All the world through a window

On a snowy day like today, when taking a walk is just not on the agenda, the fact that I spend so much of my day looking at the world outside my house through one of five glass-covered rectangles becomes a little bit oppressive.

My first window view doesn't change that much when it is snowing, and being a normal window that is not attached to the outer world (beyond my yard and the street), I am not compelled to look at it (through it) for very long.

My second window is my iPad through which we see our children and grandchildren. The sweetest parts of the day were spent watching kids play and getting a tour of our daughter's new home. I am doing my Proust reading by way of an electronic copy (Michael has a paper copy, so our household is devoting a serious bit of shelf real estate to Proust already).

Then there is the television, through which I only saw a little bit of news today, and a YouTube video Michael found demonstrating a twenty-string harp guitar. Tonight I'll watch "The Honymooners" with Michael, and, if we stay awake, an episode of "Murphy Brown."

My fourth window is my cellphone, which didn't get much use today.

My fifth window is the computer. I put some music I'm writing (two-octave solo scale pieces for recorder and first position violin are on the docket today and for a sizable chunk of the future) into Finale on it, and I'm using it to write this blog post.

I listened to a not-yet-public video recording of some songs that I wrote last June, so my connection with the world through this computer window was rather personal, intimate, and emotional today. Listening provided a bit of time travel for me, reminding me of what I spent most of my trying-to-escape-from-the-news hours (waking and sleeping) thinking about back in May and June. 

And then there is the musical world "out there." It seems to be bustling, even without in-person concerts happening in places other than New Zealand and Australia. People are live-streaming recitals, making distanced videos, giving on-line tutorials, organizing music festivals, and, like me, writing music and practicing.  

Sometimes I feel that the musical world is like a freeway with a growing number of on-ramps, and a decreasing number of exits. Musicians seem to spend a great deal of time stuck in traffic, hoping to be able to make it to the next exit before running out of gas. We all look at one another in our cars, and imagine that everyone else is full of purpose and confident they will get "there" (wherever "there" is) because they give the impression online that they are.  

There is no way in the world that I can musically consume everything I encounter through this window. I need to remind myself that it is OK not to even try. I long for the days when the musical experience becomes "analog" again.  Practicing (which I have been doing today) and writing by hand (ditto) helps me feel less anxious about the musical world (and the extra-musical world as well).

So I will retire from this rectangle and go watch "The Honeymooners" on another.