I went to the Hollywood Bowl tonight. I cannot imagine anything quite as magnificent as Mozart at the Hollywood Bowl. I cannot imagine being so lucky as being able to go to the Hollywood Bowl hear probably the most beautiful music ever penned and munch on Milano cookies and drink hot coffee during intermission.
Music leaves you with so much time to think. Adorno said that we have become too simple listeners of music. Pop music is something to be scorned and too simple classical music is abhorred. We just listen to it because some capitalist pig told us to. I am sure he would have disagreed with Mozart's music (since the music Adorno liked sounds like the entire orchestra decided to take a full hour to tune all of their instruments). I disagree with Adorno.
No, Mozart could never be considered simple in any sense of the word. The man wrote his 40th symphony, one of his more famous, and arguably his best symphony (according to the program) in two weeks. I cannot even finish a painting in two weeks. It is also said that he wrote at an outrageous speed and that each piece he wrote was usually his first and final draft. It's a pity he didn't even make it to the ripe old age of 35. What the man could have done!
His music is amazing and complex. There are so many layers you get lost in between the french horns and violins, to be fished out by the oboes and then led astray yet again by the flutes. I think I agree with Adorno in at least one way. I think I am too much softened by the simplicities of Pop. Perhaps I'm too soft even for the complexities of Mozart. I always get lost. Always. Then I start thinking about other stuff.
I thought about Los Angeles, our clean new town. We haven't really had enough time to get the old money look of the other big cities. We want to look new and fresh. I don't like it. We should try looking more old moneyesque, like Chicago.
I was thinking about Redeeming Love, yes the novel by Francine Rivers. And then as that soloist's fingers were racing up and down the piano faster than anyone should ever be able to play, I was thinking about Ruth. What a slut. Not really. She knew what she wanted and she knew how to get it. She uncovered Boaz's feet so he would wake up. How mean. I never thought about waking up someone that way. Just sort of... make 'em cold and then they'll eventually wake up. I hate waking up to cold feet, especially when I'm too tired to do anything about it, and my feel feel around for the rest of the blankets. Ruth probably would have gotten a kick in the face if I were in his place.
But that thought came out of thoughts of Julia/Julie. I was going to blog about that the other day. I find that it makes my life somehow more meaningful if I think about how it will sound in a blog. It's like provinding commentary on your own life. My aunt said I ate my Milanos too slow. I asked her if she were a voracious cookie eater, to which she replied that she is "just a voracious eater."She practically quoted Julia's "I think about eating all day" line. She's pretty thin. I always wonder how she does that.
Julia Child was a virgin until she married her husband. She was older than Mozart was when he died when she got married. I identify with her. God give me patience. I sometimes think that I am going to die alone.
Usually, October is my "contemplate life and death and be glad you're alive and not dead" month. (Since it is the month where we remember mortality and make a joke of the macabre.) I love October because of it. I think I'm going to have to reschedule it this month to August. It is the month of death for my family. My grandfather, grandmother, great aunt and as of this morning, first cousin once removed's deaths all occurred in the month of August. I wasn't that close to her, but my mother isn't taking it well. Also my brother was having heart troubles last night. Also one of our family friends' brand new baby daughter is having seizures. When it rains, it pours.
I was so glad, just to be sitting there in the strangely fall-like air, very happy to be breathing it. I am alive. I am well. I am not having seizures. I am not dying of cancer. I probably won't die of a heart attack. I am listening to the music of the greatest musical mind in history. I listened to Mozart's brain today, and hoped that angels play the violin.
My brother drove at 80 all the way home.
Friday, August 14, 2009
Saturday, August 8, 2009
Emotional Mess
I am currently an emotional mess. And it isn't how it sounds. I'm not having an emotional breakdown. It is just that my heart is so full of emotion I hardly know what to do with it. I suppose I am feeling pain for others. Ever do that? Where you feel like your heart was just ripped out and stomped on because someone else' heart was stuck in a blender and turned to pulp and you were helpless as you watched the switch pulled?
I just read about someone who went to my school. He graduated just a few years ago. He died swimming at a camp he was directing for high schoolers. I don't know this fellow, but he sounded like an amazing guy. I am not surprised when I see the posts on his Facebook wall all of them saying "well done, good and faithful servant" or "you will be missed. We will keep on the work of the Father." He did not know the day before he left for this camp he was going to die. He asks for prayer the day he left, and as far as I can discern by being a stalker on Facebook, the day he died.
