Tag: Life

What cans’t thou say, in the midst of a popular concerto for the umpteenth time

~ Jnana Hodson ~ Leave a comment

The probing question by seminal Quaker George Fox, in a setting totally foreign to his comprehension, leads to the mystery of what makes something constantly new after any so many encounters.

Say a route you retrace daily. What do you discover for the first time today?

A spouse or a child, even more so.

And yes, a passage of Scripture or music.

Or whatever else is on your plate.

Father and son, mostly

~ Jnana Hodson ~ Leave a comment

while strolling crushed-shell pathways and boardwalks in an indigenous archive of Florida, the elder child of the eldest child from Ohio returns to an aviary with its two injured bald eagles and several owls and large hawks before all this hovering, the anticipation, the tentative rediscovery of some way of pleasing each other, the way sons do, step by step, in feathered conversation with an occasional flight, mostly

Some remarkable teachers I’ve had

~ Jnana Hodson ~ 2 Comments

No, the philosophy prof who wore the same suit to every class the first semester and another one for the second – he doesn’t count. These are ones who really shaped my thinking.

  1. Ethel McLennan, high school English teacher. She instilled a love of grammar I’ve relied on religiously the rest of my life.
  2. Vincent Ostrom, political science professor. He was keen on nurturing independent scholars who could critically assess a proposition and articulate their own position.
  3. Lavern Berry, high school student teaching summer workshops at the Dayton Museum of Natural History. He was a star who then vanished from sight. Still, his two-week chemistry course got me through a semester in college, and his advice about learning in general was something a kid like me needed.
  4. Professora Hughes, high school Spanish. The best.
  5. Jane Meyer, high school visual art. Much of what I learned in four years with her got applied throughout my career as a journalist when I designed pages and cropped photos.
  6. Harold Weiner, middle school visual art. Opened my eyes to modernism.
  7. Helen Rayner, third grade. I’m still fond of jack-in-the-pulpits.
  8. Miss Gillespie, sixth-grade English. She broke our hearts when she moved to a high school across town and again a bit later when we heard of her engagement. Did I mention she was beautiful and fresh out of college?
  9. Swami Lakshmy, Poconos ashram.
  10. Dick Allen, college creative writing.

~*~

Any great teachers in your past?

Words or phrases I overuse

~ Jnana Hodson ~ Leave a comment

All those years in the newsroom, I still tend to conditionalize everything, rather than strike for a bold statement.

  1. I think.
  2. I guess.
  3. Maybe.
  4. Would. (Example: It would seem that …)
  5. I hope.
  6. I fear. (Or worry.)
  7. I realize.
  8. That sucks.
  9. Are you sure?
  10. Martini. As in, Quitting Time.

~*~

What I find difficult to say is “I need” or “I want.” At least directly. I usually beat around the bush with soft questions.

How ’bout you?

Care to boogie?

~ Jnana Hodson ~ Leave a comment

In my novel What’s Left, Cassia’s family turns an old church into a hot music center. It seemed like a natural extension from their restaurant.

Where do you go to hear live music?

~*~

Well, when an old church something like this came up for sale next door to their home, how could Cassia’s family resist? They weren’t about to turn it into a parking lot, either.

We don’t see love but what love does

~ Jnana Hodson ~ Leave a comment

I mean, focusing on material goods!  very atypical for us, you and me, not philosophy or fine arts or even dramatic late fall weather we’re having we really show ourselves at our crassest but as long as I’m being confessional, let’s continue in the vein: last week, at our Guild meeting, we voted to accept the company’s latest final offer for our new contract, which means I’ll be getting a big retro check covering the wage difference from Jan. 1 till now

 

Glorious auditoriums in my life

~ Jnana Hodson ~ 2 Comments

Often, the halls where I’ve encountered the most incredible musical performances have been pretty utilitarian. Some were cramped, others had questionable acoustics or sight lines, and many were bland to the eye. Something, quite simply, was missing.

The big auditorium at Indiana University comes to mind or the related high school where the weekly Saturday night operas were presented or my hometown’s Memorial Hall and National Cash Register Company’s venue. (NCR’s back in the day before naming rights.) Even Philharmonic Hall in Manhattan, as it was known then, or Chicago’s.

Here are ten I remember quite differently, with fondness.

  1. Music Hall, Cincinnati. The acoustics up in the second balcony, where I usually sat, were crisp and clear. The two-tier Italianate horseshoe balcony looked timeless. And the proscenium was encased in a lacework of small golden lights. Yes, it was a large hall and still is, even after some judicious trimming. Home of the Cincinnati Symphony, as well as the opera and May Festival. My favorite of all time.
  2. Musical Arts Center, Bloomington, Indiana. Designed primarily as an opera house, it has some of the best technical support for creative stagecraft in the New World, and acoustics to match. It’s a small theater by American standards, a plus for the singers and audience alike, and its three-tier balcony makes you feel like you’re onstage when it comes to observing the action. The hall’s still flexible for orchestral and ballet performances by the world-acclaimed Jacobs School of Music students and faculty and guests.
  3. Sanders Theater, Harvard University, Cambridge, Massachusetts. It’s like an indoor version of Shakespeare’s Globe, with plenty of glowing wood all around. It’s a small stage, although the Boston Symphony used to play there in its early days. For us, it’s the home of the Boston Revels’ Christmas productions, first and foremost.
  4. The Meyerhoff, Baltimore. Opened in 1982 in the Mount Vernon neighborhood, the hall is a delight that includes clean sight lines throughout the auditorium and wonderful spaces for audiences before, after, and during intermissions. When I lived just up the street, folks in the know were still lamenting the orchestra’s move from the Lyric Opera House a block away, but I never had an opportunity for comparison.
  5. Symphony Hall, Boston. For many, this is the ideal hall, rich in history. Two-thirds the size of Cincinnati’s, its acoustics are often praised, but I sense it’s a case of the sound onstage, where musicians can hear each other with ease, versus what’s heard in the audience. (Carnegie Hall in Manhattan is a similar situation.) I’m hoping to get back, maybe taking the train down for a Friday afternoon BSO concert.
  6. Jordan Hall, New England Conservatory, Boston.  Having undergone an expensive restoration, it’s a jewel of a historic concert hall. Just the right size for performers and audience alike.
  7. Severance Hall, Cleveland. It’s like being encased in pearls, the best I can explain it. The orchestra’s summer home, the Blossom Music Center, has a similar feel, except it’s in glowing wood and open on all sides – I’ve always heard the concerts while sitting on blankets on the sloping hillside.
  8. The Peristyle, Toledo Museum of Art, Ohio. The open space is more like an Italian garden without the greens. The idea of attending concerts in an art museum leads to other memories, especially Dayton’s delightful hall with tapestries on the wall or Manchester, New Hampshire’s, before the additions.
  9. Akron Civic Theater, Ohio. A wonderful example of preserving an old movie house.
  10. Music Hall, Portsmouth, New Hampshire. A small horse-shoe balcony type house built in 1878 for vaudeville and lovingly restored, it’s home to everything from live music and dance to lectures to classic movies and the Met’s Live-in-HD series.

~*~

Let me add honorable mentions to Mechanics Hall in Worcester, Massachusetts, and Faneuil Hall in Boston. I’ve been inside both and am impressed but have yet to hear a live performance in them.