OLÓRIN noun name of the Maia that became
Gandalf, connected to olos no. 1 (UT:396)
OLOS (1) noun "dream, vision" (olor-, as in pl.
olori from earlier olozi) (UT:396). Cf. olor and see lár #2.
CAT yaulë; an earlier source also lists the word mëoi,
but this word looks strange within the context of LotRstyle
Quenya (it would be sole singular form in –oi) –
PE16:132, LT2:348
Oct 27, 2010
Oct 19, 2010
Gimme 3 Steps, Gimme 3 Steps, Mister...
Annnnnd he's off! Or, rather, he was. Matthew took 3 steps by himself Tuesday, then 4, then 5. Then he figured out that it was a lot easier to crawl and his knees have been limp spaghetti since.
Oct 12, 2010
This Book is All that I Need...
Got a notice in the mail today. My formerly free business checking account is now going to be $10 (ok, ok, $9.95) a month. Wow! The notice said. Look at all these cool new features! What a bargain!
I'll grant you (as my parents can attest), I've never been the best with money but I'm pretty sure that paying money for features you don't need or want isn't a bargain. (The cable company never believes me on that one but I, still, firmly believe it to be true.)
It's a small thing, I know, in the grand scheme of things. It's not cancer. It's not a stroke. It could be, though, the death blow to my little jewelry design business. Some (most, even, maybe) would say that a business that can't afford $120 a year probably should be allowed to go out of business. In theory, I agree with them. In practice... oh, in practice... I am having such a hard time letting go.
You see, I've been clutching at the tattered strings of my business by my fingertips, hoping to just hold on until the kids are all in school and I can devote more time and energy to it. I'm halfway there. The business is 4 years old and I've another 4 years until Matthew is in school. I'm at the peak of the mountain... or, rather, what should be the peak.
Forget Sisyphus's stone rolling down, I swear there are bulldozers coming up the other side of the mountain, shoving ever larger piles of rubble atop the zenith. The annual LLC fee to the state was supposed to a temporary thing that's now permanent - $250/yr. (and, yes, the multimillion dollar real estate LLC conglomerates pay the same fee that my micro business does). Web hosting - $180/yr. I gave up the second website, couldn't afford it anymore. Credit card processing - $96/yr. Now another $120 to the bank? How much longer can I afford the luxury of maintaining a business I don't have the time to market?
The truth is that I should let it go. But I just can't seem to let go of the dream that went with it. Still, no matter how nice I think my jewelry is, I suppose that doesn't really matter if it doesn't sell, does it?
I really should let it go, shouldn't I?
~~~
"How To Succeed", Opening song from How To Succeed In Business Without Really Trying
I'll grant you (as my parents can attest), I've never been the best with money but I'm pretty sure that paying money for features you don't need or want isn't a bargain. (The cable company never believes me on that one but I, still, firmly believe it to be true.)
It's a small thing, I know, in the grand scheme of things. It's not cancer. It's not a stroke. It could be, though, the death blow to my little jewelry design business. Some (most, even, maybe) would say that a business that can't afford $120 a year probably should be allowed to go out of business. In theory, I agree with them. In practice... oh, in practice... I am having such a hard time letting go.
You see, I've been clutching at the tattered strings of my business by my fingertips, hoping to just hold on until the kids are all in school and I can devote more time and energy to it. I'm halfway there. The business is 4 years old and I've another 4 years until Matthew is in school. I'm at the peak of the mountain... or, rather, what should be the peak.
Forget Sisyphus's stone rolling down, I swear there are bulldozers coming up the other side of the mountain, shoving ever larger piles of rubble atop the zenith. The annual LLC fee to the state was supposed to a temporary thing that's now permanent - $250/yr. (and, yes, the multimillion dollar real estate LLC conglomerates pay the same fee that my micro business does). Web hosting - $180/yr. I gave up the second website, couldn't afford it anymore. Credit card processing - $96/yr. Now another $120 to the bank? How much longer can I afford the luxury of maintaining a business I don't have the time to market?
The truth is that I should let it go. But I just can't seem to let go of the dream that went with it. Still, no matter how nice I think my jewelry is, I suppose that doesn't really matter if it doesn't sell, does it?
I really should let it go, shouldn't I?
~~~
"How To Succeed", Opening song from How To Succeed In Business Without Really Trying
Sep 30, 2010
Holy moley, Where the heck did the month go??!
I wish I had a lovely grand excuse of why I haven't blogged in a month - say, a trek to Antarctica or a month in the Pyrenees - but I don't. The school year started and, attendant upon that, all manner of other obligations which have essentially shredded any free time I have into unusable ribbons.
Katie started Kindergarten! The good news: she loves it and her teacher says she's a role model in the classroom. The bad news: I now have to get up at 7:15. Now, I know, 7:15 isn't all that early but, when you work evenings until 1 a.m. or so, it's pretty damn on the 0:dark:30 side of things. It's been hard, too, on Evie who both needs more sleep than she's getting and misses her big sister. She's adjusting slowly but surely. We've started music class again and gym starts next Wednesday; that will help. She has discovered she likes having Mama to herself... and would Matthew please not get in the way! I now am in the astonishing position of having my children fight over who gets to sit with/on me. As annoying as it can be at times, I'm grateful they want to.
Speaking of Evie... I got an awful lesson in my own need to slow down mid-month. The girls had been put to bed but were raising holy Hell. John went to a meeting. I went upstairs to put them back to bed so I could go to work. Livid is probably an accurate term. The crazed whooping should have warned me what I would face. The room, which had been tidy an hour before, was calf-deep in *stuff* from bow to stern; the girls had stripped their pajamas and their beds, strewing bedclothes and bed clothes around like so many crumpled newspapers on a windy evening. I made a (sorry assed) attempt to clear a path and finally just waded into the center of the room. I put Evie's mattress back on her bed. I put the sheet back on the mattress. I couldn't find the pillow or the top sheet or the blanket or Fuzzy Blankie.
I grabbed Evie from where she stood screaming on Katie's bed and, turning around, intended to put her in her bed. I should have moved instead of just turning. It was a little too far and she slipped out of my hands and hit her mouth on the metal of the bed (the girls have wrought iron beds). It was second only to the time I found Katie putting a plastic bag over Evie's head in heartstopping moments. Blood. Everywhere. I was having such a hard time getting it stopped that we called 911. They took one look (and not even a bend down and look kind of look) and said, "she's going to need stitches". By then she'd stopped bleeding (it actually stopped while I was still on the phone with the dispatcher- I looked down and Little Miss Neatnik was stripping her blood-covered shirt saying "ucky!!") so we refused transport and I called John. I'm sure I scared the shit out of him since he couldn't hear much over Evie's screaming other than "I need you to come home". He called 3 times on the way from his meeting and still couldn't figure out what was wrong until we got home.
We gave Evie a choice of who took her to CCMC and, amazingly, she chose me. So, John stayed with the other two and got to clean up the blood and I went off to the hospital for the next 6 hours. (I can't say enough about the staff at Children's - they are wonderful.) She wound up with a radiograph, an iv (for the ketamine), 6 stitches - two under her lip, two on her lip, and two between her upper gum and the inside of her upper lip.
And I wound up with a mother lode of guilt. If I hadn't have been in such a hurry, if I had been more patient, if I hadn't been furious... would I have been more careful, would I have cleaned the space first so I could move, would I have moved more slowly? I don't know. I am clumsy by nature and do overestimate what I'm capable of; I also like to think that, even angry, I'd never hurt my children but then something like this happens and I can't help but wonder. Needless to say, I'm a heck of a lot more cautious about moving children now and keeping a closer guard than ever on my temper. She is doing well now, fortunately, and it doesn't look like there's going to be any scarring. And she still loves me. A fact for which I am SO incredibly grateful.
What else happened this month... dance started up as did religious ed. We're, so far, handling our induction into the public school system with only minor bemusement (shocks me that kids don't go to Open house but do go to parent-teacher conferences - makes no sense to me at all!). The amount of paper that comes home from school is just... something else.
Two choirs have been up and running for a month and I go to my first CONCORA rehearsal tomorrow. October is going to be as bad as December usually is for vocal commitments - this week: 4 rehearsals (2 of which are 3 hours apiece) and 2 services. Next week: 3 rehearsals (but only 1 3 hour jobbie!) and 3 services... etc., etc. Don't get me wrong; I love every minute of it but it's exhausting!
I got and finished an order for 7 bridesmaids necklaces, got another custom order, and a donation request from a repeat customer. I really wish I had more time to create. It makes me a little crazy when I can't.
Then, of course, Katie officially turned 5 and Baby Matthew is no longer a baby, having turned 1 on the 16th.
And that pretty much covers September. October anyone?
