J has a theory that Owen does not look like James.
"He looks like James from the nose down" she says. "But from the eyes up he looks totally different."
She also says that James looks more like a Smith baby, and that Owen doesn't have some of the Smith characteristics.
I usually keep my theory to myself. I think all babies look pretty much the same, at least when they're really little. Even when I go down to the toddler room at the church nursery I usually have to call James' name to see which of the little brown haired boys is mine. (This is not helpful. All the little boys come running no matter who is at the door.)
It's hard to describe facial features. In Jane Eyre, for example, Mr. Rochester is "stern-featured, heavy-browed, and craggy-faced." If I had to describe Owen, I think I would call him "spit-up chinned, slightly scowling." James, on the other hand, would be a "a good little monkey" who is also "very curious."
Of course, I think that both of my boys are handsome and exceptionally intelligent-looking. They do have sort of similar looking heads, and their noses are pretty similar. (J says that James has lost his baby nose, and I'm not quite sure what that means either. James is a pretty narrow child. He goes straight up and down, while Owen is a little more roly-poly at this point. Their toes are maybe the most similar part about them, but we hardly ever see James' toes.
He needs to have socks on his feet at all times. They are the first thing he asks for when he's out of the bath, and they're the last thing to go off before he gets in. I'm not sure I've seen him with his socks off voluntarily in over a year. He lost out on several swimming and sandal opportunities over the summer because he wouldn't lose his socks. Owen, on the other hand, has trouble keeping his socks on. His knees and legs are still knotty little sticks that spasm involuntarily, and more often than not he's brushed his feet together in such a way that one sock is gone since the last person checked. As is so often the case later in life, he has a drawerful of single socks whose partners have been lost forever.
Fortunately, it was a very socky Christmas. The boys may or may not look alike now, but at least it's still easy to tell whose socks are whose.
Wednesday, December 31, 2014
New Year's Resolutions
I can't find it anywhere, but I'm sure I've posted the GKC essay on New Year's Resolutions somewhere before. He says that the object of a New Year is not that we should have a new year; it is that we should have a new soul and a new nose; new feet, a new backbone, new ears, and new eyes. Unless a particular man made New Year resolutions, he would make no resolutions. Unless a man starts afresh about things, he will certainly do nothing effective.
This seems spot on to me, and I enjoy making and keeping (with various success) New Year's resolutions more with each passing year. Among others, here's what I have for 2015:
1) Iron my pants. 2015 is the year I will turn 30, which I suppose means that I am officially an adult. And adults probably need to get up early enough and somehow suffer through the extraordinary inconvenience of locating and plugging in the iron to iron their wrinkly shirts and pants. If I were feeling particularly ambitious I could just iron my clothes after they come out of the dryer, but maybe we'll save that one for 2016. Anyhow, if you see me with a wrinkled tie, shirt, or pants in 2015, please remind me that I am failing in my New Year's resolution. And then say something to make me feel properly ashamed.
2) Learn how the boy's car seats actually work. This one is from J. I asked her a few days ago whether she had any New Year's resolutions that she was thinking of for me, and she answered that "I think it's sort of dangerous to make suggestions like that for someone else." And I told her "Yes, but if you don't give me a New Year's resolutions the it would be rude of me to give you all the good ones I came up with for you." The car seat resolution is a good one. Whenever I have to put a car seat in or take it out of the car I inevitably bring a webby, buckly, half-knotted mess back to her to figure out for me. If she were ever gone when I needed to switch a seat or if something were to happen to her, the boys would be in trouble.
3) Get up a half hour earlier. The hour and a half to two hours that I have before the boys get up is the time when I get done all the things that I would usually resolve to do on New Year's--reading, exercising, balancing the checkbook, writing, translating. But 6:00 to 7:30 goes by too soon...I'm going to aim for 5:30 this year.
4) Learn how to cook two more meals decently well. Because if J were ever gone for a week or if something happened to her, the boys would probably want to eat something besides pancakes and Spanish rice.
5) Ask people more questions. The people with whom I have the best sorts of conversation and the most natural social grace are the sorts of people who are constantly asking me (and everyone else) genuinely interesting questions. And the people with whom conversation is a either a mild bore or an outright challenge tend to redirect any social traffic back towards statements about themselves.
In the spirit of Resolution 5, does anyone have any Resolutions of their own that they'd like to share?
This seems spot on to me, and I enjoy making and keeping (with various success) New Year's resolutions more with each passing year. Among others, here's what I have for 2015:
1) Iron my pants. 2015 is the year I will turn 30, which I suppose means that I am officially an adult. And adults probably need to get up early enough and somehow suffer through the extraordinary inconvenience of locating and plugging in the iron to iron their wrinkly shirts and pants. If I were feeling particularly ambitious I could just iron my clothes after they come out of the dryer, but maybe we'll save that one for 2016. Anyhow, if you see me with a wrinkled tie, shirt, or pants in 2015, please remind me that I am failing in my New Year's resolution. And then say something to make me feel properly ashamed.
2) Learn how the boy's car seats actually work. This one is from J. I asked her a few days ago whether she had any New Year's resolutions that she was thinking of for me, and she answered that "I think it's sort of dangerous to make suggestions like that for someone else." And I told her "Yes, but if you don't give me a New Year's resolutions the it would be rude of me to give you all the good ones I came up with for you." The car seat resolution is a good one. Whenever I have to put a car seat in or take it out of the car I inevitably bring a webby, buckly, half-knotted mess back to her to figure out for me. If she were ever gone when I needed to switch a seat or if something were to happen to her, the boys would be in trouble.
3) Get up a half hour earlier. The hour and a half to two hours that I have before the boys get up is the time when I get done all the things that I would usually resolve to do on New Year's--reading, exercising, balancing the checkbook, writing, translating. But 6:00 to 7:30 goes by too soon...I'm going to aim for 5:30 this year.
4) Learn how to cook two more meals decently well. Because if J were ever gone for a week or if something happened to her, the boys would probably want to eat something besides pancakes and Spanish rice.
5) Ask people more questions. The people with whom I have the best sorts of conversation and the most natural social grace are the sorts of people who are constantly asking me (and everyone else) genuinely interesting questions. And the people with whom conversation is a either a mild bore or an outright challenge tend to redirect any social traffic back towards statements about themselves.
In the spirit of Resolution 5, does anyone have any Resolutions of their own that they'd like to share?
Tuesday, December 30, 2014
Quick Hitters
I. I gave my choir the week off last Sunday. They'd put on a full cantata the week before, then done a Christmas Eve service on top of it. I decided to just bring in my trumpet and play a simple special music with the organ. I also decided to bring in James, since J hadn't had a Sunday without both kids yet since she returned to work. James likes my church. He asked if he could help set up the chairs ("We don't need to, there's no choir today") and we retrieved his cart from the church nursery so he could wheel around George and Steven. Then he asked a couple more times why we didn't set up the chairs ("Daddy, we need to set up these chairs") and he didn't even hide behind my leg when I met with the organist. He got a piece of chocolate before we entered the service ("and you can have another one after the service if you're very good") and I brought him to my seat at the front.
As the prelude started I began to doubt my decision to bring him into the service with me. Nursery care was available...why didn't I just drop him off there? He was awfully fidgety. Oh well, too late now. The prelude finished, and I stood up to play the instrumental introit I'd prepared with the organist. The congregation was sparse today, maybe only forty or fifty people. Some of them were in their pajamas, which is a bit of a tradition the week after Christmas. As I started in on the In the Bleak Midwinter I heard a reedy little voice humming along with me, quite loudly and right on pitch. James was sprawled out on the pew, singing loudly enough for all the congregation to hear.
J and I talked afterwards, and though we puzzled for a few minutes we figured out that he must know the tune to In the Bleak Midwinter from the Uncles Christmas CD. It's the track right after his fravorite (God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen) and he always begins to cry (well, George begins to cry) if we don't immediately repeat back to the one he likes. He went through the entire tune with me, and after I'd finished the last note he sang Mi on his own in the silence of the church, apparently thinking we'd be going back for a second verse. As the note echoed and some of the congregants tittered in their pews he popped up and exclaimed in his loudest three-year old voice "YAY, GEORGE!"
II. It's very rare that J and I get to spend six conscious hours together, but the trip to Pennsylvania is always good for that. The first leg we were driving in separate cars, trying to return the rental car to Syracuse. (That's been nothing but calamity from start to finish, but it's mostly out of our hands now.) Then we switched the carseats over, were quickly out of range of the Bills game, and on the highway. There was a time not terribly long ago when we'd have to come up with interesting things to do and talk about on the Route 15 drive (it was I-81 this time) but with two boys now we usually haven't seen each other in so long that it takes us most of the trip just to get caught up. Items up for discussion on the Southbound trip included: Religious guilt, movies, recently visited friends, the practice of daily devotions, childhood prayers, the distinction between quality reviews, cooking, and the nature of religious discourse.
III. It appears that I have manifested the prophetic gift.
http://harmonious-smith.blogspot.com/2014/09/2014-buffalo-bills-season-preview.html
IV. It's happened this Christmas season that we've been in conversation with a number of people about spending Christmas at your in-law's. Several girlfriends and boyfriends that we know are visiting and trying to put on a brave and polite face as they find a place for themselves. Several newly married folks are figuring out the new normal Christmas through their homesickness. I know that I speak for J when I say that she loved Smith Christmas this year. She glowed the entire trip down as she recounted all the thoughtful gifts that were given between the infant-lapped siblings at the big white and red farmhouse on County House Road. It makes me happy to think about how happy she is with my family, passing the nieces and nephews about, drinking wine in old church pews around the kitchen table and laughing at clever Uncle jokes. And I think it makes her happy to see me and James excited as we pull into the gorgeous white and blue house with candles in the windows atop the hill on Fox Tail Drive, all splendidly arranged for Christmas with grandparents waiting to see their little boys again. We exchanged gifts with the Davises last night, and our boys now have helicopters, tools and blocks to knock around the floor as well. It's good to be part of two such wonderful families this time of year.
As the prelude started I began to doubt my decision to bring him into the service with me. Nursery care was available...why didn't I just drop him off there? He was awfully fidgety. Oh well, too late now. The prelude finished, and I stood up to play the instrumental introit I'd prepared with the organist. The congregation was sparse today, maybe only forty or fifty people. Some of them were in their pajamas, which is a bit of a tradition the week after Christmas. As I started in on the In the Bleak Midwinter I heard a reedy little voice humming along with me, quite loudly and right on pitch. James was sprawled out on the pew, singing loudly enough for all the congregation to hear.
J and I talked afterwards, and though we puzzled for a few minutes we figured out that he must know the tune to In the Bleak Midwinter from the Uncles Christmas CD. It's the track right after his fravorite (God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen) and he always begins to cry (well, George begins to cry) if we don't immediately repeat back to the one he likes. He went through the entire tune with me, and after I'd finished the last note he sang Mi on his own in the silence of the church, apparently thinking we'd be going back for a second verse. As the note echoed and some of the congregants tittered in their pews he popped up and exclaimed in his loudest three-year old voice "YAY, GEORGE!"
II. It's very rare that J and I get to spend six conscious hours together, but the trip to Pennsylvania is always good for that. The first leg we were driving in separate cars, trying to return the rental car to Syracuse. (That's been nothing but calamity from start to finish, but it's mostly out of our hands now.) Then we switched the carseats over, were quickly out of range of the Bills game, and on the highway. There was a time not terribly long ago when we'd have to come up with interesting things to do and talk about on the Route 15 drive (it was I-81 this time) but with two boys now we usually haven't seen each other in so long that it takes us most of the trip just to get caught up. Items up for discussion on the Southbound trip included: Religious guilt, movies, recently visited friends, the practice of daily devotions, childhood prayers, the distinction between quality reviews, cooking, and the nature of religious discourse.
III. It appears that I have manifested the prophetic gift.
http://harmonious-smith.blogspot.com/2014/09/2014-buffalo-bills-season-preview.html
IV. It's happened this Christmas season that we've been in conversation with a number of people about spending Christmas at your in-law's. Several girlfriends and boyfriends that we know are visiting and trying to put on a brave and polite face as they find a place for themselves. Several newly married folks are figuring out the new normal Christmas through their homesickness. I know that I speak for J when I say that she loved Smith Christmas this year. She glowed the entire trip down as she recounted all the thoughtful gifts that were given between the infant-lapped siblings at the big white and red farmhouse on County House Road. It makes me happy to think about how happy she is with my family, passing the nieces and nephews about, drinking wine in old church pews around the kitchen table and laughing at clever Uncle jokes. And I think it makes her happy to see me and James excited as we pull into the gorgeous white and blue house with candles in the windows atop the hill on Fox Tail Drive, all splendidly arranged for Christmas with grandparents waiting to see their little boys again. We exchanged gifts with the Davises last night, and our boys now have helicopters, tools and blocks to knock around the floor as well. It's good to be part of two such wonderful families this time of year.
Sunday, December 21, 2014
Stumbling Across the Finish Line
It was a rough finish to the December concert marathon.
Today was the last day of big performances before Christmas break. I had the cantata at church, and then I was home free. I was up before 6 to get coffee and donuts ready for my choir and musicians and to make sure the church was set up. J texted me, wishing me luck, as I led them through a grueling two hour rehearsal. "One more thing and then we're free!!"
I felt great as I drove back home. There was a Bills game on in the afternoon, good leftovers for lunch in the fridge, and nothing to do except relax and hang with the boys. James had been in a particularly good mood all week. What with the move and the new baby we got in the habit of letting him watch an episode of Curious George every night before bed for a few weeks, and we noticed that he wasn't handling it very well. About a week ago we decided to kill two birds (or monkeys?) with one stone by telling him he could only watch George if he did certain big boy things on the potty. This hasn't worked out on the potty training end, but he's become a much nicer kid since we cut down his TV intake to nothing.
I noticed right away, though, that he wasn't in a playful mood when he got back from church with J. He whined through lunch, and went down far too easily for a nap.
I settled down for an afternoon with J...her Steelers game was on at 1, and the Bills were on at 4. It was exciting to watch the Bills play a meaningful game in December...they even still had a chance at the playoffs!
When James got up from his nap he didn't want to give up his binky. In fact, he didn't want to do anything other than lie on our bed and whimper about being held. At first I thought he was just trying to bump Owen off of his favorite two laps, but as the afternoon dragged on I began to realize that he was sick. And it was obvious enough for me to realize it despite the fact that the Bills were in the middle of a very sickly football game.
I asked him if his mouth hurt and he said yes. Eventually he'll stop answering that question truthfully, because whenever he says yes he gets pinned down by one parent while the other forces down some Children's Tylenol. By this time it was almost 5, J was trying to get a pizza into the oven, and Owen was entering the winter of his discontent. (4:30-7:30 PM, daily) Plus, the Bills were losing.
James was crying almost inconsolably when J came up. I had both kids on my lap, and James had his binky in. J asked him what was wrong. And then he vomited all over our bed. It was too gross to describe in detail, and all of us just sat in shock for a moment. And then he vomited again. Fortunately, a primordial parental instinct kicked in allowing J to stick her hands out under his mouth, so instead of having a vomity mess all over our child, quilt, and comforter, we had a vomity mess all over our child, quilt, and comforter, and she had a handful of vomit.
I think Owen ended up on the floor. The handful of vomit ended up in a hastily grabbed box that apparently also had J's nursing pads in it. James' pajamas were covered, and unfortunately, so was George.
"At least he didn't get Steven."
We mopped him up as best we could while both boys cried, and J took George and half our bedding down to the laundry while I put a protesting James in the tub. Owen didn't do great while we left him alone on our bed. The Bills didn't do much better while I left them alone, either.
I put a shivering and sobbing little three year old--they look so much smaller when they're sick--into a new set of clean pajamas and brought him into J. She'd brought up a bowl for any future incidents, and I tried to get Owen calmed down.
"Mommy, where's George?"
"He's downstairs taking a bath. He got a little dirty when you got sick."
"I need George."
"Why don't you snuggle Steven. And if you feel like you're going to be sick again, try to get it into this bowl, okay?"
"I need my ginky."
"Honey, do you know where his gink ended up?"
(It had been brought downstairs for boiling and re-sanitizing.)
"I'll go get it."
And then he vomited all over the place again. This time it got all over the sheets, his new pajamas, and J. And Steven Bear.
"Am I taking Owen, or the sheets, or James?"
"You take Owen and find the paper towels. James, stay here and don't move. No, sorry honey, Steven is going to need to take a bath too."
"I can't believe they're gonna punt with that little time left."
That was when we decided to let James watch a George, even though he hadn't gone in the potty that day. It seemed like a good idea for all parties involved.
Owen started crying some more, and James asked a lot for George and Steven, and I scrubbed out a lot of clothing in the utility sink.
When J finally did come up with a clean and dry George we got the lone smile of the night from James. He made some monkey noises and then asked George whether he liked his bath, which he apparently did. James threw up again before we put him down for the night, but we managed to get all of it in the bowl that time, and we have some back-up pjs ready.
J's evaluation of the situation is that if it had happened two days ago I would have been gone at a concert and she would have had a puking toddler, a screaming baby, a laundry emergency, and a pizza in the oven all at the same time.
Her Mom's evaluation of the situation is that we've finally reached full parenthood now that we've both earned the vomit badge.
My evaluation of the situation is that any quarterback worth only a second or third round pick is unlikely to provide a net gain greater than an offensive line upgrade in the short term, and that the throwing up was only the second gruesomest mess I saw today. I put that on facebook, and used my first ever hashtag.
#christmasbreak
#stillhaventshowered
#fifteenyeardrought
#maybenextyear
#owenisstillscreaming
Today was the last day of big performances before Christmas break. I had the cantata at church, and then I was home free. I was up before 6 to get coffee and donuts ready for my choir and musicians and to make sure the church was set up. J texted me, wishing me luck, as I led them through a grueling two hour rehearsal. "One more thing and then we're free!!"
I felt great as I drove back home. There was a Bills game on in the afternoon, good leftovers for lunch in the fridge, and nothing to do except relax and hang with the boys. James had been in a particularly good mood all week. What with the move and the new baby we got in the habit of letting him watch an episode of Curious George every night before bed for a few weeks, and we noticed that he wasn't handling it very well. About a week ago we decided to kill two birds (or monkeys?) with one stone by telling him he could only watch George if he did certain big boy things on the potty. This hasn't worked out on the potty training end, but he's become a much nicer kid since we cut down his TV intake to nothing.
