Monday Music Appreciation #9 -- The Davis Concert Organ and Nathaniel Gumbs

I've never really been a fan of organ music -- until now. As someone who grew up after church music was "modernized," I always found the dirgy stuff played at church was depressing, and the only time our church organist, Joe Rolheiser, made me happy was when he sometimes played a rollicking version of It's a Small World after mass ended. In days when applause in church was unheard of, we all applauded when he finished; he was that good!

Last week, my wonderful niece, Charlotte, made me into a definite organ music convert. She took me to hear Dr. Nathaniel Gumbs play the Davis Concert Organ at the Winspear Centre for music (where she and I both work), and I'm already looking forward to hearing that organ played solo once again.

The Davis Concert organ is a wonder in itself. It has 6,551 pipes that make more than that many different sounds. Remember Nimrod from my moodling on Elgar back in March? It also sounds beautiful on the organ. 

I never knew a concert organ could have bells and trumpets and soft harp-like tones. Here's a little video that kind of blew me away -- I had no idea the organ took up so much space behind the concert hall's back walls!

And Nathaniel Gumbs is a wonder, too. At Thursday's concert, his hands flew over the keyboards and his feet flew on the pedal board, even though he's recovering from an injury that messed up his ability to play a more complicated Bach piece. Charlotte was telling me that he taught himself to play piano, then started to sneak into churches to learn how to play the organ, too, and eventually got a doctorate. 

Dr. Gumbs is currently director of Chapel Music at Yale University, and holds posts in a few other places as well. In the video below, he plays the finale from Sonata No. 1 by Florence Price, an African American composer whose works were almost lost through neglect. It's a powerful piece, and I'm so glad he played it to show off the Davis Concert organ last week, and for the making of this video. I'm so grateful to Charlotte for taking me (still on crutches at the time) to hear him play live. Char, the next organ concert is on me!

Please enjoy Sonata No. 1 as your music appreciation for today. It's worth wondering at.

Ode to a childhood home

My wonderful parents recently made the decision to move to a home more suited to their needs, and their home of 49 years officially received its SOLD sign on Saturday morning. 

It's a momentous occasion for our family, and I sat down to moodle on the good karma of this place just over a month ago. Re-reading what I wrote today, I barely had to change a word (but Dad wanted baseball and bunnock games in there, and Mom wanted Ante-I-over somewhere...) 

Ninety-nine twenty-seven,

you've been the meaning of "home"

for almost half a century.

And what a beloved place you have been --

a place of comfort and joy,

of games and fun,

of laughter and tears,

of celebrations and challenges.

Your big old Mayday tree in the backyard

where we set up skipping ropes 

to ferry messages via ice cream pail

from one trunk to the next

(and where I once got stuck),

and your Snoopy and Woodstock playhouse

that Marjorie and Elizabeth 

decorated before we came,

always full of spiders

or neighbourhood boys

that we didn't like.

Your proximity to the school across the street

so early mornings didn't have to be 

quite so early.

The backyard tent 

built over your umbrella clothesline

and the dress-up clothes fashion shows

that entertained us on summer afternoons.

Slinkies walking down your stairs,

"hospital" played in your attic,

a "passion play"

complete with thunder and lightning

(when Jesus died)

enacted by puppets 

behind your basement bar.

Oh, and the school hamster who escaped

(don't panic, DON'T tell Mom!)

and somehow squeezed under it

to be discovered in the corner of a keepsake box,

happily munching a saved school report.

Ping-Pong in your rec room

with Dad, 

who played left-handed

(until we beat him),

card games around your dining table

with all the cousins at Christmas,

and watching The Wonderful World of Disney 

in your living room on Sunday nights.

Piano lessons from a neighbourhood babysitter,

twelve-string guitar songs floating down

from your pink and purple bedrooms,

Study No. 6 ringing through you

over and over and over,

til Mom sighed with pleasure.

One of your rooms full 

(every wall)

of Edmonton Oilers newspaper highlights

painstakingly cut out of

The Edmonton Journal.

Renovations...

and your new family room

full of light.

Baseball and Bunnock games

across your street

and over the schoolyard fence

on which more than one of us

ripped our pants.

The sound of the adding machine

balancing the books for the business,

computer games,

and term papers being typed

in your basement office.

A boarder who didn't stay.

Birthday parties,

youth group gatherings,

graduations, 

and meetings of all kinds.

