The Weekly Muse

The muse is quiet today.  It was a bruising week and I'm in need of some peace and rest.

I shall get both in abundance - at least for today.  The Oracle is off to his weekend shooting league - tactical, self-defense shooting.  He hasn't been in so long that mice had taken up residence in his gear bag! Poor man...he was out of the house by 8:00am with a spring in his step I haven't seen in awhile.

It's always a good day to go shooting...

For me it's about household chores.  I know, you'd think that with the need for peace and rest that would be the last thing I would need or want to do. Except that on quiet Saturdays when The Oracle is off doing something that he truly loves - I enjoy picking up, puttering around and getting caught up on things.  The birds sing outside my windows, the fountain in our outdoor living room burbles its way into the house.  And there is, of course, a soundtrack to my day.

The great Sara Bareilles. She gets heavy play from me...her lyrics, her voice, her style - when it all comes together in one person it's simply sublime.

Music is the blood that pumps thru my veins. Whether I listen to someone else or play someone's creations on my piano or sing to the Lord at church...music fills my soul with renewal, letting me know that all things are possible.  I can find healing in lyrics such as the song above, I can find solace in the strains of a perfect Mozart confection and I can release some pent-up aggression with the likes of Billy Joel.

And so it has, as I said, been a very difficult week. Chiefly because I've been dealing with a health issue that looms large and threatening.

I am losing the hearing in my left ear.  In 10 months I've gone from nearly perfect hearing in that ear to a significant diminishment of the upper pitches of sound.  It's noticeable enough that my regular Ear, Nose and Throat doctor has referred me to a hearing specialist in his practice.

I had that appointment this past week.  The doctor - ridiculously well-educated with both an M.D. and a Ph.D. - achieved at the same time.  Well-published he's done some pioneering surgeries and treatment for ear disorders.

He's also a total asshole.  I mean a serious dick.  Assumes he knows what you are going to say and interrupts you.  Took me 10 minutes to get out my story.  Diminished hearing, everything sounding muffled on the left, physical pain with certain sound and sound sensitivity.

Once I got that out...he began to listen more closely to me.  In the end, I believe he understands that a 52 year old person with demonstrable hearing loss isn't hysterical or looking for a quick fix.

The fact is - the hearing loss I have now is permanent and unexplained. I had an MRI to rule out the only thing that could be a problem - an auditory nerve tumor.

Thanks be to God.

Which still leaves us with the unknown reason for this loss.  So it's on to hearing tests every 3 months with consults at the same time.  Until the doctor gets enough data to tell him more about what's going on.  There aren't many options because no matter what the underlying cause, I'm losing my hearing on the left.

Hearing aids will definitely be in my future.  The doctor did say that's about the 3rd or 4th option and I'm hoping it's far in the future.

To say I'm scared - is an understatement.  I'm trying to hold it together and not think too far ahead of the next hearing test.  And yet...

...the things that truly feed my soul are aural.  Music in all it's already-mentioned forms.  My beloved birds.  My Mozart.  

My music.

To lose even a part of that........................................

My mind can't go there.

And so I push on, dealing with the sound sensitivity in any way I can (which usually means blocking my left ear with my index finger).  The doctor says this part of the situation is happening, oddly, because of the loss of the high pitches.  Not hearing them actually makes me more sensitive to them...and trust me, at times the pain is physical, like tiny knives stabbing my inner ear.

At the end of the appointment the doctor was still an asshole but a knowledgeable one who is taking an aggressive yet conservative approach.  I do appreciate his candor; I don't like his impatience and brusque manner.  I'll give him one year...if I can get used to his style and if he can help me even a little, I'll stay with him.  Otherwise it will be on to the next specialist.

In the meantime, we search for relaxation thru music and the beauty of this time of year in New England.

I'll be spending time in that space today.  Finally finished the deck restoration (as you can see, it's a 2-level monster!).  And the deck furniture in the foreground was delivered a mere 45 minutes ago.  The aforementioned fountain still burbles right outside those sliding glass doors.  It beckons me to take my delicious second cup of coffee and go outside.

