Tonight (early this morning after my work shift) I am watching Lorin Maazel conduct the New York Philharmonic Orchestra performing in Pyongyang, North Korea (at the East Pyongyang Grand Theater) in a CNN Live historic live broadcast concert.
It is already 1:50 a.m. here in Vancouver and so the early entry.
This is the largest U.S. Cultural group ever to perform in North Korea. They are playing Wagner, Dvorak, and Gershwin.
CNN reports that for this concert North Korea opened the door to over 400 Americans. The national anthems for both countries were played.
Maazel introduced the Gershwin piece “An American in Paris” with the comment, “Sometime someone might introduce An American in Pyongyang” and his comment was greeted with huge applause.
As I listened to the familiar strains of the Gershwin opus I could not help wonder how the Koreans would react to these ultra North American classical folk melodies but the faces of the listeners betrayed only joyous admiration.
And then maestro Maazel went on to conduct music by American icon Leonard Bernstein.
I was almost in tears as I watched the rapt expressions in the faces of many of the Korean audience. This beats CNN covering the bombing of Baghdad by a trillion country miles.
Then the orchestra launched into a Korean folk song Arirang. The entire audience respectfully rose to their feet.
The conductor was then presented with many floral bouquets. They said it was the first ever presentation by an American orchestra in this country.
A local commentator then stated that the Pyongyang Symphony Orchestra would be going to the UK in the New Year and Eric Clapton would be visiting to perform in North Korea.
I pray that this is the harbinger of a new era of peaceful relations between the two countries.
Let’s dismantle the bombs and pick up the fiddles!
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
This Place and Time
First thing this morning I woke and cut to the chase, heading over to Great Clips for a trim and then home to shower and do laundry. It is Tuesday and the first of my two day weekend.
The weather channel forecast a window of sunlight today and I was determined to take advantage of it for a seawall walk, something that the rainy cold weather has stopped me doing recently.
The laundry took a while to complete as the machines were in use but once it was done I headed down Harwood to English Bay and then out along the seawall.
It was a spectacular day with a choppy sea and the freighters at anchor on the Bay beginning to fade into a mist that had just begun to roll in.
As I walked I was thinking of my sister Marilyn and how she would enjoy this day if she were here with me.
Many of the people passing me had contented smiles on their faces as they walked into the bright sunlight, their eyes half closed as if in meditation.
A young mom was sitting on a park bench hungrily devouring a hot dog purchased from the street vendor up the hill. Her baby was watching her from the stroller and as I passed I received her message to her babe as clear as a radio signal. She said, "You're gonna love hot dogs!"
Even as I walked I could see the mist gathering and deepening and before long the tops of buildings were disappearing into the clouds and the horizon had all but disappeared.
The sun became a brilliant circle of contained light diffusing through the mist and the reflection of its light on the choppy surf transformed the surface of the water into a silvery gold expressionist abstract.
Earlier the noon news reported rain arriving again around midnight and I felt blessed to receive this gift of winter sunlight and fresh sea breeze.
As I rounded to corner onto 2nd Beach once again the sound of the surf captured my attention. It was crisp and musical and had eluded me until just now.
There were so many feelings and emotions percolating through my consciousness as I walked. I seemed to be reminded of my childhood, my youth, my early adult years and my years with my young children all at once.
I took a deep breath and drew this heady mix of memory/feeling into my lungs.
What a life it has been and it all comes down to this present!
How can I help but be ever thankful, ever grateful for everything that has brought me to this place and this time?
The weather channel forecast a window of sunlight today and I was determined to take advantage of it for a seawall walk, something that the rainy cold weather has stopped me doing recently.
The laundry took a while to complete as the machines were in use but once it was done I headed down Harwood to English Bay and then out along the seawall.
It was a spectacular day with a choppy sea and the freighters at anchor on the Bay beginning to fade into a mist that had just begun to roll in.
As I walked I was thinking of my sister Marilyn and how she would enjoy this day if she were here with me.
Many of the people passing me had contented smiles on their faces as they walked into the bright sunlight, their eyes half closed as if in meditation.
