O Tannenbaum

We had three things to do today.

J had to teach a lesson at home, I had to teach two lessons at H---n, and we needed to pick up a Christmas tree. It was going to be a low-stress sort of Friday.

We've been playing up the Christmas tree thing quite a bit over the last few weeks for James, and he's finally been getting into it. He visited Alexa the other week, and she has a Christmas tree up at her house. When I picked James up I asked her if she had set up the tree with her Mommy and Daddy.

"No," she whispered "Santa."

Alexa has the most baleful deep brown eyes that have ever appeared on a child, and I think that for a second I believed her.

We loaded James into the Neon carseat and scraped the car off. This is not as easy as it sounds. First of all, the Neon is small car, and James is very heavy. Whenever you put him in the carseat, you have to hold a wriggling thirty pound bundle while stooping over and trying not to bonk either of your heads, and since it's been snowy out he usually gets you both soaked in the process. He also has developed a great love for brushing/scraping snow off the car, and he is deeply upset when you don't let him take part in the process. (I promised him that when he's a teenager he can scrape my car off every morning, but he doesn't want to wait that long.) So, I put him in his carseat while he wiggled and shouted and kicked snow all over me, and then scraped off the Neon and also scraped off the PT Cruiser, which we needed to drop off for some tire service.

That part of the trip went fine--it was starting to snow pretty heavily and traffic was bad, but the tire place is just down the street from us, as is Mt. Wegmans, which was our second stop. We picked up lights and ribbons for our tree--James, won't decorating the tree be fun?--and said hello to the train as we puttered around in our race-car shopping cart. He dropped George in the muddy parking lot on the way out, so George now has a filthy stain on his face as well as backside and paws. (Separate incidents.)

I loaded James into the car (and got us both soaked) again, and we drove to the P---d Farms Dairy, where a Christmas tree vendor was selling trees, stands, and festive woodcarvings. It bothered me to be purchasing a Christmas tree from someplace other than Hu-Lane Farm, where my grandparents have sold Christmas trees my entire life. I spent many winter breaks working there for them, helping to bale and load the trees or to clean the Christmas shop. More than anything else, the smell of wreaths and cinnamon bread in the front of their barn evokes the Christmas spirit for me. My cousin K has taken over the operation starting this year, but between the bad weather setting in and a hectic orchestra schedule next week, we agreed that there was no way we could make it all the way out to Albion and back to keep our Christmas purchase in the family.

We arrived at the Dairy and unloaded James into the snow. There was a dog and two cows outside, so he was immediately pleased. I looked at the prices on the Christmas trees, and was not. The cheapest trees were $65, and the tree stands would cost another $40 on top of that. Also, there was a big "cash or check only" sign up front. We had maybe $50 between the two of us. I asked whether there was an ATM in the dairy, and there wasn't. J and I huddled and talked through our options, and James began to cry as he suddenly realized how cold he was. We went into the dairy and used my phone to look up other sellers. There was a Boy Scout stand 20 min south of us in H--e Falls which I knew sold cheaper trees, and we decided to try our luck there.

J bought a latte while James ran around the Dairy and tried to touch all of the pies, and we received news that J's student had cancelled. "All we need to do is get this tree, and then I'll be done for the day!" she told me.

I picked up the snowy wriggling bundle and loaded him into the car again. The snowfall had turned from heavy to very heavy, and the rural roads to H---e Falls were completely coated with no signs of a plow. I could feel us slipping on the snow and ice, and J asked if I wanted to turn back.

"No," I said "We've worked all morning to get this blasted tree, and we're going to bring one back with us and have fun doing it!"

James was decidedly not having fun at this point. He wasn't crying, but we heard a lot of whining from the backseat as I crawled along in the snow and tried to keep my windshield clean and some sense of where the yellow lines might be.

When we finally arrived at the tree stand James immediately spotted a playground on the other side of the square. He was begging and reaching for it before we'd even unbuckled him. J told him maybe we could visit the playground and say hello once we'd picked up a tree? "Don't you want to help Daddy pick out a tree?" she asked. James just pointed to the playground and made more beggy whines. There was no one at the tree stand, but someone put up a big sign that read "Weekday shoppers please leave payment in the drop box outside the Scouthouse." The prices were much better, and in no time I'd found a suitable tree to load into the trunk of our car.

I threw it over my shoulder, and (proudly remembering the tree-hauling days of my youth) carried it back to our car where I was promptly informed that I would have to return it and select another. So, I threw it back over my shoulder and put it back where it came from, then found another tree and took it back to the car. (Have I mentioned that we were parked rather far away--the fond recollection of doing this when I was younger wore off very quickly.)

Meanwhile, J had attempted to take James over to the playground to "say hello"--this is Momspeak for "not actually play on any of the playground equipment since it is covered in snow" and they didn't even make it all the way over before James completely melted down. It was snowing so hard that they were both coated, and James was sobbing enormous two-year old tears. She loaded him into his carseat--and got soaked--and then we set about trying to load the tree in the car.