I plan to heed the fountain.

The Weekly Muse

What we have here in a conflagration of final allergy messiness.

Laryngitis accompanied by a sore throat plus exhaustion.  It's an unwelcome combo to say the least.

Cuz I'm lucky like this.  It's become an annual thing - this laryngitis business.  And so far as I'm concerned it has definitely outstayed it's welcome.

Again.

Ah - this too shall pass.  And I did aggravate it yesterday but all in a good cause.  For it was the annual department picnic.  Organized by myself and some dedicated co-workers, this was our 6th year at the gloriously beautiful Wickham Park.  Reserving their largest pavilion gives us access to two very large charcoal braziers, some dozen picnic tables, several large serving tables and the all-important - bathrooms.

Many people contribute to the success of this event.  Our senior leaders buy all the meats, breads, beverages and paper goods.  The employees volunteer to bring potluck items to round out the picnic smorgasbord.  Everything from ethnic foods from India and China to traditional American fare like macaroni salad.  Chips. Dips. Guacamole. Cookies. Brownies.

Oh my!

And there is a picnic soundtrack contributed by yours truly.  From the above (which I can't stop listening to - it's playing as I type this...again) to the below.

A long-standing personal favorite; I'd have to say that Boston is one of my all-time favorite groups - ever.  It's a great mix of music from all over the spectrum.

All thru the day - I am on duty along with the core planning team.  Seeing to the set-up, clean-up and everything in between.  Laying out food, making sure there is enough of everything available, refreshing beverages in coolers, monitoring the cooks for burgers & dogs served hot & fresh.

It's a great day - everyone relaxes, there are plenty of games to amuse those who need it and ample conversation that you don't normally get during the busy workday.

Which is why my voice is nearly non-existent today.  I had the chance to talk to friends at work in a way that isn't the norm in the office.  Casual conversation, not centered on work or the demands of those around us.  Refreshingly we learn that we are all just human beings with lives outside of the cubicle farm...rich lives, filled with family & friends and pursuits beyond protecting the bottom lie of the fortune 100.

And in the 6 years we've done this picnic - the weather has always been glorious.  There were a couple of years - like yesterday - that were a little warmer than we'd like but...no rain.  Very little humidity, light breezes blowing thru the woods around the Pavilion.

It's a great day. And an exhausting one for me.  So I left the party a tad early, drove home in the quiet and stayed that way once indoors.  Went to bed early and was plagued by odd dreams.

I might need a nap today.  And more silence.

It's all good though.  Great way to kick off the summer months for 70 hard-working people. 

Weekly Muse

Time.

It's an ephemeral concept; fleeting yet slow all in the same breath.

There are days when you feel as if you've counted every minute on the clock. I find those days usually happen...at work.

***le sigh***

Then there are the days that go so fast it's as if they finished before they even started.

This past Friday was such a day.  For we went to a wedding Friday evening - an event so romantic that it brings tears to my eyes just thinking about the experience.

The bride - a very dear and close friend from work - spent the past 13 months planning the wedding she had been dreaming of since she was 7 years old (she's now 31).  I'm fairly certain that the time of those months, to her, definitely felt like they finished before they started.

She worked so hard on this wedding to create the perfect memories for her, her new husband and her family & friends.

She exceeded even her own, wildest expectations.

From the ceremony to the cocktail hour to the meal to the music - and every possible detail in between, this really was a wedding to be put in the spotlight.

The bride, never a conformist - walked down the aisle on her beloved father's arm to this song.  Knowing the story of the bridge & groom, this song is the epitome of their meeting, their courtship and their wedding.

And, I suspect, their entire marriage will play out this way every single day.  Because the love they hold in their hearts for each other eclipses everything around them - but at the same time welcomes you into that precious inner circle of beauty and truth.

And as they wing their way to their romantic (of course) honeymoon in a tropical paradise, my heart fills with gratitude that this beautiful young woman - inside and out - is my friend.

No - that's not quite enough.

She is a friend - we laugh, share stories, tell each other deep dark secrets.  And yet she is more - like a  daughter I think - she holds a special place in my heart.  One that has never been filled before.

