Whenever we, I refer to the big we, human beings on the
planet graced with language and the means to communicate now so easily with one
another, find ourselves in or even close to a moment so beautiful, so striking,
which so captures our attention and fills our senses that the phrase “beautiful
beyond words” springs to mind; we should take notes. We have to first find, then share those words
if we possibly can. When those moments happen
we are living the very best parts of our lives.
They should not go unreported.
Monday night it was cold.
The weather was changing and the wind, which blew hard from the
southwest, cut through my jeans as I walked to the shack. I worked quickly to build a fire. The urgency of a fire eases greatly when the
temperature rises above freezing. Today
it is 43 degrees and rainy. Not a flake
of snow in sight, although the creek at the bottom of the ravine is still a
crooked ribbon of ice.
Last night it was in the low 20’s and snow covered the
ground. In the shack I concentrated on
my computer screen. I am trying to blend
three previous pieces of writing about my Dad into one. It’s a challenge. I put in about three hours and then turned
the computer off, poured myself a whiskey, and laid down on the futon. My day was drawing to a close. I concentrated on the music coming from the
shack’s speakers.
I’d been on a long classical music jag and had just changed
the CD’s in my 5 disc changer to jazz.
From Bach, Vivaldi, and Sibelius to pure Pat Metheny*. I was lucky to have inherited great jazz CD’s
from a friend who relocated and was forced to downsize his music
collection. He did so by giving them
away to friends. As one of the lucky
recipients I greatly expanded my store of Pat Metheny songs. In addition to Metheny CD’s I had a couple of
old vinyl recordings, somewhere, from the old days. I wasn’t quite sure where they were.
Despite the wind and the cold the shack was toasty. As I sipped whiskey I listened again to
Secret Story, going to track 8, Always and Forever. It’s captivating. Metheny recorded that album with the usual
suspects; Lyle Mays, Nana Vasconcelos, Charlie Haden and others but also the
Choir of the Royal Cambodian Palace and members of the London Orchestra. His music is unique and fresh, always
surprising. I know I heard Antonia, that
beautiful 11th track, but fell asleep before the end. My last waking
act was to carefully place my drink on the desk.
When I woke up it was quiet.
You know how a short nap can completely change your
mood or your outlook? That’s what
happened to me. Either it was the beautiful
music playing as I slept, or perhaps a pleasant dream, but I woke up feeling
wonderful. Everything looked so bright.
Maybe the wind blew the clouds away, or perhaps the moon
rose above the trees. Whatever happened,
the moonlight on the snow was brilliant.
I had but one light on and it was reflecting in the sliding patio door
glass that makes up the east wall of my little shack, spoiling the view. I turned it off. It was so quiet. I sat still in the dark and looked out at the
woods.
There are times, sometimes full days, but often just moments,
when life is wonderful. Although it was freezing
outside heat from the wood stove warmed me.
I didn’t know how long I’d slept but the stove would need more
wood. I stepped over to it, opened the
lid, and plopped two little chunks of oak and some cobs on the red coals before
closing it. Within second I could hear
it crackle. That was the only sound.
I thought of my wife and kids. I thought of when we were newly married and our
kids were being born and how excited and yet scared I was at the prospect of my
life changing. I didn’t know then how
well it would turn out. Sometimes when I
couldn’t sleep I’d come downstairs from the bedroom, sit on the living room floor
and silently listen to albums, big padded headphones clamped to my head and connected
to the receiver by a long coiled cord. Just me alone in the dark with the music
thinking of the future.
Maybe I could find that Pat Metheney album. I could picture the cover; a black and white
photo of a flat empty horizon, one set of headlights on a road, a utility pole,
a hand holding a telephone receiver and in red letters the title: As Falls Wichita, So Falls Wichita Falls.
Like his song titles, Pat Metheny’s album names explain little
about their content. He produces pure
music with few if any voices. When they are
used they are more often instruments rather than lyrics with meaning. Beautiful guitar and keyboards, great
percussion. Moving. Inspirational. I
thought there was a chance that old album was in a box under the futon. I raised the hinged top of the small bed,
propped it open with a stick, and hauled out a wooden crate. So as not to break the spell I used my phone
as a flashlight and scanned the albums as I flipped them. There it was.
I put side two on the turntable. The song I remembered from back then was “Ozark.” As the tone arm dropped onto the vinyl and
the long coil of grooves began pulling the needle on its slow path toward the
center that song from my past filled the shack.
I turned it up. Standing in the
dark I looked outside.
If anything the woods outside the shack were brighter. As the wind blew the trees, shadows of their
branches moved back and forth over the white snow. Looking up I saw the perfect arc of the moon.
As the music played I raised my glass to toast the beauty of the world outside
my shack and beyond. I took a drink and
closed my eyes.
From those days when the kids were being born, when I began
that phase of my life and found that song, my life has been so full. I’ve been fortunate. It was not a straight line from here to there
by any means. It was complicated. But all along the way I was graced by so many
moments of beauty and joy. My life has
been filled with love in many ways. Likely
much more than I deserved. As I
swallowed the whiskey and it warmed me, along with the wood stove, I felt so
fortunate to have lived so long to have found this space, this place in the
world.
There you go.
*Playing Monday night as I wrote were: Letters From Home,
Bright Size Life, New Chautauqua, Secret Story, and Still Life Talking. Waiting in the wings was OffRamp.
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