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Recovery

I am taking the sunshine cure in Dallas. Idle hours were whiled away yesterday, basking in the sunshine and dry air, twirling in my mothers hanging chaise. It was probably the best thing my sinuses have experienced yet this year, as I have continued to battle the dregs of the sinus crud that ended 2016 and forced me to bed for the beginning of 2017.

Alas this respite will be short-lived; hopefully it will be enough to get us over the hump, my sinuses and I, as we will be back in the cold and damp tomorrow. We've been functioning fairly well except for the aforementioned residual congestion that just doesn't completely clear up. But perhaps not as well as I've claimed, since I've taken to thinking of my sinuses as an evil twin I must tolerate begrudgingly at that, an evil twin who keeps me from doing what I want to do. There were further setbacks this weekend, although whether this was due to over-activity or the return of seeping dampness remains undetermined.

The overdoing is my own fault, not that I am complaining. I wouldn't undo a moment.

Friday night was symphony night, and it was Friday night that my congestion began to return. In this case I do blame the weather, as the air had turned markedly damp in the late afternoon. But the concert was a delight. The concert opened with Sarka, the third segment of Bedrich Smetana's Ma Vlast, which was delightfully performed, and which was followed by a gorgeous rendition of Sibelius' Violin Concerto in D Minor, performed by violinist Bella Hristova. The performance was a delight of precision and cooperation, of fresh and confident phrasing, and gentle storytelling which carried the audience away.

I was however so congested at the intermission I considered going home, although I did not. I am glad that I stayed for the performance of Dvorak's Symphony No. 6 in D Major which was beautifully and lushly performed, with excellent balance between the woodwinds and the strings and rousing finale, which of course roused the audience as well. It was a lovely performance of this, the least performed of Dvorak's final 4 symphonies. It was not my favorite rendition, as I realize that I tend to lump performances of this work into two "camps", the lush, almost sonorous camp and the light and sparkling camp. You might not be surprised to learn that my preference is for the latter, not that I would turn down the opportunity to hear this symphony, regardless of interpretation. . Or perhaps this was simply the congestion speaking, and the way it lulled my body into somnolence when it yearned for a little gentle ebullience. Either way I am happy I stayed.

Saturday the Davis and Fehrenbach clan trekked off to Johnson City to see the Harlem Globetrotters. It was a wonderful, if exhausting day, and we played tag with the Globetrotters bus at least part of the way back to Knoxville, which seemed to be almost as much of a thrill to a 10-year old as the game itself. Oh yes, some part of me does remember those days.

Sunday concluded with a feast of my brother's fabulous ribs. Really, every time I come to Dallas I wonder why I eat barbecue anywhere else, as his is the best I've had anywhere, at least as far as I can recall. Then I remember. I live in Tennessee. Oh well.

Have a great week.

January 24, 2017
First Books, 2017

I seem to go in cycles with books; I read a lot, then I don't read much, then I read a lot again. I tend to say it helps that I am a relatively fast reader, except that sometimes it doesn't help at all. I'm not good at slow reading, something I alluded to in my end-of-year book post as concerns the novel My Brilliant Friend, a book I recently reread and finished, and not surprisingly, loved. But at this point, having started and stopped it more than once it feels more like an old friend rather than something new, and I don't feel particularly inclined to write about the book. Perhaps I will regret that later, perhaps not. I can say that reading it, even reading it in multiple attempts has affected my reading of other books, the associations I make and the connections I fabricate in my own inner narrative. But then again that is what we all do, part of the process of the stories we tell ourselves in order to survive our own lives. Something either affects the narrative or it is cast aside, although sometimes things we think we cast aside come back to haunt us.

My Brilliant Friend was only one of the five books I read in the first half of January. Of the three novels, it was probably technically the best, but each one has its own merits, and each one has played its own part in my own mental narrative, so that I can't quite distance myself enough yet to pick favorites. You know of course, that sometimes our favorite books are not necessarily the best books. Or maybe that is only a distinction that only affects those of us who are overeducated and prone to overthinking. I shall be one of the first to raise my hand.

The two other books pictured above, Cynthia Crysdale's Transformed Lives and Mark McIntosh's Mysteries of Faith, are books that are part of the EFM curriculum. I am in my fourth year, the year focused on theology, and the program is a good forum for one to review source materials, history, culture, and, in the process of speaking with others, form a clear and coherent personal statement of faith and belief. I am not one to say what that faith or belief should necessarily entail, as each journey is a personal one, even as I acknowledge that the EFM curriculum is based in the Christian tradition.

