Writing at Kathy's

We're trying a writing method that involves listening to Baroque music in the presence of a lit candle, and writing on unlined paper, without prompts. So here's what came out:

Writing to Baroque music may produce the Mozart effect in people who don't have music degrees. But I know that this piece is from the classical period and is Albinoni's Adagio. I seem to recall it being used in the soundtrack of the movie The Elephant Man, at the end, when he decided to kill himself by sleeping lying down. So the piece is inexpressibly sad to me, although also quite beautiful, and of the sort of music I would really enjoy playing on recorders with some friends.

Which leads me to wonder why I've pretty much dropped out of recorder playing since I retired. I stopped going to the week-long workshops in Oakland and Carmel Valley, and to the monthly chapter meetings in San Francisco. I have trouble with stairs and roommates that may account for some of my unwillingness to go out of town, and needing to find a ride or a parking spot late at night is a disincentive concerning the chapter meetings. But that doesn't seem to be enough reason to quit.

Maybe I'm just not enjoying playing as much as I did before. I don't work at it enough to get any better at playing fast notes or long phrases. I don't know. Maybe something about taking early retirement makes me feel more apart from the gang than I usually do? I do know that getting chastised by a teacher for trying to help another player in her class really hurt my feelings. Maybe I feel bad when others seem to expect me to play better than I actually do?

P.S., this piano piece is not Baroque, I think. Maybe it's by Chopin or Liszt.

I really prefer writing to a prompt. Lacking one makes me think of my mother's saying: "When I'm alone, I'm in bad company." I tend to wind up thinking about things I don't understand or don't like about myself, and feel powerless and unwilling to change.

For example, I probably would get more accomplished if I spent less time checking email, playing Sudoku, etc. But I know how unhappy and conflicted I get when trying to give up an unedifying habit. And how could I limit the time I spend doing anything in particular without keeping track of my time, which is really repellent?

Maybe consciously substituting something equally gratifying (if I can figure out what that might be) for that activity maybe half the time would be doable.

Maybe I should get back into some carefully crafted affirmations, like: "I'm awake, alert, alive, enthusiastic." Something not so far removed from reality as to be a joke, but with a decent amount of aspiration. Maybe including my old standby: "I love myself unconditionally." or a more moderate: "I regard myself with humor and compassion."

The third musical selection was baroque, and the fourth as well.

What do I get from the candle flame? It reminds me of Shabbat candles, also of the candle I lit at bedtime for company in the depths of depression. It made me feel less alone, and almost relaxed enough to fall asleep.

One of my favorite aspects of music is how crunchy harmonies resolve. The contraction and release of tension in the music is very fulfilling and relaxing.

Another growth opportunity I have is the many records and tapes I don't listen to. The closest I get to music is turning on the classical radio station when I'm driving in the car or paying bills in the kitchen. Which provides some nourishment, but leaves me feeling like I'm hiding from the memories and feelings attached to the music I chose to acquire: classical, Broadway shows, women's music, the records we cut at Cazadero Music Camp.
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Then we wrote to a prompt about someone I once knew well but haven't seen for several years, beginning as follows:

The last time I talked to my mother may have been the time she phoned me and, with no fanfare or time to get a notebook, stated every piece of wisdom that she had acquired in her sixty-something years of life and twenty-something years in A.A.

At the time, I wondered what had prompted her to lay it all on me, and was a bit irritated that she had intruded on what I was doing at the time (whatever it might have been) and proceeded to talk my ear off for much longer than I was interested in listening. I basically kept making little noises to falsely suggest that I was listening, and waited for her to finish.

Now, of course, I wish I had paid closer attention, taken notes, and responded somehow to her attempted gift. But I didn't, and, probably not too long thereafter, I got a call from her neighbor informing me of her death.

I suspect that her angina was getting worse, and she began to feel mortal. I deeply regret not having paid more attention at the time.

On the other hand, I still remember maybe a dozen sayings and pearls of wisdom that she had repeatedly shared with me and my brother, so I've received some of her wisdom. And I don't know how helpful would have been ideas that she divulged only under fear of approaching death, without other context.
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Our final prompt was, would I like to write a book, about what?

I've always wanted, maybe not so much to write a book as to have written a book. Seeing my name and words in print is intensely gratifying to me.

With a career in legal writing under my belt, many words of mine about various legal subjects exist in print. Several of my prayers appear in the synagogue prayerbook, and a few of my poems have been published in a pamphlet.

But what would I fill a book with? Musings about my mental blocks, economic justice, and spirituality? Memoirish little bits about this and that, in no particular order?

There should be some way to piece together some of my hard-won wisdom and quirky foibles into a form that one or two folks might find of interest.

Unless Blogger is lying to me, the blog where I post my scraps of thought has fans as far away as France. And if I self-publish, nobody has to be sold on the value of my stuff but me. And convincing me of that value would be half of the barrier to publishing my words. And I expect the other half of the barrier would be to stop editing them and let them go.

And if I publish an e-book, no trees will be felled in the dissemination of my thoughts, which are worthy at least to rearrange some electrons on sand.