Yesterday, while my son was at his keyboard lesson, I took a walk. The weather was overcast and threatening rain.
I meant to take my umbrella, but — these days — I often forget at least one little thing.
It didn’t matter. I had my iPhone and, therefore, my music with me.
Long Slow Distance, a tune I’ve loved for many decades, started playing.
I saw many things from different perspectives, as I walked away, got lost, and then made my way back to my son, in time.
As I re-approached the place where Aaron’s piano teacher lives and gives lessons, yesterday morning, the word “home” came into my mind.
Perhaps that was because Letter from Home— also beloved by me for many years — was playing.
That song speaks to me of loss. And love.
I miss my father, this Father’s Day.
Thanks to the Dixie Dregs, to Pat Metheny, to Anna Maria Jopek, to families everywhere, and to those who go long, slow distances — away from and toward home. And thanks to you for your visit here, no matter where you are on your journey.
For your amusement and edification,1 I shall now free-associate about the word “company.”
“Company” is a musical by Stephen Sondheim.
I love musicals. My favorite musical-ist (to coin a word) is Stephen Sondheim.
I especially love the musical “Company.”
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“Company” is special to me, for many reasons:
I find the music, lyrics, the book — and everything else about “Company” — very smart.
Despite critics saying that Sondheim musicals are too cerebral, cold, or (insert any other critical word here), I find his work emotional, illuminating, and all-around excellent — for the mind, heart, and soul.
When I was in my 20’s, I tried out for a local production of “Company,” and got to sing my heart — and brains — out during several months of rehearsals and performances.
In many ways, Sondheim has made my life worth living.
Company is something I seek, but also need to balance with alone time.
Connecting with others is very important to me, and something I love to do.
Sometimes, when company is there, I am yearning to be alone.
When I was a little kid in the hospital, I would wait, with every fiber of my being, for visiting hours to begin, so my mother and other people in my life could come and visit me.
Sometimes I feel alone in the company of others.
When I feel less safe and secure (due to external and/or internal conditions), it is especially difficult to tolerate being alone.
Lately (as described here and here), I’ve been using the GPS-type app, Waze, for company, when I drive to and from work. Other helpful company — here in the Blog-o-sphere — have helped me realize that Waze might not be the best company for that situation.
A couple of days ago, to replace Waze during drive-time, I returned to the company of an old musical friend, Pat Metheny:
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I had a little trouble deciding which video to include here, but I can never resist this tune (and it reflects my recent experience — listening to the album Pat made with Anna Maria Jopek):
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If you don’t have time to watch or listen to that live version (although I hope you do get to check it out, at some point, especially Pat soloing, starting around 4:30) …. here’s a different, short piece from the Pat Metheny and Anna Maria Jopek album, Upojenie:
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In many ways, Pat Metheny has helped make my life worth living.
Thanks to Stephen Sondheim, to Pat Metheny, to all those connections that have helped so much, and to you — of course! — for visiting today.
I chose this video, made by the University of Rhode Island about their production of Company, because it suited my purposes and intent for this blog post. Also, Note This: When I use footnote superscripts, I can’t put them on the same line with a video that’s imbedded within a post. So this footnote needs to be hanging out there, alone, on the line, without any company … even if it looks weird.
Thanks to waltermigratore, and to that lonely superscript number “5”, hanging out in space above.
Thanks to alleviate1. You know what? That last hanging-out-in-mid-air superscript probably doesn’t feel quite alone, having two others just like it, in the same post.
