Call of the Wild

“Fie on Charleston for clogging your blogging.” So writes reader Erin, and though Charleston deserves no fie, I am grateful there are readers to know when there are no posts. I have returned from two concerts (11 am, 1 pm) where I played that joyful, bounding, cloudless Schumann work Faschingsschwank aus Wien. God, what a wonderful piece! And in the somewhat dry Dock St. theatre I felt able to articulate all sorts of things, to come out from Schumann’s occasional muck. (Sometimes one wished for a small helping of muck). And then I have had the delicious pleasure of peeling off my somewhat dampened concert clothes and draping them semi-carefully on chairs and bedposts, and reverting to shorts and flip-flops… aah. Flop I go on my wicker sofa. The relief after a concert, after what one considers a semi-successful performance, is luckily almost as deep as the anxiety that precedes the next one.

Charleston is one of those places that makes you think sensually, constantly. So now, as I go over in my head the eternal question “how do I want to spend the rest of my day?,” what occurs to me is not a list of tasks but a rush of feelings. For example: sand beneath my feet; the cold of a coffee gelato; the breeze as I pass through Charleston’s historic alleys, fast, on my bicycle; the taste of a grilled tender scallop; and certainly not the godawful cold clammy fluorescent light of the one practice room with its poor bedeviled piano, which is acting like a Northerner unused to the heat and becoming grumpy, with several sticky keys… new ones each day! Oh the sensual deprivation of practicing! Only after a hour’s persistence do you finally get to the meat of the matter, to the place where you can deal mentally with your issues… and during that whole hour the outside world calls to you, you imagine people streaming down King Street, their sandals slapping against the pavement as they window-shop, as they stop for wings and beer, as they attend cute cultural events and jibberjab and argue about parking. Today it may be too much for me; the sensual may overwhelm the cultural; and so off I go….

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  1. Anonymous
    Posted June 2, 2005 at 9:26 am | Permalink

    For your next celebration, why not consider professional belly dance to entertain your guests?

    The performance and costume can be tailored to suit the mood and character of almost any event— joyous, whimsical, cultural, artistic, somber, sensual.

  2. dänika
    Posted June 9, 2005 at 9:42 am | Permalink

    I adore this post – for me, memories are captured in the way things feel and smell, so this was fun to read.

    as for bellydancers – joyous, I can understand, as well as the others, but somber? when would they be in demand — a funeral? (Burial at 1 pm; come back to the reception hall afterwards for somber bellydancers and melancholy margaritas!)

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