(not necessarily in that order)
Today — for the first time in six weeks — we “performed” for Sunday service at Ananda Village!
It was via the magic of video as we’re still in Sacramento, but at least we had a reason to put on jewel tones and SING.
We can’t wait to get back to singing all the time once again.
Our new singing motto seems to be: “Anywhere and anytime” — including the apheresis unit of UC Davis Cancer Center!
When you’re sitting around for five hours hooked up to a blood separating machine, there’s lots and lots of time for chatting with the nurses who are watching over the process. By the end of two days they knew that we were musicians and that we direct the music ministry at our church.
As we were preparing to go, we thanked them all for being so kind and upbeat, while they assured us that we had been the perfect patients — all in all, it was quite the mutual appreciation society.
So, when — in the midst of all the thanks and laughter — they asked us to sing something before leaving, we didn’t hesitate. Of course I wasn’t in full voice, but it felt like a perfect opportunity to share some of the blessings we were feeling.
One of the nurses grabbed her phone and took the video; unfortunately it ended up sort of blurry and sidewise, but you can still hear the song — “Make Us Channels of Thy Peace” by Swami Kriyananda.
Sunday mornings are full, of course. Today we arrived at the Temple of Light at 8:40am to rehearse and make other preparations for Sunday service singing and chanting.
Afterwards Ramesha had plans to spend time with a friend, while I did a darn good job of replicating yesterday’s achievement.
In other words, I’m proud to say that I didn’t do much of anything all afternoon and into the evening. High points were relaxing with a novel on the patio; taking a nap; reading some more; and eating.
I’m getting pretty good at this “doing nothing” stuff!
I’ve decided to share a bit of a health update here, since it’s become clear to people that there’s something going on… đ¤
A while back I was diagnosed with the Big “C”. It’s actually been a few weeks since I last wrote a health update; partly because there wasn’t anything significantly new or different to report, but also because I’ve been quite busy in other areas.
And therein lies the paradox of my life right now…
On the one hand, I feel (and, evidently, look) mostly normal. People see me singing for Sunday service or other events and have a hard time believing that I’m not completely well. That’s okay, because I have a hard time believing it myself!
The busyness I’m experiencing is largely because we’ve committed to doing our Good Friday Oratorio this year. True, it’s with a very small choir, but still…!
Although Oratorio is a big undertaking, we felt the strong inner guidance that this wasn’t the time for the music ministry to pull back, but rather to go for it. So, I’m definitely busier than I originally expected to be right now.
On the other hand, this is a serious illness and the treatment process is getting more varied and intense.
At the end of this month I’ll start two weeks of radiation. Then in early May we’ll meet with doctors to evaluate having a bone marrow transplant, which would mean time in the hospital and a significant recovery period.
So, my challenge right now is wrapping my mind around both of these realities at once: that I feel fine and filled with energy as I continue singing and serving through the music ministry, while at the same time I’m adjusting to the possibility of being out of action for longer than I can really imagine.
For now, it’s enough to keep taking things one step at a time, even while seeking to understand what it all means in the Big Picture.
In the meantime, I’m beyond grateful for all the prayers and good wishes. đđ
Lately I feel like pinching myself to make sure I’m not dreaming…that singing together in increasing numbers really is starting to happen again!
We were already approved to have a small live choir for this year’s Good Friday Oratorio, but now it looks like we’re going to have another small choir for an event later this month.
Plus planning is getting underway for Spiritual Renewal Week at the end of June, for which we just might be able to have a full choir — for the first time in over two years.
It’s enough to make me giddy with excitement!
We’ve been grappling with the question of choir and singing and safety and masks.
It doesn’t help that issues with the post office have our singing masks in some sort of postal limbo.
Plus we had to accept that not everyone in choir has the same idea of what being “extra careful” means.
Which is all good, but it means we’ve had to pause choir for a bit while we figure things out.
There was a community meeting in the Temple of Light this evening. The entire audience singing all together is still off limits, but our small group really didn’t want to just sing at the community; instead, we felt strongly about finding a way for everyone to participate as a community.
We had been exploring the idea of incorporating movement for some time, but tonight’s meeting nudged us into actually doing it. And it was wonderful!
As Pavani, our resident dancer, put it: “When we move in unison together, it’s unifying.”
And I believe we all got to experience the truth of that tonight.
Another deeply moving essay by Karl Paulnack; I’m inspired to add my thanks to his…
Thank you, Mr. Fry, Miss Hall, and Mr. Lynch.
