In October 2010, I brought a drum back from Tanzania. On our last day in Tungamalenga, Mama Neema, an evangelist who leads worship with exuberant singing and a powerful faith, handed me a plastic bag of groundnuts, and this drum. It was beautifully and simply carved, and the goat skin was nailed in by acacia tree needles. I love the patterns burnt in around the drum, and how it stands crooked, tilting its head.
Mama Neema doesn't speak English, and even through interpreters we hadn't said anything to each other besides hello, because we didn't have time to see her as often as other trips. I was very surprised and touched that she gave me a gift like that--and since I'm a musician it was very fitting.
Airport security doesn't like stories like these. We had to eat as many groundnuts as we could and then give them away to another friend while in Iringa, the city on the way to the airport. Riding on the bus I was very protective of my drum; it sat in a bag on the overhead shelf, and I glanced at it every few minutes.
When we got to the airport in Dar es Salaam, I looked inside it and found a spider.
Not an icky-furry-foreign spider--I don't think. It looked just like a daddy-long-legs. But my mom and I got a little nervous, wondering if this would slow us down getting past customs. We tried shaking the spider out, but it didn't work.
So, we get on the plane with no problem--the flight attendant actually wanted to play the drum--and I'm sitting there for 8 hours wondering if the altitude changes will split the skin of the drum, whether that spider is dangerous...and when can I get a shower? Things like that. Then we got to Amsterdam.
Waiting for our plane I thought about playing the drum and setting out a hat, but this crowd didn't look like they wanted to hear music, let alone throw money in a hat for it. We were all tired. Then when we started walking to get on the plane, an African woman asked, "Where did you get that drum?" We started chatting. Then an old man gave the drum a beat as we walked, smiling.
Leaving Amsterdam, I put my backpack and the drum through the security scanner, this young Dutch security officer says quite cheerfully, "Is this your drum?" "Yes." "Play something," he said. Airport security just scares me in general. Rapidly I thought, "If I don't play will they still let me on the plane? Is this a test?" I gave it a couple nervous beats. "Very nice," the officer said, still smiling. "You will drive everyone on the plane crazy!"
And I was free to go.
I never thought this gift from Mama Neema would lead me to have so many little interactions with people, literally from all over the globe, people who usually are just going through the grind of travel, trying to get to the next plane, screening the next passenger. It was a welcome sign of friendliness in this stressful place.
We landed in Detroit, and did security again, lugging all our baggage in this big cart. This security guy looked like we shouldn't mess with him, and he ordered us to go see another officer on the opposite end of the room, so that's what we did. "Oh this is cool!" He said, then he saw the spider. We asked what we could do about it. He shrugged. "Take it outside, shake it, when it comes out stomp on it."
And we were free to go.
We took the drum home and sprayed some deet in it. I played it, displayed it, and my drummer friends were jealous. Months later we assumed since nothing was crawling out of it that the spiders had died from the deet ambush. Then just this fall--a whole year later!--I see this funny stuff around the drum that looks like saw dust, about two inches of it. And little black larvae underneath it. Yuck yuck yuck. Out comes the vacuum, and out goes the drum, into the garage in a garbage bag. It's been sitting there all this winter, and we hope that the bugs have frozen to death. Has anybody else had something like this happen? You bring back the coolest conch shell and it's filled with sea urchins? Or a hat from Russia that gave you head lice?
I'm lucky that I have a biologist friend who loves this type of stuff and will take a look at it for me--I just want my drum back without having to worry about termites!
Thursday, December 23, 2010
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
Away
Travel: How did you travel in 2010? How and/or where would you like to travel next year?
Last March I spent some fun days in Albuquerque at a conference but hardly saw the city beyond the conference center. Opportunity missed.
In August I spent three weeks in Tanzania, two of them with a group and the last week more on my own. Opportunity treasured.
In September, Bruce and I spent a few days driving down one side of the Mississippi River and up the other, exploring little towns, shops and wineries in Wisconsin and Minnesota. Opportunity for which we scrimped and saved.
Throughout the year there were short trips to visit family in New Ulm, Iowa, several parts of Wisconsin. Opportunities for which we are grateful.
Coming up next? 2011 looks to be a little more mundane on the travel front, sticking to car trips to visit family and to take kids to and from college. Even the annual music conference I attend is closer to home, in what feels like a ho-hum city, Milwaukee. I like Milwaukee fine, and I go for the conference and not the sightseeing, but it doesn't have quite the "ooh and ahh" factor of 2012's destination: New. York. City!!
But we're making one trip a priority for 2011: an anniversary trip for somewhere. Today Bruce and I are celebrating our 25th wedding anniversary and we had been planning to take a big trip somewhere together. But he's in a new job and has no vacation time to take until May. So we're planning to take a week or a little less at the end of May or early June, depending on my schedule.
Where? We're considering Charleston, unless it's too hot in June; Redwood National Forest; Vienna. Talk about diverse options!?! Time to do some research and thinking!
Monday, December 20, 2010
Beyond Avoidance: What should you have done this year but didn’t because you were too scared, worried, unsure, busy or otherwise deterred from doing? (Bonus: Will you do it?)
I've been struggling with these reverb10 writing prompts. Seemed like a fun idea when I started, but either I'm overwhelmed by my schedule, or too tired to write, or the prompts feel too personal to put on a blog, of all places.
But this one's easy.
What I should have done this year was practice organ.
For a couple years, my church has been working toward the goal of building a pipe organ for our sanctuary, to replace the old electronic organ that is held together by twine and spit, has all kinds of surprises each week for the organist and congregation. In this last year, the forces in the benevolent universe that govern such things began to align, and I knew we were going to get our organ someday soon.
And as choir accompanist, I know that when we have a decent instrument, our choir director will be selecting more anthems accompanied by organ. I better get prepared to play.
I've had some little training on the organ, and I can do it if I have to, given plenty of preparation time and some help deciding on which stops to use.
But I feel so gangly and uncoordinated at the organ. There's the feet to get moving, there's no damper pedal to help connect big reaches from chord to chord, there's the difference in touch at the keyboard, there's the issue of reading three staves or rearranging the voicing between the hands. All stuff that makes me feel awkward.
And then there's the big, big sound that comes out.
I don't have the experience yet to judge how the sound I hear at the console sounds to the rest of the room. Sometimes I'm too loud and don't know it, often too soft.
So all of this makes organ playing tops on my avoidance list. I suppose you could call it living in denial, knowing that the organ was coming and knowing I would occasionally be called on to play it and still not preparing. I had chances. I thought about taking lessons again a few years ago. And last spring, after playing organ for some choir anthem, the director encouraged me to play any little thing over the summer--some Bach for a random Sunday prelude, or some quiet stuff for offertory--just to increase my comfort level. But I didn't do it.
I have a couple pieces I always come back to when I do play organ. Bach, Franck. I like them well enough and can get them up to competent if not great.
So will I practice organ in 2011?
Probably. Maybe. If I have to. We'll see.
I've been struggling with these reverb10 writing prompts. Seemed like a fun idea when I started, but either I'm overwhelmed by my schedule, or too tired to write, or the prompts feel too personal to put on a blog, of all places.
But this one's easy.
What I should have done this year was practice organ.
For a couple years, my church has been working toward the goal of building a pipe organ for our sanctuary, to replace the old electronic organ that is held together by twine and spit, has all kinds of surprises each week for the organist and congregation. In this last year, the forces in the benevolent universe that govern such things began to align, and I knew we were going to get our organ someday soon.
And as choir accompanist, I know that when we have a decent instrument, our choir director will be selecting more anthems accompanied by organ. I better get prepared to play.
I've had some little training on the organ, and I can do it if I have to, given plenty of preparation time and some help deciding on which stops to use.
But I feel so gangly and uncoordinated at the organ. There's the feet to get moving, there's no damper pedal to help connect big reaches from chord to chord, there's the difference in touch at the keyboard, there's the issue of reading three staves or rearranging the voicing between the hands. All stuff that makes me feel awkward.
And then there's the big, big sound that comes out.
I don't have the experience yet to judge how the sound I hear at the console sounds to the rest of the room. Sometimes I'm too loud and don't know it, often too soft.
So all of this makes organ playing tops on my avoidance list. I suppose you could call it living in denial, knowing that the organ was coming and knowing I would occasionally be called on to play it and still not preparing. I had chances. I thought about taking lessons again a few years ago. And last spring, after playing organ for some choir anthem, the director encouraged me to play any little thing over the summer--some Bach for a random Sunday prelude, or some quiet stuff for offertory--just to increase my comfort level. But I didn't do it.
I have a couple pieces I always come back to when I do play organ. Bach, Franck. I like them well enough and can get them up to competent if not great.
So will I practice organ in 2011?
Probably. Maybe. If I have to. We'll see.
Saturday, December 18, 2010
Unsubscribe & Delete
11 Things: What are 11 things your life doesn’t need in 2011? How will you go about eliminating them? How will getting rid of these 11 things change your life?
I spend a lot of time on the computer, for work, for volunteer tasks, for pleasure. But lately I spend the first several minutes of email sessions just deleting, deleting all kinds of stuff I no longer want to read. So I've started to become intentional about getting rid of the clutter. Here are eleven things I'm going banish from my in box:
1. Daily horoscopes. How did I get on that list?
2. Vegetarian recipes of the day. They're really not all that appetizing, sorry.
3. Discussion lists for homeschoolers with young families looking for playdates. My youngest is 14.
4. Dell Deals of the week. I just bought a computer, don't need another one just yet.
5. Facebook notifications. When I want to play on Facebook, I'll go there. Why read it twice?
6. College parent and alumni newsletters.
7. Screen It weekly newsletter. I rarely go to movies anymore, and I put more weight on what I hear from my friends. If I want to read reviews, I can go to the website.
8. Weekly sale updates from an online auction site that I used once, for one specific item not available anywhere else.
9. Two of the three daily devotions I receive. I tried them, they're all okay, but one stands out in a way the others do not.
10. Non profit organization emails for groups that I no longer have an interest in contributing to. Priorities change.
11. Follow up emails from a marketing seminar I attended. It was good, but now I have that information, thanks.
How will deleting and unsubscribing change my life in 2011? I hope I'll be more efficient with email and spend less time on the computer, feel less overwhelmed with information that's no longer relevant to my life, and have more time and attention to spend at the piano and with the people I love.
I spend a lot of time on the computer, for work, for volunteer tasks, for pleasure. But lately I spend the first several minutes of email sessions just deleting, deleting all kinds of stuff I no longer want to read. So I've started to become intentional about getting rid of the clutter. Here are eleven things I'm going banish from my in box:
1. Daily horoscopes. How did I get on that list?
2. Vegetarian recipes of the day. They're really not all that appetizing, sorry.
3. Discussion lists for homeschoolers with young families looking for playdates. My youngest is 14.
4. Dell Deals of the week. I just bought a computer, don't need another one just yet.
5. Facebook notifications. When I want to play on Facebook, I'll go there. Why read it twice?
6. College parent and alumni newsletters.
7. Screen It weekly newsletter. I rarely go to movies anymore, and I put more weight on what I hear from my friends. If I want to read reviews, I can go to the website.
8. Weekly sale updates from an online auction site that I used once, for one specific item not available anywhere else.
9. Two of the three daily devotions I receive. I tried them, they're all okay, but one stands out in a way the others do not.
10. Non profit organization emails for groups that I no longer have an interest in contributing to. Priorities change.
11. Follow up emails from a marketing seminar I attended. It was good, but now I have that information, thanks.
How will deleting and unsubscribing change my life in 2011? I hope I'll be more efficient with email and spend less time on the computer, feel less overwhelmed with information that's no longer relevant to my life, and have more time and attention to spend at the piano and with the people I love.
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Community
Day 7: Community. Where have you discovered community, online or otherwise, in 2010? What community would you like to join, create or more deeply connect with in 2011?
[Yes, Day 7. I've obviously skipped a few. Who knows, I might come back to some of them but for now I'm happy responding to the prompts that speak to me.]
My patchwork life has several communities--the family, my closest friends, my studio families, my church music community, my Tanzania connected communities (here with people who support the Tanzanian mission, and there, the people in Tanzania), and then my music colleague community.
