19 Clarinet Sonata, FP 184_ II. Romanza_ Tres calm

How will we break the ice?

How will we break the ice?

Darling Daughter took a clarinet exam this week and the piece above was one of things she played. Click on it and have a listen (I hope the link works.) Isn’t it one of the saddest, bleakest things you’ve ever heard? Yet gorgeous with it; it makes me think of a windblown, overcast, drizzly day.

It’s been going around in my head intermittently for the last couple of weeks and not just because Miss DD has been practising it. Do you ever find that you wake up with music going around in your head that reflects your mood? Well, this Poulenc Sonata reflects my troubled feelings at the moment.

I’m hesitating as I write because this is quite personal, but I’ve been really upset by the reaction of a friend to the post I wrote about casual racism. For whatever reason, probably with the best of intentions, my friend feels that I misheard and misunderstood when that person said those hateful words. She feels that the person who said the thing does not deserve to be misrepresented.

She had a fair point about the person being too identifiable from the blog post and I’ve since changed that, but I hate the insinuation that I would have made up something as awful as that. So I’m a liar and too stupid to understand the implications of my actions?  And, obviously, dispensable as a friend.

All this has added huge insult to the original injury (which healed quite quickly) and made things awkward between us. I realise that, as usual, it is going to have to be up to me to make peace but I’m tired of it always being that way around. I feel just as awful as I did that time that the mother of my child’s friend said “Oh, I’m so glad we’ve moved away from xxxxx, all those druggies and blackies.” I couldn’t bring myself to speak to her for weeks after that. It’s almost as if I have to apologise for having been insulted. Again.

So yesterday I tried to approach her at an evening out, but she turned her back and moved to the other side of the room. It’s horrible enough losing a friend, let alone one that you see around all the time. The experience is as heart-rending in my head as the Poulenc but much less welcome.