I noticed right away, though, that he wasn't in a playful mood when he got back from church with J. He whined through lunch, and went down far too easily for a nap.
I settled down for an afternoon with J...her Steelers game was on at 1, and the Bills were on at 4. It was exciting to watch the Bills play a meaningful game in December...they even still had a chance at the playoffs!
When James got up from his nap he didn't want to give up his binky. In fact, he didn't want to do anything other than lie on our bed and whimper about being held. At first I thought he was just trying to bump Owen off of his favorite two laps, but as the afternoon dragged on I began to realize that he was sick. And it was obvious enough for me to realize it despite the fact that the Bills were in the middle of a very sickly football game.
I asked him if his mouth hurt and he said yes. Eventually he'll stop answering that question truthfully, because whenever he says yes he gets pinned down by one parent while the other forces down some Children's Tylenol. By this time it was almost 5, J was trying to get a pizza into the oven, and Owen was entering the winter of his discontent. (4:30-7:30 PM, daily) Plus, the Bills were losing.
James was crying almost inconsolably when J came up. I had both kids on my lap, and James had his binky in. J asked him what was wrong. And then he vomited all over our bed. It was too gross to describe in detail, and all of us just sat in shock for a moment. And then he vomited again. Fortunately, a primordial parental instinct kicked in allowing J to stick her hands out under his mouth, so instead of having a vomity mess all over our child, quilt, and comforter, we had a vomity mess all over our child, quilt, and comforter, and she had a handful of vomit.
I think Owen ended up on the floor. The handful of vomit ended up in a hastily grabbed box that apparently also had J's nursing pads in it. James' pajamas were covered, and unfortunately, so was George.
"At least he didn't get Steven."
We mopped him up as best we could while both boys cried, and J took George and half our bedding down to the laundry while I put a protesting James in the tub. Owen didn't do great while we left him alone on our bed. The Bills didn't do much better while I left them alone, either.
I put a shivering and sobbing little three year old--they look so much smaller when they're sick--into a new set of clean pajamas and brought him into J. She'd brought up a bowl for any future incidents, and I tried to get Owen calmed down.
"Mommy, where's George?"
"He's downstairs taking a bath. He got a little dirty when you got sick."
"I need George."
"Why don't you snuggle Steven. And if you feel like you're going to be sick again, try to get it into this bowl, okay?"
"I need my ginky."
"Honey, do you know where his gink ended up?"
(It had been brought downstairs for boiling and re-sanitizing.)
"I'll go get it."
And then he vomited all over the place again. This time it got all over the sheets, his new pajamas, and J. And Steven Bear.
"Am I taking Owen, or the sheets, or James?"
"You take Owen and find the paper towels. James, stay here and don't move. No, sorry honey, Steven is going to need to take a bath too."
"I can't believe they're gonna punt with that little time left."
That was when we decided to let James watch a George, even though he hadn't gone in the potty that day. It seemed like a good idea for all parties involved.
Owen started crying some more, and James asked a lot for George and Steven, and I scrubbed out a lot of clothing in the utility sink.
When J finally did come up with a clean and dry George we got the lone smile of the night from James. He made some monkey noises and then asked George whether he liked his bath, which he apparently did. James threw up again before we put him down for the night, but we managed to get all of it in the bowl that time, and we have some back-up pjs ready.
J's evaluation of the situation is that if it had happened two days ago I would have been gone at a concert and she would have had a puking toddler, a screaming baby, a laundry emergency, and a pizza in the oven all at the same time.
Her Mom's evaluation of the situation is that we've finally reached full parenthood now that we've both earned the vomit badge.
My evaluation of the situation is that any quarterback worth only a second or third round pick is unlikely to provide a net gain greater than an offensive line upgrade in the short term, and that the throwing up was only the second gruesomest mess I saw today. I put that on facebook, and used my first ever hashtag.
#christmasbreak
#stillhaventshowered
#fifteenyeardrought
#maybenextyear
#owenisstillscreaming
Thursday, December 18, 2014
Wednesday
I was just leaving a rehearsal for the symphony brass quintet. I'd been looking forward to this day for a few weeks--I knew that I'd have a few hours in between rehearsal and concert to get my Christmas shopping wrapped up, make some returns, and
WHAM
I saw the car running the stop sign in just enough time to bury my foot on the brake pedal, but there was nothing I could do to avoid the collision. I saw nothing but white for a second and felt like I'd been slapped in the face. Then I noticed a smell like burnt feathers, and saw that a fine floury mist was floating inside the car. I looked down and realized the airbag had deployed. The car was still on, and I felt it limping as I guided it over to the curb. The other car, a gray BMW, was still stuck out in the middle of the intersection.
I looked over myself and felt my face. No cuts, no scrapes. I looked back the way I'd come. Sure enough, no stop sign, no signal. The BMW had just blown through his stop without ever slowing down. He got out of his car, and I realized that my hands were trembling from the adrenaline. It all went away instantly...I was in disaster mode, completely cool and collected. I made sure he was okay, asked if he could move his car out of the intersection (he couldn't) and requested his registration and insurance card. As I walked back to the Corolla to get my own I saw the damage to the front for the first time. My stomach sank.
The front bumper was hanging completely off, the grill was bent, and it looked terrible. I loved that car. We got a great deal on it, paid cash. It was a stick, which I'd wanted.
It was cold out, and my hat and gloves were sitting on my desk back in Rochester. I'd gone on a three mile run that morning, and I forgot to pack them back in my winter coat once I came back inside. Tow truck first, then police, then insurance. The tow truck driver came first and picked up the bits of my bumper that were still in the intersection, and then a policeman took my statement. A second cop car arrived, realized he couldn't do anything, and almost hit someone on a bicycle as then wheeled past.
Then the cyclist stopped and got off. It was Rob, the timpani player from the symphony?
"Hey, are you okay?"
"Yeah, I think so. Could've been a lot worse."
"Wow, this is your car?"
"Yeah."
"Well, if you need a ride or anything let me know. I'm free all day, okay?"
I don't know why it's so hard for me to accept other people's help sometimes. I don't think that catching a ride would've made my day any easier...I mostly just didn't want to see any friendly faces. Every time I looked at the front of my car I felt ill again. When I sat down in the tow truck I realized how hungry I was--it was nearly 2:00 by the time everyone was packed up--and how sore I was going to be.
I met the owner of the collision shop and got my first crash course in how the insurance process would work. Each time I was given the course over the day it had some slight inexplicable variation. I'm still not sure who's paying for what, but I started to pick up some of the terminology. I waited for the rental car company inside the shop and finally called J, dreading how upset and worried she was going to be.
The rental car company offered a decent rate for a midsized car, some nice Chrysler. When I got there I found out that car was unavailable.
"But let's see...looks like all we've got is...a Toyota Yaris."
I like our Yaris plenty. But renting your wife's car is sort of like being offered a night at the hotel down the street from your house. It's nice to have a place to stay, but it'd be a lot more interesting if you had a change of scenery.
There was more paperwork, more signatures, a few more phone calls, and I went out to get into the Yaris. I took a few deep breaths. I still hadn't eaten anything, and my back was starting to hurt. It was raining out, and I wasn't sure I wanted to drive again yet. I turned on the car.
The check engine light was on.
A few minutes later the attendant told me, "Yeah, you're right. We just got it back from an oil change, I guess they didn't reset the light correctly."
"I'd still like to make a note in file."
I got back home safe, and eventually did get a meal and some ibuprofen. But it'll be a long few weeks until we're back in the Corolla again, if (hopefully) we do get it back.
Here are the things to be thankful for-
1) No one else was in my car.
2) No one else was in the other car
3) Neither of us were going particularly fast...probably both about 25.
4) We have insurance
5) The other guy has insurance
6) It's extremely unlikely that I'll be assessed any sort of fault/liability
7) I still made it to the gig on time
8) No one was hurt
9) No one was hurt
10) No one was hurt
But my back is still a little sore
WHAM
I saw the car running the stop sign in just enough time to bury my foot on the brake pedal, but there was nothing I could do to avoid the collision. I saw nothing but white for a second and felt like I'd been slapped in the face. Then I noticed a smell like burnt feathers, and saw that a fine floury mist was floating inside the car. I looked down and realized the airbag had deployed. The car was still on, and I felt it limping as I guided it over to the curb. The other car, a gray BMW, was still stuck out in the middle of the intersection.
I looked over myself and felt my face. No cuts, no scrapes. I looked back the way I'd come. Sure enough, no stop sign, no signal. The BMW had just blown through his stop without ever slowing down. He got out of his car, and I realized that my hands were trembling from the adrenaline. It all went away instantly...I was in disaster mode, completely cool and collected. I made sure he was okay, asked if he could move his car out of the intersection (he couldn't) and requested his registration and insurance card. As I walked back to the Corolla to get my own I saw the damage to the front for the first time. My stomach sank.
The front bumper was hanging completely off, the grill was bent, and it looked terrible. I loved that car. We got a great deal on it, paid cash. It was a stick, which I'd wanted.
It was cold out, and my hat and gloves were sitting on my desk back in Rochester. I'd gone on a three mile run that morning, and I forgot to pack them back in my winter coat once I came back inside. Tow truck first, then police, then insurance. The tow truck driver came first and picked up the bits of my bumper that were still in the intersection, and then a policeman took my statement. A second cop car arrived, realized he couldn't do anything, and almost hit someone on a bicycle as then wheeled past.
Then the cyclist stopped and got off. It was Rob, the timpani player from the symphony?
"Hey, are you okay?"
"Yeah, I think so. Could've been a lot worse."
"Wow, this is your car?"
"Yeah."
"Well, if you need a ride or anything let me know. I'm free all day, okay?"
I don't know why it's so hard for me to accept other people's help sometimes. I don't think that catching a ride would've made my day any easier...I mostly just didn't want to see any friendly faces. Every time I looked at the front of my car I felt ill again. When I sat down in the tow truck I realized how hungry I was--it was nearly 2:00 by the time everyone was packed up--and how sore I was going to be.
I met the owner of the collision shop and got my first crash course in how the insurance process would work. Each time I was given the course over the day it had some slight inexplicable variation. I'm still not sure who's paying for what, but I started to pick up some of the terminology. I waited for the rental car company inside the shop and finally called J, dreading how upset and worried she was going to be.
The rental car company offered a decent rate for a midsized car, some nice Chrysler. When I got there I found out that car was unavailable.
"But let's see...looks like all we've got is...a Toyota Yaris."
I like our Yaris plenty. But renting your wife's car is sort of like being offered a night at the hotel down the street from your house. It's nice to have a place to stay, but it'd be a lot more interesting if you had a change of scenery.
There was more paperwork, more signatures, a few more phone calls, and I went out to get into the Yaris. I took a few deep breaths. I still hadn't eaten anything, and my back was starting to hurt. It was raining out, and I wasn't sure I wanted to drive again yet. I turned on the car.
The check engine light was on.
A few minutes later the attendant told me, "Yeah, you're right. We just got it back from an oil change, I guess they didn't reset the light correctly."
"I'd still like to make a note in file."
I got back home safe, and eventually did get a meal and some ibuprofen. But it'll be a long few weeks until we're back in the Corolla again, if (hopefully) we do get it back.
Here are the things to be thankful for-
1) No one else was in my car.
2) No one else was in the other car
3) Neither of us were going particularly fast...probably both about 25.
4) We have insurance
5) The other guy has insurance
6) It's extremely unlikely that I'll be assessed any sort of fault/liability
7) I still made it to the gig on time
8) No one was hurt
9) No one was hurt
10) No one was hurt
But my back is still a little sore
Tuesday, December 16, 2014
Quick Hitters
I. This is the first and last year I do a cantata. I expected that it would be sort of like doing a simplified oratorio. You know, show up in a suit, conduct 30 minutes of music, polite applause at the end. Actually it's the sacred equivalent of a community musical. There are costumes, staging concerns, hurt feelings, and multiple emails per day. Still, if you'd like to hear the cantata, come to my church next Sunday. I hired some good musicians...here's hoping it comes off okay.
II. I missed the best Bills game of the year because I was playing Holiday Pops in Oswego. J watched the whole thing and texted me updates. When I got back she came the closest yet to confessing that she's become a Bills fan. "I would still root for the Steelers if they met in the playoffs," she said "but I know so much about the team, and they're on every week...and it's hard not to root for you guys."
III. I'm teaching a nine year old boy how to play the flute. That's wrong on a bunch of different levels. He forgets his instrument a lot, and he has trouble remembering the notes. Two months in, he still puts his fingers in the wrong spot and can only consistently remember how to play a D. Plus, he blows as hard/fast as he can whenever he tries to get a sound. "Alex," I said "you need to blow a lot slower air if you're going to play the flute." He answered "Well, I was born fast, so it's kind of hard for me to go slower." "Hmm. Alex, I'm wondering...because you were born fast, you know, and you like to blow fast...maybe you would enjoy playing the trombone? Because, you need to blow really fast to play the trombone. But flute, you know, that's more of a slow air instrument. What do you think?" "No, I don't think so." Then he leaned in and whispered "I tried the trombone once and the moving thingy came back and hit me, so I am a little scared of the trombone.'
IV. James isn't quite sure what to make of J nursing Owen. The first time he really noticed it (and it went on under his nose for quite some time before he looked up from whatever George was doing) he looked at them both with a puzzled expression and said "Mommy, what's Owen doing?" "Owen's hungry. He needs to eat." James then shouted at his younger brother. "Owen, stop eating Mommy's tummy! That's not food!" Apparently today, however, J asked whether Owen would like to get a cookie and a piece of cheese from Wegmans. James said that no, he not. He just wants to eat Mommy's tummy.
II. I missed the best Bills game of the year because I was playing Holiday Pops in Oswego. J watched the whole thing and texted me updates. When I got back she came the closest yet to confessing that she's become a Bills fan. "I would still root for the Steelers if they met in the playoffs," she said "but I know so much about the team, and they're on every week...and it's hard not to root for you guys."
III. I'm teaching a nine year old boy how to play the flute. That's wrong on a bunch of different levels. He forgets his instrument a lot, and he has trouble remembering the notes. Two months in, he still puts his fingers in the wrong spot and can only consistently remember how to play a D. Plus, he blows as hard/fast as he can whenever he tries to get a sound. "Alex," I said "you need to blow a lot slower air if you're going to play the flute." He answered "Well, I was born fast, so it's kind of hard for me to go slower." "Hmm. Alex, I'm wondering...because you were born fast, you know, and you like to blow fast...maybe you would enjoy playing the trombone? Because, you need to blow really fast to play the trombone. But flute, you know, that's more of a slow air instrument. What do you think?" "No, I don't think so." Then he leaned in and whispered "I tried the trombone once and the moving thingy came back and hit me, so I am a little scared of the trombone.'
IV. James isn't quite sure what to make of J nursing Owen. The first time he really noticed it (and it went on under his nose for quite some time before he looked up from whatever George was doing) he looked at them both with a puzzled expression and said "Mommy, what's Owen doing?" "Owen's hungry. He needs to eat." James then shouted at his younger brother. "Owen, stop eating Mommy's tummy! That's not food!" Apparently today, however, J asked whether Owen would like to get a cookie and a piece of cheese from Wegmans. James said that no, he not. He just wants to eat Mommy's tummy.
Friday, December 12, 2014
LCS Chapel, 12/12
Kindertotenlieder; Songs of Grief
Good morning! It's good to be with you all this morning, sharing the Christmas excitement and getting ready to wrap things up before break. There are some verses in the Christmas story that rarely receive any attention, right in the middle of Matthew 2. "Then Herod became furious when he saw that he had been tricked by the magi, and he sent and killed all the male children two years and under according to the time he had ascertained from the magi. Then was fulfilled what was spoken through the prophet Jeremiah--A voice was heard in Ramah, weeping and loud lamentation. Rachel weeping for her children; she refused to be comforted, because they are no more." Weeping and loud lamentation--this morning I'd like to think about lamentation and lament with you in a fresh way, or maybe even for the first time. We'll read some more of the prophet Jeremiah, from the book of Lamentations--a good place to think about lament--I'll share some of my own story, and even toss in a few thoughts about music.
To the book of Lamentations. First I'm going to paint a very serious, bleak picture here, so settle and steel yourselves. This is an upsetting story from the Old Testament, and I first read it earlier this year. I was doing some grim reading, a pass through Lamentations in Latin. Lamentations was written at the lowest moment in Israel's history. After years of warnings, the great defeat had come. The glorious temple was destroyed, Jerusalem was ransacked, her armies utterly defeated, and whatever survivors were leftover from the rapes and executions were dragged off to Babylon as slaves. Only a very few Israelites were left in Jerusalem. There was a deadly plague afoot and no doctors. Their borders were completely undefensed. They had no food, and no prospect of crops.
The 2nd chapter of Lamentations is set amid this chaos. The prophet Jeremiah describes how the gates of the city are smashed and sunk into the ground and the walls have been torn down. He describes how the noise of the city--the bustle of footsteps and conversations and wheels and motion--are all gone silent. And then Jeremiah talks about something which is so terribly, terribly wrong, that it puts the taste of bile in his mouth--something so evil that most of us shake just thinking of it--the death of the children.
He says that the children and the babies have fallen and are lying in the streets with hunger. He describes their little voices as they beg their mothers for food, and even in speaking the request their voice leaves them forever. This is absolutely horrible stuff. Feeling physically sick, on the verge of starving to death, with his city plundered, his whole world upside down, Jeremiah is helplessly watching children die.
So what does he do? Here's what the text says in Latin: Consurge, which means, rise, in principio vigilarum in nocte, at the start of the night watches, and lauda. (sp) Do you know what lauda means? At first I thought it was a mistake, and you won't find any English translations that have it rendered this way, because it seems so bizarre. Rise in the middle of the night, and praise. Rise at the beginning of the night watches and praise. Pour out your heart like water before the presence of YHWH.
A lament, by definition, is a song or a poem of grief, especially deep grief. There is in the Old Testament, and especially in the Psalms, a tradition of lament which is beautiful almost beyond words. This tradition was an integral part of the daily lives of countless faithful Jews, including Jesus and the early Christians. The practice of lament was passed down in the music of the Christian church for hundreds of years, but I'm afraid it is nearly lost on us in the modern church.
