Compassionate apple seeds

I just returned from participating in the final day of the Seeds of Compassion conference, held here in Seattle. I had the opportunity to perform Beethoven’s Ode to Joy with an assembly of over 500 other musicians from all walks of life. While I am not a musician in any sense other than the rank amateur, I have made music my whole life, singing myself to sleep as a child (something Little One does as well), in choirs as a teen and young woman, and now as a violinist in an orchestra. There is a joy comes from the pure emotion that music conveys (I’m fine at weddings and funerals until the music starts) together with the exhilaration of creating so much more together than we can singly.

The convergence of a positive mindset and the desire to make music together was irresistible to me and the other musicians on stage today (and the many who were wait listed-no room at the inn, or the bleachers in this case.) But I took away more than the deep thoughts and incredible energy of the illustrious panel (I want to take Bishop Tutu home with me so Little One will have a good playmate. I think they'd both enjoy it.): individual connections.

As I boarded the bus to rehearsal, I heard a man singing, "seid umschlungen (be embraced)" with the score in his lap and ear buds playing the part. It was an old colleague, who interviewed with Darling Husband at least ten years ago, mellowed with age. We walked to the basketball arena together, where I met up with what appeared to be almost the entire second violin section from the Microsoft Orchestra. All around me, people were running into former colleagues and friends, and making new acquaintances.

The energetic organizers directed traffic well, and I ended up in the top tier with scores of sopranos, many from the Seattle Symphony Chorus, but others just there for fun like me. The redhead next to me reminded me of my friend Patti and was kind enough to laugh at my jokes. her baby girl was in the row behind me.

A baritone caught up with me as I walked to the bus after rehearsal, and, clearly worried about a woman walking alone at night, offered me a lift. I declined, but it turns out he had nothing to worry about, as a violinist and two baritones were already at the freeway station. It turns out one works on the programming language inside the products Darling Husband works on.

I found myself seated next to a different woman for the performance, an interior designer who sings in a jazz quartet, off to Istanbul the next day, full of stress and unable to turn her phone off. She was glad to have made time, and I could feel her relax as the morning unfolded.

There was the Seattle Symphony horn player named David, who walked with me part of the way to the bus, having parked in a friend's driveway a few blocks away. He shared his life dream with me, acknowledging that even if the horn isn't that dream, it's not a bad gig at all.

Oh, and there was also the Dalai and Tutu, the latter who won my heart when he snuck back in after his official departure to listen to us sing.

On my way out, I noticed something about the tables with the mountains of box lunches: people had opened them up, leaving what they didn't want there for others. I was reminded of the company meeting where Darling Husband was dismayed to see mountains of uneaten items in the trash.

I don't know who left me that lovely red apple, but together with the other seeds sown, it saw me home.