This week will be a great week, because instead of substitute teaching, I'll be playing Francesca Di Rimini, which was a last minute addition to the Phil Week when the scheduled conductor canceled. This is probably a very good thing for J&I, since we have much packing to do before moving on Saturday. We've made some slow beginnings at the task, most notably the boxing of the study. I always get up an appetite for my own books when I put them in boxes, and today was no different. It's been too long since I've flipped through Boswell or MacLuhan, and there are a number of Henry James short stories in my copy of Turn of the Screw that I never finished. I suppose this gives me something to do after we've unpacked. Meanwhile I'm reading Barnaby Rudge, Iliad IV, Matt 19, and Joshua 9. I intended to start in on a Loeb edition of Livy today, but I think I might have packed it.
It's been a pleasant past few days socially; we saw family yesterday (and picked up some Southern Tier IPA) and watched The King's Speech for the second time in a week at Magister's house last night. I also got to chat with Greg C., who apparently has taken the high office of Dr. Caton's T.A.
Saturday, April 23, 2011
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
Preterism Part 2 (Rev 1)
I am getting better, but now J is sick. Reading for today has been Il 4, Matt 18, Jos 8, Ps 15, Barnaby Rudge, and Orthodoxy. I had vivid nightmares last night (apparently during a lightning storm) of missing a gig, somehow more terrorizing after two nights of drugged sleep. Last night we watched The King’s Speech, which was outstanding. And for the record, the use of Beethoven didn’t bother me at all.
As promised, I am opening the book of Revelation in the most unscholarly of attitudes, simply flipping through the pages from high above its well-worn terrain. The first thing I see as I open to the book is the word ΑΠΟΚΑΛΥΨΙΣ, looking more etched than written in the stark Greek capital letters. It is, transliterated, apokalupsis, which has become our “apocalypse.” Now, apocalypse has gradually come to mean the same sort of event as Gotterdammerung, but before it picked up these extra flavors of meaning it was simply “revelation”—the revealing of the secret or the hidden.
What “God’s servant John” promises is to reveal is ἃ δεῖ γενέσθαι ἐν τάχει; a painfully literal translation of which would read “what is necessary to be in swiftness,” probably in paraphrase more along the lines of “what soon coming shall pass.” Again, I will withhold myself from the scholarly fray, and without commenting on the merits of either case remark here that there are two possible dates for Revelation: circa 60 or 95. The case for Preterism is staked entirely on the earlier date. The Preterist would say that when John says “swiftly,” he means it. If, of course, none of Revelation has yet come about, the date makes no difference; but it makes John’s insistence of swiftness and imminence difficult to understand. He is always promising ὁ γὰρ καιρὸς ἐγγύς; The time is near.
The presentation of Jesus and his address to the seven churches is, for our purposes, not needed. As I understand it, there is room in the philosophy of most Left-Behinders to understand these letters as local mail. Whether or not they are somehow allegorical or addressed to different ages of the church can be answered in the discussion afterwards. I’ll note only one other verse in chapter 1, since it further clarifies the imminent tone of the book, Jesus’ instructions in verse 19: γράψον οὖν ἃ εἶδες καὶ ἃ εἰσὶν καὶ ἃ μέλλει γίνεσθαι μετὰ ταῦτα. Write thus, what you saw and what now is and what is intended to be after these.
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
Preterism, Part 1
Today I’m still home fighting the common cold, girded with Alka-Seltzer tablets, tea, and lotion Kleenexes. I did venture out briefly yesterday to attend a concert by Calvus’ Songwriter’s Guild. I instantly like any organization that calls itself a guild (this means that someone among them has at some point read a book on the Middle Ages) and their concert was well done. They are mostly guitarists, singing folk music in the tradition of the troubadours. Calvus did especially well, singing his arrangement of the Burns “Red Rose” poem, some sort of blues number partially in Greek, and an interesting piece reproaching himself as a theological disputant. I am always surprised at how distant we seem to be at this point; especially since he is a professional minister and I a musician. I suspect the real conflict lies in differing standards of etiquette: I don’t think he derives the same semantic pleasure that I do from wielding the English language. He is far too concerned for the other party.
I’ve been meaning to write about Preterism for some time now, but haven’t the slightest idea where to start. For one thing, nearly every source of what is currently called “Preterism” has a different definition of what the term means (try a google search to confirm this) and the few really orderly accounts of it tend to be far removed from its appealing parts. Also, I despise “-isms.” What I’d really like to discuss is not some scholarly catalogue of book fights, but a real re-interpretation of history.