Katie started Kindergarten! The good news: she loves it and her teacher says she's a role model in the classroom. The bad news: I now have to get up at 7:15. Now, I know, 7:15 isn't all that early but, when you work evenings until 1 a.m. or so, it's pretty damn on the 0:dark:30 side of things. It's been hard, too, on Evie who both needs more sleep than she's getting and misses her big sister. She's adjusting slowly but surely. We've started music class again and gym starts next Wednesday; that will help. She has discovered she likes having Mama to herself... and would Matthew please not get in the way! I now am in the astonishing position of having my children fight over who gets to sit with/on me. As annoying as it can be at times, I'm grateful they want to.
Speaking of Evie... I got an awful lesson in my own need to slow down mid-month. The girls had been put to bed but were raising holy Hell. John went to a meeting. I went upstairs to put them back to bed so I could go to work. Livid is probably an accurate term. The crazed whooping should have warned me what I would face. The room, which had been tidy an hour before, was calf-deep in *stuff* from bow to stern; the girls had stripped their pajamas and their beds, strewing bedclothes and bed clothes around like so many crumpled newspapers on a windy evening. I made a (sorry assed) attempt to clear a path and finally just waded into the center of the room. I put Evie's mattress back on her bed. I put the sheet back on the mattress. I couldn't find the pillow or the top sheet or the blanket or Fuzzy Blankie.
I grabbed Evie from where she stood screaming on Katie's bed and, turning around, intended to put her in her bed. I should have moved instead of just turning. It was a little too far and she slipped out of my hands and hit her mouth on the metal of the bed (the girls have wrought iron beds). It was second only to the time I found Katie putting a plastic bag over Evie's head in heartstopping moments. Blood. Everywhere. I was having such a hard time getting it stopped that we called 911. They took one look (and not even a bend down and look kind of look) and said, "she's going to need stitches". By then she'd stopped bleeding (it actually stopped while I was still on the phone with the dispatcher- I looked down and Little Miss Neatnik was stripping her blood-covered shirt saying "ucky!!") so we refused transport and I called John. I'm sure I scared the shit out of him since he couldn't hear much over Evie's screaming other than "I need you to come home". He called 3 times on the way from his meeting and still couldn't figure out what was wrong until we got home.
We gave Evie a choice of who took her to CCMC and, amazingly, she chose me. So, John stayed with the other two and got to clean up the blood and I went off to the hospital for the next 6 hours. (I can't say enough about the staff at Children's - they are wonderful.) She wound up with a radiograph, an iv (for the ketamine), 6 stitches - two under her lip, two on her lip, and two between her upper gum and the inside of her upper lip.
And I wound up with a mother lode of guilt. If I hadn't have been in such a hurry, if I had been more patient, if I hadn't been furious... would I have been more careful, would I have cleaned the space first so I could move, would I have moved more slowly? I don't know. I am clumsy by nature and do overestimate what I'm capable of; I also like to think that, even angry, I'd never hurt my children but then something like this happens and I can't help but wonder. Needless to say, I'm a heck of a lot more cautious about moving children now and keeping a closer guard than ever on my temper. She is doing well now, fortunately, and it doesn't look like there's going to be any scarring. And she still loves me. A fact for which I am SO incredibly grateful.
What else happened this month... dance started up as did religious ed. We're, so far, handling our induction into the public school system with only minor bemusement (shocks me that kids don't go to Open house but do go to parent-teacher conferences - makes no sense to me at all!). The amount of paper that comes home from school is just... something else.
Two choirs have been up and running for a month and I go to my first CONCORA rehearsal tomorrow. October is going to be as bad as December usually is for vocal commitments - this week: 4 rehearsals (2 of which are 3 hours apiece) and 2 services. Next week: 3 rehearsals (but only 1 3 hour jobbie!) and 3 services... etc., etc. Don't get me wrong; I love every minute of it but it's exhausting!
I got and finished an order for 7 bridesmaids necklaces, got another custom order, and a donation request from a repeat customer. I really wish I had more time to create. It makes me a little crazy when I can't.
Then, of course, Katie officially turned 5 and Baby Matthew is no longer a baby, having turned 1 on the 16th.
And that pretty much covers September. October anyone?
Aug 30, 2010
i really like dinosaurs, i like 'em a lot, 14 pteranodons is what i've got
14 pteranodons, they're friendly and tame, and i've given each one a special name...
and not one was named Bob. ;-)* (I can't quite figure out the picture thing but, if you click each picture, you should get an unobstructed view.)
It was hot. Man, it was hot. It was still 93° at 7:30 p.m. so you can imagine how nasty it was in my backyard at 2 p.m. in the afternoon. Yet...
14 little pteranodons decorated their wings...
then swooped their gliders into the "fish pond" for fish. (Though, of course, pteranodons eat fish, they found that the construction paper variety had a little too much... fiber... for tasty consumption and happily traded them for the surprise of a secret prize from the prize box.)
14 pteranodons then transformed into 14 junior paleontologists and excavated dinosaur skeletons in the sandbox and listened to Skippyjon Jones and The Big Bones before eating their cake and ice cream.
We finished the afternoon with much flapping around - the pteranodons flapped their wings, we wingless ones flapped our fans. It was... hot.
~~~
with apologies to Sandra Boynton and her "15 Animals" song... ;-)
and not one was named Bob. ;-)* (I can't quite figure out the picture thing but, if you click each picture, you should get an unobstructed view.)
It was hot. Man, it was hot. It was still 93° at 7:30 p.m. so you can imagine how nasty it was in my backyard at 2 p.m. in the afternoon. Yet...
14 little pteranodons decorated their wings...then swooped their gliders into the "fish pond" for fish. (Though, of course, pteranodons eat fish, they found that the construction paper variety had a little too much... fiber... for tasty consumption and happily traded them for the surprise of a secret prize from the prize box.)
14 pteranodons then transformed into 14 junior paleontologists and excavated dinosaur skeletons in the sandbox and listened to Skippyjon Jones and The Big Bones before eating their cake and ice cream.We finished the afternoon with much flapping around - the pteranodons flapped their wings, we wingless ones flapped our fans. It was... hot.
~~~
with apologies to Sandra Boynton and her "15 Animals" song... ;-)
Aug 24, 2010
It's for real, darn it, go flippin' figure!
It was a day for music high notes today (pun fully intended).
I got my brand new personalized choral folder today (looooove the folks at UPS, they bring me all sorts of fun stuff).
I also got a sneak peek at my gorgeous new music bag (which the wonderfully talented and completely amazing h. at Marsbarn Designs made for me to replace my now outgrown one). Yes, I've been happy chair dancing today.
But, to top it off, I got, in the mail today, my CONCORA contract. Guess this means it's for real. Holy shit.
I got my brand new personalized choral folder today (looooove the folks at UPS, they bring me all sorts of fun stuff).
I also got a sneak peek at my gorgeous new music bag (which the wonderfully talented and completely amazing h. at Marsbarn Designs made for me to replace my now outgrown one). Yes, I've been happy chair dancing today.
But, to top it off, I got, in the mail today, my CONCORA contract. Guess this means it's for real. Holy shit.
Aug 23, 2010
Another brilliant zinger... another vodka stinger...
When *headdesk* becomes a way of life... one winds up with a perpetual headache and needs a larger stash of vodka.
The two year old is now in a big girl bed and is potty training. The second is going quite well - we're down to 2-3 pairs of wet undies/day. The first is an unmitigated disaster; she is entirely too thrilled with the freedom. As a result, the girls aren't getting to sleep until at least 10:30 (they go to bed at 7). I'm concerned how this will play out once the five year old starts Kindergarten in a week and a couple days.
Said five year old is doing her level best to drive me stark raving mad. This little cutie said to me, as we all ate breakfast and I didn't get the food in the baby's mouth quick enough to suit the baby, "well, if my baby were crying, I'd pay attention to him." Yeah. She ignores every instruction she doesn't want to hear, wails like a banshee and/or ignores her punishments, and is generally as disrespectful as a teenager (actually, I think that may be an insult to teenagers). Pass the fermented potatoes - hey, it can be mixed with OJ; that makes it breakfast appropriate, doesn't it?
Random other things:
Newington schools says "no kids" for Open House but insists on their presence at parent-teacher conferences.
I have all of 2 social events scheduled in all of August that don't involve kids. They're the same night.
I'm loaded with ideas to blog about during the day when I don't have time to access the computer but my mind goes curiously blank in the evening.
I need to start being creative again. Not making is killing me slowly.
~~~
"Ladies Who Lunch", Company, Stephen Sondheim
http://www.stlyrics.com/lyrics/company/ladieswholunch.htm
The two year old is now in a big girl bed and is potty training. The second is going quite well - we're down to 2-3 pairs of wet undies/day. The first is an unmitigated disaster; she is entirely too thrilled with the freedom. As a result, the girls aren't getting to sleep until at least 10:30 (they go to bed at 7). I'm concerned how this will play out once the five year old starts Kindergarten in a week and a couple days.
