Running the Flowers

The flowers this early morning at the garden at 93rd St. in Riverside Park were so miraculous.  I woke up early, way too early for the recoup in sleep that I had hoped to gain, but there they were, waiting.  Roses, irises, peonies, everything so beautiful and glorious on this cloudy day, with no competition.  This is one of the things I love in New York, one of those things that isn't in a tourist guide book, because its beauty extends beyond a few days, a week, or a month.  Every morning that I manage to visit it, it's different.  It's alive and changing, and so is the world around it.

A sense of wonder.  I ran around it once, and then in reverse, and then again, waiting for that sense to fade with all the many angles that a garden can exude.  Fading with multiple journeys around and around.

I'm grateful to have this beautiful, tangible thing to exhaust, even if only for a morning before it must be renewed.  If only there were some way to run laps around years, around people, around music and art, around thoughts that come and go.

Return to New York

And now suddenly back in rainy New York; as though the heat wave never happened, as though I skipped from one cool spring day to the next, no orange moon above a Midwestern city, no empty streets with lonely traffic lights, no gathering of souls to open one another, no dining al fresco with only bikers going by.

Back to this city, still in a haze of living within questions and not answers, of saying excuse me, of being happy despite sitting in the last row of the plane, in a window seat without a window, in a chair that cannot recline.  Where is my entitlement?  How did it dissipate in the flat wide streets of emptiness?  Shouldn't I be demanding something better?  Is it safe to let down my guard?

But here I am, for another month and change.  Piecing together wrapping up. Closing in on the concept of space, and otherwise.

Believing in Change

Regardless of the number of transitions that I experience--seasons, locations, circadian rhythms---I'm always amazed at how things can change so fully.  Being at this conference, meeting and re-meeting old colleagues, opening up new possibilities in the way we think about teaching, and importantly for me, the way that I think about my future, has been reaffirming.  Once again I realize that there are many ways to live, and that can be true across cultures and lives, but also within one life.  To teach is to believe that change is possible.  I'm not sure I can live deeply enough with that idea, for my students, or for myself.

Things of Beauty Everywhere

Back in the Midwest for a Suzuki conference.  Retaining walls, calm wide streets, green interspersed everywhere.  After a run this morning, I noticed more things, perhaps out of want for things to notice.  The puddles, the insignia on certain buildings, the way the walk signs count down in no notable manner, but just the way that they do.  It was an old familiar feeling, of seeing a boring world full of wonder.  Maybe it's something I inherited and love from my mother, who grew up in a small town in Ohio.  Things of beauty everywhere.

And it's something that I think is lacking in New York, but also what makes New York special and wonderful in itself.  Things are never incredible there.  People can do any number of things, look any number of ways, say, act, however they want, and no one will bat an eye.  There is history and beautiful buildings and parks everywhere.  There are celebrities and talented no names playing on the sidewalks for change.  Any night of the week has dozens of options for excellent entertainment, education, dining.  There is no superlative in New York.  It's all dazzling and radiant, and easy to have glazed eyes in the lights.

The Midwest is admittedly boring, but maybe it pulls something out of the beholder that makes it special in a way.  Well, we'll see....

Finding new teachers

It's been years since I've broken up with someone and had to experience the mix of retreat, of gently pushing off, of hoping for another's happiness, while at the same time selfishly wishing for my own.  How big is the bigger picture?  Or the biggest one?  

Sundays Fundays

I had so many fun interactions today.  It's just the way Sundays are.  From games that heighten students' sense of awareness, to "mouse horses,"  to giggles about all the things that have to be ready before starting, to "EXTREME FINGERTIPS!" to water and fish themes permeating Lightly Row, every child is a new adventure and game.  I love seeing kids get excited about music, being rewarded by playing a duet, motivated by music in  various different ways.  And they are learning and growing through it, too.  And so am I!  Sundays are fundays, and now that I've finally figured this out, they are over.

I guess I'll just gloat on this until I have to leave my next routine, only to newly discover its own hidden gems.

My friends, it has been wonderful.  So much love to you, I will see you all soon, again.

Saturday before Sunday

Scurrying through midtown on a drizzling day, dancing with the tourists at the base of the Empire State Building, getting sucked into a mediocre Japanese restaurant by a promoter with menus on the corner, and enjoying the sights and sounds and poetic ambiguity of the MTA.

Tomorrow is my last official Sunday of lessons, the day of the week that used to be such a burden and now has become the pinnacle of the week,  regardless of the energy it requires.   Luckily, endings are often not so black and white, and for most of these students, we will have meetings in the coming weeks.  More Goodbyes dodged for the time being.