Anyway back to the books. The class as a whole just finished Crysdale, and I enjoyed it very much. I think the McIntosh is the better book, at least from my perspective, except that I am not technically supposed to have finished it yet, and therefore cannot comment further. I still have several weeks of discussion centered around this book ahead of me, but I think that I personally am much better off having read it of a piece, and referring back, much the same way I wished I had done the same thing with the Ferrante read-a-long, than I would be dragging this book out over months. I have simply come to accept that I find stringing small books out over weeks or months to be more stressful than just reading through them. I may be in the minority, given the popularity of adult education classes that spend months on books, just like this tome by McIntosh. So be it. There must be a few of us in any crowd. For a while I wondered how I got through college, until I remembered that I went to the kind of college where I read a book a week for each class, often a thousand or more pages per week, and thought my life was pretty easy.

I do have to say that Mysteries of Faith book has been instrumental in cementing my own awareness of my thoughts on the meaning of life, on purpose, on God, and why we are all here, not so much because of what the author says, and I do sometimes think he becomes overwhelmingly circular in his arguments, but because of the way the author has started a conversation that has led me to think and question and formulate my own questions and answers. And I suppose that this is what the study of theology, at least from a lay position, is all about. To quote a previous book, "we are all theologians", we all form our own stories and meanings and sense of purpose in life, no matter the framework we use to define that purpose. And if we live in the United States, much of that cultural baggage has been framed by Judaism and Christianity whether we personally adhere to those beliefs or not. You can't really know where you stand unless you know where you are, and perhaps how you came to be here in the first place. Perhaps it is time to take a stand toward openness and acceptance. Of course you can't take such a position if you are mired in quicksand. You have to build your own foundation, one that can bend in the winds without toppling over, one with roots that grow deep and strong, and then you can open your arms to the world.

January 19, 2017
Weekend Review: Doing Much, Doing Little, and a Wizard Redux

The past weekend was a busy one, and although most of the busyness, at least on my part, was of the driving or sitting and watching with rapt attention variety, it was still enough for me, as I continue to recover from whatever it was I had. I never had a fever, so I never had blood work, and don't know if I had the flue or anything serious; more likely just a series of unfortunate sinus infections and unfortunate setbacks caused by doing too much too soon. But it could have been worse, and given my own tendency to not go to the doctor, I'll never know. The hardest part now is admitting that, although I am no longer sick, I am still tired, and that it is ok to tell myself not to do things, especially when those are things I would really like to do even though I know there would be consequences.

But on to the weekend. Saturday was the first Winter Farmer's Market of 2017, and as you can see above, I managed to pick up some lovely vegetables. I had also arranged to pick up my meat CSA from Jem Farm and was ready, sturdy bag in tow. The timing proved to be most propitious as somehow the available cuts proved to be exactly what was needed for the meals I had been dreaming of cooking. And, having recovered enough to cook, and finding myself with an almost empty larder, much of that local goodness has already been put to use, becoming stock, and soup and a large pot of spaghetti sauce.

There wasn't much time for cooking on Saturday however. I actually squeezed my farmer's market trip in between my grandson's basketball game and his black belt test. After basketball, where Owen scored twice, I headed east toward downtown to the farmer's market, shopped as efficiently as possible and headed home with my loot, only to head way out west to the tae kwon do studio for the test. Owen did fabulously well, and it was fun to watch and admire the focused young man he is becoming, and think about how far he has progressed since I would take him to TKD lessons 2 years ago..

After the test, we all headed out for a late and well deserved lunch. I had planned on going to the 4:05 showing of Fences, and since it was nearly 3 by the time we finished lunch and headed off on our separate ways, I thought I would stay in town. Luckily I had a book with me.

Or perhaps not so lucky after all, as I ended up not going to the movie. One of the books I am currently reading is Ronald C. White's biography of US Grant, American Ulysses, and it was the book I had with me that afternoon. Perhaps it was not the best choice. I love the book and am finding it fascinating, but on Saturday afternoon I started reading about the battle of Shiloh, and I got so involved in the reading, and the memories reading about the battle evoked, memories of going to the Shiloh battlefield site, of walking those fields, one of the most haunted and holy places I have ever been. In the end, although I was aware of the time, I couldn't go to the movie. Instead I went home and took a long walk with Tikka, and settled for a lovely dinner of salmon, bok choy and oyster mushrooms accompanied by more reading.

