Topsy-turvy
Reviewing Mozart is like reviewing God. Don't bother.
Tell me the last six months haven't been a little topsy-turvy?
As regular readers are aware, our earlier planned September trip to France had to be cancelled due to my scheduled October 10 cardiac operation. Thanks to Patty's fast sleight of hand and ingenuity, a long weekend to Niagara wine country over the Thanksgiving period became Plan B. A good choice it was, too. Anything, to take one's mind off a fast approaching operation day, seemed like the order of the day. Looking back on that period, it was a snakes-and-ladders sort of unforgettable quick getaway: a simply gorgeous suite at the Inn-On-The-Twenty, a small luxury boutique area property; a crisp, sunny Fall weekend, with nary a cloud in sight; all the while, under strict H orders not to touch a drop of wine. Arrgh, almost masochistic, in hindsight! In defiance, a rack of lamb became the kidded-about Last Supper, and then quickly trundled home to the shower for yet another in a series of extensive morning and evening scrub downs. The-Day, full of trepidation and unknown, was fast approaching. Waaay, too fast.
I can handle a green Christmas and a white Easter, which we're now slowly backing into. Tomorrow is Good Friday.
This year, perish any thoughts about wearing an Easter bonnet, ladies, unless you plan to discreetly wear ear muffs underneath. An unwelcomed fresh blanket of snow has returned, much to the delight of our regular feathered friends. (I can't say as much for the roses.) Pairs of ground feeding juncos, a bevy of coos, two couples of dueling cardinals, a lone nut-hatch and jay, a box of chicadees and the usual assortment of cheeky-monkey sparrows, knew something apparently we didn't know, about abrupt weather patterns. To the cat's delight, they never packed their bags. Not so, a new arrival of backyard robin interlopers, who flopped around today, literally, gorging the remaining dried fruit on our laneway crab apple trees.
Three afternoons of watching The Masters golf tournament in the comfort and warmth of my family room, is really starting to look attractive. We've all gotta do, what we've gotta do, to see sundown.
Well, almost anything until next Tuesday. April 10 will be my six month anniversary of The-Day. Prescription orders are running out. Life is good. Forget par, life is becoming a string of birdies.
The haunting beauty of Mozart's Requiem and how the tragic circumstances surrounding his unfinished composition, has been awash all over the den for the last half hour. People may remem- ber parts of this seasonal classic from the film Amadeus, as it contained the music Mozart was writing when he died.
You don't have to be a lover of classical music, an opera patron, or a believer in all things Easter, but I find listening to the Requiem mass this year is becoming a spiritual stepping stone of death and life, in that order. No matter what the critics might say, music this good, shouldn't be reserved solely for the dying.
There is a dark lushness and flow to the piece, which has made it a favourite sacred mass at Christian high holidays. It hits all of life's little high notes: birth, death, lightness, darkness, regret, repent, redemption. I think it rises not so much to rage against the dying of the light, but perhaps to face it bravely.
Now, I'm starting to notice how it takes a strong conductor with a long baton to marshal the aesthetic beauty and spiritual power of his orchestra, all in harmony with the richness of tone from a separate choir and then the four choral soloists -- sometimes together, sometimes apart -- not unlike feasting, and returning to a long, layered, aural buffet.
As inspiring as the music is, it's firming my resolve to take on any and all topsy-turvy curves in life, that may come my way. And handle each of these hurled challenges, as best as possible.
Roll on Thanksgiving, 2007, too. This anticipated long weekend, still some six months away, already has a special celebratory meaning to our family. We just haven't decided upon the location, as yet, where to firmly celebrate Year One.
The first six months have been the heavy slog. By comparison, the remaining six should be an easy stroll in the park. Here's hoping, anyway.
These are all good thoughts to work on, with nothing now but time on my side.
Tell me the last six months haven't been a little topsy-turvy?
As regular readers are aware, our earlier planned September trip to France had to be cancelled due to my scheduled October 10 cardiac operation. Thanks to Patty's fast sleight of hand and ingenuity, a long weekend to Niagara wine country over the Thanksgiving period became Plan B. A good choice it was, too. Anything, to take one's mind off a fast approaching operation day, seemed like the order of the day. Looking back on that period, it was a snakes-and-ladders sort of unforgettable quick getaway: a simply gorgeous suite at the Inn-On-The-Twenty, a small luxury boutique area property; a crisp, sunny Fall weekend, with nary a cloud in sight; all the while, under strict H orders not to touch a drop of wine. Arrgh, almost masochistic, in hindsight! In defiance, a rack of lamb became the kidded-about Last Supper, and then quickly trundled home to the shower for yet another in a series of extensive morning and evening scrub downs. The-Day, full of trepidation and unknown, was fast approaching. Waaay, too fast.
I can handle a green Christmas and a white Easter, which we're now slowly backing into. Tomorrow is Good Friday.
This year, perish any thoughts about wearing an Easter bonnet, ladies, unless you plan to discreetly wear ear muffs underneath. An unwelcomed fresh blanket of snow has returned, much to the delight of our regular feathered friends. (I can't say as much for the roses.) Pairs of ground feeding juncos, a bevy of coos, two couples of dueling cardinals, a lone nut-hatch and jay, a box of chicadees and the usual assortment of cheeky-monkey sparrows, knew something apparently we didn't know, about abrupt weather patterns. To the cat's delight, they never packed their bags. Not so, a new arrival of backyard robin interlopers, who flopped around today, literally, gorging the remaining dried fruit on our laneway crab apple trees.
Three afternoons of watching The Masters golf tournament in the comfort and warmth of my family room, is really starting to look attractive. We've all gotta do, what we've gotta do, to see sundown.
Well, almost anything until next Tuesday. April 10 will be my six month anniversary of The-Day. Prescription orders are running out. Life is good. Forget par, life is becoming a string of birdies.
The haunting beauty of Mozart's Requiem and how the tragic circumstances surrounding his unfinished composition, has been awash all over the den for the last half hour. People may remem- ber parts of this seasonal classic from the film Amadeus, as it contained the music Mozart was writing when he died.
You don't have to be a lover of classical music, an opera patron, or a believer in all things Easter, but I find listening to the Requiem mass this year is becoming a spiritual stepping stone of death and life, in that order. No matter what the critics might say, music this good, shouldn't be reserved solely for the dying.
There is a dark lushness and flow to the piece, which has made it a favourite sacred mass at Christian high holidays. It hits all of life's little high notes: birth, death, lightness, darkness, regret, repent, redemption. I think it rises not so much to rage against the dying of the light, but perhaps to face it bravely.
Now, I'm starting to notice how it takes a strong conductor with a long baton to marshal the aesthetic beauty and spiritual power of his orchestra, all in harmony with the richness of tone from a separate choir and then the four choral soloists -- sometimes together, sometimes apart -- not unlike feasting, and returning to a long, layered, aural buffet.
As inspiring as the music is, it's firming my resolve to take on any and all topsy-turvy curves in life, that may come my way. And handle each of these hurled challenges, as best as possible.
Roll on Thanksgiving, 2007, too. This anticipated long weekend, still some six months away, already has a special celebratory meaning to our family. We just haven't decided upon the location, as yet, where to firmly celebrate Year One.
The first six months have been the heavy slog. By comparison, the remaining six should be an easy stroll in the park. Here's hoping, anyway.
These are all good thoughts to work on, with nothing now but time on my side.
posted by leisurelan at 3:43 PM
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