I, like many other Christians, am unnerved by the sway of the Left Behind genre of books. They hold enormous sway over certain theological camps (my wife’s home church being one of them) and, though well-intentioned, they turn Christian hypotheses into the battlefield as Christian dogmas. Here is the problem: We are, at present, trying to make sense of the Bible’s apocalyptic prophecy. The Left Behind books (representing something along the lines of Milennial Dispensationalism) are one perfectly orthodox and tenable interpretation. But they are not the only interpretation. There is, as is easily learned from even a cursory glance through Revelation with a book on Roman history, another possibility that most of the apocalyptic prophecies, at least as far as the end to which they were made, have already been fulfilled. We are like actors attempting to stage King Henry V without having read King Henry IV or having any idea of the actual history. We won’t have any idea of where to put Falstaff if we don’t look outside our one “primary” text. In the next few bloggeries I’ll take an unscholarly and unreliable scan through Revelation, and I’ll try to make sense of this verse:
μέλλει γὰρ ὁ υἱὸς τοῦ ἀνθρώπου ἔρχεσθαι ἐν τῇ δόξῃ τοῦ πατρὸς αὐτοῦ μετὰ τῶν ἀγγέλων αὐτοῦ, καὶ τότε ἀποδώσει ἑκάστῳ κατὰ τὴν πρᾶξιν αὐτοῦ.
ἀμὴν λέγω ὑμῖν ὅτι εἰσίν τινες τῶν ὧδε ἑστώτων οἵτινες οὐ μὴ γεύσωνται θανάτου ἕως ἂν ἴδωσιν τὸν υἱὸν τοῦ ἀνθρώπου ἐρχόμενον ἐν τῇ βασιλείᾳ αὐτοῦ.
For the Son of Man intends to come with his angels in the glory of his Father and then he will repay to each person according to his deeds. Amen I say to you that there are some standing here who will not taste death until they see the Son of Man coming in his kingdom.
Monday, April 18, 2011
Home Sick
I am home today with M, who came first as a guest but is now acting as my nurse. I am laid low by a vicious cold, and plan to spend the rest of the day reading. I’m currently working through more of Paradise Lost, Matt 17, Joshua 6, Iliad 4, and Barnaby Rudge. (A book I’m tempted to call Barnaby Fudge, probably from Cornelius Fudge in Harry Potter.) I am off teaching this week (hence M’s visit) but in the midst of Holy Week preparations at CPC. The Palm Sunday sermon passage was from Matthew 21,
“ Εἴπατε τῇ θυγατρὶ Σιών
Ἰδοὺ ὁ βασιλεύς σου ἔρχεταί σοι
πραῢς καὶ ἐπιβεβηκὼς ἐπὶ ὄνον
καὶ ἐπὶ πῶλον υἱὸν ὑποζυγίου.
Ἰδοὺ ὁ βασιλεύς σου ἔρχεταί σοι
πραῢς καὶ ἐπιβεβηκὼς ἐπὶ ὄνον
καὶ ἐπὶ πῶλον υἱὸν ὑποζυγίου.
"Say to the daughter of Zion,'Behold, your king is coming to you,
humble, and mounted on a donkey,
and on a colt, the foal of a beast of burden.'"
from which were elucidated the following points: That 1) Matthew was convinced Jesus was in fact riding two donkeys, and that 2) the donkey being a nursing mother, this was surely a sign of nonviolence. I often get the impression that liberal Christianity considers itself too well educated to get on with the Evangelicals. This sort of sermon would seem to show it is too illiterate. First, there is the whole muddle of failing to realize this is a quoted prophesy from Zechariah. Second, there is an utter ignorance of the poetic device of parallelism. Suggesting that this passage means two asses is like suggesting that Isaiah’s prophecy “for unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given” indicates two infants. The Old Testament poets are full of parallelism; they use it as the English poets use rhyme. It is, as C.S. Lewis remarked, a very happy chance that the Hebrew poets used a technique that would translate to all languages. Or at least, we might now remark, to all people who read language. The remaining absurdities, being mistakes in Greek, are a little easier to excuse; that kai translates as either “and” or “even,” thus easing the semantic burden of translating two donkeys; or at least two riding donkeys.
