Underfoot and overhead

After a day of total deloogin' rain yesterday, the sun is back. Not even much mud, which means we needed that rain.

So a nice local walk ensued.

There are whole worlds underfoot

And I'm told trees communicate with each other. I wonder if they talk across species and varieties? These beeches seem very confidential, wonder if their neighbors are included in the decades-long convo?

Back home to find panic next door. Refrigerator broke down, no service can be done during the lockdown. Sooooo, frantic moving of food.

 Their other freezer works and is full from recent big shop. Which is why I have a giant bag of ice stored for them in my freezer, not without some squashing in, mine pretty full too.

 So today we're all glad about that because I took the bag of ice back and they've set up the ice chest to help for now till they figure out what next. Never a dull moment.

 Yesterday was her mother's funeral, away from here, which is how they didn't find out until just now about the breakdown. Whereupon they both had breakdowns,too.

And I thought, having done what I could, I needed to go away and play a bit of music.

Editor's Note: if you are not a sight reader or find early music almost as exciting as watching paint dry, skip the next bit.

I played these three suites, composed by Anonymous, from a 1700s book for solo instrument. Probably, knowing the music world, composed by a woman, but moving right along.. I'm playing them on alto, but they're cleverly designed for soprano and tenor, so I might try that, too.

Then I played a bit of Michael East, Elizabethan feller, and I wanted to show you typical handwritten then printed music. Don't imagine I'm rippling away like Michala, though. Just a competent player. Mostly..

 I got most of my music from workshops run by great players who are often editors and arrangers too, and share what they've arranged, or their colleagues have.

  My interest is in medieval, Renaissance and Elizabethan music, and it's a lively world. And it's a small one, so print runs tend to be small, nowadays from the arranger's computer.

Last evening I rounded off my Alec Guinness Film Festival with The Man in the White Suit, and I don't know if there's ever been a better comedy ensemble than in the Ealing studios.

But now, chop wood, carry water, scrub bathrooms, since I cancelled my cleaning family and them toilets won't scrub themselves.

There's a wonderful word that explains everything is part of life, not an interruption to it. Shakuhachi.

 Always good to remember in frightening times. Everything that happens, welcome or feared, is a part of life. A lot of us are at home now. But our "real" lives are not suspended, they've just taken on a new form for us to explore and learn.

Likewise during my long caregiving years, my life wasn't on hold. It was very full, with happiness in there, too, if you looked for it among the stress.. Sometimes I needed stronger glasses to see it, but it was there.

 In fact it was during those years, that I attended a workshop conducted by a shakuhachi flute master and learned about the concept. Very timely learning.

When the student is ready, the teacher appears!