Said five year old is doing her level best to drive me stark raving mad. This little cutie said to me, as we all ate breakfast and I didn't get the food in the baby's mouth quick enough to suit the baby, "well, if my baby were crying, I'd pay attention to him." Yeah. She ignores every instruction she doesn't want to hear, wails like a banshee and/or ignores her punishments, and is generally as disrespectful as a teenager (actually, I think that may be an insult to teenagers). Pass the fermented potatoes - hey, it can be mixed with OJ; that makes it breakfast appropriate, doesn't it?
Random other things:
Newington schools says "no kids" for Open House but insists on their presence at parent-teacher conferences.
I have all of 2 social events scheduled in all of August that don't involve kids. They're the same night.
I'm loaded with ideas to blog about during the day when I don't have time to access the computer but my mind goes curiously blank in the evening.
I need to start being creative again. Not making is killing me slowly.
~~~
"Ladies Who Lunch", Company, Stephen Sondheim
http://www.stlyrics.com/lyrics/company/ladieswholunch.htm
Aug 10, 2010
I've got my laptop for pleasure and my guitar for pain...
Pteranodons are not dinosaurs Who knew?
I do know, however, that pteranodon screeches practiced in the car alarm the driver.
I like having my car to myself. I almost never have my car to myself.
I regulate my mood through music. Usually kid-inappropriate music.
I also regulate my mood through chocolate and booze. Both of which are too caloric to eat/drink to levels which will functionally elevate my spirits. (Heh, booze, spirits, get it?) Not to mention, using any substance to regulate one's mood is probably a bad idea.
Thus, my mood.
I hate my job but I can't gripe about it to Mr. PPG because he gets depressed that he doesn't make enough money so that I don't have to work. (This, mind you, is (sincerely) not my intention but an inevitable result.)
Where was I going with this? I don't remember. Oh well, tomorrow is also a day filled with wet underwear.
~~
Jay Brannan, from the Goddamned album. As opposed to the goddamned album. Which it certainly isn't. He's coming to Portland/Seattle and a bunch of other places that aren't near me. Go see him if they're near you. Great voice. Great lyrics. Great use of rhythm for emphasis.
I do know, however, that pteranodon screeches practiced in the car alarm the driver.
I like having my car to myself. I almost never have my car to myself.
I regulate my mood through music. Usually kid-inappropriate music.
I also regulate my mood through chocolate and booze. Both of which are too caloric to eat/drink to levels which will functionally elevate my spirits. (Heh, booze, spirits, get it?) Not to mention, using any substance to regulate one's mood is probably a bad idea.
Thus, my mood.
I hate my job but I can't gripe about it to Mr. PPG because he gets depressed that he doesn't make enough money so that I don't have to work. (This, mind you, is (sincerely) not my intention but an inevitable result.)
Where was I going with this? I don't remember. Oh well, tomorrow is also a day filled with wet underwear.
~~
Jay Brannan, from the Goddamned album. As opposed to the goddamned album. Which it certainly isn't. He's coming to Portland/Seattle and a bunch of other places that aren't near me. Go see him if they're near you. Great voice. Great lyrics. Great use of rhythm for emphasis.
Aug 5, 2010
6 weeks??!
Oy. I know I've been busy but, yeesh!
And tonight's just a shiny object too... bad blogger!!
Vacation pix from my trip to Portland and Seattle!
http://peppypilotgirl.zenfolio.com/p58197894
Highlights of the trip:
bacon maple bars (blissful sigh)
listening to ATC from BDL to PDX (happy pilot girl)
meeting one of my very best friends for the first time (she's as great in person and just as I expected)
meeting new friends and a cranky cat (grateful not to have been attacked)
wearing combat boots and not having anyone look at me funny
not having anyone wipe their nose on me
not having to fight for sole use of my water bottle
taking all the photographs I wanted (I narrowed those at the link down from 600+) without having anyone leave me behind inadvertently (that happens to me a lot normally)
did I mention the bacon maple bars?
fountains!
coffee, coffee, and more coffee (except for Sunday nights - LOL!)
Downsides of the trip:
getting up at 4:30 a.m.
my arrival at home being a nonevent for my family
um... there must be something else but I can't think of it now!
The best part though? Just being Kelley. Not Mom, nor wife, nor worker, nor daughter. Just Kelley. It was absolutely glorious.
Can't wait to do it again next year. Hopefully, they'll have me back!
And tonight's just a shiny object too... bad blogger!!
Vacation pix from my trip to Portland and Seattle!
http://peppypilotgirl.zenfolio.com/p58197894
Highlights of the trip:
bacon maple bars (blissful sigh)
listening to ATC from BDL to PDX (happy pilot girl)
meeting one of my very best friends for the first time (she's as great in person and just as I expected)
meeting new friends and a cranky cat (grateful not to have been attacked)
wearing combat boots and not having anyone look at me funny
not having anyone wipe their nose on me
not having to fight for sole use of my water bottle
taking all the photographs I wanted (I narrowed those at the link down from 600+) without having anyone leave me behind inadvertently (that happens to me a lot normally)
did I mention the bacon maple bars?
fountains!
coffee, coffee, and more coffee (except for Sunday nights - LOL!)
Downsides of the trip:
getting up at 4:30 a.m.
my arrival at home being a nonevent for my family
um... there must be something else but I can't think of it now!
The best part though? Just being Kelley. Not Mom, nor wife, nor worker, nor daughter. Just Kelley. It was absolutely glorious.
Can't wait to do it again next year. Hopefully, they'll have me back!
Jul 1, 2010
Yeeehaaaaa!!!
Well, I had my audition for the PPC tonight. I sang the Handel and the Duke - they went well. Both pieces fit my voice very well, fortunately, and I only had a couple bits that I wasn't entirely happy with. The intervals went quite well (thank the Lord, no m6 or M6 down) but the sight reading sucked ass.
"You have a lovely voice, a very bright tone," he said, "we should be making final decisions in about a week."
Christine, my voice teacher (and friend), called me about an hour later - I'm in!!! I cannot express how excited I am. Excited enough to celebrate madly with martinis and chicken wings and brownies, despite my diet. This has been a goal for years and years.
Christine is proud of me. Pam, my choir director (and friend) who pushed me into auditioning despite my hesitation, will be proud of me, I know. Jessica, Julie, Gabe - all the CONCORA people I know and respect. Jackie Jarrett, my late voice teacher, would be so proud of me. I miss her tonight so much and wish I could tell her in person.
And, heck, for once, I'm proud of me, too. Who'd'a thunk that, at this point in my life, I'd actually have a vocal career??
CONCORA, here I come!
"You have a lovely voice, a very bright tone," he said, "we should be making final decisions in about a week."
Christine, my voice teacher (and friend), called me about an hour later - I'm in!!! I cannot express how excited I am. Excited enough to celebrate madly with martinis and chicken wings and brownies, despite my diet. This has been a goal for years and years.
Christine is proud of me. Pam, my choir director (and friend) who pushed me into auditioning despite my hesitation, will be proud of me, I know. Jessica, Julie, Gabe - all the CONCORA people I know and respect. Jackie Jarrett, my late voice teacher, would be so proud of me. I miss her tonight so much and wish I could tell her in person.
And, heck, for once, I'm proud of me, too. Who'd'a thunk that, at this point in my life, I'd actually have a vocal career??
CONCORA, here I come!
Jun 29, 2010
Ten Reasons My Cat and My Kids are Alike
10. Loud wailing noises are typical, particularly in chorus and when you're on the phone.
9. Speaking of the phone, both are a hazard to the phone cord.
8. Both take over the bed.
7. Neither likes to stay put.
6. Wetting their heads is hazardous to everyone involved.
5. Both frequently demand to be fed then turn up their noses at the presented meal.
4. Both like to fill your lap as you sit on the toilet, regardless of your wishes in the matter.
3. Cheerios or fur, it's all the same when it comes to the need to vacuum.
2. Both creep into your bed when you're peaceful asleep and wait for you 2" away from your face.
1. Diapers, Litter Box - enough said.
9. Speaking of the phone, both are a hazard to the phone cord.
8. Both take over the bed.
7. Neither likes to stay put.
6. Wetting their heads is hazardous to everyone involved.
5. Both frequently demand to be fed then turn up their noses at the presented meal.
4. Both like to fill your lap as you sit on the toilet, regardless of your wishes in the matter.
3. Cheerios or fur, it's all the same when it comes to the need to vacuum.
2. Both creep into your bed when you're peaceful asleep and wait for you 2" away from your face.
1. Diapers, Litter Box - enough said.
Jun 22, 2010
And he'll be in line at the Gates, people still standing in his way
Got a call from the PPC office - they need to reschedule my audition to next Wednesday or Thursday. Nothing like stretchin' the stress out, I always say.
