Lonely guitar

Written last night:
Dear Friends,

Today at the noon chamber music concert we heard Anderson-Gram, a husband and wife duo who sang and played original folk songs. Before they came onstage there was just a guitar, waiting. Later in the afternoon Zing! and I went for a walk and found ourselves in Macy’s shoe department. Zing! sat patiently while I tried on shoes. 

Love,

k

Filling the dome with music

Written last night:
Dear Friends,

I just came back from Chanticleer Christmas concert at the Cathedral, which is nearby — a block from the Capitol. The ticket says Chanticleer is “an orchestra of voices” -- 12 men singing a cappella. Clark loved to both listen and sing like this. I love it too, and this night was heavenly, a medieval oasis where troubles near and far just disappeared. 

I drew the cathedral dome while waiting for the concert to begin. It does no justice to the soaring sound that soon filled this space.

Hope you have Christmas music of your own!

Love,

k

Ukulele Holiday

Dear Friends,

It would have been so easy to skip the ukulele lesson tonight …  Christmas traffic and everything … But I went and I loved it. Wish you could hear Mele Kalikimaka, a Hawai’ian Christmas song. I’ll play it for you … next year. 

Until then, I want to draw something every day, or mostly, and now it’s all about Christmas.

Love,

k

Singing to each other

Written last night:

Dear Friends,

Zing and I were out for our last walk in the dark, and we saw a couple approaching us. They were walking slowly, in step with each other, and when we passed on the sidewalk we could hear them singing to each other — low, light music, their language and melody perhaps Asian. It was one of the  bright spots of my day.

Earlier, I went to hear chamber music at noon — a vibrant pianist (I know -- he doesn't look very vibrant in my drawing!) who played pieces by the Romantic composer César Franck. 

Love,

k

Watching fingers dance

Written last night:

Dear Friends,

After Zumba, which always makes me dance and cry at the same time (Don’t worry — I’m in the back row.) I went to hear chamber music at noon. It was a piano, cello, violin trio of American favorites: Samuel Barber, Aaron Copland, Leonard Bernstein. Thanks to my humble ukulele playing (if you can call it that!), I mostly watched the fingers of the violinist and cellist: how do they get so nimble? It’s that gift we call muscle memory, honed by practice and years of playing. 

Today I didn’t even try to draw at the concert.  But here’s a mandala I’ve been working on. I love its sky-blue and cloud-pink palette — more cheerful than our present smoky skies.

Love,

k

12" x 12"

He lives -- and laughs -- in my music

Written last night:

Dear Friends,

I wasn’t going to ever tell you, but I’m learning to play the ukulele.  Oooo-kulele. That’s how they say it.

I’m sure Clark made this happen, and I can hear him laughing out loud. Most of you know I kind of didn’t care too much about ukulele when he was obsessed with the instrument. Yes, I adored it when he played songs just for me — his serenades would bring tears to my eyes. But until Meredith asked me to draw an ukulele for her I didn’t even know how many strings are on the instrument (four). 

All Clark’s beautiful ukes are in good hands now, but I did keep the Fluke that Patrick painted for Clark years back. It was on the table for decoration and memory. That is, until my neighbor Kevin spotted it during the condo crawl a few weeks ago. Turns out Kevin is learning the ukulele himself. He asked if I’d like to join the class. It wasn’t like me at all, but something (Someone??) nudged me and I said OK. Tonight was my third class at a community center not far from here. And, Oh, I’m terrible! I couldn’t even put together my music stand. (It involves a lot of screws.), let alone figure out how to move the fingers of my left hand into different shapes while strumming with my right (thumb?) (forefinger?) (flesh?) (nail?) 

It’s a wonderful class at Mission Oaks Community Center. The teacher, Mark, is superb. He subtly does the music part while his sidekick Auntie urges us to learn the Hawai’ian words for songs, and she tells about the way Hawai’i developed. 

Something has happened to me, and I think it’s name is Clark. Still.  

Love,

k

Mark with tonight's song

I sit in the back and sketch musicians

Written last night:

Dear Friends,

I’ve found a Zumba class — great! (But not as lively as Florida — Florida feels like Zumba's heart) Went there today and then to hear the Chamber Music Society of Sacramento at the Wednesday noon concert. I’ve got to start listening to music at home.

Love,

k

I sit in the back and sketch 

at chamber music concerts

Magical, musical ragtime

Written last night:

Dear Friends,

Music at Noon today was possibly the best I’ve heard here. Or most enjoyable.

“It was a privilege to hear him,” the man in front of me said at the end. 

Adam Swanson is 25 and his piano is alive. Ragtime. You would love it. Who wouldn’t?