Like a friend - when she got engaged I was giddy with happiness for her.  But like a daughter - I was so pleased that she found a man who would cherish her and treat her like the princess she deserves to be in his life.

Like a friend - I ooh'd and aah'd over the wedding plans as she revealed them to me.  But like a daughter - she made me so proud of her attitude about marriage, about her maturity and commitment to her childhood dreams to make this wedding the fairytale of her dreams.

Like a friend - I grinned from ear-to-ear to see her walk down the aisle.  But like a daughter - she made me burst with joy at her happiness.

Her wedding was a fairytale and she was the princess of every little girls' dreams.  The force of her personality brought it all about - and it will ensure that her life with her new husband will be filled with the richness of their love, respect and adoration for each other.

And me?  I get to be caught up in their magic.  And just thinking about that makes me cry again - in joyousness for their new life together.

And...as time goes by my only wish for this wonderfully special young woman is that her marriage is half as happy as mine is.

Because that is the true gift I could give her - the example of my own marriage to my beloved Oracle; the happiness we share, the compromises we make and the joining of two people into one life together.

Because 30 years from now, my beautiful friend will still be married to the man of her dreams and she will look back in wonder at how time...

...flies.

And it can be so much fun.

Weekly Muse

The weekend. That magical time when the alarm-clock gets turned off, when you may indulge in a decadent second cup of coffee with your feet up someplace.  When making bagels and scrambled eggs for breakfast doesn't have to be weighed against getting to work on time. 

It's Saturday.

Sigh

And it's a gloriously beautiful morning so far. A nice laze-about the bed, slowly waking up to birdsong and soft rustling of the leaves in the gentle breezes. Breakfast has been consumed and a 2nd cup of coffee is in the offing.

The soundtrack of the morning is as above. Benign music that teases your senses with fizzy, bright notes of joy.

For that is the theme of the weekend - joy.

This our last full weekend with no commitments to others for the next month.  This is not to complain, mind you.  Yet each weekend after this, thru nearly the end of June, we will have at least one day destined to be consumed by activities.

It's all good.  Lots of church-related stuff and that's doubly good for we love and adore our parish family; any time spent with them is a blessing in its purest form.

And so this weekend it's all about - us.

Tonite it's "Date Night".  We have season tickets to a wonderful regional theater and we always go out to dinner before each show.  We've been doing this now for about 12 years - and it includes the same restaurant.  A jewel of a hideaway, a tiny place where reservations are mandatory, the food is sublime and the wine list is like stepping into heaven from a soft cloud.

A place where, after all these years, we have our own table and get comped various and sundry treats including a random amuse-bouche, a tempting dessert or a house-made after dinner cocktail.

And a place where interesting music winds its way into your ears and your soul.

Tomorrow will be shopping for new deck furniture; we've been restoring our 20-year old, 2-level deck for the past month and it is finally finished.  Time for a new table and set of chairs to go with the crisp beauty of our newly restored deck - painted a lovely deep pewter with white deck railings.  Classic.

Just as this weekend will be.  Classic - quiet, just the 2 of us indulging in the things that bring us...

...joy.

Journey of Faith

Faith.


A single-syllable word that is one of the most difficult to define.  In Christianity about the most perfect definition can be found in the Book of Hebrews, 11:1:

Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.

For the other extreme, Atheists (and to a certain extent - Agnostics), that sentence is the crux of all that is wrong with religion in general - and Christianity specifically.

But we won't be concerning ourselves with the unbelievers or semi-believers, or even non-Christians.  This is to be a conversation - a sharing - of my faith journey.  A journey that I continue on as we speak - growing, changing, expanding.

It is one that began in 1963 when I was born.  Yes...revealing my age here and I'm OK with that.  It's just a number anyway.

I grew up in a Christian family - a devout, faithful Christian family.  My parents choose a fringe faith - nothing you've likely ever heard of.

Christadelphian.

The link above is to the Wiki on this faith and it's about as accurate as you'll find without the mumbo-jumbo of the faith's particular belief system.  It is historically correct and represents the faith's tenets with clarity.

