T. S. Eliot

Very challenging to pick the poem that I feel is the summation of this year; have spent the week reading through my shelf (yes! an entire shelf, 40+ volumes of poetry--how delicious) to choose the right words.

In the end, I return to one of the first poets I met, Mr. Eliot. I choose to leave this calendar year with bits from The Four Quartets; I will not quote all 60 pages of the poetry, but if you've not treated yourself to a reading of this work, I would think it would make an excellent beginning to 2011.

from Burnt Norton (named after his country home in Gloucestershire):

"Footfalls echo in the memory

Down the passage which we did not take

Towards the door we never opened

Into the rose-garden.  My words echo

Thus, in your mind.

                   But to what purpose,

Disturbing the dust on a bowl of rose-leaves

I do not know."

and from Little Gidding (named after an Anglican religious community):

"For last year's words belong to last year's language

And next year's word await another voice."

Here's to new words and new language and a new calendar year.  Happy 2011 everyone!

seasonal query

Am I the only one who shrieks at the end of O. Henry's The Gift of the Magi, "her hair will GROW back!"?

bright, shiny future?

From today's SF Chron....a new career direction for me?

on the 4th day o' Christmas

I counted my coinage found on the streets of Seattle...

on the second day of Christmas....

Yawn.  After almost 48 consecutive hours of slumber, I am blinking my way back into the world. 

life after liturgies

 Chocolate cheesecake bars headed to choir.

 Action shot of the string quartet and organist.

Festive cards and $.12 found on a brisk rain-filled walk.

Am too tired to do justice to a full report from last night and today's performances; five liturgies in a row is a bit much.  Will summarize by saying there were moments of great beauty.  And now it is time for a long winter's nap. 

so this is Christmas

(The intriguing tree near the Space Needle--wish my shots of it at night turned out--it's ethereally blue.) 

With the hundreds of seasonal lyrics, these are the ones that keep running through my head (even though I haven't actually heard this song this month) and so I am posting them for this Friday's poetry.

So this is Christmas
And what have you done
Another year over
And a new one just begun

Ans so this is Christmas
I hope you have fun
The near and the dear one
The old and the young

A very merry Christmas
And a happy New Year
Let's hope it's a good one
Without any fear

And so this is Christmas
For weak and for strong
For rich and the poor ones
The world is so wrong

And so happy Christmas
For black and for white
For yellow and red ones
Let's stop all the fight

A very merry Christmas
And a happy New Year
Let's hope it's a good one
Without any fear

liminality

Delightful tea from some fabulous musical elves is proving to be the perfect way to unwind from hours of Christmas rehearsals.  

Fa-la-la.  La, la, la.

In twenty-four hours, it will have zipped by.  Each year, I am surprised when it is over.  My Christmas begins in July when I order/choose the music; so five months of plotting goes into one evening's performances.  Perhaps that is why it is so poignant.

And this hush prior to the curtain rising is perhaps one of my favorite experiences as a musician.  All is calm and things are semi-bright.

It's beginning to look a lot like

sorry.  I will stop with the inane Christmas tunes.  Too busy to do justice to a full concert report from last night.  Suffice to say, it was a lovely event.

 

I love the term 'greening' and our altar guild has done a stellar job in creating a festive space.

A snarky little note pad was delivered as a gift, along with a fuzzy pen--which Bogart has also appropriated.

AND some delish pastries also arrived at my door.

catatonic

Winter Solstice scenery

I will stop with the excessive cat photos...although the levels in the food/water dishes go down, I haven't seen Bogart leave this new Christmas blanket since it arrived.  But tis a grand day to stay hunkered down and stock up on sleep.  I'd be quite happy to be an indoor cat in my next life...

 

 

And hooray for the CSA box with it's festive foods.

it's the most won....crazed time of the year

at least for musicians.  And postal workers.  And caterers.  And--oh probably, just about everyone.  But there is still a bit of time to light some candles, to watch a lunar eclipse and to still find pennies on the ground.  I wonder how I find so many.  Are others too sophisticated to stoop down on the city streets?  Germ-phobic?  Oblivious to free money?  Whatever the reason, I am still grateful when I find a penny; literally and figuratively.  Stay tuned for reports from a concert tomorrow night.  A true penny in the pathway of this week!

catching up

My wi-fi has not been working, so I have a back-log of photos...blurry signage for The Rusty Chord's concert this past Friday.

Some of my singers getting into place.

Somehow, I did not get a shot of all the dapper red bow ties.

One of the singers had her grandson come and provide some percussion for some of our pieces.  He had such a good time, he wants to bring his entire drum set for our spring concert.

Cosy Christmas gifts arriving in the mail.

Coins found

and a purring pet who highly approves of this colder weather, so that he may burrow are all blessings of this weekend.

into the dark

I know that I used this poem for a Friday during the winter of Westminster, but it captures the juxtapositions of this season well enough to repeat it.   As onward we go, emptying the garbage, rehearsing the notes--breathing through the hopes/fears and triumphs and darkness....still singing.

 A little girl is singing for the faithful to come ye
Joyful and triumphant, a song she loves,
And also the partridge in a pear tree
And the golden rings and the turtle doves.
In the dark streets, red lights and green and blue
Where the faithful live, some joyful, some troubled,
Enduring the cold and also the flu,
Taking the garbage out and keeping the sidewalk shoveled.
Not much triumph going on here—and yet
There is much we do not understand.
And my hopes and fears are met
In this small singer holding onto my hand.
Onward we go, faithfully, into the dark
And are there angels singing overhead? Hark.

"December" by Gary Johnson

breaking new cents

While my morning ramble did yield two cents; they, alas, are not the new and supposedly improved penny.

 

And I know we're all relieved that our mailman is back in time for the Christmas rush of mailing...

drippety drip

even peppers blink a bright red and green

The classic lights on Holy Names Academy

 random decorated homes in my 'hood

and this blurriness?  is from the pouring rain...

Joyeux Noel

Finally watched the first Christmas movie of the season and was reminded why this is one of my all-time favs.

frankincense and fir

Nice column from the observant Jon Carroll.  

If this endless deluge lifts a bit, I will be jaunting forth to enjoy a book event at the always cosy Elliott Bay Books.

after the rain

rainbow dissipated prior to finding leprechauns or pots o' gold.

 Still, there were Powerberries from Traders and a penny to be found...

and back to the liquid sunshine.