Oh That Moon!
Much has been written about the moon, in prose, poetry, and song. It has long been the subject of art and photography as well. Its primal beauty has inspired many throughout the ages. As I don’t consider myself much of a writer, poet, musical prodigy, or artist, I have chosen tonight to give tribute to the wonderful harvest moon using the works of others. And, more importantly, I get to act like an opera geek in the process.
When I look at the moon, I am often reminded of a beautiful aria from the Opera Rusalka, composed by Antonín Dvořák. Think of it as an ancient version of Disney’s The Little Mermaid. In this aria Rusalka, a mermaid of the lake, has fallen in love with a Prince who swims in the lake, and here she sings her “Song to the Moon” asking it to tell the Prince of her love for him. I’ve linked the Aria and the lyric below, along with the translation into English; much better material than I could ever write.
The native language is Czech. Following below is the original lyric along with the rough English translation:
O Mesiku (Song to the Moon)
Czech/Albanian:
Mesiku na nebi hlubokem
Svetlo tvé daleko vidi,
Po svete bloudis sirokém,
Divas se v pribytky lidi.
Mesicku, postuj chvili
reckni mi, kde je muj mily!
Rekni mu, stribmy mesicku,
me ze jej objima rame,
aby si alespon chvilicku
vzpomenul ve sneni na mne.
Zasvet mu do daleka,
rekni mu, rekni m kdo tu nan ceka!
O mneli duse lidska sni,
at’se tou vzpominkou vzbudi!
Mesicku, nezhasni, nezhasni!
English Translation:
O moon high up in the deep, deep sky,
Your light sees far away regions,
You travel round the wide,
Wide world peering into human dwellings.
O, moon, stand still for a moment,
Tell me, ah, tell me where is my lover!
Tell him please, silvery moon in the sky,
That I am hugging him firmly,
That he should for at least a while
Remember his dreams!
Light up his far away place,
Tell him, ah, tell him who is here waiting!
If he is dreaming about me,
May this remembrance waken him!
O moon, don’t disappear, don’t disappear!
If you made it this far and have not died of boredom or fallen fast asleep, I thank you for your attention. So get out of the house and gaze up at that gorgeous full harvest moon! Good night all…
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Happy Birthday Little Brother
Dear Anthony,
Another year has passed and here it is your birthday once again. Even though you are not here to celebrate it with us, I just wanted to let you know we were all thinking about you on this special day. Mama is doing fine, her heart is on the mend after some troubles earlier this summer. Pop is well too. The prostate surgery last year appears to have licked his cancer. I am fine and so is my wife. I’m happy to say your two nieces and one nephew are also doing well. Not a bad year for us, all things considered. I just got back from Mama and Pop’s, where we had a nice dinner. We were all there except for Michael, who is away at college, but we spoke with him by phone while we were together. Afterwards we had some cake and shared a few memories of you like we do each and every year.
I don’t remember much on the day you were born, but I do remember the very first time I saw you the next day. I also remember when Mama brought you to our home later that day, cradled in her arms. My life changed pretty drastically that day. I went from being an only child, the center of attention, to an older brother, and one who now had to help Mama out around the house and share my bedroom with you. I wasn’t exactly thrilled, but in time, I came around to enjoy that nice, secure feeling of having someone else sleep in the same room with me.
I sit here wondering how your life would have turned out if you had never contracted Leukemia in the winter of 1971, suffering for a full year and a half before leaving us. Today you would have been 47 years old. I wonder, would you have married? Would you have children? Where would you be living? What would you be doing? Would we be close? Would our families get along? Sometimes it frustrates me because I am only able to imagine and not know for sure. I wonder about these things often, but all I have is a bunch of photographs and memories, all of which are frozen in time and space.
I don’t want you getting the idea that we are sad or depressed on this day. You know we were always a happy family when you were around, and we still are by and large. We may sit back and reflect quietly at times on this day, but it’s all good. So little brother, wherever you may be, I just wanted to let you know that we haven’t forgotten you. Happy Birthday.
