Matka Boska

Seems like only yesterday since the phone call in the middle of the night from my Father.  He did not know how to say it, nor did I know how to hear him.  Yet he said it, and I heard him ever so deeply.  I'll never forget my Mother.  Later today, my wife & I will gather, light a candle, sit quietly.  I'll play Matka Boska, Blessed Mother, for Mom, for me, and for all Mother's and children.  I am ever so grateful for this life and the gift of Music that enlivens us all.  Mom bought me my first guitar, one much better than I deserved, but she could never say no to me.  What a gift she gave me - life and how to live with love.

Matka Boska

Matka Boska - how many times did I hear my Mother utter those words in the language of our ancestors?  Her plea to the Blessed Mother to find the way to deal with three children and her husband.  Sometimes masked with anger, at others - fear, desperation, even hope, but always asking; asking for help.  Tonight we celebrated her Birthday once again without her physical presence.

Lighting candles in front of the photo of her with my Father and Sister I played Matka Boska for her, for them.  This year I had to add another photo.  One of my brother from the last time I saw him, enjoying pizza in our childhood haunt.  Little did I know that August day, filled with laughter, that it would be our last laugh; our last goodbye.  So tonight after thanking my Mother and playing her piece, I played Forget-Me-Knot, the piece that arrived during my grief.

Why does music come through me?  I'll never know; but I am grateful that these pieces touch my heart and occasionally the hearts of others.  A Mother's Love is never forgotten.  And now I am finding out that neither is a Brother's. 

The Wonder of Gratitude

Philosophy begins in wonder. Plato

As I completed my practice session playing Matka Boska, a tribute to my mother, to all Mothers,  a sense of gratitude overwhelmed.  Gratitude for life, gratitude for the love my Mother gave me, gratitude for the gifts of living, laughter and art that so many have shared with me. 

Gratitude as the frame for my day, keeps me present, grounded, and awake to the presence of so much that life has to offer  Grateful that my body still has fine motor control to play, that my mind can recall what to play, and that my heart still cares.   One precious breath at a time I can wake up and listen for what life needs.

The new day is upon me.  Time to go and marvel at the beauty and wonder of another opportunity to watch the sunrise from the bottom of the sea.

Remembering My Mother

My Mothers Birthday is today.  Always a day of gratitude tinged with sadness at her passing so very long ago.  For years I've had a ritual of lighting a candle, sitting quietly with my wife, and then playing Matka Boska.  When this piece arrived a few years back, I had no doubt that it was for my Mother, thus the title was foretold.

My Mother was born of Polish immigrants and even though she was born in the US her first language was Polish.  As a child when she was upset with one of us she would intone Matka Boska - Blessed Mother, looking to her faith to guide her in whatever challenge she was facing.

I offered more than my share of challenges, and like the Blessed Mother that she was, she always accepted me, nurtured me, and loved me.  And she bought me my first guitar.  So tonight tired but grateful, I lit my candle.  My playing was full of imperfections - just like me.  I could sense her smile and feel her love, and I just continued to play the piece which was perfect in its' imperfections.

Matka Boska

Ninety-one years ago today, my maternal grandparents gave birth to a lovely baby girl named Kashka or Catherine. I am sure that they were proud and happy on this day. I certainly am. Growing up on a farm outside of Baltimore the family spoke Polish at home. When the children went to elementary school they were taught English by Polish nuns.

When mom was upset with one of her children she would intone - Matka Boska meaning Blessed Mother. Her way of asking for help. Over twenty years after her death I was playing one night and a new piece began to emerge. I recognized immediately her presence and named the piece Matka Boska in her honor. Since then on the evening of her birthday my wife and  I light candles and I play this to her.

Tonight we were joined by my granddaughter. A spontaneous music & dance jam followed. While there was no polka the celebration was memorable. Blessings to all of the Mothers of this world today and always.