautifully wrapped

4) from another student, a Rice Krispies Treat that says, From Shamaya, who apparently gave it to his brother, who gave it to him, but he said he wanted me to have it.  

5) from another student, short bread cookies from Whole Foods market

6) from another student, a heart-shaped box of chocolates, a rose, and a Valentine's Day mini-heart balloon.

And on the subway, quite a few people carrying flowers, stuffed animals, Victoria's Secret bags, looking forward an evening ahead.  It's sweet to see New York be happy in the middle of February.  Never thought of this day as being much more than Hallmark, but I'll take it.  

Togetherness

It was so nice to hear my three group class students perform their minuets with unified articulations and beautiful intonation.  It's really special to be able to play with someone closely, it's a way of getting closer to them that cannot be done in normal relationships.  And it's really wonderful to have been able to work with these students to get them closer to understanding that, and to having the tools to do it so well.

Also wonderful is to see all the pictures from Saturday's recital, and to get follow-up emails from students, some of thanks, but also those seeking something more, questions about taking it to the next level.  It's a pleasure to do what I'm doing.

Shaping the Air

How does one teach, or learn love?  It seems to be the result of so many actions, words or non-words.  To teach love through playing the cello is to teach the elements that are the backbone of some feeling and faith.  Trust clings to itself.  How does one break that down for oneself or for another outside the realm of an art?  What is the substance of it?

Growing Musicians

Student recital and chamber music reading with some wonderful musicians.  One of the pieces that we read is one that I have known since early in my music studies.  How wonderful to no longer worry about coming in wrong, to have my mind fully engaged with the deeper meaning and emotion of the piece.  I remember the panic of trying to get the pulse right (is it in 2 or 4?) and then being faced with a series of rests and being unsure about when to start, or questioning if I was with the violinist or by myself.  So many little things to fret over, just to get in time and play the right notes, and in tune, and gracefully.  It takes so much to get to the point in music of being able to read and perform fluently.  To replace worrying and counting with listening and transforming.  After a day of helping others take steps toward this goal, it was nice to sink into it at the end of the day.

Today's performers

Stationary and Toys

I needed some origami paper and I wanted it within a 3-block radius of the 72nd St Trader Joe's.  New York is a magical place, so this wasn't a problem.  Less than 1 block away was a store called, of all things, Stationary and Toys.  Three tiny aisles of exactly those items and everything that falls in between, crammed floor to ceiling and hanging from above.