One of my most profound experiences of community in 2010 happened this fall during the visit of our guests from Tanzania. Last January, as a way to raise funds for the travel expenses, we had auctioned off the chance to share a meal with our guests. Members of our partnership committee offered to host a dinner in their homes with our guests and with four to eight other guests. The auction was really successful.
Two of our guests stayed in my home for ten days in October, and on eight of those ten evenings, we hosted dinner guests. Some nights as many as twelve or fourteen people gathered, some nights it was just eight or ten. There were families with children, couples, teens, people who had been to Tanzania and others who had not. Pastors, lay people, church members and people from outside the faith community.
Those dinners were one of my favorite things we did with the guests. My own children asked why we don't do this more often, wasn't it fun to have all these different people and all this interesting conversation. [Why don't we do this more often? Maybe because I teach during dinner time?]
It was fascinating to watch the interactions. It was like watching something holy as people made connections, asked questions, shared perspectives, reached across cultures to try to understand what we have in common and where we differ.
One night each guest took turns entertaining a baby and toddler, another night we discussed dating, engagement and marriage customs, another night one guest grabbed a guitar while my daughter played the accordion and we all sang.
Every guest told me how much they appreciated the opportunity to connect on a personal level with our Tanzanian friends.
The second place I've been exploring community this year is in my music organization. As part of my preparation for taking on the presidency of the group next summer, I've visited many of the local associations of music teachers around the state.
Local associations like the ones I've been visiting are the grassroots of this organization, the places where isolated, independent music teachers like me can connect with other professionals, create programs for their students, share information, continue their professional growth, and use their skills to give back to other colleagues.
When I was a brand new piano teacher years ago, the internet wasn't around and I couldn't just google all my questions. How do I write a studio policy? How much can I charge? How do I teach a kid to read music when they've got such a good ear that they pick up all the easy songs the first time they hear them? When do you push and when do you let an overcommitted student coast for awhile?
I lived in New Ulm when I started teaching and I was blessed to have an active group of about 15 teachers who met monthly; I could ask them anything. They shared their experiences, referred students to me, helped me in countless ways.
When I moved away from New Ulm to the metro area, I didn't join a local group. I had babies, I told myself they were my priority and that I could get along without the professional support. A couple years ago I finally joined a local group again and have realized how much I missed that comraderie.
So now I've been visiting other groups, getting to know people, giving them a chance to get to know me a little, and oh, how interesting it has been. Each group has its own flavor. Some have been around a long time, others are relatively new. Some wear name tags, in others, the members all seem to know each other already. Some have recitals and many programs for their students, others are primarily organized for the fellowship of the members.
One thing that's weird is how often I am among the youngest people in the room.
I think of how important that group was to me when I was starting out -- where are the young teachers today finding their support and their community? Are they all online?
I would like to explore ways to bridge the gaps in 2011.
In the community that supports our church's partnership with the people in Tanzania, how can we make connections that extend and continue the conversations we had with our guests?
In my music teachers association, what do we need to create so that people who don't come to meetings can find the same support, information, connections, development opportunities and community that I remember being so vital to me at that stage of my life? My gut feeling is that it will be an online community that could bridge the gaps between old and young, metro and rural, college faculty and independent teachers. I'd love to see a blog with excellent writers taking turns, creating compelling content that would in turn elicit reader response that would eventually create community.
[Yes, Day 7. I've obviously skipped a few. Who knows, I might come back to some of them but for now I'm happy responding to the prompts that speak to me.]
My patchwork life has several communities--the family, my closest friends, my studio families, my church music community, my Tanzania connected communities (here with people who support the Tanzanian mission, and there, the people in Tanzania), and then my music colleague community.
One of my most profound experiences of community in 2010 happened this fall during the visit of our guests from Tanzania. Last January, as a way to raise funds for the travel expenses, we had auctioned off the chance to share a meal with our guests. Members of our partnership committee offered to host a dinner in their homes with our guests and with four to eight other guests. The auction was really successful.
Two of our guests stayed in my home for ten days in October, and on eight of those ten evenings, we hosted dinner guests. Some nights as many as twelve or fourteen people gathered, some nights it was just eight or ten. There were families with children, couples, teens, people who had been to Tanzania and others who had not. Pastors, lay people, church members and people from outside the faith community.
Those dinners were one of my favorite things we did with the guests. My own children asked why we don't do this more often, wasn't it fun to have all these different people and all this interesting conversation. [Why don't we do this more often? Maybe because I teach during dinner time?]
It was fascinating to watch the interactions. It was like watching something holy as people made connections, asked questions, shared perspectives, reached across cultures to try to understand what we have in common and where we differ.
One night each guest took turns entertaining a baby and toddler, another night we discussed dating, engagement and marriage customs, another night one guest grabbed a guitar while my daughter played the accordion and we all sang.
Every guest told me how much they appreciated the opportunity to connect on a personal level with our Tanzanian friends.
The second place I've been exploring community this year is in my music organization. As part of my preparation for taking on the presidency of the group next summer, I've visited many of the local associations of music teachers around the state.
Local associations like the ones I've been visiting are the grassroots of this organization, the places where isolated, independent music teachers like me can connect with other professionals, create programs for their students, share information, continue their professional growth, and use their skills to give back to other colleagues.
When I was a brand new piano teacher years ago, the internet wasn't around and I couldn't just google all my questions. How do I write a studio policy? How much can I charge? How do I teach a kid to read music when they've got such a good ear that they pick up all the easy songs the first time they hear them? When do you push and when do you let an overcommitted student coast for awhile?
I lived in New Ulm when I started teaching and I was blessed to have an active group of about 15 teachers who met monthly; I could ask them anything. They shared their experiences, referred students to me, helped me in countless ways.
When I moved away from New Ulm to the metro area, I didn't join a local group. I had babies, I told myself they were my priority and that I could get along without the professional support. A couple years ago I finally joined a local group again and have realized how much I missed that comraderie.
So now I've been visiting other groups, getting to know people, giving them a chance to get to know me a little, and oh, how interesting it has been. Each group has its own flavor. Some have been around a long time, others are relatively new. Some wear name tags, in others, the members all seem to know each other already. Some have recitals and many programs for their students, others are primarily organized for the fellowship of the members.
One thing that's weird is how often I am among the youngest people in the room.
I think of how important that group was to me when I was starting out -- where are the young teachers today finding their support and their community? Are they all online?
I would like to explore ways to bridge the gaps in 2011.
In the community that supports our church's partnership with the people in Tanzania, how can we make connections that extend and continue the conversations we had with our guests?
In my music teachers association, what do we need to create so that people who don't come to meetings can find the same support, information, connections, development opportunities and community that I remember being so vital to me at that stage of my life? My gut feeling is that it will be an online community that could bridge the gaps between old and young, metro and rural, college faculty and independent teachers. I'd love to see a blog with excellent writers taking turns, creating compelling content that would in turn elicit reader response that would eventually create community.
Sunday, December 5, 2010
One word: Striving
I've discovered an interesting end of the year blogging challenge at Reverb10 and decided, what the heck, better late than never. So even though it was supposed to start December 1st I'm going to jump in and do what suits my fancy. The idea is to use daily writing prompts to reflect on the year that is ending, and make plans for the coming year.
Day 1 challenge: One Word. Encapsulate the year 2010 in one word. Explain why you’re choosing that word. Now, imagine it’s one year from today, what would you like the word to be that captures 2011 for you?
My word for the year 2010 is striving. I've been striving toward goals, striving toward high standards, striving toward perfectionism. Want to know how much striving I've done? Even this blog post has been started three times, with three different words each time.
About eleven months ago, I went on a two day retreat. Beautiful place in northern Minnesota, staying in a compact hermitage/cabin that held everything I needed and nothing I didn't. Serenity outside my windows with snow and woods and cardinals; the warmth of a log fire inside my cabin. Space and time to think and dream and reflect.
I spent those two days thinking about how to balance my life. I knew that's what I was supposed to have as my goal, I know that's what my life lacks. Balance between work and play, giving and receiving, obligations and freedom, calendar and free time, clients and family, doing and being, checking off items on the to do list and giving myself the space and time to feel the spirit.
I made some really good plans. I had a list of things to do to create a better balance in my life. Take time for yoga every day, set a weekly date night with my spouse, be intentional about getting together with friends for coffee. I knew what I should do, I had measurable goals, I set up a way to track progress toward my goals, and I made a weekly appointment with myself for time for reflection.
And I want you to know, I've stuck to my goals at least 80-85% of the time. Excercise, check. Date night, check. Friends, check. Weekly check in, check.
So I've been striving toward balance, and guess what? I don't feel any more balance in my life, I just feel more striving.
I remember that just as I left that place of retreat and tranquility last January, there was this niggling voice in my head saying, "I don't really want balance. I want all the things I've always wanted, a loving family, a comfortable home, challenging work, fulfilling commitments, a place to express my creativity, and the chance to make a difference in the world somewhere. I want it all."
Maybe my life is not going to be perfectly balanced. I guess I will always be dropping one ball or another. But I'm looking more closely now at the rhythm and the tempo of my life. My days often resemble a classical sonata in three movements, with the Allegro opening, an Adagio in the middle of the day, with a fast Rondo to close the afternoon and evening. Sometimes it's a four movement work, with a minuet or scherzo thrown in for good measure.
Most of the time this year, that rhythm and tempo has been okay. It enabled me to do work I love, get paid enough to allow me to do other stuff I love, go places I wanted to go, do things I wanted to do and accomplish things that give me great satisfaction.
I know I'm in a really extraordinary place where I don't do and I don't have to do anything that I don't really want to do. How many people can say that about their work and other commitments? It may be that I have a few too many things that I love and want to do.
So I've been striving, and there are many good things about that. Every once in awhile I think about how life would be if I adopted another way. Right now I haven't got another word for where I want to be this time next year. I could work on coming up with one. Or I could wait and see what bubbles up.
Day 1 challenge: One Word. Encapsulate the year 2010 in one word. Explain why you’re choosing that word. Now, imagine it’s one year from today, what would you like the word to be that captures 2011 for you?
My word for the year 2010 is striving. I've been striving toward goals, striving toward high standards, striving toward perfectionism. Want to know how much striving I've done? Even this blog post has been started three times, with three different words each time.
About eleven months ago, I went on a two day retreat. Beautiful place in northern Minnesota, staying in a compact hermitage/cabin that held everything I needed and nothing I didn't. Serenity outside my windows with snow and woods and cardinals; the warmth of a log fire inside my cabin. Space and time to think and dream and reflect.
I spent those two days thinking about how to balance my life. I knew that's what I was supposed to have as my goal, I know that's what my life lacks. Balance between work and play, giving and receiving, obligations and freedom, calendar and free time, clients and family, doing and being, checking off items on the to do list and giving myself the space and time to feel the spirit.
I made some really good plans. I had a list of things to do to create a better balance in my life. Take time for yoga every day, set a weekly date night with my spouse, be intentional about getting together with friends for coffee. I knew what I should do, I had measurable goals, I set up a way to track progress toward my goals, and I made a weekly appointment with myself for time for reflection.
And I want you to know, I've stuck to my goals at least 80-85% of the time. Excercise, check. Date night, check. Friends, check. Weekly check in, check.
So I've been striving toward balance, and guess what? I don't feel any more balance in my life, I just feel more striving.
I remember that just as I left that place of retreat and tranquility last January, there was this niggling voice in my head saying, "I don't really want balance. I want all the things I've always wanted, a loving family, a comfortable home, challenging work, fulfilling commitments, a place to express my creativity, and the chance to make a difference in the world somewhere. I want it all."
Maybe my life is not going to be perfectly balanced. I guess I will always be dropping one ball or another. But I'm looking more closely now at the rhythm and the tempo of my life. My days often resemble a classical sonata in three movements, with the Allegro opening, an Adagio in the middle of the day, with a fast Rondo to close the afternoon and evening. Sometimes it's a four movement work, with a minuet or scherzo thrown in for good measure.
Most of the time this year, that rhythm and tempo has been okay. It enabled me to do work I love, get paid enough to allow me to do other stuff I love, go places I wanted to go, do things I wanted to do and accomplish things that give me great satisfaction.