Other highlights from this week include B’s second bridal shower, wherein many boys and the Haydenbaby attended the cleanup. (Primarily eating)
-Officially agreeing to move to Washington Street. We will need a name for our new home once we leave St. Vivian’s…perhaps Washington Square?
-Attending a Westside Brass Quintet Recital and the RWC Wind Ensemble concert (in which J played.
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
School Lunch
http://moms.today.com/_news/2011/04/12/6455349-cafeteria-chaos-school-bans-lunches-from-home-
Rebuttal from GKC, What's Wrong With The World
There has arisen in this connection a foolish and wicked cry typical of the confusion. I mean the cry, "Save the children." It is, of course, part of that modern morbidity that insists on treating the State (which is the home of man) as a sort of desperate expedient in time of panic. This terrified opportunism is also the origin of the Socialist and other schemes. Just as they would collect and share all the food as men do in a famine, so they would divide the children from their fathers, as men do in a shipwreck. That a human community might conceivably not be in a condition of famine or shipwreck never seems to cross their minds. This cry of "Save the children" has in it the hateful implication that it is impossible to save the fathers; in other words, that many millions of grown-up, sane, responsible and self-supporting Europeans are to be treated as dirt or debris and swept away out of the discussion; called dipsomaniacs because they drink in public houses instead of private houses; called unemployables because nobody knows how to get them work; called dullards if they still adhere to conventions, and called loafers if they still love liberty. Now I am concerned, first and last, to maintain that unless you can save the fathers, you cannot save the children; that at present we cannot save others, for we cannot save ourselves. We cannot teach citizenship if we are not citizens; we cannot free others if we have forgotten the appetite of freedom. Education is only truth in a state of transmission; and how can we pass on truth if it has never come into our hand? Thus we find that education is of all the cases the clearest for our general purpose. It is vain to save children; for they cannot remain children. By hypothesis we are teaching them to be men; and how can it be so simple to teach an ideal manhood to others if it is so vain and hopeless to find one for ourselves?
I know that certain crazy pedants have attempted to counter this difficulty by maintaining that education is not instruction at all, does not teach by authority at all. They present the process as coming, not from the outside, from the teacher, but entirely from inside the boy. Education, they say, is the Latin for leading out or drawing out the dormant faculties of each person. Somewhere far down in the dim boyish soul is a primordial yearning to learn Greek accents or to wear clean collars; and the schoolmaster only gently and tenderly liberates this imprisoned purpose. Sealed up in the newborn babe are the intrinsic secrets of how to eat asparagus and what was the date of Bannockburn. The educator only draws out the child's own unapparent love of long division; only leads out the child's slightly veiled preference for milk pudding to tarts. I am not sure that I believe in the derivation; I have heard the disgraceful suggestion that "educator," if applied to a Roman schoolmaster, did not mean leading our young functions into freedom; but only meant taking out little boys for a walk. But I am much more certain that I do not agree with the doctrine; I think it would be about as sane to say that the baby's milk comes from the baby as to say that the baby's educational merits do. There is, indeed, in each living creature a collection of forces and functions; but education means producing these in particular shapes and training them to particular purposes, or it means nothing at all. Speaking is the most practical instance of the whole situation. You may indeed "draw out" squeals and grunts from the child by simply poking him and pulling him about, a pleasant but cruel pastime to which many psychologists are addicted. But you will wait and watch very patiently indeed before you draw the English language out of him. That you have got to put into him; and there is an end of the matter.
