Music in Her Soul

When we arrived at the San Francisco airport two days ago, the rental car area was a madhouse.  All of the lines were very long, and family members waiting for those in line filled up the remaining space.  People and luggage were everywhere.

While Bill went through the line, I stood against the wall near the pay phones with the luggage, which seemed like a good idea since pay phones are rarely used anymore.  Right in front of me stood a mother with a little girl about 5 or 6 years old.  She was guarding the cart loaded with suitcases, while her husband and older daughter proceeded slowly through the rental car line.

After I had been there only a couple of minutes, I realized that the little girl was singing.  I couldn’t catch many of the words, but she had a lovely voice for a little one.  As she sang, she swayed with the music and waved her arms in the air with her fingers vibrating to the rhythm of her song.  This continued non-stop for the entire time she waited….close to an hour.  She sang quietly in the very noisy room.  She was not trying to attract attention.  She clearly couldn’t help herself.  Singing came for her as naturally as breathing.

I recognized what she was feeling, because I have felt this myself.  I grew up loving music and not being able to prevent myself from singing.  I sang when I rode in the car, when I was outdoors playing, or when I was lying on my bed thinking.  As I grew up, I sang when I was doing housework, driving the car, or painting a room.  For those of us who know this feeling, music allows our very souls to find expression.  Everything we are and feel finds a pathway out through our voices.

My voice is now shaky and unreliable, but I so enjoyed watching the little girl and being reminded of the pure joy of being able to express oneself in song.

Andromache by Euripides

Andromache was the wife of Hector, but when Troy fell to the Spartans following Hector’s death, she was taken as a slave and mistress to Hector’s murderer, Neoptolemus.  She bore a child, Molossus to him.  Neoptolemus also took a legitimate wife, Hermione, who is the daughter of Menalaus and Helen.  Hermione is childless and blames Andromache for causing this by some strange powers.  Andromache is innocent of this charge and is in great misery as the mistress of her beloved Hector’s killer.

While Neoptolemus is away, Hermione and Menalaus conspire to kill both Andromache and her son.  Andromache hides Molossus at a friend’s house and takes refuge herself in a temple believing she will be safe there.  Hermione comes to the temple and there is quite an argument.  Later Menalaus comes and tricks Andromache into leaving.  He has found her son, but he says he will spare him, if she agrees to be killed herself.  His actual plan is to kill both of them.

Before Menalaus can carry out his intentions, Peleus, who is father of Achilles and grandfather of Neoptolemus arrives on the scene.  He believes in Andromache’s innocence and demands that Menalaus release her.  They argue.  Menalaus insults Peleus saying he is old and feeble and couldn’t possibly stand up to him in battle.  Peleus insults Menalaus, implying that he thinks of himself highly because he was a general in the Trojan War, but it was really his men who did all the work.  Menalaus finally retreats.

Hermione is now distraught.  She feels abandoned by Menalaus, and is fearful that when Neoptolemus returns he will kill her because of her plot against Andromache and Molossus, for although Molossus is a bastard, he is still Neoptolemus’ son.  She wants to kill herself and is prevented from doing so by her nurse.  About this time, Orestes arrives on the scene.  Hermione was once betrothed to him, and he still wants her.  Besides, he knows that Neoptolemus is dead.  He arranged for this by spreading false rumors about Neoptolemus while he was at a temple offering sacrifices.  Hermione runs off with Orestes.

Messengers arrive and tell Peleus that Neoptolemus, his grandson is dead.  Since his only son Achilles is also dead, he is distraught.  He says that he now has no offspring and no reason for living.  His wife Thetis, who is a goddess, appears.  She reminds him that Molossus is his offspring and promises that a line of kings will come from him.  She further promises that after he buries Neoptolemus, she will arrange for Peleus to become a god, and they will be together forever.

Euripides ideas on women permeate this work.  Some make me angry:

*’tis woman’s way to delight in present misfortunes even to keeping them always on her tongue and lips.

*though some god hath devised cures for mortals against the venom of reptiles, no man ever yet hath discovered aught to cure a woman’s venom, which is far worse than viper’s sting…

*never, never….should men of sense, who have wives, allow women-folk to visit them in their homes, for they teach them mischief…

But, some of Euripides' thoughts on male-female relationships  are wise:

*’tis not beauty, but virtuous acts that win our husband’s hearts.

