All checked in!

I'm too efficient for my own good, apparently - I checked my bag and went straight on through security (a necessary evil I prefer to navigate only once and as expeditiously as possible), and thus inadvertently deprived myself of the company of my fellow pilgrims, who are gathered in a tavern *outside* security. Sigh...

Sending this from my loaner phone, and hoping it works. If it does, I may be able to stay up to date even more easily than I thought.

Signing off now to go knit for a while, or perhaps to pursue dinner...

Canterbury Prologue

Well, it isn't April, and no sweet showers are piercing the droughts of anything - but we are going on pilgrimage, nonetheless.

Schola Cantorum on Hudson will be choir-in-residence at Canterbury Cathedral for Evensong from Monday evening through Thursday evening, next week. Yes, that Canterbury - the one where Thomas Beckett was martyred by four ambitious knights thinking they were doing Henry II a good turn, and where the Wife of Bath and the Miller and the Parson and all Chaucer's others colorful piligrims went to visit his shrine.

We will be arriving in London and transferring pretty immediately to Canterbury, where we will stay until we return to London a week from Monday to fly home. Considering that we'll be traveling by air-conditioned motor coach, and not on horseback, and that we'll be staying at the lovely Cathedral Lodge and not small and dingy inns along the road - it's hard to see that part of the trip as pilgrimage in quite the same way - although I'm sure there will be plenty of tales told to pass the time at the airport and on the flight, and on the bus, and over ale in the pubs of an evening, after rehearsal.

For me, it will be a bit like a retreat or a workshop at Holy Cross, in that a friend and I will be attending Matins each morning, in addition to singing Evensong. As in the monastic community, our day will be framed by prayer and music. It is easy to lose sight of that, in the frantic rush of preparation and rehearsal, and yet it is only by holding fast to that that we can hope to do what we are going there to do: to lead the people in prayer and praise to God.

It is hard, also, for those in the choir for whom the daily office is not (yet) as familiar and comfortable as their favorite pair of slippers. It is my hope that by the time we come home, they will have a chance to develop a love for that peaceful, steady rhythm of the day that the office provides.

I'm a little alarmed at how well organized I am; I'm terribly afraid that means I've overlooked something obvious which I will only discover when it's far too late to fix it. I was in fact so very organized that I had time this afternoon to go out for a bit and do some just-for-fun singing with a couple dear friends - a perfect send-off.

That had better be about all. One last check of all the lists, and we're off to the airport!

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.