Rebuttal from GKC, What's Wrong With The World
V. AN EVIL CRY
The fashionable fallacy is that by education we can give people something that we have not got. To hear people talk one would think it was some sort of magic chemistry, by which, out of a laborious hotchpotch of hygienic meals, baths, breathing exercises, fresh air and freehand drawing, we can produce something splendid by accident; we can create what we cannot conceive. These pages have, of course, no other general purpose than to point out that we cannot create anything good until we have conceived it. It is odd that these people, who in the matter of heredity are so sullenly attached to law, in the matter of environment seem almost to believe in miracle. They insist that nothing but what was in the bodies of the parents can go to make the bodies of the children. But they seem somehow to think that things can get into the heads of the children which were not in the heads of the parents, or, indeed, anywhere else.There has arisen in this connection a foolish and wicked cry typical of the confusion. I mean the cry, "Save the children." It is, of course, part of that modern morbidity that insists on treating the State (which is the home of man) as a sort of desperate expedient in time of panic. This terrified opportunism is also the origin of the Socialist and other schemes. Just as they would collect and share all the food as men do in a famine, so they would divide the children from their fathers, as men do in a shipwreck. That a human community might conceivably not be in a condition of famine or shipwreck never seems to cross their minds. This cry of "Save the children" has in it the hateful implication that it is impossible to save the fathers; in other words, that many millions of grown-up, sane, responsible and self-supporting Europeans are to be treated as dirt or debris and swept away out of the discussion; called dipsomaniacs because they drink in public houses instead of private houses; called unemployables because nobody knows how to get them work; called dullards if they still adhere to conventions, and called loafers if they still love liberty. Now I am concerned, first and last, to maintain that unless you can save the fathers, you cannot save the children; that at present we cannot save others, for we cannot save ourselves. We cannot teach citizenship if we are not citizens; we cannot free others if we have forgotten the appetite of freedom. Education is only truth in a state of transmission; and how can we pass on truth if it has never come into our hand? Thus we find that education is of all the cases the clearest for our general purpose. It is vain to save children; for they cannot remain children. By hypothesis we are teaching them to be men; and how can it be so simple to teach an ideal manhood to others if it is so vain and hopeless to find one for ourselves?
I know that certain crazy pedants have attempted to counter this difficulty by maintaining that education is not instruction at all, does not teach by authority at all. They present the process as coming, not from the outside, from the teacher, but entirely from inside the boy. Education, they say, is the Latin for leading out or drawing out the dormant faculties of each person. Somewhere far down in the dim boyish soul is a primordial yearning to learn Greek accents or to wear clean collars; and the schoolmaster only gently and tenderly liberates this imprisoned purpose. Sealed up in the newborn babe are the intrinsic secrets of how to eat asparagus and what was the date of Bannockburn. The educator only draws out the child's own unapparent love of long division; only leads out the child's slightly veiled preference for milk pudding to tarts. I am not sure that I believe in the derivation; I have heard the disgraceful suggestion that "educator," if applied to a Roman schoolmaster, did not mean leading our young functions into freedom; but only meant taking out little boys for a walk. But I am much more certain that I do not agree with the doctrine; I think it would be about as sane to say that the baby's milk comes from the baby as to say that the baby's educational merits do. There is, indeed, in each living creature a collection of forces and functions; but education means producing these in particular shapes and training them to particular purposes, or it means nothing at all. Speaking is the most practical instance of the whole situation. You may indeed "draw out" squeals and grunts from the child by simply poking him and pulling him about, a pleasant but cruel pastime to which many psychologists are addicted. But you will wait and watch very patiently indeed before you draw the English language out of him. That you have got to put into him; and there is an end of the matter.
Monday, April 11, 2011
Soulprint
Mark Batterson, lead pastor of National Community Church, is a gracious and well-spoken counselor. His book Soulprint is a collection of past sermons discussing how one finds identity in God, using the biblical pattern of David. Batterson calls for self-awareness, integrity, and the peculiar self-debasement that marked David; a sort of undignity that I've never heard anyone explain convincingly. Batterson calls us to be God's unique poiema, the craftsmanship of a personal Lord.
The structure of Batterson's thesis is taken from significant markers in David's life: his slaying of Goliath, his flight from Saul, his adultery with Bathsheba, etc. I am uneasy when I see this sort of case drawn out of writings that were composed by and for people who hadn't the slightest notion of 21st century identity problems, if they were even concerned about individual identity as all. In fact, as far as I understand the culture of the high Hebrew kingdom, it was a society in which the people found their meaning more in community than in individual selfness. King David was, of course, a spectacular personality, but in every way the exception to the rule of this people’s worldview. I would never dare to suggest in the modern and unlearned manner that timeless truths can’t be drawn from story; but I do worry when I sense that the story is misunderstood. Take for example, Batterson’s analysis of David plundering Goliath’s armor. Batterson, in his convincing and encouraging manner, reads a message of lifesymbols and altars into the episode; and in doing so he brushes aside (as he does with David’s rejection of Saul’s armor) an episode rich in its original meaning, and much more like the stories of Achilles and Patroclus than the story of Denis Waitley. The problem is not that Batterson says anything wrong; it is that he misrepresents his sources.
With that said against him, Batterson writes with a comprehensive and compassionate insight into the condition of the 20th century man, and his antidote to the identity dilemma is perfectly placed: To find out who you are, find God.
Finally!