Your big brother,
Phil
Greetings!
I don’t want everyone (or at least the four or five folks who actually read my blog) thinking I’m really deep or profound all the time. I am easily amused observing trivial little ironies at some of the most mundane things; unfortunately at the expense of random folks forced to deal with me at those moments. Witness the following, an example of me in shallow, self-absorbed mode.
Those who know me know that I rarely set foot in a card store. I have what I thought was an endless supply of blank card stock – you know, the kind with an innocuous design on the outside and completely blank on the inside. I’ve used these for years to send personal handwritten notes to everyone I know for any and all occasions. Small problem – the endless supply ran out and my son’s birthday is coming up next week, so I thought I’d drop in the local card store at lunch to pick up a birthday card. As soon as I arrive I am greeted by a really perky, friendly store associate. Her name is Meg and she asks me what am I looking for. I tell her I am looking for a birthday card. Simple question, simple answer.
Meg then asks me, “What kind of birthday card are you looking for?”
“Huh? Um… how about one that says Happy Birthday?”
“They all say that. Well, actually some don’t. What I meant is, who is the card for?”
“Oh. My son.”
“Over here. Follow me.”
Criminy! We walk past a gauntlet of hundreds upon hundreds of specialty cards designed to be sent by cousins, aunts, uncles, grandparents, friends, in-laws, out-laws, current lovers, clandestine lovers, and prison cell-mates. Finally we arrive at the section labeled “Son” – right next to the Son-in-law section and just above the Juvenile Son section. I guess it’s a rather slow day in the card store, because Meg is hanging around, watching me as I look over the cards. Or maybe she’s just worried I’ll run off with a bunch of birthday cards and sell them out of the trunk of my car. I hear the “To my Secretary/Mistress on her Birthday” is a real high demand item.
The very first card I grab says, “To Son on his Birthday.” I can’t help but notice Meg hovering over me while I’m smiling a bit, shaking my head with disbelief at the card.
“Is there something wrong?” she asks.
I can feel the devilish temptation to be snarky coming on. (Don’t do it, you’ll feel bad about it later. Must resist! Must not say something snarky. Must not… … … dammit!) I can’t help myself.
“You know Meg, I’m pretty sure my son knows it’s his birthday, and that’s why we’re sending him a card. He’s in college you see. Yes, smart kid. And I am totally convinced he knows he’s our son. Why, just last week he asked me for money – again. I’d say he’s got the son thing down pat. So I’m not sure we need a card that tells him who he is and why we’re sending it.”
She offers a smile. “Nothing wrong with being crystal clear.”
“I suppose so, but tell me, who is this on the cover of the card?”
“Oh, it’s just a picture of a young man – fishing.”
“But the young man in the picture is not my son. And my real son doesn’t fish. Why would I send my son a card that says, ‘To Son on his Birthday’ with a picture of a strange young man doing something my son doesn’t do?” Actually I’m starting to get confused myself.
She offers, “Well, if you don’t want that card, we’ve got plenty more right here. What are you looking for?”
“How about one that says Happy Birthday?”
Meg is no longer smiling, and I feel a bit guilty about my snarkiness. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be a smart-ass. Let me look through these and I’ll try to find one on my own.” I start to go through the assorted cards. Sheesh! What a collection!
- Son, we are so proud of you on your Birthday. (What, no one is proud on the other 364 days?)
- What is a Son? (Are you kidding me?)
- For a Special Son. (I feel sorry for all those regular sons.)
Finally! A card that just says Happy Birthday on the outside. I pick it up and open it to read what is written on the inside.
…
…
Gaaaaa!!!!
“Oh Meg?”
“Yes?”
“Do you have blank cards?”
“On the side wall.”
Thankfully, I found a nice collection of blank card stock – you know, the kind with the innocuous design on the outside and completely blank on the inside. As I approach the register to pay, a very nice, perky store manager asks me if I’d like to buy some Halloween cards.
