Post-Parting Depression

Reality is settling back in. Vienna already seems like a dream of long ago, rather than a place I was walking in just a few days ago. Was the dancing at dinner the first night? Or the second? Which hotel had the parrots? Where was that awesome dark beer again?

And yet – I know it was real. I have pictures to prove it. I’ve started to go through them, organize them, post them to Flickr in some kind of rational order. I’d really rather be home doing that, to be honest, than sitting here in the office in New York, wishing I had somebody to go to lunch with.

A friend pointed out in a comment that we can’t live on the mountaintop; we have to bring the light we find there back down into the day-to-day world. I’m reminded of Peter, a couple weeks ago in the readings for Transfiguration: “Lord, it’s good to be here – let’s pitch a tent and stay!”

But that wasn’t God’s intent, when he came and pitched his tent with us. He came to where we live – in the dark and the dirt; in the dull, dry routine of every-day; in the hurt, in the pain, in the confusion. He didn’t come so we could all camp on the mountain; he came to bring the mountain light down into the valleys.

And it is good to be back in the familiar – being awakened by a purring cat at 4:30 in the morning, demanding cuddle time; navigating the insanity of Penn Station at rush hour; catching up on e-mail and finding out what’s been going on in the world while we’ve been somewhat outside it.

The trick is to bring that joy, that wonder, that openness to the beauty of the whole created universe back into the every-day, and let it infuse even the most mundane and ordinary tasks. It isn’t easy, but it’s worth doing.

Well, I'm back

Arrived safely at JFK yesterday at 2:35 (causing surprise when the flight attendant announced that we were right on time and the time was now 2:32; must've been that time warp over the Long Island Sound that we flew through).

Took a while to get through customs (and the US Customs Service has set this up in an inefficient, confusing and stupid manner and their people were rude to me - welcome home!). Took another while for the vans we'd hired to get their fannies around and pick us up. Then a dear friend fetched me from the drop-off point, and we went to Newark to retrieve my husband from Lufthansa.

We arrived exactly as he was clearing passport control, and managed to retrieve him without incurring more than $3 in parking. During the retrieval process, I learned that Lufthansa's computer messed up, and assigned him to the same seat as a mom traveling with three small children. So they very kindly bumped him into business class, where he feasted on spicy prawns and cognac, while some four hours ahead of him on the airways, I was sitting with my knees up my nose in coach, hoping my hips would still remember what walking was when we arrived.

We followed the retrieval with a festal dinner at a marvelous local diner (calling it a mere "diner" is tantamount to praising with faint damns, although the beer was...well, not Austrian or Czech, for sure), came home, and fell over. At one point during the night, he got up to go to the bathroom and I woke up and momentarily tried to place what hotel this was, and what city...

And at 4:30 my body decided that it was really 10:30 in the morning and I should be getting my lazy ass on the bus! So here I am, posting and trying to find the keys to my office desk and re-routing my brain to settle for mere coffee instead of cafe melange, and figure out how to deal with the awesome loneliness of not spending the day wandering some beautiful city with dear friends, and topping it off by singing.

Meltdown!

So, what happens when you take a singer at the thin edge of exhaustion, and ask her to quickly navigate a narrow circular staircase two stories tall?

I'm always a little afraid of falling on staircases; I've done it several times, some worse than others, particularly descending. Not that I'm afraid of heights - I rather love exploring the galleries and balconies of old churches and palaces. It's just that I'm deeply terrified of coming down again head first.

So we're climbing this circular staircase - and when I say narrow I mean my hips just about brushed the wall on one side and the railing on the other; not so narrow if you consider how broad I am across the beam, but a bit on the claustrophobic side. And one of our very playful baritones jumps out from a side alcove about halfway up and startles me - bad idea. And I get to the top, gasping for air, and suddenly I'm just sobbing hysterically, panicked that I'll get hurt trying to get down again after our first group of pieces to sing the rest of the concert.

This is the point at which, once again, the Incarnation becomes very real to me. So many people offered comfort, offered help, asked what I needed - enough people offered to help me down the stairs I think together they could almost have carried me down. It doesn't matter who believes what; in that moment, they were absolutely the Body of Christ to me.

Of course that tenderness continued to bring me to tears through the rest of warm-up, and Alleluia and How Can I Keep From Singing worked their usual magic.

It's sad, to realize the concerts are over. The Mass in Salzburg is still to come, but the repertoire can be packed away now.

I remember my godmother's wedding, when I was five - my first long dress, since I was her flower girl. I remember dancing with people at the reception, and crying bitter tears when it was all over. I didn't want it to be over; I wanted them to just keep getting married and having receptions, because it was so much fun.

Singing is like that. Tired as I am, achy as I am (it's raining today, and every joint from my neck to the floor is screaming), the little girl is crying, "More! Let's do it again!"

How Do You Pack for a Pilgrimmage?

So, I realize this isn't a retreat, exactly - and yet, as I was preparing, I found myself treating it as one, somewhat. I found myself asking, for each item I listed, why I was carrying this thousands of miles across the sea, and whether I really thought I would need it.

And of course, all of that measured thought went right out the window, when I was still packing at 1:00 in the morning and had to be on a bus to a plane by 1:30 p.m.

So I arrived to discover (eventually) that I'd packed the charger for my Bluetooth headset (but not the headset), and had not packed the charger for the phone - which is now down to a single stripe. The fancy Kensington converter/adapter didn't work, and consequently I'm having to ask people to plug my Zen in overnight to charge it. I brought something like five or six skirts, and one pair of pants (two, if you count the ones I wore on the plane). I pitched out the clocks; why would I need clocks - we'll be in hotels! Right - except that here in Prague is the first time on this tour my room has had a clock in it. (Which ties in to the phone situation, since I've been using the phone for an alarm clock...)