We are public; J and I are expecting a baby in November! I've been anxious to write about it for nearly a month, and now I finally can. Unfortunately, I need to supervise math tests at Pax's charter school for the next five hours. This is a stern warning for me of what a dangerous business childrearing is; sometimes, even often, they turn into teenagers. In the meantime, reading Josha 3, Ps 8, Il 4, Matt 14, and N.T. Wright. I started (but had to return) an excellent book yesterday evening called C.S. Lewis at the Breakfast Table...
Also, many congratulations to Lux and M on a wonderful Smee and Michael in Peter Pan.
Also, many congratulations to Lux and M on a wonderful Smee and Michael in Peter Pan.
Thursday, April 7, 2011
The End of Isaiah
Today I finished in the Vulgate the book of the Bible which always thwarted my attempts to read straight through the Bible in English: Isaiah. I'm sure that between being a second language removed and the multiplicity of errors that come from dealing with two translations I've come away with quite a few errors. Still, this is something of a landmark.
M and Lux and preparing for the AHS production of Peter Pan, in which they are Michael and Smee, respectively. Lux continues to dance with a grace and confidence which leads me to believe he was adopted. M actually flies in the show (I saw it in a preview) and does so with apparently no nerves. I suppose this is what having five older brothers does to you.
J and I are in the thick of an apartment search. We looked yesterday at a multi-family home (by which I mean a moderately large house in which six families are living) which was perhaps even more squalid than our first apartment, which we affectionately called the treehouse. We are grieving the loss of St. Vivian's, and Opifera has suddenly and rather unexpectedly announced that she leaves this weekend to enroll in massage school in Ithaca. It is probably a wise move for her, but unexpectedly sudden after several months of slow and fruitless deliberation.
I've enrolled in a program called blogging for books wherein this company sends me free books on the condition that I post some of my opinions about them. I received one called SoulPrint the other day and hope to have a review up soon. Meanwhile I continue to read the Vulgate Psalms, Iliad 4, the letters of Cicero, and Matthew 13. I've been chipping away at Wright, but soon run the risk of incurrring the joint wrath of J and the library.
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
Monday, April 4, 2011
How to talk to trumpet players
Scene: A middle school bandroom, several minutes after the homeroom bell. A student teacher staggers in, carrying a gig bag.
Trumpeter: Whoa, sorry I'm late!
Me: Hi, are you Ms. P---'s student teacher? My name is Mr. Smith, I'm subbing for her today. Please feel free to run as much of the day as you'd like. I'll be right here if you need me, but as far as I'm concerned it's your show.
Trumpeter: Oh, sure. (notices my gig bag) Are you a musician?
Me: Yes, I'm a trumpet player.
Trumpeter: Yeah, me too!
Me: That's great! Where are you from?
Trumpeter: Well, I live in (nearby town) but I'm in my last semester at (state school).
Me: That's great. Are you studying with A---?
Trumpeter: Yeah, I got real lucky, because the other guy sucks, and A--- takes on all the really talented students.
Me: That's nice.
Trumpeter: So where are you from?
Me: Well, I actually grew up in (school district we're standing in.)
Trumpeter: Oh, I went to (rival school district.)
Me: Oh, wow. So you probably know M---? He and I went to (my undergraduate institution) together.
Trumpeter: Yeah, I know M---. Does he play any better now? Because in high school, he was like (makes face).
Me: Yes, he's a fine player. Where was your other student teaching placement?
Trumpeter: Over at the high school.
Me: Did you enjoy it?
Trumpeter: Man, it was rough. Cause you know the marching band over there is like, (makes face) and I went to (rival high school) where it was like, excellence.
Me: I see. So you liked it at (rival high school)?
Trumpeter: Yeah, in sixth grade I played like a pile of (bad word) but I still had a really great sound, and then in seventh grade I got this really good teacher who knew (famous trumpet player) and he had me doing stuff out of the Arban book in seventh grade! Seventh grade, you know? So then I was playing like a monster and I doing double tonguing and had a great sound, but I still didn't read music very well, and then in high school I was this great player, and I was going to go to (several big conservatories) but I ended up going to (local community college) and then I transferred to (slightly further away community college) before I went to (state school). And I was going to transfer to (prestigious conservatory) but my teacher got all mad because I didn't, and he was like "you could be a prodigy," but I still didn't read music very well, but I figured that out at (state school), so now I get to play principal in all the top ensembles.
ad nauseum...
