This year marks 30 years that I have playing piano at the Heron Point Retirement Community, in Chestertown Maryland, beginning with a twice a month Health Center contract in 1994. This was at the beginning of what would become an explosion of ongoing senior facility contracts (30 senior facilities, in 4 states), and a Board Certification in Music Therapy. All of this kept me very busy, for about 15 years (on top of all the regular gigging, which I continued to do), until I began to pull back, and eventfully retire from music therapy practice completely. The only facility I've continued with ongoing commitments is Heron Point. And these days, just about anything that you imagine a pianist doing in a senior community, I'm doing it at Heron Point: regularly scheduled performances for residents, Sunday Vespers services, funeral/memorial services, and a wide range of special events. The connection I have with many of the residents (many of whom I known for most of those 30 years) goes deep. And the ongoing joke (though serious to some, I suspect), is to ask when I am going to get my own room there (or, why don't I have one already, as it seems like I almost live there, sometimes). In addition to all the wonderful connections, being introduced to Heron Point was also my introduction to the Eastern Shore of Maryland, and specifically, Chestertown. It wasn't long after my first 36 mile drive down Rt. 213 from Elkton to Chestertown that we moved to Kent County, MD. It's been a wonderful 30 years.

The above video for taken during a solo concert for the residents, earlier this month.   :)

Wrote this in my personal journal this morning (sort of):

Use fewer notes. Use far fewer notes. Wait for the space to open before attempting to play. Allow the notes/melody/music to come from my heart (or beyond) and not from my head. At this point, allow a greater quantity of notes to come, if they want to, so long as I remain an observer in the process. Recognize when I am navigating; weaving my way through something, with my primary focus on what is directly in front of me, and less so on the context, or the direction it is travelling. If so, stop, wait... Recognize when my emotions are steering me, rather than responding to me (may need to further reflect on this one to feel that I’m stating it properly). When overwhelmed, be still (It will very likely seem longer than it actually takes, if I’m actually still).

Although this (above) was where I was going, as I was writing, I actually wrote these words: 

Use fewer words. Use far fewer words. Wait for the space to open before attempting to speak. Allow the words to come from my heart (or beyond) and not from my head. At this point, allow a greater quantity of words to come, if they want to, so long as I remain an observer in the process. Recognize when I am navigating; weaving my way through something, with my primary focus on what is directly in front of me, and less so on the context, or the direction it is travelling. Recognize when my emotions are steering me, rather than responding to me (may need to further reflect on this one to feel that I’m stating it properly). When overwhelmed, be still (It will very likely seem longer than it actually takes, if I’m actually still).

For me, it's the same process. One defines the other. Everything I've needed to know in life, I've learned (and continue to learn) at the piano. If I can grow, even seemingly the tiniest bit, every day, then I'm travelling in the direction that I'm supposed to be.  :)