10 April 2007 After a fast flight, I arrived in good time yesterday evening. The sun was still shining, so I got to see the charms of Woodbury this time (last visit, I arrived in the winter-dark evening). Sr. Margaret Georgina met me at Southbury's Crowne Plaza Hotel, where the airport shuttle drops off, so I didn't have to call a very expensive cab.
Apparently, I just missed Patricia Neal! She is a great friend and long-time regular visitor of the abbey, and was here for Holy Week to do some of the readings at Mass.
Today I had a very nice parlor visit with Mother Noella. We talked a lot about Mom and Dad and what this time means to them and to me. If God wants me to be a Benedictine here at Regina Laudis, then I will be -- but in his time, not mine. If it hinges on my parents' need, so be it. Fiat!
They put me in the St. Scholastica room this time, the nicest room on the second floor. There are two beds with old-fashioned wooden head and foot boards and covered with very pretty blue and white coverlets; an antique bureau, bedside table, and a small writing desk at the front window which overlooks Flanders Road. The other window faces north. It's a small, cozy room, and I like being able to see the sunset as I sit here at the writing desk.
I went for a walk this afternoon, and discovered a route that will do very nicely for my daily constitutional -- up to the creche (which unfortunately is closed for the season) and back to the art shop, then up the hill to the chapel for Vespers. I sat for an hour today before Vespers, underneath the organ loft. Father S. practices in the afternoons, always with a metronome, wearing the loudest organ shoes possible. As he plays a lot of Bach & Co., the pedalling is detached, but the stomping of his shoes drowns out the bass line and even, at times, the metronome!
Finally, at about a quarter to five, he stopped and left. I was all alone in that big chapel. For just a few moments, there was complete, profound, utter silence. I have never heard such a huge, spacious silence. Ever. But of course, it didn't last; how could it, as long as there are people around outside, loading trucks, driving off, etc. But for just those few moments, I heard what true silence really sounds like. It is sublime.
11 April 2007 A glorious morning! Couldn't ask for better weather, especially when working outdoors, raking leaves and pulling weeds, which is what I did. I worked with Mother Dorcas, a spry little twig of a nun, must be in her 70's, bright bue eyes and sparkling humor. I discovered untapped sources of strength, pulling up roots 3/4 of an inch in diameter, running six feet or more in length. I'll be sore tomorrow.
As I walked toward the old chapel for some quiet relection before supper, I saw a car dropping off Lady Abbess, Mother Prioress (Dolores Hart), and Mother Placid. Lady Abbess saw me at some yards off and waved; I waved back but didn't recognize her till I got closer, then felt rather abashed. I shook her hand, said it was so nice to meet her, but couldn't remember how to address her, because I'm so used to saying "Sister." After the obvious pleasantries -- how is your visit, wonderful thank you -- she said, "Well, you've seen all our foibles now" -- referring to the rather glaring catastrophies committed by the nuns in some of the chants at Mass -- "I don't know if you did as much liturgy where you were" --referring to Lufkin -- "We're just really tired." They had just finished recording their third CD in addition to all the extra singing during Holy Week. I murmured something in response which I hoped sounded sympathetic.
I'm beginning to think that my musical gifts and experience are a drawback, rather than an advantage, in monastic life. I forget sometimes how intimidating my credentials seem to others. Though I've not yet had a parlor visit with the Abbess and Prioress, I know, from Lady Abbess' words to me, that I'm already cast in a certain light; not exactly a preconceived notion -- but I know very well that my training and experience in the music business has, as it always does, colored their perception of me, though perhaps only slightly. I wouldn't accuse them of any kind of prejudice -- I give them the benefit of the doubt as Christians and religious to have an open mind. Whatever their perceptions are of me now, I assume them to be unconscious ones; but I'm still very sorry they should have to exist at all.
I wish I could keep my past career a secret until people know me for who I am as a human being. I sometimes think it grossly unfair that my music should have such power over how I am perceived by others -- it causes them to regard and treat me with a certain reserve, and unless they have the wherewithal to persevere in their acquaintance with me, they may never know who I really am.
It is certainly impossible to separate the "true" Leticia from her gifts and the experiences with those gifts that have brought her to this time. I would suggest that the only preconceived ideas that outsiders have of your gifts are those of hope to share in them. Those who are extra-sensitive may be afraid that you would judge their own lack of skill, but that is between them and God. Personally, I sit in wonder and true awe of musicians. What an amazing gift from God - to hear harmony when I only hear melody, to play by ear when I can barely play from the sheet music, to recognize perfect pitch when my humming is always flat. I am finding it much easier to know "who you really are" as you continue to put pen to paper and reveal those secrets without fear.
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