~~~
Jay Brannan, "On All Fours", Goddamned
~~~
Jay Brannan, "On All Fours", Goddamned
Jun 21, 2010
Thursday Looms
like that proverbial bulwark never failing.
It looks like Thursday at 5:45 is a go. I have an accompanist lined up.
The audition is pretty typical and should last about 20 minutes.
Two pieces in contrasting styles, one in English, one in a foreign language.
Sightreading
Intervals
Memory testing (i.e., adjudicant plays a phrase, auditioner repeats it)
Vocalizing to determine range and tambre.
I'm doing "Ah, Mio Cor!" (Handel) for the foreign language and a John Duke piece called "Give Me Your Hand" for the English. I actually did the Duke piece for my senior year jury in college. I like both pieces a lot, which helps, and they both suit my voice. I still struggle a little with cramming "puoi" (poo-oh-ee) all into a 16th when a 1/4 note = 104 bpm but, hey, at 104, it'll go by so fast maybe the adjudicant won't notice if it comes out "poy" instead, right?
I've been working my intervals (anybody have a good memory aid for a downward m6 and M6?) and practicing (as much as one can by oneself) sightreading and memory.
The goal for the next few days is to get lots of good sleep and not get sick in between now and Thursday. Of course, when one is focused on how much one needs to stay healthy, psychsomaticism can strike so I'm also downing a boatload of immune support crap. And trying to think positively. I want this a lot but, you know, if I don't get it, I don't get it and it's not the end of the world. I'll still have a family to go home to, a day job (well, night job) -bleah - to do, and people that love me. Now, just remind me of that Thursday evening!
Any and all positive thoughts, prayers, strengthening vibes, etc. are appreciated!
It looks like Thursday at 5:45 is a go. I have an accompanist lined up.
The audition is pretty typical and should last about 20 minutes.
Two pieces in contrasting styles, one in English, one in a foreign language.
Sightreading
Intervals
Memory testing (i.e., adjudicant plays a phrase, auditioner repeats it)
Vocalizing to determine range and tambre.
I'm doing "Ah, Mio Cor!" (Handel) for the foreign language and a John Duke piece called "Give Me Your Hand" for the English. I actually did the Duke piece for my senior year jury in college. I like both pieces a lot, which helps, and they both suit my voice. I still struggle a little with cramming "puoi" (poo-oh-ee) all into a 16th when a 1/4 note = 104 bpm but, hey, at 104, it'll go by so fast maybe the adjudicant won't notice if it comes out "poy" instead, right?
I've been working my intervals (anybody have a good memory aid for a downward m6 and M6?) and practicing (as much as one can by oneself) sightreading and memory.
The goal for the next few days is to get lots of good sleep and not get sick in between now and Thursday. Of course, when one is focused on how much one needs to stay healthy, psychsomaticism can strike so I'm also downing a boatload of immune support crap. And trying to think positively. I want this a lot but, you know, if I don't get it, I don't get it and it's not the end of the world. I'll still have a family to go home to, a day job (well, night job) -bleah - to do, and people that love me. Now, just remind me of that Thursday evening!
Any and all positive thoughts, prayers, strengthening vibes, etc. are appreciated!
Jun 15, 2010
Commence Official Freak Out...
::deep breath::
::deep breath::
::deep breath::
First, remember the PPC?
Well, this month, I bit the bullet. Sent in my resume. Harangued my (wonderful) choir director into agreeing to write a recommendation, rode herd until she did it. Pestered my (terrific) voice teacher into acting as my accompanist. Got an email today. I've been asked to come for an audition. I've asked for a week from Thursday (6/24) at 5:45/6 ish and am waiting to hear back if that works for both the adjudicant and my voice teacher.
It took me a while and some tectonic life shifts (2 more kids, getting my first real professional singing gigs) but, more importantly, it took the honest and heartfelt responses from people - a couple of whom don't even know me. It was the strength your responses gave me that led me to answer the ad for my church job two years ago in July, which led me to where I am now. Your friendship is appreciated so very much.
::deep breath::
::deep breath::
First, remember the PPC?
Well, this month, I bit the bullet. Sent in my resume. Harangued my (wonderful) choir director into agreeing to write a recommendation, rode herd until she did it. Pestered my (terrific) voice teacher into acting as my accompanist. Got an email today. I've been asked to come for an audition. I've asked for a week from Thursday (6/24) at 5:45/6 ish and am waiting to hear back if that works for both the adjudicant and my voice teacher.
It took me a while and some tectonic life shifts (2 more kids, getting my first real professional singing gigs) but, more importantly, it took the honest and heartfelt responses from people - a couple of whom don't even know me. It was the strength your responses gave me that led me to answer the ad for my church job two years ago in July, which led me to where I am now. Your friendship is appreciated so very much.
May 30, 2010
Cool Piece
This is Ola Gjeilo's Ubi Caritas set for SSAA. We did it a couple of weeks ago with the full choir; tonight we did it with just 6 singers (5-part divisi). This is the 6-singer version (I forgot my iPod the other day).
Straight up, this isn't the best recording; it's just my iPod and the little Belkin microphone in an incredibly acoustically live church. It doesn't do this amazing piece justice but it'll give you a taste of why I love being a church singer.
Thank you, Ola Gjeilo, for this piece.
ubi caritas.m4a
May 27, 2010
I almost killed someone tonight
I posted a while ago - last year maybe? - about how little touch was in my life. I think today's events are exemplary of the situation.
Traveling westbound, just below the speed limit (32 in a 35) on my way home from choir rehearsal. Truck ahead of me has been waiting but begins its left in time for me to continue westbound without hitting the brake (slowing by taking the foot of the gas only). A motorcycle darts from the left, in front of the truck. He doesn't see me. I don't see him. Until his front wheel visually clears the truck about 10 feet ahead and to the left of me.
I slam on the brakes, yank the wheel to the right - aiming for the driveway on the right but just hoping that I miss the tree - and hit the horn. And praying. A lot. (With maybe a What the fuck!! thrown in for good measure.) (Ok, a distinctly explosive What The Fuck?!!.)
It's close. His pedal hits my driver's side front quarter panel. He uses his foot to kick himself away. I come to a stop before hitting the garbage can (or the tree). He continues on down the road until he realizes that I'm totally freaked out and comes back to make sure I'm ok.
He thanks me for reacting so quickly and apologizes for putting me in that position. He assures me he's fine and his bike is fine; he's more worried about me. (I'm good during crises but tend to get shaky after it's all said and done.) He truly does seem worried about me, too. It's a guy probably 55ish, probably was enjoying his evening thoroughly until I almost killed him, much as I was enjoying the evening until that point. I thank him and he heads back to his bike. I wait for him to leave (I don't want any more motorcycle interactions today, thank you very much) and head home still shaken.
When I get home, J is working on the yard and the kids are playing. I tell him what happened and that I'm pretty shaken up. He seems very ho-hum. I show him the scrape/slight dent to illustrate how close a call it was. His reaction: "He scratched your car?!" then he goes off with the rake. I'm shaking - a man was almost killed, for God's sake. No hug. No touch. No kind words. He refuses to let me put the baby to bed, denying me even that much human contact because he thinks my wanting to put the baby to bed has to do with a judgment on him for not doing it earlier. Because, after all, isn't it all about him?
I need touch from the people I care about. It's not an uncommon need. I've heard them referred as stress touches or grounding touches -a hand on the back as one passes around another, a hug, a casual fingertip brush on the arm, an arm around the shoulders, knuckles stroking across a cheek - just little gestures that people who love each other make without even thinking about it. There's the proof that someone loves you.
Or the proof that they don't.
Traveling westbound, just below the speed limit (32 in a 35) on my way home from choir rehearsal. Truck ahead of me has been waiting but begins its left in time for me to continue westbound without hitting the brake (slowing by taking the foot of the gas only). A motorcycle darts from the left, in front of the truck. He doesn't see me. I don't see him. Until his front wheel visually clears the truck about 10 feet ahead and to the left of me.
I slam on the brakes, yank the wheel to the right - aiming for the driveway on the right but just hoping that I miss the tree - and hit the horn. And praying. A lot. (With maybe a What the fuck!! thrown in for good measure.) (Ok, a distinctly explosive What The Fuck?!!.)
It's close. His pedal hits my driver's side front quarter panel. He uses his foot to kick himself away. I come to a stop before hitting the garbage can (or the tree). He continues on down the road until he realizes that I'm totally freaked out and comes back to make sure I'm ok.
He thanks me for reacting so quickly and apologizes for putting me in that position. He assures me he's fine and his bike is fine; he's more worried about me. (I'm good during crises but tend to get shaky after it's all said and done.) He truly does seem worried about me, too. It's a guy probably 55ish, probably was enjoying his evening thoroughly until I almost killed him, much as I was enjoying the evening until that point. I thank him and he heads back to his bike. I wait for him to leave (I don't want any more motorcycle interactions today, thank you very much) and head home still shaken.
