Nostalgia
Once upon a time, I was a music major. And the fabulous thing about being a music major was the music lit courses, because in music lit courses, listening to music was a big thing. And because my focus was on voice, it was great to hear the instrumental work that I simply didn't have a lot of exposure to. Granted, most of the stuff I heard I barely remember and won't care if I ever hear again, but there were some real gems, and I'd always scribble those down in my notebook to find later.
The sad thing is, three years removed (god, it's been three years!), when I browse the classical section of the local stores, I can't remember what those gems are. I recognize names, but that, therein, is the problem: I can't remember if I recognize a name because I really LIKED said composer or couldn't STAND said composer. I realized, this past weekend, that I really need to find my notes from once upon a time ago. The classical music bug is biting, and I'm wanting to find the stuff I just couldn't afford to get while in college.
One of those gems Avro Pärt, a choral composer I discovered during my 20th Century Music Lit course. To me, his name is synonymous with Taverner, because while the choral works composed are very different, I discovered them the same day. Anyway, Taverner was never difficult to remember, it was Pärt I could never put my finger on. Saturday, while perusing the new Borders in West Knoxville, I happened upon the man's music. And magically, I remembered the particular work that caught my attention that distant day in class: "Te Deum". Despite the $20 price tag, I nabbed the cd. Classical music, especially beautiful choral works, can soothe and calm my mind like nothing else. It's frightening, in a way, but something I need to remember when the stress is too high.
Farther down the road of nostalgia, one of my absolute favorite writers has published her first new book in nearly seven years: Sheri Reynolds: Firefly Cloak. I first read this woman's work back in high school, when a friend of mine gave me A Rapture of Canaan for my birthday. Don't let the fact this book was one of Oprah's early picks fool you: this is fabulous. And it was the first book that ever made me look at writing in terms of art and style, and it did it with the very first page.
And it seems nostalgia isn't through with me. Yesterday, I found myself humming music that I haven't heard since high school, and my dreams of late have been digging into my subconscious, forcing me through perplexing and/or horrifying situations. I'm reminded that my past isn't as compartmentalized as I'd like, and that's okay, mostly. Last night's dreams reminded I still have some demons to deal with, and I don't mean that in a BIG MELODRAMATIC WAY. They're just there, and despite the fact I thought I'd gotten over them, I obviously haven't. It's interesting, in a way, but frightening too.
I'm trying so hard to merge the me of the past and the me of the now. And while some people might say that no such merger is necessary, I say you don't know me very well.
The sad thing is, three years removed (god, it's been three years!), when I browse the classical section of the local stores, I can't remember what those gems are. I recognize names, but that, therein, is the problem: I can't remember if I recognize a name because I really LIKED said composer or couldn't STAND said composer. I realized, this past weekend, that I really need to find my notes from once upon a time ago. The classical music bug is biting, and I'm wanting to find the stuff I just couldn't afford to get while in college.
One of those gems Avro Pärt, a choral composer I discovered during my 20th Century Music Lit course. To me, his name is synonymous with Taverner, because while the choral works composed are very different, I discovered them the same day. Anyway, Taverner was never difficult to remember, it was Pärt I could never put my finger on. Saturday, while perusing the new Borders in West Knoxville, I happened upon the man's music. And magically, I remembered the particular work that caught my attention that distant day in class: "Te Deum". Despite the $20 price tag, I nabbed the cd. Classical music, especially beautiful choral works, can soothe and calm my mind like nothing else. It's frightening, in a way, but something I need to remember when the stress is too high.
Farther down the road of nostalgia, one of my absolute favorite writers has published her first new book in nearly seven years: Sheri Reynolds: Firefly Cloak. I first read this woman's work back in high school, when a friend of mine gave me A Rapture of Canaan for my birthday. Don't let the fact this book was one of Oprah's early picks fool you: this is fabulous. And it was the first book that ever made me look at writing in terms of art and style, and it did it with the very first page.
And it seems nostalgia isn't through with me. Yesterday, I found myself humming music that I haven't heard since high school, and my dreams of late have been digging into my subconscious, forcing me through perplexing and/or horrifying situations. I'm reminded that my past isn't as compartmentalized as I'd like, and that's okay, mostly. Last night's dreams reminded I still have some demons to deal with, and I don't mean that in a BIG MELODRAMATIC WAY. They're just there, and despite the fact I thought I'd gotten over them, I obviously haven't. It's interesting, in a way, but frightening too.
I'm trying so hard to merge the me of the past and the me of the now. And while some people might say that no such merger is necessary, I say you don't know me very well.