Thank you, John Bringetto, Doc Patnoe, and Rich Bice.
Thank you, Marsha Goodman, Paul Renzi, Lloyd Gowen, and Robin McKee.
Thank you all for carrying your music practice and preparing me for a lifetime of carrying mine.
Karl Paulnack
January 27, 2019
I am writing a speech that I have to deliver later this week. I wanted to discuss how third-grade music teachers prepare their students for the rest of their lives, even though they have no idea how they are preparing them, do not know what those lives will look like, canât imagine their future, and in some cases, wouldnât want to.
On the night of September 11, 2001, one of the things happening on the west side of Manhattan where I lived was that people were gathering around firehouses, holding candles, bringing flowers, and singing songs of inspiration and support. I remember many people who looked like they might be finance or business people, mostly men, people in suits which were rumpled from an entire day of frantically trying to get home but who were now stuck on the island, guys with briefcases who were used to being in control and calling the shots who looked as though they had been struck by lightening. Some of these men were awkwardly holding hands with the rest of the crowd and we were singing âMy Country Tis of thee, sweet land of libertyâŚ..â
I knew the words and music to that song because it was taught to me by my third-grade teacher whose name was Betty Jean Kilgore in Allentown, Pennsylvania. And I remember her teaching us that song because she was standing at an upright piano wearing these high heels that seemed to me as a boy RIDICULOUSLY too high, and managing to stand and operate the damper pedal in this heel, which looked incredibly difficult to me, and I remember thinking in my third grade voice inside my head, âwow, that looks painful! Thatâs a dedicated woman.â She diligently taught us that song.
Mrs. Kilgore had no idea she was preparing me for 9/11. She had no possible way of even imagining what that would be. The world trade center wasnât built yet when I was in third grade. She was being faithful to her practice as a musician. There were probably some people in that room who were thinking âwhy are we learning this dumb songââŚ. And 30 years later there I was, singing in the wreckage.
And you know when we were holding hands singing around the fire station I didn’t know who the music majors were and who they werenât; it didnât matter. I was not musically prepared for 9/11 by Eastman or USC or any of my college teachers and it wasnât my advanced degrees in music and it didnât involve Brahms. It was Betty Jean Kilgore on a badly tuned upright piano in dangerous shoes, and it was everyone elseâs âBetty Jean Kilgoreâ, the music teachers of all the others who taught them that song, that allowed us to be together, in a very meaningful and powerful way, when we were speechless.
It wasnât fancy and it didnât need a budget and there was no conductor and FEMA didnât support it. We were able to do it because enough of us had third grade teachers who taught us a song.
You will not be able to prepare your students for the future, because you canât possibly imagine their future. It could be more beautiful or more wretched than we can fathom. If you carry your musical practice you will prepare your students for their lives. Period. If you carry your practice faithfully, they will have everything they need musically.
I happened to be curious about where Mrs. Kilgore is now, and I googled her. I found an obituary. She passed away 20 days ago. Perhaps the timing isnât coincidentalâfifty years ago she taught me that song, and now sheâs helping me prepare for a talk. I guess sheâs âteaching remotelyâ these days.
Thank you, Mrs. Kilgore.
For a while now we’ve been planning to increase our Sunday service singing group to two singers on each part, for a total of eight in the group (woohoo!).
This was finally going to be the week…such anticipation!
Instead, we got to face a big dose of reality regarding the surging numbers of COVID cases in Nevada County, and realized that this is not the time to add singers. đ
The plan is now on hold and we’re bummed…as are the others who are craving the opportunity to sing again.
But I’m concentrating on being grateful that so far we’re managing to keep live music happening for Sunday service, no matter how small the group has to be.
Yep, in some ways we’re back to the beginning — no live singing or chanting, for Sunday service or anywhere else at Ananda Village, until January 5 at the earliest.
But in other ways, it’s not like the beginning at all. It’s way more frustrating because of all the time and energy and resources expended in between, for seemingly nothing.
Not to mention the sacrifices!
And yes, a part of me thinks I have some nerve whining about not being able to sing. I mean, I think about all those working on the front lines in hospitals and clinics — from doctors and nurses to food service workers and cleaning crews. I think about the people working in grocery stores and gas stations and pharmacies, so that we can be fed and supplied. And I am so, so grateful for them all.
So, yeah, in some ways we’re back to the beginning, but with a lot more understanding and compassion and — yes — patience.