Last night, my boyfriend Michael and I went to a jazz event called “Celebrating The Great American Songbook” at a Lexington, Massachusetts church. While we were waiting for it to begin, Michael and I found this:
Earlier in the day, I was able to find a stillness and a description of last night’s event:
When I read that, I found a stillness and an excitement about seeing the amazing Lee Konitz, in person.
Before the event, I was able to find all these (and a stillness) in Lexington, Massachusetts, with Michael:
That’s one of the organizers of “Celebrating the Great American Songbook,” breaking the stillness before the performance to tell us that Lee Konitz would not be appearing. A moment later, I found a stillness when he announced that the performers would include the amazing drummer Terri Lyne Carrington.
Here’s the memory I found, in that stillness:
Two decades ago, when I was in my first year of social work school (transitioning from a career in marketing and advertising), Berklee College of Music asked me to create a video for an event celebrating a big anniversary for the school. The narrator for that little documentary I created for Berklee was Terri Lyne Carrington.
I found a stillness last night as I listened to the terrific music and wondered if Terri Lyne had any memory of our working together, so long ago.
I found a stillness and a joy when Terri Lyne’s father, Sonny Carrington (left), was invited up from the audience to scat-sing to the last number, a Charlie Parker tune.
After the wonderful performance, I found a stillness to wait for Terri Lyne and to remind her about the voice-over she had provided — in the stillness of a Berklee College of Music recording studio — so many years ago. Terri Lyne found the stillness and grace to tell me she had some distant memories of that experience.
After I spoke with Terri Lyne, I found this stillness, in the church:
About a half- hour later, I was able to find a stillness and some Malt Hydrox ice cream:
When I got home, I found a stillness, but not the photo I have of Terri Lyne Carrington and me at that long-ago Berklee anniversary celebration.
Someday, I’ll find that photo and the videotape I created for Berklee, both still in the stillness of my home, somewhere.
Will I find that photo and video today, in the stillness of this beautiful Sunday in May? I find a stillness, here and now, to say “Time will tell.”
Here‘s something else I just found, very easily, in the stillness of YouTube:
That shows you how Terri Lyne Carrington has been bursting through stillness with her incredible drumming, from a very young age. And I can find a stillness to tell you she is still doing that, today!
Now, I find a stillness to thank Beverly (who told me about “Celebrating the Great American Songbook” yesterday), Michael, Terri Lyne Carrington, Sonny Carrington, Dr. Lewis Porter, Gary Bartz (on saxophone), the bass player last night (whose name I still can’t remember), Charlie Parker, the great American songbook, Lexington Massachusetts, Lexington Community Education, Rancatore’s Ice Cream, Berklee College of Music, Arsenio Hall, the creator of the hymn “Find a Stillness,” and you — of course! — for finding a stillness (I hope), today.
