Watching and Waiting

Grand Central is filled with rushing bodies. As I walk to the information desk, I find myself dancing. I turn, a slow spin. I contort my torso to bend this way while moving a foot that way. The audible hum of trains, ringing phones and voices act as my rhythm. The music of life. I stop. Look around. It’s the end of another day. A long weekend taunts the air, daring commuters to jump a train now and abandon the city.

It’s easy to spot the tourists from the locals. The commuters running for a train from those who call the city home. You can see it in their step, the direction of their eyes, the familiarity of the path.

A couple stops in front of me. Tourists. Their hands clasped as wonderment spreads across their eyes. The majesty of the place really is quite incredible. But they stop looking at the room and instead they’re looking at each other. Embracing. Kissing. Loving each other more than they could ever love this inanimate building. I walk a couple of steps away. I want them to have a moment with a small semblance of space.

Standing here I feel like a pebble trying to interrupt the river. People are parting and passing by me. Talking on their cell phones or to friends. I’m surrounded by strangers but as I catch little words of their conversation I wonder if we could be friends. I wonder about the most interesting conversations this building has overheard. The stories it could whisper in my ear, if only I could hear it over the roar of life.

I change directions again so I can see a different mix of people. My eyes land on your face instead. I smile.

Another Year

Once upon a time, a young girl sat in a hospital room reading Little House on the Prairie to her mom. She and her dad were supposed to take her mom home today, but the doctor said the mom wasn’t ready yet. Maybe tomorrow.

As the girl read, the mom’s breathing got ragged, until she gasped a quiet call for help, insisting the husband get the doctor. Nurses rushed in. The little girl was pushed out of the room, left to stand in the hallway and watch the scene unfold.

Her mom’s lung had collapsed. She had a hole in her diaphragm. The little girl didn’t know what was going to happen or if her mom would make it.

When she got home she fell to her knees and with childish innocence asked God to make her mom better. She told God that she was too young to not have a mom. She told God she needed her mom. She begged. She cried. And in the end she knew, everything would be okay.

Slowly, but surely her mom got better until they could take her home. The girl stayed by her mom's bedside and helped as a home health nurse came and showed the girl how to take care of her mom. She was happy to help. She was happy her mom was going to be okay.

***

Today is a special day. Today is my mother's birthday.

I've been thinking all day long what words I could use to adequately explain how great my mom is or how special she is to me. I've come up with cheesy things and sincere things but none of it seems good enough.

What do you say about the most influential person in your life?
What do you say about the person gave/gives up so much for you?
What do you say about the person who has taught you what love is?
What do you say about the person you love so very, very much?

I still don't know. What I do know is that my mom is a very special woman. She is wise. She is good. She has always been there for me. She has taught me by word and example for my whole life. Everything I am, who I am, is all because of her. She is my very best friend.

I'm glad I can celebrate another year with you.

Happy birthday, Mom.

More on the Symphony

I got an email on Wednesday with a great offer on tickets to the symphony. I emailed some friends and made a plan to go. It was awesome.

The conductor, Xian Zhang, almost seemed to dance as she led the music this way and then that. She swayed. She almost spun. Her short hair bounced as she jumped into the next wave of her baton. She made me feel passionate about the music. I wanted to hear her talk about her love of music and why she decided to become a conductor.

The other special treat of the evening was a performance by Garrick Ohlsson on the piano. The piece was Martinu's Incantation, Piano Concerto No. 4. He was seriously amazing. The way he played it made it sound so natural, almost as if he was up there just jamming along with a full orchestra. But I felt like he really shined in the second movement, he scaled the piano keys upward and downward, touching each one with undeniable power. I can't even imagine being able to play the piano like he does. And did I mention he had the whole thing memorized? Incredible.


Warming up. Picture by the beautiful Brook.

My favorite piece was Sibelius' Symphony No. 1 in E minor. The first movement really spoke to me. Look it up. Listen to it. Be inspired. But if you have a chance to hear it live, do it. It's better this way.

There is such a difference in live music versus a recording. I venture to say you can feel this difference so much more with the symphony than with any other kind of music. There is almost something tangible in the air as you listen to the music enfold you. It caresses you and speaks in your ear. Sometimes quietly. Other times yelling. And as it speaks, it weaves dreams into seeming reality until you feel you are somewhere else, living out someone else’s story.

Music, especially of this caliber, is truly a gift from God. The inexpressible powerful overwhelms me. I don’t know who was first inspired to make these elaborate instruments and I don’t know how anyone could be talented enough to then interweave all of them in such a way to make me feel inspired, but I am grateful someone was. I am in awe.


After the show, in front of the fountain. Picture by Brook.

Inspiration

Cacophony rules but is hushed
in a sudden change of atmosphere
Silence crackles in eager anticipation
Stillness buzzes, hungry to be broken

Then, a downbeat of the moment is declared
with a decisive slice of tiny molecules
Fluid motions embrace the air
Filling it with sweet vibrations

Seeming dissonance corrects in a harmonizing
meld of overtones and undertones
Combining, dividing, diminishing, building
Crescendo and crash in tremendous brilliance

Waving dances of passion from so many
create this moment of movements
Intrinsically connected to an unknown part
Illuminating my soul in a symphony of music

3 Minutes, 25 Times

I was surprisingly nervous, though I tried to play it off with extreme disinterest. Still, I could feel my heart beating at an unacceptable rate.

This doesn’t make me desperate, I kept telling myself. It doesn’t matter I freely chose to go to a single adult speed dating activity. Or that I came to this activity by myself.
It. Does. Not. Make. Me. Desperate.

We all stood at the edges of the room, nonchalantly mingling until they indicated it was time to take our seats.

I was number 79 out of a supposed 100 girls. There were supposed to be 100 boys too, but like every other activity here, the girls outnumbered the boys. I sat down in my designated seat only to look across at an empty male seat #79. It felt like fate wanted to prove to me the stupidity of being there.

But I think fate understood I was putting forth a good effort to be social and took pity on me. The male seat #80 was occupied while the female seat #80 was empty. Number 80 slid into seat across from me. I smiled. He was cute with curly hair and an easy smile.

It turns out speed dating can be fun.

Three minutes with about 25 guys. Most of the questions were standard stuff like “how long have you been in New York?” “what do you do here in New York?” “where are you from?” blah, blah, blah.

But then there were those questions that totally left me stumbling like an idiot.
“What’s the one thing you’ve wanted to talk about tonight, but haven’t?”
“If you were to get a tattoo tonight, what would it be and where would it be?”
“What’s the best thing about you?”

One week to see if any of the boys liked my answers. My looks.

I’m not holding my breath.