A first kiss for a future husband

on your front step,

and a wedding's second day party

in your newly built garage.

Campers and trailers 

of various sizes and shapes

parked in your back yard.

New babies

and doting grandparents

building couch cushion forts

for them to crawl through

as they grew.

Your dress up clothes

for another generation,

and costume jewelry besides.

Your huge piles of raked leaves

into which Grandpa

threw his grandchildren

over and over again.

Church music practices

in your front room

once a month

(turn up that bass, Aaron!)

Your Harry Potter party,

complete with costumes

and Grandma's creations --

chocolate marshmallow frogs!

Wild games of ante-I-over

with tennis balls flying over your garage

and leaving marks on your sunroom windows!

Running freshly cut homemade noodles

up and down your stairs

and all over the house

to dry on your beds.

Your much-loved sing songs --

King of the Road 

and Darktown Strutter's Ball

(turn up that bass, Aaron!),

bellowing 'Enery the Eighth I am, I am

or softly singing

Love Can Build a Bridge

with forty of our favourite people

(a few different ones every time).

Lots of splashing in your heated birdbath

and Grandma helping a grandchild

to rescue a bird 

who froze to your chain-link fence

one very cold day.

Surprise kids' art

and handprints

on your walls 

near the treadmill.

Kartoffel und gleis,

chicken noodle soup,

Christmas dinners and Easter suppers.

Playing Christmas game gifts, setting puzzles,

and watching 

Bing, Danny, Rosemary and Vera-Ellen

in White Christmas

every year.

Visiting through your window screen

or sitting around your firepit 

properly distanced

during Covid times.

A little black dog chewing pork bones

or napping

on your back rug

during coffee visits.

The company of so many

friends and relatives, 

and Uncle Fred sleeping

in his favourite bed.

And now it's time,

sad as we are to say goodbye,

for us to let you go

so another family can enjoy you.

Just looking at you,

ninety-nine twenty-seven,

they'll never know

how much good karma

is in your bones 

and in our hearts.

Thanks for the memories!

The pear tree blooms again

We are keeping our fingers crossed. After really cutting our beloved pear tree back last year because of fire blight, we weren't sure she would survive. This week she has shown her usual beauty, and we are keeping our fingers crossed, offering a bit of extra compost and deep watering her roots in the hope that she'll share with us a few more seasons of shade and tasty pears.

She has been a gift all her life, and we will do our best to treat her gently for as long as she's with us.

Things I take for granted

There are too many things I take for granted. And for me, walking is a big one.

There are too many things I take for granted. And walking is a big one!

I'm realizing it because I'm not walking today. At work yesterday afternoon, I misstepped on a dark flight of stairs and heard a bone in my foot crack. Six hours later the emergency doctor confirmed that I fractured my fifth metatarsal bone, and that I need to stay off it for two weeks.

Today I'm thinking about yesterday's early morning walk with Button-dog, who has been staying with us for the past two weeks. I'm remembering my dash after the bus that I nearly missed. I'm recalling the dry city street smell -- that made me think of the Champs Elysees in Paris for some reason -- as I strolled through downtown to get to the Francis Winspear Centre for Music.

I'm recalling climbing the stairs to the Upper Circle of the concert hall, and standing around chatting with my usher colleagues about the school children coming for the concert. And I'm wishing I hadn't allowed myself to be distracted by a flash on my closed circuit radio as I returned to the darkened chamber, where I had only four patrons who were counting on my help for the planned fire drill at the end of the show (which went well, though I only ended up watching it from a wheelchair parked next to the building).

Today I am crutching rather than walking, asking my very good neighbour to please get the lily beetles off the martagon lily that I can see from where I sit with my foot on ice, and marveling once again how life changes in a split second.

As life changes go, this isn't a serious one. I have to keep my weight off my foot for two weeks, hobble around in an air boot for another four, and I should be fine after that. I might even get to work a shift or two yet before the Winspear closes for the summer. I'll be slow to plant the garden, the housework probably won't get done to my satisfaction for a bit, and Suzanna will have to help harden off the greenhouse plants and take Button on the morning walks I can't take for now.

But if I was totally dependent on an income that a broken foot would prevent me from earning, or if something worse had happened to me health-wise, I wouldn't even be sitting here moodling about how I usually take doing so many things for granted.

