Would you stop?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hnOPu0_YWhw

A man sat at a metro station in Washington DC and started to play the violin; it was a cold January morning. He played six Bach pieces for about 45 minutes. During that time, since it was rush hour, it was calculated that thousands of people went through the station, most of them on their way to work.

Three minutes went by and a middle aged man noticed there was musician playing. He slowed his pace and stopped for a few seconds and then hurried up to meet his schedule. A minute later, the violinist received his first dollar tip: a woman threw the money in the till and without stopping continued to walk.

A few minutes later, someone leaned against the wall to listen to him, but the man looked at his watch and started to walk again. Clearly he was late for work.

The one who paid the most attention was a 3 year old boy. His mother tagged him along, hurried but the kid stopped to look at the violinist. Finally the mother pushed hard and the child continued to walk turning his head all the time. This action was repeated by several other children. All the parents, without exception, forced them to move on.

In the 45 minutes the musician played, only 6 people stopped and stayed for a while. About 20 gave him money but continued to walk their normal pace. He collected $32. When he finished playing and silence took over, no one noticed it. No one applauded, nor was there any recognition.

No one knew this but the violinist was Joshua Bell, one of the best musicians in the world. He played one of the most intricate pieces ever written with a violin worth 3.5 million dollars.

Two days before his playing in the subway, Joshua Bell sold out at a theatre in Boston and the seats average $100.

This is a real story. Joshua Bell playing incognito in the metro station was organized by the Washington Post as part of a social experiment about perception, taste and priorities of people. The outlines were: in a commonplace environment at an inappropriate hour: Do we perceive beauty? Do we stop to appreciate it? Do we recognize the talent in an unexpected context?

One of the possible conclusions from this experience could be: If we do not have a moment to stop and listen to one of the best musicians in the world playing the best music ever written, how many other things are we missing?

Dec. 16

Happy Birthday Dad.

Advent Anxiety

What has happened to this season? It used to be that the month of December was one of anticipation. We lit a new candle on the wreath every Sunday as we counted down the days on the advent calendar, looking forward to the Christmas eve midnight mass, when the Big White Candle was lit. And then, and only then, was it Advent no longer, but Christmas. It came in with the tiny whisper of a wick taking light, flaming in the silence of a darkened church.

Then, the hymns! Joyful, raucous, celebratory, Christmas hymns!!!

Where did all of that go?

I am overwhelmed with plastic-y, glaring, ostentatious capitalist seasonal mayhem. There is no God anywhere in it. Here there is credit card debt; demanding, spoilt children; overindulgent parents; and short tempers. No God. Not even any Christmas Spirit.

Christmas Spirit is something I lump in with the religious aspects of the holidays. By which I mean, the true purpose of Christmas, which is to be a little kinder, more forgiving, more generous than you are the rest of the year. Help a lady with her parcels; buy a homeless man a sandwich and give him a hug; call that cantankerous relative you dread dealing with; smile at people you pass on the street.

For a short time, once a year, is it so difficult to put aside your anger and impatience, and just enjoy your fellow citizens? Quit your incessant harping and griping about what is wrong in your life. Shut up and listen to the birds in the trees, the whoosh of snow sliding from the roof.

See what you've missed?

Rejoice in the knowledge that you are alive, and surely there are those in the world worse off than you.

Be thankful.
Be kind.
Be quiet.

Enjoy your advent season.

A feast for the senses

...wait for the 3 minute mark.

Il Divo cantando "Amazing Grace" para a gravação do novo DVD em 14 e 15 de setembro, na cidade de Pula na Croácia.

Here it is:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YtrnB4FZ-yc

You're welcome. It's what I'm here for.

Thanks, kid.

Earlier today I was feeling very sad about Thanksgiving. It is a family holiday, and as I am one with no family, it depresses me a fair bit to listen to those around me growing excited about their holiday plans. I grew up with no extended family. Now I have two people remaining in this world who are related to me by blood. It's difficult to explain to people who always had grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins around that the Big Family Holiday is unknown to me.

Anyhow, so today I was feeling sad about that. Probably more than a little bitter. As I get every year. But this year I got called out by a 15-year-old girl.

The very bright and thoughtful daughter of my best friend sent me a message asking why I hated Thanksgiving. I explained my feelings, and she replied that she didn't like the holidays either.