When I get home, J is working on the yard and the kids are playing. I tell him what happened and that I'm pretty shaken up. He seems very ho-hum. I show him the scrape/slight dent to illustrate how close a call it was. His reaction: "He scratched your car?!" then he goes off with the rake. I'm shaking - a man was almost killed, for God's sake. No hug. No touch. No kind words. He refuses to let me put the baby to bed, denying me even that much human contact because he thinks my wanting to put the baby to bed has to do with a judgment on him for not doing it earlier. Because, after all, isn't it all about him?
I need touch from the people I care about. It's not an uncommon need. I've heard them referred as stress touches or grounding touches -a hand on the back as one passes around another, a hug, a casual fingertip brush on the arm, an arm around the shoulders, knuckles stroking across a cheek - just little gestures that people who love each other make without even thinking about it. There's the proof that someone loves you.
Or the proof that they don't.
once upon a time
heels click
across
the tiled corridor
hair twists smoothly
upward
skirt falls
neatly
jacket tailored
appearance
polished
not just
competency,
excellence
efficiency,
organization
appreciated
i was
good
at what i did
across
the tiled corridor
hair twists smoothly
upward
skirt falls
neatly
jacket tailored
appearance
polished
not just
competency,
excellence
efficiency,
organization
appreciated
i was
good
at what i did
May 3, 2010
A Bit of An Explanation...
A couple weeks ago, I titled a post SEATTLE!!! This was, I realize, a bit inexplicable as the subject of the post (John winning his first jury trial) doesn't seem to relate at all. I almost didn't want to believe it was finally going to happen. You see, I'm going to meet one of my very best friends. We've been trying to do this for, quite literally, years. Add to that, I am traveling All By Myself.
But, today, it's booked. My mastercard is melting (until the "enemy" finally pays up and John gets paid for the case) but it's booked. Open jaws trip: Hartford to Portland, where she'll meet me, then we'll drive down to Seattle and I'll fly home from there.
I, Wife/Mommy/Employee, am going on vacation. EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Oops, did I "eeee" out loud?
But, today, it's booked. My mastercard is melting (until the "enemy" finally pays up and John gets paid for the case) but it's booked. Open jaws trip: Hartford to Portland, where she'll meet me, then we'll drive down to Seattle and I'll fly home from there.
I, Wife/Mommy/Employee, am going on vacation. EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Oops, did I "eeee" out loud?
Apr 22, 2010
Insert Puffy Lower Lip Here
I outsmarted myself again! Yes, I do appear to be good at this. Unfortunately, I've not yet found a way to make it profitable, more's the pity.
My boots came - Ooooh, I'm going to love these boots. But I have to put their lovely little black selves back into the box and ship them back to Danner (well, to be fair, Danner's sent a return sticker). I had been going to go with the 8 to begin with but my sneakers (which are a men's 8) are just a hair too short so I figured I'd better go with the 8.5. Apparently, Danners run a bit longer than New Balance and they're just that much too long. My heels slip up and down and, from years spent hiking with my family growing up, I know that slipping boots = blisters.
So, sadly, back they go. Once the new ones arrive, I ship them back to Danner's recraft department for stretching in the balls (of the feet, Jade, of the feet!). I can understand Danner wanting me to try on the boots before requesting they be stretched. It makes excellent business sense. My lack of patience, however, does not understand excellent business sense, however, so I'm pouting. ;)
And lusting... after my own boots. I am such a dork!
My boots came - Ooooh, I'm going to love these boots. But I have to put their lovely little black selves back into the box and ship them back to Danner (well, to be fair, Danner's sent a return sticker). I had been going to go with the 8 to begin with but my sneakers (which are a men's 8) are just a hair too short so I figured I'd better go with the 8.5. Apparently, Danners run a bit longer than New Balance and they're just that much too long. My heels slip up and down and, from years spent hiking with my family growing up, I know that slipping boots = blisters.
So, sadly, back they go. Once the new ones arrive, I ship them back to Danner's recraft department for stretching in the balls (of the feet, Jade, of the feet!). I can understand Danner wanting me to try on the boots before requesting they be stretched. It makes excellent business sense. My lack of patience, however, does not understand excellent business sense, however, so I'm pouting. ;)
And lusting... after my own boots. I am such a dork!
Apr 21, 2010
The I Gave Up On Zumba Playlist
I may have mentioned before that I was trying Zumba and have come to the conclusion that, unless one is in no need of Zumba, one will be no good at Zumba. So, I gave up. No, no, not totally, just sort of. I've taken the idea of Zumba (exercise via dance with handweights) and put it to music that requires less coordination (because, honestly?, I don't have enough coordination to spare for Latinesque hip movements). (Including links because some of this music I know some of my friends won't know...)
Under the Bridge, Red Hot Chili Peppers
warm up with my handy dandy zumba toning sticks by tossing and catching them end over end while bopping to the music - I have trouble with my hand strength and this works that and my wrists as well as my eye-hand coordination.
Rockstar, Nickelback
tricep pumps with light handweights (currently at 3.5 pounds per arm) while side stepping - I'm finding this works my biceps as well
Stand, REM
Hips move in a figure eight, with the leading hip moving forward and out first.
F.N.T., Semisonic
I love this song. One of my all time favorites. handweights, side bends to work abs while sweeping the same arm outward
Does Your Mother Know?, Christine Baranski/Mamma Mia! Soundtrack
great high energy dance number - I make a real fool of myself dancing to this one.
Total Eclipse of the Heart, Bonnie Tyler
figure 8s on the hips again, but with the hip scooping backward and out first instead of forward
Kingsword, Heather Dale
Great song about the creation of the Arthurian sword-in-the-stone legend. toe bounces - absolutely brutal on the backs of the calves
Holding Out for a Hero, Bonnie Tyler
Not quite sure how I wound up with two Bonnie Tyler songs but they both work so... tapping the heels in front - knees bent (actually, I spend just about the whole workout as deep in my knees as I can - strengthen those knee stabilizers and the quads)
Never Say Never, Styx
Ok, this is the only one that's not quite working for me. I do a standard dance floor "side-together" kind of thing here and this song isn't quite fast enough nor is it slow enough to doubletime the step. Going to have to replace it - open to ideas if anyone has any!
Danger Zone, Top Gun Soundtrack
hammer curls with handweights and side steps/bounces - going to have to up the weight on this soon. May just use a second set as I'm damn sure I can't manage a whole song's worth of the tricep things with a higher weight yet.
Chelsea Morning, Rebecca Luker
Great imagery in the song which I need by this point! Knees bent - hips side to side - you would not believe how much this makes my inner thighs burn!! Ow!!
Closing Time, Semisonic
time to stretch after 40 minutes of keeping my heartrate up.
There it is. Looks pretty damn lame when I type it out.
Under the Bridge, Red Hot Chili Peppers
warm up with my handy dandy zumba toning sticks by tossing and catching them end over end while bopping to the music - I have trouble with my hand strength and this works that and my wrists as well as my eye-hand coordination.
Rockstar, Nickelback
tricep pumps with light handweights (currently at 3.5 pounds per arm) while side stepping - I'm finding this works my biceps as well
Stand, REM
Hips move in a figure eight, with the leading hip moving forward and out first.
F.N.T., Semisonic
I love this song. One of my all time favorites. handweights, side bends to work abs while sweeping the same arm outward
Does Your Mother Know?, Christine Baranski/Mamma Mia! Soundtrack
great high energy dance number - I make a real fool of myself dancing to this one.
Total Eclipse of the Heart, Bonnie Tyler
figure 8s on the hips again, but with the hip scooping backward and out first instead of forward
Kingsword, Heather Dale
Great song about the creation of the Arthurian sword-in-the-stone legend. toe bounces - absolutely brutal on the backs of the calves
Holding Out for a Hero, Bonnie Tyler
Not quite sure how I wound up with two Bonnie Tyler songs but they both work so... tapping the heels in front - knees bent (actually, I spend just about the whole workout as deep in my knees as I can - strengthen those knee stabilizers and the quads)
Never Say Never, Styx
Ok, this is the only one that's not quite working for me. I do a standard dance floor "side-together" kind of thing here and this song isn't quite fast enough nor is it slow enough to doubletime the step. Going to have to replace it - open to ideas if anyone has any!
Danger Zone, Top Gun Soundtrack
hammer curls with handweights and side steps/bounces - going to have to up the weight on this soon. May just use a second set as I'm damn sure I can't manage a whole song's worth of the tricep things with a higher weight yet.
Chelsea Morning, Rebecca Luker
Great imagery in the song which I need by this point! Knees bent - hips side to side - you would not believe how much this makes my inner thighs burn!! Ow!!