I know I'm in a really extraordinary place where I don't do and I don't have to do anything that I don't really want to do. How many people can say that about their work and other commitments? It may be that I have a few too many things that I love and want to do.
So I've been striving, and there are many good things about that. Every once in awhile I think about how life would be if I adopted another way. Right now I haven't got another word for where I want to be this time next year. I could work on coming up with one. Or I could wait and see what bubbles up.
Thursday, December 2, 2010
What I'm Reading
I like to talk about books and music. Today it's books. Hopefully you like to read about books that I like to talk about. So, here's what I'm reading:
Emma, by Jane Austen.
I don't know exactly why I read Jane Austen. In some of her books, the dialogue is so snappy (as snappy as Victorian dialogue can be), and the plot twists and characters so memorable and entertaining. For me, those books are Pride and Prejudice and Persuasion: Elizabeth Bennet, Mr. Darcy, Anne Eliot and Captain Wentworth.
With Mansfield Park and Sense and Sensibility, I don't think it was quite the same, and I'm getting that feeling with Emma, too. I have this detrimental tendency of skipping ahead a paragraph or two when I'm confused with something, hoping it will all be explained clearly in the end. (Never read Da Vinci Code like that.)So, now that I'm more than halfway through the book, I realize that I should have taken better care with figuring out who's Emma's suitors are: I'm pretty sure it was Frank Churchill and Mr. Elton, and I can't remember if it was Mr. Elton or Mr. Knightley who led Emma on and then married another lady. Or did he lead Emma's friend Harriet on? The whole plot of the thing is that Emma is the self-appointed match-maker, and has vowed to never marry, but the match she set up went wrong, and the suitor went for her instead of Harriet. I've gotten that bit. The sad thing is that I usually understand Austen stories better when I watch the BBC/PBS miniseries FIRST and the book later, which is kind of backwards from my personal philosophy of reading, then watching. And Emma is the only one I haven't watched on tv. But, other than being slightly confused at times, I like Emma. It just doesn't seem as strong as Austen's other novels to me.
Walking on Water, by Madeleine L'Engle.
I never read L'Engle's novel A Wrinkle in Time, but I've always known about her from all her works that my mom and grandma keep on their shelves. And when we were at Thanksgiving the other week, this book was lying on the coffee table. I dipped right into the middle of it just for the heck of it, and was instantly drawn in. In Walking on Water L'engle melds her Christian perspective with the search for meaning in the vocation of being an artist, and what that vocation means for us. I've never found a book like this before, and it seems to have appeared to me at the right time in my life: When I know what I love and want to keep doing it, but wondering if it can give me the stable life I want. In her own words L'lengle emphasizes that artists are the only ones that don't need to be told to believe or have faith in God, in the world, like little children, as we're told in the Bible. She says to keep that sense of learning and wonder in us. We don't need to be told this, because that way of living comes to us naturally in whatever thing we decide to create, be it music, sculpture, or novel. We search for meaning in the world in a totally different way from others, and it effects everything in our lives. Even though L'engle is a Christian, and writing largely from those influences, I find it not insufferable like other Christian books I've read. God is God in her book, not a superhero. Madeleine L'engle is Madeleine L'engle, not a prophet sent to save others. She's not ashamed, but she's not converting.
Corduroy Mansions, by Alexander McCall Smith
I have friends who see me reading all these books and they say, "What do you read for fluff?" I give them a blank stare. I'm very against fluff. "You know," they continue, "light reading?" What they really mean is stuff not by Nelson Mandela and Sinclair Lewis.
I won't say that McCall Smith's books are fluff, though it's definitely in the light-hearted comedy category of my mental bookshelf. Thing is, he's a lawyer by training first, and author of humorous serial novels second. He's a bioethics expert. People like this can't write fluff. They just can't. A few of his characters show an unnaturally good taste in expensive French wine and can talk for paragraphs about it. And about Scottish art and architecture. And Aristotelian philosophy. This is not ordinary light reading. This is light reading for smart people who don't want their brains to leak out their ears to have a good read.
The plot here revolves around a group of people all living in the same apartment building in London, Corduroy Mansions. William is a middle aged widower who's 24 year old son Eddie tries his best never to move out and get a job. William's tried everything, and is about to get out the big guns: Eddie can't stand dogs, so his father buys one, a former airport bomb sniffing terrier named Freddie de la Hay.
There's a group of roommates with boss and relationship problems, (one of which works for a nasty politician named Oedipus Snark, who's mother is writing an equally nasty biography of him), and...that's all that I can tell you, because I haven't gotten too far into the story yet. I do love his style of writing, though, how McCall Smith writes chapters from everybody's point of view, even the dog.
Emma, by Jane Austen.
I don't know exactly why I read Jane Austen. In some of her books, the dialogue is so snappy (as snappy as Victorian dialogue can be), and the plot twists and characters so memorable and entertaining. For me, those books are Pride and Prejudice and Persuasion: Elizabeth Bennet, Mr. Darcy, Anne Eliot and Captain Wentworth.
With Mansfield Park and Sense and Sensibility, I don't think it was quite the same, and I'm getting that feeling with Emma, too. I have this detrimental tendency of skipping ahead a paragraph or two when I'm confused with something, hoping it will all be explained clearly in the end. (Never read Da Vinci Code like that.)So, now that I'm more than halfway through the book, I realize that I should have taken better care with figuring out who's Emma's suitors are: I'm pretty sure it was Frank Churchill and Mr. Elton, and I can't remember if it was Mr. Elton or Mr. Knightley who led Emma on and then married another lady. Or did he lead Emma's friend Harriet on? The whole plot of the thing is that Emma is the self-appointed match-maker, and has vowed to never marry, but the match she set up went wrong, and the suitor went for her instead of Harriet. I've gotten that bit. The sad thing is that I usually understand Austen stories better when I watch the BBC/PBS miniseries FIRST and the book later, which is kind of backwards from my personal philosophy of reading, then watching. And Emma is the only one I haven't watched on tv. But, other than being slightly confused at times, I like Emma. It just doesn't seem as strong as Austen's other novels to me.
Walking on Water, by Madeleine L'Engle.
I never read L'Engle's novel A Wrinkle in Time, but I've always known about her from all her works that my mom and grandma keep on their shelves. And when we were at Thanksgiving the other week, this book was lying on the coffee table. I dipped right into the middle of it just for the heck of it, and was instantly drawn in. In Walking on Water L'engle melds her Christian perspective with the search for meaning in the vocation of being an artist, and what that vocation means for us. I've never found a book like this before, and it seems to have appeared to me at the right time in my life: When I know what I love and want to keep doing it, but wondering if it can give me the stable life I want. In her own words L'lengle emphasizes that artists are the only ones that don't need to be told to believe or have faith in God, in the world, like little children, as we're told in the Bible. She says to keep that sense of learning and wonder in us. We don't need to be told this, because that way of living comes to us naturally in whatever thing we decide to create, be it music, sculpture, or novel. We search for meaning in the world in a totally different way from others, and it effects everything in our lives. Even though L'engle is a Christian, and writing largely from those influences, I find it not insufferable like other Christian books I've read. God is God in her book, not a superhero. Madeleine L'engle is Madeleine L'engle, not a prophet sent to save others. She's not ashamed, but she's not converting.
Corduroy Mansions, by Alexander McCall Smith
I have friends who see me reading all these books and they say, "What do you read for fluff?" I give them a blank stare. I'm very against fluff. "You know," they continue, "light reading?" What they really mean is stuff not by Nelson Mandela and Sinclair Lewis.
I won't say that McCall Smith's books are fluff, though it's definitely in the light-hearted comedy category of my mental bookshelf. Thing is, he's a lawyer by training first, and author of humorous serial novels second. He's a bioethics expert. People like this can't write fluff. They just can't. A few of his characters show an unnaturally good taste in expensive French wine and can talk for paragraphs about it. And about Scottish art and architecture. And Aristotelian philosophy. This is not ordinary light reading. This is light reading for smart people who don't want their brains to leak out their ears to have a good read.
The plot here revolves around a group of people all living in the same apartment building in London, Corduroy Mansions. William is a middle aged widower who's 24 year old son Eddie tries his best never to move out and get a job. William's tried everything, and is about to get out the big guns: Eddie can't stand dogs, so his father buys one, a former airport bomb sniffing terrier named Freddie de la Hay.
There's a group of roommates with boss and relationship problems, (one of which works for a nasty politician named Oedipus Snark, who's mother is writing an equally nasty biography of him), and...that's all that I can tell you, because I haven't gotten too far into the story yet. I do love his style of writing, though, how McCall Smith writes chapters from everybody's point of view, even the dog.
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
Travel bug
For as long as I can remember, our family has always gone on a trip for summer vacation. Nothing exotic (think Wisconsin on the lake, a cabin in the middle of the Rocky Mountains, Northern Minnesota), but a good time away. Every summer since 6th grade I've gone on some sort of service trip with my church: Rapid City, Quad Cities, then a big leap to Tanzania (though technically it wasn't a service trip...), then to Kentucky with Appalachian Service Project, Tanzania again (I know, awesome, right?), and Milwaukee with Habitat for Humanity. I'm going there again next summer (woot woot), but I'm getting the antsy travel bug now. My list of places to go keeps on getting bigger and bigger: Germany, the U.K., Scandinavia, Spain, Argentina, Canada, the Gulf Coast, the Boundary Waters (and every national park in the U.S.), France (not Paris), India, Iceland, New England and Australia.
It's kind of odd, because if you give me too much time to think, I'll be too afraid to get on a plane, as a fairly new driver I'd rather not be the one behind the wheel, and if you asked me where the money to fund it all would come from I would just stay home and watch "Globe Trekker" on PBS for the rest of my life. So what to do with this? (Suck it up) Yes, there's an idea.
If I went to some of these places, I'd want to see a bit of everything, of course. For example, if I went to England, yes, I'd go see a few things in London--the things you're "supposed" to see, but I'd want to take the road less traveled, not too much tourist stuff. I'd have to do some music geek stuff, but that's my only real requirement. Along with getting my picture taken at King's Cross Station between platforms 9 and 10. I'd also want to watch the Welsh language news because I can't understand how all those consonants can be pronounced. But that's it. Those are my only must-dos.
That's the fun thing about traveling, getting to see what real life is like in a place, hearing how people talk, and meeting those people. I think it would be really cool to go someplace with only the smallest inkling of what's supposed to happen when I get there.
I suppose my time to travel will come soon. It could happen!
It's kind of odd, because if you give me too much time to think, I'll be too afraid to get on a plane, as a fairly new driver I'd rather not be the one behind the wheel, and if you asked me where the money to fund it all would come from I would just stay home and watch "Globe Trekker" on PBS for the rest of my life. So what to do with this? (Suck it up) Yes, there's an idea.
If I went to some of these places, I'd want to see a bit of everything, of course. For example, if I went to England, yes, I'd go see a few things in London--the things you're "supposed" to see, but I'd want to take the road less traveled, not too much tourist stuff. I'd have to do some music geek stuff, but that's my only real requirement. Along with getting my picture taken at King's Cross Station between platforms 9 and 10. I'd also want to watch the Welsh language news because I can't understand how all those consonants can be pronounced. But that's it. Those are my only must-dos.
That's the fun thing about traveling, getting to see what real life is like in a place, hearing how people talk, and meeting those people. I think it would be really cool to go someplace with only the smallest inkling of what's supposed to happen when I get there.
I suppose my time to travel will come soon. It could happen!
Saturday, November 13, 2010
First Snow and Robert Frost
I wasn't expecting this much snow today, were you?
Despite the crappy driving conditions, this first snow makes me feel good. I don't know why.
It reminds me of the Robert Frost poem, Walking in the Woods on a Snowy Evening.
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
To me it always sounded like Frost (or his character) was looking at the snow in wonder, reveling in the solemn beauty of it. But in Now Close The Windows, Frost doesn't care how pretty the snow is and just wants the darn windows shut so the house doesn't freeze.
Now close the windows and hush all the fields;
If the trees must, let them silently toss;
No bird is singing now, and if there is,
Be it my loss.
(first stanza)
And of course, we'll all feel that way eventually, but I'm going to enjoy it while it lasts.
Monday, October 4, 2010
The College Search Continues!