Sunday was another busy day, more running around, a couple of social gatherings and my grandson's school play. Once again I managed to take a walk, slightly less successfully this time, as the humidity was high, and the dampness in the air brought on a prolonged coughing fit which required me to sit back and rest for far longer than I would have liked.

I did make it to the play however, and had a fabulous time. I do think it was the best production I had seen yet, and the production and the set where charming and imaginative. Besides, how can anyone complain about seeing the Wizard of Oz twice, in two separate (and markedly different) productions in little over a week?

Owen really seemed to enjoy himself in the dual role of Professor Marvel/The Wizard, and it was a joy to watch him in the play. I admit I enjoyed my doting grandma role as well, snapping pictures like crazy, applauding and smiling constantly at all the perfect details.

Lucky, Lucky Me.

January 18, 2017
Five Things Friday

Let's see if I can eke out five things before the day is completely over. It is hard, given my general state of exhaustion and distraction of late.

1. Saturday night I went with friends to the Knoxville Symphony's Pops Concert, where we saw the movie The Wizard of Oz with live accompaniment   Despite that the fact that the resolution on the screen wasn't all that good, and the soundtrack as it was played in theater, with the original singing wasn't stellar either, the performance as a whole was fabulous. Well, the score is marvelous to begin with, and watching the movie while hearing the music being performed live was a stunning experience. I don't think I had ever seen The Wizard of Oz on a big screen, and although I saw it every year of my childhood, it had been many years since my last viewing.

I had forgotten how surreal and, at times, downright weird that movie is. Of course that is part of the key to its success, the way it appeals to universal themes and yet doesn't succumb to deeply to pat stereotypes. We can all learn a little something from the Wizard of Oz. It seems I am still learning. Of course children know this, know many things we adults have forgotten, know that home is safety and comfort and that the wild bright world "out there" is simultaneously vibrant and alluring, yet filled with dangers, with the overall too-muchness of it. Hence when Dorothy returns home, she learns that she can conquer her own fears, but she also returns to a black and white world. For a while I thought this was a bad thing, that the returned too world should be some half-way point on the color spectrum, but now I appreciate the security of it, of what we all long for, the security of home.

2. I've slept in my own bed for the last two nights, the first two nights this year! This means that I can actually, finally, breathe well enough that I am not spending the night propped up in a chair or recliner, and I cannot begin to explain what a huge difference this has made in terms of regaining a sense of normalcy. As a reward for sleeping, I even took a moderate walk today and it felt wonderful to be out and move, even if I did not manage as much activity as I otherwise would have preferred.

3. Wednesday I attended a chamber music concert, something that is generally much more in keeping with my musical inclinations. The highlight of the program was Bach's Concerto for Violin and Oboe, which was stunningly beautiful, not that the playing in the other pieces was a disappointment either. We heard Mozart's Quintet for Clarinet and Strings, and "Spring" from the Four Seasons. The Vivaldi was the weakest piece in the evening's performance, with the slightest hint of hesitancy and disconnect in the strings, probably corrected by the second performance on Thursday night. But the strings redeemed themselves in the later two pieces, especially in the conversational intimacy and playfulness Gordon Tsai and Gabrield Lefkowitz brought to the Mozart.

4. I have finally gotten back to reading the first of Elena Ferrante's Neapolitan Novels, My Brilliant Friend, and I am thoroughly enjoying it. Of course I enjoyed it when I started before, but I struggled because I had wanted to read it as part of a read-a-long and the pace was too slow and the whole thing felt pressured to me. This was about me, not the other readers. I tend to be a fast reader, and I also tend, when reading something I need to discuss, to be at my best when I can read something once-through before going back to look at it more critically. However I did not do that, and then my time and my attention was too fragmented. I am happy to be finally be fully engaged in the book and I am looking forward to finishing it and reading the other books in the series.

