tabula rasa

First things first! Caspar Robert Bent made his way into the world on a gorgeous Seattle spring morning (May 9th). Just like his brothers before him, he spared no time making his entrance. At 3:30am, I looked out the window at the full moon in a clear sky, and thought, "I think I'm in labor." Got down on my knees in the quiet dark living room with a full heart and head (and belly!), and it was less than 6 hours later that I was holding little Caspar, long fingers, long toes, serious expression, reddish-blonde hair. It should be said that we didn't know he was Caspar until the next afternoon. We had a short list of names that we wrestled with, trying them on this new creature like temporary tattoos, until settling on this name from nativity folklore. It's a variation on a name given to be one of the Magi-- a king who is also humble enough to be a seeker and gift-giver.

At five days old, Caspar has proven to be a pretty mellow baby, though persistent when hungry and clear about his dislike for diaper changes. But the little guy smiles! A lot! This is somewhat new in my experience of newborns, who always fool you with their serious demeanor before breaking into grins at about three-four weeks. He even laughed in a half asleep state last night. So I hope this bodes well for his entry into a lively lively world of two older brothers.

I don't know that much about symphonic music, but my father and his family are literate in classical music, so I get trickles of knowledge. It's almost like having a parent that speaks a mother tongue, and growing up without learning much more than basic greetings and a handful of nouns. I picked up some favorites along the way, mostly as a result of me asking my father at least three or five times about the same piece of music that would strike my fancy (he did the same thing with us kids and our music-- he must've asked seven times about Nick Drake). One of the composers that has stuck with me is Arvo Pärt. This morning, I listened to Pärt's Tabula Rasa, mostly because I had the phrase in my head. It means "blank slate," and is most often used as one side of the nurture-nature debate. In other words, do people start as blank slates or are they predisposed, predestined, to be a certain person? As a mother of now three, I can attest to the ridiculousness of this notion, at least in an extreme. You cannot help but notice obvious differences in children from the moment that they are born-- in fact, even pre-birth movement in the womb is different. But there is a sense of a clean slate, in many ways. A child comes into the world with all sensors pitched to collect and process, and the extraordinary amount of receiving and building of the brain within the first year is staggering.


In any case, reading a little bit about Pärt this morning was fun (just so you know-- babe sleeps, eldest at preschool, middle child at store with dad, so I've had some nice quiet time). An interesting quote on his creative process (taken from this biography):

"To write I must prepare myself for a long time.
Sometimes it takes five years,
And then I come up with many pieces
In a very short time."

Fratres, Cantus in memory of Benjamin Britten, [and] Tabula Rasa came out of Arvo Pärt's creative silence in the years 1974 to 1976.