June 21, 2025
Solstice comes to the garden in an overlay of gold and purple.
Thinking of conversation with P, the single most learned and intellectual man I know personally, or know well enough to taste the full savor of his learning. He has read everything. The obscure to him is a backyard and a cozy den. To call someone “intellectual” is not fully praise, for I notice certain things to which his nature is blind. He spent time dismissing St. Francis for being anti-intellectual. My suggestion that after Aquinas, et al, Francis might be good medicine did not register. Good deeds unbolstered by sound theory do not move him. He’s diving back into Pindar and Horace because, at 80, he fears he might be “losing my Greek and Latin.” People call me intellectual, but I think they mean by that “well-informed.” My approach to experience is not intellectual until several steps down, when it is finally time to compare and analyze. For P’s sake I opened up Pindar and read a little. Even in English, the majesty of it comes through.
Weeding and planting yesterday before the heat of the day.
Beautiful cream callas with purple throats.
First of two concerts last night at Grace Covenant Pres. Our new voices are skilled, energetic, a little boisterous. In the one recording I heard (of “I Sing the Body Electric” ) the balance was better than it ever had been. We attempt too much in too little time, though, and the result is necessarily a little rough. We were reviewing notes in our warm-up time before the show. Concerts are problematic for me now in that they result in real discomfort, real pain from standing in on place so long, that takes considerable time to ease away. I had to lean on the piano to get my numb legs off the stage. I think my readings went well. In terms of individual exposure, I suppose I’m the star of the show. That’s funny.
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