I just got back from visiting U of M-Morris and Concordia College in Moorhead. I had never driven that far north-west in Minnesota, and the fall colors were beautiful!
These were two distinguished schools that I knew I wanted to visit for awhile. I have trouble remembering, though, that I am the consumer, and they are trying to impress me--not the other way around. Of course I have to look respectable and interested, but they have to act like they want me. Hence the snacks and sugary beverages every school I've visited has offered us.
I was thirsty, and you gave me a Pepsi. I was hungry, and you offered me Fritos.
I never had a ditzy tour guide, but coincidentally they were both biology majors who confessed to not possessing a single musical bone in their body. Morris was nice and small, and architecturally it reminded me of the Twin Cities campus. I talked with a member of the music faculty and had a very good conversation with him. Although the town is very very very small to me, it looks like they make a good effort to bring entertainment to campus. All in all, it's making itself a suitable option. My next task is to imagine being at Morris...in the winter.
Concordia was someplace I expected to like, and I'm glad my expectations were realized.
I'm very much into the small, private, Lutheran, liberal arts schools, in case you didn't know already. We were there during homecoming, so there were alums everywhere.
So many blond haired people wearing maroon and yellow...so many corn cobs...
I didn't speak with any music faculty, but I was aware that--in the tradition of many Lutheran schools--that its music program was highly solid in general, and I wasn't too worried about it. (Especially after hearing their orchestra, band, and concert choir perform for the homecoming concert.)
Then I got to have lunch with my friend who is a Cobber, and I was so glad to see her and get a real student's (good) opinion of what it's like there.
So, if I get accepted to the ones I want, it'll be hard to make a decision.
Who has the faculty that's right for me?
What's the financial aid like?
What's the choir like?
Who has the better food?
Which one has carpeted dorm rooms?
Who has an intramural quidditch team?
Important decisions indeed.
These were two distinguished schools that I knew I wanted to visit for awhile. I have trouble remembering, though, that I am the consumer, and they are trying to impress me--not the other way around. Of course I have to look respectable and interested, but they have to act like they want me. Hence the snacks and sugary beverages every school I've visited has offered us.
I was thirsty, and you gave me a Pepsi. I was hungry, and you offered me Fritos.
I never had a ditzy tour guide, but coincidentally they were both biology majors who confessed to not possessing a single musical bone in their body. Morris was nice and small, and architecturally it reminded me of the Twin Cities campus. I talked with a member of the music faculty and had a very good conversation with him. Although the town is very very very small to me, it looks like they make a good effort to bring entertainment to campus. All in all, it's making itself a suitable option. My next task is to imagine being at Morris...in the winter.
Concordia was someplace I expected to like, and I'm glad my expectations were realized.
I'm very much into the small, private, Lutheran, liberal arts schools, in case you didn't know already. We were there during homecoming, so there were alums everywhere.
So many blond haired people wearing maroon and yellow...so many corn cobs...
I didn't speak with any music faculty, but I was aware that--in the tradition of many Lutheran schools--that its music program was highly solid in general, and I wasn't too worried about it. (Especially after hearing their orchestra, band, and concert choir perform for the homecoming concert.)
Then I got to have lunch with my friend who is a Cobber, and I was so glad to see her and get a real student's (good) opinion of what it's like there.
So, if I get accepted to the ones I want, it'll be hard to make a decision.
Who has the faculty that's right for me?
What's the financial aid like?
What's the choir like?
Who has the better food?
Which one has carpeted dorm rooms?
Who has an intramural quidditch team?
Important decisions indeed.
Saturday, September 25, 2010
Sorghum
In my family, the last weekend of September means only one thing:
sorghum.
What's sorghum, you ask? Okay, you didn't ask, BUT...this is sorghum:
sorghum.
What's sorghum, you ask? Okay, you didn't ask, BUT...this is sorghum:
In my family, sorghum also means that we all pile into the car and go down to the family farm in Iowa, where we celebrate the sorghum harvest. For 20 years--rain or shine--our relatives and Iowa friends have been coming to harvest, eat a good potluck, and visit all day. It's not very glamorous, but it's fun. I've been going almost every year since I was two years old, and I love seeing all my people who I don't usually see enough of.
Any kid or adult can help with the preparations. I remember being eight or nine years old when somebody handed me a machete (which gets the job done), and before I knew it I was cutting down sorghum that was five feet taller than I was.
A contained fire, that is.
Then we take the truckload of sorghum over to the press.
It's powered by a tractor, and there's a belt that turns the press. Then you just feed the press some yummy sorghum, and the juice comes out the side in bright green trickles into the designated plastic ice cream bucket, which is then poured into the designated metal milk pail to be strained.
After you have the juice, you pour it into the vat, which sits atop the aforementioned fire, and you let it boil, but not too much! And stay clear of the smoke and steam. After the juice thickens up a bit, you have yourself a fine jarful of sweet greenish sorghum goo. It's basically like molasses, and tastes very good in cookies and other things.
In between all that, we break for a potluck lunch in the dairy barn. It's all cleaned out and hasn't housed cows for a long time, but you can still see the stations where they stood.
The neighbor's dog likes to come and beg for food, and we always wave the Norwegian flag from the barn. I just loved the color of the soybeans that were all around us.
Ahhh yes, sorghum weekend was good.
Friday, September 24, 2010
My idea of a fun weekend
Johanna and Emily sharing a laugh
Life is good.
I often over-work, I spend too much time at the computer, and I tend to think/obsess/worry about tasks left undone when I'm not actively doing them. My weekend activities don't usually look too much different from my weekday activities. I like things that way, but every once in a while even I need a break from routine.
That's when I rent a toddler.
You can rent them pretty cheaply. Actually, all you have to do is offer their parents some free time and you can pretty much get a toddler whenever you want one.
I'm blessed to have two toddlers in my life who are often available. This weekend Johanna is visiting. She laughs at the dog, she has enthusiasm for the most tedious household task, she takes us to the playground "over this way," and she keeps us laughing with her commentary on life. "I not a baby, I a girl," she says emphatically. To my dog, she says, "Puppy, that's enough barking." She's right.
Parenting a two year old is exhausting, but hosting a two year old for a weekend is not. For me, it's a shot in the arm, a break from routine, an opportunity to dwell in the moment and remember that the ordinary things of life are extraodinary.
Thanks, Johanna. Thanks, her parents.
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
Dream Job
My career ideas swirl around my head and change a lot, but one thing that stays the same is my Dream Job, which...doesn't exactly have a real title, so I'll explain. ~~
In and around maybe 8th or 9th grade, I was reading an article in Time magazine about the resurrection of a style of church music called Shape Note Singing, or more commonly called the Sacred Harp. This is from way back in the early 1800s when new Americans were poor and illiterate and couldn't read music, so instead they matched pitches to different shapes to read on a page. They had no pianos or pipe organs. It was created so that anybody who could talk could also sing along, and everybody could lead and keep the beat from inside their "hollow square" seating arrangement. This style was used up and down the South Eastern United States, and it burrowed deep into Appalachian mountain communities. It was the main mode of congregational singing in that region for decades, and in some places lasted through the 1950s and 60s. This particular style has a haunting harmonic form, and it's distinctly Southern American. But unfortunately this important specimen of musicology seemed lost for the future generations to study, listen to, and most importantly, sing.
This is where Alan Lomax comes in. Lomax traveled the United States recording songs and tales that people had brought with them from other lands, and that had morphed into the roots of traditional American music when they came to this country. Although he did lots work with different organizations, his most important field recordings were probably made during his time in the 1930s at the good ol' Library of Congress. He went to teeny little churches in the South and recorded Sacred Harp music, he recorded the descendant of African slaves singing "Didn't Leave Nobody But the Baby" (which was featured in the wonderfully soundtracked film O Brother Where Art Thou, sung by Gillian Welch, Emmylou Harris, and Alison Krauss), many fiddle tunes, work songs, children songs, God songs, sad Irish songs and happy drinking songs.
He collected memories of a culture where singing and storytelling was a part of everyday life. He also recorded very rare performances and interviews with the folk- and -bluespeople of the day, like Woody Guthrie, Leadbelly, Jelly Roll Morton, Ramblin' Jack Elliot, and Muddy Waters, people who still influence musicians today.
My dream job is to be wandering around the world with a tape recorder, like Lomax, asking people to sing me their songs. Music represents so much of a culture--it tells of history, of prosperity or economic depression, politics, violence, faith, happiness, community, work, and play. It tells of our evolution as a people and a society. I like the idea of preservation. I love the feeling that I am singing the same songs my Norwegian grandparents did in their Lutheran church, more than 150 years later. I love that I can find an obscure but beautiful Irish song from the 1800s called "On Raglan Road" after hearing it in the movie In Bruges, because in the 1960's a man named Luke Kelly and his band the Dubliners had the sense to remember it and sing it over 40 years earlier. I love that the African American spirituals have become some of the first songs we sing as children, whether we're Christian, African American, or not.
So don't be shy if I come up to you with a tape recorder and ask you to sing for me. It's the continuation of an American tradition that shouldn't be lost.
In and around maybe 8th or 9th grade, I was reading an article in Time magazine about the resurrection of a style of church music called Shape Note Singing, or more commonly called the Sacred Harp. This is from way back in the early 1800s when new Americans were poor and illiterate and couldn't read music, so instead they matched pitches to different shapes to read on a page. They had no pianos or pipe organs. It was created so that anybody who could talk could also sing along, and everybody could lead and keep the beat from inside their "hollow square" seating arrangement. This style was used up and down the South Eastern United States, and it burrowed deep into Appalachian mountain communities. It was the main mode of congregational singing in that region for decades, and in some places lasted through the 1950s and 60s. This particular style has a haunting harmonic form, and it's distinctly Southern American. But unfortunately this important specimen of musicology seemed lost for the future generations to study, listen to, and most importantly, sing.
This is where Alan Lomax comes in. Lomax traveled the United States recording songs and tales that people had brought with them from other lands, and that had morphed into the roots of traditional American music when they came to this country. Although he did lots work with different organizations, his most important field recordings were probably made during his time in the 1930s at the good ol' Library of Congress. He went to teeny little churches in the South and recorded Sacred Harp music, he recorded the descendant of African slaves singing "Didn't Leave Nobody But the Baby" (which was featured in the wonderfully soundtracked film O Brother Where Art Thou, sung by Gillian Welch, Emmylou Harris, and Alison Krauss), many fiddle tunes, work songs, children songs, God songs, sad Irish songs and happy drinking songs.
He collected memories of a culture where singing and storytelling was a part of everyday life. He also recorded very rare performances and interviews with the folk- and -bluespeople of the day, like Woody Guthrie, Leadbelly, Jelly Roll Morton, Ramblin' Jack Elliot, and Muddy Waters, people who still influence musicians today.
My dream job is to be wandering around the world with a tape recorder, like Lomax, asking people to sing me their songs. Music represents so much of a culture--it tells of history, of prosperity or economic depression, politics, violence, faith, happiness, community, work, and play. It tells of our evolution as a people and a society. I like the idea of preservation. I love the feeling that I am singing the same songs my Norwegian grandparents did in their Lutheran church, more than 150 years later. I love that I can find an obscure but beautiful Irish song from the 1800s called "On Raglan Road" after hearing it in the movie In Bruges, because in the 1960's a man named Luke Kelly and his band the Dubliners had the sense to remember it and sing it over 40 years earlier. I love that the African American spirituals have become some of the first songs we sing as children, whether we're Christian, African American, or not.
So don't be shy if I come up to you with a tape recorder and ask you to sing for me. It's the continuation of an American tradition that shouldn't be lost.
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
Precious time
I love my work, don't get me wrong.
I love my volunteer commitments, make no mistake.
But right now I am experiencing two weeks in between. Home from my travels to Tanzania, where there are many things to do, many people to see, many requests and plans to follow up on my return. Yet not in my school year schedule of piano students, regular meetings, choir rehearsals and Sunday morning worship services.
I'm working ahead, planning, practicing, and coordinating many of those teaching, accompanying and volunteer projects that will come up this fall. But somehow, the time still seems like mine.
Each morning I revel in a walk with my daughter. Sometimes we talk, sometimes we just walk.
I've scheduled coffee or lunch with colleagues and friends, catching up, planning ahead, or just enjoying.
