04-May-2008: Back in My World
I apologize to my fans (I actually have some) for my long absence. It was tax season, a long and exhausting one, on top
of a very long and brutal winter. Yeah, yeah, I know: we're tough; we're Canadian after all. Bit of snow and cold never hurt anyone.
Makes us tougher. Maybe. Except I am starting to feel a bit old to be getting up at 6:00 am and, after a coffee and piece of toast, (and the usual shower,
shave, and dressing up in a tie), to head out into the dark, snow swirling about me, fight to open the carriage house doors against the wind and
piled up snow, fire up the cranky old snowblower, and try to manoeuvre its awkward bulkiness around the car in order to blow two feet of snow into the
wind and have it come back in my face. Then, to get home at 6:00 or 6:30 pm, in the dark; park on the highway, four-ways flashing; wrestle the
carriage house doors open against the wind and drifting snow; fire up the cranky snowblower; then clear the driveway of, not only another two feet of drifted snow,
but of the icy thick windrow the snowplow kindly left in its wake. It wouldn't be so bad if it were just one day like that, as in most winters,
but to have to face it day, after day, after day....
Spring snuck up on me while I sat in a noisy mall, cut off from any view of the outdoors, preparing tax returns, reading books, doing puzzles, and generally
getting through the day. And, now I am unemployed again after three months' work. Happens every year. Maybe I will get taken on for a day or two a week, but I don't know
yet. As usual, I am the last to know....
But, there are a couple of things I won't talk about here: my immediate family, and my current employer. I know they read my mindless meanderings.
Some people are curious about my relationship with my long-dead father (even if you are not, I do get email.) I thought it had all settled down so that I could
dream about him as a human: sometimes warm and funny; often supportive, etc. But it occurred to me the other day as I sat in the mall being assaulted by
the same late 50's and 60's pop music several times a day, that I had no idea how my father responded to music. Did he feel like snapping his fingers and moving
his feet as he listened to "Rock Around the Clock" by Bill Hailey and the Comets? Did he croon along with the Everly Brothers as they sang "When Will I Find Love?" I found myself
casting back, trying to remember. I know he listened to music, because the radio was usually tuned to some news and music station. But I don't remember ever
hearing music in his presence. He knew I sang, because he came to a couple of concerts and watched me on the local TV station. He came to an operetta I was in
(G&S's "The Gondoliers") and told me afterwards he was proud of me (that, after humiliating me in front of the conductor by throwing a temper tantrum, threatening to
deny me permission to participate because it was taking up "too much of [my] god-damned time." Typical rant of his. You know, some things never quite balance out....) He
even tantalized me with a brief discussion about singing lessons, but then he just as quickly dashed my hopes by saying that my voice would change and it would be a waste.
Sometimes it seemed that everything I wanted was a waste in his eyes. I asked permission to attend a performance of the Kitchener Symphony Orchestra in a special
kid's show ("Peter and the Wolf" and Brittan’s "A Child's Introduction to the Orchestra.") He sneered as he growled, "You actually like that stuff?" I nodded
yes, even though I had never heard a symphony orchestra—except as movie backgrounds and snippets on the radio. Needless-to-say I was enthralled. I still adore
Prokofiev's music. But what a wonderful introduction to the world of "classical" music: a twentieth century composer who spoke in a language I could relate to.
Anyhow, back at the ranch, my father entered my afternoon nap today to once again bully with the menace of violence behind his every action. Maybe that is something
he will always do, but it is nice that in the past year or so I've been able to have positive dreams about him for the first time in my life. Perhaps that is the best I will
ever be able to hope for.
Life proceeds. I have a work for bassoon, violin, viola, and cello to be premiered by professional players in France next month. No, I can't go there for it, and, yes, the
concert will be recorded, but it is a festival spread over a few days. I have no idea when the actual performance will be. I had a severe allergic reaction to something or other
a month ago. No idea what it was, and no time to investigate, but it meant a night in the ICU of a local hospital. Great place to be if you are not sick and
in pain. Friendly professional nurses fussing over me. It could be a lot worse. I told them it had been a pleasure as I left. And, the big news: our youngest moved out and struck out on his own.
I don't think the full impact has sunk it yet, but for the first time in twenty-six years, my wife and I are alone in our home. I have noticed that milk and ice-cream have a much
longer shelf-life in our house than they used to.
Anyhow, it's good to be back in my world again. I have a symphony to finish, a new CD to cut, and I've been dreaming of a violin concerto. Just maybe.
Be talking with you soon....