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.
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