I take my son to lunch, or to a bookstore.
When stuff frustrates me, I pull weeds in my garden.
And I love these days. I know I'd get bored if these days lasted longer than two weeks. But for now, the time is precious, and I am full of gratitude for the end of summer.
I love my volunteer commitments, make no mistake.
But right now I am experiencing two weeks in between. Home from my travels to Tanzania, where there are many things to do, many people to see, many requests and plans to follow up on my return. Yet not in my school year schedule of piano students, regular meetings, choir rehearsals and Sunday morning worship services.
I'm working ahead, planning, practicing, and coordinating many of those teaching, accompanying and volunteer projects that will come up this fall. But somehow, the time still seems like mine.
Each morning I revel in a walk with my daughter. Sometimes we talk, sometimes we just walk.
I've scheduled coffee or lunch with colleagues and friends, catching up, planning ahead, or just enjoying.
I take my son to lunch, or to a bookstore.
When stuff frustrates me, I pull weeds in my garden.
And I love these days. I know I'd get bored if these days lasted longer than two weeks. But for now, the time is precious, and I am full of gratitude for the end of summer.
Friday, August 20, 2010
Awaiting the return
My mom's coming back from Tanzania tomorrow!
After going there seven times, all of us at home have the While-Mom's-Away routine down. We still have a bit of cleaning to do, but otherwise we survived, just as she expected us to do. She will come home tired, in need of a shower, maybe a bit hungry, and oveflowing with stories to tell. I'll be listening and thinking about when I can make it back to TZ again...
*Cough* Ahem. Daydreaming a bit. Anyways.
These last couple of trips, all she's asked of us upon her return is to stand at the gate with her Grande Chai Latte with No Water from Starbucks.
My mom's only vice, or the main source of her boundless energy?This year we'll be just as happy to oblige. We can't wait until she gets home!
Monday, August 2, 2010
Tanzania #7
Tomorrow I leave for my seventh trip to Tanzania. I'm excited. I'm traveling with a great group of guys--two my age and two teenagers--who will be my travel buddies. They're new to the Tanzanian experience, but they're all game and ready to take on the challenge of travel to a third world country.
For some reason, I've been thinking about travel companions of the past six trips. Companions really make or break the journey, you know. I'm so grateful to have had wonderful companions for many of my journeys.
There have been wonderful medical professionals who kept the members of the group healthy. First trip, a wonderful doctor who met us every morning for breakfast with the questions, "did you sleep well? do you have any diarrhea?"
There have been those whose expertise was in biology, who would spot wild animals, name trees, pick up tortoises and help the group appreciate and understand the environment of the savannah.
There have been teachers who provided encouragement and teaching tools to our partners, there have been business people who mentored our partners who are involved with microfinance, and there have been pastors who shared their experiences serving, nurturing and leading congregations.
There have been people with years of wisdom who become "bibi" and "babu" to our partners [grandmother and grandfather] and there have been youth who give our partners hope that this partnership will continue into another generation.
I have been blessed to share three of those seven trips with my two daughters.
For all these traveling companions, I am grateful.
Saturday, July 24, 2010
Back from the City
I've given myself a week to recover and reflect on my trip to Milwaukee-- and man, was it a great trip!We stayed at the United Methodist Church down town, where our church groups have been staying for close to 20 years every summer. What I first seemed to notice coming into this city was how old it looked compared to the Twin Cities. You go to Minneapolis, and they hardly have any of their original or historical architecture left, but Milwaukee still has the old two-story houses and tall brick buildings standing. But then with age and tough times comes neglect, abandonment, and vandalism. I saw so many businesses and homes boarded up, windows broken, and yards unkempt in the remarkably struggling area of Milwaukee we were in, and it was sort of a jolt for me.
I mean, I've been through rough parts of the Twin Cities, and heck, I've been to Africa, but this for some reason hit me differently.
On Monday morning we got up early, still recovering from the long drive, and went to the Habitat work site, about a 15 minute drive from the church. Part of Habitat's 25th anniversary was celebrated in Milwaukee by hosting what they called Blitz Build Week, the goal being to frame seven houses in the week we were there.
We started out with hammering together walls, putting together window and door frames, and lots of heavy lifting. It's so exciting to see the walls being lifted up! We weren't the only people working on the house, of course. We had anywhere from four to seven adult House Leaders that week, people who were trained and experienced and actually knew what they were doing, and willing to share their knowledge with us. We had such a great time talking and working with them. One of them was Mac, and when I was on the top of the second level nailing down these boards I asked him, "Now what are these things called again?" All of it was just wood to me. "Well," he says, "These boards are called OCB's, though I call 'em sheathing, and what we're gonna do is nail 'em down so..." and on he went like that. If you had any question he would stop whatever he was doing to tell you what something was called, what they were being used for, when it was supposed to go up, how we were supposed to put it up, and whether it was behind schedule for being put up. He made me feel like I was always being of use, and that is a wonderful gift.
One of the most awesome things for me on this trip was meeting the future owners of the house we were building. One of the adult leaders from my group had come up to me and said, "Guess what! You know Hassan, the home-owner? He's from Somalia, and he speaks Swahili!"
"Really?!" I said. What are the odds of a random white girl who just happens to speak Swahili finding another person who speaks it in Milwaukee, Wisconsin? I was kind of over the moon.
Hassan eventually found me that day and pointed at me. "Do you speak Swahili?"
"Ndiyo!" I said. From then on, we would make a point of having small conversations every day. He kind of assumed I was more fluent than I really was, though, so lots of the time I was saying "Slower! Say again?" He told me that he and his family had fled the violence in Somalia for a refugee camp in Kenya (where Swahili is the national language), and they lived there for ten years before they came to the U.S. It was nice to have one less barrier between our group and the people we were serving.
Over the next few days we nailed, drilled, carried, got muddy, sweaty and gross and achy, but every day we did something that could help with the build. On Thursday afternoon Hassan brought his wife Zara and their four children to visit the work site. Zara just looked at the house and kept saying, "Wow, it's beautiful!" Then Hassan told her I spoke Swahili, and you should have seen the look on face. We started to speak with each other, and she was very encouraging and quite surprised, although I was relieved that she spoke it a lot slower and clearer than her husband. Then she asked in English, "Tomorrow, would you all eat African food if I brought some?" And I, remembering the yummy East African fare, enthusiastically replied, "Yes!"
The next day Hassan pulled up to the house and brought two aluminum pans, one filled with samosas, and the other with cardamom rolls, and I was trying not to flip out. Word spread through out the work site that we had some darn tasty food, so people from the two next store Habitat houses came by, but even after we shared we still had leftovers!
This week was an experience where we were helping people in a very tangible and permanent way, and nobody came home feeling their time was wasted. I believe there are few mission experiences that are like that. It's very humbling to find out how much it takes to build a home, and even more so to know how much joy it can bring to a family. It was nothing elaborate, but it was decent and dignified, someplace where the family could stay, after being uprooted from one country to another and to yet one more.
We met some amazing people, too. There was Jim, John, Mac, Chris, Bob, Carol, Pat, Jessica, Ann, Katerina, Hassan and his wife Zara...all these people were immensely hard working, fun to be with, kind, devoted to their faith and how they lived it out, and I feel so blessed to have spent my week with them.
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
Milwaukee
So, on the top of the screen it says that we mostly blog about music, our travels and wonderings.
I've talked about music and wonderings, but I don't really have too much traveling planned--no Africa this year.
Mom goes off to Tanzania for three weeks in August with a group from our church, and I will be keeping things together at home with my family. College hunting, of course, is my main priority right now, but at the same time I'm trying to manage those decisions in a way so that I won't go crazy.
I tell you, Dear Reader, it is impossible.
But I am getting excited for one brand new experience: Building a house in Milwaukee for Habitat for Humanity. On Sunday morning me and a bunch of other kids and adults from my church will wake up bright and early (well, more just early) and be on the road to Milwaukee at 5:30 AM. We're leaving at that insanely early hour to make it to a Brewers game at 1PM, so they better win.
We'll be framing a house in the city, with help from local volunteers, young AmeriCorps volunteers, and the future owners of the house. That's one of the cool things about this organization, that the family is expected to work a certain amount of hours to build their own house. Imagine the sense of accomplishment and pride they have to be living in a permanent home that they built with their own two hands.
None of us going have extensive construction skills; we can hammer, drill, measure, sand, paint and lift things, simple things, but that doesn't matter. We'll be learning a lot on the job, working hard, having fun, coming back tired in the evening, then doing it all over again. I'm excited to get to know my fellow travelers and also the people we'll work with in Milwaukee, excited to see this city, and to make myself useful, being one piece of the puzzle in helping a community.
We hope to be witnesses to amazing things during this next week, and I can't wait to find out what they'll be.
I've talked about music and wonderings, but I don't really have too much traveling planned--no Africa this year.
Mom goes off to Tanzania for three weeks in August with a group from our church, and I will be keeping things together at home with my family. College hunting, of course, is my main priority right now, but at the same time I'm trying to manage those decisions in a way so that I won't go crazy.
I tell you, Dear Reader, it is impossible.
But I am getting excited for one brand new experience: Building a house in Milwaukee for Habitat for Humanity. On Sunday morning me and a bunch of other kids and adults from my church will wake up bright and early (well, more just early) and be on the road to Milwaukee at 5:30 AM. We're leaving at that insanely early hour to make it to a Brewers game at 1PM, so they better win.
We'll be framing a house in the city, with help from local volunteers, young AmeriCorps volunteers, and the future owners of the house. That's one of the cool things about this organization, that the family is expected to work a certain amount of hours to build their own house. Imagine the sense of accomplishment and pride they have to be living in a permanent home that they built with their own two hands.
None of us going have extensive construction skills; we can hammer, drill, measure, sand, paint and lift things, simple things, but that doesn't matter. We'll be learning a lot on the job, working hard, having fun, coming back tired in the evening, then doing it all over again. I'm excited to get to know my fellow travelers and also the people we'll work with in Milwaukee, excited to see this city, and to make myself useful, being one piece of the puzzle in helping a community.
We hope to be witnesses to amazing things during this next week, and I can't wait to find out what they'll be.
Sunday, June 27, 2010
Returning from the Hill
Yesterday I came back from the St. Olaf Summer Piano Academy--and it was quite a week.
Fear Darth Maninoff!
and the second boy played a Brahms Intermezzo.
Every day would start out with breakfast, of course, then we had Keyboard Skills class from 8:30 to 9:30. It consisted of music theory and honing our improvisation skills. For the first few days that was the scary class for me. I haven't done serious theory work since middle school, and would not be able to tell you what iii G6/9 means if there was a gun to my head. All those Roman numeral chords were not my friends. What I learned from playing guitar while I took a piano lesson hiatus though really taught me about chord progressions and inversions. I can't read those Roman numerals, but I can play you those chords and improvise a song. I can't play you a really smooth D Flat scale with two hands but it's still my favorite chord ever and I know all the notes in it!
Oh god, I sound pathetic.
But anyways, I listened a lot in Keyboard Skills. I liked that we split up into groups of two or three to improvise on a certain rhythm and chord pattern, because there were some kids who had a great knack for it, and it was so cool to sit back and listen. It also was a great opportunity to learn how to listen to each other, making sure we were rhythmically together and responding to each other's melodies and harmonies.
After that class, I would have a little bit of free time--ahem, practice time-- before my lesson or duet practice session. When I went to my first lesson with Dr. M, I was waiting outside his office door and could hear a girl in there playing a jazzy and difficult sounding piece, which I later found out was by Gershwin. That's when I started to feel like a very humbled and average pianist.
When I went in I showed my teacher all the music I had brought: a Bach prelude and fugue, an Albeniz prelude, a Chopin prelude, and a Beethoven sonata. It was heavy. When I told him that I was working on the Bach and Beethoven for future college auditions, and was planning to apply to St. Olaf as a performance major, he said, "Okay, let's work on that."
My lessons were a half hour long, and we had decided that we'd meet every day, which I thought was awesome because my brain needs that type of consistency when I'm in such an unfamiliar and hectic environment.
