the cassandra pages

So Sad, So Grateful: rest in peace, dear Patrick

Patrick Wedd during the rehearsal with our choir for his final Evensong before retirement, in June, 2018.

Patrick Wedd, consummate musician, choral director, and my dear friend, died yesterday. I was extremely fortunate to sing under his direction at Christ Church Cathedral for the past eleven years, to hear such a master play the organ, and to perform music he had written as well as the huge repertoire of Anglican liturgical music that he brought to us, week after week. He was a mentor to all of us, but especially to the young organists who were our assistant organists and organ scholars, and it was a joy to watch them grow in confidence and ability under his eye.

Patrick and I worked together on a number of projects, including educational programs, fundraising concerts, and a CD of contemporary Canadian liturgical music sung by our choir and published by Phoenicia, and during his last year, on the process for the transition to his successor. I'm especially grateful for his close and steady friendship over all these years: he was supportive, enthusiastic, and interested, and sympathetic whenever there was a problem, and I hope I returned the same kind of friendship to him and to his husband Rob.

Many people are writing today about him; I feel more like being quiet, and letting music speak for me. Last night I sat down at the keyboard and played some Bach preludes and fugues, and then a few of Patrick's own hymns from the Canadian Anglican hymnal. His music will live on, through all of us, and the person he was will continue to influence me all my life. Patrick, I'm so grateful to have known you. May you rest in peace. 

A Sketchbook as Bulwark Against the World

Altar frontal, polychromed faience, 1600-1650, from the Museu de Azulejos in Lisbon

I've kept working on my Lisbon sketchbook. Slowly, I'm realizing that a finished sketchbook like this is an object in itself, but also that the sketches could form the basis for some sort of expanded "book" of words plus art. I have five more pages to go, and then I'll lay it aside for a while and see what it says when I come back to it in a month or two.

What I do see, for sure, is that this has been a centering, grounding project during the cold, late spring, amid so much disheartening news. As I've said here before, my primary path and central mission is to be true to myself, which means doing my level best to be a positive and loving person who keeps creating, and encouraging others to do likewise. There is no better way to counter the destructive negativity of the current political world than to allow creativity and love to flow through ourselves and outward. Yes, it's difficult. Yes it requires digging deep inside ourselves and finding resources we perhaps didn't realize we had. Human life has always included both the worst of times as well as the best of times. We're facing huge challenges, and we each need to do our part, but in order to be effective and resilient, we have to find and embody the light wherever we can, as individuals with our own particular paths and relationships and passions.

Dunes in bloom, and cactus, on the national seashore reserve west of Cascais, Portugal.

I was in the U.S. last weekend for the 50th reunion of Dartmouth students who protested the Vietnam War, occupied the college administration building in 1969, and served prison terms as a result. My husband was not one of those jailed, but he was a close and supportive friend who documented that event and that time period photographically, and was invited to give a slide talk as part of the reunion. During the panel discussions and social times, I learned that nearly all of the fifty-some attendees were people who have spent their lives doing good, being creative, living with others in mind, working for the betterment of society -- and are continuing to do that in spite of the prevailing climate of hate and negativity. I was impressed, proud to be part of the gathering, and often very moved.

As one of them said, "we won some fights and we lost some, but 'success' is not the only measure of whether things are worth doing." And one of the current student activists said to these aging radicals with grey hair and achy joints: "It's not over 'til it's over -- you're still here, and we need you."

There's so much work that needs to be done -- on the climate, on rights for women and minorities, on freedom and justice, against hate speech and white supremacy -- the list is exhaustingly long. None of us can do everything, so just pick one thing, and work on it a little every day, wholeheartedly. Join a group of like-minded others; we can all accomplish more collectively. But do something real - don't just talk or, worse yet, add to the endless complaints on social media. And please, if you're a writer or artist or musician, keep doing your work. In a climate like today that attempts to suck the lifeblood out of creative people, and devalue who we are and what we do, making art can be a radical act. I certainly feel that way about publishing books, and about singing. 

In the woods yesterday with friends.

Nobody can be an activist, or in a position of helping and giving, 100% of the time. For me, the other side of the coin of action is contemplation. If I refuse to be defeated or silenced or worn down into depression and paralysis by the negative forces, then I need to find ways to continue to live fully, engage with the world, and to do my work, in spite of everything else. Each of us has a well to go to, when we need to re-center -- maybe it's the woods; a meditation cushion or a church; walking our dog in the park; reading; journaling; or spending time dancing or at a musical keyboard -- whatever it is for us, we need to find that place, know it well, and go there regularly for strength and consolation, not escape.

Can a 3 1/2" x 5" sketchbook, then, be a bulwark against the dark forces of the world? Actually, I'm finding out, it can.