Photos by the author, Deeann D. Mathews, May 3-6, 2025
"But aren't we just a bit too old to be frolicking in the grass in May?"
"Frau Mathews, mein geliebtes Blumenkind, whoever told you that lie? Your own mother waited all year to sing her favorite English folksong on May 1, but we will deal with this in German terms first -- Wachet auf!"
"Wake up -- calls [to] us the voice!" What a way to start a lesson for one going higher in life because called up by a particular Voice -- Bach based his work on a much older hymn that references the ten virgins of Scripture, five of whom were ready to answer the call -- best to be ready, for nothing could be done for those given the same opportunity, but not ready!
But for those who were, ah, the joy -- so no wonder I was being danced around as if we were beloved guests at the wedding feast described in Scripture!
My dancing partner was of course the Ghost of Musical Greatness Past, the type of man who while in his mortal forties forgot he was a classical singer and started rolling his head with the notes he was singing in Haydn -- just the type of man who would not stop at 87, being delivered from all aches and pains that came from being physical and not ethereal, from being a dancing fool on some Bach on a fine day in May!
"The wonder-shining month of May, mind you, Frau Mathews! We are not listening to Schumann at the moment, but we will accept him upgrading the month for those delivered of April foolishness and arriving in May!"
Oh, this old bass who turned Osmin into a show-stealing comic treat and was the bouncingest Don Bartolo and Leporello there ever was having too much fun -- since I had not been able to get my heart back from him as Commendatore, and since he had completely wrapped my heart up and added it to his collection as Raphael head-bopping on Haydn in "The Creation," off we went across the green, all the way down the near meadows of Golden Gate Park ... there was no resisting his joy ...
"A lesson in the possible for you, Frau Mathews," he purred as at last he remembered that I had ribs, and lungs, and could only be laughing so long before really starting to feel hurt. "How does your mother's favorite song go?"
"She knows the shorter American variant, but that's basically the same:
"Now is the month of May,
With merry lads a-play!
Fa la la, la la, la la la, fa la la, la la la!
Each with his bonny lass,
A-dancing on the grass!
Fa la la la, la la la la la la la la, fa la la la, la la!"
"So," he said, "I have chosen to be the merry lad -- thus who are you?"
"Oh, no you didn't -- tatest du's wirklich?"
"Fa la la la, la la la la la la la la, fa la la la, la la!" he retorted with the last line of the song, and then he just decided to show off and vocally danced right down the scale --
"Fa la, la la, la la, la la, fa la la la, LA!"
-- to his awesome B flat 2!
Traffic in the low meadows of the Golden Gate Park just stopped -- no one could believe it!
"Well, they say mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the noonday sun," one person eventually said. "That one has definitely fallen in love and lost it!"
"Wait until all the fans of that German bass who sings in this park find out, though, that there is an Englishman who is a peer to him out here!"
"Oh, don't you go mad and get beat up! K.M. Altesrouge's fans are crazy -- they aren't even trying to hear that except maybe compared to some of those big-time German basses of the late 20th century. They think he is the greatest thing since what's his name -- oh yeah -- Bert Stall -- that's it!"
My poor ribs were done for, and even "Bert Stall" almost fell out of gravity laughing at that!
"You know, you could now earn twice as much money, Mr. Stall -- just learn a bunch of English songs and have costuming get you some Tweed suits!" I said at last.
"Ms. Mathews, whatever are you talking about?" he said in a very credible attempt at a high-class English accent. "You are not prepared for a millionaire in pounds sterling by July, trying to rescue his quid from having holes burned in it by his ethereal pockets by spending it on you!"
"Yes, I am -- I need a rib transplant, stat!" I said.
I would have rolled clear off the bench, but he quickly sat down again by me, and I rolled into his embrace, but then he started laughing.
"I think I learned a little more today about American English than I wanted -- the imprecision! When all you have right is a not-quite-right rhyme -- Bert Stall for Kurt Möll -- and you don't even form the leading consonants the same way!"