Closing Time, Semisonic
time to stretch after 40 minutes of keeping my heartrate up.
There it is. Looks pretty damn lame when I type it out.
Apr 19, 2010
Their Clothes Are Out of Style and the Road Shows on Their Faces
A friend and I have been talking lately about liking or disliking people we've never met. We appear to be in the minority in that we both believe that how can we like or dislike someone we don't know. Oh, we can like or dislike their behavior we've heard about but without knowing the motivation behind the behavior, without knowing the personality, the impeti (impetuses?) that created the motivation, how can we truly like or dislike the person?
I think part of my inclination toward knowing people before making a decision too is that I was such a sheep growing up - tried so damn hard to be who my parents (i.e., my mom) wanted me to be. People judged me without ever talking to me. They assumed I was stuck up because I was quiet, booksmart, and (tremendously) clumsy when I was really just shy and too scared of my parents to break the rules.
When I was in 8th grade, apparently, Mark Z was smoking in the back of language arts class. We were all called down to the principal's office individually and asked about it. People assumed I'd told on him, which I hadn't. One, Mark Z was one scary son-of-a-bitch and I would've thought long and hard about telling on him (he was quick to the fists) even if I were so inclined but, more importantly, two, I had no knowledge or even any idea that he had been smoking. He sat in the very back, I was in the second row from the front. I adored my 8th grade LA teacher and paid a lot of attention in class (unlike math class where I read Star Trek books tucked inside my math book) so my brain was occupied by other things. The principal pushed me pretty hard to say something too; I'm sure he thought I was covering for Mark. That's what really frosted the whole episode. The adults assumed I was holding out on them and the kids assumed I was selling them out. Just totally fucking sucked.
Interestingly, with 25 years perspective on this, I think Mark was actually probably just a rebel but he seemed to have a code of ethics (compared to Dennis M. who kicked me in the crotch with steel-toed boots as I walked out of social studies for no apparent reason - I couldn't pee properly for at least a week from the bruising). Mark, at least, had the guts to confront me about supposedly telling on him rather than just say stuff behind my back and he had the honor to really listen to me when I told him I hadn't; my feeling is that I think he saw underneath to someone who was having just as hard a time though from the opposite end. I think we actually understood each other better than most maybe. The rest of the school? Not so much.
I've been thinking about this, though, and I realize I do tend to make judgments about people before I really know them (though not before I've met them). I have to fight to keep myself from doing it. It's not that I automatically dislike people; it's that I automatically distrust them. Not in the sense that they might do me physical damage (in fact, if you ask my husband, I seem to have a rabid disregard for my own physical safety), but in the sense that they are probably going to make fun of me somehow, hurt me emotionally. I seem to approach life with the view that everyone out there is going to dislike me automatically and do what they can to belittle me to the world.
I realize this springs from the years of people yelling "boogerpicker" or "cunt" or whatever at me in the halls, from the time kids dumped my purse in the toilet in the boys room in 6th grade, from the stealing of my lunch, knocking me down, mimicking my rather distinctive walk, making fun of people who tried to be nice to me, from the time after time they set me up to be humiliated publicly. It's only now, at nearly 43, that I'm starting to reach beyond that, to try to view new people as potential friends as opposed to potential purveyors of cruelty.
Despite all that, I have to at least have met/talked to someone to decide whether I like or dislike them. I go on my gut. And, to be perfectly honest, I trust my gut a LOT more than I trust other people's assessments of folks.
Hmm, I'm thinking I really need to work on this trust thing, huh?
~~~
"Not Born to Beauty (Born to Rock)" The Bacon Brothers
I think part of my inclination toward knowing people before making a decision too is that I was such a sheep growing up - tried so damn hard to be who my parents (i.e., my mom) wanted me to be. People judged me without ever talking to me. They assumed I was stuck up because I was quiet, booksmart, and (tremendously) clumsy when I was really just shy and too scared of my parents to break the rules.
When I was in 8th grade, apparently, Mark Z was smoking in the back of language arts class. We were all called down to the principal's office individually and asked about it. People assumed I'd told on him, which I hadn't. One, Mark Z was one scary son-of-a-bitch and I would've thought long and hard about telling on him (he was quick to the fists) even if I were so inclined but, more importantly, two, I had no knowledge or even any idea that he had been smoking. He sat in the very back, I was in the second row from the front. I adored my 8th grade LA teacher and paid a lot of attention in class (unlike math class where I read Star Trek books tucked inside my math book) so my brain was occupied by other things. The principal pushed me pretty hard to say something too; I'm sure he thought I was covering for Mark. That's what really frosted the whole episode. The adults assumed I was holding out on them and the kids assumed I was selling them out. Just totally fucking sucked.
Interestingly, with 25 years perspective on this, I think Mark was actually probably just a rebel but he seemed to have a code of ethics (compared to Dennis M. who kicked me in the crotch with steel-toed boots as I walked out of social studies for no apparent reason - I couldn't pee properly for at least a week from the bruising). Mark, at least, had the guts to confront me about supposedly telling on him rather than just say stuff behind my back and he had the honor to really listen to me when I told him I hadn't; my feeling is that I think he saw underneath to someone who was having just as hard a time though from the opposite end. I think we actually understood each other better than most maybe. The rest of the school? Not so much.
I've been thinking about this, though, and I realize I do tend to make judgments about people before I really know them (though not before I've met them). I have to fight to keep myself from doing it. It's not that I automatically dislike people; it's that I automatically distrust them. Not in the sense that they might do me physical damage (in fact, if you ask my husband, I seem to have a rabid disregard for my own physical safety), but in the sense that they are probably going to make fun of me somehow, hurt me emotionally. I seem to approach life with the view that everyone out there is going to dislike me automatically and do what they can to belittle me to the world.
I realize this springs from the years of people yelling "boogerpicker" or "cunt" or whatever at me in the halls, from the time kids dumped my purse in the toilet in the boys room in 6th grade, from the stealing of my lunch, knocking me down, mimicking my rather distinctive walk, making fun of people who tried to be nice to me, from the time after time they set me up to be humiliated publicly. It's only now, at nearly 43, that I'm starting to reach beyond that, to try to view new people as potential friends as opposed to potential purveyors of cruelty.
Despite all that, I have to at least have met/talked to someone to decide whether I like or dislike them. I go on my gut. And, to be perfectly honest, I trust my gut a LOT more than I trust other people's assessments of folks.
Hmm, I'm thinking I really need to work on this trust thing, huh?
~~~
"Not Born to Beauty (Born to Rock)" The Bacon Brothers
Apr 15, 2010
SEATTLE!!!
John had his first jury trial in nearly 20 years of practice (he's a civil lawyer, not a criminal defense one) this week. He won.
I can't say how proud I am of him. He was so stressed out about it and the guy is a good friend of ours, a steeplejack, who has been unable to work for ages due to a car accident that the other driver admits was the other driver's fault. So proud of him, not just for winning, but for facing up to his nerves and doing it anyway.
Good job, Buddy; I love you.
I can't say how proud I am of him. He was so stressed out about it and the guy is a good friend of ours, a steeplejack, who has been unable to work for ages due to a car accident that the other driver admits was the other driver's fault. So proud of him, not just for winning, but for facing up to his nerves and doing it anyway.
Good job, Buddy; I love you.
Apr 14, 2010
Creative Boot Financing...
For my birthday, I am getting a ridiculously expensive pair of boots. Lest you think I am indulging in my inner girly girl (which would be a reasonable assumption given my taste in shoes), I am not. I have realized that, now I no longer work where I need to wear suits to work, I do not need another pair of cute heels. Sigh. (SIGH!)
I am, however, getting a pair of boots that makes me want to drool for a whole different reason. I have wanted boots like these since I was at least 16 or 17. My mother, even now, will be horrified... truly horrified. I think my husband wonders what happened to the meek little geek he married (the meek is fading, the geek? Not so much.) but he seems to love me anyway - what a saint! I'm pretty sure my sister will think I've lost it totally. My friends, though, even if it's not what they'd choose for themselves, they understand. Yes, I am getting combat boots for my birthday.
Well, partially for my birthday... the things are just as expensive as my Stuart Weitzman ankle boots. My darling husband (and, in this case, I mean that absolutely sincerely) is donating $100 toward the cause, then I've traded our family checkbook all my personal Target/Best Buy/random-other-places-the-family-spends-money giftcards that I've been hoarding over the last 3 years for $150 cash (what can I say, giftcards are a great gift for me, I love them but I just don't have time to shop!). Then, I figure the remainder (which is actually just extra support insoles and boot blacking) can fit into the budget.
I feel a bit like I'm pretending. These are the boots. They're the real deal. (They were recommended to me by a couple of people, including my friend Tina who, despite being on desk duty since she had her second child, still takes the occasional overtime traffic gig.) What right does a distinctly unathletic suburban mother of 3 with no connection to (other than friends in) the police or the military to wear such boots?
