Jessie Opal Kirkpatrick entered my life when I was a twelve year old musician, beginning to deepen my exploration of the world of music.  She told me once that, as a child, I was "insatiable" in my thirst for music.  Well, Opal was the Edgewalker teacher who led me through this wonderful journey into the world of music.  I refused to play any music that was not fast and passionate . . she found endless supplies of Russian music, music by Lizst and Chopin (not the sweet nocturnes, but the passionate etudes) in order to keep me excited about music and performing. . . she insisted on a deep knowledge of tall that made up the music.  I analyzed every piece of music for its harmonic make-up and its hidden secrets.  What was it trying to say?  What should it sound like?  She encouraged my performance and provided many opportunities to perform.  Like all ideal apprenticeships, my time with Opal was demanding and wonderful and inspiring.  It ended when I left for college, but my connection with her never ended.

Opal taught until the age of 90.  She returned home to her God on December 29, 2003 at the age of 93.  

Thank you, Opal, for being mentor, friend, edgewalker, and the one who made it possible for me to travel in the music universe.

MUSINGS Newsletter

Volume 2, Issue 2  -  March 2004

Whoosh!

This month I would like to muse a little on Spring and new beginnings.  Here in the Midwest we are blessed with seasons.  When I sent the last Musings, it was December and we were beginning the process of hibernating for winter.  Snow, ice, wind, and very cold temperatures encourage inward reflection, rather that outer action.  The images of death awaiting rebirth are powerful and have an awesome beauty.

During winter, gray, looming skies . . . for days on end . . . teach me about steadfastness.  Storms which shut down the city with blankets of snow, tossed about by harsh winds, change schedules and plans which were considered unchangeable only days before.  In winter, I understand a little more each year that there are forces of which I am not in charge, which shapes and support my life.

Life abounds in the middle of the seeming death.  The beautiful brilliant red cardinals flock around the backyard feeders.  The magnolia tree outside my window carries the hope of Spring with its fuzzy winter pods.

Now it is March.  The sunshine is becoming brighter and more direct.  Days grow longer and nights shorter.  Crocus peek their heads out of frosty grounds.  We hear the song of returning robins . . . building nests.  Next month all of the fruit trees will burst into blooms, creating a fantastic, beautiful landscape of pink, and lavender, and yellow and white.  Tulips and hyacinth will add red, and deep purple and orange.

Spring also brings sudden changes in temperature and colliding storm fronts which produce violent storms and tornadoes.  Could it be that the emergence of new life requires the tearing down of old life?  Could it be that new life emerges from chaos?  Again, I am forced to understand that the creative power is awesome, and not under my control.

However, I can feel my own life force moving from winter's quiet hibernation and inner warmth, to the desire for new life to burst forth.  Whoosh!