If you Google the name - you'll find references to a cult.  And that's not too far off to be honest.  It has much in common with the Jehovah's Witnesses...and any Christadelphian worth their salt would vehemently disagree with you on that point.

Christadelphians are a tiny sect in Christianity with very small worldwide numbers - 70,000 total in 120 countries.

Very small.

And for my entire childhood I dealt with the stares, derision and skepticism of my classmates when the subject of religion would come up.

In fact, it grew so onerous to deal with that I just started saying we were "Christians" and left it at that.  Tone and body language can go a long way to get your point across, even if you are only 12 years old.

As with most children, I followed my parents in their faith without question or comment.  Even in my teen years - when you would expect rebellious behavior - I largely never objected to going to church on Sundays, lectures on Sunday evenings and other related events.

In short - I believed.  I believed in God, in his son Jesus Christ.  I believed in the sacrifice made by Jesus for my salvation.

Christadelphians teach a very narrow view of Christianity.  They don't believe in an immortal soul, they don't believe in a Trinitarian system, they don't believe in Satan as a physical being and it follows that they don't believe in Hell as a physical place and they don't believe in christening infants. Baptism is reserved for someone old enough to discern their faith and answer questions during an Examination after a lengthy period of study and mentorship.

What they DO believe is astounding - they believe that the Bible - all of it...Noah, Moses, Abraham, King David, Jesus, the Apostles, etc...was written only for them.

Like I said - astounding.

Christadelphians truly believe that salvation belongs to them - and them alone.  And to go further, if you are a non-Christadelphian exposed to the faith and you fail to learn about it and follow it, you will have to answer to that at the time of Judgement.

Yes.

I believed all that to be true - until I turned 32.  My beloved dad died at age 63 and for the first time in my sheltered, pampered life - I started to question the meaning of, well, everything.  Including my faith - specifically the Christadelphian faith.

How could it all be just for them? For 50,000 people in a world with 6+ million - the only ones to be saved would be the Christadelphians?  It made no sense.

It rang hollow - devoid of depth, acceptance, tolerance - all those things that Jesus himself taught us were so very important.

And so, 18 months after daddy died, I left the only faith I had ever known.  I walked away with a heavy heart because my dad was a man of deep faith; he truly believed in all of it. And I knew that if he was alive, his disappointment in me would be catastrophic.

Yet - I began the first leg of my independent journey of faith; a trip that would take 15 years to complete.

And that - will be for another blog post.

Remembering

Memorial Day.

It's not about the latest white sale or the deal you can get on a car.  And really, as much as we enjoy it, it's not about the 3-day weekend.

It's about honor. Sacrifice. Remembrance.

And 10 years ago I learned that a member of The Oracle's family made the ultimate sacrifice during WWII.  The only reason we know about this is because I was working on a family pictorial project and asked for access to The Oracle's parent's family photographs.

Mixed in was this image:

Nothing was written on the back of the image - no names, no dates.  Clearly a WWII-era image but who was this adorable young couple?  And why were they in the family photo boxes?

My MIL was able to shed some light on it.  This is Uncle Albert Dentino.  My MIL's mother's brother.  I asked what happened to Uncle Albert?  We'd never heard of him before - including The Oracle.

The answer...he died in a foxhole in France during WWII.

That's it.  Succinct and pretty much devoid of emotion.  When asked, we were told that the family NEVER discussed Uncle Albert.

And with that - my heart broke for Uncle Albert.  His life, his sacrifice - forgotten by his family for 60 years until this old, wrinkled picture was discovered, buried in a box of photos long-since consigned to the bowels of an attic overflowing with junk.

Including, somewhere, the Purple Heart that was awarded to the family.  Lost in the mire of family mementos.

We restored the photo thru scanning and PhotoShop - bringing out the details in the uniform, in Uncle Albert's face.  And thus began my quest to preserve his sacrifice.

I've learned much in just the last couple of years.

