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Pencil Sketches, continued.
Tea time and courage
The falling tide of British colonialism left behind many traditions stranded in strange places. One of them, tea time, managed to stow aboard our cruise ship.
In the afternoon on sea days we savor tempting cakes in an aural setting of classical music. A young lady sits at the piano, playing perhaps as much for herself as for the little groups of people chatting comfortably at the tables. I wonder if she would feel it an intrusion if I rose and turned pages for her? I remain seated. Waiters circulate silently. The music, far more than the cakes, satisfies a hunger for me.
Do the people listening know the endless hours of practice behind the apparently effortless unfolding of the pages of Clair de Lune? What do they understand of sight-reading musical scoring? Have they ever heard Suite bergamasque in its entirety?
Why courage? Our talented, unassuming pianist, now many miles and many months away from her Romanian homeland, is making her way in a world of strangers with nothing but her playing to protect her. Do the listeners, the tea-sippers, know that? Do they see that she relies only on the armor of the most abstract, most transparent and most fleeting of all the arts ... music?
Like British traditions, courage can be found in unexpected places. It was present in that lounge, alive and well in the heart of young lady seated at the piano, bringing to life once again the music, the beautiful legacy of Claude Debussy.
People notes
Musical notes are much the same as people. Those with true staying power are clothed in the plainest dress. The brilliantly beribboned semihemidemiquavers last but an instant.
Monday, last day at sea, 6/8/09
Lido deck, 7AM
Coffee. Warm, rich, freshly brewed.
The ancient Egyptians had their Ceremony of the Opening of the Mouth. I indulge myself in a slow, ritual observance of the opening of my eyes.
Coffee.
Warm.
Rich.
Freshly brewed.
Today and tomorrow
Complex cities of clouds float above the horizon. At sea there are no trees, no hills, no buildings to block the view. The world of land will soon close in around us. The far horizon will be no more.
This is our last day to enjoy the magic of the Miracle. We exist in the moment. Tomorrow we'll be putting the last of our things into bags, closing zippers, peering into dark closets and drawer corners seeking possible stowaways.
Then we'll trundle our gear off the ship.
Everyday waits patiently for us at the dock.
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