Yesterday, I joined the Zoom world for a piano lesson. It was weird at first but once we started talking about the music, the concepts distracted me from the technology. This month I was working on a short Mozart sonata in E flat major, K 282. He wrote it when he was 19 and composing for a pianoforte rather than a harpsichord. The pianoforte opened up a world of dynamics impossible to achieve on a harpsichord. So he wrote passages of LOUD/soft, LOUD/soft to show off. Full of 19 year old energy.

In other news, I have discovered the lyric essay. I read Bluets by Maggie Nelson and The Crying Book by Heather Christie. The first is a meditation on the color blue, the second on crying. The authors are both poets and each bit of prose ranges from a few lines to a couple of pages. They mix in science, lots of quotations, personal reflections. The selections finally add up to a brief narrative. Basically, the technique works, although it feels a little precious.

I also read Underworld by Robert MacFarlane, a nonfiction exploration of caves, catacombs, mines—the world underground. The contrast between his aggressively masculine work, where he’s putting himself at risk on glaciers and in cave labyrinths to report and the more feminine lyric essays is stark. In our time of confinement, I am jealous of McFarlane’s freedom to roam, although basically I don't understand the appeal of mountain climbing or spelunking. I do love travel and mountains, though, and I miss them.

In college, on a geology field trip to a mine in Maine, I learned that traditionally women were not allowed in mines because we brought bad luck. The manager of the mine had not realized that there would be a female student along but he let me go in, with some misgivings. I didn’t push for the privilege —I didn’t want to be responsible for a mine cave-in—but the professor argued for me.

The garden is my place of solace. I have irises blooming now, and the sweetheart rose on the back fence. The sweet peas should open any day now. The picture above shows the Cecile Brunner rose in 2015.

Toni Martin Writes