A Christmas Concert

It was my friend Gayla's birthday last week, and she invited me to help her celebrate the occasion by joining her at the KC Symphony's Christmas Festival. I was more than happy to accept the invitation, and we bundled up and drove to the Kauffman Center, arriving with enough time to stop for a moment to just enjoy being in such a beautiful space.

As we leaned on the rail overlooking the colorful atrium, watching the crowd below mill about in all their Christmas finery, I was a little surprised to find myself pulled into a wayback moment. Young Janice had heard of such spaces, and even been marched through one or two on one school outing or another, but she never dreamed that the privilege of attending one of the concerts could be a normal part of her life.

"Ah, but of course, I've been to Symphony Hall", says me, today. But there was no "of course" about it in the heart of the little girl who unexpectedly popped up that cold winter's night. 

All of the magic she'd ever dreamed of was there that evening, and I was caught in her delighted awe at the moment. She reveled in my clothes, definitively NOT hand-me-downs, an outfit that blended seamlessly with what the rest of the crowd wore. She tried to memorize the view of the lights, the glimpse of the city through the expansive windows. And, she stayed with me throughout the concert, delighting in watching the mastery of the musicians, caught in the spell of the carols and other pieces. "I am HERE", she sang.

I was taken a bit aback by the experience, though in retrospect, her appearance makes sense. If there's a season of the year that takes me back to those long-ago days where I was the middle kid in the puppy pile that was our large family, Christmas is it. 

I am glad she is still with me. I am honored to be able to show her a glimpse of how far she would travel in her life; to let her see some part of those good things she had only read and heard about would be hers. 

Merry Christmas!

Advent Musings

I no longer profess to be part of any religion, and I found myself looking over my shoulder as I scrounged up some candles and ribbon to set up an advent wreath, as if the orthodoxy police might be peering in the window to make sure I don't sully their beliefs with my free-form faith. (I didn't see anyone there...)

My faith is free-form, but also, when it comes to the message of the advent candles, my faith is strong. I can wholeheartedly light a candle each week and whisper a prayer in the name of Hope, Peace, Joy, Love. This year, my prayers haven't yet managed to coalesce into words. But if there is a Someone out there who Listens, surely they can Hear all my heart is trying to say.

I'm glad the Hope candle comes first in the season. I need lots of Hope in my life. Each time I visit the wreath to pray for a few minutes, I whisper the words of Emily Dickinson - "Hope is the thing with feathers / That perches in the soul / And sings the tune without the words / And never stops at all." I dig through my days to find the moments where Hope surfaced, and let it linger on my mind for a time.

This weekend marked four years since Libby died. It feels like yesterday. It feels like it was another lifetime. I feel vaguely guilty because her cancer killed her and mine did not kill me, like some cosmic accountant messed up and crossed their lines. I feel grateful I am still here. It is when I am able to hold both gratitude and grief, not denying either feeling, that I am able to find some measure of Peace.

Joy came to visit this weekend in the shape of my now three year-old grandson. He loved the cookie baking process, especially the part where he got to help decorate the shape cookies. He's not quite an expert just yet. He either carefully, firmly, poked three sugar sprinkles into each cookie, leaving finger dents as proof of his diligence, or tried to sprinkle from the jar, thus burying the shape in sugar. The end result would not pass muster on a bakery shelf, but to my admittedly biased eye, they are beautiful, and it does my heart good to look at them.

Next week comes Love, and fast on its heels, the winter solstice will arrive on the 21st. The light will already have begun to return by the time we celebrate Christmas later that week.

Hope.
Peace.
Joy.
Love.

Amen.

Art Show

 

My friend Rose has a small art gallery set up in the hallways of her church. Each month, she reaches out to yet another of her artistically inclined friends, and asks them if they'd like to show their work in her gallery. She's asked me several times, always I have been reluctant to show my attempts at creating art in a public place, and have declined the opportunity.

But this last time, when she came by for dinner and was enthusiastically looking through the stack of photographs I use to paint from, and asked me, one more time, if I wouldn't just consider putting together a show, I accepted the challenge. I think I'm finally ready to hear what other people think of my photos. (Though not yet the art I create using them. That'll be a while yet.)

So, we got together one evening, and winnowed through the pictures, selecting 25 whose lighting and color tones would work well together in small groups. I sent them to Costco to get enlarged prints, then hopped on to Amazon to find some basic white mats so they could be hung. Once all the piece parts arrived, I spent a couple of evenings assembling the finished art.

This past weekend, I brought the matted prints over to her church to be hung. Her enthusiasm and joy when we were hanging them up were infectious. I found myself looking at my work through her eyes, seeing all of the beauty and none of the flaws. I think it was good for me. I am better at seeing the beauty in the world around me than I am in any of the work I produce with my hands.

The pictures will hang for a month, then we will have a closing party. Where the church will invite people and I will invite people, and I, as the artist, will be the guest of honor, the center of attention. I'm not so sure about that part. I mean, I'll have to meet new people, and Covid has left me socially awkward.  *sigh*

But, I've got to stretch my boundaries some time, and this is a good way to do it. Besides, probably everyone will be busy and there will be just five people there. Maybe. I can hope.

I gotta admit - it feels good to be spoken of as one of 'her artists'. My inner six year-old is pleased with the moniker. Janice Raach, Photographer.  It's got a certain ring to it, no?