In church we sing some of the psalms, especially the happy ones. We sing the psalms with nice tunes, the songs in major keys. "I could sing of your love forever." "The Lord is my shepherd." "Blessed be your name." Great psalms, great tunes. But they aren't the only psalms. For example, there are also historical psalms. We don't see much of these, and that's a topic for another chapel. And did you know a full 1/3 of the 150 Psalms are psalms of lament?
Do you know one place you'll almost never hear a lament? In a modern Christian church. I'm the choir director at a church up in Gates, and I'm going to tell you something that church musicians know. Even if it wasn't true in my experience, I'll give you some good church musician insider information as the as the son of two church musicians and the husband of a church musician who is also the daughter of two church musicians, and as the brother of five different church musicians--Christians don't want to do lament. But I think we need to.
Laments, the sad songs, are really a drag. They can be very boring, they completely kill any sense of excitement in a service, and they make everybody feel terrible. I haven't done a formal count, but I can tell you that my church choir hasn't sung more than maybe one or two songs in a minor key since before Easter last year. We sang lots of happy songs on Easter morning, and don't misunderstand me, I do LOVE those songs.
But in the Bible, and specifically in the book of Psalms, which is the song book of the Bible, there is so much more. One-third of the psalms (50 of the 150) in the Old Testament are classified as songs of lament. That means that if you sang through all the psalms in the Bible for say, three songs a week (you'd get through the whole Psalter in a year that way) every third song you'd sing would be a song of lament. At your church, is every third song a song of grief? Is every third song a song in a minor key?
Of course not! No one wants to come in on Sunday morning sing two songs about how great and glorious our God is, and then sing some dirge about how they are weeping their hearts out in a pit.
Until they do. People don't want to sing a song of lament...until they lose their job. Or they're in the middle of the divorce. Or their Mom dies. Or their sister gets cancer.
And that's what happened to my wife and me. I'd like to share part of the story of how we learned about lament, a story we've never shared publicly. Last summer, we were visiting her parents in southern Pennsylvania. Visiting her parents is great, because it means that we get a free babysitter. We left our son James with them for the night, and we went out for a fancy dinner at a bed and breakfast. While we were there, my wife, who was eight weeks pregnant with our second child, had a miscarriage.
The world crashed down on us. We had just told her parents the night before that they were going to be grandparents again. We had started saying prayers for "new baby" with James when we put him to bed at night. And then, we were in a cold, sterile hospital stall. And just like that, there was no new baby coming. There was no new grandchild coming. There was no longer a baby brother or sister. There was church the next morning. And when the song leader, who is a friend of ours, started to dance onstage and attempt to rouse the congregation up to a new pitch of excitement, I was silent. I stood, stone-faced, next to my silent, grieving wife. We were towards the front, and after the first upbeat number he said something to the effect "Why aren't you all happy today? Aren't you excited to praise the Lord?"
What do we do to engage in true biblical lament? What do we do when we meet soul-numbing grief, or genuine evil in the world? Some of you may already have known griefs even sharper than a lost pregnancy. If you've known any grief, you know that a cheap fix won't make it better. Too often the Christian reaction to grief is a well-meant but unhelpful cliche. We advise someone how to feel better, whether they want to or not. Or we offer some religious solution for why it happened. Now, let me be very clear here in this dangerous territory. I absolutely support efforts to bring joy to every corner of God's earth--this is part of being Christian people, the people of Easter morning. I also believe in the philosophical task of wrestling with the question of evil. What is it? Why is it? How is it? But--and this is the important part--the Christian tradition of lament is not concerned with either of those tasks. To be clear, bringing good news of joy and dealing with the Question of Evil are both important. However, neither ought to substitute for the biblical tradition of singing and reading lament. If you feel confused about how you're supposed bring the joy of Jesus and weep with those in pain, remember the words of St. Paul in the book of Romans--rejoice with those who rejoice, and mourn with those who mourn. He doesn't say, rejoice with those who rejoice and make those who are mourning feel so awkward that they sense they aren't a part of the community until they've sorted themselves out and gotten over it.
This means that we cannot stigmatize those people who are in the midst of lament. Whether you are a Christian or not, we will all come to grief in this world, and that does not mean that the gospel has failed, or that you somehow haven't believed it with sufficient vigor. To live with pain and grief and insecurity is simply to be alive in this world. If you grieve, are you a bad Christian? Absolutely not! This is why we have the songs of lament. If I can say something rather dangerous, it may be more perilous to your soul if you never experienced grief or pain. If you take seriously the notion that we are to be to the world what Jesus was for us, it is precisely in going to the place of pain and carrying it onto ourselves, as Jesus did on the cross, that we best show the world who Jesus is--this is why Paul rejoiced in his sufferings.
So what, then, is the purpose of lament, if it isn't to make things better or to solve the problem? My favorite writer, the Anglican bishop N.T. Wright calls scriptural lament "the reaffirmation of the one true god in an evil world." True lament builds up Christian community side by side with true Christian joy and still supports the community's grieving members. True lament does not deny that there is evil in the world...and it does not explain or try to understand the evil in the world. With Christians you should be able to laugh at a wedding toast one week and weep at a funeral the next. When the psalmist asks "How long, O YHWH, will you forget me forever?" the answer is not a syllogism, but the affirmation "When YHWH restores the fortunes of his people Zion then..." When the psalmist asks "My God, My God, why have you forsaken me," there is no actual answer why. Even on the cross, there is a thundering silence. Just the next line of the psalm "Yet you are holy...in you our fathers trusted." I began by talking about the Latin word lauda, and I'll return to that in a minute. First another Latin word, Credo. It means I believe, and one of the ways that the church through history has done the process of lament is to say together the Credo, the apostle's creed which begins with the affirmation "I believe." When I was in deepest grief, I took enormous comfort from doing the reaffirmation of the one true god in an evil world through the creed. Credo in one God, the father almighty.
I have three suggestions for you today. They are simple, but difficult. Please hear what I say, pray about it, think about it, talk about it with your parents and your pastors. In ten or twenty years you in this room will be ministering in churches, sitting on committees, and picking out worship music. Consider these. First, let it be said explicitly every week that your community is a place where people are safe to be joyful and safe to grieve. If you believe, as I do, that people should be able to meet Jesus in their grief at your church, make sure that you say so, and make sure that no one tries to "fix" someone who's grieving in some unwise way. Secondly, make sure that a full one-third of your psalm readings (different denominations use reading schedules, or "lectionaries" in different ways, so that number is a little fluid) and one-third of your musical selections deal with lament. It's really tempting to beg off of this. But really, this request for one-third is just a request to stay faithful to scripture. The Holy Spirit in its wisdom gave us spiritual songs that were one-third songs of grief. Our current percentages are not faithful to the scriptures we were given. Thirdly, I encourage you to insist on saying the creeds together. We're going to do this in a moment, and I know that some communities aren't comfortable with unison congregational speaking. That's okay--you can sing settings of the creeds, you can have a single reader read them, or you could even project them on a screen. No matter how you do it, find a way to constantly reaffirm the Shema, the confessions, the Nicene and Apostolic creeds. It's good for your congregation, and it's absolutely vital to anyone who's grieving.
Once more to Lamentations. As Jeremiah sees God's city beaten and plundered and ravaged, as he himself starves and as he watches the children die, he rises in the early night and says lauda. He praises YHWH, and pours out his heart as water.
In January of last year, my wife and I were once again in Pennsylvania. We were there for Christmas break, and after the heartbreak of the summer, we were determined to guard, to keep as safely as possible, to pray and protect a new baby. She was pregnant again, and again, she had a miscarriage in her second month. We drove back to New York in a snowstorm and saw her doctor. We wept again, and I bought a single candle at Wegmans after I picked up James from my brother's house. We put James to bed, and for the second time I explained to him that something had happened, and we would not pray for new baby, but we would pray for Mommy to feel better that night. And then, in the darkness of a January night in New York, we lit the single candle, set it on our kitchen table and sat before it in silence, watching it flicker and burn down. The minutes and the hours passed, and the snow fell outside, and as it burned lower my wife stood up and went to blow out that one light. She stood over it, and then told me she couldn't do it, and left me alone in the cold kitchen.
Rise, in the beginning of the night-watches.
I whispered "fili mi, eo sinum Dei," and I blew out the candle. I do not understand why we lost two children. I do not understand any reason for the death of a child. But in that night, I understood the meaning of lauda, and I understood true lament, as I said God is One in the midst of deepest grief.
I believe in the one true God, the maker of heaven and earth. I believe in the Messiah Jesus, his only son, our Lord, who was conceived of the Holy Spirit and born of the Virgin Mary. Under Pontius Pilate he was crucified, died, and was buried, he descended to the dead, and on the third day he rose again. He ascended to heaven and is seated at the right hand of the Father, he will come again to judge the living and the dead. I believe in the Holy Spirit, the holy catholic church, the communion of saints, the forgiveness of sins. I believe in the resurrection of the body, and of life everlasting. Amen.
Not every story has a happy ending. Sometimes your wound will never fully heal. But our God is the God of new life, and for Julie and I, our story has come, after much waiting, to a place of life and hope again. On October 30th, our son Owen was born. Owen is a Welsh name, but it comes from a Greek root, eugenos. It means "well born, or born to gladness." In a bitter and snowy world, our God brings and births new life and new joy. Please pray with me...
"Heavenly Father, we praise you for the words you have entrusted to us through your scriptures and for the wisdom you have passed down through the many faithful who have gone before us. We ask that you would teach us how best to stay faithful to your words, how to mourn with those who mourn and rejoice with those who rejoice. Give us wisdom as we go through griefs ourselves and walk beside othesr who are grieving. May we at all times affirm that you are the true and Almighty God, and may the power of your son Jesus be evident in all we say and do, in whose name we pray these things. Amen."
Good morning! It's good to be with you all this morning, sharing the Christmas excitement and getting ready to wrap things up before break. There are some verses in the Christmas story that rarely receive any attention, right in the middle of Matthew 2. "Then Herod became furious when he saw that he had been tricked by the magi, and he sent and killed all the male children two years and under according to the time he had ascertained from the magi. Then was fulfilled what was spoken through the prophet Jeremiah--A voice was heard in Ramah, weeping and loud lamentation. Rachel weeping for her children; she refused to be comforted, because they are no more." Weeping and loud lamentation--this morning I'd like to think about lamentation and lament with you in a fresh way, or maybe even for the first time. We'll read some more of the prophet Jeremiah, from the book of Lamentations--a good place to think about lament--I'll share some of my own story, and even toss in a few thoughts about music.
To the book of Lamentations. First I'm going to paint a very serious, bleak picture here, so settle and steel yourselves. This is an upsetting story from the Old Testament, and I first read it earlier this year. I was doing some grim reading, a pass through Lamentations in Latin. Lamentations was written at the lowest moment in Israel's history. After years of warnings, the great defeat had come. The glorious temple was destroyed, Jerusalem was ransacked, her armies utterly defeated, and whatever survivors were leftover from the rapes and executions were dragged off to Babylon as slaves. Only a very few Israelites were left in Jerusalem. There was a deadly plague afoot and no doctors. Their borders were completely undefensed. They had no food, and no prospect of crops.
The 2nd chapter of Lamentations is set amid this chaos. The prophet Jeremiah describes how the gates of the city are smashed and sunk into the ground and the walls have been torn down. He describes how the noise of the city--the bustle of footsteps and conversations and wheels and motion--are all gone silent. And then Jeremiah talks about something which is so terribly, terribly wrong, that it puts the taste of bile in his mouth--something so evil that most of us shake just thinking of it--the death of the children.
He says that the children and the babies have fallen and are lying in the streets with hunger. He describes their little voices as they beg their mothers for food, and even in speaking the request their voice leaves them forever. This is absolutely horrible stuff. Feeling physically sick, on the verge of starving to death, with his city plundered, his whole world upside down, Jeremiah is helplessly watching children die.
So what does he do? Here's what the text says in Latin: Consurge, which means, rise, in principio vigilarum in nocte, at the start of the night watches, and lauda. (sp) Do you know what lauda means? At first I thought it was a mistake, and you won't find any English translations that have it rendered this way, because it seems so bizarre. Rise in the middle of the night, and praise. Rise at the beginning of the night watches and praise. Pour out your heart like water before the presence of YHWH.
A lament, by definition, is a song or a poem of grief, especially deep grief. There is in the Old Testament, and especially in the Psalms, a tradition of lament which is beautiful almost beyond words. This tradition was an integral part of the daily lives of countless faithful Jews, including Jesus and the early Christians. The practice of lament was passed down in the music of the Christian church for hundreds of years, but I'm afraid it is nearly lost on us in the modern church.
In church we sing some of the psalms, especially the happy ones. We sing the psalms with nice tunes, the songs in major keys. "I could sing of your love forever." "The Lord is my shepherd." "Blessed be your name." Great psalms, great tunes. But they aren't the only psalms. For example, there are also historical psalms. We don't see much of these, and that's a topic for another chapel. And did you know a full 1/3 of the 150 Psalms are psalms of lament?
Do you know one place you'll almost never hear a lament? In a modern Christian church. I'm the choir director at a church up in Gates, and I'm going to tell you something that church musicians know. Even if it wasn't true in my experience, I'll give you some good church musician insider information as the as the son of two church musicians and the husband of a church musician who is also the daughter of two church musicians, and as the brother of five different church musicians--Christians don't want to do lament. But I think we need to.
Laments, the sad songs, are really a drag. They can be very boring, they completely kill any sense of excitement in a service, and they make everybody feel terrible. I haven't done a formal count, but I can tell you that my church choir hasn't sung more than maybe one or two songs in a minor key since before Easter last year. We sang lots of happy songs on Easter morning, and don't misunderstand me, I do LOVE those songs.
But in the Bible, and specifically in the book of Psalms, which is the song book of the Bible, there is so much more. One-third of the psalms (50 of the 150) in the Old Testament are classified as songs of lament. That means that if you sang through all the psalms in the Bible for say, three songs a week (you'd get through the whole Psalter in a year that way) every third song you'd sing would be a song of lament. At your church, is every third song a song of grief? Is every third song a song in a minor key?
Of course not! No one wants to come in on Sunday morning sing two songs about how great and glorious our God is, and then sing some dirge about how they are weeping their hearts out in a pit.
Until they do. People don't want to sing a song of lament...until they lose their job. Or they're in the middle of the divorce. Or their Mom dies. Or their sister gets cancer.
And that's what happened to my wife and me. I'd like to share part of the story of how we learned about lament, a story we've never shared publicly. Last summer, we were visiting her parents in southern Pennsylvania. Visiting her parents is great, because it means that we get a free babysitter. We left our son James with them for the night, and we went out for a fancy dinner at a bed and breakfast. While we were there, my wife, who was eight weeks pregnant with our second child, had a miscarriage.
The world crashed down on us. We had just told her parents the night before that they were going to be grandparents again. We had started saying prayers for "new baby" with James when we put him to bed at night. And then, we were in a cold, sterile hospital stall. And just like that, there was no new baby coming. There was no new grandchild coming. There was no longer a baby brother or sister. There was church the next morning. And when the song leader, who is a friend of ours, started to dance onstage and attempt to rouse the congregation up to a new pitch of excitement, I was silent. I stood, stone-faced, next to my silent, grieving wife. We were towards the front, and after the first upbeat number he said something to the effect "Why aren't you all happy today? Aren't you excited to praise the Lord?"
What do we do to engage in true biblical lament? What do we do when we meet soul-numbing grief, or genuine evil in the world? Some of you may already have known griefs even sharper than a lost pregnancy. If you've known any grief, you know that a cheap fix won't make it better. Too often the Christian reaction to grief is a well-meant but unhelpful cliche. We advise someone how to feel better, whether they want to or not. Or we offer some religious solution for why it happened. Now, let me be very clear here in this dangerous territory. I absolutely support efforts to bring joy to every corner of God's earth--this is part of being Christian people, the people of Easter morning. I also believe in the philosophical task of wrestling with the question of evil. What is it? Why is it? How is it? But--and this is the important part--the Christian tradition of lament is not concerned with either of those tasks. To be clear, bringing good news of joy and dealing with the Question of Evil are both important. However, neither ought to substitute for the biblical tradition of singing and reading lament. If you feel confused about how you're supposed bring the joy of Jesus and weep with those in pain, remember the words of St. Paul in the book of Romans--rejoice with those who rejoice, and mourn with those who mourn. He doesn't say, rejoice with those who rejoice and make those who are mourning feel so awkward that they sense they aren't a part of the community until they've sorted themselves out and gotten over it.
This means that we cannot stigmatize those people who are in the midst of lament. Whether you are a Christian or not, we will all come to grief in this world, and that does not mean that the gospel has failed, or that you somehow haven't believed it with sufficient vigor. To live with pain and grief and insecurity is simply to be alive in this world. If you grieve, are you a bad Christian? Absolutely not! This is why we have the songs of lament. If I can say something rather dangerous, it may be more perilous to your soul if you never experienced grief or pain. If you take seriously the notion that we are to be to the world what Jesus was for us, it is precisely in going to the place of pain and carrying it onto ourselves, as Jesus did on the cross, that we best show the world who Jesus is--this is why Paul rejoiced in his sufferings.
So what, then, is the purpose of lament, if it isn't to make things better or to solve the problem? My favorite writer, the Anglican bishop N.T. Wright calls scriptural lament "the reaffirmation of the one true god in an evil world." True lament builds up Christian community side by side with true Christian joy and still supports the community's grieving members. True lament does not deny that there is evil in the world...and it does not explain or try to understand the evil in the world. With Christians you should be able to laugh at a wedding toast one week and weep at a funeral the next. When the psalmist asks "How long, O YHWH, will you forget me forever?" the answer is not a syllogism, but the affirmation "When YHWH restores the fortunes of his people Zion then..." When the psalmist asks "My God, My God, why have you forsaken me," there is no actual answer why. Even on the cross, there is a thundering silence. Just the next line of the psalm "Yet you are holy...in you our fathers trusted." I began by talking about the Latin word lauda, and I'll return to that in a minute. First another Latin word, Credo. It means I believe, and one of the ways that the church through history has done the process of lament is to say together the Credo, the apostle's creed which begins with the affirmation "I believe." When I was in deepest grief, I took enormous comfort from doing the reaffirmation of the one true god in an evil world through the creed. Credo in one God, the father almighty.
