Just Some Idle Musings, Really

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Porridger’s Almanack (Breakfast of Ganglions)

...where it’s a fact that folks need help, but God still seems to be helping those who take a big helping for themselves....

— The late, great Peter Bergman of The Firesign Theatre.

In general, I’m writing much less than earlier, and I wonder about that at odd times. Before my stroke, I wrote constantly, often working on more than one project at a time. And when I was first discharged from rehab, I wrapped up the Opus 148 Symphony for Band, and even that long-delayed project my ballet White Nights. Now, I just don’t write a great deal, and at times feel a disconcertingly low level of what appears to remain of motivation. I have seldom (or even never) been genuinely depressed at the state of affairs. Let’s say that I’ve vacillated between a mild background dissatisfaction and a near-contentment to wait upon the Muse. I should like (and believe I may be close) to remain at a genuine contentment per that latter pole. I have come to understand on more than one level that in the first place, comparison to my life before the stroke is invalid because my stamina level simply is not what it was. And in the second, comparison to the period immediately after my discharge is invalid because by that time my musical brain had been champing at the bit for a couple of months. I think at times of how little attention I dedicate to O singer, bashful and tender, I hear your tender notes, and yet, there is no need to press forward with it, as no one needs it. I mean that completely neutrally, with none of the undercurrent snark of which I cannot plead complete innocence in the past. But against that let us set The Orpheus of Lowell, which I succeeded in chopping out very efficiently, and which is (I believe) a significant musical success. So, let me chill, therefore.

@karl-henning-1