How Do You Measure a Year In a Life?
Feb. 3rd, 2019 03:00 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dedalus_1947Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes
Five hundred twenty-five thousand moments so dear
Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes
How do you measure, measure a year?
(Seasons of Love: Jonathan D. Larson – 1996)
There are certain moments in life that are timeless because they involved a special combination of sights, sounds, people, emotions, and related memories. These events are fixed in our minds, and are triggered by one or more aspects of the long ago occurrence. The song Seasons of Love from the musical RENT is one of those triggers for me. Whenever I hear that song, my mind automatically flashes back to a day in 2000 when Kathy and I attended the high school graduation party of her nephew Danny Williams. Although we were unable to attend the commencement ceremony at Loyola High School in Los Angeles, we made a point of going to the celebration at the Manhattan Beach home of Kathy’s sister Patti, and her husband Dick.
Graduation from high school is a momentous occasion, but what I remember most about my own is that it signified the end to, probably, the most enjoyable and memorable year in the four of high school. At the same time, it also pointed to the beginning of a scary new life in the unknown world of college. It’s a turning point, when the past and future come together in a single moment, and teeters back and forth, from sadness to excitement, from joy to dread. I really didn’t know what to expect at this party. I’d watched Danny grow up through the years, and knew that he had attended American Martyrs grade school in Manhattan Beach, and graduated from Loyola H.S. I suppose I expected to see many of his male friends from that historic, single-sex, Jesuit institution, so I was surprised at the large number of girls who were present. When I pointed this out to Kathy, she explained that Danny had been part of the Loyola music and drama program that was also open to high school girls from many schools in the greater Los Angeles area. They could have been graduating senior girls from Flintridge Sacred Heart Academy, Immaculate Heart H.S., or Marymount H.S. Many of these young people had taken part in musical productions over the years. Having personally observed the dynamics of high school drama students through our son’s involvement, I knew them to be a tight, talented, and close-knit group of friends, and Danny’s were no exception. Their laughter, stories, and gaiety filled the house, and I was almost envious of their blissful youth. But I had little in common with them, so I only observed them from afar, and did not interact with them. It was only at one point that they held my complete attention. A group of Danny’s friends were suddenly, and loudly urging him to sit down at the piano in the living room and to play. At first I assumed they wanted him to simply perform a piece, but suddenly a group of the eight or nine boys and girls were clustering tightly around him and the piano. That’s when I heard their rendition of Seasons of Love from the musical RENT.
At that moment, there was something in that sang that was incredibly poignant and personal. Danny’s music, combined with the fresh, youthful voices of his friends brought a uniquely sweet and timeless relevance to the lyrics they were singing. They were fresh-faced, bright-eyed and youthful optimists setting out to explore and conquer the new worlds of college and universities. Yet the song was also a nostalgic reflection on the year that had passed – probably too quickly for them now. So the words in that song took on a special meaning for me, and the performance brought tears of joy and delight to my eyes (which I swiftly tried to wipe away):
Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes
Five hundred twenty-five thousand moments so dear
Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes
How do you measure, measure a year?
In daylights, in sunsets
In midnights, in cups of coffee
In inches, in miles
In laughter, in strife
In five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes
How do you measure a year in the life?
How about love?
How about love?
How about love?
Measure in love.
Seasons of love
Seasons of love
Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes
Five hundred twenty-five thousand
Journeys to plan
Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes
How do you measure the life
Of a woman or a man?
In truths that she learned
Or in times that he cried
In bridges he burned
Or the way that she died?
It’s time now to sing out
Though the story never ends
Let’s celebrate now
Remember a year in the life of friends.
