A Composer’s Journal: Entries: July 15- July 18, 2005.
Friday, July 15
E-mails from several professional groups, asking me to send them scores. This, of course, will take some time and also money - Xeroxing and postage costs. I put these e-mails in a nice little stack by the computer.
Saturday, July 16
Windgarth 5:15 p.m.
We have the downstairs again this week. Our upstairs guests arrived not long ago, and the husband looks very frail & ill. He has cancer, and I hope Windgarth gives them all the healing they need. The little girl looks about six years old, blond and very thin.
Planted new lettuce today, took some of the peas out to make room for them. Pam and Serge came to visit, Serge is sitting at the water’s edge. He plans to swim with goggles and look below the surface of the water. Pam is napping on the dock, her feet dangling over the side. Overcast and windy; the mother duck and her nine children came by. They are still too young to form a single or double line behind her, so she has them more or less all traveling in a clump around her, their little heads bobbing about in the waves. Haze everywhere, a few drops of rain, the wind from the south.
11:15
Fireworks after dark, off a neighbor’s dock. I went down to the water to watch, the colours brilliant against the night sky. Now all is quiet but the waves, constant and turbulent tonight ...
As usual, took my inks and pens and papers out of the wooden cabinet first, and put them on my desk. Brought stacks of letters from town with me this time, to answer. Tonight I wrote France, Mauritius, Benin, Cameroun, South Africa, Lebanon and Togo. A few hours worth of writing, all in French. These are stacked on the floor near the desk. Many more envelopes of various thicknesses and shapes and textures with colorful stamps and interesting postmarks still unanswered. Many hopes and intentions and personal stories in those letters, from simple people with complicated hearts.
The night black, overcast, no moon. Our upstairs tenants have gone to bed, I am the only one still awake - except for the waves.
Sunday, July 17
Woke as the sun came up. Went outside. A cool wind. Surveyed the gashes and dips Deb’s mower had made in the lawns - must tell her to use the hand mower in the future. Trimmed Cindy’s heart. A blue/violet balloon flower is blooming under the fir tree, with several closed buds.
Scores to send out. Must contact Robert Spear and revise the master score of the second string quintet. And Elegie. Then send the scores all over the world. More postage. Revise the piece for piano and strings. Finish the strings and choir piece; find a choir. Find money to pay for the choir. Received a new grant application in the mail Friday, one with an impossible application form. They ask that we list all that we have written, with dates of the first performances and names of the performers. It would take me weeks to fill this application out, I have written far too much. There will be one recipient of this grant, with applicants worldwide. I need to think if this grant is worth the effort. How could I possibly remember who played what where and when? I need a secretary, a historian - a detective. I suppose I could say "to the best of my knowledge", but it would be wild guessing in any case. The grant is for a huge sum. But would Bach or Beethoven or Mozart remember where and when a piece was first performed and who performed them? If for keyboard, the answer would have been themselves, they themselves had premiered the piece. And they would not have received the grant.
And most likely neither will I. If I decide to apply. I must say that I am more discouraged than ever. I must place my trust in the Higher. Meanwhile I will work in the gardens and finish writing the music.
Monday, July 18
A letter today: my biographical profile has been included in the 25th edition of Marquis’ Who’s Who of American Women. They wish me continued success.