It was kind of interesting to work with a person I'd just met, who basically only knew what I was doing right now for half an hour for five days straight. The first lesson I gave a bit of back ground as to where my strengths and weaknesses are, how long I'd been playing, and who my teachers have been. When he kept on asking me if I had played this sonata and that etude, I apologetically told him that my repertoire is like Swiss cheese--there's lots of holes in it.
Then we found out that Dr. M knew my current teacher, Dr. B. "We're like this!" he said, crossing his fingers. I suppose you can never have enough connections.
So, we did college stuff last week. The Beethoven sonata, Op. 28 (the first movement called Pastorale), we worked on the Notorious Fugue in G Major, and the D Flat Prelude Op. 28, No. 15 by Chopin. That was my end-of-the-week recital piece, and my assignment from Dr. M was to beat down on these huge loud chords with my hands moving towards the wood of the piano. I wasn't attacking them straight down with tension in my arms, but I was sort of in between, and once I got the hang of the airbag-deploying arm technique, I got a wonderfully scary-good quality sound out of the piano. I call the fugue notorious because I was trying to get the harpsichordy sound of Bach into a modern piano, but ended up putting accents where they shouldn't be. To illustrate what he thought I should do, Dr. M took my book bag. "Is there anything breakable in here?" he asked. "Nope." Then he swung it around from his wrist. "See how it takes work to get it going, but then it takes care of itself when it reaches the top?"
"Uh-huh," I said, hoping my copy of Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee wouldn't come flying out of it at me.
So, I've been trying to metaphorically swing a book bag into a Bach fugue...and I'm happy to say it's been working.
Every day the Piano Academy would also have afternoon masterclasses, and every day with a different teacher. I played a little Beethoven bagatelle on Monday, and I oddly wasn't nervous at all to play for a dozen people and a teacher. Every kid that got up there he quizzed on the opus number and the birth and death dates of the composer of their piece. I think a few people were a bit intimidated, but I wasn't really. He was right that the three Coke machines in Buntrock Commons get cheaper as you go down the hallway. And he was also right that I didn't really "sell" the bagatelle, that I wasn't really excited about it. I tried to joke that I chose to play it that day because it was the lightest book to carry across campus, but he kind of ignored that. Oh well--it was partly true, though. He asked the others what they thought of it, and they said things like, "I think your dynamics are good, but you could have more balance between the hands," or "maybe a little less pedal." One of the no-nos was to call it a song, and not a piece.
"Songs have words, pieces don't." Which makes sense, I guess, but it took me the whole time up there to stop saying song. That's what made him laugh.
It was all good feedback that I tried to internalize quickly, and after being up there for 15 to 20 minutes, I'd say it sounded better than when I came in.
I would say that the first few days at the St. Olaf Piano Academy, I was greatly humbled by the talented kids and wonderful teachers that I spent time with, and I was desperately wondering whether I was really all that good, and whether I could become as skilled as the people I met. It was kind of overwhelming. The second part of the week I was feeling more curious, energized and encouraged and confident about developing my skills as a pianist. I had thought, "Music is my life, and I'm not going to give it up."
Pianists were the only ones who had to audition for the week, and not everybody got passed them, so I kept on telling myself that I wouldn't have been there if I wasn't a good pianist. I just had to keep on keepin' on.
There were 24 kids in this program, but also 200-some others who were either involved with choir, band, or orchestra as part of the St. Olaf Music Camp. We all stayed in one dormitory, Ytterboe, so we all got to know lots of different people. I was at first surprised to meet so many people from outside the Midwest--from Brooklyn, Dallas, Orlando, Los Angeles, Blacksburg, VA, Seattle, and Maryland were some that I heard.
On Sunday night after I got dropped off and there had been the All-Camp meeting with the student counselors about basic rules and stuff (elevator parties not allowed) and after dinner, us pianists had our first masterclass in Urness Recital Hall inside the music building.
I slept in Ytterboe, but I basically lived in Christiansen Music Hall.
The first girl in the masterclass played an awesome Darth Vader-like prelude by Rachmaninoff.
Fear Darth Maninoff!and the second boy played a Brahms Intermezzo.
(You can't fear Brahms because he looks like Santa)
To my amateur ear it didn't sound like either one of those pieces needed a whole lot of polishing at first, but our professor gave suggestions about dynamics, equal voicing of the melody and the left hand accompaniment, and talked about arm tension and how to hit the keys in an effective way to get the best sound. It sounds like simple things, but many people ignore them. You can't just play note, note, note, note, and expect people to think you're a good pianist. You have to add depth and substance to it, no matter how difficult or seemingly simple the piece may be.
Every day would start out with breakfast, of course, then we had Keyboard Skills class from 8:30 to 9:30. It consisted of music theory and honing our improvisation skills. For the first few days that was the scary class for me. I haven't done serious theory work since middle school, and would not be able to tell you what iii G6/9 means if there was a gun to my head. All those Roman numeral chords were not my friends. What I learned from playing guitar while I took a piano lesson hiatus though really taught me about chord progressions and inversions. I can't read those Roman numerals, but I can play you those chords and improvise a song. I can't play you a really smooth D Flat scale with two hands but it's still my favorite chord ever and I know all the notes in it!
Oh god, I sound pathetic.
But anyways, I listened a lot in Keyboard Skills. I liked that we split up into groups of two or three to improvise on a certain rhythm and chord pattern, because there were some kids who had a great knack for it, and it was so cool to sit back and listen. It also was a great opportunity to learn how to listen to each other, making sure we were rhythmically together and responding to each other's melodies and harmonies.
After that class, I would have a little bit of free time--ahem, practice time-- before my lesson or duet practice session. When I went to my first lesson with Dr. M, I was waiting outside his office door and could hear a girl in there playing a jazzy and difficult sounding piece, which I later found out was by Gershwin. That's when I started to feel like a very humbled and average pianist.
When I went in I showed my teacher all the music I had brought: a Bach prelude and fugue, an Albeniz prelude, a Chopin prelude, and a Beethoven sonata. It was heavy. When I told him that I was working on the Bach and Beethoven for future college auditions, and was planning to apply to St. Olaf as a performance major, he said, "Okay, let's work on that."
My lessons were a half hour long, and we had decided that we'd meet every day, which I thought was awesome because my brain needs that type of consistency when I'm in such an unfamiliar and hectic environment.
It was kind of interesting to work with a person I'd just met, who basically only knew what I was doing right now for half an hour for five days straight. The first lesson I gave a bit of back ground as to where my strengths and weaknesses are, how long I'd been playing, and who my teachers have been. When he kept on asking me if I had played this sonata and that etude, I apologetically told him that my repertoire is like Swiss cheese--there's lots of holes in it.
Then we found out that Dr. M knew my current teacher, Dr. B. "We're like this!" he said, crossing his fingers. I suppose you can never have enough connections.
So, we did college stuff last week. The Beethoven sonata, Op. 28 (the first movement called Pastorale), we worked on the Notorious Fugue in G Major, and the D Flat Prelude Op. 28, No. 15 by Chopin. That was my end-of-the-week recital piece, and my assignment from Dr. M was to beat down on these huge loud chords with my hands moving towards the wood of the piano. I wasn't attacking them straight down with tension in my arms, but I was sort of in between, and once I got the hang of the airbag-deploying arm technique, I got a wonderfully scary-good quality sound out of the piano. I call the fugue notorious because I was trying to get the harpsichordy sound of Bach into a modern piano, but ended up putting accents where they shouldn't be. To illustrate what he thought I should do, Dr. M took my book bag. "Is there anything breakable in here?" he asked. "Nope." Then he swung it around from his wrist. "See how it takes work to get it going, but then it takes care of itself when it reaches the top?"
"Uh-huh," I said, hoping my copy of Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee wouldn't come flying out of it at me.
So, I've been trying to metaphorically swing a book bag into a Bach fugue...and I'm happy to say it's been working.
Every day the Piano Academy would also have afternoon masterclasses, and every day with a different teacher. I played a little Beethoven bagatelle on Monday, and I oddly wasn't nervous at all to play for a dozen people and a teacher. Every kid that got up there he quizzed on the opus number and the birth and death dates of the composer of their piece. I think a few people were a bit intimidated, but I wasn't really. He was right that the three Coke machines in Buntrock Commons get cheaper as you go down the hallway. And he was also right that I didn't really "sell" the bagatelle, that I wasn't really excited about it. I tried to joke that I chose to play it that day because it was the lightest book to carry across campus, but he kind of ignored that. Oh well--it was partly true, though. He asked the others what they thought of it, and they said things like, "I think your dynamics are good, but you could have more balance between the hands," or "maybe a little less pedal." One of the no-nos was to call it a song, and not a piece.
"Songs have words, pieces don't." Which makes sense, I guess, but it took me the whole time up there to stop saying song. That's what made him laugh.
It was all good feedback that I tried to internalize quickly, and after being up there for 15 to 20 minutes, I'd say it sounded better than when I came in.
I would say that the first few days at the St. Olaf Piano Academy, I was greatly humbled by the talented kids and wonderful teachers that I spent time with, and I was desperately wondering whether I was really all that good, and whether I could become as skilled as the people I met. It was kind of overwhelming. The second part of the week I was feeling more curious, energized and encouraged and confident about developing my skills as a pianist. I had thought, "Music is my life, and I'm not going to give it up."
Pianists were the only ones who had to audition for the week, and not everybody got passed them, so I kept on telling myself that I wouldn't have been there if I wasn't a good pianist. I just had to keep on keepin' on.
Sunday, June 13, 2010
Experiences galore!
From Sunday, June 13, 2010
Okay, so two really big things happened this week: On Tuesday I played in the MMTA Composition Contest recital, and a teacher wanted to BUY a copy of my original piece (!!!), and last night I played in the Honors Concert at Northrop Auditorium!!!
Which experience was cooler?
It's hard to say.
I was speechless when this teacher said to me, "I have a particular student that I think should play your piece." I luckily had an extra copy I gave her. That's right, I gave it to her and didn't take her money. I had no idea what sheet music costs, especially when it's just a few loose sheets of paper. It didn't really matter to me. She asked me to sign it, too, and that made me feel very warm and fuzzy inside.
Of course, this doesn't mean I'm always going to let my compositions go for free (I hope I can get into a more regular composing habit so that there'll be a lot more of them.)
When I told my own teacher about it, she said, "You should have asked for $50. $30 for you and $20 for your teacher!"
Oh, if only it could work that way.
Then the concert last night! After working my butt off to win the Minnesota Music Teachers Association state piano contest, my reward with 699 other kids was to play in a big duet on the Northrop stage. Two hours of kids from six to 19 years old played in their own age groups, usually about 20 pianos used in a piece, with a conductor. (who liked to sip juice boxes during rehearsal, if you like random facts)
I got to wear a really awesome formal dress, and it was red. Seeing what every body was wearing was...interesting.
With dress rehearsals, pictures, and sticking around for the whole hooha, I was there from 3:25 to 9:07 PM. It was a long day, but I'm glad I got the experience.
The song we played was a nice and easy blues that was only about two or three minutes long, so I knew it like the back of my hand. The part that was really nerve racking though was when we had to wait behind the stage. You have to be real quiet, which gives you too much time to think about what you're just about to do. But once I got up there, I made sure that I didn't look anywhere else but at the conductor, and I was just fine. I saw a bit of the audience in my peripheral vision, but nothing derailed my confidence, and before I knew it we were done. I think for me, my brain can't comprehend the number of people in a space as large as the Northrop, and we're so removed from the people that in a way, it's almost like there's no one at all--just a bunch of kids on a big stage. If I'm in a recital with just a regular roomful of people, then pre-performance nerves are more evident, which is really weird, I think.
So now that all of that is over, I can focus all my energy on preparing for the St. Olaf piano camp next week, which sounds like it'll be really intense. I mean like, soak- your- hands- in -hot- water- and- bandage- your- fingers-at-the-end-of-the-day intense. I say, Bring it on.
Okay, so two really big things happened this week: On Tuesday I played in the MMTA Composition Contest recital, and a teacher wanted to BUY a copy of my original piece (!!!), and last night I played in the Honors Concert at Northrop Auditorium!!!
Which experience was cooler?
It's hard to say.
I was speechless when this teacher said to me, "I have a particular student that I think should play your piece." I luckily had an extra copy I gave her. That's right, I gave it to her and didn't take her money. I had no idea what sheet music costs, especially when it's just a few loose sheets of paper. It didn't really matter to me. She asked me to sign it, too, and that made me feel very warm and fuzzy inside.