A young mom was sitting on a park bench hungrily devouring a hot dog purchased from the street vendor up the hill. Her baby was watching her from the stroller and as I passed I received her message to her babe as clear as a radio signal. She said, "You're gonna love hot dogs!"
Even as I walked I could see the mist gathering and deepening and before long the tops of buildings were disappearing into the clouds and the horizon had all but disappeared.
The sun became a brilliant circle of contained light diffusing through the mist and the reflection of its light on the choppy surf transformed the surface of the water into a silvery gold expressionist abstract.
Earlier the noon news reported rain arriving again around midnight and I felt blessed to receive this gift of winter sunlight and fresh sea breeze.
As I rounded to corner onto 2nd Beach once again the sound of the surf captured my attention. It was crisp and musical and had eluded me until just now.
There were so many feelings and emotions percolating through my consciousness as I walked. I seemed to be reminded of my childhood, my youth, my early adult years and my years with my young children all at once.
I took a deep breath and drew this heady mix of memory/feeling into my lungs.
What a life it has been and it all comes down to this present!
How can I help but be ever thankful, ever grateful for everything that has brought me to this place and this time?
Monday, February 18, 2008
A Good and Profound Education
It is Monday morning and after a late spate of confusing dreams I am feeling quite lethargic again today. I feel groggy, as though I didn’t get a proper rest.
I kind of sleep-walked through my ablutions, exercises and prayers. I have just checked email and there is nothing personal in there.
Jean emailed me yesterday again from Oregon to tell me she and her husband are involved with a Gurdjieff study group. They are reading a 6 volume commentary by Maurice Nicoll, the same man Roger the Apes told me about during our talks on the cliffs at Santa Cruz when I visited in the mid-70s.
Roger spoke in an English/Australian hybrid accent as a Briton who had emigrated to the antipodes as a teen and found work there and much adventure.
You think your arguments are something, man? Observe a most ancient argument! And Roger then pointing to the huge surf crashing over the cliff-side rocks.
I was truly fortunate though as a young 20 something to earn the friendship of Roger Apperley, Ken Worley and John Mise who although 10 to 20 years senior to my age, welcomed me into their circle. It was a good and profound education.
I was singing at The Cats restaurant in Los Gatos at the time when Ken the bartender (a heavy set and well educated Texan who sometimes doubled as bouncer) introduced me to a bronzed, blond and very fit Roger (think young Michael Caine) who was just back from ship board duties in the South Seas and was hired on to help Ken behind the bar.
The three of us didn’t become close friends until I left the restaurant to move to Santa Cruz where I found a small cabin near the beach and began performing locally. Roger in the meantime had met beautiful black haired Cleo a co-worker at the Catalyst in Santa Cruz and the two of them moved into the ground floor of an old house in town. She called him her Tudor man...and the locals sooned began calling Roger Tooter.
John, Ken (who had also taken new work as a barman in Santa Cruz) and I became frequent visitors to their home. John was a retired (didn’t like the gig) professor of Literature at San Jose State, and amidst many tokes of Acapulco Gold, cups of Lapsang Souchong tea and jugs of California red we carried on discussions on life, love and art into the wee hours and sometimes over several days.
Vern Bennett a gifted pianist who played locally and Norman Thomas a gruff and white tousle-haired painter were also important friends much older than myself but who adopted me as a younger brother providing both fraternal friendship and nourishment to the young troubadour who had stumbled into their company.
Norman, then in his late 60's used to drag me around to the local bars where he introduced me as his son and then began chatting up the young ladies who served us. I still remember that he told Ken and Roger that he liked me because of my tough little Irish mug!
This morning as I putter through my routine these memories drift through my consciousness and evaporate like smoke as quickly as they appear. I can't dwell on them in greater detail as I must leave for work in the next few minutes.
How I survived and flourished in those days of the late 60’s is still a mystery to me! But what a rich and colorful slideshow of memories those days still provide!
I kind of sleep-walked through my ablutions, exercises and prayers. I have just checked email and there is nothing personal in there.
Jean emailed me yesterday again from Oregon to tell me she and her husband are involved with a Gurdjieff study group. They are reading a 6 volume commentary by Maurice Nicoll, the same man Roger the Apes told me about during our talks on the cliffs at Santa Cruz when I visited in the mid-70s.
