Mozart

I'm recovering from a week of intense music making with The Mendelssohn Choir, Manfred Honneck and The Pittsburgh Symphony along with some fabulous soloists and F. Murray Abraham as speaker. It is a replay of a concert we did in 2014 at Carnegie Hall New York and it still tugs at my heart-strings. 

There is something magical about singing music you know someone was penning while they lay dying. The letter Mozart wrote his father about death being our "ultimate purpose in life" and living each day as if one might not wake up the next is echoing in my ears. It is advice we hear all the time and as someone who spent years working with the dying you would think it would be something I would obviously do. And yet.. life becomes somehow automatic and small in its everyday repetitiveness. I fear we have been isolated and forever changed by Covid adding a bit of hesitancy and distance to all of our interactions. So I am grateful for the reminder to think of the sacredness of each day and each relationship as we experience them. 

This morning the sky is blue and clear, the temperature is unseasonably cold and yet the birds are singing. I anticipate travelling to New York to hug my children and hold my grandchildren in two days. The Lenten Roses are blooming in my front yard. The garlic sprouts are pushing through their leaf mulch promising another harvest season..perhaps.