But, you know, I'm doing it anyway. Even if it does mean I ate a bowl of crunchy dumbass for breakfast. I am tired of falling on my butt when my tennis shoes hit anything remotely slick. I am tired of wrenching my ankles on the potholes in our driveway and just about every other paved surface in New England. I am tired of my back killing me after standing around watching the kids outside. Thus, good workboots. Why this pair in particular? (Uh oh, the geek is escaping...) They look like the boots from Stargate. ::crams geek back into the encapsulated time/space rift:: And they'll look right with my cargos. (What?? You *knew* there had to be a girly girl reason in there somewhere, didn't you??) (Yeah, I wear cargos. I may look odd but, damn, they're comfortable and eminently practical pants.)
Well, at least I won't be going to the range this summer in heels...
I am, however, getting a pair of boots that makes me want to drool for a whole different reason. I have wanted boots like these since I was at least 16 or 17. My mother, even now, will be horrified... truly horrified. I think my husband wonders what happened to the meek little geek he married (the meek is fading, the geek? Not so much.) but he seems to love me anyway - what a saint! I'm pretty sure my sister will think I've lost it totally. My friends, though, even if it's not what they'd choose for themselves, they understand. Yes, I am getting combat boots for my birthday.
Well, partially for my birthday... the things are just as expensive as my Stuart Weitzman ankle boots. My darling husband (and, in this case, I mean that absolutely sincerely) is donating $100 toward the cause, then I've traded our family checkbook all my personal Target/Best Buy/random-other-places-the-family-spends-money giftcards that I've been hoarding over the last 3 years for $150 cash (what can I say, giftcards are a great gift for me, I love them but I just don't have time to shop!). Then, I figure the remainder (which is actually just extra support insoles and boot blacking) can fit into the budget.
I feel a bit like I'm pretending. These are the boots. They're the real deal. (They were recommended to me by a couple of people, including my friend Tina who, despite being on desk duty since she had her second child, still takes the occasional overtime traffic gig.) What right does a distinctly unathletic suburban mother of 3 with no connection to (other than friends in) the police or the military to wear such boots?
But, you know, I'm doing it anyway. Even if it does mean I ate a bowl of crunchy dumbass for breakfast. I am tired of falling on my butt when my tennis shoes hit anything remotely slick. I am tired of wrenching my ankles on the potholes in our driveway and just about every other paved surface in New England. I am tired of my back killing me after standing around watching the kids outside. Thus, good workboots. Why this pair in particular? (Uh oh, the geek is escaping...) They look like the boots from Stargate. ::crams geek back into the encapsulated time/space rift:: And they'll look right with my cargos. (What?? You *knew* there had to be a girly girl reason in there somewhere, didn't you??) (Yeah, I wear cargos. I may look odd but, damn, they're comfortable and eminently practical pants.)
Well, at least I won't be going to the range this summer in heels...
Mar 4, 2010
It occurred to me today...
Sometimes all we're given is the guts to keep trying and what we'll take to the gates of heaven is the sure knowledge that we kept at it, spitting in the face of adversity to keep trying.
Feb 22, 2010
Like the Swallow
I've been debating for a while about this post. Whether I really had the guts to begin to talk about it, even to begin to think about it. Whether I really needed to work it out for myself or just I could let it keep sleeping, hidden under the surface. I think I need to... even though it's not the sort of thing I normally talk about. I mean, who really wants the darker parts of themselves on display? So, if you're looking for a cheerful, ain't life cute post, today ain't the day. (May I suggest LOLCats instead?) But if you don't mind digging in my psyche with me, come on along.
First and foremost, I'm an adrenaline junkie. Most pilots are. Even when I'm in total control of the aircraft, that adrenaline rush of landing, the kiss of tires on tarmac is beyond compare. I like speed - the faster the better. This is not to say I don't have common sense. I understand the need to control that demand for faster, higher, farther for the sake of others.
Living on that kind of edge is not a place for mothers. It's not fair to my children to put myself at risk like that. As long as there are lives that depend on me, it's my responsibility to put them first.
But I crave the danger. And it's not enough to speed or fly. There's a part of me that wants to be dangerous. That is dangerous. This is the part that lives deepest within. The part that screams with the need to express physical rage. The part that blinds that common sense. The calculating cruelty that I cannot seem to excise from my soul. Part demon, part merciless avenging angel.
I have no outlet for that part of me. Neither my vocations nor my avocations allow for violence. I am trapped: by my life, by my love, by myself. I'm fat, clumsy, and middle-aged; when I see my reflection as I exercise, I realize my only danger to others is if I sit on them. I'm hardly going to take up being an assassin or some such at this point in my life yet there is a deep part of me that needs to let that avenging angel soar.
In a few years, when all the kids are in school, I want to learn to sword fight. Yes, it's a useless skill (unless, of course, there's an apocalypse rendering ammunition impossible to come by - then it might be useful) but it calls to me. There are times I wonder whether another lifetime saw me metal-clad and armed. I don't know whether this "pretend" dangerousness will be enough to let the angel rest more quietly, keep the demon locked away.
It scares me, the need. Even as I physically crave the danger, the craving scares me.
Who am I to need that? Logically, it makes no kind of sense. Neither my place in life, nor my faith in God permits it. If I am to trust God, I am where I should be. And where I am distinctly precludes walking the edge.
On a wagon, bound for market
there's a calf that is born to die.
High above him, there's a swallow
winging swiftly through the sky.
How the winds are laughing, they laugh with all their might,
laugh and laugh the whole day through and half the summer's night.
"Stop complaining," said the farmer,
"Who told you a calf to be?
Why don't you have wings to fly with
like the swallow so proud and free."
How the winds are laughing, they laugh with all their might,
laugh and laugh the whole day through and half the summer's night.
Calves are easily bound and slaughtered,
never knowing the reasons why.
But whoever treasures freedom,
like the swallow, must learn to fly.
How the winds are laughing, they laugh with all their might,
laugh and laugh the whole day through and half the summer's night.
First and foremost, I'm an adrenaline junkie. Most pilots are. Even when I'm in total control of the aircraft, that adrenaline rush of landing, the kiss of tires on tarmac is beyond compare. I like speed - the faster the better. This is not to say I don't have common sense. I understand the need to control that demand for faster, higher, farther for the sake of others.
Living on that kind of edge is not a place for mothers. It's not fair to my children to put myself at risk like that. As long as there are lives that depend on me, it's my responsibility to put them first.
But I crave the danger. And it's not enough to speed or fly. There's a part of me that wants to be dangerous. That is dangerous. This is the part that lives deepest within. The part that screams with the need to express physical rage. The part that blinds that common sense. The calculating cruelty that I cannot seem to excise from my soul. Part demon, part merciless avenging angel.
I have no outlet for that part of me. Neither my vocations nor my avocations allow for violence. I am trapped: by my life, by my love, by myself. I'm fat, clumsy, and middle-aged; when I see my reflection as I exercise, I realize my only danger to others is if I sit on them. I'm hardly going to take up being an assassin or some such at this point in my life yet there is a deep part of me that needs to let that avenging angel soar.
In a few years, when all the kids are in school, I want to learn to sword fight. Yes, it's a useless skill (unless, of course, there's an apocalypse rendering ammunition impossible to come by - then it might be useful) but it calls to me. There are times I wonder whether another lifetime saw me metal-clad and armed. I don't know whether this "pretend" dangerousness will be enough to let the angel rest more quietly, keep the demon locked away.
It scares me, the need. Even as I physically crave the danger, the craving scares me.
Who am I to need that? Logically, it makes no kind of sense. Neither my place in life, nor my faith in God permits it. If I am to trust God, I am where I should be. And where I am distinctly precludes walking the edge.
On a wagon, bound for market
there's a calf that is born to die.
High above him, there's a swallow
winging swiftly through the sky.
How the winds are laughing, they laugh with all their might,
laugh and laugh the whole day through and half the summer's night.
"Stop complaining," said the farmer,
"Who told you a calf to be?
Why don't you have wings to fly with
like the swallow so proud and free."
How the winds are laughing, they laugh with all their might,
laugh and laugh the whole day through and half the summer's night.
Calves are easily bound and slaughtered,
never knowing the reasons why.
But whoever treasures freedom,
like the swallow, must learn to fly.
How the winds are laughing, they laugh with all their might,
laugh and laugh the whole day through and half the summer's night.
Feb 1, 2010
Taking One For The Team
Ever have to force yourself to do something you really don't want to do but you know it's for the best? Sucks, doesn't it?
Remember that aria I posted last April? In case you don't, the women's choir I sing in (TCC) sang the Pergolesi Stabat Mater last year on Good Friday. We did it with string quartet and organ and it was gorgeous. We had 5 different soloists last year, I think, 3 of whom have moved on - including 2 of the strongest voices.
