October 26, 2006
A week ago we flew to southern California so that Charles could prepare for a HymnFest at Concordia University in Irvine on Sunday. The air and sunlight of that place remain strong in my mind as I look out this morning over a dark and damp Sanctuary where few branches move and even the birds are very quiet. The concert was splendid with a choir of 90 student and community singers and a highly competent brass group and timpanist adding to the whole. Charles was in fine form from the first notes of his opening Bach to the last pedal glissando of his own composition on “What a Friend” [click to listen] that he played as an encore. Many friends, family, and former students were there and this time that I had greatly looked forward to was far grander than I had imagined it would be.
Vignette: There is a small Chapel on a high ridge on the edge of the Concordia campus that has glass walls so that you can be inside and look out over Orange County to the east, and across the campus and the nearby hills to the west. The chapel is very still inside and plain and cool; the pipes of a small organ are in the back, and a single beautiful stained glass window is over the altar; you can step out through the glass doors and look down over the entire area. The duel sounds of finches singing in the eucalyptus trees nearby and the constant traffic moving past at the bottom of the hill where you are standing are unique expressions of this time and place. The sky above is a perfect blue, and the air is soft – how anyone gets any work done here is a wonder to me.
Vignette: At pre-dawn I leap out of bed and say, “Let’s hurry! I want to see the sun rise over the Pacific!” We get dressed, get in the car, and I direct Charles down the street called Jamboree toward the brightening sky. Charles says, “I don’t think we are going the right way” and I say, “Yes, we are, see, the sun is coming up ahead” and he says, “Those are mountains ahead, not the Pacific. . . you don’t mean that you think the sun is coming up over the water?” He sounds incredulous and I am suddenly faced with the realization that my center of the country child’s imagination always had the sun coming up over the Atlantic AND the Pacific oceans equally. I say, “Well, actually, I did think that for just a moment, and of course, I realize that is completely silly, we have to turn around and go back.” He takes a breath and I know he is going to explain some basic geographic truths which will be painful to hear so I say, “I know that you have every right to tell me about east and west and sunrises and such, and I will listen, but if you can refrain, it would be nice.” He says, “Perhaps we can try for a sunset” and finds a place to turn around.
Vignette: Another morning comes and this time we have son John-paul with us and this time we go westward on Jamboree flying along with the traffic up and over the Pacific Coast Highway, down the hill, over a little bridge and onto Balboa Island, a small bit of land inside of a cove and surrounded by piers with boats of all sizes nearby. We have breakfast at Wilma’s, a wonderful café that is homey and filled with “locals” greeting one another and not needing menus. After we eat, we walk all around the island past all the lovely little houses and gardens facing out on the water. There are great ospreys sitting so quietly on poles out at the ends of piers that at first I think they are carved, but then their heads turn as we walk by, for they are watching us even as we are watching them. The whole place is quiet and remote from the teeming traffic that is in constant motion not far away. Walking in the sun in this enchanted place with dear ones, I mentally note that I am experiencing perfect happiness.
Now, home again, another excellent blood count, late October skies around, Halloween ahead, and a reunion with Alphie coming very soon.