It's the 88th day of the year and World Piano Day.

I've never heard of this day before but spotted it sliding by on some social media this morning and decided to make a post because I love the piano and piano music.

I'm just sharing a quick list of my favorite pianists over the course of my journey and you might want to think of yours today.

My father was an early audiophile and bought records from Sam Goody at his first shop in New York. As I was thinking of my list here, I realized that I associate each pianist with either a particular composer or performance.

In the early days of vinyl, there were only so many recordings. Because my father was crazy about Beethoven, he brought home Artur Schnabel's recordings of the Beethoven Piano Sonatas as each volume was released on vinyl. I may as well have been breathing those recordings through my early childhood.

Once I was trained to properly handle LPs, the amplifier, turntable and diamond stylus, Walter Geisiking introduced me to Debussy, Dinu Lipatti to Chopin, and Van Cliburn to Rachmaninoff.

During the summers, my dad would take me down to the old Robin Hood Dell for evening concerts with the Philadelphia Orchestra. The night that Van Cliburn performed, it rained. All of the Friends of the Dell in the excellent up-front seats scurried off under umbrellas and I followed my dad down the center aisle where we sat in the rain watching Van Cliburn play up close and personal.

Around this chapter of my musical life, Columbia Records placed a plastic insert in Time Magazine with a recording of Dave Brubeck's Take Five as a promotion for Time Out. I played that thing over and over until the stylus cut clean through the grooves of that flimsy plastic. I guess that was my introduction to jazz piano. Little did I know what riches were to come along those lines.

Once I came of babysitting age, I helped a couple of doctors with their children and after those children were asleep, I'd finger through their album collection. One evening, I found a recording of Mozart Piano Sonatas and put it on to listen. I kept thinking that I heard someone else in the house. It was dark and I was pretty creeped out. After walking all around the house, looking upstairs and down, I finally realized that the person I heard was on the recording I was listening to. That was my introduction to Glenn Gould and he introduced me to Mozart's piano work and J.S. Bach on the keyboard. In those days, he was a highly controversial performer especially in music school/audiophile circles. You either loved him or hated him. I loved him.

Briefly, I worked for John Sears who ran the music department at John Wanamaker's flagship store, downtown, Philadelphia. We mostly sold pianos there (I helped with the sheet music) and had a special, separate, beautiful room with high windows overlooking the streets below entirely dedicated to a grand Bösendorfer piano, or maybe two. I can't remember. Able musicians would often glide in to try it out with its extra keys under a hinged cover. One day a customer mentioned something to John about a Chickering piano. I remember John Sears saying "Chickering, Chickering... Abraham Lincoln once owned a Chickering!" It's funny the bits we remember.

That was during the phase I hung out with composers and record store managers who brought me all sorts of wonderful recordings. One of those was Robert Tear's recording of Vaughan Williams Songs of Travel with Gerald Moore providing the accompaniment. That was my introduction to Moore who wrote and recorded the The Unashamed Accompanist, a revelation and delight.  Unfortunately, that recording has completely evaporated but, fortunately, Will Liverman and Jonathan King recently nailed that cycle magnificently.

In my early 20s, my then husband gave me one of my best birthday presents ever: season tickets to the Great Pianists series at Royce Hall. I remember breathlessly watching  Vladimir Ashkenazy, and saw Andre Watts, maybe Byron Janis and Alfred Brendel. But I particularly remember Walter Klein's performance because mid-some piece or other, one of the ivories flew off into the audience and at the end of that movement or piece, Klein turned to the audience and asked if there was a piano technician in the house. There was. The key was repaired. The performance went on.

Except for a little Brubeck, the only jazz pianist I was familiar with was Mose Allison because he played the folk circuit and we became acquainted after I traced his hands on a sheet of copy paper with a ballpoint pen. I probably watched him perform more than any other jazz pianist aside from George Gaffney, and I loved his every gig although I hated his pick up drummers because of the way they smacked the cymbals and apparently didn't mind sharing my opinion with Mose.

Of course, there was (is) Keith Jarrett who's Köln Concert recording I wore out several copies of.

After I suddenly fell head first into the cream of jazz royalty, one day I found myself standing between Ray Brown and Joe Williams in the control room of a Hollywood recording studio with Norman Granz a little off to one side watching Tommy Flanagan warm up on the other side of the glass. What a lovely man and lovely player.

Then there was the time I was sitting in the dressing room somewhere near Santa Clara, California while Sarah was making up before a performance. I heard the pianist running through some rehearsals on stage and said, "Wow, Sarah! Who is playing piano out there!? That's fantastic!" Honestly, sometimes Sarah would look at me as though I had just fallen off the cabbage truck. This time, though, she looked at me in her make up mirror and then turned around to look at me directly to make sure she could believe what she had just heard me say. I don't know how she told me but she did tell me that it was Count Basie out there. When Basie came back to visit, I gushed like, Oh wow! I've never heard you play before! You're so great! Something to that effect. He looked me up and down, walked over, poked me in the sides and said, "Yeah. You're just a young chicken." Just one of the more ridiculous moments of my life.

In the mid-80's, I had a box seat just behind and overlooking Murray Perahia at the old Asolo Theater in Sarasota, FL.  I was not familiar with Perahia but watched and listened in stunned silence and gratitude to behold such magical command of an instrument. His recording of Schubert's Impromptus is one of my favorite listens.