However, rather than my bitter, self-absorbed reasoning, she told me that the holidays made her sad because they stressed her mom out, and she just wanted her mom to be happy.

I felt like a rat.

This kid has a great family, a happy life, everything a teenager could ask for. Her only thoughts this holiday season are for her mother's happiness. How selfish and hateful am I??

It hadn't occurred to me that her mom, my best friend, is enduring her own torturous Thanksgiving, and here sit I, whining about being alone.

We all have our holiday crosses to bear. Maybe there is a perfect family out there somewhere having a disneyesque season, but my guess is that for most of us, it's a trial to get through for another year.

Good luck with yours. And I will try to get through mine with a bit more grace.

Undeniably and reliably dead

My family has worms. Cans of them. Possibly a whole case of cans. And in particular, my family seems to specialize in secret worms.

So, my Dad died a few years ago, and it was horrible. Defies explanation and I am not interested in discussing it. However, when it happened, my mother said to me, "Our family is dead." In a sense, she was correct. He was the center of our world (especially mine), and without him around, we've fallen apart. All that I have left is her, and my older brother, and frankly, what remains relationship-wise is pathetic and thin.

Last week we had another death. That of my mother's biological mother, who did not raise my mother and actually treated all of us more than abominably. She was Evil. I'm not trying to be funny. It was torment. She was nothing to me but hateful and cruel. I only visited her a few times with my parents when I was a kid, and not one time did it go smoothly. She hated my Dad, my mother, and my brother and I. She was mean because she could be, and manipulative and scary. She was not a mother or a grandmother or anything like family to any of us. She was Audrey, and I hated her with every cell in my body. This description is very watered down, and cannot convey the torturous person that she was. Or our feelings toward her. All very complicated.

Anyhow, so she's dead. Ding dong.

Never before have I felt such relief.

My mother flew to the funeral, which was being held where Audrey lived last, with her latest husband. And lo and behold, the new family was really nice to my mother, in spite of the things they were told (by Audrey) about us. Her widower even introduced my mother to people as his daughter. That's something my mother has never, ever in her life been called. Think on that for a moment.

My mother returned home after an educational and overwhelming weekend. She learned so many things we never knew about Audrey, her family, and why my mother's childhood was so incredibly fucked up.

It wasn't just us she hated. She apparently hated everyone. That's news.

But wait...

Remember how I said I have spent my entire life hating this woman with every ounce of my being? Yeah. So all these years there's been a BIG SECRET to which allusions were made even when my mother was a little girl. Finally we have learned...

Turns out Audrey's mother was institutionalized. And Audrey and her sister (never knew there was a sister) both had psychotic schizophrenia as well. Fucking crazy. Literally.

So, that explains a whole lot of stuff. Like why she gave her kid away. And why she always lied. And why she acted so damned fucked up all the time.

Doesn't excuse it. But explains a lot.

Sad. If she had gotten medication, my mother would have had a mom. My brother and I would have had a grandmother. And, um, 3 grandfathers. And perhaps we all wouldn't have spent all our lives trying to control tremendous amounts of rage and hurt.

Fucking bitch.

So her widower and his daughters, who are roughly my mother's age, and their kids,who are roughly my age, want my mother to consider them to be her family. Great! My mother finally got the family she never had. They want her to visit, and spend holidays, and do all that fun stuff that died with my Dad.





...and where does that leave me?

Home

I have this amazing friend. She is my best friend, and the closest thing I have ever had to a completely trusting relationship. I truly think I could tell her the worst things about myself, and she would still want me in her life. This is fascinating, as I have only ever trusted one person so completely, and that was my father, and he is not here anymore. I don't know why I trust my friend so much, but I always have.


So this friend is beautiful, full of life and laughter, and she has a wonderful family; she loves her husband, he loves her, they have great kidlets. This is not the path I have taken with my life. Where there is joy and cozy family squishyness in her life, there is somber solitude in mine. Yes, I am married. No, I do not want to have kids. I have no regrets. Yet, when I look at my friend and her family, I wonder what it must be like not to have those broken places inside. I can't remember ever having felt as happy and carefree as these dear people do.


I am fortunate that she wants me nearby, to participate peripherally in her life. She gives me far more than I have to give back to her, and she has always known that. I value her more than any other human alive. She is my only anchor in this cold and cavernous world. She is home.

I love her in my own way. I hope it is enough.