Roger spoke in an English/Australian hybrid accent as a Briton who had emigrated to the antipodes as a teen and found work there and much adventure.
You think your arguments are something, man? Observe a most ancient argument! And Roger then pointing to the huge surf crashing over the cliff-side rocks.
I was truly fortunate though as a young 20 something to earn the friendship of Roger Apperley, Ken Worley and John Mise who although 10 to 20 years senior to my age, welcomed me into their circle. It was a good and profound education.
I was singing at The Cats restaurant in Los Gatos at the time when Ken the bartender (a heavy set and well educated Texan who sometimes doubled as bouncer) introduced me to a bronzed, blond and very fit Roger (think young Michael Caine) who was just back from ship board duties in the South Seas and was hired on to help Ken behind the bar.
The three of us didn’t become close friends until I left the restaurant to move to Santa Cruz where I found a small cabin near the beach and began performing locally. Roger in the meantime had met beautiful black haired Cleo a co-worker at the Catalyst in Santa Cruz and the two of them moved into the ground floor of an old house in town. She called him her Tudor man...and the locals sooned began calling Roger Tooter.
John, Ken (who had also taken new work as a barman in Santa Cruz) and I became frequent visitors to their home. John was a retired (didn’t like the gig) professor of Literature at San Jose State, and amidst many tokes of Acapulco Gold, cups of Lapsang Souchong tea and jugs of California red we carried on discussions on life, love and art into the wee hours and sometimes over several days.
Vern Bennett a gifted pianist who played locally and Norman Thomas a gruff and white tousle-haired painter were also important friends much older than myself but who adopted me as a younger brother providing both fraternal friendship and nourishment to the young troubadour who had stumbled into their company.
Norman, then in his late 60's used to drag me around to the local bars where he introduced me as his son and then began chatting up the young ladies who served us. I still remember that he told Ken and Roger that he liked me because of my tough little Irish mug!
This morning as I putter through my routine these memories drift through my consciousness and evaporate like smoke as quickly as they appear. I can't dwell on them in greater detail as I must leave for work in the next few minutes.
How I survived and flourished in those days of the late 60’s is still a mystery to me! But what a rich and colorful slideshow of memories those days still provide!
Wednesday, February 06, 2008
The Art of Waiting?
It is a cloudy Wednesday but the heavy rains of yesterday morning have been replaced by a light drizzle. It is much balmier than it has been this past week although still on the cool side.
It’s a day off work and I was up early again waiting for the elusive courier. But it was clear after yesterday’s communication with the company that they have lost track of my friend’s envelope. She has called them from Boston too, and perhaps together we can find a solution.
They delivered it once on Friday but I missed the delivery and the sticker on my front door noted they would return Monday. They did not and repeated follow up calls underlined the need for more professional customer service as no one seemed to know what was happening with the package.
There were repeated calls to the DHL 1-800 number and I had to keep holding, keep waiting. First it was call back after 10, then it was call back after 2, then it was…wait until tomorrow. Finally tomorrow came and after the same series of calls it was…how bizarre, we’ll have to put a trace on it.
I am sure my friend is upset as these are passport documents that I was going to verify for her.
Once again, it also underlined for me the need to develop more discipline in the art of waiting, something I have never enjoyed doing. It is the second of my days off and I can’t put my chores on hold any longer as my son Ky is coming for dinner tonight and so I slipped off on several quick forays leaving notes for the courier in case someone showed.
I walked up to Safeway to do my grocery shopping but didn’t have to take an umbrella and my glasses are only spritzed with rain, my wool watch cap mostly dry. The walk was refreshing in the cool damp air, and I was momentarily freed from the waiting game.
When I returned home with groceries I was almost afraid to look at my front door in case there was another yellow tried to deliver sticker. There was not.
So I placed a call to DHL to see if there was any news on the package. I spoke to a young woman named Irena who after I explained the details said she had just been speaking to Mary, the sender.
How many agents are answering phones, I asked.
About a hundred, she replied.
It’s a very strange co-incidence I should get you, I said.
Not so strange, she responded as though such synchronicity was an everyday occurrence for her.