I was watching one of these series my parents bought. My parents are really into these British series that take Victorian Era books and make them into movies. The series that we watched tonight were the "Cranford" Series from Elizabeth Glaskell books. (Imagine Jane Austen, but with much more depth.) There was change, life, death and marriages. I cannot tell you all the how that series spoke to me. It was heavy for such entertainment. I found myself crying more than once. Mostly, I think what I realized was that life is far too short for petty things.
I was walking outside today and had a practically near death experience. Actually, it wasn't near death at all. But it could have been (in my head it was.) I was going outside to find my cat. I couldn't find her, which is not unusual, my cat is a queer sort of soul who alternates between affection and aversion. I love her because she's an old grouch. I imagine myself as an old grouch sometimes. That has nothing to do with my story. I'll probably talk about my grouchy cat some other time. She's interesting enough.
Anyway, as I was outside I noticed that I had left the grill open and all the metal shish-kebab skewers outside along with the bowl and pyrex I used for carrying the meat outside. I picked them up and balanced the skewers on the pyrex to carry them in. One of the skewers slipped a little and I thought to myself, "Wouldn't it be horrible if it slipped or I dropped the pyrex and all of the skewers fell and I fell on top of them and one of them stabbed me and then no one came out and I died?" These scenarios go through my head sometimes. It was just a thought. It theoretically should not be possible. The skewers, while sharp, pointy and metal probably could kill someone with a direct hit to the chest, if I fell on top of them, while I probably would get cut by the glass from the pyrex, it is highly unlikely that I would fall on a skewer at the right angle in which to kill me.
It was a morbid, but sobering thought. There it was, the end of my life looming before me. I could have died by way of shish-kebab skewer. I am glad my last meal would have been a very delicious one if I do say so myself. I haven't accomplished nearly enough to have God say, "Well done, kiddo."
Here comes the part where I want to tear my heart out. I seem to attract depressed and suicidal people. Not to say that all of my friends are depressed and suicidal, just a number that I would say is abnormally high. This could be because I am prone to depression and thus am A. more likely to notice it in others, B. people seem to think I'm trustworthy enough that confide in me about said depression and C. have been in their shoes and walked a hundred or so miles in them so know where they have been and what they are feeling. I am sad to say I spent the better part of three years wishing I wasn't alive, but not dumb or smart enough to do anything about it.
Last night I had a conversation with someone who wanted, and I could even say wants, I don't know I haven't talked to her today, to end her life because of a relationship that feels pointless and is making her feel pointless. The thing about it is, she isn't pointless, but she is so caught up in the same feelings of depression and anxiety that she sees it as pointless. It was like looking in a mirror, talking to her. I just wanted to hug her and cling to her and tell her that she is important. She is miles away and the only thing I could do is cry with her and tell her that she is loved.
Depression, my friends, is a terrible thing. It captures you in its hold and wrings the life out of you. Anything you once found hope in is crushed. I laid on the floor of my dorm room for hours at night, not wanting to sleep because I knew if I fell asleep I'd eventually have to wake up and didn't want to wake up. All that time I was asking God "Why?"
Why am I not good enough? Why am I not loved? Why were You, YOU God, You Oh-so-almighty creator who is SUPPOSED to love me putting me through this? Don't you love your child? Why can't you show it?
And no one understood me. The friends I had, have, with depression were so swimming in their own terror, they could not see the way out. It was blind leading the blind. Those without depression cannot possibly begin to see how much of a trap it is. "You'll get over it." or "Let it go. Why can't you let it go?" were the most common answers to my questions. I CAN'T let it go. You don't understand how it feeds on me.
Now I do understand. Mind you, depression still affects me from time to time, but it isn't how it once was. I don't wake up every day wishing that the sun wasn't shining so I wouldn't have to feel guilty about hating perfectly beautiful days. You don't just get over it. It's a slow, painful process of ripping your heart out heart string at a time and replacing it with a new heart. It may be someday that my old heart will nest again back in its old position, but I'm going to try my darnedest to make that old nest as inhospitable as possible.
Who knows? Maybe I was made for times such as these? Maybe I was made to suffer so others wouldn't have to suffer alone?
