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In the sunbeams, with the violins
March 08, 2006 | Category: In My Life
It was years ago that my Aunt Martha and Uncle Mike bought the red Victorian house on the hill. From the balcony, you could see the Boston skyline. Still can, when I visit each summer.
There is an old intercom system, and my Aunt would set it so that a classical radio station would broadcast through the rooms. On visits, I would listen as I would wander the hardwood floors and stare out the tall windows at the trees.
Because of her, I was exposed to the baroque music I love so much.
The romantic notes of violin, piano, and guitar like breezes.
My parents both love music. Our home was filled with folk and Broadway. With rock and jazz. They always had the stereo on. By junior high I had formed favorites of Buddy Rich, Simon and Garfunkel, Carly Simon, Elton John. I could sing along with Patti LuPone and Mandy Patinkin through the entire score of Evita .
But at the red house on the hill, the voices faded away. Curled up in a sunbeam I would drift along with the harmony and counterpoint of Bach, Handel, and Vivaldi.
Over the past three weeks, I have been stalled. Emotionally, physically. I thought that once I didn't have the 50-hour-a-week distraction of my job that all the things I'd been delaying - like exercise, writing, cleaning, grieving - would slip into the vacuum.
As usual? Me. Wrong.
Well, I have been crying a lot, but otherwise - yeah, still wrong.
I have spent unknown hours watching Charmed reruns, calling people, and an amazing amount of energy avoiding things.
And feeling guilty about that. Don't underestimate the amount of time a person can spend feeling guilty about avoiding things. Boy, howdy. I tell you what.
Yesterday morning, as I was driving Bear to school, we got held up in traffic. While we were waiting, I turned on the radio to our local classical station and they were playing a piece that was so pretty that it made me pause.
Dust played in the morning sunbeams as Bear and I sat listening.
"This is nice," he said.
"Yeah," I agreed.
And I remembered how it used to be at my Aunt's and Uncle's. How they would leave me to my thoughts, and my daydreams. How they understood the importance of staring off into space, with music drifting in gently.
There was something in that memory that I still haven't figured out.
But the baroque piece tugged at it, yesterday morning. Suddenly here was this reminder of... something. I pulled over, and turned around to face my son. He smiled at me. I smiled back. We each rested our heads and listened to the song.
There was something begun in that music, that goes back to the time before. Something in the music. But I haven't figured out yet what it is or was.
Bear and I paused, and then went back on our way. I think like everything else that is going on inside me right now, I will have to be patient with myself.
Or at least try.
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