This nearly made me cry. It’s Terry Teachout’s story of recent events in his life involving stress, a heart, and thoughts of death, to name a few tiny little things. It’s also about cream of wheat (which I’m craving at the moment), and things still to be heard and seen before one departs this dusty place. It really does make me want to cry. It’s well written, unlike most of what I put down here. (I would love to be a good and expressive writer, but I guess I’ll settle for oboe and English horn and leave it there. I am able to be very expressive on my instruments—it’s sort of my trait I suppose—but letting go in writing is extremely difficult for me. I’m not sure what that’s about.)
Anyway, Terry … if you read this … I am thinking of you and I loved what you wrote and of course I wish you well.
I think I’m weary. Nutcracker can do that to a person, for one thing. So can oboe reeds. And being cold. And life in general. Sometimes we just get tired. But I wonder, if I thought this was “it” … the end … would I suddenly not be so weary, thinking about the things I still want to do? Or would I be weary but unwilling to let go? I’m not sure.
I’m not sure this is proper for the oboe blog, either, but I’m not really writing at my other site much these days, and this seems more like “home” to me. So there you go.
I’m not actually physically ill, as Terry was, nor am I in any bad state of mind in case any readers are worrying about me now. I think we all go through these “weary windows of time” and mine is here now. (Not really a good time for it, but I don’t get to plan these out on the iCal.) I have another friend, and bassoonist extraordinaire (Hi Debbie! I continue to think of you and your family, and you have my prayers.), who has much more reason for weariness. But somehow that doesn’t matter … “my” weariness is here and it’s … well … it’s really tiring me out!
I spent the day with my son and the vocal jazz group he’s in. The group, Estetica, is a vocal jazz group of twelve and they are good. I mean that. I’m pretty picky and they always manage to please me (which should be everyone’s goal in life, of course). They sang The Little Drummer Boy which is usually a song I can live without. This time, though, they sang a new arrangement (done by their teacher Anne-Marie Katemopoulos), and … this may sound silly to some of you … when they got to the lyrics “Then he smiled at me” I was ready to sink to the floor in tears. Yes. I can get that way sometimes. But they were singing at a luncheon and it was crowded and noisy. Introverts find this sort of thing exhausting. I am an introvert.
But anyway, I’m in one of those moods where cream of wheat and music sound awfully good.
It’s about comfort. I want some.
I suspect I’ll settle for a nap though; Nutcracker will be calling soon and I had better be awake for it!
(And, thanks to Terry, I’m now going to have to read The Edge of Sadness.)
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