Lacrimosa (Tearful)

Here is a wonderful article about a man who is able to hear music for the first time. The song to reach his ears before any other was, apparently, the Lacrimosa from Mozart’s Requiem. Mozart died when he was nine bars into the Lacrimosa section of the Requiem, and it was completed by his friend Franz Xaver Süssmayr. Those nine bars were crucial and informative however, and Süssmayr’s completion feels pretty seamless (to me).

Given the text, the Lacrimosa sections of Requiems frequently bring out the most tender work a composer can muster. It’s a call for mercy on judgement day. The latin translates to:

Full of tears shall be that day
On which from ashes shall arise
The guilty man to be judged;
Therefore, O God, have mercy on him.
Gentle Lord Jesus,
grant them eternal rest. Amen.

Here is what Austin Chapman, the young man in the article, has to say about hearing it (and music) for the first time:

“When Mozart’s Lacrimosa came on, I was blown away by the beauty of it. At one point of the song, it sounded like angels singing and I suddenly realized that this was the first time I was able to appreciate music. Tears rolled down my face and I tried to hide it. But when I looked over I saw that there wasn’t a dry eye in the car.”

The picture below is of the beginning of the Highline (abandoned elevated railroad tracks that were turned into a public park). I went out to read, because I needed to get out of the house, and I needed to do something other than drown in my missing-Buddy-sorrow.

I started what is turning out to be a perfect, magical book. It’s called Jim the Boy and it’s the coming of age story of a ten year old boy in North Carolina during the depression. Seriously, it’s a treasure. Lucky me to have Howard hand this book to me at this particular point in time. It is soothing my heart. I’m going back to curl up on the couch and finish it now.

Highline, New York City

I Can’t Comprehend Time

I wonder if I’m alone in this? One of the things I’ve been doing since Buddy died is obsessing about all the decisions I made about his care and what I could have done differently. It’s insane but it’s a common response to death.

Then I thought, ‘What if I had somehow managed to buy him a couple more months?’ Let’s say it’s October and he’s just died. What would I have gained? What would he have gained? I think it would feel like those two months never happened. Don’t get me wrong, I would give anything for two more months, I’m just saying that had I gotten them, in October I would not be appreciating them, I’d be exactly where I am now.

The only response is what we’re always told to do: appreciate the moment you have now. IE, in October, those two months wouldn’t do me any good. But they would have been great as they happened.

A Ted Talk that made me feel happy for a few minutes.

Some photographs that blew my mind for a few minutes.

Yesterday I asked Finney, “Who’s the cutest cat in the whole wide world?” In the past, whenever I’ve asked him this I always followed it with, “You are! Tied with Buddy, of course.” But yesterday it was just, “You are.”