when the fat lady finally does sing
will you be ready for what happens next
or lost in a maze of doubts lingering
be derailed by inattention perplexed
to find too few optimistic choices
looking ahead to the distant side of
now past your option to turn back voices
of others muddle the air breathe let love
place a cool towel on your forehead and dream
of a future without regret you can
find a way through even when the odds seem
stacked against winning the hard race you ran
hear her song know that possibilities
abound tilt your face sunward feel the breeze
I bring armloads of music down from the attic today, to sort and take in to school tomorrow where I have a student working on a project to scan it, for preservation and to make it easier to share with other mandolinists. Some of the sheets are so brittle they feel like they will crumble in my hands. There are folders, taken from my former teacher’s house after he died, that seem to be from his teacher, the legendary Giseppe Pettine. Folders of mis-matched parts, music taken from the pages of a magazine he published, Italian music with hand-written dedications from their composers. A project intended to take a couple of hours stretches to fill the day. But, as with the basement, it’s a project I am happy to have, at least, begun.
Pictured, a souvenir from rehearsal. Today I resolutely take up the long-postponed task of cleaning up the basement. It involves unpacking neglected boxes from my move, from my Mom’s move, and uncovering a mix of nostalgia, laughter, rueful sighs. There are things forgotten, some ruined by neglect, others finally rediscovered– oh that’s where that has been! The dust of time needs more than a broom, and the boxes will require more than a day to sort, but in the evening when I pause, it feels good to have at least made a start.