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An old friend of mine has co-written a book, The Big Divide: A Travel Guide to Historic and Civil War Sites in the Missouri-Kansas Border Region. According to their Amazon page, inside they cover “the African-American soldiers who were the first to die for their freedom (months before the 54th Massachusetts of Glory fame took up arms) and “how the Civil War shaped future outlaw Jesse James—and future president Harry Truman.”

Here they are, on public radio, to tell you about it themselves!

Actually, I’m mostly sad because I’m leaving for a wake soon. But I wanted to mention that after our concert last night, I passed by a sign on my way out of the church. It was a picture of Greg Niclas, a member of the choir who died on Christmas morning last year. I should have taken a picture, (I have no short term memory anymore, it seems) I just remember that along with his Greg’s handsome, smiling face were words that said something nice.

Greg’s family continues to blow my mind. Here they are, they’ve lost Greg, but while they grieve they also donated to our choir and encouraged others to do so, and for one of our rehearsals this semester they brought us wine (and also brownies I believe) and then came to hear us practice.

Where does such strength and heart come from? How are amazing people like this made? If I lost someone like Greg I probably wouldn’t be able to function for a long time. I’d lie down, curl up in a ball, and I wouldn’t get up for months. Here I am, feeling sad because our concert is over, but Greg’s family must be feeling so much worse. Greg will never get to sing anything ever again. His family will never get to go to one of his concerts ever again. One can only imagine what they must be feeling and yet they thought of us. In the midst of their grief they are also bursting with kindness, generosity and love to an extent I really can’t fathom. I can only hope for a fraction of this same strength for my oldest and dearest friend, who will be saying goodbye to her youngest son today.

Here are a couple of screenshots from the brief movies I shot at the end of our concert last night.

Our concert is sold out, so last night when we had our dress rehearsal with the orchestra people were allowed to attend. It felt like we were giving a concert, which was great. When you work so long and hard on a piece, one concert never feels like enough. (Especially when you are doing the magnificent Bach Mass in B Minor.)

I know that reactions vary to a piece of music, and everyone has their own associations, but I can’t help feeling that when we all listen to a piece of music there is something about our response to it that is universal. There’s evidence that this might be true. From a press release about a recent study:

“Do the brains of different people listening to the same piece of music actually respond in the same way? An imaging study by Stanford University School of Medicine scientists says the answer is yes, which may in part explain why music plays such a big role in our social existence.

“The investigators used functional magnetic resonance imaging to identify a distributed network of several brain structures whose activity levels waxed and waned in a strikingly similar pattern among study participants as they listened to classical music they’d never heard before.” Full press release here.

I took this picture during a break, while our brains were taking a rest. In my book I describe how the altar is so white and bright it seems to vibrate. In all my pictures from last night I had to use the filter that tones down highlights full blast.

It’s performance week for me, and it’s a busy week in addition to being a sad week (see previous post). I’ve had all sorts of commitments this week and I’ve been running around and I will be continuing to run around. There’s been rehearsals, where I didn’t do too great, my apologies to the people in front of me (the people who stand in front of you are the ones who can really hear you) …

… and a conference downtown sponsored by WIRED. By the way, as you can see from this picture, I live on the wrong side of 1 World Trade Center. They’ve finished the point on this side. So beautiful and elegant, although not everyone agrees, of course. Also, last night …

… the 9/11 Tribute Center, where I used to be a volunteer, giving tours of the World Trade Center site, had an event which began at Fraunces Tavern, where in 1783 George Washington gave his farewell address to the officers of the continental army. Then we went to the Tribute Center …

… to a lovely night of storytelling, co-sponsored by The Moth (a storytelling organization in NYC). Various people with connections to 9/11, like survivors, first responders, and the children of firefighters who died that day, told their stories. I cried three times. It got personal for me a couple of times. Before I went to St. Paul’s Chapel to volunteer, I was one of the people who would go over to the West Side Highway to cheer the workers coming in and out of the site. Two recovery workers talked about what that felt like for them and it made me very, very glad I did it.

Here’s the thing: I will never forget one time cheering and a woman driving by in a car was sobbing, and trying not to sob, as she passed us by and drove into the site. I didn’t know if we had upset her, or if she was crying because she was moved. I swear to God, one of the storytellers last night looked just like that woman and she described what it was like going down into the site with all of us applauding her and the other workers. We hadn’t upset her.

My oldest and dearest friend has suffered the worst loss anyone can. I don’t want to go into detail because I’m not sure how much she would want me to say. I looked around for a poem and considered a few and the first one I thought of seemed best. It’s the only one that truly states just how bad loss can be.

Stop all the clocks

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

W. H. Auden

And this chorus is for both Chris and Tim. It is the In Paradisum section of the Faure Requiem. It is my prayer for Tim’s safe passage. The words translate to:

May Angels lead you into paradise;
may the Martyrs receive you at your coming
and lead you to the holy city of Jerusalem.
May a choir of Angels receive you,
and with Lazarus, who once was poor, may you have eternal rest.