I have three suggestions for you today. They are simple, but difficult. Please hear what I say, pray about it, think about it, talk about it with your parents and your pastors. In ten or twenty years you in this room will be ministering in churches, sitting on committees, and picking out worship music. Consider these. First, let it be said explicitly every week that your community is a place where people are safe to be joyful and safe to grieve. If you believe, as I do, that people should be able to meet Jesus in their grief at your church, make sure that you say so, and make sure that no one tries to "fix" someone who's grieving in some unwise way. Secondly, make sure that a full one-third of your psalm readings (different denominations use reading schedules, or "lectionaries" in different ways, so that number is a little fluid) and one-third of your musical selections deal with lament. It's really tempting to beg off of this. But really, this request for one-third is just a request to stay faithful to scripture. The Holy Spirit in its wisdom gave us spiritual songs that were one-third songs of grief. Our current percentages are not faithful to the scriptures we were given. Thirdly, I encourage you to insist on saying the creeds together. We're going to do this in a moment, and I know that some communities aren't comfortable with unison congregational speaking. That's okay--you can sing settings of the creeds, you can have a single reader read them, or you could even project them on a screen. No matter how you do it, find a way to constantly reaffirm the Shema, the confessions, the Nicene and Apostolic creeds. It's good for your congregation, and it's absolutely vital to anyone who's grieving.
Once more to Lamentations. As Jeremiah sees God's city beaten and plundered and ravaged, as he himself starves and as he watches the children die, he rises in the early night and says lauda. He praises YHWH, and pours out his heart as water.
In January of last year, my wife and I were once again in Pennsylvania. We were there for Christmas break, and after the heartbreak of the summer, we were determined to guard, to keep as safely as possible, to pray and protect a new baby. She was pregnant again, and again, she had a miscarriage in her second month. We drove back to New York in a snowstorm and saw her doctor. We wept again, and I bought a single candle at Wegmans after I picked up James from my brother's house. We put James to bed, and for the second time I explained to him that something had happened, and we would not pray for new baby, but we would pray for Mommy to feel better that night. And then, in the darkness of a January night in New York, we lit the single candle, set it on our kitchen table and sat before it in silence, watching it flicker and burn down. The minutes and the hours passed, and the snow fell outside, and as it burned lower my wife stood up and went to blow out that one light. She stood over it, and then told me she couldn't do it, and left me alone in the cold kitchen.
Rise, in the beginning of the night-watches.
I whispered "fili mi, eo sinum Dei," and I blew out the candle. I do not understand why we lost two children. I do not understand any reason for the death of a child. But in that night, I understood the meaning of lauda, and I understood true lament, as I said God is One in the midst of deepest grief.
I believe in the one true God, the maker of heaven and earth. I believe in the Messiah Jesus, his only son, our Lord, who was conceived of the Holy Spirit and born of the Virgin Mary. Under Pontius Pilate he was crucified, died, and was buried, he descended to the dead, and on the third day he rose again. He ascended to heaven and is seated at the right hand of the Father, he will come again to judge the living and the dead. I believe in the Holy Spirit, the holy catholic church, the communion of saints, the forgiveness of sins. I believe in the resurrection of the body, and of life everlasting. Amen.
Not every story has a happy ending. Sometimes your wound will never fully heal. But our God is the God of new life, and for Julie and I, our story has come, after much waiting, to a place of life and hope again. On October 30th, our son Owen was born. Owen is a Welsh name, but it comes from a Greek root, eugenos. It means "well born, or born to gladness." In a bitter and snowy world, our God brings and births new life and new joy. Please pray with me...
"Heavenly Father, we praise you for the words you have entrusted to us through your scriptures and for the wisdom you have passed down through the many faithful who have gone before us. We ask that you would teach us how best to stay faithful to your words, how to mourn with those who mourn and rejoice with those who rejoice. Give us wisdom as we go through griefs ourselves and walk beside othesr who are grieving. May we at all times affirm that you are the true and Almighty God, and may the power of your son Jesus be evident in all we say and do, in whose name we pray these things. Amen."
Thursday, December 11, 2014
Religious Education
I held out my hand to James.
He lifted his head up, smiled and declared. "A-men!"
"James, who should pray for our supper tonight?"
Usually he either lifts one finger at me and says "you!" or points at Mommy with his left pointer finger. On very rare occasions he'll offer to pray himself, provided we help him through it."
"James, who should pray for our food tonight?"
"George."
He bowed his head, looked over at George (who was propped up in the fourth seat at the dinner table) out of the corner of his eye, and began in a small voice:
"Oo-oo, ah-ah, oo-ah, oo-ah. Ah-ha, ah-ha, oo-oo, ah...ooo! Ah, ah, oo-oo."
He lifted his head up, smiled and declared. "A-men!"
Tuesday, December 9, 2014
Holiday Pops by the Numbers
33-The number of hours I spent in the car last week
1,841-The number of miles I drove last week
$1.00-The amount of money we gave to James so he could buy a Christmas present for Owen. He bought Owen a plastic fireman's hat which he then put on and wore though the checkout line. Asked to give it back to Mommy once in the car, he explained that "George is need it to make his fire engine go."
2.7-The number of miles I ran today with James in the jogging stroller, at the conclusion of which I offered him hot chocolate since it had been cold out. To which he responded, "Wait...I want hot COCOA."
8-The number of times I played Selections from Disney's "Frozen" this week
50-The number of text messages my carpool trombone friends exchanged in happy delight that they could call Tchaikovsky's "Nutcracker" the "Buttcracker."
2,488-Total number of Harry Potter pages read during bus rides, tacets, and between rehearsals
9-Total number of additional services I had to decline because my schedule was full
1,841-The number of miles I drove last week
$1.00-The amount of money we gave to James so he could buy a Christmas present for Owen. He bought Owen a plastic fireman's hat which he then put on and wore though the checkout line. Asked to give it back to Mommy once in the car, he explained that "George is need it to make his fire engine go."
2.7-The number of miles I ran today with James in the jogging stroller, at the conclusion of which I offered him hot chocolate since it had been cold out. To which he responded, "Wait...I want hot COCOA."
8-The number of times I played Selections from Disney's "Frozen" this week
50-The number of text messages my carpool trombone friends exchanged in happy delight that they could call Tchaikovsky's "Nutcracker" the "Buttcracker."
2,488-Total number of Harry Potter pages read during bus rides, tacets, and between rehearsals
9-Total number of additional services I had to decline because my schedule was full
Monday, December 1, 2014
Lydia's Wedding
James has a new thing. I found out when I walked into his room to get him up a few days ago. He groaned, rubbed his eyes, looked up and said: "Daddy, I wanna holdja."
"What do you want?"
"I wanna holdja."
And he held out his arms.
"Oh, you want me to hold you?"
He nodded, and I picked him up. To my great surprise, he didn't immediately wriggle down. In fact, he put his head on my shoulder, held on to me, and snuggled.
I brought him into Julie.
"Sweetie, did you see that James wanted to give me a hug?"
"I wanna hold Mommy."
"Oh...okay."
"Mommy, I need t'holdja."
We've since figured out that he's cutting some molars. He's been a little fevery, and pretty irritable. And he needs to "holdja" pretty much all the time. That might getting ready for a wedding difficult.
J was excited to wear a dress and look nice for the first time since Owen born, and possibly even earlier, since it's hard to feel like you look nice in maternity clothes sometimes. I was excited to dance with J and to show off my cute sons to our friends. We were all as happy as could be for the bride and groom, and all of their family. On Saturday morning I took the first shower and got into my suit. I came back out to find a tie and gave my shirt over for J to fix a button.
"Daddy, I need t'holdja."
"Okay, let's sit on the bed together."
We read some books while J stitched my button and pulled out her dress. She took her shower and came back in.
"Wut-oh, Mommy! What is wrong wiv your HAIR?"
"There's nothing wrong with my hair sweetie, it's just wet because I washed it."
"You need to go dry it off, Mommy."
Then it was time to put James' clothes on. I remember attending some weddings as a child, and I always remembered the clothes being traumatic. Apparently this is universal. He screamed absolute bloody murder while I buttoned up his shirt, clipped his tie on, forced his arms into a jacket, pulled up his dress pants, and squeezed on dress shoes.
"DADDY, I NEED T'HOOOOLDJAAA!!!"
"I don' wanna wear mah black shoes, they are not my fravorite!!!"
"I don' wanna look like Daddy, I wanna wear my pjs!!!"
I brought him in to show J. She said that he'd outgrown everything. Try the backup outfit.
"James?"
"I wanna holdja."
"You aren't going to like this."
"I don' wanna wear a sweater!!!!"
I took off his suit, buttoned up a white shirt, put on a vest, put on his khakis, and put on brown shoes.
I brought him in to show J.
"Does it look like his pants are to big?"
"Mommy, I wanna holdja."
He took a step towards her and his pants fell down.
"James?"
"I wanna holdja"
"You aren't going to like this."
We did all eventually get out the door to the ceremony, although someone had to be holding James at all times. We only needed to make one emergency trip back before the ceremony started, and the service was beautiful. Neither of the boys misbehaved, and then we went home on purpose to nurse Owen. James was not thrilled about leaving again.
We had a lovely time at the reception, but it's hard to dance together when you're each holding a little boy. Next time a friend gets married I think we're just going to get a sitter and let James stay in his pajamas.
"What do you want?"
"I wanna holdja."
And he held out his arms.
"Oh, you want me to hold you?"
He nodded, and I picked him up. To my great surprise, he didn't immediately wriggle down. In fact, he put his head on my shoulder, held on to me, and snuggled.
I brought him into Julie.
"Sweetie, did you see that James wanted to give me a hug?"
"I wanna hold Mommy."
"Oh...okay."
"Mommy, I need t'holdja."
We've since figured out that he's cutting some molars. He's been a little fevery, and pretty irritable. And he needs to "holdja" pretty much all the time. That might getting ready for a wedding difficult.
J was excited to wear a dress and look nice for the first time since Owen born, and possibly even earlier, since it's hard to feel like you look nice in maternity clothes sometimes. I was excited to dance with J and to show off my cute sons to our friends. We were all as happy as could be for the bride and groom, and all of their family. On Saturday morning I took the first shower and got into my suit. I came back out to find a tie and gave my shirt over for J to fix a button.
"Daddy, I need t'holdja."
"Okay, let's sit on the bed together."
We read some books while J stitched my button and pulled out her dress. She took her shower and came back in.
"Wut-oh, Mommy! What is wrong wiv your HAIR?"
"There's nothing wrong with my hair sweetie, it's just wet because I washed it."
"You need to go dry it off, Mommy."
Then it was time to put James' clothes on. I remember attending some weddings as a child, and I always remembered the clothes being traumatic. Apparently this is universal. He screamed absolute bloody murder while I buttoned up his shirt, clipped his tie on, forced his arms into a jacket, pulled up his dress pants, and squeezed on dress shoes.
"DADDY, I NEED T'HOOOOLDJAAA!!!"
"I don' wanna wear mah black shoes, they are not my fravorite!!!"
"I don' wanna look like Daddy, I wanna wear my pjs!!!"
I brought him in to show J. She said that he'd outgrown everything. Try the backup outfit.
"James?"
"I wanna holdja."
"You aren't going to like this."
"I don' wanna wear a sweater!!!!"
I took off his suit, buttoned up a white shirt, put on a vest, put on his khakis, and put on brown shoes.
I brought him in to show J.
"Does it look like his pants are to big?"
"Mommy, I wanna holdja."
He took a step towards her and his pants fell down.
"James?"
"I wanna holdja"
"You aren't going to like this."
We did all eventually get out the door to the ceremony, although someone had to be holding James at all times. We only needed to make one emergency trip back before the ceremony started, and the service was beautiful. Neither of the boys misbehaved, and then we went home on purpose to nurse Owen. James was not thrilled about leaving again.
We had a lovely time at the reception, but it's hard to dance together when you're each holding a little boy. Next time a friend gets married I think we're just going to get a sitter and let James stay in his pajamas.
Tuesday, November 25, 2014
The Quotable Three Year Old
"All of my friends want to go to my farm. It is a dachsund farm."
J: "James, why is there a pile of blankets in the middle of your bed"
James: "It is not a pile of blankets. It is a sculpture."
James: "We need one basket for George."
J: "You may use one basket only, and you need to keep it on the rug. These are not toys."
James: "We need another basket too."
J: "Just one basket."
James: <crying> But we also need a basket for Woof-Woof."
J: "Just one basket."
James: "We will get another basket on Friday. Oh, okay George. Hear that Mommy? We will get another basket on Friday."
J: "Probably not."
James: "Probably."
"My cereal is squishable."
Me: <hiding helicopter remote in my pocket and making helicopter move> "I haven't seen it, James."
James: "You need to give me that remote."
Me: "Can I use it?"
James: "It is not yours."
James: <points at me, just in from a run> "You need to go take a shower."
Me: <panting> "Why?"
James: "Because you are dirty."
Me: "Do I stink?"
James: "You are stink." <looks at J> "Daddy stinks."
<watching marble run> "Now the scrubbing. This part is my fravorite."
J: "James, why is there a pile of blankets in the middle of your bed"
James: "It is not a pile of blankets. It is a sculpture."
James: "We need one basket for George."
J: "You may use one basket only, and you need to keep it on the rug. These are not toys."
James: "We need another basket too."
J: "Just one basket."
James: <crying> But we also need a basket for Woof-Woof."
J: "Just one basket."
James: "We will get another basket on Friday. Oh, okay George. Hear that Mommy? We will get another basket on Friday."
J: "Probably not."
James: "Probably."
"My cereal is squishable."
Me: <hiding helicopter remote in my pocket and making helicopter move> "I haven't seen it, James."
James: "You need to give me that remote."
Me: "Can I use it?"
James: "It is not yours."
James: <points at me, just in from a run> "You need to go take a shower."
Me: <panting> "Why?"
James: "Because you are dirty."
Me: "Do I stink?"
James: "You are stink." <looks at J> "Daddy stinks."
<watching marble run> "Now the scrubbing. This part is my fravorite."
Sunday, November 23, 2014
Bath Time
<after soaping up James' hair>
Me: James, we need to do the lying down part. We can do it now or we can do it later. Would you rather do it now?
James: Do it later
Me: Okay, we will do it in three minutes
James: No, not in three minutes. Maybe we will do it on Friday
Saturday, November 22, 2014
Wedding Gig (Or, 58 Emails)
10/16
I get an email from Stacy, one of the trumpet players I teach with on Mondays. He wants to know if I am interested in a wedding gig. It's in November, and will pay $100-150, all music from the Canadian Brass books. (Easy gig music collections) My first reaction is ambivalent. $150 is okay for a wedding, but $100 is definitely too low. I scroll over to my calendar and check the date against all the orchestra schedules. Doesn't look like I have anything going on. We are in the midst of saving aggressively to make our down payment, and I think about the first mortgage payment on our house, due Dec. 1. If it's Canadian Brass arrangements I won't need to practice beforehand. I email back and say that I'm available. After all, I'll only need to show up, play for a few minutes, and collect the check, right?
That night I tell J I took a wedding gig in November. I say it will probably pay $150. She does not look impressed.
10/18
Stacy emails back and says he'll leave the music in my box and let me know when he gets more details.
10/19
I pick up a neatly organized binder of music from my box. The first page is a printed out spreadsheet and flow with highlighter markings. I puzzle over whose book this could be. I didn't think Stacy was this punctilious. I make a mental note not to lose my music between now and the gig and toss it in the back of my trunk.
10/22
I get the standard "Gig Info" email with time, date, location dress from Stacy. We're going to get $150. Stacy mentions that the contractor for the gig is the Tuba Player. There is a dress rehearsal, but we don't need to attend, because the Tuba Player is going for us. I notice that the horn and trombone players (LB&BD) are two of my carpool buddies. It will be fun to hang with them, and I feel much better about having taken the gig. This will be fun.
10/31
I am driving back to the hospital (Owen was born the day before) on Rt. 15 and pull into a Bruegger's to get a coffee. I notice that I have a new email. It is a four paragraph document from Tuba Player. It's addressed to the whole brass quintet and the organist. He has consulted his teacher about the best key for the Pachelbel Canon and he lists several reasons for his preference to play it in B-flat. He wonders if the trumpets will need transposed parts. He also mentions some details from his conversations with the bride, and writes out a detailed flow for the hymns in the service, which he would like us to play on. He writes that he would like to schedule a rehearsal for next week and suggests several times.
I am determined to put a stop to this "rehearsal" nonsense immediately. I write back and tell him that B-Flat is fine, and he doesn't need to worry about transposing parts. I tell him that getting together for a rehearsal is fine, but it will cost an extra $100 a person...is the family willing to pay for this?
I send the email, then text my carpool friends checking to make sure that they are on board with avoiding a rehearsal.
Response "OMG thank you, I couldn't do any of the times he suggested anyway."
I feel temporarily proud of myself for being taking charge.
As soon as I send the email, another email pops into my inbox. It is also from Tuba Player. It's a copy of the excel document song list which was in our folders, just in case we needed another copy.
Five minutes later, another email pops in from Tuba Player. It contains audio recordings of all the wedding music, for our listening reference. You know, in case any of us were unfamiliar with the Pachelbel Canon. (The B-flat version, of course.)
A few minutes after that, Tuba Player writes back again. The fee that he agreed to with Stacy was $100 for the ceremony and $50 for the rehearsal. If that's a problem, please let him know. I hold the new baby and think about the first mortgage payment. I figure that there could be far worse ways to spend an hour some evening in November than hanging out with my carpool for an hour.
J is not impressed.
11/1
I have a service in Syracuse and ride in with my brass quintet. I ask BD if he knows Tuba Player, and he tells me that he is a retired teacher from somewhere who takes lessons very enthusiastically and that this is probably his first professional gig. He says he is a nice guy who "kind of thinks it's all about the tuba." We compare schedules and I write back requesting to just rehearse at 2:30 the day of the gig. (The ceremony is at 4)
11/2
The Organist (a friend who I gig with regularly) writes and asks us to check in with her about rehearsal times since the church isn't always open.
LB responds to my email and also wants to rehearse at 2:30 the day of the gig.
Stacy responds. He's also down for 2:30
BD responds. He's good for 2:30 too.
Tuba Player responds. He's also good for 2:30.
11/5
Organist writes and says that the church won't be open until 3. We are welcome to rehearse then. My initial reaction is "Great, we can get it all done if we meet at 3."