At any rate, she told me there was still no news on the package and so I gave up and left to do the rest of my shopping. This time I forgot to leave my sticky note for the courier and almost went back but decided that there was little hope of hearing anything as if the package had been scanned today and loaded into a truck they would know and would have told me so.
I walked up to Capers to get some whole grain oats, flax seeds and other dietary supplements I am using these days. The rain was still spritzing but by the time I came out of the store, it had turned into free fall snow and rain. This time I had to put up my hood, and by the time I got home my glasses were running with water and I could barely see.
I took off my coat, hung it and was preparing to put away my groceries when my door buzzer sounded.
DHL Courier, came the voice. I buzzed him in. He was pleasant looking, heavy-set man in his early 60’s I estimated.
Your timing could not have been better, I quipped. I just got in the door.
Looks like you just managed to beat the heavy snow, he joked.
Did they manage to track the package? I asked. He had no idea what I was talking about and said that it was just a usual delivery. When I told him that the package had not been scanned for two days he was stymied.
That’s impossible, he replied. Packages are scanned every day whether they get delivered or not.
Well, maybe an angel was looking after the package for 2 days?
Or perhaps it is all about timing, and not bothering to wait.
Maybe that’s the art of waiting?
It’s a day off work and I was up early again waiting for the elusive courier. But it was clear after yesterday’s communication with the company that they have lost track of my friend’s envelope. She has called them from Boston too, and perhaps together we can find a solution.
They delivered it once on Friday but I missed the delivery and the sticker on my front door noted they would return Monday. They did not and repeated follow up calls underlined the need for more professional customer service as no one seemed to know what was happening with the package.
There were repeated calls to the DHL 1-800 number and I had to keep holding, keep waiting. First it was call back after 10, then it was call back after 2, then it was…wait until tomorrow. Finally tomorrow came and after the same series of calls it was…how bizarre, we’ll have to put a trace on it.
I am sure my friend is upset as these are passport documents that I was going to verify for her.
Once again, it also underlined for me the need to develop more discipline in the art of waiting, something I have never enjoyed doing. It is the second of my days off and I can’t put my chores on hold any longer as my son Ky is coming for dinner tonight and so I slipped off on several quick forays leaving notes for the courier in case someone showed.
I walked up to Safeway to do my grocery shopping but didn’t have to take an umbrella and my glasses are only spritzed with rain, my wool watch cap mostly dry. The walk was refreshing in the cool damp air, and I was momentarily freed from the waiting game.
When I returned home with groceries I was almost afraid to look at my front door in case there was another yellow tried to deliver sticker. There was not.
So I placed a call to DHL to see if there was any news on the package. I spoke to a young woman named Irena who after I explained the details said she had just been speaking to Mary, the sender.
How many agents are answering phones, I asked.
About a hundred, she replied.
It’s a very strange co-incidence I should get you, I said.
Not so strange, she responded as though such synchronicity was an everyday occurrence for her.
At any rate, she told me there was still no news on the package and so I gave up and left to do the rest of my shopping. This time I forgot to leave my sticky note for the courier and almost went back but decided that there was little hope of hearing anything as if the package had been scanned today and loaded into a truck they would know and would have told me so.
I walked up to Capers to get some whole grain oats, flax seeds and other dietary supplements I am using these days. The rain was still spritzing but by the time I came out of the store, it had turned into free fall snow and rain. This time I had to put up my hood, and by the time I got home my glasses were running with water and I could barely see.
I took off my coat, hung it and was preparing to put away my groceries when my door buzzer sounded.
DHL Courier, came the voice. I buzzed him in. He was pleasant looking, heavy-set man in his early 60’s I estimated.
Your timing could not have been better, I quipped. I just got in the door.
Looks like you just managed to beat the heavy snow, he joked.
Did they manage to track the package? I asked. He had no idea what I was talking about and said that it was just a usual delivery. When I told him that the package had not been scanned for two days he was stymied.
That’s impossible, he replied. Packages are scanned every day whether they get delivered or not.
Well, maybe an angel was looking after the package for 2 days?
Or perhaps it is all about timing, and not bothering to wait.
Maybe that’s the art of waiting?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
