Flying Without Wings

"The dance is a spirit. It turns the body to liquid steel. It makes it vibrate like a guitar. The body can fly without wings. It can sing without voice. The dance is strong magic. The dance is life."
- Pearl Primus

Gypsy Dancer, Stanly Meltzof,  oil on gesso panel,

Cover of The Atlantic Monthly, September 1954

Have you ever experienced that foggy, vaguely dreamy state of mind between sleep and wakefulness? You know what I mean, the time where you know you're not really awake yet, but can't figure out just where you are? Yeah, that's where I've been.  


Re-entry into the real world can be difficult after a much needed break from it. Such is the case in my return from Kansas City and the reunion marking the 40th anniversary of our high school graduation.

I've had a very hard time readjusting since arriving home on Sunday evening, in part because of the excitement surrounding the Graceful One's arrival later that night (home for a few weeks before departing for her new job in Georgia), but it can't be blamed soley on that.

I worried about this malaise for a day or so (malaise is SO unlike me), until I ran across the most recent post from my friend, Delana, in France, who writes about this same feeling in her beautiful blog, du Jour. Evidently, I'm not the only one who feels slightly displaced after a short trip to another place, and I'm grateful to Delana for expressing it so beautifully.

I found myself whiling away the days searching through pictures of the past weekend, reliving each and every moment with old friends I had long anticipated seeing, and new friends who had instantly endeared themselves to me.

Many things about this extraordinary weekend will linger in my mind for years. I'm sure I will revist them many times here at Smiling Heart, and I'm filled with gratitude at the enormous gift of time and talent that was shared.

[One entire evening of live entertainment was organized by two dear alums who gathered together some of the many grads who are musicians. This jam session was the best live music I've heard in years, and showed how one particular year in the life of a school can produce a proliferation of one 'type' of students who excel at something. For some years, it may be scientists or engineers or athletes. For our Ruskin High School Class of 1971, an extraordinary crop of artists and musicians emerged. I am in awe of them all.]

What will stay with me forever is the dancing.

Everyone who knows me knows how much I love to dance. When did that happen? Certainly not when I was in high school. In high school, I was so afraid of how I would look on the dance floor that I was more than happy to sit out most of the dances and watch the 'good' dancers do their thing. 

Somewhere between the decades of parenting and grandparenting, I cast aside the silly notion of caring what I looked like and began to just enjoy the dance. Today, while I'm no expert at dancing, I'm an ace at enjoying the dance!

I was so pleased to find that many of my classmates felt the same way. We danced like gypsies, a group of nomads moving from place to place each evening, bringing our music and drink with us wherever we went (served from the trunk of a car when necessary), and experienced the strong magic of dancing together. 

The music may have been R&B, Rock, Country or Pop, but the feeling was all gypsy. We enjoyed ourselves without reservation, flying without wings and vibrating like the strings of the guitars we listened to.

Oh, my, it was fun. It's no wonder I'm having trouble with the re-entry.

Today, I hope you enjoy the dance!

The music selection today had to be from a gypsy, for whether we were dancing to Al Green or Madonna, I heard the fire of gypsy violins as I danced.

This is the Hungarian violinist, József Lendvay, playing the "Csárdás" (a traditional Hungarian dance) by Vittorio  Monti. I've heard this piece played many times by many groups, but this one has the fire of the gyspy in it. Enjoy!  (Oh, and feel free to get up and dance!)

  

The Blessing of Old Friends

"It is one of the blessings of old friends that you can afford to be stupid with them."

- Ralph Waldo Emerson

Graduation (Boy with Teacher), Norman Rockwell
Oil on canvas, The Saturday Evening Post, June 26, 1926

Tomorrow I embark upon a great adventure--the reunion with the Class of 1971 of my high school alma mater, Ruskin High.It's not just any reunion. This year marks the 40th anniversary of our trip across the dais of the cavernous R.L.D.S Auditorium to accept our diplomas. All seven hundred (and then some) of us!

Ruskin High School Class of 1971
R.L.D.S Auditorium, Independence, Missouri

I remember the day as being hot as hell very warm and the ceremony itself as interminably long very inspiring. After the ceremony, my extended family gathered at the local ice cream shop for the traditional graduation party, where we were all treated to the decadent dessert of our choice. I remember very clearly ordering a
"Brown Cow," a huge concoction of far too much chocolate ice cream, carmel and hot fudge sauce, and whipped cream in an enormous glass goblet. It was a thing of beauty.

[Unlike today--with graduates treated to all-nighters at amusement parks or recreation centers, fancy swag bags from vendors around the area, raffle prizes that make Lotto look wimpy, and huge gift checks from friends and family--graduation was taken more in stride in my day. We were appropriately fêted with cards and gifts and cash, to be sure, and there was a modest graduation party at King Louie Bowling Lanes (if I recall correctly), but there were many grads who left the ceremony to return to jobs, and many others who simply looked upon this day more appropriately as the first step into a new phase of life, no Rave  orgy bacchanalia spectacle big bash required.]

I've never been to a high school reunion before. I've been assured that there will be visual aids with the nametags (class photos attached), and even reference books yearbooks for those of us who have lost ours somewhere along the way. Thank goodness for small favors. My current visage is almost nonexistant in my photo as a senior in high school...

...and I think we all were really only embryos of our true selves back then, even though we thought we were so very grown up.

I suspect that even though I won't have instant recognition in many cases, it won't take long for the recollections to start bubbling up. Recollections of adventures in and out of the classroom, friendships forged from years together, and the delightful blessing of sometimes...every once in a while, doing fairly stupid things with those friends.

