For a year now, I have been trying to learn and memorize the 48 preludes and fugues of Johann Sebastian Bach. These are the old testament of piano. Stepwise, Bach takes us through the keys, the well-tempered tuning presented in fortspinnung. Fanny Mendelssohn, the lesser known but equally precocious sister of Felix, memorized 24 preludes in a week at age 13. I am not jealous. I am not jealous. I am not jealous.
If I was Fanny Mendelssohn and 13 years old, I would have gotten the Well Tempered Clavier memorized by now. But I am 3.9 x 13 and fatally distracted by the world around me.
Memorizing music came naturally to me once. Actually scratch that, it was always hard work, but maybe I used to have better focus. Back in the days when I was not on call 24/7 and did not have this pocket-sized computer sitting next to me, making little chirps and rings and silently beckoning me away from any other task at hand. In music school, the practice rooms were in the basement of a building built to withstand a bomb (literally), and once in the little room with the door closed, you could be alone for hours. No phones in those days, except the ones connected to the wall. You could emerge from hours of practice into a dark world and realize your fingers were still tapping out phrases on your thighs which ached from sitting on a wooden bench. Once at midnight I came out of the music school to a large pack of raccoons. They all stopped their garbage can raid and swiveled their heads to me, two dozen glowing eye-dots between me and the parking lot.
I have been trying to memorize opus 109 of Ludwig Van Beethoven. The 32 piano sonatas he composed are the new testament of piano. Herein lies the gospel of theme, exposition, recapitulation and rondo. The deafer he got, the more laser-focused these pieces of music. No chaff, only wheat. Blessed are the piece makers, for they will be called the children of God.
When I sit and play piano, I think about coronavirus. I look out the window where the redwoods just sit there, unconcerned. So nice to have a day at home, but I worry about my friends on the hospital wards. I stop and scroll through my phone in case something has happened I need to know about instantly. I think about the fact that it might be better not to know.
Montel wrote an email to us today to let us know our child in prison is in good hands. New cellie, always some fear there. I worry about that too. But thanks for the reassurance, Montel.
Seems like the only time I do not worry is when I run. If I could run all day every day, I would never worry. The mask fogs my glasses and I take them off and run somewhat blind but at least not fog-blind. My brain turns off on a tangent with each new trail. On single track, if a runner comes from the opposite direction, we both pull back into the woods, diving away from shared air particles. I cannot hug friends. Our dogs still intermingle though.
That is not actually true, as my dog is on high alert regarding any other dog stepping paws on the same planet. How dare you enter my woods, my beach, my neighborhood! I fear my dog would be a Trump supporter if human, but then I see how he has a pure joy and realize there is no joy in Trumpland. Only hate and greed and mistrust of science. My dog digs science. He plays fetch with the discipline of a randomized controlled trial. He loves me best but Dr Fauci would be a close second, I am pretty sure.
I have not been able to creatively write for a long while. Mainly due to the aforementioned fatal distraction and a heavy dose of consternation. My piano may be well-tempered, but I am not. I tilt at betrayers of democracy. I foam at the mouth on the inside while smiling sweetly on the outside. I get on my knees and pray for clarity. I usually am tying my running shoes during this maneuver, and the prayer works almost every time. I write now as a testament to the dis-ease I fight daily. My face shield gives me superpowers. My hands are washed of any malarkey.
I wish everyone had the courtesy of Montel. Just to tell us we got each other's back, not to worry, not to despair. Blessed are the merciful, for they will be shown mercy.
Blessed are those sharing their music with us during this lockdown, including the current Queen of Bach. I am not jealous. I am not jealous. I am not jealous.