It seems that sometimes my life needs to be tripped up so that I can be truly grateful for all that is gifted to me by our loving Creator. Cracked metatarsals, though frustrating, can be a blessing in disguise, especially since I'm blessed to be able to take the time needed to recover.

Today I'm praying for all those who have no choice but to work through their health crises. God, bless them, heal them, and give them the support of people who help and care.

+Amen.

Music Appreciation Monday #8 -- Ode to Joy

Beethoven was completely deaf by the time his ninth and final symphony was given to the world, which makes it all the more amazing. The fact that he wrote it simply because he wanted to lift the world up to receive joy, to encourage people to live in harmony and love is also noteworthy -- he composed it not for money or fame or legacy or any other number of reasons that motivated the composters of his time. He did it because it simply needed to be done.

This past week, I was able to hear it twice at the Winspear Centre for Music where I work, and the 150 voices of the 6 combined choirs gave me goosebumps and brought me to tears simultaneously. It's an incredible piece of music, carrying a whole lot of unifying sentiment.

Of course, the 67 or so minutes of Beethoven's 9th deserves to be heard in its entirety to get the full impact of the emotion and joy it can carry. But here's just the choral part of it, for your enjoyment. And especially for Eleanor, who is, perhaps, my most regular Monday music appreciator.

Enjoy!

What are you voting for?

Yesterday, one block north of
the downtown Police Station

The writ dropped today, and Albertans are facing another election. I'm not going to get into partisan politics here, but I do want to bring my readers' attention to a critical issue to consider when voting.

Or maybe you've already noticed there's a housing emergency going on. If you spend any time in downtown Edmonton, or walk our river valleys at all, you'll know that our homeless population has been growing.

And I can't tell you how many conversations I've had with inner city friends about landlords jacking up their rents because their buildings need a lot of work -- and the work doesn't get done.

What you might not know is that, up until about 30 years ago, the provincial government did an excellent job creating good, affordable housing so that people didn't have to live outside or in tumble-down tenements. 

Unfortunately, our politicians' priorities shifted, and public money hasn't been spent on affordable housing since the late 80s. In fact, some social housing has been sold off to private interests who don't take care of it. As a result, affordable housing is scarce, and suddenly, you don't have to watch the news to see the resultant increase in community safety concerns or physical and mental health issues in many of our neighbourhoods across the province!

What is someone like Yolande supposed to do? She's a young mom with two school-aged kids, and she's fled a situation of domestic violence. Her little family is now safe in a small apartment, but her rent costs more than half her wages, so she falls short of money for food, utilities and other family expenses every month. She called our local conference of the Society of St. Vincent de Paul (SSVP) for help, but if she had affordable housing, she wouldn't be scrambling to pay her bills and feed her kids all the time.

Yolande’s family is only one of an estimated 35,000 households in Edmonton alone who are in core housing need, meaning that they are paying more than 30% of their incomes to rent their homes, many of which are in poor condition, or do not meet their space or accessibility needs.  And volunteers with SSVP and other agencies meet many seniors and people with long-term illness or disabilities who are in that same boat. 

The City of Edmonton estimates that core housing need will rise to 50,000 households by 2030 unless our provincial government returns to building affordable housing the way it used to, up until the 1980’s.

This is a housing emergency! And it's time to do something about it! 

The election will happen on May 29th. I usually don't know what to say to the electoral candidates who come to my door. But for the past couple of weeks, I've been sharing 3 questions that anyone can ask our wanna-be-politicians:

1.   Too many Albertans struggle to feed their families each month because their rent costs more than 30% of their income. How will you address the affordable housing crisis?

2.   The Alberta Government has not made significant investments in affordable housing in the last 30 years. An estimated investment of $600 million per year for the next 10 years is needed simply to catch up with present needs. Will you support this? Why or why not?

(Maria's note: $600 billion is a drop in the budget bucket of a province that had a $12.3 billion surplus in 2022 alone. For more information on where I got this estimate, see www.ecohh.ca)

3.   Appropriate housing is a necessary solution for homelessness. How will you support this goal? 

If enough of us ask candidates these kinds of questions, leaders are more likely to take notice of the public's concern, and hopefully the housing crisis can be averted. Every question on the doorstep has an impact. Believe it!

So copy, paste, and keep these questions at your door for when electoral candidates come to visit. We can stand up for those in need before the housing emergency gets even worse. 

It's worth asking a few questions, no question!