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Am I too sane to write really well?

Muriel2017

photo by my Chandra

The other day I attended a ‘Music in the Morning’ concert featuring pianist Pedja Muzijevic, which was not only enjoyable but, for me, particularly interesting. Am I capable of judging the artist’s talent? Of course not. I certainly enjoyed the performance and felt it worth braving the rain and windstorm that chose to hit our city that day.

Said storm created floods and hazards and made it difficult for me to obtain cabs and I got soaked. (We are, after all, located in a rain forest.)

 

pedjaMuzijevic

Pianist Pedja Muzijevic

 

On the program was Robert Schumann’s Carnaval, Op. 9.

ClaraSchumann(1819-1896)

Clara Schumann, (1819-1896)

RobertSchumann(1810-1856)

Robert Schumann, (1810-1856)

In introducing this selection, Muzijevic said something about Schumann which I’ve been thinking about ever since: ‘Schumann, being mentally ill, wrote music without boundaries.‘

(Schumann’s wife, Clara, was also a gifted composer and musician and deserves mention here.)

 

This was the first time in many, many years since I’d heard something like that. Way back in my 30s, when I still hoped to someday write the ‘great American novel’, my husband and I had a friend who was a psychiatrist. One evening when he and his wife came over for dinner, he told me I would never be a great writer because — I was too sane!

having dinner

Dinner conversation years ago

He went on to say he had some patients who were very successful authors, who were able to write things ‘normal’ people can’t. People who are sane, he continued, have something like a protective fence around their brains and they tend to stay within those perimeters. People who are not sane don’t have that barrier. This makes it possible for them to follow ideas outside where you would not dare go.

I’ve never forgotten that evening so long ago and the interesting discussion we had over dinner. This week was the very first time since then I’d heard that same idea expressed. What do you think of it?

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Who took my sunshine away?

alt Mom hat cute crop sm

photo by my Susan

I’ve been betrayed. People I’d grown to believe in let me down. Is this really true? Does this mean I can’t depend on them anymore? I was promised sunshine, not only for yesterday, but for the whole weekend too. It didn’t happen!

It used to be I never took weather predictions seriously. They were so often wrong, it was easy to think some beautiful young woman from Romania had convinced the powers that be she could tell the weather by placing her finger on her forehead while facing north. She was usually wrong, but so was everyone else in those days.

Besides, the girl had chutzpah and sex appeal, so they continued to employ her. Why not. no one actually counted on the accuracy of those predictions. We were smarter than that.

sexy young girl telling weather

She had chutzpah and sex appeal

TV meteorologist

meteorologist with fancy degree

These days, professional ‘meteorologists’ with fancy degrees tell us what is going to happen and show computerized ‘proof’ of why and when and what we will get weather-wise for days to come. It looks real enough, and it’s on television. Doesn’t that mean it’s true? I’ve grown to depend on it. I dress accordingly before venturing out each morning. Well, this week they’ve let me down big time.

The other day my legs practically froze on my morning walk. The next day, I wore leggings under my jeans, layered my clothing, covered my head in a wool cap, wore my gloves and wrapped my scarf carefully round my neck. I was prepared. The sun shone so brilliantly and it was so warm, you could have fried eggs on the sidewalk. (Okay, that’s an exaggeration, but I had to take my gloves off, unzip my jacket, and tear off my hat —  totally ruining my high class hairdo.)

redhatcold

I shivered with cold

I don’t give up on people just like that folks. Promised more sunshine for the rest of the week, yesterday I left my warm clothes at home and set out feeling noble because after lunch, I’d be going to my exercise class. It rained. It poured! The wind blew mercilessly. I shook with cold. Rain drops gathered on my glasses. I could have used windshield-wipers for them. My bare hands were so cold my fingers felt like icicles and I could hear those experts howling with laughter at my distress. It’s a conspiracy I tell you!

Do you mean I can’t depend on those meteorologists who sound as if

computerweatherchart

computerized weather chart

they really know what they’re talking about? They display their knowledge of scientific charts dealing with the atmosphere as if they really know. They wave their hands right across the country with such assurance. Is it possible they really don’t know????

Might as well place your finger on the center of your forehead, face North, and predict the weather yourself.

Remembering rain stories…

Muriel Susan

Susan, who still loves all creatures, and me

After the oh-so-hot, humid, smoky summer, the first rainfall

Baby Rafi and sue

Susan playing with Rafi, she also loved him

was a blessing. It watered the parched earth, delighted growing things, cleaned the air, and brought joy to our residents. I purposely walked without a hat to experience those precious drops running down my face. The years fell away. I felt like a naughty child.

While relishing the much-needed rain, I thought of other walks taken years ago in Los Angeles where droughts could last for years. It didn’t make sense to buy boots for the children. They were rarely needed. I’d just wrap plastic bags over their shoes and out we’d go to either walk or splash about in the water, and sometimes sail hand-made paper boats.

On one such walk with 4-year old Susan, who loves every creature that flies, walks, crawls or slithers, she was worried. Dozens of worms were out because of the rain.

Pink worm

Little pink worms

“The sidewalk must hurt their little pink bellies,” she fretted, as she gently picked each worm off the cement and placed it onto the soft grass of the parkway. I like thinking of that rainy day.

Which reminds me of the morning 3-year-old Susan woke up and

green bug

I can’t find my green buggie

was crying. Concerned, I ran to her room. It seems the night before, she’d carefully placed a green bug to sleep in her bedside table drawer. Of course, the bug was nowhere to be found. She was distraught. Tears flowed. Seeing her so upset tugged at my heart. I knew it was useless, but what to do? I found myself crawling on the floor with her ‘looking’ for her ‘green buggy’. Well, what would you have done? Finally, the child had to settle for a hug.

There was also the time her kindergarten teacher had a container full of crickets to feed to a lizard. Susan decided the crickets must be unhappy cooped up in a

Jiminy Cricket

A

little carton. She turned them loose. This resulted in absolute chaos. Children, terrified of the little creatures, screamed, ran around and jumped up and down on chairs and desks — that is — all except Susan, who delighted in having given the crickets freedom and loved seeing them going off in all directions. Then, those crickets had to be gathered when/if possible. Oh, dear. (I learned about this adventure through a complaint from Susan’s suffering teacher.)

Another day Susan came home from school, again in tears, because she

Cockroach

A family of roaches?

had found a ‘cute family’ of cockroaches to bring to her beloved mother. A ‘mean’ boy slapped them out of her hand and stomped on them.

‘It’s okay Susie,’ I said hearing her tale of woe, ‘Perhaps they’re alright and he just took them to HIS mother.’ I doubt I ever told Susan how relieved I was those little critters hadn’t made it to our home.

Talking about bugs, once on the way to school ((Kindergarten again) Susan

Snail

Snails all over her coat

picked up every snail she saw. They, too, come out when it rains. She arrived at school with her pockets full of snails, and snails crawling all over her coat. Her poor teacher gave her an empty shoe box, and all the snails were saved and brought home to lucky me. I wasn’t that thrilled with this gift, we had a garden, but what can you say to a child who treasures every creature.

Enough rain stories. Stay well and enjoy each day.