The gift of a change of plans

We didn't go to Assisi today because Molly was sick (don't worry, she's ok). It was one of those unexpected detours that happens on vacations, and like many unforeseen changes in life, it led me somewhere better than I could have imagined.

The Artist in Residence who is performing tonight at the Monastery, Joel Fredrickson, asked the Art Monks to accompany him during his concert, and they graciously invited me to join the chorus. Rehearsing with everyone and then singing next to Charles (Molly boyfriend) that night, I remembered the bliss of my Renaissance Ensemble choir days in college. Who knew I'd get to relive them in a 12th century monastery in Italy over thirty years later?

In between rehearsals Charles fixed an amazing lunch for everyone at their house down the way from the Monastery. Eating Italian style (take your time..what's the rush?) we sat around the table discussing everything from racism in the U.S. (which Joel's Columbian wife didn't understand at all: "aren't we all a mixture of everything?") to Gary's trip to Selma, Alabama in the 60's and his role in bringing diversity to the faculty at Ventura College (he took them from a department of all white males, to a group of 19 including women, a vast variety of ethnicities, and only two white men!) Gary, usually so tactiturn, was alive with memories of the classes he helped create (African American, Native American, Chicano, and Women's Studies) as well as vibrating nuances of life in that dramatic 60's era. Some of us discussed Renaissance music and our music school days. Liz, (she of beaming enthusiasm), talked about her dreams for this year's Art Monastery Projects. Sitting there amongst these friends who are closer than siblings, surrounding each other with love, dreaming together in the midst of daily trials and set backs, I was grateful that my plans for that day had been subverted by an apparently much better idea.

The concert was wonderful. Joel is a Basso Profundo (the 'profundo' standing for 'he who has a voice so low, gorgeous, and resonant, even when speaking, that you are sure he's chats with God every day) was breathtakingly gifted. I have never heard someone so skilled, especially in the tricky and demanding Renaissance repertoire that he was tackling. The charm of the evening, though, was the audience. It was a motley crew of locals from the hillside of Labro, as well as five or six Nigerian political refugees who had sought asslyum in this very obscure little place in Italy. There was a mom, grandma and a baby all bundled up against the extreme cold of a 12th century building with no heat. The staff of the hotel part of the monastery came, and anyone else who wasn't already at the birthday of one of the 30 residents of Labro that night.

So, my day ended with my heart full of music, memories and gratitude that life has a mind of its own sometimes, and we just get to go along for the ride.