You'd think I was making this up!!!!
Trumpeter: Whoa, sorry I'm late!
Me: Hi, are you Ms. P---'s student teacher? My name is Mr. Smith, I'm subbing for her today. Please feel free to run as much of the day as you'd like. I'll be right here if you need me, but as far as I'm concerned it's your show.
Trumpeter: Oh, sure. (notices my gig bag) Are you a musician?
Me: Yes, I'm a trumpet player.
Trumpeter: Yeah, me too!
Me: That's great! Where are you from?
Trumpeter: Well, I live in (nearby town) but I'm in my last semester at (state school).
Me: That's great. Are you studying with A---?
Trumpeter: Yeah, I got real lucky, because the other guy sucks, and A--- takes on all the really talented students.
Me: That's nice.
Trumpeter: So where are you from?
Me: Well, I actually grew up in (school district we're standing in.)
Trumpeter: Oh, I went to (rival school district.)
Me: Oh, wow. So you probably know M---? He and I went to (my undergraduate institution) together.
Trumpeter: Yeah, I know M---. Does he play any better now? Because in high school, he was like (makes face).
Me: Yes, he's a fine player. Where was your other student teaching placement?
Trumpeter: Over at the high school.
Me: Did you enjoy it?
Trumpeter: Man, it was rough. Cause you know the marching band over there is like, (makes face) and I went to (rival high school) where it was like, excellence.
Me: I see. So you liked it at (rival high school)?
Trumpeter: Yeah, in sixth grade I played like a pile of (bad word) but I still had a really great sound, and then in seventh grade I got this really good teacher who knew (famous trumpet player) and he had me doing stuff out of the Arban book in seventh grade! Seventh grade, you know? So then I was playing like a monster and I doing double tonguing and had a great sound, but I still didn't read music very well, and then in high school I was this great player, and I was going to go to (several big conservatories) but I ended up going to (local community college) and then I transferred to (slightly further away community college) before I went to (state school). And I was going to transfer to (prestigious conservatory) but my teacher got all mad because I didn't, and he was like "you could be a prodigy," but I still didn't read music very well, but I figured that out at (state school), so now I get to play principal in all the top ensembles.
ad nauseum...
You'd think I was making this up!!!!
Saturday, April 2, 2011
3/24-4/2
I've not been silent so long for want of thoughts, events, and musings; I've rather been deluged by them. J and I are back from Pennsylvania, my concerts are completed, and I finally have a cup of coffee at my desk and a free morning to write. Here are some highlights from the past week and a half:
-I played a recital at RWC, shared with the trumpet ensemble, of light classical music. Ryan E. accompanied me, and I was genuinely touched when several loyal supporters from CPC showed up in the front row. The program included a Bach duet with Magister, a lyrical cornet solo (Endearing Young Charms), the Hubeau Sonata, and Bugler's Holiday with Magister and Opifera. It was, as J pointed out, my most serious solo effort since my graduate recital, and (with the assistance of a beta blocker) I thoroughly enjoyed it. Almost thou persuadest me to play solo music, Paul!
-J and I traveled to Hanover, PA, where she performed the Borne Carment Fantasie and the Chaminade with the HSO as a special guest alumna. We visited with the music director (a former trumpet player, and Northwestern/Chicago enthusiast, as we found out) to discuss tempi and transitions on Friday night, rehearsed with the orchestra Saturday morning, and played Sunday afternoon. She sounded marvelous. She looked resplendent. Orchestra and audience were gracious; it was, I hope, a most welcome break from the drudge of her day job. I played along as well, hopping into the orchestra to cover a cornet part on the Suite Algerienne.
-We spent considerable quality time with J's family, including several long and delicious conversations with her parents. It is saddening how little we've seen them in the past year, but every time we have seen them there has been immediate comfort and a genuine thirst for honest talk that can be addressed right up front, without wading through a period of niceties and polite small-talk. We also saw her brother Dan and his fiancee Emily, with whom J went out to buy yet more formalwear. Tim brought home a ladyfriend for us to meet, but spent most of the weekend preparing for his most recent musical project. We also saw all of her grandparents and a small selection of aunts and cousins at the orchestra concert.
-I attended, for the first time since September, a Sunday service outside of CPC. It was wonderful. I will go back to CPC (for Chant Sunday) gladly this week having been refreshed in Hanover. The message addressed dispensational views of the endtimes, a significant piece of JMHEFCOP's identity. Knowing very little of the history of dispensationalism, I had an excellent chat with J's father afterward, and am resolved (especially in the light of my N.T. Wright volume) to explore the subject further.