Pictured above: Uncle Albert with a Christmas tree, we believe at age 15 or 16

Albert Dentino enlisted on January 16, 1941 - nearly one year before Pearl Harbor.  At a time when the U.S. wasn't involved in the war; indeed we were doing our best to stay firmly out of it.  Yet this 19 year old young man enlisted in the Army National Guard, Company K, 328th Regiment, 26th Division.  His motivations are lost to time of course. Like so many of his time, Albert finished 2 years of high school and dropped out.  Perhaps he joined because he was bored and hoped the military could give him a future.  He wouldn't be the first to do that and he wouldn't be the last.

Yet - I believe in my heart he did it because he knew, like so many others, than the U.S. couldn't stay out of the war for much longer and he was going to be trained and ready when duty firmly called him to action.

On December 22, 1942 his older brother, Rocco, would also enlist in the Army.  And with that, the only 2 sons of an immigrant family - indeed the first Americans in that family - would be off to put their lives on the line for their country. 

I haven't been able to track where the boys began their journey; some records say Rocco was sent to Ft. Devens.  There is no mention of where Albert went.  And since Rocco survived the war I haven't found much on where he served overseas.

In fact, the only reason I know Albert died in France is because my MIL told me.  No records I've found, yet, give the actual location.  I do know that PFC Albert J. Dentino died on December 10, 1944 - barely three years after he was likely sent overseas.

I also know that he never came home.  I found a scanned image of a request, by his father, for a gravestone.  The request was submitted a staggering 5 years after Albert died.  And it's for a gravestone only, specifically indicating it is a marker for a body whose location is unknown.

And with that, Albert's story ended. 23 years old, single, no dependents. And a family who never mentioned him because the pain of the loss was so great.

I have more to find out about Albert's service, chief among them a desire to get a replacement Purple Heart.  I've done the research and it seems you need to be immediate family; yet no immediate family survives him at this point.  The only connection is my MIL, Albert's niece.  I haven't given up on this and intend to enlist the assistance of friends who might know how to get this done.

Because Albert J. Dentino deserves to be remembered.  He was a young man with a whole life ahead of him who, instead, choose to join his country's military to fight the good fight, preserving the freedoms his family made their own sacrifices to attain.

Honor. Sacrifice. Remembrance.

For Great Uncle Albert - who is no longer forgotten, whose courage and commitment to his country will be remembered as long as there are people to tell his story to.

The Weekly Muse

Happy Weekend!  When I had my old blog I had a "weekly post" that was driven by the music I was listening to during the week.  It became some of my favorite writing moments; as a musician I feel music deep into the marrow of my bones.  Relating that to something going on in my life - was a great way for me to dig deep in my writing.  And so - I am happy to start up The Weekly Muse!

As you know from my previous post, we have been away for several days at a mountain retreat of sorts.  Musicians are never without music playing in the background.  From cooking to reading to cleaning...we always have music of some kind that suits the mood or activity.

These past few days have been so peaceful, so restorative that classical music has been the background of our days and evenings.  We did start with some mellow jazz but swiftly went for Mozart, Bach, Beethoven and Locatelli.  Something about these notes as you look out at the mountains - musical words floating and gliding over the landscape.

The soundtrack of our lives is as varied as the notes in a single song.  There is no "one genre" that we listen to exclusively.  In fact sometimes we jump around genres so often on long-distance drives that we end up laughing for miles and miles because we can't seem to settle on just one thing.

Musical ADHD.

The Oracle is also a musician.  Among the many instruments he plays - the saxophone is his ballywick. He sits back in the pocket of his prodigious talent and just - gently teases out accompaniments to some of his favorites sax players - such as David "Fathead" Newman.

While The Oracle's musical gifts are innate and natural, mine are not quite as easy.  As a pianist I must have the music in front of me - I can't "play along" as The Oracle does.  I need sheet music and hours of study & practice.  With it I can achieve things that sound like this:

No! That is NOT me playing...but after months of practice, it's pretty darn close to what I sound like. A few more weeks and it will sound like this.

Music - is our life in so many ways.  The enjoyment of it, the discovery of new artists, new genres, new ways of listening to old standards.  We remain always open to the experience.

And with this - you know why I always loved my Weekly Muse posts.