On the other hand, I carefully brought bubble bath, assuming that with all this walking, I would be wanting a long, hot soak at the end of each day. And in fact, I was correct - but damned if I could get one, because neither of our first two hotels had bathtubs. I carefully dragged along two New Yorker issues to catch up on, plus a 900+ page book. I'm about halfway through the first of the New Yorkers; I haven't touched the book. I packed enough yarn for two scarves, and it looks like I'll probably finish one and maybe start the other by the time we go home.

It's been such a joy, such an eye-opening experience. I honestly can't begin to try to write it all down. The wonder of sharing the fellowship we have, the collegiality of the group, the beauty of the music and the extraordinarily positive response we've had so far...learning to count how much money we have in the Czech Republic by figuring out how many beers we can buy...climbing the castle tower at Cesky Krumlov (that deserves a post entirely of its own)...

I realized this afternoon, as we reach the halfway point of our journey, that a week from now I will be back in the office, and I will be so achingly lonely for this great company of fellow pilgrims. For now, I think I'll go have a soak and recover from the walking tour of Prague - because finally here in Prague, I have a bathtub!

From the road

Very short note - have to go snag breakfast and then we´re on the way to a cruise on the Danube.

Gorgeous here - having a marvelous time. Concerts have rocked the house both nights, perhaps even moreso last night in Bad Schönau than in Vienna.

More later, hopefully.

Excitement for the day

So, as I was preparing to leave for rehearsal Sunday, I could not find my wallet. This isn't all that unusual an event. It is usually followed by five to ten minutes of frantic searching, followed by the "ah" moment when the wallet is found hiding under a potholder on the end table.

Not this time. I searched, my husband searched. I finally left with my license in the neck pouch where I carry my train ticket. He searched while I was gone. We both searched more when I came back.

Nothin'. We decided I must have left in my desk drawer at the office.

It was not there. I called NJ Transit, in case I somehow managed to leave it on the train. It wasn't there, either.

So we came home tonight with the intent to toss the place like burglars, until we found it. And as I was digging through a stack of folded clothes laid out to pack (in just two days), my husband tapped me on the shoulder, and handed me the wallet. I had hung it on the back of a folded chair resting against the bedroom door.

I can't tell you why. It doesn't remotely resemble any of the usual places. I can't imagine what I was thinking when I did it. But there it is; several varieties of catastrophe averted.

Even in the midst of it all, even when I was abjectly miserable and wanted to curl up and cry, I spotted little blessings. That business trip, a couple weeks ago? Because of that, my driver's license wasn't in the wallet. Nor was my passport. I had one credit card I could take with me, if I had to. I was very attentive to the accounts, and was reassured because I wasn't seeing any illegal activity. I think even in the very worst moments, I could hear Spirit chuckling at the private joke: all that fretting, all that panic, all that worry - all for nothing. As if she knew I'd find it once I realized I could manage even if I didn't.

I suppose I started this theme yesterday, and it isn't a bad approach, so I'll keep it as it comes to me. Travel is always somewhat like a pilgrimage for me. No matter where I'm going, I know one of the things I'm looking for is signs of God in this place, whatever place it is. To do that, I need not to be weighed down, not to be distracted and preoccupied. So Spirit laughingly reminds me...all you need to find me is eyes and ears and heart. Cash isn't required.

Tour Prep

So, at the risk of making this too specialized to be interesting to anyone but me - I'll devote it for the moment to tour prep.

Anybody who thinks getting ready to go to Europe is easy hasn't done it. Anybody who thinks going on tour is a vacation hasn't done that, either. We are working almost harder than we work prepping a concert; we've had three rehearsals and one performance in the past week, and we have an open rehearsal tonight in West New York (which is actually in New Jersey).

All of that while trying to organize and pack and tidy up all the endless details that go with leaving one's husband and pets to fend for themselves for eleven days...it's exhausting.

That said, I think it's going to be a great time. There are little worries here and there - I'm a bit concerned about my husband having to crate the cats singlehanded and take them for boarding (they are famous for intuiting what's afoot and hiding, even though once they're there, they get cosseted and pampered and barely know they're not home).

I'm likewise a bit concerned that he has 55 minutes to change planes in Munich (where he has never been), and what happens if he can't make his connection.

I always fret a bit about security, and whether I'll manage to mis-organize something and have it confiscated. There are the rampant pickpockets and purse slashers in Prague to think of.

And then of course there are the notes. I have most of them; one or two still elude me regularly despite all my care.


Psalm 139 is a good one for this, I think:

Lord, you have searched me out and known me;
you know my sitting down and my rising up;
you discern my thoughts from afar.
You trace my journeys and my resting places,
and are acquainted with all my ways....
Where can I go then from your Spirit?
Where can I flee from your presence?
If I climb up to heaven, you are there;
if I make the grave my bed, you are there also.
If I take the wings of the morning,
and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea,
even there your hand will lead me,
and your right hand hold me fast.
If I say, 'Surely the darkness will cover me,
and the light around me turn to night,'
darkness is not dark to you;
the night is as bright as the day:
darkness and light to you are both alike.

It helps to remember that. No matter how far we go (we're going to Austria and the Czech Republic) and no matter what happens to us on the way or once we're there - God's got our backs. We aren't "roaming" where there's no signal; we aren't "out of range."

Gotta go keeping organizing. More later, maybe.

Really don't...

...need another blog (hence my title). I have an LJ, a TypePad, and I think at least one other - none of which ever get updated because I have no time. But I wanted to be able to post to my chamber choir's blog, for our virtual tour - so here I am, setting up another account. Sigh...