So I'm reading back through the last few blogs. And for the one just before this I apologized for repeating myself two days in a row. Except I just realized I never wrote the first blog I was referring to. I guess I had written it in my head. I INTENDED to write it. But I didn't. So I didn't repeat anything. Were you confused? Or did you not notice?
What I had INTENDED to write 2 days ago was about the Master Class with Geraldine Brooks and Tony Horwitz, and about my experience page-turning for the organ recital.
It was a phenomenal (shoot. . . . . along with spectacular and fabulous I also use phenomenal way too much. I need a Thesaurus!) And now I realize that reading that last sentence, you can't tell what is phenomenal. . . the Master Class or the organ concert. Well. . . they both were.
Turns out that Geraldine Brooks and Tony Horwitz used to live in Waterford, Virginia, which is not too far from Northern Virginia where I spent my adult life. I know this is where they lived because, true to form, I got to the master class early and plopped myself in the front row. They sauntered in and started chatting up the people in the front row and we immediately established that I'm a Virginian too . . . . although now they are Martha's Vinyard-ians. So I was feeling like we were experiencing the beginning of a beautiful friendship except for all those other people in the room who had the colossal nerve to show up at my master class. Tony and Geraldine were so down-to-earth and pleasant and normal. Until I remembered that they both had won Pulitzer Prizes. It was then that I decided not to invite them down to see the renovated Crappy Little House. My knowing where Waterford, Virginia is does not constitute intimacy it seems.
They both gave stellar talks and answered questions. Tony writes non-fiction history. . . .or, as he tells it, "The Truth." His latest book about John Brown the civil war abolitionist/terrorist was the subject of a talk he gave today. Geraldine writes historical fiction. It was so fascinating to hear them describe their individual process and also how they work together. What a great couple! they started out as war correspondents. Lots of interesting stories between them. I ran into them walking the grounds later in the day and had a chance to stop and chat with them briefly again. . . .just me and them. But I still didn't invite them to Afton. And they did not invite me to Martha's Vinyard either.
The organ recital. Let me just say, for the record (I know, I know), that turning pages is not an easy job. I had never seen the music before, and all 4 pieces I turned were ones I had never even heard of. Which is why he needed a page turner. One piece was wild and wooly. . . moved very fast with multiple meters going on and no sense of real beat. Lots of running notes. Hard to follow in the extreme. And we're on the stage of the amphitheater. . .the largest venue on the grounds. NO PRESSURE! I just told Jared that if I got lost I would tell him and then he'd better nod really big when he wanted me to turn. Actually I did really well. I talked myself off the ledge before going up on the stage. I visualized myself getting it right and I did. It's great brain exercise, and truly a trip out of my comfort zone to accept the challenge. But on the other hand, the worst that could happen is that I could miss a turn, and Jared is good enough to keep going anyway should that happen. I hope he continues to use me to do this. Standing literally at his elbow while his fingers and feet dance around on the 4 different keyboards of that organ is nirvana for me. I was an organ major in college. For about 10 minutes of my life I fancied that I would be a concert organist at some point. I haven't played the organ in decades, and will not do so ever again I'm sure. But I have an understanding of what he's doing and the level he's achieving that other people might not have. And to be that close to greatness and to be helping him out is a mighty big rush.
So that was my Wednesday. . . . two days ago. Blogs out of order. Holy cow. . . what next?
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