Tuba Player writes back a few hours later and says that we will start at 2:30. He also asks us each to write back and confirm (in bold type) that we will be there at 2:20 to start rehearsal. He wants us to play along on the special vocal numbers during the ceremony. The email includes three paragraphs of clarifications regarding the order of music and the verse-refrain patterns for the hymns.
Organist writes back. She won't be there till 3. She says that it really won't take more than 15 minutes to play all this music. If we want to meet at 2:30, we have to talk to the parish about getting the building unlocked.
Tuba Player writes back. He writes that he would be willing to pay someone extra to come and unlock the building 40 minutes early for us. He also requests that he come pick up music for the singer's numbers so that the brass can play along on that as well.
Vocalist (who has been copied in on the last few emails) writes back and says "just organ accompaniment, please and thanks."
Organist texts me privately asking me whether I know Tuba Player, why he's sending so many emails, and why he wants so many extra rehearsals. She sends five more texts venting about how she knows the rest of the group can sight read anything, so what is the point of all this?
11/6
Organist agrees to give Tuba Player a copy of the vocal music if he wants it and tells him when she plans to meet with the Vocalist to practice it.
Tuba Player responds and confirms that he will indeed go to the organ/voice rehearsal to watch.
Organist says okay.
Tuba Player sends a scan of the Vocal Music (which we are not playing) to everyone in the brass quintet.
11/8
Vocalist responds to Tuba Player's email, confused because she already has a copy of the music.
11/9
I email BD/LB separately and suggest that we meet at 7 AM the morning of the gig to see if we can get in on any of the wedding photos.
LB responds and suggests 6:45 AM would work better for her.
11/12
Tuba Player forwards an email from Vocalist. She enjoyed meeting him at their rehearsal. She has a request that none of the brass players wear perfumes or colognes, because her allergies could cause extreme difficulty singing.
Tuba Player sends an email to the quintet and marvels at the acoustical properties of the space. He assures us we will sound very good in there. However, he is having too much trouble getting into the space for a 2:30 rehearsal and has decided we need to rehearse sometime during the week before. He suggests a time Wednesday or Thursday evening.
Stacy responds and commits a major faux pas, indicating that he is actually available and willing to do an outside rehearsal.
I write back and say that I'm not available for either time (I'm not--I have orchestra rehearsals scheduled) and perhaps we can just meet offsite somewhere on the day of the wedding.
LB writes back and offers her house as a place to rehearse on the day of.
Vocalist writes back (apparently she's been copied in on these emails) and offers to come over to LB's house, although she doesn't actually need to rehearse anything with us.
BD responds. He is down for meeting at LB's place.
At this point LB is texting me with every new email that pops in to laugh at the absurdity of the situation, since we are playing 5 MINUTES OF SIGHT-READABLE BRASS QUINTET MUSIC WE'VE ALL PLAYED DOZENS OF TIMES. She, like me, is only sticking with this gig for entertainment value.
Another email pops in from Tuba Player. It is a message with the Google Drive logo asking you to CLICK HERE to access the documents he has shared. It looks like spam.
LB: "Did you get that email too? Do you think it's spam?"
Me: "I don't know. I'm going to open it. If you don't hear back from me in 5 minutes delete the email and bury your phone."
I open it. I'm brought to the Google home page and asked to sign in. I sign in. I'm brought to a South American web page with a bunch of car advertisements. I immediately sign out, delete the email, and change all my passwords.
11/12
Tuba Player sends a depressed sounding email. Because I having the most restrictive schedule, it doesn't look like we'll be able to rehearse until the day of the wedding. He has also given up on trying to get brass on the vocal number. He suggests we all meet at LB's at 1:30 (for a 4:00 wedding) and then try to get into the church at 2:30, or at least 3:00 and rehearse some more. He asks LB to write back with her address and parking suggestions.
11/17
Tuba Player has not heard back from any of us. He writes "the offsite rehearsal as I suggested at 1:30 does not make sense." He will plan to arrive at the church at 2:15 and rehearse with us then. He also plans to attend the wedding rehearsal so he can talk to the bride and clarify any concerns she might have. He has, as an attachment to the email, sent us a copy of their Save the Date. They look very nice.
LB responds asking many important and entirely serious questions, like whether we need to print out the music ourselves? Will there be music stands? Which street should we park on? She notes that the bride and groom look like a lovely couple.
Stacy responds that he is "uber good" with 2:15
Tuba Player responds that he will have extra copies of the music printed out, there will be music stands there, we should park in the church lot, and we should wear black ties.
LB texts to make sure that I know to wear a black tie.
11/18
Vocalist wanders (accidentally?) into the emails again. She will also be present at the wedding rehearsal on Friday.
Vocalist emails again. She is confused about how many verses on the nuptial blessing.
Organist: Refrain-Verse-Refrain
BD responds. He is good for 2:15
Vocalist says thank you, that's what she thought.
Tuba Player confirms the building will be opened at 2:15. "See you brassers then."
LB texts"I didn't get this many emails for my own wedding!"
11/19
No emails from Tuba Player, but he attends LB's horn choir concert. They have a chat about the wedding gig. He is very excited
11/21
Tuba Player emails the last minute clarifications. Dress is tuxedos for the men, black gowns (?) for the women. Everyone be there at 2:15. Everyone bring a music stand. Tempos will all be just like the recordings. Who will down dowbeats and cutoffs? He has attached the revised songlist as an excel document again. There is a list of updated repertoire. In the recessional the second trumpet solo will now be a TUBA SOLO. (In all caps, bold type.)
I respond whoever is playing first trumpet will give cutoffs.
LB responds ditto on the cutoffs, that she doesn't have a black gown, but will wear all black.
Stacy agrees about the cutoffs.
The Vocalist writes (again) that the nuptial blessing is refrain, verse, refrain. I guess someone was still in the dark about that.
Tuba Player tells Vocalist that he will be at the wedding rehearsal tonight. He tells LB that any colored gown will be fine. (All women want to wear gowns all the time, you know.)
Stacy responds with a music theory question. He is poking the bear.
Tuba Player is still confused about the verses and refrains on the nuptial blessing.
Vocalist emails everyone to tell LB that she'll wear a black suit too. (My phone is just incessantly buzzing with new emails at this point.)
LB is also wearing a black suit.
Tuba Player has spoken with the Vocalist. Just to confirm, only trumpets on the nuptial blessing. On the refrain.
Stacy says that is "dandy."
11/22 THE BIG DAY
So the gig actually turned out to be a lot of fun. I wore my most outrageous cummerbund with my tux, brought a thermos full of hot toddy to pass around the carpool, and generally tried to keep a straight face as Tuba Player said things like "boy, I can't imagine how you guys put together stuff like this before email."
He was the sweetest guy you could imagine once I met him in person. He said multiple times how honored he was to be playing with us (he called it a "bucket list" item) and compared it to sitting in with the orchestra side by side he played on last year. (Several of us were on that too.) He was super nervous about anything he had to start or play on his own, including the big TUBA SOLO in the recessional, and looked genuinely disappointed that we didn't get to play the entire Pachelbel Canon or go through all of our postlude music before the guests had left.
The actual wedding was fine. It was really small, but the bride and groom looked happy. The actual playing went fine. We started and stopped together, and no one got lost in between, to my knowledge. Before the gig was over, Tuba Player paid us all in cash, giving everybody a $100 and a $50. I thought about how the gig was either going to be a $100 or a $150 gig, and I figured out the math. I'm pretty sure that he didn't pay himself for this gig, and that if he paid someone to come unlock the church early for our rehearsal that he probably took a loss. I felt a little bad about being mildly snarky in the emails (and more than a little bit snarky behind his back in all the texts that flew back and forth after each email arrived) but I think that he had the time of his life. His wife was there, and she took pictures of the group in front of the altar, actions shots, and phone pictures too.
Your special day only happens once, and you have to make sure that you document it properly.
I get an email from Stacy, one of the trumpet players I teach with on Mondays. He wants to know if I am interested in a wedding gig. It's in November, and will pay $100-150, all music from the Canadian Brass books. (Easy gig music collections) My first reaction is ambivalent. $150 is okay for a wedding, but $100 is definitely too low. I scroll over to my calendar and check the date against all the orchestra schedules. Doesn't look like I have anything going on. We are in the midst of saving aggressively to make our down payment, and I think about the first mortgage payment on our house, due Dec. 1. If it's Canadian Brass arrangements I won't need to practice beforehand. I email back and say that I'm available. After all, I'll only need to show up, play for a few minutes, and collect the check, right?
That night I tell J I took a wedding gig in November. I say it will probably pay $150. She does not look impressed.
10/18
Stacy emails back and says he'll leave the music in my box and let me know when he gets more details.
10/19
I pick up a neatly organized binder of music from my box. The first page is a printed out spreadsheet and flow with highlighter markings. I puzzle over whose book this could be. I didn't think Stacy was this punctilious. I make a mental note not to lose my music between now and the gig and toss it in the back of my trunk.
10/22
I get the standard "Gig Info" email with time, date, location dress from Stacy. We're going to get $150. Stacy mentions that the contractor for the gig is the Tuba Player. There is a dress rehearsal, but we don't need to attend, because the Tuba Player is going for us. I notice that the horn and trombone players (LB&BD) are two of my carpool buddies. It will be fun to hang with them, and I feel much better about having taken the gig. This will be fun.
10/31
I am driving back to the hospital (Owen was born the day before) on Rt. 15 and pull into a Bruegger's to get a coffee. I notice that I have a new email. It is a four paragraph document from Tuba Player. It's addressed to the whole brass quintet and the organist. He has consulted his teacher about the best key for the Pachelbel Canon and he lists several reasons for his preference to play it in B-flat. He wonders if the trumpets will need transposed parts. He also mentions some details from his conversations with the bride, and writes out a detailed flow for the hymns in the service, which he would like us to play on. He writes that he would like to schedule a rehearsal for next week and suggests several times.
I am determined to put a stop to this "rehearsal" nonsense immediately. I write back and tell him that B-Flat is fine, and he doesn't need to worry about transposing parts. I tell him that getting together for a rehearsal is fine, but it will cost an extra $100 a person...is the family willing to pay for this?
I send the email, then text my carpool friends checking to make sure that they are on board with avoiding a rehearsal.
Response "OMG thank you, I couldn't do any of the times he suggested anyway."
I feel temporarily proud of myself for being taking charge.
As soon as I send the email, another email pops into my inbox. It is also from Tuba Player. It's a copy of the excel document song list which was in our folders, just in case we needed another copy.
Five minutes later, another email pops in from Tuba Player. It contains audio recordings of all the wedding music, for our listening reference. You know, in case any of us were unfamiliar with the Pachelbel Canon. (The B-flat version, of course.)
A few minutes after that, Tuba Player writes back again. The fee that he agreed to with Stacy was $100 for the ceremony and $50 for the rehearsal. If that's a problem, please let him know. I hold the new baby and think about the first mortgage payment. I figure that there could be far worse ways to spend an hour some evening in November than hanging out with my carpool for an hour.
J is not impressed.
11/1
I have a service in Syracuse and ride in with my brass quintet. I ask BD if he knows Tuba Player, and he tells me that he is a retired teacher from somewhere who takes lessons very enthusiastically and that this is probably his first professional gig. He says he is a nice guy who "kind of thinks it's all about the tuba." We compare schedules and I write back requesting to just rehearse at 2:30 the day of the gig. (The ceremony is at 4)
11/2
The Organist (a friend who I gig with regularly) writes and asks us to check in with her about rehearsal times since the church isn't always open.
LB responds to my email and also wants to rehearse at 2:30 the day of the gig.
Stacy responds. He's also down for 2:30
BD responds. He's good for 2:30 too.
Tuba Player responds. He's also good for 2:30.
11/5
Organist writes and says that the church won't be open until 3. We are welcome to rehearse then. My initial reaction is "Great, we can get it all done if we meet at 3."
Tuba Player writes back a few hours later and says that we will start at 2:30. He also asks us each to write back and confirm (in bold type) that we will be there at 2:20 to start rehearsal. He wants us to play along on the special vocal numbers during the ceremony. The email includes three paragraphs of clarifications regarding the order of music and the verse-refrain patterns for the hymns.
Organist writes back. She won't be there till 3. She says that it really won't take more than 15 minutes to play all this music. If we want to meet at 2:30, we have to talk to the parish about getting the building unlocked.
Tuba Player writes back. He writes that he would be willing to pay someone extra to come and unlock the building 40 minutes early for us. He also requests that he come pick up music for the singer's numbers so that the brass can play along on that as well.
Vocalist (who has been copied in on the last few emails) writes back and says "just organ accompaniment, please and thanks."
Organist texts me privately asking me whether I know Tuba Player, why he's sending so many emails, and why he wants so many extra rehearsals. She sends five more texts venting about how she knows the rest of the group can sight read anything, so what is the point of all this?
11/6
Organist agrees to give Tuba Player a copy of the vocal music if he wants it and tells him when she plans to meet with the Vocalist to practice it.
Tuba Player responds and confirms that he will indeed go to the organ/voice rehearsal to watch.
Organist says okay.
Tuba Player sends a scan of the Vocal Music (which we are not playing) to everyone in the brass quintet.
11/8
Vocalist responds to Tuba Player's email, confused because she already has a copy of the music.
11/9
I email BD/LB separately and suggest that we meet at 7 AM the morning of the gig to see if we can get in on any of the wedding photos.
LB responds and suggests 6:45 AM would work better for her.
11/12
Tuba Player forwards an email from Vocalist. She enjoyed meeting him at their rehearsal. She has a request that none of the brass players wear perfumes or colognes, because her allergies could cause extreme difficulty singing.
Tuba Player sends an email to the quintet and marvels at the acoustical properties of the space. He assures us we will sound very good in there. However, he is having too much trouble getting into the space for a 2:30 rehearsal and has decided we need to rehearse sometime during the week before. He suggests a time Wednesday or Thursday evening.
Stacy responds and commits a major faux pas, indicating that he is actually available and willing to do an outside rehearsal.
I write back and say that I'm not available for either time (I'm not--I have orchestra rehearsals scheduled) and perhaps we can just meet offsite somewhere on the day of the wedding.
LB writes back and offers her house as a place to rehearse on the day of.
Vocalist writes back (apparently she's been copied in on these emails) and offers to come over to LB's house, although she doesn't actually need to rehearse anything with us.
BD responds. He is down for meeting at LB's place.
At this point LB is texting me with every new email that pops in to laugh at the absurdity of the situation, since we are playing 5 MINUTES OF SIGHT-READABLE BRASS QUINTET MUSIC WE'VE ALL PLAYED DOZENS OF TIMES. She, like me, is only sticking with this gig for entertainment value.
Another email pops in from Tuba Player. It is a message with the Google Drive logo asking you to CLICK HERE to access the documents he has shared. It looks like spam.
LB: "Did you get that email too? Do you think it's spam?"
Me: "I don't know. I'm going to open it. If you don't hear back from me in 5 minutes delete the email and bury your phone."
I open it. I'm brought to the Google home page and asked to sign in. I sign in. I'm brought to a South American web page with a bunch of car advertisements. I immediately sign out, delete the email, and change all my passwords.
11/12
Tuba Player sends a depressed sounding email. Because I having the most restrictive schedule, it doesn't look like we'll be able to rehearse until the day of the wedding. He has also given up on trying to get brass on the vocal number. He suggests we all meet at LB's at 1:30 (for a 4:00 wedding) and then try to get into the church at 2:30, or at least 3:00 and rehearse some more. He asks LB to write back with her address and parking suggestions.
11/17
Tuba Player has not heard back from any of us. He writes "the offsite rehearsal as I suggested at 1:30 does not make sense." He will plan to arrive at the church at 2:15 and rehearse with us then. He also plans to attend the wedding rehearsal so he can talk to the bride and clarify any concerns she might have. He has, as an attachment to the email, sent us a copy of their Save the Date. They look very nice.
LB responds asking many important and entirely serious questions, like whether we need to print out the music ourselves? Will there be music stands? Which street should we park on? She notes that the bride and groom look like a lovely couple.
Stacy responds that he is "uber good" with 2:15
Tuba Player responds that he will have extra copies of the music printed out, there will be music stands there, we should park in the church lot, and we should wear black ties.
LB texts to make sure that I know to wear a black tie.
11/18
Vocalist wanders (accidentally?) into the emails again. She will also be present at the wedding rehearsal on Friday.
Vocalist emails again. She is confused about how many verses on the nuptial blessing.
Organist: Refrain-Verse-Refrain
BD responds. He is good for 2:15
Vocalist says thank you, that's what she thought.
Tuba Player confirms the building will be opened at 2:15. "See you brassers then."
LB texts"I didn't get this many emails for my own wedding!"
11/19
No emails from Tuba Player, but he attends LB's horn choir concert. They have a chat about the wedding gig. He is very excited
11/21
Tuba Player emails the last minute clarifications. Dress is tuxedos for the men, black gowns (?) for the women. Everyone be there at 2:15. Everyone bring a music stand. Tempos will all be just like the recordings. Who will down dowbeats and cutoffs? He has attached the revised songlist as an excel document again. There is a list of updated repertoire. In the recessional the second trumpet solo will now be a TUBA SOLO. (In all caps, bold type.)
I respond whoever is playing first trumpet will give cutoffs.
LB responds ditto on the cutoffs, that she doesn't have a black gown, but will wear all black.
Stacy agrees about the cutoffs.
The Vocalist writes (again) that the nuptial blessing is refrain, verse, refrain. I guess someone was still in the dark about that.
Tuba Player tells Vocalist that he will be at the wedding rehearsal tonight. He tells LB that any colored gown will be fine. (All women want to wear gowns all the time, you know.)
Stacy responds with a music theory question. He is poking the bear.
Tuba Player is still confused about the verses and refrains on the nuptial blessing.
Vocalist emails everyone to tell LB that she'll wear a black suit too. (My phone is just incessantly buzzing with new emails at this point.)
LB is also wearing a black suit.
Tuba Player has spoken with the Vocalist. Just to confirm, only trumpets on the nuptial blessing. On the refrain.
Stacy says that is "dandy."
11/22 THE BIG DAY
So the gig actually turned out to be a lot of fun. I wore my most outrageous cummerbund with my tux, brought a thermos full of hot toddy to pass around the carpool, and generally tried to keep a straight face as Tuba Player said things like "boy, I can't imagine how you guys put together stuff like this before email."