Adam is a charming guy with a big smile and magical musical hands. The piano was hidden from my view, so I drew Adam Swanson as he stood to introduce each piece. My drawing doesn’t catch it, but he also has a pocket watch in that vest. So 1920s!

Love,

k

Cake and chamber music

Dear Family,

Today I made a birthday cake for my friend, who lives in this building. 

“Maybe you could give her something small, like a cupcake,” her husband said the other day. Janie told me he doesn’t love sweets. But she does.

It was so hot last Wednesday that I skipped my regular 8-block walk to hear noon chamber music. But today was breezy and fine, and I got to hear the Pacific Arts Trio — harp, flute and cello.  Most interesting and maybe beautiful were three Irish airs and a concerto by Turlough O'Carolan (1670-1738). They told us he was a blind harpist who traveled the country offering to write a piece of music for every person in the household in exchange for room and board. 

Love,

k

Classical strings

Written last night:

Dear Friends,
I almost skipped chamber music at the church today — I thought it might be a weak presentation, since it's the middle of summer. 

But I did go, and when I walked in (a couple minutes late), the man on stage was holding up a stringed instrument that looked like a ukulele. It was a small guitar, and he played classical guitar that I loved. I am beginning to feel close to these instruments!

Love,

k

Ukulele with a pencil

Written last night:

Dear Friends,

As you know, I’ve fallen in love with ukuleles — even more than before (Clark played the uke) --  thanks to Meredith, who asked me to draw one for her. At first I was nervous because I didn’t know exactly what she had in mind, and also because I didn't even know how many strings a ukulele has (4). I spent about a week just looking at ukuleles and talking to people who play them. I made measured drawings, as if I were going to build one. Finally loosened up, I made my own ukulele song. I like what I came up with, and so does Meredith.

Love,

k

Chamber music

Written last night: 

Dear Friends,

It’s getting dark and the crows are sounding outside my open windows. I am getting used to their call — it’s not pretty, but it’s supposed to be meaningful. There were crows, of course, in Florida, but I never paid attention because there were so many other beautiful bird sounds.

Tonight I worked on a collage of the sun. Earlier today I got my hair cut and, before that, listened to chamber music at the church down the street. I sat in a back pew and made these drawings of a musician and of people listening — then a friend sat down beside me, so I put away my Sharpie and little notebook. Drawings like these are supposed to be done alone, I think.

Love,

k

Music, first and best

Written last night:

Dear Friends,

Today was about money and music. Music first and best. I’ve been missing the Wednesday concerts at the church on 13th Street because of the drawing class. But now that’s over, and I’m back. I gave Zing one of his anti-anxiety pills and walked on down to hear a pianist named Allegra. She played Frescobaldi, Scarlatti, Bartók and Chopin. See how I am tossing around the names of composers? As if I know them? Without knowing them, I love them. They made me relax and exhale deeply. (Exhales slow me down. Of course, inhales are crucial too….)

As for finances — I still have not mastered the simple numbers of my life, so today I started reading every page of every business file that Clark left. I wrote all the pertinent stuff down with colored markers on big newsprint sheets. That is how I took notes in graduate school. It worked today too, but it also found me sobbing — reading Clark’s joyful numbers in his shaky, confident script.

Love,

k

This trio sat in front of me at the concert:

Straight hair, curly hair, ponytail

Naps and tea and violas

Written last night:

Dear Friends,

Thanks for your sympathy and suggestions for flu — I spent the day gladly following advice — napping on the couch, brewing delicious tea (1 sliced lemon, 1 T chopped ginger, 2 cloves, 2 1/2 C. boiling water -- or tea -- or something else. Steep 1/2 hour. Warm up again, but don’t boil. Add a touch of red pepper at the end!), going to the drugstore for vitamins, and airplane prep tablets. Also disinfectant to wash hands in flight. I had fun, because I’m pretty close to well again. 

Rejuvenated, I walked to the noon chamber music at that church across from the Capitol. On the way I heard interesting bits of conversation from women and men with umbrellas and well-pressed clothes. But I never caught enough to make any sense. (“When you talk to them, be sure not to reveal … " “Is it a promotion? Are you getting paid more?”) This dry talk as prologue made the music all the the sweeter. Today it was violas, I think, or something like that. I missed the intro. At first I thought they were cellos, big and little. I am loving these concerts.

And that long line Zing and I pass each morning waiting at the federal building — it’s for the INS — people taking a citizenship test or with other immigration issues. A man who used to work in the building told me INS goes in the front and Homeland Security goes in the back — through an electric-powered gate with a pointy black metal fence.

Love,
k

Violas