We talked last time about Frank Lloyd Wright’s Guggenheim Museum and whether or not building with giant stone blocks would make a comeback. Well, I still don’t have the answer (it’s only been a few weeks!), but I can say that we ought to take a look at a new building, which is an expansion of an old one. 

There is this notion that uprooting your life in your late 20s or starting to solo travel as everyone else is starting look at wedding venues and getting married (which in an ironic twist actually is the sole reason I am on this Italy trip, go figure), means you are not content, some might even say “lost”. You don’t fit the norm of societal pressure. But maybe you just evolved and awakened an aspect of your life that you didn’t know could be so transformative.

May is absolutely one of my favorite months. The Kentucky Derby kicks off Spring for me. The days are always getting longer as the month heads toward its finish line. Kids culminate a long year of school work by the end of May.

In the realm of group dynamics, the significance of a headscarf, Mouchwa, Dubi, un Pañuelo, or babushka can vary depending on the context and traditions in which it is worn. Different cultures and religions ascribe different meanings to the act of donning a headscarf. For some, it serves as a symbol of modesty, piety, and a distinctive expression of individuality. While for others, it can embody a sense of solidarity with a specific community or belief system. In the United States, particularly among diasporic communities, women often choose to wrap their heads with vibrant fabrics, paying homage to their cultural ancestry and simultaneously protesting societal expectations that confine them within narrow definitions of acceptable attire.

The things you inherit from your parents can be physical, psychological, and ideological. For instance, I got my mother’s little nose, her compassion, and her anxiety. My father gave me his speech cadence and his athletic endurance, as well as his smile. They both passed on their love of music in different ways. As a newborn, my dad would pick me up and dance with me along to CD’s; In one precious home video, he’s gently swaying me in his arms to Frankie Valli’s “Can’t Take My Eyes Off You”. My dad taught me how to play the drums when I was 8 years old and broadened my knowledge of classic rock, eagerly combing through his favorite albums track by track as I soaked up the knowledge like a little wide-eyed sponge. My mother schlepped me to Gymboree Play & Music classes as a toddler, taught me about disco while regaling me with stories about her wild nights at Studio 54, and cooed along with Karen Carpenter in the car. Of course with this running start, I continued on in my sonic exploration and pursuit of music that moved me. I often wonder how – if and when the time comes – I will give the gift of music to my children. Do I go through the alphabet from ABBA to ZZ Top? Where do I even start? How will my taste in music change? Will I, as a parent, get caught up in a perpetual loop of Sesame Street sing-along songs, bashing my head against a wall with no escape hatch in sight?

The morning starts with a decision…which suit and tie will I wear for the day. When looking at my clothing rack, one will find a plethora of concert black in the form of black suits and shirts, tails, and a tuxedo, but hiding amongst all the concert clothes are elegant suits in blues, greys, and even one in purple Prince of Wales, which are the workhorses of my wardrobe. This clothing rack represents the duality of my life, which operates in the worlds of music and business. As a musician, I have been fortunate to perform all over the world as a French hornist in orchestras and Broadway pits, but have spent most of the last five years giving solo performances with new commissions written for me. However, my days are spent in the business world of Manhattan’s Upper East Side wearing suits, not in performance halls in concert black.

Spring nights, too, I wandered uptown unsheltered  devouring free-floating particles of other people’s conversations guzzling the scent of milky trees frothing showering promises at my feet

From Issue 92 — Blossoming Recollection, Study No. 9 A Musical score requires immense focus and understading. Practicing and bringing the notational language to life changes daily...

From Issue 92 — Blossoming

So, it’s the end of May. Ideally we try to get these magazines out at the beginning of the month, but then life happens and you’re closer to Memorial Day than you are Mother’s Day. But all in all that seems appropriate for this month’s edition. With Memorial Day on Monday, it’s the unofficial start of Summer and with that blossoming possibilities galore.