April 19, 2025

Holy Saturday

We were back in the cathedral– empty of furnishings– for the Good Friday service in which the men chant. To tell from the recording we sounded wonderful, rich and supple. The tomb-like atmosphere of the church was perfect. The Dean’s homily was life-changing. J wears a tiny jewel on his neck which he found in his wife’s drawer after her death. Returned that evening for AVE’s program of chants and ancient music– again, exquisite. 

The habit of porch-sitting I acquired after the hurricane– when there was no electricity and hence nothing else to do– has led to a genuine practice of meditation. Did so last night after the music at church. The fragrance from the peonies was the greater part of the holiness, sharper and cleaner than incense, pervading. Opossums crossed from the little slanted woods outward to the street for their night forage.  Thoughts deep and wide. 

Rehearsal with brass this morning. I should have skipped, as I half intended to do. Everyone in a bad mood. Lunch afterwards at a Patton Avenue chicken place, whose manager asked me if I didn’t once teach at UNCA, and having been assured that I did, told me that I was her most inspiring teacher. “I HATED Romantic literature till I had your class. Now I love it.” 

Sweating profusely in my not-yet-be-fanned attic. 

Planted oxalis.