When spring is in the air, Copeland’s “Appalachian Spring” is summoned from within. I am not certain from where it comes. At sixty-one, it now seems to have become instinctual, a mating call of sorts; an invitation to journey with oneself to a place and time of a choosing. It is rare that it isn’t a happy place when first summoned. Subsequent listening’s are not as so. Reflection dictates as much. Life’s journey, were it but a happy time, would not require the music for me to fill the gaps. There are times though, that these gaps are among the sweetest of times.
George Winston’s Autumn (1980) and December (1982) hold a similar power over me. The urge to listen to each comes from out of the blue; Autumn’s urge arrived this morning. December’s urge will come before the month arrives and most likely before Thanksgiving. Glancing at the calendar now, I see that the fourth Thursday is also the last. So, there is not a doubt that December will arrive before Thanksgiving this year. Most likely it will come as it usually does at the conclusion of Autumn this morning.
Where these albums differ from the hope of Appalachian Spring is that each helped to carry me at various times through decades of loss, challenges and self-discovery. The losses came and went. The challenges endured. The self-discovery continues at least through this morning. Why else would I be writing this if not so?
As much as my life is in its autumn (wasn’t spring just here?), so is the way the call to these pieces of music move me today. This process has evolved much in the same manner as does life. What did I reflect on during the spring of life? Where will my thoughts be when my winter comes?
I keep reminders around aplenty. Are they to remind me of the good or to caution me against the bad? I keep both. Some have suggested it is a form of hoarding. I can’t argue with that but, taking it at its literal, the things I collect are rarely hidden away. To the contrary they are in view for any to see; much like these Word scribbles I post from time to time. And just as my writings jump from here to there, so does my need to change out the reminders, the memories if you will.
I feel I have been blessed with an above average memory. I have also been cursed with the same. The journey this morning is a combination of each. No, I am not looking towards tomorrow this morning. I am instead, at this moment, on a journey through time. A journey, through a random combination of music and memories, that will find a precise moment in time that maybe I had previously forgotten or one that I return to often. Try as one may you can’t recreate the exact joy or escape from that you would choose to forget. This being so, I embrace the entirety.
I wonder now if these writings of mine are apologies, confessions or parts of both? Maybe neither. It doesn’t really matter because it is just a moment in time. Much like the reminders I keep about, this passage is as much the same. I wonder, if years from now, embraced within my own winter which is yet to come, will I seek these writings out as I do the cookie jar from my childhood; a cookie jar that I can glance at now? Most likely I will, I think. Though time changes us all, there are some things that never do, and it is this constant within me that I have found a form of comfort in here today.
I remember the four of us going to see George Winston at the Lexington Opera House years ago. Our seats, by choosing, were directly above the piano; I wasn’t there to hear him sing but to instead see him play and play he did. It amazed me then; memories of that moment bring a satisfied sense of wonder yet today. But you know what? The thing I remember most is how he responded to the applause with every song with only a simple “Thank you very much”. That is sort of how I feel this morning. Be it the good or the bad, I am thankful for the entirety, most times the simple things, and I have the reminders to prove it.
Feel the Burg 
❤️
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