5. And although I have actually more or less had a normal, not too busy day today, and I have walked, and read and run errands and on a few small projects around the house, it seems I am still a trifle scatterbrained. I picked up some salmon for dinner, and some black cod as well, but then I got distracted by another project, patching a small hole in the wall left behind when I removed a large picture from the wall when I put up some interesting sculptural tin flowers I purchased in Arkansas. Alas by the time I got everything done, including a trip to the hardware store, it was too late in the afternoon on this cloudy day to get a decent picture in the sunroom, a room that is at its best in morning light.

It was also apparently too late for my salmon. I had planned on baking it with some Thai Sweet Chile sauce, which I had made before the great sinus plague, but I forgot that I needed to marinate the salmon with the chile sauce for at least 2 hours.   By the time I figured this out I was ready to eat. Luckily I had some fresh bratwurst in the fridge, and some homemade sauerkraut, so a successful dinner was not a problem. The salmon can sit in its marinade up for up to 24 hours, so I'm ready for tomorrow's dinner. The cod is bathing in a concoction of pretty much equal parts mirin, sake, and white miso.  My experience with this technique is that the cod is at its best between 48 hours (2 days) and 5 days, and so I am looking forward to have something to come home to after the MLK day activities on Monday..

Hope you are all having a wonderful weekend, and I hope to be back into a routine soon enough.

January 13, 2017
The Book Post

At the bottom of this post is the list of books I read in the second half of 2016. I am still on the fence as to whether or not there is any use to these posts, but I am doing one anyway. I didn't do a book list at the beginning of 2016 since I keep the list elsewhere, but I did a mid year post so I feel I must continue what I started. I didn't read some of the books I intended to read, but then I read others, and I can't say I am dissatisfied with my reading list. It simply is what it is.

Perhaps what interests me more is what books have stuck in my mind, or some variation on the "best books" theme. I did write such a post last year, called defining books. This year I'm opting for a variation on that theme, or a list of those books read in 2016 that are still actively in my head, or referencing my thoughts this January of 2017. They may or may not be the books that I remember a year from now, who can say. But at this moment, these are the books that exert the greatest influence on my thoughts and how I view the world and my role within that world.

I'll start by admitting that two of the best books I read last year were books I reread, in fact, books that have been read and reread multiple times, books which I find enlightening with every reading.

Of the new-to-me books, two were not literary in any sense, although one of them was written by one of my favorite novelists. The other was a book I read for EFM, a book that continues to echo in my thoughts, although in completely different ways and for different reasons.

As for fiction, Hanya Yanagihara's A Little Life was by far and away, and by every measure, the best novel I read last year. It is a novel that will remain with me a long time, and a novel that I will reread, although perhaps not in the near future. It stands so far above the other novels in my mind that I can't even list it with the next runner up, although that view may change in time.

My second novel is Nathan Hill's The Nix. I wouldn't put in the same class as A Little Life, but it still plagues my thoughts. I haven't decided if it is in my mind simply because it is so smart and funny and such a perfect send up of so much of modern American Culture, because I just finished it in December, although other excellent books were read in December with less long-term repercussions, or if it actually has staying power. I think it is brash, and terribly daring, and also hits home in many ways, but the author takes the easy way out in the end, as do we all if given the choice. It is too fresh in my mind for me to make a rational judgement. The other book shown below, Marie Ponsot's volume of collected poems, Springing, evokes feelings that are in many ways the opposite of my reaction to The Nix. I found the poems often quiet and contemplative, but sometimes brash, often disturbing and calming simultaneously. I can't say that the poems themselves occupy the same kind of front-and-center space as the thoughts evoked by the novel, and yet they remain, floating as if in a gentle undercurrent buoying my thoughts.

And here, finally, is the second half of my annual book list (including one book actually read in the first half of the year, but inexplicably left off the list)