Remember the love
Remember the love
Remember the love
Measure in love
Measure, measure your life in love
Seasons of love
Seasons of love
The singing of that song by Danny and his friends was my first introduction to RENT. Of course I had heard of the Tony Award winning Broadway musical that opened in 1996, but I did not relate to it the way I did to other musicals like Chorus Line, Cats, or Les Miz. I never saw the play, although Kathy and Prisa did during a Broadway trip to New York City in 2003. The song stood alone for me, separate from the musical. I didn’t hear it as a song about young bohemians struggling through the HIV/AIDS epidemic in Lower Manhattan’s East Village. I saw it through the lens of high school enthusiasm and optimism. A song that described the dawning realization that childhood had ended, and the realities of life would soon descend and have to be dealt with. It took the January television production of RENT, and its reprise of the song, Seasons of Love, to trigger the long ago memory of Danny’s graduation party. Only this time the song did more than simply recall the nostalgic end of a senior year for those youngsters in 2000 – this time the song begged an answer to a puzzling question it posed: How do you measure a year in your life?
Last year was a difficult one for me. It opened soon after the death of my mother, and just moved on from there, as all lives do. As to “measuring it”, I suppose one might do it through the daily entries in a diary or a journal. If you were faithful in this practice of noting daily events, you could review an entire year – looking back at events, reading your immediate reactions to them, and then reflecting on that. Unfortunately, except for a few times in my life, I was never really consistent in maintaining a steady, ongoing journal of daily events, and anyway, I was more interested in simply surviving this last year than meditating on it. No, the closest I came to recording consistent events of last year was through my camera, and the photographs I took from December of 2017 to January of 2019, and through postings on my blog. In my Amazon Cloud photo library I have digitized photos from 2003 to 2019, divided into the months I took them. I also have a huge cache of undated pictures that were copied from printed originals. Along with this photographic evidence of the years, I also posted numerous personal essays on my blog, Dedalus Log, which I’ve kept since 2005. So I decided to use these two “primary sources” to go back and try to answer the question posed by Seasons of Love for myself, and attempt to “measure a year in the life”.
I counted approximately six thousand eight hundred forty-five photos (give or take a few hundred) from December of 2017 to January of 2019. At first they seemed a crazy and random mixture of unrelated events and people, but after a more thoughtful inspection I saw certain patterns and categories arise among these thousands of photos. They showed photos of road trips with Kathy, our families, and friends to Paso Robles, Avila Beach, Salinas, Big Sur, the Carmel Valley, Monterey, Lone Pine, Boulder City NEV, San Diego, and Downtown L.A. Plane trips with friends and family members to Portland, Ireland, and New York City. Holidays, family celebrations, wedding and funeral receptions, going to plays and musicals, and reunion lunches and dinners represented hundreds and hundreds of images. The countdown towards Kathy’s retirement from the Archdiocese Department of Schools popped up in pictures scattered throughout the year, culminating in her retirement party in June. Photos of granddaughters and cousins young and old dominated numerous collections; photos of Sarah and Gracie at play on the beach, playing sports, in the pool and Jacuzzi, and celebrating birthdays and holidays, along with a few of their parents, uncles, aunts, and cousins. By far the majority of these photos showed the faces of people – people I love and people I struggle with: sons and daughters, sisters and brothers, aunts and uncles, and long-time and recent friends. Every picture told a different story of the people in them and the events that brought them together. Every photo was a memory enshrined for the ages, insuring that the event and the people present would never be forgotten. I constantly lost myself scrolling through the thousands and thousands of photos, remembering what I felt at that moment in time – happy (and some times sad) to relive it again. I also posted twenty-three personal essays on my blog from December 2017 to January 2019. The number came as quite a surprise to me, because it represented almost two essays a month during a year I felt more like forgetting. They began with a remembrance of a deceased professional friend, JoAnna Kunes, and ended with the realization that I was “getting older” and our children had passed us by. While four essays were about Los Angeles, the Sixties, Ireland, and grief, the rest, once again, were about people – people I loved, people I lost and remembered, and people I struggle with. When it came down to it, I wasted my time trying to answer this question, because Jonathon Larson, the writer of the song Seasons of Love, was right all along. We do measure a year in daylights, in sunsets, in inches, in miles, and in laughter and strife; in truths that we learned, or times that we cried, in bridges we burned, and in ways that they died. We remember a year in the lives of our family and friends, and we remember the love. We really do measure our life and our seasons in love. Now that I think about it, I’m pretty sure that’s what Danny Williams and his friends were singing about all along.