"Everybody isn't a master singer or teacher or student, and wouldn't even have a clue of what you are going on about when it comes to forming consonants," I said. "Forget all about that umlaut with the O -- the sound doesn't exist in English, and only reason I can say it halfway right is because A. I took German, and B. I love you."
"Well, German is difficult. For an American English speaker, it might well take both. Your spoken German is well-formed, if limited, and I see you practicing your reading and writing, valiantly forming sentences to comment on German-language posts and then checking with translation tools for how to say those things better. That will not be enough, of course. It will take love along with money to return to classes, but I see you as an autodidact doggedly learning by usage until you can study again formally."
He paused, and his eyes twinkled.
"I am just waiting on some tenor from a totally different language to come along and sweep you up and have you studying something totally different."
"Keep waiting!" I retorted. "Not unless the Blessed Hand brings him out of the impossible into the possible Himself!"
"But you do know, Frau Mathews, that He can do that whenever He chooses ... I simply gently remind you to be ready ... you are so beautiful in your joy that ... well, Gentle Giant Nurse and Gentle Genius Businessman ought to tell you something ... and is there not Gentle Green Grocer now feeding you grapes, and offering to bag your produce?"
"OK, that was a little wild," I said, and he broke out laughing and kept laughing through me saying, "but that man knows how to sell some produce. I have walked out of there with so much fruit I didn't intend to buy."
"After you bounce in there Blumenkinding hard, radiant with a day outdoors, and willing to stand there and talk about old-school produce practices and the flow of fruit across the Americas with real intelligent interest, and you think --!"
It was his turn to almost roll right off the bench and out of gravity, but I grabbed him in time as he just laughed and laughed.
"Frau Mathews," he said after taking his ethereal handkerchief out to dab the tears of laughter from his face, "you are 44, and the world of men still is opaque to you in ways that are both endearing and also -- if I were Herr Mathews your father -- a bit terrifying!
"So, a nurse, a blue-collar businessman, and a grocer -- and we will put Mr. Dawnstruck in there, too -- all men of mature age working low-glamour jobs faithfully, with lives depending on each of them to be faithful and keep at it -- just doing what they do and then you bounce in on them with your Rubenesque-in-bronze beauty, that big, musical alto voice, that sweet temperament, your open mind, and your willingness to bless -- and then you smile! Poor Mr. Dawnstruck was looking rough and just went into convulsions going up the street because he wasn't ready the last time you met him! You think these men are as oblivious as you are to your own effects -- and it is now May?"
"Well, you know, in the spring young men's fancies turn lightly to thoughts of love to hear I think Tennyson tell it -- but I don't do young and I don't do lightly!"
He had another good laugh at that before retorting, "And mature men don't care what season it is and will make a young man late in a second -- you wait until you meet one with time and courage and readiness and find out! I am warning you in advance!"
"Now I am teasing you," he purred after a moment, "but again: a lesson in the possible for you, Frau Mathews. There is so much more we could speak of ... but this day is so beautiful, and there is still so much more of it to enjoy ... ."
He fell silent, as many birds had landed in the trees above us and they were singing merrily ... I laid my head on his shoulder and was glad to just enjoy ...
"I was teasing you earlier," he said some time later, his voice now a dreamy low counterpoint to the song of the birds, "for I know that you know, now, that it is impossible for you to have anyone in your life who would long disturb your peace."
He was a master teacher, and how he had gotten around to this point was a master stroke.
"For how can it ever be that those who do not want what you want from life could ever follow you here, and how could you long follow any voice not attuned to the same desires?" he said. "What would motivate anyone to do what you have done if they did not desire the kind of life that you desire, Frau Mathews?
"Consider how few that you know would be content with just this ... decades, Frau Mathews, of peace in the park. I have tested you severely: you know that my pockets are burning a hole in my money, but I can hardly do anything but get you some fruit, and then from June to December you just want what I can pick at my height or sing down."
