Early in the morning, I woke up to an email message from Naichia in Ohio reminding me to watch “Now Hear This,” a documentary series on PBS. Another message was from Paul in London with a link to BBC’s special report on scholarly work of Schumann’s Frauenliebe und Leben. After lunch, Frank was checking in on me from Lübeck.
For decades, I have been separated from my family by an ocean and a continent. For some reason, most of my closest friends also live hundreds and thousands of miles away from me. (Of course, I also have very dear friends near me.) Yet, I know that I am never alone.
Like most artists, I often live in clouds of fantasies. So focused on my work that I often speak about things that are, to most people, nonsensical. Worst of all, I take all these things for granted. My friends tolerate and spoil me.
My friends make me think; they share titles of good books—not always best-sellers; they recommend inspiring performances—not always by renown artists; they send recipes; they tell mind-twisting jokes. They are not afraid of pointing out my weakness, be it in a performance or in my writing. They stop me before I go off the deep end.
Hail to you, my friends, wherever you are.
Nobody sees a flower, really—it is so small—we haven’t time, and to see takes time, like to have a friend takes time.
—Georgia O’Keeffe