I'm sorry to leave out the mighty women like Alicia de Larrocha and Martha Argerich (who is a monster at the keyboard!) but I did not have first hand experience with either. I did see one or both of the Labeques perform and I'm pretty sure that it was with John McLaughlin but the details are murky at best.

The last great piano concert I can remember is Emmanuel Ax performing one of Brahms' Concertos with the Nashville Symphony.

The last piano recording I became obsessed with was Igor Zhukov's live performance (and possibly arrangement) of Cesar Franck's Prelude, Fugue and Variation in B minor.

I've left off beloved pianists and recordings, like Ellis Marsalis, Jr. and his Loved Ones album with son, Branford. But enough is enough. (Except that, thinking of Ellis Marsalis, Jr., I have to say that I'm a fan of Harry Connick, Jr.'s playing, too.)

I'm going to go walk now and listen to that Zhukov recording which I can't seem to get enough of.

More on World Piano Day.

This past week I've been looking at and learning about traditional Ukrainian embroidery patterns. Personally, I favor the plant and floral over the geometric patterns. I found an antique example and copied that in watercolor. The project was challenging, time consuming, hard on the eyes after many hours, but there it is. Once I moved from pencil to watercolor, I kept feeling as though I was working on a coat of arms. In a way, these two forms of design are similar in that they both employ coded patterns representing in one case families, in the other, cultural regions which represent a type of family. While shields offer physical protection, the embroidered patterns offer magical or energetic protection.

I dove into these patterns and related clothing art because I like them and have never before been prompted to learn about them but also because as a result of watching the unfolding assault, murder and destruction in Ukraine, I arrived at a decision.

While I do feel it's necessary to stay abreast of developments on that front, my personal life is just fine now after a long stretch of it not being fine. So, while everything is in order in my life, I am focusing on everything I have to be grateful for and am committed to appreciating the beauty I am surrounded by and to creating beauty in every way that I can. Ideally, in thoughts, words and deeds though I am having a human experience after all and do forget my high ideals at least several times a day. Fortunately, I've had a lot of practice creating beauty so that's mostly a matter of sitting down to do the work.

It is work to keep our thoughts and attitudes properly adjusted in the face of so much information coming at us so fast and so relentlessly. And so much of this information is horrific because, frankly, that's part of what is happening and, traditionally, is what sells soap.

I had an antique book of murder ballads for a while and the editor wrote a fabulous introduction in which he described how the reports and tales of heinous murders and crimes were the subjects of a large percentage of early broadsides. He also shared that as young child, his mother would hold him on her lap while singing a vast array of murder ballads.

But I digress. Slightly.

We may not have control over war and politicians and the planet, weather and life and death but we  can have control over our thoughts and what we choose to focus on. As with most things, this is a practice.

My go to remedy for refocusing my attention is to stop what I'm doing and to go outside for a walk in nature. Fortunately, I'm steps away from wooded trails filled with plant and animal life and bird song. But you can find the beauty of nature even in the most urban experience if only with plants pushing up through cracks in the sidewalk or in vacant lots, even just by looking up to see the sky. If you know what you're looking for, you can find it. I suggest you look for beauty.

If you can't go outside, bring beauty into your home. Surround yourself with as much of what you define as beautiful as you can. It's worth every penny though it doesn't have to cost a cent.

It's challenging to keep reports of the misery of the world at bay but it is not helpful to dwell on these miseries.  That is not to say that we should ignore what's happening or not help those in need in any and every way that we can. However, we may not be in a position to help in any concrete form.

Thoughts have energy. Thoughts create things like bridges and houses and families and farms and weapons of war. Thoughts create your perception of everything around you. So, how do you want to use your thoughts?

As long as there has been war, there has been music for war.

Music has been composed to inspire and encourage war, to whip up enthusiasm for war, to oppose and protest war, to announce war, accompany war, recover from war, to mourn the dead of war, to celebrate victory, to commemorate and remember war and the dead of war, to describe the effects of war.  From war cries and marches to requiems, music has been part of war.

The earliest musical instruments, the drums and flutes and trumpets have been on battlefields until relatively recently and, along with the bagpipes, still figure into military ceremony.

And then there are all of the songs from the patriotic, the morale building, the protests, the propaganda, the grief stricken, the victorious. There are a million of them stretching back as far as as we have evidence. Johnny's Gone for a Soldier, Dixie, Cohan's Over There, Edwin Starr's War!, Peter Gabriel's Games Without Frontiers, David Gilmore's Cruise. I've written a few songs related to war, myself.

Because there is so much music associated with war and because I wanted to find some emotional solace for what I have been witnessing in Ukraine, I decided to listen to mostly western symphonic music from mostly the 20th century. Surely, I thought, with all of the war and composers connected to war, I will find something to listen to. But frankly, I couldn't sit through any one of the pieces.

I listened to Britten's War Requiem, Messiaen's Quartet for the End of Time, Holst's Mars, and Karel Husa's  Music for Prague 1968, Schoenberg's Survivor from Warsaw, Ligeti's Kyrie, even some Shostakovich, but nothing captures the frantic blows of Putin's fist and the chaos and speed with which this destruction has unfolded.

This music is all too formal, too organized, even what used to seem so difficult to listen to. These organized compositions are too serene and intelligent and follow too many rules and take up too much time. 

What's happening in Ukraine demands something of an entirely different order. Formal music helps us to frame experience and contend with emotions that are too big, too complex or delicate or traumatized to manage coherently on our own.

The only music suitable for what is unfolding in Ukraine right now is the wailing of banshees and the cries and weeping of keeners.