Sitting on the back patio under a wisteria covered arbor, bird sounds in great variety, shimmering sunlight through tall trees, the scent of wild roses in bloom. Steven and his crew of landscapers were here yesterday, so there is some order; a few beds cleared of the weeds that seem to grow back overnight, after every rain.
Paul and I have been working non-stop on this last project. It’s hard to shift gears, to just be here and enjoy the natural world, but today feels easier than yesterday, when I checked email every five minutes, paced and worried, wondering if my song would be chosen over the other contenders. As of yesterday, it was between the piece I wrote for the project and another, a licensed track, bare and instrumental. They’re completely different approaches and there’s nothing I can do about it now but wait. In theory, I understand, you can’t win them all, but I really want this one to work out. The film they made is so beautiful and evocative. And the music we did for it is perfect, compliments it so well, but that’s my opinion and has no influence on the decision that will be made.
It’s hard to leave it alone and get on with other things. I want to tweak it to death. I want to create this version and that. I want to read their minds and show them it can be that way, and still be this way. I got Irwin Fisch to play piano on it and do a string arrangement. It’s so beautiful.
In spite of my obsessive brain, it’s a spectacular day here on the North Fork, as it was yesterday. Last night Meryl and I went for a run on some tree covered back roads in Southold, after we dropped Zev, her son, off at his violin lesson. We stopped to see Mildred the horse, who lives in a small barn on a dirt road nearby. I scratched her sides and put my forehead up against hers before we continued on our way. We ran on a road that borders the Long Island Sound and marveled at our good fortune to have access to such a view, blue water beyond quite a variety of houses. Meryl is an architect and was interested in one house in particular built by the architect Charles Moore. There appeared to be no one home at the simple two story weathered, gray house, so we walked around it and looked in the windows (which were large and plain, but allowed views straight through). Meryl pointed out the way the angle of one window was mirrored by the line of a staircase.
“We’re trespassing,” she said then, only a little bit worried.
I thought of D and how he and I have often done this. I’ve been with him when he’s opened an unlocked door and let himself inside, while I scrambled for the street! He doesn’t think of it as trespassing because he feels the world is his.
This is what I love about D: The world is his. He loves people. He appreciates beauty. He jumps right into the ocean. He sings with the radio. He loves life. He eats it up. If it’s true people come into our lives to teach us something, that’s what I learn from him.
When we got back at 8:30, it was still light out. Meryl, Zev and I walked around the garden. It’s such a special place, this garden. I fell in love with it (more than 8 years ago!) before I ever entered the house. When I saw the bedrooms were on the small side, I thought, “But the garden.” I bought this garden and it came with a house. It requires a lot, just like everything else I love and value. I quite literally have let it go to seed sometimes. It’s bigger than I am. It fills me with awe. The care it requires causes me anxiety. Sometimes I want to run away from it. The unexpected beauty of it moves me again and again.
I’m learning from it all. It’s not always what I want to learn, but I get it. We don’t get to choose the lesson.