Five hundred twenty-five thousand moments so dear
Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes
How do you measure, measure a year?
(Seasons of Love: Jonathan D. Larson – 1996)
There are certain moments in life that are timeless because they involved a special combination of sights, sounds, people, emotions, and related memories. These events are fixed in our minds, and are triggered by one or more aspects of the long ago occurrence. The song Seasons of Love from the musical RENT is one of those triggers for me. Whenever I hear that song, my mind automatically flashes back to a day in 2000 when Kathy and I attended the high school graduation party of her nephew Danny Williams. Although we were unable to attend the commencement ceremony at Loyola High School in Los Angeles, we made a point of going to the celebration at the Manhattan Beach home of Kathy’s sister Patti, and her husband Dick.
Graduation from high school is a momentous occasion, but what I remember most about my own is that it signified the end to, probably, the most enjoyable and memorable year in the four of high school. At the same time, it also pointed to the beginning of a scary new life in the unknown world of college. It’s a turning point, when the past and future come together in a single moment, and teeters back and forth, from sadness to excitement, from joy to dread. I really didn’t know what to expect at this party. I’d watched Danny grow up through the years, and knew that he had attended American Martyrs grade school in Manhattan Beach, and graduated from Loyola H.S. I suppose I expected to see many of his male friends from that historic, single-sex, Jesuit institution, so I was surprised at the large number of girls who were present. When I pointed this out to Kathy, she explained that Danny had been part of the Loyola music and drama program that was also open to high school girls from many schools in the greater Los Angeles area. They could have been graduating senior girls from Flintridge Sacred Heart Academy, Immaculate Heart H.S., or Marymount H.S. Many of these young people had taken part in musical productions over the years. Having personally observed the dynamics of high school drama students through our son’s involvement, I knew them to be a tight, talented, and close-knit group of friends, and Danny’s were no exception. Their laughter, stories, and gaiety filled the house, and I was almost envious of their blissful youth. But I had little in common with them, so I only observed them from afar, and did not interact with them. It was only at one point that they held my complete attention. A group of Danny’s friends were suddenly, and loudly urging him to sit down at the piano in the living room and to play. At first I assumed they wanted him to simply perform a piece, but suddenly a group of the eight or nine boys and girls were clustering tightly around him and the piano. That’s when I heard their rendition of Seasons of Love from the musical RENT.
At that moment, there was something in that sang that was incredibly poignant and personal. Danny’s music, combined with the fresh, youthful voices of his friends brought a uniquely sweet and timeless relevance to the lyrics they were singing. They were fresh-faced, bright-eyed and youthful optimists setting out to explore and conquer the new worlds of college and universities. Yet the song was also a nostalgic reflection on the year that had passed – probably too quickly for them now. So the words in that song took on a special meaning for me, and the performance brought tears of joy and delight to my eyes (which I swiftly tried to wipe away):
Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes
Five hundred twenty-five thousand moments so dear
Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes
How do you measure, measure a year?
In daylights, in sunsets
In midnights, in cups of coffee
In inches, in miles
In laughter, in strife
In five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes
How do you measure a year in the life?
How about love?
How about love?
How about love?
Measure in love.
Seasons of love
Seasons of love
Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes
Five hundred twenty-five thousand
Journeys to plan
Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes
How do you measure the life
Of a woman or a man?
In truths that she learned
Or in times that he cried
In bridges he burned
Or the way that she died?
It’s time now to sing out
Though the story never ends
Let’s celebrate now
Remember a year in the life of friends.
