Songs in the Key of Life

I’ve told myself that this blog is only valuable (to me) if it induces semi-regular writing.  Two weeks is about the limit to my idea of regular, so I am here to honor the vow, but maybe nothing else.  Sometimes life steadily goes on but does not congeal into an idea of why.  These last two weeks have had the usual swings at purpose, but no homeruns of insight.

I planted trees with Friends of Trees two Saturdays in a row.  This frequency is unusual, but the experience is familiar, and both morally uplifting and physically demoralizing.  I meet  interesting people, enjoy the outdoors, get some carbon dioxide eaters into the ground, and use all those muscles I don’t challenge in my weekly marathons of sitting at a desk.  How could it be bad?  Yesterday had the added bonus of brilliant sun all morning.

Last week also saw the appearance of the uncommon son, the college junior home for the Canadian equivalent of Spring Break; although that nation at least gives it an academic patina, by calling it “Reading Week.”  All my motherly helpfulness returned in full force, especially since he had a friend with him, seeing Portland for the first time.  Despite my lists of important tourist locations, they mostly targetted food carts and bars, like you would expect of  21-year olds.

Then there was work.  What can you say about a job that I have done forever, but still manages to be equal parts of frustration, challenge, and fun?   Isn’t that the definition of work?  Something that compels but can’t ever be finished. 

Perhaps the best metaphor of meaning for my life is found at the swimming pool.  I go there to do laps, at least three times a week, sometimes four.  It is accurate to say that I have been swimming for almost all my life.  I’m driven partly by the sensual pleasure of the water touching every part of my body, and partly by the grim belief that if I don’t keep moving I will come to an earlier and more grisly end.   We are doubly motivated by a desire to find pleasure and stave off death.  We seem to bounce between each pole, sometimes feeling like a ping pong ball, sometimes thrumming harmoniously like a guitar being strummed.

Another frequent activity is playing recorder music with various sets of like minded players.  Last week I went to four such gatherings, a busy week.   I am not a brilliant musician by any means, but it is so satisfying to join a group that finds unity of purpose, and for a hour or two, has the tangible melody of our effort to listen to.  I’m not sure I need more than those harmonies on purpose.