23. Phillip Wylie, The Disappearance.

24. Ruth Rendell, Not In The Flesh.

25. Fredrica Harris Thompsett, We Are Theologians.

26. Elie Wiesel, Night.

27. Leonard Nimoy, I Am Spock.

28. Linda Przybyszewski, The Lost Art of Dress.

29. Sue Miller, The Good Mother.

30. Catherine Whitmire, Plain Living.

31. Zora O'Neill, All Strangers are Kin.

32. Dave Isay, Listening is an Act of Love.

33. Robert Shaw, The Man in the Glass Booth.

34. Elena Ferrante, The Days of Abandonment.

35. Flynn Berry, Under the Harrow.

36. J.D. Vance, Hillbilly Elegy.

37. Hanya Yanagihara, A Little Life.

38. Helen Simonson, The Summer Before the War.

39. Alan Furst, Kingdom of Shadows.

40. Ann Patchett, The Patron Saint of Liars.

41. Marie Ponsot, Springing, New and Selected Poems.

42. Tamara McKinley, Lands Beyond the Sea.

43. Tamara McKinley, A Kingdom for the Brave.

44. Eimear McBride, A Girl is a Half-Formed Thing.

45. Tamara McKinley, Legacy.

46. Thomas Keneally, Napoleon's Last Island.

47. David Ford, Theology: A Very Short Introduction.

48. Michael Connelly, The Brass Verdict.

49. Francine Prose, Mr. Monkey.

50. Wendy Mogel, The Blessings of a Skinned Knee.

51. Louise Penny, A Great Reckoning.

52. John Grisham, The Whistler.

53. Tana French, The Trespasser.

54. Jodi Picoult, Small Great Things.

55. Nathan Hill, The Nix.

56. Haruki Murakami, Absolutely on Music: Conversations.

57. Cynthia Coe, Runaway Kitty. *

58. Roger Horowitz, Kosher USA. *

579 Matthew Carr, The Devils of Cardona.

* this post was updated on 1/9 to show two books I did read in 2016 but forgot to list. I suppose that says something about how memorable I found the books, although they were both interesting. I did not run an update on the Goodreads summary shown at the top of this post, listing 57 rather than 59 books.

January 7, 2017
A New Year

Welcome to my desk this January morning!

The coffee mug was a Christmas gift, chosen for me by my 10-year old grandson, and hence precious. I've been using it daily, thinking of him and the marvelous time he is having in Tucson visiting his Aunt and Uncle, and his Great-Aunt, my sister-in-law, with his family. I was supposed to be there as well, but instead I am here, still congested, racked with intermittent coughing fits, and generally slow and plodding in my demeanor. On the plus side, my voice sounds almost like my own again, and I was thrilled to hear the glowing reports of his visit from my grandson on our phone call last night. That is what it is all about after all: family, togetherness, good times, joy. I don't actually have to be there to appreciate the goodness of the experience.

I spent a good part of last year being rocked about in what I tend to call "the shallows". It was a time in which I did in fact feel somewhat unsettled and buffeted about. This was not due to doing too much or too little, although at times both doing and not doing provided diversions from the real task at hand. Beginning in mid June, I lost touch with that deeper spiritual and emotional center, and although I realized that I had lost my mooring, I struggled with how to reattach it. I knew the trigger, but I didn't know the answer. The truth was that I was looking for the answer in all the wrong places. I can't say that I was actually depressed, as I was active and engaged, but I was floundering, and that deep inner center of calm, focus, and intentionality was lacking.

Usually trips through the shallows mean that there is some deeply held assumption about myself or the world that needs to be relinquished, some belief about myself, some default setting perhaps, that is no longer functioning and needs to be jettisoned to the world. What makes it difficult, and indeed what makes the shallows the shallows, is that it is a rocky process, filled with bumps and hidden eddies, and usually the very thing that needs to be abandoned is so well hidden that it takes considerable knocking about before it shows itself as the critical piece.

Sometimes in December I found myself heading into the deep waters again and shortly after reconnecting with that sense of well-being, some changes began to fall in place. They are still evolving, and will be evolving over the course of this year, to be revealed in time. If you are still with me after my absence and my various inconsistencies, I thank you and I hope you will continue to join me on the journey.

January 3, 2017
Wishing you the Merriest of Holidays.

Merry Christmas and Happy Hanukkah!

This advent season has seemed to me to be a time of recalibration, and I have decided to try navigating the season of darkness and light without overthinking and simply allowing myself to go with the flow.

I, and my many words, will return in 2017.

December 24, 2016
A Few Bright Spots in the December Garden

We had over 5 inches of rain at my house the last two days of November. It has rained since, and heavily yesterday, but I don't have rainfall information, as I rely on my neighbor down the street for the specifics, but I do know that the direct Knoxville area received between 3 and 6 inches of rain the last two days of November, which is a good start considering the extreme drought we have been experiencing. I know it is nothing like the 5-year drought that ended recently where my mom lives in Texas, or California droughts, but Tennessee is not an area familiar with drought and it has been a rather shocking experience.