Of course, this doesn't mean I'm always going to let my compositions go for free (I hope I can get into a more regular composing habit so that there'll be a lot more of them.)
When I told my own teacher about it, she said, "You should have asked for $50. $30 for you and $20 for your teacher!"
Oh, if only it could work that way.
Then the concert last night! After working my butt off to win the Minnesota Music Teachers Association state piano contest, my reward with 699 other kids was to play in a big duet on the Northrop stage. Two hours of kids from six to 19 years old played in their own age groups, usually about 20 pianos used in a piece, with a conductor. (who liked to sip juice boxes during rehearsal, if you like random facts)
I got to wear a really awesome formal dress, and it was red. Seeing what every body was wearing was...interesting.
With dress rehearsals, pictures, and sticking around for the whole hooha, I was there from 3:25 to 9:07 PM. It was a long day, but I'm glad I got the experience.
The song we played was a nice and easy blues that was only about two or three minutes long, so I knew it like the back of my hand. The part that was really nerve racking though was when we had to wait behind the stage. You have to be real quiet, which gives you too much time to think about what you're just about to do. But once I got up there, I made sure that I didn't look anywhere else but at the conductor, and I was just fine. I saw a bit of the audience in my peripheral vision, but nothing derailed my confidence, and before I knew it we were done. I think for me, my brain can't comprehend the number of people in a space as large as the Northrop, and we're so removed from the people that in a way, it's almost like there's no one at all--just a bunch of kids on a big stage. If I'm in a recital with just a regular roomful of people, then pre-performance nerves are more evident, which is really weird, I think.
So now that all of that is over, I can focus all my energy on preparing for the St. Olaf piano camp next week, which sounds like it'll be really intense. I mean like, soak- your- hands- in -hot- water- and- bandage- your- fingers-at-the-end-of-the-day intense. I say, Bring it on.
Friday, May 14, 2010
Wildflowers
Last summer I decided to plant some wildflowers. We're a big gardening family with flowers all around, like the azaleas...
My garden
I weeded. I watered. I weeded again. Then I waited. And then they grew!
Wild flowers are really fun because almost each month there's a new kind of flower popping up, and then by the end of last summer I had red, yellow, orange, blue, pink, purple and white flowers the whole length of the garden. It was just beautiful. Here's to summer!
Some tulips...
Some snapdragons and a marigold in the barrel...
And some vegetables and other plants in the backyard. I help take care of them, but I wanted my own plot. So, when we transplanted the strawberries last year, I took up the empty space, turned over the soil, and in a week planted my wildflowers.
My gardenI weeded. I watered. I weeded again. Then I waited. And then they grew!
This month, all these little orange flowers started popping up, and I'm getting excited for when the other ones decide to arrive.
Wild flowers are really fun because almost each month there's a new kind of flower popping up, and then by the end of last summer I had red, yellow, orange, blue, pink, purple and white flowers the whole length of the garden. It was just beautiful. Here's to summer!
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
A word from the mom
I haven't been keeping up my end of this blog. Let's get that out there right away. Despite Em's gentle nudges---"you could write about that, Mom!"---"that would make an interesting blog post, Mom!"--I have, as usual, let work take precedence.
What's this blog's title? Play on. Play.
Play is not what comes naturally to me. I was a serious kid. I liked to read. I liked to listen to adult conversations. I didn't care much about meeting unfamiliar kids or playing tag, hide and seek, or alley alley in free.
And I'm a serious adult. I take responsibility, I follow through, I do what I say I'm going to do, I work hard, I accomplish the things I want to accomplish.
But. How fun is a life without play?
I have learned to play through watching my children. There was some child psychologist who talked about the concentration exhibited by children stringing beads. I have watched my children, and my piano students, as they metaphorically were stringing beads. Sometimes what they were actually doing was moving sand, forming dikes and ponds, sometimes what they were doing was taking on a role, and sometimes playing "Heart and Soul."
But the thing all these play-ers had in common was, they were in the moment. Experiencing whatever they were doing without any self consciousness at all. Totally absorbed in what they were doing, without the "how am I doing" or what do they think of me" or any of those other self conscious thoughts that intrude.
Those are the moments I'm seeking to create in my life.
What's this blog's title? Play on. Play.
Play is not what comes naturally to me. I was a serious kid. I liked to read. I liked to listen to adult conversations. I didn't care much about meeting unfamiliar kids or playing tag, hide and seek, or alley alley in free.
And I'm a serious adult. I take responsibility, I follow through, I do what I say I'm going to do, I work hard, I accomplish the things I want to accomplish.
But. How fun is a life without play?
I have learned to play through watching my children. There was some child psychologist who talked about the concentration exhibited by children stringing beads. I have watched my children, and my piano students, as they metaphorically were stringing beads. Sometimes what they were actually doing was moving sand, forming dikes and ponds, sometimes what they were doing was taking on a role, and sometimes playing "Heart and Soul."
But the thing all these play-ers had in common was, they were in the moment. Experiencing whatever they were doing without any self consciousness at all. Totally absorbed in what they were doing, without the "how am I doing" or what do they think of me" or any of those other self conscious thoughts that intrude.
Those are the moments I'm seeking to create in my life.
Monday, April 26, 2010
Back from St. Olaf
The verdict: I still love St. Olaf
Even though I pretty much knew everything about it from my mom before I even visited, I liked actually being there, and I could really picture myself there in--golly!--a year or so.
We were there on Flower Friday, when a local florist comes and you can buy flowers for your peeps. The student mail boxes had a bunch of flowers poking out of them.
I found it a cute little quirk, but we're not supposed to go to college for the cute little quirks, so here are some other things that I liked:
They have a top-notch music program, lovely hills to climb on your way to class, a rock wall to climb to qualify as your physical education class, a wind turbine, nice admission staff (even though someone added an extra letter to my last name, I forgive them), and a tight community that I really like. Although, they could have saved a lot of money by making climbing the hill from Skoglund gym/auditorium a way to take phy. ed., instead of walking down the (steep!) hill to get inside the building to climb up a wall with ropes bothering you in uncomfortable places, then walk up the hill again to your dorm on the other side of campus.
I like the smallness of the school, the not-too-faraway-but-still-far-ness of it, the liberal arts structured education, and the basis in the Lutheran faith, while still being culturally diverse and having many non-Lutheran and non-Christian students.
The only thing that could potentially derail my dream of becoming an Ole is the financial aid that I may or may not get. I find it very unfair that it costs three arms, two legs and your first born child to go to a good private school. But hey, we'll see what happens.
I would say at this point, St. Olaf is my first choice, with Augsburg College in second, then comes Wartburg College (love my Lutheran schools) and UW-Madison with a shrug and a maybe from me.
May the best school win.
And may they all really really really like me and want to shower me with monetary gifts. Amen.
Even though I pretty much knew everything about it from my mom before I even visited, I liked actually being there, and I could really picture myself there in--golly!--a year or so.
We were there on Flower Friday, when a local florist comes and you can buy flowers for your peeps. The student mail boxes had a bunch of flowers poking out of them.
I found it a cute little quirk, but we're not supposed to go to college for the cute little quirks, so here are some other things that I liked:They have a top-notch music program, lovely hills to climb on your way to class, a rock wall to climb to qualify as your physical education class, a wind turbine, nice admission staff (even though someone added an extra letter to my last name, I forgive them), and a tight community that I really like. Although, they could have saved a lot of money by making climbing the hill from Skoglund gym/auditorium a way to take phy. ed., instead of walking down the (steep!) hill to get inside the building to climb up a wall with ropes bothering you in uncomfortable places, then walk up the hill again to your dorm on the other side of campus.
I like the smallness of the school, the not-too-faraway-but-still-far-ness of it, the liberal arts structured education, and the basis in the Lutheran faith, while still being culturally diverse and having many non-Lutheran and non-Christian students.
Oh, and this is the best part--it smells like cookies. I know it's the Malt O Meal plant, but the place smelled like cookies to me.
(This is not one of the major deciding factors in how I choose the school I will attend, but it doesn't harm their chances at all. If it smelled like cows, that would be a different matter)The only thing that could potentially derail my dream of becoming an Ole is the financial aid that I may or may not get. I find it very unfair that it costs three arms, two legs and your first born child to go to a good private school. But hey, we'll see what happens.
I would say at this point, St. Olaf is my first choice, with Augsburg College in second, then comes Wartburg College (love my Lutheran schools) and UW-Madison with a shrug and a maybe from me.
May the best school win.
And may they all really really really like me and want to shower me with monetary gifts. Amen.
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
I'm getting excited for my first college visit this Friday to St. Olaf in Northfield. AHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!! I've been there once to sing in the fall choral festival, so I got a look at the beautiful campus when all the leaves were changing color. Hearing all their wonderful choral groups later that evening also made me want to go there. Singing is my second musical passion next to playing the piano, and I hope to someday direct choirs. Northfield is also a nice little town--not too big, not too small, and just the right distance from home for me.
It's also got a Ragstock. I'm so there. Case closed.
Lots of people I know have gone to St. Olaf (my mommy included), and all of them like to gush about the music program. [Mom edits: I do not gush.] I haven't even applied yet, but I'm probably going to gush too. They're also trying to win me over with their food--but they didn't need to send me a whole postcard about it, though. I'm sure becoming an Ole does not include starvation.
Fun fact: In 2009 St. Olaf won the Rube Goldberg Machine Contest hosted by Purdue University. They were the only liberal arts college in the competition and the only college to enter without an engineering program. Rube Goldberg was a cartoonist who drew insanely complicated machines to do simple and mundane tasks, like turning on a light bulb, as seen in the video.
But anyways. I'm just going for the music. Let's hope on Friday I like what I see even more.
It's also got a Ragstock. I'm so there. Case closed.
Lots of people I know have gone to St. Olaf (my mommy included), and all of them like to gush about the music program. [Mom edits: I do not gush.] I haven't even applied yet, but I'm probably going to gush too. They're also trying to win me over with their food--but they didn't need to send me a whole postcard about it, though. I'm sure becoming an Ole does not include starvation.
Fun fact: In 2009 St. Olaf won the Rube Goldberg Machine Contest hosted by Purdue University. They were the only liberal arts college in the competition and the only college to enter without an engineering program. Rube Goldberg was a cartoonist who drew insanely complicated machines to do simple and mundane tasks, like turning on a light bulb, as seen in the video.
But anyways. I'm just going for the music. Let's hope on Friday I like what I see even more.
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
'Oh, When the Saints"
If you need something to make you smile...
Two of my favorite people tearin' it up!
Two of my favorite people tearin' it up!
Monday, March 1, 2010
Voyageurs!
My latest musical obsession has been with the songs of the French-Canadian voyageurs. I read this book called "Early Candlelight," by Minnesota author Maude Hart Lovelace, who tells the story about a French-Canadian-American girl growing up at Fort Snelling, and is surrounded by voyageurs and fur traders and all these midwestern pioneery people. Read the book, it is soooo good! Throughout the book these voyageurs sing--almost all the time--and they are beautiful and happy songs. I'd be a very good voyaguer, since I love foreign languages and folksongs. Now they'd only have to show me how to paddle a canoe. I was actually somewhat raised on the voyaguer music as a little kid (see two posts ago). Mom and Dad bought this cd at the History Center gift shop, all the songs being sung by a college choir from Toronto, so the French sounded real. We'd listen to them on long car rides, although the only one my siblings and I could ever figure out how to sing was good ol' "Alouette." It was actually a big part of my life back then. At preschool I drew this wonderful picture of the twelve voyaguers from the cd cover in their canoe, and it became one of the greatest pieces of my shortlived career as a visual artist, along with one entitled "Cast of the Andy Griffith Show." There had to be exactly twelve men in that boat, and I'm told that every time I drew a new figure I had to go back and count them all over again just to make sure. Also inspired by the French-speaking explorers, my older brother taught me how to say, "Ferme le boush." (shut up.) He didn't show me how to spell it though.