Our director is also a spectacular alto - just an absolutely stunning voice. As we lost our alto section leader, she's going to have the Music Director (for the church) conduct and she's going to sing with the choir and do the alto solos. I was a little disappointed as I'd hoped to sing another solo but compared to her, hell no. She asked my voice teacher to have me work up a couple of the soprano arias for audition. Now, the woman that sang these solos last year was Eastman undergrad and Julliard grad (2 of the 3 top music schools in the country). I have a decent voice but there is NO way I can compare with people's memory of this woman singing those solos. There's another problem too: one of the volunteer sopranos who, unfortunately, isn't really suited to it wants a solo.
So, I sent an email to our director tonight with the solution that said, essentially,
I'm just feeling a bit grumpy about it. But there is no "I" in team, they say, and this is truer even in church singing than in sports. It's about the congregation and helping them worship. Secondarily, it's about what's best for the choir. What it's not about is me.
Remember that aria I posted last April? In case you don't, the women's choir I sing in (TCC) sang the Pergolesi Stabat Mater last year on Good Friday. We did it with string quartet and organ and it was gorgeous. We had 5 different soloists last year, I think, 3 of whom have moved on - including 2 of the strongest voices.
Our director is also a spectacular alto - just an absolutely stunning voice. As we lost our alto section leader, she's going to have the Music Director (for the church) conduct and she's going to sing with the choir and do the alto solos. I was a little disappointed as I'd hoped to sing another solo but compared to her, hell no. She asked my voice teacher to have me work up a couple of the soprano arias for audition. Now, the woman that sang these solos last year was Eastman undergrad and Julliard grad (2 of the 3 top music schools in the country). I have a decent voice but there is NO way I can compare with people's memory of this woman singing those solos. There's another problem too: one of the volunteer sopranos who, unfortunately, isn't really suited to it wants a solo.
So, I sent an email to our director tonight with the solution that said, essentially,
- "There is no way I can compete with people's memories of last year's soprano arias anyway; I don't want people to think TCC is going downhill; nor do I want to be a distracting note (heh, pun intended) for the congregants in a performance that should be seamless. So I'm going to take one for the team here and sit my ass on the sidelines of whatever running there might be."
I'm just feeling a bit grumpy about it. But there is no "I" in team, they say, and this is truer even in church singing than in sports. It's about the congregation and helping them worship. Secondarily, it's about what's best for the choir. What it's not about is me.
Jan 29, 2010
If you touch me, You'll understand what happiness is
We did backrubs in choir Wednesday. I love when we do backrubs in choir for all the obvious reasons we do them but it always surprises me how much I like them. And I think I've finally figured out why. It's the touch. I don't get touched really.
I'm not a terribly touchy-feely person. I like my personal space a fair piece larger than most. But I realized that I don't often get touched except by the little ones who are more than happy to hang on me as much as I'll let them. I think it's a hazard of being home with them and working from home, maybe; there just aren't those small encounters where someone might pat your arm briefly or put their hand on your shoulder, those little inter-personal interactions that show someone recognizes you're there and cares about you.
I remember (and, yes, I'm dating myself a bit here) a Scarecrow & Mrs. King episode where Amanda is explaining to Lee how she knows that a particular pair who are pretending to be a couple don't love each other. They don't touch each other, she says. People who love each other do. (Of course, she says this with her hand on Lee's arm...)
The isolation of working from home, of taking care of small children, of always being busier than one has any right to be... the things we sacrifice for 'having it all'... as the song puts it, "something's got to give."
I realized, after I thought about this, that a goodly reason of why my kids hang on me is that I'm always busy trying to Get Stuff Done. So I am resolving to touch them more. To try to show them through my actions that I love them. Whether it's just a pat on the head as I pass them, an extra kiss at bedtime, a hug during the day, I will try to make sure they don't come to the same realization that I did - because, when it comes down to it, we all need that little reassurance that someone realizes that we're there and is glad of it.
~~~
Memory, Cats.
I'm not a terribly touchy-feely person. I like my personal space a fair piece larger than most. But I realized that I don't often get touched except by the little ones who are more than happy to hang on me as much as I'll let them. I think it's a hazard of being home with them and working from home, maybe; there just aren't those small encounters where someone might pat your arm briefly or put their hand on your shoulder, those little inter-personal interactions that show someone recognizes you're there and cares about you.
I remember (and, yes, I'm dating myself a bit here) a Scarecrow & Mrs. King episode where Amanda is explaining to Lee how she knows that a particular pair who are pretending to be a couple don't love each other. They don't touch each other, she says. People who love each other do. (Of course, she says this with her hand on Lee's arm...)
The isolation of working from home, of taking care of small children, of always being busier than one has any right to be... the things we sacrifice for 'having it all'... as the song puts it, "something's got to give."
I realized, after I thought about this, that a goodly reason of why my kids hang on me is that I'm always busy trying to Get Stuff Done. So I am resolving to touch them more. To try to show them through my actions that I love them. Whether it's just a pat on the head as I pass them, an extra kiss at bedtime, a hug during the day, I will try to make sure they don't come to the same realization that I did - because, when it comes down to it, we all need that little reassurance that someone realizes that we're there and is glad of it.
~~~
Memory, Cats.
Jan 28, 2010
Holy Shit, It's Been A While...
I am so bad.
Every time I have something to blog about, I don't have time to blog.
I say to myself, "Self, I will blog about this later!"
When later arrives, I have a curiously empty head.
Go figure.
So, quick update on what's going on:
Alrighty, I must go buy my sister a swivel sweeper for her birthday. I know, I know! It's what she asked for though... what can I say? She's weird but I love her anyway!! Hopefully, next time, I'll post sooner.
Every time I have something to blog about, I don't have time to blog.
I say to myself, "Self, I will blog about this later!"
When later arrives, I have a curiously empty head.
Go figure.
So, quick update on what's going on:
- I sing in two choirs right now - a SATB choir at one church and a women's choir at my home church. I was getting paid at the SATB choir but not the women's choir. I got an offer in mid-December for the section leader job in the women's choir but only if I also took a section leader job with my home church's SATB choir. The big kicker to that, though, is that I'd have to give up my other SATB choir job. They were willing to let me finish out my contract though and join them next year.
I love the people I sing with at my SATB job. They are wonderful people. I enjoy the choir director and really appreciate how he took a chance on a singer with very, very little professional experience. I also love the director of my women's choir - she's a great director and actually helped me get my SATB job. I wrestled and wrestled with the decision.
Well, two or three days after I got the offer, the director at my SATB job called to say that the way the church budget was looking, they might be eliminating all the section leader jobs. They'd know in February probably. I still wrestled with it but, essentially, that information made the decision for me and I let him know December 23rd that I wouldn't be back next year.
So, as of next year, I'll be professionally singing in two choirs in my home church. This will cut out one night of rehearsal, which my husband appreciates greatly, and mean that I won't wind up with conflicts between choir obligations. I will miss my SATB job people a lot though.
- My middle child had ear tubes put in last May to correct a hearing problem caused by a lot of excess fluid that just wouldn't drain. She's hearing perfectly now but her speech hasn't caught up. She's being evaluated tomorrow by the Birth-to-3 people for possible speech therapy.
- The youngest, now 4 months, is a hefty 17 pounds 14 ounces. He's a little chunkalunk and looks like one of those garden gnomes - too freakin' cute. He's eating mush now and teething. There is much wailing and gnashing of soon-to-be teeth going on in this household.
- I get to see one of my college friends (Harriet the Spy) who I haven't seen since I got married nearly 13 years ago a week from Friday when she comes into town for a musicology conference! I am beside myself with excitement. (me) (me) (see?)
- I have committed to losing 100 pounds. I am done doing fertility drugs and having children - got my tubes felchie-clipped while they were in there taking Matthew out - I have no more excuses. So, as of January 4th, I started The Big Diet. So far, I've lost 10.7 pounds.
I'm using sparkpeople.com to keep track of what I eat and I get a $10-15 reward for every 10 pounds. (For any who might be wondering, my first reward was Rebecca Luker's Greenwich Time album - what a stunning voice she has!)
I'm doing Zumba twice a week to help boost the weight loss. Ok, one observation: if you are lithe and coordinated enough to do Zumba, you don't need to Zumba. Another observation, you've never seen flobblyness jiggle quite so much as mine does whilst I do Zumba. I look like the three-tiered jello mold from the feast scene in the animated version of The Grinch. Seriously, I do. I am, needless to say, doing this from home. Why "needless to say"? Trust me, you'd've heard the screams no matter where you live had I ventured to do this in public.
Alrighty, I must go buy my sister a swivel sweeper for her birthday. I know, I know! It's what she asked for though... what can I say? She's weird but I love her anyway!! Hopefully, next time, I'll post sooner.
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