*I would have a husband content with one wife whose rights he shareth with no other.

*…every prudent man will seek to marry a wife of noble stock and give his daughter to a husband good and true, never setting his heart on a worthless woman, not even though she bring a sumptuous dowry to his house.

Other interesting quotes:

*We ought not on trifling grounds to promote serious mischief.

*…wilt thou slay me, passing by the cause and hurrying to the inevitable result?

*Thinkest thou God’s hand is shortened and that thou wilt not be punished?

*One word upon your lips, another in your heart, this is what men always find with you.

*The race of old men practices no restraint; and their testiness makes it hard to check them.

(I guess old men have always been grumpy.)

*Better is it not to win a discreditable victory, than to make justice miscarry by an invidious exercise of power.

*Women ought to smooth over their sisters’ weaknesses.

Teenage Rebellion Averted

Today at the grocery store, I noticed a young couple with two adorable little girls.  The younger, who was being carried by her dad, gave me a very sweet smile every time I passed them.  The older girl was full of energy and running around her parents while they shopped.  They ended up in the check-out line right ahead of me.  I, therefore, overheard conversation between the older girl (who was probably about 4) and the check-out clerk as to who was going to drink the beer that was being purchased.

This brought to mind my 3 or 4 year old self sitting on my Dad's lap while he drank beer with his friends at our kitchen table.  I asked if I could have a taste and was given an emphatic "No!"  I suspect that I was an abnormal child, and that most kids wouldn't react this way, but I remember being furious and indignant.  I thought, "Huh...he sits here and drinks more than one bottle, and he won't even give me a taste.  That is UNFAIR!  If it's not good for me, how can it be good for him?" 

It is probably a very good thing that my Dad gave up drinking alcoholic beverages when I was 7 years old.  I can only imagine how my attitude would have escalated into open defiance, if this "injustice" had continued.  Also, I would have eventually figured out that there was a correlation between the alcohol consumption on Friday night and the entire Saturday being wasted sleeping on the couch.  This lack of ambition when there were things to be done distressed my Mother.  Sooner or later, it would have distressed me too.

I did not understand the significance at the time, but when my Father decided to quit drinking, a celebration of sorts occurred, and my brother and I were allowed to pour the remainder of his stash down the toilet.  I have a distinct memory of this and the foam in the toilet bowl.

I have wondered many times as an adult what kind of problems I would have had and would have created for my parents as a teenager, if my Dad hadn't made some major changes in his life.

So today, I am thinking about those two sweet little girls and wishing the best for them and their parents.

What is Wrong with This Picture?

Yesterday with my husband at the wheel, we rounded a corner and came upon three boys on skateboards in the middle of the street.  They were smack dab in the center of our lane, but they were focused on the on-coming car in the other lane.  My husband had to brake and had to use the horn before they even realized we had come up behind them.

A few blocks later as we approached an intersection, I commented that there were more kids in the street ahead of us…but….when we got closer, we realized they weren’t kids.  A couple, who appeared to be in their 50s or 60s, was crossing the street.  Actually it was hard to tell their ages.  The man walked erectly and seemed sturdy, but the woman was unsteady and her back was bent both forwards and sideways.  With great effort, she was pushing a shopping cart which had one wheel wobbling around at an awkward angle.  In the cart were two 24 can cartons of beer.

“Oh,” I sighed, taking in the wobbly cart, the abundance of booze, the frail woman doing the heavy work as the man sauntered along, “What is wrong with this picture?”

“Everything,” my husband sadly replied.

I Want to Die on a Windy Day

I want to die on a windy day,

So as my spirit slips away,

And leaves my flesh behind to stay,

I can fly upon the wind.

As color fades to pale cast,

And I leave grief behind at last,

I’m breaking free and moving fast,

Soaring upon the wind.

Time for me will be no more.

I’ll slip through the eternal door,

Free to float and dip and soar,

And dance upon the wind.

Now I live at sluggish pace,

My movements are not filled with grace,

But my spirit then will leap and race,

At light speed on the wind.

When it’s time, don’t be surprised,

If as I sigh and close my eyes,

Mighty gusts from breezes rise.

I’m somersaulting in the wind.

Last Man Standing

We just returned from the National Senior Games in Cleveland.  My husband participated in the 5K and 10K runs and came home with one ribbon and one medal for his age group.  My husband has been a runner since junior high, but not so with all of the participants.  One of the fascinating things about the Senior Games is that some of these people were not athletes in their youth and have come late (very late) to the notion of physical exercise being beneficial and rewarding.