…
…
“Er… um… People send out cards for Halloween???”
I could see Meg out of the corner of my eye bolting for the back of the store. I guess it must have been time for her work break.
~~~~~~~~~
9/11 – In memory of a friend
I am sitting here having my morning cup of coffee, much as I can imagine you were doing that fateful morning as you were getting ready for work. It was a crisp, beautiful day. I would like to believe you kissed your lovely wife good bye and hugged your kids as you left for work, but the reality is, we sometimes fall into a routine and just take that kind of stuff for granted. I wonder, what were you thinking as you left your apartment for that subway ride to your office? Was it the wonderful weather, a work issue, maybe a family happening?
I remember working with you at another financial firm in mid-town back in the early 80’s. You were a few years older and were always helpful, showing me the ropes, assisting me as I learned my job. You were finishing up law school and I remember you telling me how you wanted to pursue that career path instead of the one laid out before us in mid-town. You dreamed of working on Wall Street. By 1984, when I moved out of New York to pursue a new career opportunity, you had already left the firm, chasing your dreams downtown. It would be poetic to say we were the best of friends, but in actuality we were merely work acquaintances who shared an occasional beer socially outside of work. We didn’t keep track of each other over the years; you went your way and I mine.
Seventeen years later, I recall waking up September 11, 2001 to an incredibly crisp, cool day. The weather was beautiful, so I decided to extend my morning run for another two miles. By the time I returned home from the run, my kids had all left for school and my wife for work. It seemed like an ordinary day. I showered and left to meet some bankers at a development site we were looking to finance. I didn’t get back to the office until about 9:30, where I was immediately told of a horrible crash. Everyone was huddled in the conference room where the TV was on. I watched in stunned silence as buildings that I so often have been in and out of for the many years I lived and worked in New York were on fire. This was too personal for me – I had been inside those very same corridors countless times! I was appalled and yet I couldn’t look away. Feeling sick, I returned to my desk. All I could think about, all I could focus upon was who I might know and were they all OK. I frantically started calling my friends in New York; the lines were all busy. Busy, busy, busy. Every attempt busy. All day long busy. Nothing but that awful busy signal.
It took me three days to account for everyone I knew or worked with. Everyone made it except for you.
Rest in peace, Stephen.
I need to go hug my wife and and call my kids right now and tell them I love them before I leave for work.
Gaaaa!!!! I am NOT a sock puppet!
OK, I feel the need to rant just a bit, and since absolutely no one is following this Blog, it’s a safe place to scream without being noticed! I’ve joined BlogSpot in order to follow and comment on other blogs I enjoy reading, some public and some private. All this was set up of course with my older e-mail account. Apparently, Google will not be satisfied until I migrate over to their platform which links to their e-mail account.
I’ve avoided the migration, thinking it would be confusing to those I follow, but I have had difficulties logging on to my older account. This always happens whenever the folks in our MIS department are inclined to enhance our productivity by tweaking the system, forcing us to spend several days of lost work sorting through the wonderful productivity enhancements that are supposed to save us time. I think I might shoot the next technogeek who starts off saying, “it would be really cool if…” But I digress.
So… Google tells me the migration will be a snap! They must have hired the same folks who work for us. All I wanted was an account to follow others’ blogs. Oh no – I need to have a blog of my own! So here I am with my very first entry that no one will see, venting about being forced to decide really important stuff, like what kind of template shall I use to signal my thoughts to the world that is not listening.
But what is the point of all this? Oh yes, to all my friends who have Blogs that I’m following, if you see my account twice as a follower, I hope you don’t think I’m a sock puppet setting up all these alternate identities. See, I’m still crazy, but I want to be a classy crazy.
I’m thinking that Google may have made a mistake, letting me blog about random thoughts that swirl around in my mind. I wonder how long before they force me to “migrate” elsewhere…
Thanks for letting me vent. I promise not to bite – that hard at least.
