Beyond Mozart

From between the pages of middle life riddled with impatience to succeed at something other than parenting (yet strangely intent on slowing days to a leisurely pace, on never having to meet deadlines face to face) protrudes a marker, a catch-breath signal worthy of extended examination. And encircled in the most vivid shade of indelible blue lie suggestions to move beyond Mozart - to push a frantic pace past the memorized mazurkas and sonatas, the stringent etudes and dry five-finger exercises of permanence, and burst for a moment into rock - simply to test the sturdy feel of other beats beneath my feet while I'm still erect and capable of catching my balance should I begin to fall.