I just read about someone who went to my school. He graduated just a few years ago. He died swimming at a camp he was directing for high schoolers. I don't know this fellow, but he sounded like an amazing guy. I am not surprised when I see the posts on his Facebook wall all of them saying "well done, good and faithful servant" or "you will be missed. We will keep on the work of the Father." He did not know the day before he left for this camp he was going to die. He asks for prayer the day he left, and as far as I can discern by being a stalker on Facebook, the day he died.
I was watching one of these series my parents bought. My parents are really into these British series that take Victorian Era books and make them into movies. The series that we watched tonight were the "Cranford" Series from Elizabeth Glaskell books. (Imagine Jane Austen, but with much more depth.) There was change, life, death and marriages. I cannot tell you all the how that series spoke to me. It was heavy for such entertainment. I found myself crying more than once. Mostly, I think what I realized was that life is far too short for petty things.
I was walking outside today and had a practically near death experience. Actually, it wasn't near death at all. But it could have been (in my head it was.) I was going outside to find my cat. I couldn't find her, which is not unusual, my cat is a queer sort of soul who alternates between affection and aversion. I love her because she's an old grouch. I imagine myself as an old grouch sometimes. That has nothing to do with my story. I'll probably talk about my grouchy cat some other time. She's interesting enough.
Anyway, as I was outside I noticed that I had left the grill open and all the metal shish-kebab skewers outside along with the bowl and pyrex I used for carrying the meat outside. I picked them up and balanced the skewers on the pyrex to carry them in. One of the skewers slipped a little and I thought to myself, "Wouldn't it be horrible if it slipped or I dropped the pyrex and all of the skewers fell and I fell on top of them and one of them stabbed me and then no one came out and I died?" These scenarios go through my head sometimes. It was just a thought. It theoretically should not be possible. The skewers, while sharp, pointy and metal probably could kill someone with a direct hit to the chest, if I fell on top of them, while I probably would get cut by the glass from the pyrex, it is highly unlikely that I would fall on a skewer at the right angle in which to kill me.
It was a morbid, but sobering thought. There it was, the end of my life looming before me. I could have died by way of shish-kebab skewer. I am glad my last meal would have been a very delicious one if I do say so myself. I haven't accomplished nearly enough to have God say, "Well done, kiddo."
Here comes the part where I want to tear my heart out. I seem to attract depressed and suicidal people. Not to say that all of my friends are depressed and suicidal, just a number that I would say is abnormally high. This could be because I am prone to depression and thus am A. more likely to notice it in others, B. people seem to think I'm trustworthy enough that confide in me about said depression and C. have been in their shoes and walked a hundred or so miles in them so know where they have been and what they are feeling. I am sad to say I spent the better part of three years wishing I wasn't alive, but not dumb or smart enough to do anything about it.
Last night I had a conversation with someone who wanted, and I could even say wants, I don't know I haven't talked to her today, to end her life because of a relationship that feels pointless and is making her feel pointless. The thing about it is, she isn't pointless, but she is so caught up in the same feelings of depression and anxiety that she sees it as pointless. It was like looking in a mirror, talking to her. I just wanted to hug her and cling to her and tell her that she is important. She is miles away and the only thing I could do is cry with her and tell her that she is loved.
Depression, my friends, is a terrible thing. It captures you in its hold and wrings the life out of you. Anything you once found hope in is crushed. I laid on the floor of my dorm room for hours at night, not wanting to sleep because I knew if I fell asleep I'd eventually have to wake up and didn't want to wake up. All that time I was asking God "Why?"
Why am I not good enough? Why am I not loved? Why were You, YOU God, You Oh-so-almighty creator who is SUPPOSED to love me putting me through this? Don't you love your child? Why can't you show it?
And no one understood me. The friends I had, have, with depression were so swimming in their own terror, they could not see the way out. It was blind leading the blind. Those without depression cannot possibly begin to see how much of a trap it is. "You'll get over it." or "Let it go. Why can't you let it go?" were the most common answers to my questions. I CAN'T let it go. You don't understand how it feeds on me.
Now I do understand. Mind you, depression still affects me from time to time, but it isn't how it once was. I don't wake up every day wishing that the sun wasn't shining so I wouldn't have to feel guilty about hating perfectly beautiful days. You don't just get over it. It's a slow, painful process of ripping your heart out heart string at a time and replacing it with a new heart. It may be someday that my old heart will nest again back in its old position, but I'm going to try my darnedest to make that old nest as inhospitable as possible.
Who knows? Maybe I was made for times such as these? Maybe I was made to suffer so others wouldn't have to suffer alone?
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