The day before the 5K, which was held at the Cleveland Zoo, we were walking the race route to get a feel for the course and fell into conversation with another couple who were doing the same thing.  The wife of the participant told me that her husband had had two heart attacks, and that his whole family was overweight.  He had taken up running after the second heart attack and had lost 80 pounds during the past year.  He was now more or less obsessed with exercise and diet to the point that she had gone off to their second home in Florida to get a break from it.  She commented that she no longer enjoyed eating since he had put himself, and her, on a restrictive diet.  She, by the way, did not need to lose weight.

The dear lady couldn’t quite wrap her mind around the strange world that runners retreat into prior to a race.  There is no other topic worthy of conversation.  Everything revolves around and is focused on “the race.”  As the wife of a long-time runner, I assured her that this was “normal,” and that a week later she should expect the whole race to be relived.  He will be making remarks like…”A week ago right now I was_______.”  He may be wearing his medal under his shirt and pulling it out to be admired by anyone who mentions “the race.”

The first eight runners in each age group were recognized.  Places 8 through 4 received ribbons, while 3, 2 and 1 got bronze, silver and gold medals.  At the awards ceremony, it was interesting that as the older age group results were read, sometimes there were not as many as 8 participants to be recognized.  In fact, in the 10 K, age 85-89, there was only one male participant, who automatically received the gold. 

After about age 85, the participants, both male and female find it difficult to step up and down from the podium.  They may be able to run/walk a 5 or 10 K, but the little step up to the podium becomes a barrier, and they need to steady themselves by holding on to someone to make that step up.

As each age group is called forward, one can’t help but notice the increasing frailty, fewer participants and slower recovery time.  As hard as we try to take good care of our bodies, eventually they deteriorate.  Something breaks or wears out.  We may be able to put off the inevitable for a time, but no one lives forever.  There were no participants 95 or over.

But…if you live long enough and can still show up and put one foot ahead of the other, you might just win the gold!

The Dangling Muffler Escapade

Just before lunch today, I heard a terrible racket coming down the street.  The noise stopped in our driveway causing me to dash to the window.  My husband had pulled into the drive with the muffler dragging below his car.  The racket was the muffler scraping the pavement all the way up the street.  He hurried in, grabbed the keys to my car and hurried out so as not to miss his noon Rotary meeting.

For some inexplicable reason, as I pondered the vehicle in the driveway, I saw it as an irresistible challenge.  I have no idea what makes me do things like this, especially since my husband didn’t expect me to take care of it.  But, I crouched down next to the car and tried to pull the muffler off…no luck.  I then decided that perhaps I could wire it up off the pavement, so that the only noise on the way to the muffler shop would be the unmuffled engine noise.  I figured at least the rattle and scrape sound could be eliminated.  A coat hanger, bungee cord and 30 minutes later, I had the muffler ever so slightly above the ground.  

I went in the house, washed off the dirt acquired from my under-the-car activity, made myself a PBJ sandwich, and headed for the muffler shop.  There was a bit of metal-on-the-pavement sound along with the rumble of free exhaust, but not nearly as loud as earlier.  I thought my solution had worked, until I hit a bump.  A thud and a look in the rear view mirror revealed the muffler was now detached and in the middle of the street behind me. The bungee cord and coat hanger were still hooked to the under-carriage of the car.   I pulled over and used a blanket from the car to protect my hands while picking up the now hot muffler.

The rest of the trip to the garage was uneventful, except for strange looks from other motorists and pedestrians.  The manager at the muffler shop said I shouldn’t have bothered to pick up the muffler.  He said that people troll the city picking up scrap metal, and it would have probably been picked up before I even got to the shop.  I told him that I was just trying to tidy up after myself.

I sat in the waiting area, ate my PBJ and looked at old magazines.   When my husband got home, he called my cell phone wondering where his car was.

The muffler is now fixed…it was actually under a life-time warranty.  Of course, the labor, the bracket and the pipes on either side of the muffler weren’t on warranty.  Funny how that works.  A life-time guarantee plus $200 will get your muffler fixed.

I’m still trying to figure out why I saw that dangling muffler as a challenge.  If I could answer that question, it might explain some other curious things about my life too.