The good news, from my immediate perspective is that the drain I put in the back of the yard in the late summer worked well during the downpours, both last week and yesterday, and the back half of my lawn and flower beds are no longer a swamp. This is a good thing. The hill behind my house also held. It could use some more attractive vegetation but I am happy as long as it is not washing down into my yard. There is an area that is still washing out, but as it is common area, the HOA is collecting proposals on how to address that particular problem. For the first time since moving here, I do not have a sea of mud following a major rain, and I am able to enjoy the patio and walkway. Well, I will be able to enjoy it once it gets a little warmer and I remove some wet leaves.

The garden has not completely gone dormant either. There are a few small blooms here and there, an occasional rose in the side yard, although the knockout roses in the front may be done for the season, and the camellias are blooming steadily now. I also, surprisingly, got a second batch of habaneros and another batch of jam was promptly dispatched. There are more habanero peppers on the plant, and despite a few nights in the 20s the plant is still going strong. I however, may be done with summer fruits and ready to put out holiday decorations.

December 8, 2016
Three Decembers: A Journey

Saturday evening I attended a performance of Jake Heggie's Three Decembers produced by Opera Fayetteville. Although I have heard of Heggie, I am familiar with his work in name only. I have not been to any performances or sought out any recordings, and I intentionally went into this performance blind. I must say that although I cannot say the work is beautiful, the performance was powerful and touching. There is an easy lyricism to the music, and it was beautifully sung and acted. The performance perfectly captured the sadness of the characters and the frustrations and loss of this family, bound up in their own stories, and unable to express their love for each other.

Three Decembers is based on Terrence McNally's play Some Christmas Letters with some inspiration from Ibsen as well. The set was minimalist, befitting an opera that revolves primarily around the interior world of the three characters: famous actress Madeline Mitchell, and her two grown children. Set as a series of letters and interactions between the children and their mother, the story is really about the often tenuous nature of relationships and the way the stories we build around ourselves define us and enslave us. In the opera we hear and feel the yearning of the characters, but also their bitterness and we feel the constraints of the walls they build around themselves, walls they are unable to cross. When some of those walls are shattered, they must rebuild, but they don't necessarily cross through the rubble to the other side.

Opera Fayetteville is a young opera company in Fayetteville Arkansas with a two-fold focus: on providing performance opportunities for young opera singers in the early stages of their careers, and performing contemporary operas in English. I am happy to learn about this organization, and I was happy to have attended a performance. I am sure there are other interesting companies doing interesting work across the country, but this is where I happened to be.

Yes, I went to Arkansas. I went to Arkansas to hear an opera I knew nothing about, in a production by an company I also knew nothing about. And I had a marvelous time. I went on a lark. I heard about the opera because George's first cousin twice-removed, Jacob Scharfman was performing in the role of Charlie. I went because I like contemporary opera. I went because I've always been interested in going places to see and hear new things. I went because I had a free weekend. I went because, although I don't know Jacob well, his late father was someone I counted as a close friend in our youth, and although our lives had drifted, I still wanted to support Jacob in this endeavor.

I went, and I didn't tell Jacob I was going. Partly this was just because I've been struggling through the shallows in the last 5 or 6 months, and am only just beginning to find my way back into the deep waters. Partly this was because I was distracted and I forgot until it was too late, the timing was too close. This was precisely because I don't know Jacob well, and I would only be there in the middle of production when the would be working, and I did not want to impose a sense of obligation, a sense that something extra was needed to meet with some distant relative through marriage that he didn't even know. Maybe this was the right choice, maybe it was wrong; I simply don't know.

I do know that Jacob is a good actor as well as an excellent singer. I do know that the audience felt the raw power of emotion when his character, Charlie, was cradling one of the shirts belonging to Burt, his partner, who had recently died of AIDS. I recalled that same feeling, known to all who have suffered a profound loss, of doing the same with George's sweatshirt. It brought tears to my eyes, and not only mine. But I also saw a young Jacob, only a senior in college when his father died almost four years ago, loss and pain etched on his face. It takes talent and guts to channel that pain and turn it into art.

Perhaps that was a bit voyeuristic, that hidden knowledge. But it was a joy to see this young man shine, to see this moving story told by three marvelous young talents. It was good to simply be there, to see and hear this performance, to see good work being done by good people in diverse places. It was good.

