Year Four, Day 7: Music, the Healer of My Soul

Performance After Glow

Note to self: If I ever start feeling down about myself ever again, relive the magic of last night.

My day started out quite pleasantly. I had cleared my teaching schedule for the day, so I could go to the event rested and centered.

I took my time getting ready. Then I even hooped in my performance attire. Then I stopped at Starbucks and had a lovely soy chai tea latte, lightly sweetened.

Then I hopped on a bus to the church I teach at Saturdays. I planned on practicing for an hour or so, and relaxing. Then I would hop on a bus downtown, where I would transfer to the #44 line, which would drop me off right in front of the Multnomah Art Center.

My plan was to have a nice, light supper, and then head over to the center to meet with my friend who owns the little portative organ. We were going to tune it and set it up. Then I would spend some time practicing.

It's so lovely to have a plan.

But plans don't always go as expected.

I had just reached the church, and had gotten out my music, when my phone rang. It was my son.

We chatted a bit. He sounded tired. He was going to escort his girlfriend to work and then come visit me, if that was o.k.

I told him I was practicing for my concert. We could maybe get a quick lunch when he stopped by.

Only, be never showed up.

I had told him I needed to leave by 3:00 at the latest to catch my bus.

3:00 came and went. No son.

I called his phone. No answer. I figured he made other plans.

I packed up my music and headed out to the bus stop. I had a good, pleasant practice session. I ran through the entire Magnificat once, then another time focusing just in what I call "speed bumps", the spots that needed a bit of slow work on fingering.

Next, I played through my portative organ solos. These would be played with the right hand only, since the left hand would be operating the bellows.

I practiced on the grand piano, mimicking the bellow pumping in the air with my left hand. I closed my eyes and imagined the soft, flute-like sound of the portative.

I felt prepared. My heart was thumping iust a bit
 I took some deep breaths.

 I told myself it was the unknown. How would I walk onstage for my solos? Would I be announced? Would my friend and I have any trouble tuning the instrument?

Still, I was looking forward to the concert. I told myself to be in the moment, like surfing
 Catch the wave, and ride it. If I crashed, get back up. It would be over in the blink of an eye.

The other unknown was the bus ride. I had give myself ample time. If I was early, I would go have lunch, since my son had stood up. Multnomah Village was a haven for foodies like me!

But it was a new route for me. I had to take the #9 downtown and them transfer to the #44, which went out SW Capitol Highway. The Westside. Yikes!

But the bus ride was  was a breeze. I felt a sense of peace descend upon me.

I got to Multnomah over an hour before I was to meet friend for tuning, set up and warm up.

I walked about Multnomah Village. The weather was perfectly mild, just slightly overcast. No jacket needed. Many other people were out walking. I love these little walkable neighborhoods in Portland. They truly do feel like villages!

I had heard about a tapas bar from the one of the sopranos the day before. I arrived at the door just as a server swung open the door and bellowed "Happy Hour!"

He

I looked at my cell phone. It was exactly 4:00 p.m. Arriving right at the moment happy hour began seemed like a very good sign to me!

I had some lovely tapas at reduced prices. And an iced tea.

Even though my sense of smell is still absent, I thoroughly enjoyed my meal.

I prayed my bill, thanking the most laid back, friendly servers.

I spotted a few other choir members sauntering down the other side of the road. Several had volunteered to come early and set up.

I walked up the street, two blocks to the arts center. The auditorium was empty. I liked the feeling of an empty auditorium before a concert. I breathed deeply, detecting no smell. I'm actually getting used to a scentless world. No lovely scents, but no offending odors either. The auditorium was warm. In a few hours it would be packed; a full, sold out house of 250, plus a choir, orchestra, soloist, conductor and yours truly.

At that moment I was thankful for my faulty nostrils.

I had a nice practice and meeting with my friend
 I breathed easier seeing exactly how I would be situated when I performed my organ solos. It is a sweet, small little instrument. I worried if the sound would carry. My friend sat in the back row. He assured me that it was not loud, but he could hear me.

"It sounds lovely", he said. He came and adjusted a pipe that was a bit flat.

We finished. I felt satisfied. I thanked my friend. I headed to the warm up room, chatted with some volunteers. The director of the arts center had worked at the music center years ago when I had first began teaching there. It was so.good to see his friendly. But it made me pause when he told me his kids were 15 and 12 now. I remembered when they were babies.

"In the blink of an eye..."

I found the warm up room. It was empty. I found a place to stow my belongings and sat down to warm up my fingers in the piano.

It was then that I felt my pocket vibrate. I pulled out my cell phone and noticed a missed call from my son. I called him back. No answer. I sat down again at the piano. Again, my pocket vibrated. I answered immediately, but all I heard was background noise
 I said my son's name a few times and hung up. Twice more this happened. I figured he pocket dialed me.

I warmed up a bit and glanced at the time
 Still one hour until call time.

I was a little shaken by my son's callsol. It really was not like him to completely blow me off
 Especially when free lunch was involved. I tried calling yet again. This time it went straight to voicemail.

I was getting distracted.

I told myself that worrying about my son would have to wait. Until about 9:30 p.m. to be exact.

I sat back down at the piano. Again, my phone vibrated. I took it out of my pocket and glanced at the screen. It was my son's girlfriend. My heart thudded.

She sounded like She was holding back tears. She asked if he ever showed up for lunch. I told her he hadn't. She exhaled loudly. She said she hadn't heard from him since that morning. She was now home from work and he was not there. "He's never done this", she said softly. "He always rides the bus home with me after I get off work. He worries about me riding the bus alone from downtown."

We talked a bit. I told her about the pocket dials with nothing but strange background noises when I answered. She told me he was really tired this morning, nodding off on the bus. And depressed lately.

My heart thudded loudly in my chest. I told her maybe his phone battery died. He might have stopped at a friend's house... I told her I was getting ready for a concert.

"Oh! Sorry!", she exclaimed. "Good luck!"

I thanked her. We agreed to text each other if he materialized.

I exhaled shakily. I tried not to think of all the grim possibilities. He was a grown man. 25 years old.

But still, a child in my heart.

I decided to get some fresh air. I walked awhile. I found a bench. I prayed. I decided that I needed to focus on the performance. I couldn't go onstage worrying about my son.

But I did. My heart felt like it was going to leap out of my chest. I wondered if this worry was my way if sabotaging myself. I have worried about him before. Many times over the past 25 years. I will again.

Now was the time to focus on the music. Get ready to catch the wave.

I walked back inside, feeling more peaceful
 Not giving in to the little negative, voices of doom in my head. I looked at my cell phone before tucking it away in my purse. The choir had gathered in the warm up room. I joined them, smiling.

Ten minutes before I was due to walk out on stage, I looked at it again. One missed call from my son's girlfriend. I hesitated. I took a deep breath.then a text message popped up.

"He just got home. I hugged him, then I slapped him!"

I smiled. Safe for now. No more external tboughts. Only music, I told myself. Catch the wave and stay in the moment.

I smiled. I walked onstage. I played my heart out.

And when it was done, I thanked God again for keeping my son alive.

 My heart burst with love.

 For God, my son, my family, my fellow musicians.

And for music. The healer of my soul.

Yes, the concert was a success.

Talk to you tomorrow.

Love,

Zita

P.S. I felt like I had been run over by a truck this morning. But still, I hopped!