Tuesday, October 31, 2017

This News Makes Me Want to Sing!

I heard it on the radio today; the perfect excuse to not exercise! It seems that recent studies have proven that regular singing provides many of the same health benefits as doing yoga!
This is good news for me because I sing regularly, and because although I’d like to cultivate the image of being the kind of person who does yoga, (not to mention cultivating the physique of such a person!) the truth is I hate, hate, hate to exercise.
So what’s the scoop? It seems that singing involves deep, controlled breathing, with a full breath being taken in and then slowly let out with the musical phrase. In yoga practitioners draw in deep breaths and then let them out in a controlled manner, filling themselves with a sense of harmony.
It’s also been shown that members of a choir, while singing, experience a synchronizing of their heart beats, and a deep relaxation and feeling of wellbeing. Yoga is said to provide similar benefits. I wouldn’t know, though. The few times I’ve tried yoga, all I experienced was a profound sense of pain and excessive sweating, accompanied by feelings of inadequacy as I witnessed the others in the class bending their toned bodies into unnatural positions. After class I had a strange craving for pretzels.
That rarely happens when I’m singing.
The study went on to claim that the effort of moving into harmony with other singers creates a focus which enhances the health benefits of singing. I know this is true, as I’ve felt that deep connection with people with whom I’ve been singing.
All I’ve felt from people with whom I’ve done yoga is disdain or maybe pity as they observe my pathetic attempts to swoop gracefully from a crane-standing-on-waters-edge into a down dog position. And occasionally fear, as I topple sideways into someone else, threatening both their health and their sense of relaxation and harmony.
“Heh heh,” I’d mutter, picking myself up and offering a hand to my unfortunate neighbor. “That was supposed to be a down dog? I thought she said drowned dog! My bad!”
Singing mistakes rarely threaten people’s safety, although I’ve been told that people with perfect pitch can suffer profound pain when exposed to singers who are out of tune. I don’t have this problem, and frankly think that unless you’re a concert mistress or a piano tuner, perfect pitch would just be a nuisance.
It’s true that singing won’t make you thinner or stronger like yoga can if practiced regularly. But it’s not going to pull your muscles, and doesn’t require special clothing designed to embarrass you.
So I’m grabbing this chance to toss my yoga mat and tapes. The radio said I could!

Wednesday, October 25, 2017

I Think That I Shall Never See . . . With Apologies to Joyce Kilmer!

Trees

I think that I shall never see 
A poem lovely as a tree. 

A tree whose hungry mouth is prest 
Against the earth’s sweet flowing breast; 

A tree that looks at God all day, 
And lifts her leafy arms to pray; 

A tree that may in Summer wear 
A nest of robins in her hair; 

Upon whose bosom snow has lain; 
Who intimately lives with rain. 

Poems are made by fools like me, 
But only God can make a tree.

I hope Joyce Kilmer will forgive me for republishing his famous poem without permission. He died in 1918 at the age of 32, from a sniper's bullet in WWI. I hope he won't mind.
Today, as I watched a tree I've enjoyed for a few months since moving into my new home being cut down today, I cried. And I've been thinking about trees ever since. 
Kilmer's poem does the work for me of expressing the simple beauty of these silent giants. 
This particular tree stood across the street from my home. It was an elderly Norwegian Maple, and doubtless its time had come. But since living here, I've enjoyed watching the sunrise each morning lightening the sky, and the branches taking shape from the darkness as I sit in my chair (that still smells faintly of cat pee courtesy of a short-term kitty who stayed a few months with us last year). And each evening I've enjoyed watching the sun set behind the tree, turning the sky pink, orange or purple, highlighting the branches and twigs of the ancient maple, perfectly framed in my uncurtained window. 
It gave me peace. 
 Now the trunk stands alone, for some reason not having been removed yet, and the sky is darkening above it, without the charm of the branches that stood there for decades...possibly centuries...until today.
Do you ever wonder how it is you end up somewhere special, just at the moment in history when that thing that makes it special departs?
I'm glad I had a few months with this tree. And ridiculous as it may sound, I won't forget it.