The Old and The New

Last night K and I went to a piano recital by Marc-André Hamelin.  I go to a number of concerts and lug my large sack of musical ignorance to every one.  Last night's music began with Alban Berg, stopped for a time to visit Chopin, and ended with an astounding performance of the music of Charles-Valentin Alkan.

We had never heard the Alkan before - a piece which requires virtuosity in the extremely, and Mr Hamelin conquered it with none of the flamboyant gestures of some concert pianists and made it the highlight of all the recent musical performances I've attended over the last year or so.

Where had I been with regard to Alkan.  And then I thought about Alfred Sisley, the English impressionist painter.

Years ago, I had attended a Sisley exhibit at the Royal Academy in London.  Until that day, I had no idea of Sisley's role in that 19th century  movement, and - frankly - I was startled by the experience.  One purpose of the exhibit was to put Sisley back into the middle of Impressionism, and it succeeded, at least for me.  

Think of Alkan (1813-1888), Sisley (1839-1899), and toss in a long-term favorite of mine, Georges Seurat (1859-1891).

There they were at about the same time, working away, not well known, not selling much of their output, but deeply committed to their cause.

Here we are, a century and a half later, listening, seeing, and admiring what they produced.  I learned two things (at least) from all this - firstly, you have to make sure you continue to find the new, even if it's only new to you, and secondly, you should be willing to discover our own contemporary artists and composers with enough oomph so that whether their time comes now or not for another century and a half, they might believe that their commitment to their art will always have value.

Be open and show support.  Always helpful, no matter what the situation.

To Share Or Not To Share

Last week, Islay the Scotty and I were out on our ride-walk (I ride my geezer trike, and she trots alongside), and we ran into our neighbor out walking her beasties in the more traditional way.

She had just run into a couple of neighbors who, in the course of their conversation, discovered that their neighbor, once a Republican and morphed into a non-Republican. The neighbors were surprised and chose to pursue the matter - an unwise decision knowing my neighbor.

In summarizing this encounter nearly three weeks before the election, with heaven-knows-how-much-mud-yet-to-sling, my neighbor said,"You know, a lot of Republicans just don't like to share."

Now I know a great many extraordinarily generous Republicans, regardless of whatever other faults they might have, but I don't believe that she was necessarily talking about the sharing of money; instead, I think that she might have meant that they lack a generosity of spirit or of participating or collaborating.

But whatever she meant and whatever you might think of her observation, I was rather startled by it and will continue to think about for a long time after this particular election is over because the times in which we now find ourselves will require a much broader definition of generosity, and we shall all need to participate in helping each other through the difficulties which lie ahead for all of us, but more for some than for others.

What A Rotten Development This Is

For most of our lives, we've managed to ignore the fact that we live on a globe spinning in the infinity of space. The ground is what we care about...the firm, sometimes rocky, icy, muddy ground outside, along with the house to which we are tethered, our investments and retirement plans.

With the fiscal distress now travelling that globe of ours, nothing seems solid any more, and we shouldn't be surprised that neither candidate for President seems able to escape the bump and codswallop of politicalspeak to undertake an attempt at truth.

So what do we fall back on?

Well, we might start with each other and talk about how frightened we feel, how powerless we seem, how many there are occupying this boat heading for we know not what through very choppy waters. (I'm almost through with this metaphorical stuff, and I'm as glad as you are.)

I find nature consoling, and these days Islay the Scotty and I seem to be outside walking a bit more. Our new office location is close to White Bear Lake, and it's a pleasant stroll to the shore, past older homes and then back, pausing briefly at the Civil War Monument with its Union Soldier standing on top looking North.

On today's walk, we came upon a young maple, ablaze with color, and we stopped to admire Mother Nature's handiwork. This weekend, weather permitting, we shall be trying to reclaim a garden gone astray during the time when a bad hip kept my from doing much to maintain it.

This is a time for basics - contemplation, reflection, walks, working in the soil, admiring the journey through autumn, and a wee dram of decent whisky at the end of the day.

Like my parents and grandparents who survived the depression, we, too, will survive, and the best strategy seems to begin by getting a grip one one's self. Do that, and you can cope with the rest of it.