"Now, there were some lovely lunches in there, and some excellent chocolate," I said.
"Enough for you to count on maybe ten fingers, and not use a single toe," he said with mock-reproach. "You have turned me as K.M. Altesrouge into a rich man who cannot spend his money fast enough!"
"Now that is an uncommon complaint from a man about a woman nowadays, Herr Altesrouge!" I said with a laugh.
"You are a most uncommon woman, Frau Mathews," he said, and then paused, and then slowly began walking his voice downward, in softness and speed and depth, in that way that meant he was about to turn on the black velvet anesthesia before making one of those statements that might otherwise have me reacting badly.
"In a world of grasping, mein geliebtes Blumenkind, you practice gratitude and contentment. In a world of grasping, you are richly and happily generous. In a world of grasping, you know that the more you are given, the more you are responsible for, so you do not want more than you need to have, and have even begun to unburden yourself of some of your possessions. In a world of grasping, you are learning to let go of all that is not needful for you. All of these things are resisted, mightily, by most people you know and will ever meet. That is why you are learning, in a world of grasping, to let them all go, for no heart upon which the world has its grasp can ever dwell with you in love and peace."
That last sentence was a startling statement worthy of him reaching his B flat 1 ... on the word "peace," no less ... but he had so gently walked me to that point that I was not startled although I registered that perhaps I should have or would have been.
"I know that you are right," I said. "I thank you for using your voice to ease the pain of even hearing it, for to let people go in that fruitless pursuit ... ."
"The fruitless pursuit that they desire, and you have neither right nor ability to turn them from," he said. "Do not forget, Frau Mathews, that you have no business meddling in the impossible."
He paused, and then his eyes twinkled.
"It is already May, so I beg your forgiveness, but gospel and blues are not my province nor English my first language ... but may I point you to the good advice of another old professor, namely Charles Taylor? You actually followed this perfectly in 2024, and it will still work in 2025, even with a somewhat late start."
He sounded so innocent ... but was intent on me breaking every rib I had ...
I laughed until I saw stars and could hardly breathe, and then had to lay down the law!
"Listen -- hoer mir zu, Herr Basso Profondo Buffo -- stay in your lane, because your driving over in my lane of music is out of pocket and out of control! You came from so far out in left field that you just slapped a hockey puck out of an ice rink over home plate, then got behind the plate and hit a home run so long that it went through a basketball hoop and nobody knows how to score a three-point basket using a hockey puck from that far back!"
Turnabout is fair play! He finally fell partially out of gravity and was somewhere in low earth orbit -- laughing so hard he was seeing stars! at low earth orbit speed, he wouldn't be back at my position for about 35 minutes, assuming 17,000 miles or 28,000 kilometers per hour!
I decided to walk on to Alvord Lake, upon which shores I had commemorated so much of great meaning to me in the past two years, and been so much alone ... but that had been necessary. The great ethereal bass was just echoing truth I already knew.
He and I had been teasing each other about Schumann's well-known song about May, "Im wunderschönen Monat Mai," for two weeks, but now I thought perhaps the old master teacher had brought Schumann's Dichterliebe and its young man's journey back to my mind on purpose. It is a Fruhlingreise of sorts, and if considered with Schubert's Winterreise, there are similarities and there are stark differences. Both young men lose the love of their lives, but Schumann's young man has greater compassion and wisdom. While Schubert's young man thinks of the serpent of his pain gnawing at his heart, Schumann's young man compassionately realizes, in the middle of his own heartbreak, that there are reasons other people cannot love in return in terms of the serpents gnawing at their hearts. So, he chooses not to complain, and to accept reality as best he understands it.
Schumann's young man is wise enough to understand there are things beyond his control, and that the woman he loves is on her own journey that he cannot change. He is as much overdrawn in some points as Schubert's young man, and surely as much in pain, for he speaks of going up into the forest in tears and never coming out upon even hearing the song his beloved sings somewhere else.