He was the sweetest guy you could imagine once I met him in person. He said multiple times how honored he was to be playing with us (he called it a "bucket list" item) and compared it to sitting in with the orchestra side by side he played on last year. (Several of us were on that too.) He was super nervous about anything he had to start or play on his own, including the big TUBA SOLO in the recessional, and looked genuinely disappointed that we didn't get to play the entire Pachelbel Canon or go through all of our postlude music before the guests had left.
The actual wedding was fine. It was really small, but the bride and groom looked happy. The actual playing went fine. We started and stopped together, and no one got lost in between, to my knowledge. Before the gig was over, Tuba Player paid us all in cash, giving everybody a $100 and a $50. I thought about how the gig was either going to be a $100 or a $150 gig, and I figured out the math. I'm pretty sure that he didn't pay himself for this gig, and that if he paid someone to come unlock the church early for our rehearsal that he probably took a loss. I felt a little bad about being mildly snarky in the emails (and more than a little bit snarky behind his back in all the texts that flew back and forth after each email arrived) but I think that he had the time of his life. His wife was there, and she took pictures of the group in front of the altar, actions shots, and phone pictures too.
Your special day only happens once, and you have to make sure that you document it properly.
Thursday, November 20, 2014
Snow Week
Everyone knows by now that the weather in Buffalo this week has been otherworldly. I've seen the terms "amazing," "insane," and "Hoth" tossed about by everyone in the middle of the storm. Among the many events lost over the course of the week was a performance of Rite of Spring by the BPO that I was supposed to be playing. I am a little bummed, of course. I love Rite of Spring, and the paycheck would have been great. But I'm also really relieved that I didn't have to attempt driving in that mess, or (more likely) backing out of the gig.
My Dad was the first to warn me about the storm. They stopped by on Sunday and he mentioned that a bad storm was coming. I need to start paying more attention to these things, now that I'm a homeowner. It's going to be up to me to batten down the hatches on our property. Right now, I don't even know where the hatches are. It's also up to me to shovel our driveway, keep an eye on the water level around the foundation, and all those other lovely tasks.
So, I kept an eye on the weather. And Tuesday morning, the day of the first rehearsal, I woke up assuming I might have to allow for a little extra drive time in the snow. The first thing I saw when I opened Facebook was a bunch of people posting that the Thruway was closed.
"The Thruway is closed? Isn't that a bit of an overreaction?"
Turns out, no. I dug through old emails for the emergency personnel line to the orchestra, and called in. There was no message. I texted one of the other trumpet players asking whether rehearsal was still on. No answer. I looked up alternate routes up by the lake, and put on my winter coat. I was just getting ready to leave when I finally got ahold of the personnel manager.
"Yeah, I can't see out my window," she said "There isn't going to be any rehearsal today."
It turned out to be a good day to stay home. J had a doctor's appointment for James and Owen, and neither boy was particularly happy about being measured, prodded, weighed, or (oh, the trauma) given a shot.
The next day I started calling into the personnel line at 6 in the morning. There had been reports that there might be a break in the snow early in the afternoon, but that another huge storm was coming on Thursday and that the Thruway was still closed for the forseeable future. About 7:00 I saw that the alternate rehearsal site (at a college) had been shut down because the campus was closed, and I figured I was in the clear. Around 8:00 the official word came through that rehearsal was off, and at 10 AM they cancelled the whole week's worth of services.
So I've had an unexpected week off! I took the kids to Home Depot, cleaned the downstairs, played with James outside (he got a snow shovel at Home Depot--"Daddy, I need to shovel. Is it time to shovel yet?") helped J with lunch, took a nap, listened to a mock audition, worked through a box of wine, and wore a bunch of sweaters.
If you're one of those poor people digging out of this mess, stay warm! But I've enjoyed a chance to actually live in my own house for a bit...
My Dad was the first to warn me about the storm. They stopped by on Sunday and he mentioned that a bad storm was coming. I need to start paying more attention to these things, now that I'm a homeowner. It's going to be up to me to batten down the hatches on our property. Right now, I don't even know where the hatches are. It's also up to me to shovel our driveway, keep an eye on the water level around the foundation, and all those other lovely tasks.
So, I kept an eye on the weather. And Tuesday morning, the day of the first rehearsal, I woke up assuming I might have to allow for a little extra drive time in the snow. The first thing I saw when I opened Facebook was a bunch of people posting that the Thruway was closed.
"The Thruway is closed? Isn't that a bit of an overreaction?"
Turns out, no. I dug through old emails for the emergency personnel line to the orchestra, and called in. There was no message. I texted one of the other trumpet players asking whether rehearsal was still on. No answer. I looked up alternate routes up by the lake, and put on my winter coat. I was just getting ready to leave when I finally got ahold of the personnel manager.
"Yeah, I can't see out my window," she said "There isn't going to be any rehearsal today."
It turned out to be a good day to stay home. J had a doctor's appointment for James and Owen, and neither boy was particularly happy about being measured, prodded, weighed, or (oh, the trauma) given a shot.
The next day I started calling into the personnel line at 6 in the morning. There had been reports that there might be a break in the snow early in the afternoon, but that another huge storm was coming on Thursday and that the Thruway was still closed for the forseeable future. About 7:00 I saw that the alternate rehearsal site (at a college) had been shut down because the campus was closed, and I figured I was in the clear. Around 8:00 the official word came through that rehearsal was off, and at 10 AM they cancelled the whole week's worth of services.
So I've had an unexpected week off! I took the kids to Home Depot, cleaned the downstairs, played with James outside (he got a snow shovel at Home Depot--"Daddy, I need to shovel. Is it time to shovel yet?") helped J with lunch, took a nap, listened to a mock audition, worked through a box of wine, and wore a bunch of sweaters.
If you're one of those poor people digging out of this mess, stay warm! But I've enjoyed a chance to actually live in my own house for a bit...
Saturday, November 15, 2014
House Projects
I was home all morning and afternoon today after a long week of BPO and other obligations. Here was the schedule from the week:
Monday-AM off (Veteran's Day), Houghton in the afternoon, Hochstein in the evening
Tuesday-Leave at 8 AM for BPO, stay in Buffalo all day for 7 PM concert
Wednesday-Leave at 8 AM for BPO double rehearsal, back at 5 PM, out the door at 6:30 for Choir
Thursday-Leave at 8 AM for BPO double rehearsal, back at 5 PM, out the door at 8 for Bills game
Friday-Leave at 8 AM for BPO concert, Houghton lessons in the afternoon, Houghton concert 7 PM
J said James was much better behaved all day, since I was around. Given that he stole food, threw Lincoln logs, and pitched a hurricane-force tantrum about having to wear grippy slippers, I shudder to think what he was like earlier in the week.
Today, with two parents, was a day for getting things done. First thing I loaded up a few basketfuls of laundry and took them down to the basement. Then came the long delayed project of putting away all the clothes that are upstairs in our room. They've been sitting in big rubbermaid bins, unsorted and unstowed. There comes a dangerous point in the life of any mess, when you start to fail to see it any longer. For example, J will put a few of my ties neatly folded on one of the stairs for me to put away. (My ties always end up downstairs because when I come home from a concert I kick my dress shoes off and step into my slippers, throw my coat over the desk chair, yank my half-tied tie all the way off and throw it over the armchair.) Anywhow, the ties will accumulate on the back of the chair until she notices that it's a problem, and she'll put them on the stairs. Then, I'll see them as I'm on my way to do something else. I'll notice that they need to be brought upstairs and put away, but I'll be in the middle of saying "I don't know if Woof-Woof is still outside, but we need to get you into the bathtub before the mustard dries in your hair." I have SEEN the ties, but done nothing about them. Then perhaps the next day I'll see them again, but someone we'll be saying to me "if we turn the box spring a little bit left I don't think we'll crack the drywall too badly." Again I'll SEE the ties, but do nothing. And then, before you know, I've stopped seeing them. The ties will be right there on the stairs, but they've blended into the landscape of the steps and almost become part of the wood. It will be a Friday evening and I'll be frantically dashing up and down the stairs, yelling at J "Come on, don't I have a single black tie anywhere in this house?" I could probably step right on the pile of ties, and I wouldn't even notice it.
So this was the danger of the rubbermaid bins in our bedroom. They had sat there for over a week, and they were nearly permanent furniture in our house. The fading-to-unnoticed trick has already happened with the damage to the bathroom threshold. It was the first thing that I noticed when we did our initial walk-through of the house. "Don't worry," I told J "that's a cinch to fix. I can take care of that in one trip to Home Depot and 15 minutes of work." Now I don't even remember that there's a problem, although probably every guest who's used our bathroom looks at entrance with mild revulsion and thinks "Why don't they ever take care of that?"
Not only did we empty most of the rubbermaids, we also unloaded two boxes of pictures and wall-hangings that were chameleoning into the downstairs library. I got out my stepstool, drill, and level, and we put up lots of pictures of our family. It turns out that we only have pictures of James and O&K, so all of the rest of you need to get us pictures if you want to be up on our walls.
The big project today, however, was hanging up an enormous mirror in our bedroom. J's grandparents gave us a gorgeous solid cherry dresser with a matching mirror. The dresser is possibly the nicest piece of furniture in the house, and we wanted to set up our television on top of it so that we can watch TV in bed, keep the TV out of the downstairs area, and possibly limit James' George intake. (So far, unsuccessful. George is need to watch his self on Mommy-Daddy's bed.)
The mirror we didn't know what to do with. It didn't have any hardware to be mounted vertically on the dresser, and we didn't have room to mount in horizontally. Plus, it weighs about 400 lbs, so I got tired of holding it up at different angles in a hurry.
Good thing we bought a studfinder for just such an occasion. J and I had massive problems with the very little shelf-hanging we'd tried at previous apartments. For people whose livelihoods depend on detecting minute differences in pitch and timbre, neither of us were particularly adept at using the "knocking" method of studfinding. So when we moved into the the new place, we decided to splurge on a new studfinder. And when I say "splurge," I mean we bought the cheapest one we could find and hoped it would work.
It actually does work pretty well, although we still quadruple check every mark we make on the wall. We had a long adventure finding a screw that we could actually fasten into the stud. The first long screw we found I stripped the head with my drill, and then accidentally bent it beyond salvaging when I tried to hammer it in. (True story: I actually uttered the phrase "I just got my flannel shirt caught in my drill case" a few days ago). The second screw I successfully drove into the wall and screwed in almost to the point where we wanted, and then the head broke off, leaving the body of the screw stuck in the stud for all eternity. Finally (in a new hole) we got a screw in securely, I bloodied up my finger, and we hung the mirror.
We both let go and took a ginger step back. I nudged the mirror and it stayed up. I put the level up, and said "close enough." I nudged the mirror again, and it stayed up. I think we're actually figuring out this home-ownership stuff a little bit at a time. So if you want to see any of our handiwork, come on over, and bring a picture of yourself. I'd be more than happy to hang it up. Also, keep your eyes open for my trumcor black soft mute while you're over, because that's definitely chameleoned into a couch somewhere. And step carefully, because I still feel like that mirror could come down at any moment.
Monday-AM off (Veteran's Day), Houghton in the afternoon, Hochstein in the evening
Tuesday-Leave at 8 AM for BPO, stay in Buffalo all day for 7 PM concert
Wednesday-Leave at 8 AM for BPO double rehearsal, back at 5 PM, out the door at 6:30 for Choir
Thursday-Leave at 8 AM for BPO double rehearsal, back at 5 PM, out the door at 8 for Bills game
Friday-Leave at 8 AM for BPO concert, Houghton lessons in the afternoon, Houghton concert 7 PM
J said James was much better behaved all day, since I was around. Given that he stole food, threw Lincoln logs, and pitched a hurricane-force tantrum about having to wear grippy slippers, I shudder to think what he was like earlier in the week.
Today, with two parents, was a day for getting things done. First thing I loaded up a few basketfuls of laundry and took them down to the basement. Then came the long delayed project of putting away all the clothes that are upstairs in our room. They've been sitting in big rubbermaid bins, unsorted and unstowed. There comes a dangerous point in the life of any mess, when you start to fail to see it any longer. For example, J will put a few of my ties neatly folded on one of the stairs for me to put away. (My ties always end up downstairs because when I come home from a concert I kick my dress shoes off and step into my slippers, throw my coat over the desk chair, yank my half-tied tie all the way off and throw it over the armchair.) Anywhow, the ties will accumulate on the back of the chair until she notices that it's a problem, and she'll put them on the stairs. Then, I'll see them as I'm on my way to do something else. I'll notice that they need to be brought upstairs and put away, but I'll be in the middle of saying "I don't know if Woof-Woof is still outside, but we need to get you into the bathtub before the mustard dries in your hair." I have SEEN the ties, but done nothing about them. Then perhaps the next day I'll see them again, but someone we'll be saying to me "if we turn the box spring a little bit left I don't think we'll crack the drywall too badly." Again I'll SEE the ties, but do nothing. And then, before you know, I've stopped seeing them. The ties will be right there on the stairs, but they've blended into the landscape of the steps and almost become part of the wood. It will be a Friday evening and I'll be frantically dashing up and down the stairs, yelling at J "Come on, don't I have a single black tie anywhere in this house?" I could probably step right on the pile of ties, and I wouldn't even notice it.
So this was the danger of the rubbermaid bins in our bedroom. They had sat there for over a week, and they were nearly permanent furniture in our house. The fading-to-unnoticed trick has already happened with the damage to the bathroom threshold. It was the first thing that I noticed when we did our initial walk-through of the house. "Don't worry," I told J "that's a cinch to fix. I can take care of that in one trip to Home Depot and 15 minutes of work." Now I don't even remember that there's a problem, although probably every guest who's used our bathroom looks at entrance with mild revulsion and thinks "Why don't they ever take care of that?"
Not only did we empty most of the rubbermaids, we also unloaded two boxes of pictures and wall-hangings that were chameleoning into the downstairs library. I got out my stepstool, drill, and level, and we put up lots of pictures of our family. It turns out that we only have pictures of James and O&K, so all of the rest of you need to get us pictures if you want to be up on our walls.
The big project today, however, was hanging up an enormous mirror in our bedroom. J's grandparents gave us a gorgeous solid cherry dresser with a matching mirror. The dresser is possibly the nicest piece of furniture in the house, and we wanted to set up our television on top of it so that we can watch TV in bed, keep the TV out of the downstairs area, and possibly limit James' George intake. (So far, unsuccessful. George is need to watch his self on Mommy-Daddy's bed.)
The mirror we didn't know what to do with. It didn't have any hardware to be mounted vertically on the dresser, and we didn't have room to mount in horizontally. Plus, it weighs about 400 lbs, so I got tired of holding it up at different angles in a hurry.
Good thing we bought a studfinder for just such an occasion. J and I had massive problems with the very little shelf-hanging we'd tried at previous apartments. For people whose livelihoods depend on detecting minute differences in pitch and timbre, neither of us were particularly adept at using the "knocking" method of studfinding. So when we moved into the the new place, we decided to splurge on a new studfinder. And when I say "splurge," I mean we bought the cheapest one we could find and hoped it would work.
It actually does work pretty well, although we still quadruple check every mark we make on the wall. We had a long adventure finding a screw that we could actually fasten into the stud. The first long screw we found I stripped the head with my drill, and then accidentally bent it beyond salvaging when I tried to hammer it in. (True story: I actually uttered the phrase "I just got my flannel shirt caught in my drill case" a few days ago). The second screw I successfully drove into the wall and screwed in almost to the point where we wanted, and then the head broke off, leaving the body of the screw stuck in the stud for all eternity. Finally (in a new hole) we got a screw in securely, I bloodied up my finger, and we hung the mirror.
We both let go and took a ginger step back. I nudged the mirror and it stayed up. I put the level up, and said "close enough." I nudged the mirror again, and it stayed up. I think we're actually figuring out this home-ownership stuff a little bit at a time. So if you want to see any of our handiwork, come on over, and bring a picture of yourself. I'd be more than happy to hang it up. Also, keep your eyes open for my trumcor black soft mute while you're over, because that's definitely chameleoned into a couch somewhere. And step carefully, because I still feel like that mirror could come down at any moment.
Friday, November 14, 2014
J's Morning (or, reasons why J needs a hug)
7:15 AM
Husband: Asleep, completely passed out after staying out till midnight watching the Bills game and consuming chicken wings and beer. Making noises/movements associated with upset stomach/mild hangover. Did not get up with alarm clock.
Toddler Son: Holding animated conversation in his bedroom with several stuffed animal friends.
Infant Son: Has just begun to whimper and cry in bassinet
To Husband: "I'm going to get the boys up. Are you feeling okay?"
Husband: "unnhh."
"I'd really like to take a shower this morning, and I can only do it while you're here. Can I leave Owen with you."
"I feel like I'm gonna die."
"You kind of look like it too. How many wings did you eat?"
"I only had two. I had two wings and two beers. Why do I feel this terrible?"
"There's something about that combination. How was the game?"
"It was awful. The Bills suck."
J gets up, gets Infant Son out of bassinet, changes diaper, brings Infant Son in to sleeping Husband.
"Okay, can I leave him with you? Roy? Roy? Are you awake?"
"What?"
"I need to take a shower. I'm going to get James up and leave Owen with you, okay?"
Opens door to Toddler's room.
Toddler Son "Hi, Mommy. We have some Cinnamon Cereal?"
"We're out of Cinnamon Cereal, honey. Let's change your diaper, okay?"
"No, no fanks."
Toddler Son makes his way downstairs, cannot be pursued because J is still holding Infant Son
"James, can we put some grippy slippers on your feet for going down the stairs?"
Toddler Son ignores her.
"Roy, are you awake?"
No answer
J nurses Infant Son downstairs. Husband is heard getting out of bed and getting into shower. Toddler Son makes his way back upstairs to collect armful of Friends. Toddler Son slips halfway down the stairs because he isn't wearing grippy slippers and falls down the rest of the stairs, getting bloody mouth in the process.
Toddler Son: "WAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
"I'm coming Sweetie, what happened?"
Puts Infant Son down in living room, he just finished nursing and hasn't been burped
Toddler Son "I NEED MAH GINKYYY!!!!!"
Husband "What's going on? Did you fall down the stairs?"
"Honey, you're completely soaked! You're getting water all over the stairs."
