It's been a while!  After some unexpected periodontal work, some time spent preparing for an art/writing exhibit in May (more to follow on this), a teaching trip to California, and more, I hope to be, once again, more consistent with posting entries to the blog.

     Much has happened in the month since I last wrote.  From a liturgical standpoint, surely the most important is the beginning of Lent.  From other points of reference, it is the winding down of winter and new rhythms in the seasons of various sports and outdoor activities.  From a medical perspective, it is the continuing onslaught of the coronavirus on the planet and the happy entry of several vaccines to alleviate this continuing tragedy.  And more.

     I'll begin, however, with something of perhaps different import:  today is the birthday of the composer Frederic Chopin.  One of the most dazzling musicians of the Romantic Era, Chopin in his too short life (he died at the age of 39) composed a host of memorable pieces for the piano.  His works are marked by an exuberance of life that resonates with the sounds of memory and contemplation.  We listen to them today and think about how his modest Polish origins blended with his relatively cosmopolitan lifestyle (he was well acquainted with Hungarian composer Franz Liszt and the novelist George Sand) to produce melodies that speak to many parts of our souls.
     And in the wake of Ash Wednesday, which we remembered a couple of weeks ago, a day of meditation on fragility and mortality, we find special call to remember Chopin.  We remember his creativity, we remember his vision.  We remember his angst and his brief existence.  And we realize, again, that we live in a beautiful yet tragic world, that we dance on a very narrow line between being here and not, and that we, human beings, magnificent creators though we be, find our humanness most profoundly when we submit to the mystery of what we may not believe we really are.