mike oldfield played during our dinner on sunday evening. we hadn’t listened to his voyager cd in quite some time and put it on after arvo pärt’s piece “spiegel im spiegel”. we all sipped wine and chatted, catching up.
and then, in the way of surprise moments, i heard it. somehow i had forgotten. “mont st michel“. i jumped up to run into the sunroom, telling them, “wait! you have to listen to this. really listen. hear what happens!” i pushed the button on the cd player to go backwards on the track and found a spot before the moment. i went back into the kitchen to make sure they were listening. i pointed out the swell as it happened and my heart crescendo-ed with it, spilling into tears i could not help. stunning texture, orchestration that raises and tosses you around in mid-air, holding you up in the clouds, swirling around you, steadfastly not allowing you to fall. it opens you, gives you hope and elevates every single thing, and then gently, tenderly sets you back down again. words rushed out of me as i marveled – again – at this piece, a composer of impressive standing, mike oldfield at dinner.
because i had the floor, i put arvo’s piece back on – a definitive difference in texture and absolutely no less tantalizing, no less seductive as it draws you into the play between piano and cello. utterly gorgeous.
and then, because i had the floor – and they were encouraging me – i put on two of my own pieces: “last i saw you” and “peace“. i talked about composing and structure and the weaving of emotion, about ken’s orchestration and producing, about the rise and fall. i described the moment we slid the sliders forward on the mixing board during last i saw you – a moment i will never forget, ever. the lift.
and, then, as suddenly as it began, i stopped, realizing i had just talked nonstop for the last half hour or so. they sat quietly. so did i. the texture in the air was palpable and i was grateful to see tiny tears forming in the corners of their eyes as mine were not hidden and were threatening to overflow.
the path from dinner to dessert was full…our conversation deep with the fresh air only heartstopping beauty can bring. like this beloved path around dory lake, lined with aspen and pine, grasses and reeds, the path to pumpkin pie was lined with talk of cellos and french horns, piano lines and the effect of a crescendo on hearts hungry for a little release.
mike and arvo left after dinner, and i put away what was left of the pasta fagioli in the stock pot.