Husband has come down the stairs half covered in a towel, not having dried off at all, dripping water everywhere.
Toddler Son "I NEED GEORGE AND STEEEBEN!!!"
"Come here sweetie, let's fix your mouth."
Toddler Son "I NEEED THEM!!!!"
J gets damp paper towel and cleans up Toddler Son while Infant Son fusses beside the couch. Husband comes downstairs in black suit with shirt untucked and belt unbuckled, puts on water for coffee, lies on living room floor in fetal position.
Toddler Son: "I need my friends."
"Okay, first we need to change your diaper."
Toddler Son, beginning to cry: "No, I no wanna diaper change. I need...I need to play iPad."
"We aren't going to play iPad, we need to change your diaper."
Infant Son: "waah...waah...waahh!!"
"Roy, can you get him?"
Husband: "Yeah, I've got him. Sheesh, I swear I only ate two wings. I feel awful."
Toddler Son: "Mommy, where the iPad be? George needs it."
Husband picks up Infant Son, lies back down on floor with Infant Son lying on his chest.
"Honey, he hasn't been burped yet, he's going to spit up all over your suit."
Husband: "Okay."
J changes diaper of Toddler Son, brings him back downstairs. Husband and Infant Son are both passed out on the floor.
Husband: "Do you want me to watch the kids so you can take a shower?"
"No, I think I'll just skip the shower this morning. Is this your water boiling."
Husband: "....yeah."
"Should I pour your coffee for you?"
Husband: "Yes. Thank you."
Toddler Son: "Now we do some iPad?"
Husband gets up and hands Infant Son to J. Infant Son immediately spits up all over J.
Husband: "Okay, I gotta go to my concert. See you tonight!"
Husband: Asleep, completely passed out after staying out till midnight watching the Bills game and consuming chicken wings and beer. Making noises/movements associated with upset stomach/mild hangover. Did not get up with alarm clock.
Toddler Son: Holding animated conversation in his bedroom with several stuffed animal friends.
Infant Son: Has just begun to whimper and cry in bassinet
To Husband: "I'm going to get the boys up. Are you feeling okay?"
Husband: "unnhh."
"I'd really like to take a shower this morning, and I can only do it while you're here. Can I leave Owen with you."
"I feel like I'm gonna die."
"You kind of look like it too. How many wings did you eat?"
"I only had two. I had two wings and two beers. Why do I feel this terrible?"
"There's something about that combination. How was the game?"
"It was awful. The Bills suck."
J gets up, gets Infant Son out of bassinet, changes diaper, brings Infant Son in to sleeping Husband.
"Okay, can I leave him with you? Roy? Roy? Are you awake?"
"What?"
"I need to take a shower. I'm going to get James up and leave Owen with you, okay?"
Opens door to Toddler's room.
Toddler Son "Hi, Mommy. We have some Cinnamon Cereal?"
"We're out of Cinnamon Cereal, honey. Let's change your diaper, okay?"
"No, no fanks."
Toddler Son makes his way downstairs, cannot be pursued because J is still holding Infant Son
"James, can we put some grippy slippers on your feet for going down the stairs?"
Toddler Son ignores her.
"Roy, are you awake?"
No answer
J nurses Infant Son downstairs. Husband is heard getting out of bed and getting into shower. Toddler Son makes his way back upstairs to collect armful of Friends. Toddler Son slips halfway down the stairs because he isn't wearing grippy slippers and falls down the rest of the stairs, getting bloody mouth in the process.
Toddler Son: "WAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
"I'm coming Sweetie, what happened?"
Puts Infant Son down in living room, he just finished nursing and hasn't been burped
Toddler Son "I NEED MAH GINKYYY!!!!!"
Husband "What's going on? Did you fall down the stairs?"
"Honey, you're completely soaked! You're getting water all over the stairs."
Husband has come down the stairs half covered in a towel, not having dried off at all, dripping water everywhere.
Toddler Son "I NEED GEORGE AND STEEEBEN!!!"
"Come here sweetie, let's fix your mouth."
Toddler Son "I NEEED THEM!!!!"
J gets damp paper towel and cleans up Toddler Son while Infant Son fusses beside the couch. Husband comes downstairs in black suit with shirt untucked and belt unbuckled, puts on water for coffee, lies on living room floor in fetal position.
Toddler Son: "I need my friends."
"Okay, first we need to change your diaper."
Toddler Son, beginning to cry: "No, I no wanna diaper change. I need...I need to play iPad."
"We aren't going to play iPad, we need to change your diaper."
Infant Son: "waah...waah...waahh!!"
"Roy, can you get him?"
Husband: "Yeah, I've got him. Sheesh, I swear I only ate two wings. I feel awful."
Toddler Son: "Mommy, where the iPad be? George needs it."
Husband picks up Infant Son, lies back down on floor with Infant Son lying on his chest.
"Honey, he hasn't been burped yet, he's going to spit up all over your suit."
Husband: "Okay."
J changes diaper of Toddler Son, brings him back downstairs. Husband and Infant Son are both passed out on the floor.
Husband: "Do you want me to watch the kids so you can take a shower?"
"No, I think I'll just skip the shower this morning. Is this your water boiling."
Husband: "....yeah."
"Should I pour your coffee for you?"
Husband: "Yes. Thank you."
Toddler Son: "Now we do some iPad?"
Husband gets up and hands Infant Son to J. Infant Son immediately spits up all over J.
Husband: "Okay, I gotta go to my concert. See you tonight!"
Tuesday, November 11, 2014
Episodes
I.
I brought James his bowl of cereal. Cinnamon Cereal. It's the Aldi version of Cinnamon Toast Crunch, and he thinks it's spectacular. J bought a box of it for me over the summer on a vacation week, and I turned my nose up at it. "Why would I eat that? That's kid's cereal!" (This was dishonest of me. I love sugary cereals. I always eat the worst-for-you cereal I can find when we're visiting her parents.) I didn't get into it then, so James got the box, and James loved it. He loves it so much that he insists on sipping out all the milk with a straw once he's finished the actual cereal part. And he hardly ever finishes all of the actual cereal part with anything else.
Buying Cinnamon Cereal is a once a month treat for him. When he knows it's in the house I usually hear him making noise in his bedroom earlier than usual. At about 7:30 or so I'll go up to his room and open the door. This morning he was sitting on the edge looking at the door, and as soon as he saw my face he said "Hi Daddy, we have some Cinnamon Cereal?" He asks for it when he gets up from his afternoon nap too, and then when we tell him he can't have cereal at 4 in the afternoon, would he care for cucumbers and hummus, he starts to sob that he needs it and he wants it to be morning so he can have cereal again. His deep disappointment is worsened by the fact that he's in the midst of a horrible sugar crash at that point after a morning of being out-of-control wired.
So this morning, I poked my head in his door and he said "Hi Daddy! We have some Cinnamon Cereal?"
I brought him downstairs, and went into the kitchen as he scrambled into his booster seat.
"I wanna big bowl."
"I'll pour you a big bowl."
"Make sure my bowl is big."
"Okay, it's a big bowl of cereal."
"I want lots."
"Yup."
I'd eaten already, but I needed to leave in 20 minutes, so I repacked my gig bag while I sat at the table with him and chatted.
"Daddy?"
"Yes?"
"You will not go anywhere today."
"What's that?"
"You will not go anywhere today."
"Hmm...well, I do need to go to rehearsal today."
"Why you need to go to rehearsal?"
"Why it's your job?"
"Because hat's what I do to get money."
"Why you need to get money?"
"We use money to buy Cinnamon Cereal. So I'm going to go to rehearsal today to get some more money to buy more Cinnamon Cereal. That's how we pay for it."
"You be back by suppertime?"
"Um, I don't think I'll be back by suppertime today."
"When you be back?"
"I'll be back a little after bedtime. Should I come say good night to you?"
"Yup."
J padded down the stairs holding Owen a few minutes later.
"Good morning, James! How's your Cinnamon Cereal?"
"Mommy, I'm havin' lots in my big bowl. Daddy is gonna go to rehearsal to buy me more."
II.
My carpool sat around a table at Wegmans with empty lunchplates stacked in the middle of the table and half-full cups of tea (really hot toddies, thanks to a surreptitious bottle in a handbag) steaming in front of us.
"How's the outlet table?"
I craned my neck to check.
"Still taken."
There's only one table with access to a power outlet in the Dewitt Wegmans. It's almost always taken when we arrive, usually by an old person who isn't even plugging anything in. We wait until they leave, and then we descent to power our devices as we kill the four or five hours until concert time.
"Okay guys, I need an idea for a date with J on Sunday night."
"Dinner and a movie."
"It needs to be something we can do in the house, because we won't have childcare. And it needs to be cheap. On the free side of cheap, actually."
"Hmm...so no dinner out?"
"Nope."
"You should...play a game. Bananagrams is fun."
"We don't have Bananagrams, but that could work."
"You should make dessert together."
"You can spend a little bit of money, right?"
"Yeah, a little."
"Okay, if you to a Joann's Fabric--"
"I'm curious to see where this is going to go."
"Yeah, what does a bass trombone player do at Joann's Fabric?"
"Shut up. So, if you go to Joann's Fabric, and you buy some spare fabric you could make a blanket together."
"That could be really nice, actually."
"Just to confirm, this is something you've done before?"
"Shut up."
"Can you make dinner together?"
"I'd like to give her a break from making dinner together."
"Can you keep her out of the kitchen and make dinner for her?"
"Possibly...but I'd kind of like to hang out with her, and I have trouble in the kitchen sometimes. Like with pizza, I've had no luck at all."
"Maybe you should have her make dinner while you practice Clarke Studies. That sounds like a great date all around."
"That's how it usually seems to go."
"Hey, I think they're getting up from the corner table!"
"Nope, just stretching. False alarm."
III.
"Thank you all very much for your patience. The committee would like to thank you all for your playing this afternoon, they said they heard some really, really fine playing and that the level was phenomenal across the board. They are going to hold one more round, a final round, and they'd like to hear four out of the ten of you. Okay, 4 out of 10 chance, those are good odds. So, for the last round, the committee would like to hear numbers 102, say 109, number 104, say 109, number 108, please let the last number be 109, and number 110. $*&# it. The rest of you, good job, sorry it didn't work out this time, thanks for coming down.
"Hey congrats, play well in the final round."
"Thanks, good to see you again."
"Congrats, good luck!"
"Safe travels back."
"See you at the next one."
"Hi, my name is Roy Smith, I have a reservation to fly from Charlotte to Rochester tomorrow morning? Yes, that's the one. Yes. Yes, I was wondering if there was any chance that I could get out on an earlier flight this evening. At 7:00? Yeah, that'd be great. Now, what what sort of fees would there be to get on the earlier flight? Oh, really? Wait, I'd get $10 back? That's fantastic? There's no fee, and I can go home tonight?"
And that is the story of how Southwest, even though they advertise too much during football games, is a wonderful organization. The orange juice was good too.
I brought James his bowl of cereal. Cinnamon Cereal. It's the Aldi version of Cinnamon Toast Crunch, and he thinks it's spectacular. J bought a box of it for me over the summer on a vacation week, and I turned my nose up at it. "Why would I eat that? That's kid's cereal!" (This was dishonest of me. I love sugary cereals. I always eat the worst-for-you cereal I can find when we're visiting her parents.) I didn't get into it then, so James got the box, and James loved it. He loves it so much that he insists on sipping out all the milk with a straw once he's finished the actual cereal part. And he hardly ever finishes all of the actual cereal part with anything else.
Buying Cinnamon Cereal is a once a month treat for him. When he knows it's in the house I usually hear him making noise in his bedroom earlier than usual. At about 7:30 or so I'll go up to his room and open the door. This morning he was sitting on the edge looking at the door, and as soon as he saw my face he said "Hi Daddy, we have some Cinnamon Cereal?" He asks for it when he gets up from his afternoon nap too, and then when we tell him he can't have cereal at 4 in the afternoon, would he care for cucumbers and hummus, he starts to sob that he needs it and he wants it to be morning so he can have cereal again. His deep disappointment is worsened by the fact that he's in the midst of a horrible sugar crash at that point after a morning of being out-of-control wired.
So this morning, I poked my head in his door and he said "Hi Daddy! We have some Cinnamon Cereal?"
I brought him downstairs, and went into the kitchen as he scrambled into his booster seat.
"I wanna big bowl."
"I'll pour you a big bowl."
"Make sure my bowl is big."
"Okay, it's a big bowl of cereal."
"I want lots."
"Yup."
I'd eaten already, but I needed to leave in 20 minutes, so I repacked my gig bag while I sat at the table with him and chatted.
"Daddy?"
"Yes?"
"You will not go anywhere today."
"What's that?"
"You will not go anywhere today."
"Hmm...well, I do need to go to rehearsal today."
"Why you need to go to rehearsal?"
"Why it's your job?"
"Because hat's what I do to get money."
"Why you need to get money?"
"We use money to buy Cinnamon Cereal. So I'm going to go to rehearsal today to get some more money to buy more Cinnamon Cereal. That's how we pay for it."
"You be back by suppertime?"
"Um, I don't think I'll be back by suppertime today."
"When you be back?"
"I'll be back a little after bedtime. Should I come say good night to you?"
"Yup."
J padded down the stairs holding Owen a few minutes later.
"Good morning, James! How's your Cinnamon Cereal?"
"Mommy, I'm havin' lots in my big bowl. Daddy is gonna go to rehearsal to buy me more."
II.
My carpool sat around a table at Wegmans with empty lunchplates stacked in the middle of the table and half-full cups of tea (really hot toddies, thanks to a surreptitious bottle in a handbag) steaming in front of us.
"How's the outlet table?"
I craned my neck to check.
"Still taken."
There's only one table with access to a power outlet in the Dewitt Wegmans. It's almost always taken when we arrive, usually by an old person who isn't even plugging anything in. We wait until they leave, and then we descent to power our devices as we kill the four or five hours until concert time.
"Okay guys, I need an idea for a date with J on Sunday night."
"Dinner and a movie."
"It needs to be something we can do in the house, because we won't have childcare. And it needs to be cheap. On the free side of cheap, actually."
"Hmm...so no dinner out?"
"Nope."
"You should...play a game. Bananagrams is fun."
"We don't have Bananagrams, but that could work."
"You should make dessert together."
"You can spend a little bit of money, right?"
"Yeah, a little."
"Okay, if you to a Joann's Fabric--"
"I'm curious to see where this is going to go."
"Yeah, what does a bass trombone player do at Joann's Fabric?"
"Shut up. So, if you go to Joann's Fabric, and you buy some spare fabric you could make a blanket together."
"That could be really nice, actually."
"Just to confirm, this is something you've done before?"
"Shut up."
"Can you make dinner together?"
"I'd like to give her a break from making dinner together."
"Can you keep her out of the kitchen and make dinner for her?"
"Possibly...but I'd kind of like to hang out with her, and I have trouble in the kitchen sometimes. Like with pizza, I've had no luck at all."
"Maybe you should have her make dinner while you practice Clarke Studies. That sounds like a great date all around."
"That's how it usually seems to go."
"Hey, I think they're getting up from the corner table!"
"Nope, just stretching. False alarm."
III.
"Thank you all very much for your patience. The committee would like to thank you all for your playing this afternoon, they said they heard some really, really fine playing and that the level was phenomenal across the board. They are going to hold one more round, a final round, and they'd like to hear four out of the ten of you. Okay, 4 out of 10 chance, those are good odds. So, for the last round, the committee would like to hear numbers 102, say 109, number 104, say 109, number 108, please let the last number be 109, and number 110. $*&# it. The rest of you, good job, sorry it didn't work out this time, thanks for coming down.
"Hey congrats, play well in the final round."
"Thanks, good to see you again."
"Congrats, good luck!"
"Safe travels back."
"See you at the next one."
"Hi, my name is Roy Smith, I have a reservation to fly from Charlotte to Rochester tomorrow morning? Yes, that's the one. Yes. Yes, I was wondering if there was any chance that I could get out on an earlier flight this evening. At 7:00? Yeah, that'd be great. Now, what what sort of fees would there be to get on the earlier flight? Oh, really? Wait, I'd get $10 back? That's fantastic? There's no fee, and I can go home tonight?"
And that is the story of how Southwest, even though they advertise too much during football games, is a wonderful organization. The orange juice was good too.
Friday, November 7, 2014
Brothers
"James Bear, would you like to meet your baby brother?"
"Nope."
"Okay...well, here he is. James, this is your baby brother Owen."
"George, are you scared." <Curious George nods his head> "George is scared of Owen."
"Okay James, let's go to the store. Now listen, you know that Mommy and I love you very much, right? And your baby brother doesn't change that?"
"When is Owen gonna go back to HIS house?"
"Why we need to buy some ginkies?"
"We need to by some ginks for your baby brother. He would like to go to bed with a ginky just like you do."
"This ginky is not for him. This ginky is for me."
"No, these are tiny ginks. These are for little babies."
"Owen is not want this ginky. He is want me to have it."
"Daddy, my baby brother wants that Thomas piggy-bank."
"Hmm...are you sure that maybe it isn't James who wants a new piggy-bank."
"He needs it."
"Well, we can get you a piggy-bank, but it can just be for you. Do you want to have it all to yourself and not share it with your baby brother?"
"Yup."
<Owen sneezes>
"Hey, what he do?"
"Baby Owen sneezed! Bless you, baby Owen."
"He made a bless-you."
"Heavenly Father, tonight we pray for Mommy and Daddy, for James Bear and for Owen Bear."
"No, no, he is not Owen Bear."
"For James Bear and for Owen Bear."
"Nope."
"Do you want to watch me change Owen's diaper?"
"Yup."
<climbs up on the side of the changing table>
"See how little Owen's diapers are? You'll have to show him how big boys go on the potty once he gets a little bigger."
"Nope."
<Owen starts to cry>
"He is need is George."
<Scoots down and finds Baby George from Owen's bassinet>
"James, do you like having a baby brother?"
"No, no fanks."
"Do you know all of your uncles? Like Uncle Sam and Uncle Oliver and Uncle Calvin and Uncle Lucas?"
"Wanna watch a George?"
"All of your uncles are my brothers, and we used to be little boys just like Owen."
"Wanna watch a George?"
"And my favorite part of growing up was having lots and lots of brothers."
"Wanna watch a George?"
"And Aunt Martha."
"George is want to watch hisself."