December 6, 2016
A Concert of American Music

Two weeks ago I attended the November concert of the Knoxville Symphony Orchestra.   It was the second concert conducted by our new music director, Aram Demirjian, and my second concert of the season as I had missed in October due to travel plans. Generally, I was impressed with this performance and attending the concert made for a lovely evening. Demirjian and the orchestra seem to be growing into each other and the evening's performance was for the most part smooth with a good sense flow and pacing. It was a happy and satisfying evening, and although there were perhaps a few places where I disagreed with the interpretation of the music, I felt the performance was perfectly suited to this time and this place, and was able to relax and let my more intellectual neurons be lulled by happy sounds.

The concert opened with Charles Ives' "Variations on America", which is often whimsical, sometimes sarcastic, sometimes angry, and definitely the work of a brash young man with all of that combination of bitterness, hope, innocence and joy that is the purview of our teenage selves.   It was a fun piece and I enjoyed the performance although I felt that some of the snarkier bits had been muffled, but that is not such a bad thing, and the lighthearted music reminded me at least that we all too often take ourselves far too seriously. In short it was a good introduction to an evening of American music.

The Ives was followed by William Grant Still's Symphony #1 (Afro-American Symphony). It is a beautiful work, very American with its strong blues influences and jazz rhythms, and it was also very texturally interesting and engaging. It is at times rather cinematic, and this from a listener who generally is not fond of the majority of composers who fuse cinematic with classical elements. Most of these pieces simply sound shallow and boring to me, but this could not really be said of anything I have heard by Ives, and not by the Still piece as well.

In the second half of the concert we heard Jeff Midkiff's Mandolin Concerto: From the Blue Ridge. I had been fortunate to attend a luncheon at which Midkiff and his wife were guests of honor and enjoyed speaking with them as well as hearing Aram Demirjian's thoughts on the programming, which he also repeated at the concert. And the mandolin concert was a very easy to listen to piece, filled with familiar bluegrass inspired and "Appalachian" sounds but it wasn't at dynamic and interesting as the previous two pieces. Midkiff plays an American mandolin, which is shallower and although wonderful in bluegrass music, has a flatter sound than its older historical cousins. I suppose I could wish that the Midkiff was less a clichéd piece of Appalachian-inspired music, and although lovely, it seemed out of place among the other three pieces performed in the concert, all of which were more complexly interesting, and none of which succumbed to expected platitudes. That said, it was enjoyable, and the piece received a standing ovation.

I believe the generous applause was primarily due to the music's familiarity and therefore high comfort level. It has been my observation that the biggest applause at many a symphony performance seems to routinely awarded to those pieces that are, to my mind, the least deserving in terms of their merits in terms of music and performance, and yet are the pieces dearest to the audience's heart.  I have learned to accept this, although some inner part of me still clenches, thinking of one of the worst Beethoven performances I have ever heard, conducted by our former music director, which was rewarded with ovations and cheering and foot stamping galore. I recognized, after talking to other members of the cheering audience, that most had relaxed into easy familiarity with a favorite piece, and this too is an important aspect of performance and audience building. It is something I have done myself, especially in my youth, before George ruined me, and taught me to pay more attention. But I have increasingly learned to lock my more analytical intellectual side in a closet when listening to a concert in order to simply enjoy the time and the experience. She still gets out, and I cannot silence my inner critic, but at the same time, I also accept that an excess of criticism does nothing to aide in pure and simple enjoyment of life. Increasingly, stepping back, and allowing enjoyment rule, seems more rewarding.

The final work of that Friday, two weeks ago, was the orchestral suite from Aaron Copeland's ballet, "Appalachian Spring". In keeping with the rest of the program, Demirjian emphasized this sense of stereotypical Americana and "Appalachian" spirit, which I frankly do not see as the dominant theme in this work, which is incredibly complex. I enjoyed the performance nonetheless and I also recognize that it was the right performance in the right place and at the right time, less than two weeks after an election that has polarized many.   Besides I recognize that a symphony needs its audience, and a symphony that played exclusively to my taste might be hard pressed to survive.   I could listen to music as I think it should be performed in the sanctuary of my own home, on excellent recordings, but I would lose the frisson of live performance and I continue to enjoy and learn and grow from each performance I attend. Life locked up in a stuffy tower, living in one's own head, is no one's path to wisdom or humanity.

December 3, 2016