Playing at a long-term care facility

I have been so neglectful of my blog. My zero followers are sad for sure...

Yesterday, I performed with three colleagues at the Carleton Lodge: a long-term care facility.

The performance, on Baroque instruments, went quite well. That said, we played in a lobby, with an elevator going up and down in a glass case, behind the harpsichord. The sound was boomy, and we had trouble hearing ourselves and each other.

It was so easy to get worked up by inadequacies in the performance venue, that it was easy to forget why we were there: to play for those who don't have the freedom, the capacity to just get up, drive downtown, and attend a concert, a movie, a play, whatever.

I got to sit and observe my colleagues and our audience during the two pieces I didn't play. That is when I began noticing the effect our performance was having. One woman was draped with an overly cheery, cherry-red, institutional blanket. She wore white sneakers that have not seen many a sidewalk. She sat, eyes shut, in a large, electric wheelchair. She looked, this will sound strange, elegant. I imagine that for some of the residents, the process of loosing their independence has been a dehumanizing one. For some, a rapid stroke caused their lives to change. For others, the changes were perhaps more gradual. In any case, they must wait to be moved around, to eat, to use the bathroom. Their voices or bodies do not obey their brains, or perhaps their bodies are fine, but their brains are scrambled. Back to our "elegant" audience member. I could easily imagine her sitting primly, calmly at a concert in a large concert hall: her hair, just so, in a modest but fashionable dress. During the concert, her toes swayed gently. I hope she was enjoying the music. Maybe it provided some salve.

After the performance we milled around and chatted with the residents. The staff were quickly taking them back to their rooms, so not many were left to chat when I made my rounds. I missed the elegant lady, but had a lovely chat with a woman who just could not stop singing. Another woman beckoned me with arms open -- ready to hug me (albeit awkwardly, since I was still holding my violin). I soon realized she had lost her ability to speak. Her face was BEAMING at my. Her smile was contagious. I thanked her for listening to our music. She expressed, with her smile, that she loved it. It could not have been more clear, she *really* loved it.

As I left Carleton Lodge, I was overcome with thoughts of life, and aging, and my baby (now 19 months old!). We all want to age -- who wants to die young? But, at the same time, no one really *wants* to age... I don't have any answers right now. I'm grateful my daughter only speaks in one or two-word fragments, for, at this moment, I could not handle any existential questions.

I think I need to perform more for the elderly, and less for the "well-to-do"... I need to think of who needs my music the most.