I am now on “the other side” of my Kansas recital, sitting in the airport in Detroit, completely exhausted from the experience, but pleased. I’ve found myself thinking several times about how incredibly blessed I am to be able to do what I love for a living – make music. You have to love it, because the pay scale is severely disproportionate to the amount of work involved, but who cares? Well, we all care, of course, but the experience of meeting new people, new instruments and throwing yourself into the music make up for it. Most of the time. And it certainly did this time.
The trip began as a typical (well, maybe not this year) morning in February does in Cleveland – with a snow storm. I always say to people who are afraid of flying that your chances of dying on the way to the airport are probably much greater than your chances of going down on the plane. That little factoid just doesn’t seem to help for some reason. Thankfully, my flight was uneventful. As I was sitting in the plane at the Akron-Canton airport, I marveled how bleak and unremarkable the landscape was. It was a blustery, winter mess out there – no colors to be seen except white and gray and very few buildings or landmarks around. We could have been sitting in any airport in Anytown, USA. I said my usual prayer as we took off – Lord, please let the flight be safe but if you’re going to take me make it quick – and was thankful later on for a safe journey. AND I was lucky enough NOT to be the person whose luggage fell apart. I tried really hard not to laugh when the busted suitcase went riding around the belt with a pair of gray “tighty-whiteys” hanging of the side. And even funnier (but not really, I know) to see their owner running around the belt trying to catch it.
During the flight I pondered what a blessing flying really was. You are literally and figuratively removed from your life as you know it. And there’s no point in worrying about anything while you’re in the air because you can’t do anything about whatever it is you’re worrying about. A priceless opportunity to just sit back and enjoy the scenery and dream amidst the clouds. A life without dreams is a life without a future. Dreaming is so important – we all need something positive to look forward to, something or some experience we can share with the people who mean the most to us. I don’t consider it a coincidence that some of the darkest times of my adult life I eventually came to the realization that I had stopped dreaming, stopped hoping for the future, and was just reacting to whatever was happening in the present. Or just standing and staring at it in shock.
I rented a car once I arrive in Kansas City, forgoing the extra insurance the nice young man tried to sell me because they were going to get an inch of snow on Monday. I assured him I was an expert snow driver – I lived in upstate New York for 2 years for crying out loud, and now I live in Cleveland, which isn’t much better. He said it wasn’t me he was worried about.
I asked, “Do they do a good job with plowing here?”
“No, not really.”
“Oh. Do you normally get a lot of snow?”
“No, this will be the first time this season.”
“Ah,”
(brief pause)
“Are you sure you don’t want the insurance, ma’am? It’s just mayhem here when it snows. MAYHEM.”
I almost laughed out loud at him – mayhem for an inch of snow? Please. I wish I could explain the look on his face – a mixture of horror and “lady you’re crazy if you don’t get the extra insurance.” And you should have seen the sorry snow brush they left in the car - thin, untreated wood for a handle that almost broke while I was brushing the inch of the windshield. Better than nothing! In the end, I rolled out of the lot and got myself on to the highway without incident, happily going along once I realized that driving under 75 miles an hour was not acceptable no matter what the speed limit says. I had a passing moment of panic when I thought I had chosen a car without a cup holder, but found it hidden in the dash. If there’s no space for Joe, there’s no space for me – I’ve got priorities, you know. I arrived at the hotel without incident. The hotel was great, especially once that Christian Youth Conference group checked out. Loud and obnoxious, and not because they love Jesus.
I’d been looking forward to this recital so much because the organ is fantastic, the hall is fantastic, and the instrument is kept in damn near perfect condition compared to many. There is no fun in any performance when you have to wrestle the instrument into submission in order to get an acceptable palate of sound. Meeting an unfamiliar instrument always involves a bit of shock, a bit of temporary disorientation until your mind and ear finally adjust to what’s going on around you. For me that happened about 6 hours before the recital when I finally said to myself, “there it is!” The challenge with this instrument is the enormous scope of sound coming out of the organ and the lingering sonority as it swirls around the room. It’s incredibly beautiful, but incredibly disorienting at first. It’s a little crazy to put your hands on the keyboard and not be able to hear note #3 because note #2 is in the way, and so on. You just have to trust that it’s there, and that every note after that will be exactly where you put it because that’s the way you practiced it. As an organist, you must learn to do this – you are wielding so much sound around that room and if you don’t know how to handle it, you end up with a big, fat mess. And THAT is not incredibly beautiful. I am so accustomed to playing in the dry, useless acoustic that is so common in many American churches and concert halls where every note is almost too clear. Finally, my approach to this particular instrument was, “stop trying so hard and just do what you know how to do”. If only I could learn to live the rest of my life that way.
After a couple of days of non-stop practice, score study, and rest, the recital was played, and I have to say that it wasn’t horrible! On the Nicole Scale of Performances that’s pretty good. I managed to stay focused and in control while enjoying the music and the experience at the same time – it’s a lot to juggle. There is nothing more thrilling that the sound of an organ, especially in such a wonderful acoustic, and the feeling of power and control that comes with knowing that you are creating it. Yeah, it’s a little narcissistic, but let me have my moment. We have to enjoy every little guilty pleasure we get in life that is not illegal, immoral or supremely unhealthy. I love what I do. There may be a day that comes when I can no longer do it, so I’m going to squeeze all the life out of it I possibly can.
Work hard, play hard – it’s the only way to live.
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