So rediscovering the voyaguers and their music has been very cool. The one that Lovelace quotes right at the end the book when...um...something super awesomely cool happens is called "A La Claire Fontaine." I read the words, and it looked very familiar. "Mom," I asked, "do you recognize this?" That's when I found out it's actually her most favorite French song ever. She sang it for me, and it brought me back to being in the the van on the road to somewhere when I was four years old. Isn't it lovely when things like that happen? How music triggers memories. My mom doesn't sing in public very often, doesn't like to, and when she does it's in the choir, but let me say that she sang that song so beautifully, I kept wanting her to sing it over again. The next couple of days I went looking on YouTube (what would I do without you?) for any videos of people singing it, because I didn't want Mom to wear out her voice, but I couldn't remember the tune. That's when I found out it's a children's song. Indeed, the best (and cutest) video I found had three French six year old girls singing it in their backyard. I love the songs that can be sung so simply and still be a thing of beauty. After all that, I looked for the lyrics, even though I don't speak French. I read the English translation and found that it's an interesting storyline for kids to be singing. Here are the third and fourth verses in English:
Sing, nightengale, sing,
Your heart is so happy.
Your heart feels like laughing,
Mine feels like weeping.
I lost my beloved,
Without deserving it,
For a bunch of roses,
That I denied her.
Chorus:
So long I've been loving you,
I'll never forget you.
I never sang stuff that heavy when I was six. The happy tune betrays it's melancholy lyrics, but that's kind of why I like it. Now my mom and I can sing it together.
**I'd upload a video, but YouTube isn't cooperating :(
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Bonhoeffer and the 15 Foot Angel
Last summer I was part of a group of high schoolers who spent a week at Augsburg College learning about Lutheran theologian Dietrich Bonhoeffer. He was a truly amazing individual, who worked and died for justice at the hands of Hitler near the end of World War II. He spoke out against Hitler's treatment of Jews, and for overtaking the churches with anti-semitic propaganda.
Part of the week's studies involved a service project in Minneapolis. We were at a Lutheran church in the Phillips neighborhood, where many of the parishioners are immigrants from Latin America, and some of them shared their stories of immigration (They were all legal, but told of neighbors and families they knew being torn apart because they were undocumented) They gave us a better understanding of how hard it is to make it in a new country. The pastors there were a husband and wife team: soft-spoken, petite Pastor Luisa, a native of Chile, and tall, outgoing, white, Minnesota-born Pastor Patrick. I was in awe of his seamless Spanish.
After talking with the church members, the pastors showed us two storage sheds outside behind the church, an alleyway going between them. The one on the right had a mural on it, a beautiful green garden that said "God's Creation" in yellow and orange letters, and Spanish words.
The shed on the left side of the alley had also been painted, but by the ugly spray paint cans of local gangs. An incomprehensible symbol of squiggles covered the whole thing. Our job was to cover it with a mural of our own, with 17 people in our group and and hour and a half to work with. When we thought of our design, we got down to business: There was a tree, a big white and yellow daisy, and the words Paz and Alegria, peace and joy in big bright letters.
We were sweating in the sun but enjoying our task and the people we were serving with. But a little later, something really odd occured. A short man in a purple polo shirt and khakis approached us. He carried a plastic bag that I could see had bibles in it. "Oh geez," I thought.
A street preacher.
"Can I have a couple minutes of y'all's time?" He asked us. "Can I tell you about Jesus?"
We students took a pause from our painting and looked at him. "Um...well, see, we're kind of doing this for Jesus. We're doing a service project," we told him. Our leader and professor, Jeremy, a young thirtysomething with a tough-guy look but a good humored personality said to the man kindly, "We're kind of in a hurry to get this done, we only have half an hour until we need to leave." We did indeed, and still had lots of work to finish. "Could we paint while you talk?" Jeremy asked. The street preacher shook his head gravely. "I would not disrespect God that way. I need your full and undivided attention." "Well, ah, sorry," replied our professor, shrugging his shoulders. It was getting awkward. Jeremy went back to our mural, which was coming along nicely by the way.
"What would you say if a 15 foot angel was standing in front of you right now?" The man said heatedly. At that point, we all stopped painting and watched Jeremy and the man. We were all thinking the same thing: What the heck? Jeremy, clothes flecked with paint, face shining with sweat and sunblock, strided over to the street preacher. He was a good deal taller than the man, more intimidating for sure, and it really would be a much more entertaining story if the Augsburg College professor of religion had thrown a John Wayne-style punch right then and there. But this is not an entertaining story. Alas, we were trying to live out not only our Christian principles, but Dietrich Bonhoeffer's as well, one of which was pacifism (for awhile, at least). Jeremy looked the street preacher in the eye. "You are not a 15 foot angel."
And let me tell you, the street preacher didn't look so confident anymore. He went on his way, and we finished the tool shed mural half an hour later.
Bonhoeffer makes this point, which he called 'Christ existing in community.' It basically means going out into the world to see Christ in action through other people, and to experience Christ's love through others. We were trying to be Christ existing in our community that day by just painting a mural. See, in Bonhoeffer's German-Lutheran 20th century, people knew Jesus advised them to be more in tune with the problems in their community, but they were generally more interested in getting themselves to heaven. Making that your life's goal can be blinding. This street preacher we encountered certainly was blind to the fact that we were trying to do something good with God in mind, even though it was something as little as making an alleyway tool shed brighter. He seemed to have his head so deep in the book that he couldn't see God around his world, too. I hope that we all can learn to see Christ existing in our communities.
Part of the week's studies involved a service project in Minneapolis. We were at a Lutheran church in the Phillips neighborhood, where many of the parishioners are immigrants from Latin America, and some of them shared their stories of immigration (They were all legal, but told of neighbors and families they knew being torn apart because they were undocumented) They gave us a better understanding of how hard it is to make it in a new country. The pastors there were a husband and wife team: soft-spoken, petite Pastor Luisa, a native of Chile, and tall, outgoing, white, Minnesota-born Pastor Patrick. I was in awe of his seamless Spanish.
After talking with the church members, the pastors showed us two storage sheds outside behind the church, an alleyway going between them. The one on the right had a mural on it, a beautiful green garden that said "God's Creation" in yellow and orange letters, and Spanish words.
The shed on the left side of the alley had also been painted, but by the ugly spray paint cans of local gangs. An incomprehensible symbol of squiggles covered the whole thing. Our job was to cover it with a mural of our own, with 17 people in our group and and hour and a half to work with. When we thought of our design, we got down to business: There was a tree, a big white and yellow daisy, and the words Paz and Alegria, peace and joy in big bright letters.
We were sweating in the sun but enjoying our task and the people we were serving with. But a little later, something really odd occured. A short man in a purple polo shirt and khakis approached us. He carried a plastic bag that I could see had bibles in it. "Oh geez," I thought.
A street preacher.
"Can I have a couple minutes of y'all's time?" He asked us. "Can I tell you about Jesus?"
We students took a pause from our painting and looked at him. "Um...well, see, we're kind of doing this for Jesus. We're doing a service project," we told him. Our leader and professor, Jeremy, a young thirtysomething with a tough-guy look but a good humored personality said to the man kindly, "We're kind of in a hurry to get this done, we only have half an hour until we need to leave." We did indeed, and still had lots of work to finish. "Could we paint while you talk?" Jeremy asked. The street preacher shook his head gravely. "I would not disrespect God that way. I need your full and undivided attention." "Well, ah, sorry," replied our professor, shrugging his shoulders. It was getting awkward. Jeremy went back to our mural, which was coming along nicely by the way.
"What would you say if a 15 foot angel was standing in front of you right now?" The man said heatedly. At that point, we all stopped painting and watched Jeremy and the man. We were all thinking the same thing: What the heck? Jeremy, clothes flecked with paint, face shining with sweat and sunblock, strided over to the street preacher. He was a good deal taller than the man, more intimidating for sure, and it really would be a much more entertaining story if the Augsburg College professor of religion had thrown a John Wayne-style punch right then and there. But this is not an entertaining story. Alas, we were trying to live out not only our Christian principles, but Dietrich Bonhoeffer's as well, one of which was pacifism (for awhile, at least). Jeremy looked the street preacher in the eye. "You are not a 15 foot angel."
And let me tell you, the street preacher didn't look so confident anymore. He went on his way, and we finished the tool shed mural half an hour later.
Bonhoeffer makes this point, which he called 'Christ existing in community.' It basically means going out into the world to see Christ in action through other people, and to experience Christ's love through others. We were trying to be Christ existing in our community that day by just painting a mural. See, in Bonhoeffer's German-Lutheran 20th century, people knew Jesus advised them to be more in tune with the problems in their community, but they were generally more interested in getting themselves to heaven. Making that your life's goal can be blinding. This street preacher we encountered certainly was blind to the fact that we were trying to do something good with God in mind, even though it was something as little as making an alleyway tool shed brighter. He seemed to have his head so deep in the book that he couldn't see God around his world, too. I hope that we all can learn to see Christ existing in our communities.
Saturday, January 30, 2010
Fun Times with the Little Guy
So my two year old cousin--whom I'll call Little Guy--was crying big fat tears when his dad dropped him off at our house to spend the night. To make him stop, I took him to the piano, one of his favorite toys when he visits us. He sat on my lap while I played some songs, trying to see the notes over his head of big curly hair. He did stop crying, but he just watched me wide-eyed and didn't play along as usual. So we tried an assortment of other little toys he likes--a tambourine, a little drum, a lap harp, a little thing that walks across the floor when you wind it up--but nothing was making him too excited. Then I went over to the computer and checked my Facebook page. I brought him on my lap, thinking he might want to write an incomprehensible status update for his favorite cousin ever, when he said, "Boom boom pow." It hit me. His parents like to play him the song "Boom Boom Pow" by the hip hop group the Black Eyed Peas, and apparently it makes Little Guy very happy. So I went on to YouTube, and as I found the video, he pointed to it and said happily "I like dat boom boom pow." Okay, then. When I started the video his face immediately lit up, he started bouncing and and waving his arms. Then I let him down and he ran around in circles for about five minutes, while we all were laughing and laughing. I decided to see what other music he'd like, and I YouTubed "Gold Digger" by Kanye West, sung by the cast of "Glee," and "Single Ladies (Put a Ring On It") by Beyonce. The Little Guy looked at me pleadingly and said, "Boom boom pow!" So we watched that two or three more times. The joy of little children is infectious. I don't know about you, but when I was his age I listened to Raffi, Peter, Paul and Mary, and songs of French Canadian voyageurs. Times are changing!
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Silent Noon
My favorite song ever as of late is "Silent Noon" by Ralph Vaughan Williams. As an amateur vocalist with a mezzo-ish voice and somewhat unreliable range, I got tired of finding all these lovely songs that required me to hit a high A flat or hold a note for twenty measures then add a fermata to it. A song is not worth it if it makes you feel like you're gonna pass out.* SO, one day I was flippin' through all our song books and was lucky enough to find "Silent Noon." After hearing the St. Paul Chamber Orchestra perform "Lark Ascending" last whenever ago, I spent a week listening to our Vaughan Williams cd over and over again. I loved it all, and was of course ecstatic to find out he wrote singable music as well. Thus, whenever I got a chance I practiced "Silent Noon." Thing is, I don't know what's funner--playing it or singing it? I love the opening piano riff (yeah, I know that's not pianological terminology), the rich sound of an E flat chord...sigh. I was surprised to find out how simple the notes were to sing, but of course when the notes are simple, that means you have to work harder to make the piece exciting, expressive and engaging. You have to work on phrasing and breathing. For the record, my breathing sucks. That's why you need a teacher, a voice in my head tells me. Someday, I guess. It's strange, but lately I've been feeling like it's my song, and with my sister home for break I've been afraid to practice it, because you know, she might steal it from me. I know, it's stupid. A week or two ago I accidentally nearly blew it by playing the beginnging of it on the piano. She popped her head in the door and asked, "What's that?" Thinking fast, I replied nervously, "Um, ah, it's nothin', just somethin' I made up, that's all." And she bought it! For the rest of the day I felt guilty for claiming creative ownership of it, and was waiting for Ol' Ralph to strike me down from heaven. But anyways, I believe this song is a face-melter (that's a good thing), so I found the best-possible YouTube video I could find and thought I'd share. Geek out over.
*or maybe my technique is just really bad!
*or maybe my technique is just really bad!
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