But what Schumann's young man has going for him is the wisdom to let it go.
It a remarkable and grimly humorous touch from Schumann is to end his song cycle with "Die alten, boesen Lieder" -- the bad, old songs -- and thus dismiss his own song cycle! This looks back at Schubert's winter song cycle, except that the young man there can't let it go -- he and the equally dying hurdy-gurdy man of "Der Leiermann" end their run right there with the request that the older man play behind the young man's songs -- and so, they never come out of that bleak winter, holding fast to their little tunes at the cost of all else.
Schumann's young man also contemplates death, but plans a funeral -- in fact, a burial at sea -- and although he does not say at first who is to be buried, the song makes clear that this is the end of old, bad songs and old bitter dreams. For the funeral he needs a coffin bigger than a famous pot in Heidelberg, a bier longer than the bridge over the Mainz, and twelve giants stronger than a sainted hero giant to take this coffin, and all that is in it, to be sunk in the depths of the sea ...
... so much is needed because in that coffin the young man places his lost hopes of love, and his sorrow for the loss, and lets them go ... and there the piano picks up, slowly walking with this young man away from what is lost to him ... and at last the music becomes hymnlike, remembering the good, acknowledging the loss, and ending in peace. Schumann's spring journey ends in peace because his young man has the wisdom to let go, and walk on, with the wonders of new seasons to open before him as a more mature man.
Am I that wise?
Now I am not given to dramatics, and Alvord Lake is not quite as deep as the sea ... I get why the coffin for Schumann's young man's hopes and dreams needed to be that big, but my ego is not quite that large and frankly out of control ... in the grand scheme of things, I'm one woman among four million. I have, however, done my best to represent love and wisdom far greater than my own. I have been to more than one funeral because love and wisdom from that much higher level all the way down to plain old common sense was refused. I have experienced heights of anger over dead bodies for doing that to themselves over a goal they never reached, and for which they had thrown away their lives, and the thought of anyone I love finding such an end in the future terrifies me.
But to let go is also to forgive ... and to fore-give, to give in advance, is to surrender ... to surrender all need to be right, to be vindicated, to be compensated for time and trouble and effort, to surrender all of one's brightest hopes and dreams enacted in someone else's life ... to surrender all things but to love others enough to not burden them in finding their own way, and to surrender to a just but also merciful God, knowing that, if He chooses, He can do better for one's beloveds than one's highest hopes and dreams ... and that also involves surrendering all demand to see this done in this lifetime.
That also involves accepting the possibility, however, that people will continue to be destroyed in the error of their ways, too ... that frightens me so much ... but on the other hand, one sees what one is looking at. In the autumn, I did not know that I was walking a curve that would lead me right back around to the place of my hurt. The gravity of my own longing had taken me around in orbit back to those who had indeed got up to the velocity of entering space, but would fall back ... to go higher, because of the requirements, was not what they actually wanted.
Yet higher orbits lay before me, and this was what I wanted ... and if I chose to lean into being the Iron Flower Child, and refused to look back, then I could have it. I just had to shed the weight upon my heart for things I could not ever solve.
Again, a coffin at Schumann's size -- too large a concept for me. A single tear, released to the sufficient depths of Alvord Lake, was large enough.
I turned around to walk away, and stepped into orbit and into the arms of the Ghost of Musical Greatness Past, who then wrapped his sweet voice around me, singing the song of Admiral Morosus, who also, after a journey of great pain, embraces the joys actually set before him and finds peace and rest, at last.
After that, we just stood and watched the stars go by, playing all the beautiful music of the spheres, before touching down again at humble Alvord Lake...
... and it was then that I saw the tears of joy on my companion's face.
"Like you I can carry no one where they do not wish to go ... ach, mein geliebtes Blumenkind, how at times my heart has ached for you in your own struggle to get here, but I knew ... I knew at last you would choose more fully what you are chosen for."
I gave him a few moments to compose himself ... we had just come from low earth orbit and gravity was still not entirely happy with us.