In a few minutes, I will get in my car and drive to Kansas City for four days of music, feasting, dancing, sightseeing, and picnicking with my fellow Ruskin Eagles. The days and nights will undoubtedy include more adventures, newly forged friendships, the making of memories to be recollected in the future, and almost certainly (if we are very, very lucky) a few stupid things. 

I can't wait to get started.

Today, I hope you'll call an old friend and share a memory.

You probably guessed what the music today would be, didn't you? It's the iconic music heard at virtually every graduation in America, Eward Elgar's  "Pomp and Circumstance Military March, March No. 1 in D"

Elgar wrote 39 marches for this opus, with "pomp" referring to the military pageantry of war, and "circumstance" as the condition of the actual horror of war.

None is more recognizable than the very first, but in fact, what most of us have heard is only one section of the entire march called "the trio" which is usually repeated again and again during the graduation processional.

The entire work is much more satisfying, and I  hope you'll take a listen. I chose this performance by the German Military Music Service conducted by Colonel Dr. Michael Schramm. This version is played the way it was meant to be played...as a military march. It has all the precision, power, and strength that accompanies the military, and even though you may have heard it a hundred times, the ending of this one is enough to make you want to listen again. Enjoy!

Young Poet Listening

"The poet doesn't invent. He listens."

-Jean Cocteau

Today I'm handing my blog over to my grandson, the Little Scholar. Eight years old, he finished second grade last Friday and brought home a stellar report card to show for it.  His backpack was filled with papers, Pokeman cards, pencils, crayons, and old treasures rediscovered in the deep recesses of his desk.  Oh, I had forgotten the unbridled joy of a child's last day of school!

Among his papers was this writer's journal (photo above), mandated, no doubt, by his teacher, but embraced by the Little Scholar. In it, he describes himself as a "poet and author." Wow. I wonder how I might have described myself at his age. What would you have written about yourself?

Here is one of the poems from his journal, which the Little Scholar has offered to share with you:

The Sounds in a Rainstorm

A storm is full

of the nicest sounds,

It BOOMS! and BANGS!

and rumbles,

With kids JuMpInG in puddles,

The wind and flags

are flapping fast,

Suddenly it is quiet,

            and peaceful again.             

- Tony Lucas

I'm very happy that young students are being exposed to poetry and prose. It bodes well for our community. When children are taught to listen to the world around them and interpret what they hear, beauty is bound to happen.

Thanks for reading, and if you are so inclined to leave a comment today, you can be sure that the reply will come from the Little Scholar himself.  Have fun with kids this summer!

The music selection today was very easy..."Storm" or the 3rd Movement of Antonio Vivaldi's "Summer" of "Four Seasons".  I think the Little Scholar got a kick out of hearing that his name, Anthony, tranlates to 'Antonio' in Italian.

I presented him with three versions of this selection; one filled with special effects from techno-pop diva Vanessa Mae, one with a fabulous young electric guitarist from Kazakhstan, and one straightforward chamber orchestra version. To my utter surprise and delight, he selected the latter version. When asked why he chose that one, he answered, "It sounds like it's supposed to sound"...another purist in the family!

This is the Israel Chamber Orchestra with Paul Levin on the violin and David Zebba in the conductor's chair.  Enjoy! 

Sacred Sentiments

"What we have once enjoyed we can never lose. All that we love deeply becomes a part of us."
- Helen Keller

Maori Chief - sketched in 1769 by Sidney Parkinson,
artist on Captain Cook's 1st voyage to New Zealand
Image from Wikipedia 

Tattoos have been used since the beginning of human time for the purpose of marking a significant event. The word itself comes from the Samoan word‘tatau’ which means ‘to mark something’.
 
"Ötzi the Ice-Man" (the Neolithic corpse discovered in 1991) bore several tattoos, including ones behind his right knee, his lower back, and both ankles.  While we can only speculate as to the meaning of his tattoos, it goes without saying that it must have been to mark a significant event or time in his life.
 
I've never been a big fan of tattoos. You only need to ask two of my sons, who will tell you their stories of my reaction to theirs. I mean, you have to be absolutely certain you're going to want to spend eternity with that  marking, right?  If a mummified Neolithic man still displays his tattoos to the world, that's one enduring art form.

Still, there is something to it, this practice of making a mark on our skin to mark a significant event in our lives.  In some cases, it may be about using physical pain to express internal pain, but not always. They can also express great joy, marking the occasions of love in our lives. I must admit, I see the sacred sentiments in such tattoos.  

My great-nephew's father, brother, and wife decided to express their love and their pain at his passing with tattoos. I found their choices to be poignant and dear. I'm certain it was a wonderful bonding experience, and I look forward to hearing all about it, and seeing the tattoos for myself, very soon.

Here are the photos from their experience:

This one is from Josh's father, and includes favorite pet name from Josh's childhood.



 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

This one is from Josh's brother, who commemorates their love for Maurice Sendak's "Where the Wild Things Are"
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
...and this one is from Josh's wife:
 

The purple rose signifies Cystic Fibrosis awareness, and the green ribbon is the symbol of organ donors.

I can feel Josh's smile at these sacred sentiments.

Today, may you find a way to remember a loved one.

The music for today is called "Divine Remembrance". Rupert Guenther (on electric violin) & Paul Armitage (on keyboard) performance from the "Gratitude" CD. Recorded live in concert Perth Australia 2004. Enjoy...

Shine On, Joshua

"With all your science - can you tell how it is, and whence it is, that light comes into the soul?"
-Henry David Thoreau

Joshua James Schoenhoff
1986 - 2011

The Cystic Fibrosis has died at last.

The light from Josh will shine on forever.

...And when the night is cloudy, there is still a light,
that shines on me,



shine until tomorrow, let it be.


I wake up to the sound of music,
mother Mary comes to me,


there will be no sorrow let it be.


Let it be, let it be, .....