"I need to practice for a bit. Do you think that baby Owen will like the trumpet?"
"No, it is too loud. He will cry."
"You need to finish your pizza."
"I don't wanna eat pizza, I wanna get down."
"Do you think that your baby brother should finish your pizza?"
"No, he would not eat that. He is TOO little."
"Nope."
"Okay...well, here he is. James, this is your baby brother Owen."
"George, are you scared." <Curious George nods his head> "George is scared of Owen."
"Okay James, let's go to the store. Now listen, you know that Mommy and I love you very much, right? And your baby brother doesn't change that?"
"When is Owen gonna go back to HIS house?"
"Why we need to buy some ginkies?"
"We need to by some ginks for your baby brother. He would like to go to bed with a ginky just like you do."
"This ginky is not for him. This ginky is for me."
"No, these are tiny ginks. These are for little babies."
"Owen is not want this ginky. He is want me to have it."
"Daddy, my baby brother wants that Thomas piggy-bank."
"Hmm...are you sure that maybe it isn't James who wants a new piggy-bank."
"He needs it."
"Well, we can get you a piggy-bank, but it can just be for you. Do you want to have it all to yourself and not share it with your baby brother?"
"Yup."
<Owen sneezes>
"Hey, what he do?"
"Baby Owen sneezed! Bless you, baby Owen."
"He made a bless-you."
"Heavenly Father, tonight we pray for Mommy and Daddy, for James Bear and for Owen Bear."
"No, no, he is not Owen Bear."
"For James Bear and for Owen Bear."
"Nope."
"Do you want to watch me change Owen's diaper?"
"Yup."
<climbs up on the side of the changing table>
"See how little Owen's diapers are? You'll have to show him how big boys go on the potty once he gets a little bigger."
"Nope."
<Owen starts to cry>
"He is need is George."
<Scoots down and finds Baby George from Owen's bassinet>
"James, do you like having a baby brother?"
"No, no fanks."
"Do you know all of your uncles? Like Uncle Sam and Uncle Oliver and Uncle Calvin and Uncle Lucas?"
"Wanna watch a George?"
"All of your uncles are my brothers, and we used to be little boys just like Owen."
"Wanna watch a George?"
"And my favorite part of growing up was having lots and lots of brothers."
"Wanna watch a George?"
"And Aunt Martha."
"George is want to watch hisself."
"I need to practice for a bit. Do you think that baby Owen will like the trumpet?"
"No, it is too loud. He will cry."
"You need to finish your pizza."
"I don't wanna eat pizza, I wanna get down."
"Do you think that your baby brother should finish your pizza?"
"No, he would not eat that. He is TOO little."
Thursday, November 6, 2014
The Story of the Birth of Owen
I was walking into an RPO rehearsal, buzzing my burnt-out lips and hoping the conductor didn't spend too much time on Alexander Nevsky today. I'd already played two kiddie shows full of Jurassic Park and Star Wars earlier that morning, and now I had two back to back rehearsals of film music in Rochester. I was going to need an ice pack by the time the day was over.
I circled up to the fourth or fifth level of the parking garage and parked the car. As I was pulling my trumpets out of the backseat I felt my phone buzzing. Pulling it out of my pocket, I saw that it was J.
"Hi, what's up?"
"My water just broke."
I stood still in the garage for a second. The baby wasn't due for almost another two WEEKS. And that was just the due date...James didn't come for another ten days after that.
"I'm not in labor yet, but I think this baby is coming in the next twenty four hours."
"Do we need to go into the hospital?"
"I'm not sure yet, I'll call in."
"Okay, I'm going to let somebody know I won't be at rehearsal."
I flagged down the personnel manager, got myself excused, and drove home. J met me at the door looking fairly calm, all things considered, and we were shortly joined by our sister in law K. When James was born--and I'm going to try to treat Owen as his own person as much as I can throughout his growing up years, and avoid constantly comparing him to James--when James was born, we were almost panicky with nervous energy and anticipation. It didn't help that we had an extra week and a half to get up-tight about the whole thing.
This time, J met me at the door and told me that there were still some boxes to be unpacked in the upstairs bedroom, and she was going to work with K on setting up the baby's room some more. About to have a baby, ho hum.
I went out for some hospital supplies that evening--we remembered what the food was like from last time--and J finished packing the hospital bag that we were going to get around to once we'd finished moving in. The contractions started coming, and I'm afraid to say that she didn't get much sleep that night. I slept like a rock. She woke me up at 6 AM, and said it was time to go.
That was about the lowest point for her, I think. The contractions were still pretty irregular, but they were lasting a long time and she was in considerable "discomfort." I told her repeatedly that she could swear if she needed to, but she didn't bite. She did throw up, though. I threw on some jeans, made a pot of coffee downstairs, and rang the on-call doctor a few times. He never called back.
At 7 AM we gave up on waiting for the on-call doctor and drove to the hospital. We drove to the wrong hospital, actually. What exactly led us to Highland Hospital instead of Strong varies depending on who you ask. My version of events (the true version) is only available by private request, because J just did me a pretty significant favor by birthing me a son. The other version (which is kind of like a tall tale or a fable) involves me not looking up directions carefully enough.
Anyway, we arrived at Strong a few minutes later and J was wheeled up to triage while I parked the car. When we did this with James we were completely lost in the hospital maze before we found our way up to where we were going. This time I knew exactly which back staircase would take me where I wanted to go, and I asked the coffee shop what varieties they had out, since I'd be back down in a bit.
Perhaps the biggest scare of the morning was when we found out that J might be too far along already to receive an epidural. Fortunately, the anesthesiologist (everyone's favorite person) squeezed us in, and then J felt a lot better. It was about 9:00 when J turned over comfortably onto her side and I collapsed in the big armchair beside her.
"You know, I'd be on the road to rehearsal right now if this was a normal day."
"I'd be getting James ready to go to a sitter, because I'd have work this afternoon."
"We'd probably be making lists of things that need to be unpacked and projects around the house."
"You'd have lessons?"
"Probably. And I'd need to practice too."
"This is much more relaxing."
"And we can say his name now. Owen, Owen, Owen."
"Have you decided on a middle name yet?"
"I want to get a look at him before I decide for sure."
And that was how we had the most relaxing morning we'd shared together in many weeks. We had no mortgage paperwork to fill out, no boxes to pack, no three-year old to look after, and no rehearsals to attend. We talked about the World Series and some folks from church. It was really pretty nice.
The actual birth part went pretty smoothly too. Unlike James (not that I'll be comparing Owen to James throughout their childhoods) there was no perceived risk of meconium (which I pronounced "merconium" several times before I heard the correct pronunciation) for this delivery, so there were fewer doctors and attendants in the room. The pushing lasted less than fifteen minutes, and I didn't pass out this time.
At 12:06 on October 30th, much earlier than expected but very welcome nonetheless, Owen came into the world. He mewed a little bit, and the doctor asked me whether we had a name. I was tearing up, and had to take a minute. "Owen Nicholas!" I said.
They laid him on J's chest and cleaned him off--he was rather cheesy--and we gazed at our new son. He looks just like his big brother in so many ways, but now we have a baby again. We have a baby that stays still for photos and wants to be held, and doesn't talk, and is helpless in nearly every way. It's hard to believe that James was ever so tiny...and I suppose the lesson is that baby Owen won't be tiny for too long.
J was great. I'd like to think that we both did a lot better this time around, but she was definitely a champ about the whole process. She's convalescing nicely with the help of her Mom, and we're trying to acclimate the brothers to each other. (More on that to come later, of course.)
I think that when I remember back on that week years from now and think about how we moved into our first house and had a baby within a single week, I'll think about how nuts we were and how crazy it all must have felt. But actually, baby Owen, when you came into the world, it was a pretty peaceful, beautiful morning.
I circled up to the fourth or fifth level of the parking garage and parked the car. As I was pulling my trumpets out of the backseat I felt my phone buzzing. Pulling it out of my pocket, I saw that it was J.
"Hi, what's up?"
"My water just broke."
I stood still in the garage for a second. The baby wasn't due for almost another two WEEKS. And that was just the due date...James didn't come for another ten days after that.
"I'm not in labor yet, but I think this baby is coming in the next twenty four hours."
"Do we need to go into the hospital?"
"I'm not sure yet, I'll call in."
"Okay, I'm going to let somebody know I won't be at rehearsal."
I flagged down the personnel manager, got myself excused, and drove home. J met me at the door looking fairly calm, all things considered, and we were shortly joined by our sister in law K. When James was born--and I'm going to try to treat Owen as his own person as much as I can throughout his growing up years, and avoid constantly comparing him to James--when James was born, we were almost panicky with nervous energy and anticipation. It didn't help that we had an extra week and a half to get up-tight about the whole thing.
This time, J met me at the door and told me that there were still some boxes to be unpacked in the upstairs bedroom, and she was going to work with K on setting up the baby's room some more. About to have a baby, ho hum.
I went out for some hospital supplies that evening--we remembered what the food was like from last time--and J finished packing the hospital bag that we were going to get around to once we'd finished moving in. The contractions started coming, and I'm afraid to say that she didn't get much sleep that night. I slept like a rock. She woke me up at 6 AM, and said it was time to go.
That was about the lowest point for her, I think. The contractions were still pretty irregular, but they were lasting a long time and she was in considerable "discomfort." I told her repeatedly that she could swear if she needed to, but she didn't bite. She did throw up, though. I threw on some jeans, made a pot of coffee downstairs, and rang the on-call doctor a few times. He never called back.
At 7 AM we gave up on waiting for the on-call doctor and drove to the hospital. We drove to the wrong hospital, actually. What exactly led us to Highland Hospital instead of Strong varies depending on who you ask. My version of events (the true version) is only available by private request, because J just did me a pretty significant favor by birthing me a son. The other version (which is kind of like a tall tale or a fable) involves me not looking up directions carefully enough.
Anyway, we arrived at Strong a few minutes later and J was wheeled up to triage while I parked the car. When we did this with James we were completely lost in the hospital maze before we found our way up to where we were going. This time I knew exactly which back staircase would take me where I wanted to go, and I asked the coffee shop what varieties they had out, since I'd be back down in a bit.
Perhaps the biggest scare of the morning was when we found out that J might be too far along already to receive an epidural. Fortunately, the anesthesiologist (everyone's favorite person) squeezed us in, and then J felt a lot better. It was about 9:00 when J turned over comfortably onto her side and I collapsed in the big armchair beside her.
"You know, I'd be on the road to rehearsal right now if this was a normal day."
"I'd be getting James ready to go to a sitter, because I'd have work this afternoon."
"We'd probably be making lists of things that need to be unpacked and projects around the house."
"You'd have lessons?"
"Probably. And I'd need to practice too."
"This is much more relaxing."
"And we can say his name now. Owen, Owen, Owen."
"Have you decided on a middle name yet?"
"I want to get a look at him before I decide for sure."
And that was how we had the most relaxing morning we'd shared together in many weeks. We had no mortgage paperwork to fill out, no boxes to pack, no three-year old to look after, and no rehearsals to attend. We talked about the World Series and some folks from church. It was really pretty nice.
The actual birth part went pretty smoothly too. Unlike James (not that I'll be comparing Owen to James throughout their childhoods) there was no perceived risk of meconium (which I pronounced "merconium" several times before I heard the correct pronunciation) for this delivery, so there were fewer doctors and attendants in the room. The pushing lasted less than fifteen minutes, and I didn't pass out this time.
At 12:06 on October 30th, much earlier than expected but very welcome nonetheless, Owen came into the world. He mewed a little bit, and the doctor asked me whether we had a name. I was tearing up, and had to take a minute. "Owen Nicholas!" I said.
They laid him on J's chest and cleaned him off--he was rather cheesy--and we gazed at our new son. He looks just like his big brother in so many ways, but now we have a baby again. We have a baby that stays still for photos and wants to be held, and doesn't talk, and is helpless in nearly every way. It's hard to believe that James was ever so tiny...and I suppose the lesson is that baby Owen won't be tiny for too long.
J was great. I'd like to think that we both did a lot better this time around, but she was definitely a champ about the whole process. She's convalescing nicely with the help of her Mom, and we're trying to acclimate the brothers to each other. (More on that to come later, of course.)
I think that when I remember back on that week years from now and think about how we moved into our first house and had a baby within a single week, I'll think about how nuts we were and how crazy it all must have felt. But actually, baby Owen, when you came into the world, it was a pretty peaceful, beautiful morning.
Tuesday, October 28, 2014
The Best of the New
About this time last year I wrote about how much we were loving our new apartment in Brighton/Pittsford on a beautiful fall morning when we took a walk down to Barnes and Noble. It was on that very trip that we bought George, who is now a year old. (Sorry we missed your birthday, George.)
There's a lot to love about our new house, one year later. I love the smell of the brand new carpet, which we weren't expecting to put in, but which has drastically improved the odor of the downstairs. I don't think you could tell a cat ever lived in this house now, unless you are in one particular corner of the basement.
I love having our own laundry machine downstairs, and not needing to worry about sharing it with the neighbors.
I love going to Home Depot, and knowing that whatever it is we need to pick up is for us and our home, not something we need to haggle about with a landlord.
I love the playground across the street. It has a rock wall (apparently James can climb rock walls), a couple of big slides, and most importantly, a baseball diamond. We went over there for the first time on Sunday night, and as soon as I showed James where the baseball diamond was he took off running the bases...and he didn't stop until I told him we could come back the following day and run them some more. (Maybe I should let him stay up and watch a game of the World Series this week.)
I love gorgeous hardwood floors, and enough storage space in the garage and basement to put our boxes of stuff somewhere out of sight.
Most of all, I love what I'm going to be able to do when James goes to bed tonight...practice in my very own basement without needing to drive to a church or a hall.
J looks pretty pleased as well. She got back yesterday from a checkup with a 3D ultrasound of the new baby. It's really a baby in there, with little fingers and toes and a face. A face that looks EXACTLY like his big brother's. ("It's 'nother one James!")
So right now I'm waiting out a funeral in the sanctuary where I teach lessons in Lima...and once I'm done teaching I can't wait to go home!
There's a lot to love about our new house, one year later. I love the smell of the brand new carpet, which we weren't expecting to put in, but which has drastically improved the odor of the downstairs. I don't think you could tell a cat ever lived in this house now, unless you are in one particular corner of the basement.
I love having our own laundry machine downstairs, and not needing to worry about sharing it with the neighbors.
I love going to Home Depot, and knowing that whatever it is we need to pick up is for us and our home, not something we need to haggle about with a landlord.
I love the playground across the street. It has a rock wall (apparently James can climb rock walls), a couple of big slides, and most importantly, a baseball diamond. We went over there for the first time on Sunday night, and as soon as I showed James where the baseball diamond was he took off running the bases...and he didn't stop until I told him we could come back the following day and run them some more. (Maybe I should let him stay up and watch a game of the World Series this week.)
I love gorgeous hardwood floors, and enough storage space in the garage and basement to put our boxes of stuff somewhere out of sight.
Most of all, I love what I'm going to be able to do when James goes to bed tonight...practice in my very own basement without needing to drive to a church or a hall.
J looks pretty pleased as well. She got back yesterday from a checkup with a 3D ultrasound of the new baby. It's really a baby in there, with little fingers and toes and a face. A face that looks EXACTLY like his big brother's. ("It's 'nother one James!")
So right now I'm waiting out a funeral in the sanctuary where I teach lessons in Lima...and once I'm done teaching I can't wait to go home!
Saturday, October 25, 2014
Brass or Woodwind?
Every week I ride in a carpool of orchestra musicians from Rochester to Syracuse. Usually the carpool is comprised of brass players, but sometimes there are woodwind players that ride along. Listed below are verbatim quotes from the trip. Test your instrument personality recognition skills to see if you can tell whether a woodwind player or a brass player is responsible for the quote.
"Oh, you eat before you play? I could never blow that into my instrument!"
"Is Ben David asleep? Let's see if we can put this cowboy hat on his head without him waking up..."
"I'm a little worried about the temperature of my instrument, so I think I'll keep it here in the car with me."
"So I bumped into Lisa at a concert the other day, and she mentioned how she had your leiderhosen in her trunk, and I thought, 'gee, I should probably pick those up for you.'"
"You know, when I finished my theory degree, such-and-such a professor gave me a hug as I walked across the stage and it just made me cry."
"I would volunteer to pat you on the hiney, but I don't think your wife would be thrilled about that."
"I'll go as fast as I can, but it takes me a little longer to pack up my instrument than it does for you.
"Laserhosen, I mean leiderhosen. Wait, laser-hosen would be even better. Pew-pew, pew-pew!"
"Would you guys like to come over to my house between rehearsals and watch a foreign film?"
"Nah, we'll just ignore everything she does on the podium and play loud in the concert."
"I try not to eat too many of those cookies they put out at the break. I'm on a diet."
"Is Ben David still asleep? Let's see if we can put this baseball cap on top of the cowboy hat!"'
"I had a really bad reed for that whole first half."
"My beard feels funny today."
"I don't do much during Jurassic Park. I just play whole notes."
"I think the dress is concert black. Semi-formal concert black, casual top. Except the bass trombone is concert plaid."
"Oh, you eat before you play? I could never blow that into my instrument!"
"Is Ben David asleep? Let's see if we can put this cowboy hat on his head without him waking up..."
"I'm a little worried about the temperature of my instrument, so I think I'll keep it here in the car with me."
"So I bumped into Lisa at a concert the other day, and she mentioned how she had your leiderhosen in her trunk, and I thought, 'gee, I should probably pick those up for you.'"
"I would volunteer to pat you on the hiney, but I don't think your wife would be thrilled about that."
"I'll go as fast as I can, but it takes me a little longer to pack up my instrument than it does for you.
"Laserhosen, I mean leiderhosen. Wait, laser-hosen would be even better. Pew-pew, pew-pew!"
"Would you guys like to come over to my house between rehearsals and watch a foreign film?"
"Nah, we'll just ignore everything she does on the podium and play loud in the concert."
"I try not to eat too many of those cookies they put out at the break. I'm on a diet."
"Is Ben David still asleep? Let's see if we can put this baseball cap on top of the cowboy hat!"'
"I had a really bad reed for that whole first half."
"My beard feels funny today."
"I don't do much during Jurassic Park. I just play whole notes."
"I think the dress is concert black. Semi-formal concert black, casual top. Except the bass trombone is concert plaid."
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)