"Indeed, meine liebe Dame, he said, "I thought about us going to tour the Great Attractor today, but you prefer humbler things like Alvord Lake, and I honor and respect that. I do have a challenge for you that does not have to be done this week or even on Hive: name what you want for your life."
"That is not a challenge: I do know," I said. "I believe I have been called to lead a quiet and peaceful life because the Scripture says that is the goal for the believer. I have been shown what that would best look like for me ... a life led with love and generosity, centering nature for rest and recreation when not attending to more grave responsibilities, and denying consumerism while prioritizing wise investment that will support the life I want and make way for those who want the same."
"I see that was not a challenge, Frau Mathews. However, all old professors have a backup plan."
I laughed.
"There are still students of yours, Professor, who are testifying that they loved you more as their teacher than for any of your singing, and I get it!"
"I did my best in every sphere I was in, Frau Mathews, and of course more advanced students need more advanced challenges. Here is one sized for you. You know what you want. Be crystal clear and iron-strong in refusing what you do not, no matter who offers it, no matter what story and circumstance they come with. If it is to fall into your actual responsibility, you will know that. You would do well to get into the habit of referring every case to the One Who has called you to the life that you have chosen, because your inclination to want to help, to ease pain, is so strong and innate. Ask for the strength to resist even this most disguised of temptations in the majority of cases, because while everyone wants help, you must discern when they want help to keep their foolishness going while not giving that foolishness up, and utterly refuse."
He paused, and then hardened his voice a little.
"It is one thing to assist in an emergency. It is another thing if the person keeps creating their own emergencies and will not address and correct the root of why. Most people in the culture you are living in are in that pattern, and it is a good thing for your nation that most people are too petty for big trouble. Where I am from, we refer to creating the same emergency twice as World War I and World War II -- but you see Germany learned not to do that a third time!
"Sometimes, Frau Mathews, you have to have love and courage enough to let those you love learn not to do it again, or, if the lesson has been refused too long, to let others learn through the disaster that awaits them. Justice arrives where mercy is refused, and both justice and mercy are equally good. Remember that, mein Eisernblumenkind."
I shivered, but I nodded ... and he again put his arm around me.
"I know that for you and any deeply loving person, mercy is much preferred ... and above us there is rejoicing in the presence of the angels when even one soul turns from evil and folly and receives mercy. However, that is between every person and their Creator -- not our choice to make. Even down to common grace, you will find no exception to the rule."
He sighed.
"Do not think for a moment, Frau Mathews, that I did not have moments of anguish over friends and colleagues. I knew their stories and their hurts, and they knew my compassion and concern ... within limits."
His voice hardened again.
"I did not have trouble with anyone, Frau Mathews. That was my decision. You know what I was able to accomplish, and for how long, and how peaceful the last of my years were with those I chose to spend them with. Thus you know that, although I was prominent for decades on the stage, that my foundation and my goal was the same as yours: to lead a quiet and peaceful life, marked with humility, love, and generosity."
"Very rarely," I said, "is a man so great in the eyes of the world still remembered as the least pretentious, and the most kind, with a gentle soul."
"Which is why to you I can echo the gentlest and yet strongest One of all, after Whose steps you are indeed called to walk, Who as we remembered last week mourned those who would not believe, but turned His attention entirely to those He chose Who also chose Him in return. You are a Christian, Frau Mathews. That means even in this matter, you are to be like Him, and as you have seen this week, there is more than enough joy set before you, a follower's share in that joy set before Him, to make the exchange good."
"I feel like I should say here, 'Lord, I believe -- help Thou my unbelief!'"
"Not yet, Frau Mathews, has anyone asked for that help, and not received it."
"May is so beautiful," I said after a long time. "I suppose we should walk forward into it, not backwards, and not even on a curve."
"I suppose so, Frau Mathews. It does seem like the wisest course of action, from here to eternity."
And so saying, we turned and walked up from there, in brilliant light.