Remember the love
Remember the love
Remember the love
Measure in love
Measure, measure your life in love
Seasons of love
Seasons of love
The singing of that song by Danny and his friends was my first introduction to RENT. Of course I had heard of the Tony Award winning Broadway musical that opened in 1996, but I did not relate to it the way I did to other musicals like Chorus Line, Cats, or Les Miz. I never saw the play, although Kathy and Prisa did during a Broadway trip to New York City in 2003. The song stood alone for me, separate from the musical. I didn’t hear it as a song about young bohemians struggling through the HIV/AIDS epidemic in Lower Manhattan’s East Village. I saw it through the lens of high school enthusiasm and optimism. A song that described the dawning realization that childhood had ended, and the realities of life would soon descend and have to be dealt with. It took the January television production of RENT, and its reprise of the song, Seasons of Love, to trigger the long ago memory of Danny’s graduation party. Only this time the song did more than simply recall the nostalgic end of a senior year for those youngsters in 2000 – this time the song begged an answer to a puzzling question it posed: How do you measure a year in your life?
Last year was a difficult one for me. It opened soon after the death of my mother, and just moved on from there, as all lives do. As to “measuring it”, I suppose one might do it through the daily entries in a diary or a journal. If you were faithful in this practice of noting daily events, you could review an entire year – looking back at events, reading your immediate reactions to them, and then reflecting on that. Unfortunately, except for a few times in my life, I was never really consistent in maintaining a steady, ongoing journal of daily events, and anyway, I was more interested in simply surviving this last year than meditating on it. No, the closest I came to recording consistent events of last year was through my camera, and the photographs I took from December of 2017 to January of 2019, and through postings on my blog. In my Amazon Cloud photo library I have digitized photos from 2003 to 2019, divided into the months I took them. I also have a huge cache of undated pictures that were copied from printed originals. Along with this photographic evidence of the years, I also posted numerous personal essays on my blog, Dedalus Log, which I’ve kept since 2005. So I decided to use these two “primary sources” to go back and try to answer the question posed by Seasons of Love for myself, and attempt to “measure a year in the life”.
I counted approximately six thousand eight hundred forty-five photos (give or take a few hundred) from December of 2017 to January of 2019. At first they seemed a crazy and random mixture of unrelated events and people, but after a more thoughtful inspection I saw certain patterns and categories arise among these thousands of photos. They showed photos of road trips with Kathy, our families, and friends to Paso Robles, Avila Beach, Salinas, Big Sur, the Carmel Valley, Monterey, Lone Pine, Boulder City NEV, San Diego, and Downtown L.A. Plane trips with friends and family members to Portland, Ireland, and New York City. Holidays, family celebrations, wedding and funeral receptions, going to plays and musicals, and reunion lunches and dinners represented hundreds and hundreds of images. The countdown towards Kathy’s retirement from the Archdiocese Department of Schools popped up in pictures scattered throughout the year, culminating in her retirement party in June. Photos of granddaughters and cousins young and old dominated numerous collections; photos of Sarah and Gracie at play on the beach, playing sports, in the pool and Jacuzzi, and celebrating birthdays and holidays, along with a few of their parents, uncles, aunts, and cousins. By far the majority of these photos showed the faces of people – people I love and people I struggle with: sons and daughters, sisters and brothers, aunts and uncles, and long-time and recent friends. Every picture told a different story of the people in them and the events that brought them together. Every photo was a memory enshrined for the ages, insuring that the event and the people present would never be forgotten. I constantly lost myself scrolling through the thousands and thousands of photos, remembering what I felt at that moment in time – happy (and some times sad) to relive it again. I also posted twenty-three personal essays on my blog from December 2017 to January 2019. The number came as quite a surprise to me, because it represented almost two essays a month during a year I felt more like forgetting. They began with a remembrance of a deceased professional friend, JoAnna Kunes, and ended with the realization that I was “getting older” and our children had passed us by. While four essays were about Los Angeles, the Sixties, Ireland, and grief, the rest, once again, were about people – people I loved, people I lost and remembered, and people I struggle with. When it came down to it, I wasted my time trying to answer this question, because Jonathon Larson, the writer of the song Seasons of Love, was right all along. We do measure a year in daylights, in sunsets, in inches, in miles, and in laughter and strife; in truths that we learned, or times that we cried, in bridges we burned, and in ways that they died. We remember a year in the lives of our family and friends, and we remember the love. We really do measure our life and our seasons in love. Now that I think about it, I’m pretty sure that’s what Danny Williams and his friends were singing about all along.
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