A Composer’s Journal Entries November 6-10, 2005 by Laurie Conrad

A Composer’s Journal Entries November 6-10, 2005

Sunday, November 6
Windgarth 3:30 p.m.

In the 70's. My mother & Ed are here for a few days. The colours of the lake changing from blues to greens to grey. Some whitecaps further out. Scattered winds & distant thunder as the day wears on. Planted hundreds of tulips and other bulbs; some red Emperors near Cindy’s heart, a few Dutch iris in a small clump. Larry came over & we stood on the beach & cried together. The first anniversary of Cindy’s car accident is next week. Ester came over carrying a big, empty ceramic bowl, she was returning it to a neighbor; I gave her some tulip bulbs for her garden. She might join us after dinner. JF called, she will try to stop by.

9 p.m.

JF arrived before dinner & brought a violent storm with her. The world suddenly dark & menacing; lightning, close to 60 mph winds. The eerie sound of hail hitting the roof & windows; worried about the trees. Leaves traveling from lawn to lawn, not knowing where to go or why; the sky & lake & hills indistinguishable. Lightning finding the lake in thin, crooked strands, the locust trees briefly silhouetted against the sudden glare. JF eating crumb cake, talking with mother & Ed as the lights flickered and went out in the gale. Brought candles from the basement. Afterwards two sets of double rainbows, across the lake, entering the hills. M. & I walked down to the dock; I held the umbrella as she took some photographs, before the rainbows dissolved back into the sky.

Monday, November 7
Windgarth

Went out to Larry’s dock; sunny, in the high 60's. A small sun at my feet, in the water below. Calm, beautiful. I thought of Tamsyn & Stephanie; fed the gulls some stale bread & watched them soar & glide in the wind, circling. When the bread was gone, they sat on the lake looking at me & I inwardly spoke to them of God. Then I meditated in the sun and light breeze & was filled with an unusual peace; a peace difficult to express, as though I had disappeared into a calm nothingness, emptiness. Or into the wind or very calm water. The gulls were still watching me when the meditation ended. Larry wants to go into town at noon, so I still must pack up our things & close up the house.

This week, if I am feeling better, I will send the Elegie score & other chamber works to Tabla Rasa. Begin to copy out Movement II of the choir and string orchestra piece and when that is done, revise the Piano Quintet. If I am feeling better. If I am not better I will wait; otherwise I am afraid the scores will reflect my physical state & inability to think clearly. I have no timelines to meet, so I can wait. Once I begin working on Movement II, I would prefer not stopping ... Final decisions need to be made, & if there is a gap in the process the parts might not all fit together properly, the overall energy & ideas might be fragmented, diluted - lost. Even though it is essentially fully sketched out, written - I do not want to take the chance ...

Talked with Chris & Carolyn on Saturday. They plan to move to Ithaca.

Thursday, November 10
5:10 p.m.

A message from one of the harp magazines - they received the CD of Visions, have not yet listened. Another magazine: what CD? I wrote, they wrote: send them another CD with a bio and a short article. They will also list the sheet music of Visions and where to buy it. And perhaps review the CD. Diana wants to know if I am feeling better, if I’ve continued working on the new books. Wrote back that I still had a fever. My book publisher wrote: they want me to pay for being listed on Amazon and Barnes and Nobles from now on. Our contract ran out. A fellow from a radio station somewhere out West wrote: he wants to interview me on The Spiritual Life of Animals and Plants on December 4, at 11 p.m.. I’m his last guest so we can talk for hours if we wish; it’s also a call-in show. Said I would. He sounded very enthusiastic, I already like him: Nevyn. Now to remember not to tie up the phone that night. Spoke with Carolyn on the phone; Ian still thinks he’s a pirate. Rainy, colder. Met the mailman in the carport; more letters. I need to meditate.