-No mention at any point was made of preterist considerations, which convinces me all the more that American Christianity is still more unaware of it as a theological position than opposed to it. I am also convinced I ought to blog about it sometime in the near future, though of course I'm hesitant to misrepresent something I understand so poorly and hold so loosely.
-Having traveled back on Monday evening, J and I both played in the RWCCO rehearsal of American in Paris. She is playing the concert, and I was covering the third trumpet part for an absentee student. Steven. S. sounds fantastic on the solos in the part.
-We took my parents out to O'Lacy's in Batavia, where we celebrated their sale of the studio property. After twenty years of business there, they are back to a single mortgage. It has been heartbreaking to watch them scrap the property and the business model, but a relief to see my Dad move away from self-employment. As enjoyable as it was to share IPAs and Reubens with them, we share in their season of grief.
-After sending out several pointed and potentially bossy emails (my younger brothers tell me I can be that way) about rehearsal attendance, I had confirmed all parties of RBQ for a Tuesday evening practice. I arrived at 8:30 (for an 8:40 rehearsal), looked in the backseat, and realized that I'd left everyone's music at home in N. Chili. Incredibly, wonderfully, and mercifully, J left a recital early to drive it into us. It would have been an additional hour for me to drive both ways, and she saved my severely chastened hindquarters for that particular evening.
-I played the RPO Around the Town "March" concerts, getting cornet doubling, and switching back and forth between the 2nd and 3rd books. The concerts were free, and all held at different local churches. In the middle of the Thursday evening show, the conductor was introducing works by Grieg and Halvorsen, then mentioned "and speaking of Norwegians, our new music director Arild Remmereit is in attendance tonight." The orchestra sat visibly straighter. The highlight for me was playing 2nd on Aida, which was enough for a solo bow. I love RPO.
-My college-aged student, Ryan H., will attend Houghton College next year. I am proud of how well he is playing, and saddened that he'll be leaving. I did, however, pick up another student, an adult living in N. Chili, that starts this week.
-The RBQ played three assemblies at the Naples Elementary School on Thursday morning, all of a patriotic disposition. (Including one piece which was hastily renamed "American" Fire Dance, so as to fit the program bill.) The kids were respectful and responsive, though I don't think I'll ever instruct them to march in place again while playing anywhere other than a highly elevated stage. We came perilously close to having a horde of 2nd graders march into our bells while we played Stars and Stripes. I saw an RWC alumna who I overlapped with while at the school, and thoroughly enjoyed walking the halls as a distinguished guest instead of as a substitute teacher.
-I returned to substitute teaching in the form of high school Algebra II (read: Study Hall) on Friday morning, and was able to catch up on some neglected reading. I recently have read Tartuffe, some of the collected letters of C.S. Lewis, N.T. Wright's People of God, Matthew 8-11 (v. interesting stuff) up through Is. 62, some of the early Psalms, more letters of Cicero, and Iliad book 4.
-J and I spent quality time with Pax & K. J likened this video to Pax and I discussing the Bills draft needs. Pax is playing a gig this weekend for which he will travel by private jet and limousine. We also got together with Calvus & Beka last night (and a visit from Baby H!), and Calvus and I read Matt. 4-5 aloud in Greek over coffee and onions.
Needless to say, it has been a full week in the Smith house.
-I played a recital at RWC, shared with the trumpet ensemble, of light classical music. Ryan E. accompanied me, and I was genuinely touched when several loyal supporters from CPC showed up in the front row. The program included a Bach duet with Magister, a lyrical cornet solo (Endearing Young Charms), the Hubeau Sonata, and Bugler's Holiday with Magister and Opifera. It was, as J pointed out, my most serious solo effort since my graduate recital, and (with the assistance of a beta blocker) I thoroughly enjoyed it. Almost thou persuadest me to play solo music, Paul!
-J and I traveled to Hanover, PA, where she performed the Borne Carment Fantasie and the Chaminade with the HSO as a special guest alumna. We visited with the music director (a former trumpet player, and Northwestern/Chicago enthusiast, as we found out) to discuss tempi and transitions on Friday night, rehearsed with the orchestra Saturday morning, and played Sunday afternoon. She sounded marvelous. She looked resplendent. Orchestra and audience were gracious; it was, I hope, a most welcome break from the drudge of her day job. I played along as well, hopping into the orchestra to cover a cornet part on the Suite Algerienne.
