Love, Health and Loss (. . . and Beethoven!)

Alrighty then, I wasn't going to either make this video or post it, but my return to Beethoven (and music in general), no doubt due to the death of Bohdan and other profound losses, I found myself just talking to the camera. Who else is there? There is no one I can be completely honest with. 

It's I guess bizarre to resort to this, but how can it hurt me? I hear such horror stories about the internet every day, and of course YouTube has harassed, censored and tried everything to rip down my harmless, supposedly fun and lighthearted hobby channel over the past 12 years or so. They take down things that are utterly harmless, issue dire warnings about comments I have made that are "bullying", "abusive" "harassing" and "threatening" towards public figures I will never meet (and how can I hurt them? They are public figures, and so long as I am civil, which I am for the most part. they are putting themselves under scrutiny. And I see videos which rip into these same people with every profanity you  can imagine, and they are allowed to stand.)

They tell me over and over again  that I have "violated community standards" - most recently, for a video I made when I found a large wild mushroom in my yard and did a closer look at it - with NO references whatsoever to ANYTHING to do with ANY drug! It was just  a mushroom and I found it interesting. Any child  could have watched it. But no. YouTube told me that I was, literally, using my channel to sell drugs. I contested it, and they said that after "careful review", my video did indeed violate all of YouTube's standards of decency and would soon be terminated if I didn't stop doing things like that.  Selling drugs. On my channel.  There were not even any joking references to "magic mushrooms"  or anything of the sort.

So why do I continue?

I guess I have to ask myself. I watched this video several times, then decided I WILL post it, as it's not excessively gloomy and it really does share my deepest thoughts and revelations right now. Whether it's hopeful or not, well, hope may be too much to ask for in this darkening world. 

I even posted it on Facebook, which is an exercise in utter futility, and NO ONE actually watches it. Not one. I can't even get into how this dynamic has played out for my entire life. If I get into that, I truly won't wake up in the morning.

So I want to keep  waking up, make no mistake, but I feel I am dodging depression the way I had to dodge cancer (this time).

So what will the next year bring? Another year. 

We'll see. I hope.

My friend, Bohdan: the man who taught me music

This is a brief clip of my beloved violin teacher Bohdan Siedlecki performing at an event in Port Coquitlam. Below is a comment I left  on Bohdan's Facebook page when I read the message from his sister  that he had passed. I did get to  see him one last time last October, nearly a year ago, and I am so glad the last thing I did  was give him a big hug and tell him I loved him!

I was so sad to hear that our dear friend Bohdan has passed. I met him in 1994 when I had a huge project in mind: I wanted to learn to play the violin at age 40. I had tried to learn the instrument as a child, and it completely defeated me, so I needed to do this for myself (and had a lot of doubt that I would be able to do it!) From the very first lesson, he was so patient with me, with such a good sense of humour and such warmth that he immediately put me at ease. I was able to relax and really enjoy music lessons for the first time. We were student and teacher for seven years, and he helped me reach my goal of being able to play proficiently enough to allow other people to hear it! I enjoyed adding to the music program at my church, and was able to perform at Eagle Ridge Hospital with a choral group. Bohdan also became a kind of spiritual mentor for me during a very difficult time in my life.  Last October I was thinking about him and looked on his Facebook page, then reached out to him. We got together at his place and talked over old times, and it was wonderful to see him again, though of course we had both changed a lot (I’m 71 now and too arthritic to play anymore, but I still have my violin!). I had no idea that this would be the last time I would see him, but I am so  glad that I was able to give him a big hug. I found this photo from my first recital, and you can see how happy we both were!

Of course, there is much more to the story than that. Last October I reached out to him  via Facebook, and we got together for what would  turn out to be the last time. We weren't  the same people, of course - both of us had a lot more wear on us, physically and every other way. But we had also come to realize what really matters in life. Reflecting on that visit, I realize now that he wasn't well at all, but as usual was making light of it and asking after my wellbeing. 

To me, the hardest part of getting old is losing friends. People start to die, and since I was the youngest in my family by 13 years, I have naturally gravitated towards people older than me. With each passing year, there is another loss - cancer, stroke, heart attack, even suicide. It's hard to be the one left standing, which is the penalty for being the youngest, I guess. The bittersweet nature of life is not lost on me now, with my grandchildren old enough to vote (and drink, and do all those other grownup things). But they too will move through the life cycle, with all the richness it can bring, along with the inevitable ache of loss. 

What I'm thinking of doing

Is it OK to pick up the violin again after more than ten years, because your doctor said you needed finger exercises for your arthritic left hand?

What would happen if opened that box?

When I put that thing away, it was the time my whole life changed.

My whole life. Everything. The box of my brain, and everything that was in it.

If I open that box again, after more than ten years, will my brain still be there?

Will my fingers still know how to play?