-We spent considerable quality time with J's family, including several long and delicious conversations with her parents. It is saddening how little we've seen them in the past year, but every time we have seen them there has been immediate comfort and a genuine thirst for honest talk that can be addressed right up front, without wading through a period of niceties and polite small-talk. We also saw her brother Dan and his fiancee Emily, with whom J went out to buy yet more formalwear. Tim brought home a ladyfriend for us to meet, but spent most of the weekend preparing for his most recent musical project. We also saw all of her grandparents and a small selection of aunts and cousins at the orchestra concert.
-I attended, for the first time since September, a Sunday service outside of CPC. It was wonderful. I will go back to CPC (for Chant Sunday) gladly this week having been refreshed in Hanover. The message addressed dispensational views of the endtimes, a significant piece of JMHEFCOP's identity. Knowing very little of the history of dispensationalism, I had an excellent chat with J's father afterward, and am resolved (especially in the light of my N.T. Wright volume) to explore the subject further.
-No mention at any point was made of preterist considerations, which convinces me all the more that American Christianity is still more unaware of it as a theological position than opposed to it. I am also convinced I ought to blog about it sometime in the near future, though of course I'm hesitant to misrepresent something I understand so poorly and hold so loosely.
-Having traveled back on Monday evening, J and I both played in the RWCCO rehearsal of American in Paris. She is playing the concert, and I was covering the third trumpet part for an absentee student. Steven. S. sounds fantastic on the solos in the part.
-We took my parents out to O'Lacy's in Batavia, where we celebrated their sale of the studio property. After twenty years of business there, they are back to a single mortgage. It has been heartbreaking to watch them scrap the property and the business model, but a relief to see my Dad move away from self-employment. As enjoyable as it was to share IPAs and Reubens with them, we share in their season of grief.
-After sending out several pointed and potentially bossy emails (my younger brothers tell me I can be that way) about rehearsal attendance, I had confirmed all parties of RBQ for a Tuesday evening practice. I arrived at 8:30 (for an 8:40 rehearsal), looked in the backseat, and realized that I'd left everyone's music at home in N. Chili. Incredibly, wonderfully, and mercifully, J left a recital early to drive it into us. It would have been an additional hour for me to drive both ways, and she saved my severely chastened hindquarters for that particular evening.
-I played the RPO Around the Town "March" concerts, getting cornet doubling, and switching back and forth between the 2nd and 3rd books. The concerts were free, and all held at different local churches. In the middle of the Thursday evening show, the conductor was introducing works by Grieg and Halvorsen, then mentioned "and speaking of Norwegians, our new music director Arild Remmereit is in attendance tonight." The orchestra sat visibly straighter. The highlight for me was playing 2nd on Aida, which was enough for a solo bow. I love RPO.
-My college-aged student, Ryan H., will attend Houghton College next year. I am proud of how well he is playing, and saddened that he'll be leaving. I did, however, pick up another student, an adult living in N. Chili, that starts this week.
-The RBQ played three assemblies at the Naples Elementary School on Thursday morning, all of a patriotic disposition. (Including one piece which was hastily renamed "American" Fire Dance, so as to fit the program bill.) The kids were respectful and responsive, though I don't think I'll ever instruct them to march in place again while playing anywhere other than a highly elevated stage. We came perilously close to having a horde of 2nd graders march into our bells while we played Stars and Stripes. I saw an RWC alumna who I overlapped with while at the school, and thoroughly enjoyed walking the halls as a distinguished guest instead of as a substitute teacher.
-I returned to substitute teaching in the form of high school Algebra II (read: Study Hall) on Friday morning, and was able to catch up on some neglected reading. I recently have read Tartuffe, some of the collected letters of C.S. Lewis, N.T. Wright's People of God, Matthew 8-11 (v. interesting stuff) up through Is. 62, some of the early Psalms, more letters of Cicero, and Iliad book 4.
-J and I spent quality time with Pax & K. J likened this video to Pax and I discussing the Bills draft needs. Pax is playing a gig this weekend for which he will travel by private jet and limousine. We also got together with Calvus & Beka last night (and a visit from Baby H!), and Calvus and I read Matt. 4-5 aloud in Greek over coffee and onions.
Needless to say, it has been a full week in the Smith house.
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