We opened the trunk and discovered it was full, of course. <2 year old screaming> There was a huge black trash bag filled with clothes we'd intended to take to Salvation Army, as well as a roadside kit and a box full of miscellaneous auto junk. I moved the trash bag to the backseat next to James <2 year old screaming>, which ripped in several places while I moved it, and he immediately protested it being next to him. We collapsed part of the backseat to slide the tree through, and pushed it as far into the car as it would go...and there was no way that the trunk would shut. <2 year old still screaming>

We both began digging for something to tie down the trunk, and I eventually found something small and elastic in the salvation army bag of clothes. The wind was blowing, the snow was everywhere, James was still screaming, and when J found that I was trying to use a thong to tie down the trunk she immediately yanked it away and put it in her coat pocket. I walked back up to the tree stand and rooted around in the muddy snow until I'd found a length of baler twine--we really could have thought some of this through ahead of time--and then came back to the car, where James was still screaming and I managed to tie down the trunk.

J had started the car and blasted the heat for James, who was still screaming. I walked over the scouthouse with forty dollars and found no evidence that there was or ever had been a drop box there. And that was how we stole our Christmas tree.

Eventually we got home and brought the tree upstairs, where it is currently leaning against a wall, since we forgot to buy a tree stand. James eventually stopped crying on the way back, and seemed to feel a lot better after he had a grilled cheese sandwich and some juice. I felt very good about getting the tree inside, even though it isn't set up, and after I left a message for the Boy Scouts inquiring how I might pay them, I went back out to close the trunk and discovered that the latch was broken, requiring a call to the locksmith. J, as far as I know, still has a thong in her coat pocket.

And that is the story of the 2013 Christmas tree.

UPDATE:
A locksmith repaired the back of the car, and I went to teach at Hochstein. I told J I'd pick up a tree stand on the way back. I went to the P---d Plaza and struck out at Rite Aid, Michaels, Bed Bath and Beyond, TJ Maxx, and Wegmans before giving up and coming home. The tree is still tied up and lying in the corner of our apartment. If we think we can survive it, we'll make another attempt to go out and find a stand tomorrow. Also, here is a picture of James on the trip back:

Thank You

Well, it's now been over a month since I've blogged, and it's time to say what I always say when I come back from a long hiatus--thank you.

Thank you to all of you who celebrated James' second birthday with us. A nasty cold notwithstanding, he's had an awesome 48 hours playing with all of his new toys, and he definitely knows he's been showered with attention and love. He loves his family so much, and it's been fun to watch him make some genuine "buddies" over the past year. Not just his stuffed animals, either--I think he's completely in love with Alexa Hamway. And her vacuum cleaner.

Thank you to all of you who have watched James at some point over the last month. We've been figuring out our new weekly rhythm in Pittsford, and we like it. It definitely requires more childcare than we used to need, and we are so thankful to those of you who have helped us out. We know that he can be tiring and that it can be an inconvenience to you. We are so thankful that you are around. Thank you Calvin, for listening to him practice drums on Wednesday evenings, thank you Kylie for lighting every candle in your house, thank you Lucas for spending the night on our couch, thank you Mom and Dad and everyone who have loved on him.

Thank you especially to Mom and Dad for hosting a birthday party for James last Sunday. Thanks for getting the food ready, for cleaning up, for entertaining a dozen people, and for celebrating that little bear with us.

And thank you to J, for being a great mom and a great wife. Your son loves you so much--I love to see him light up when he interacts with you, and I even love it when he howls for you instead of me when it's my turn to rub his back during a sick night. The last two years have been spectacular. And you look amazing in those new jeans. Holy cow.

Okay, more fun blogging coming up shortly. We finally moved our desk upstairs, so I have a writing surface again. This week's homework is to send me topical ideas or verses for LCS devotions on Dec. 4th. The name of the game is to be interesting without being so provocative that I get fired.

And now, get ye hence, for Shakespeare night approacheth.

A Good Morning

This morning was one of those beautiful half-days that I hope I'll remember twenty years from now. Outside it was crisp and bordering on downright cold, and James woke up on the wrong side of the bed. I got him up out of his crib at 7:45, he and his "entourage." His entourage is Steven, New Steven, and the stuffed monkey we've been calling George. James has fallen in love with the Curious George books, and so he loves anything monkey-related. He wants to wear monkey pajamas, make monkey sounds, and most of all to read "Curious George and the Birthday Surprise" about thirty five times a day.

"George" doesn't look much like Curious George from the books--he's too light, and the proportions are all wrong--but James felt it was important to have a monkey in his retinue, and insisted that we call him George. We visited the Pittsford Library last week, and in their splendid children's section there were two very authentic Curious George monkeys, along with about a hundred Curious George books. James toted the two library Georges around for an hour, and it was only with the greatest reluctance that we put them back on the shelves for the other library patrons to sneeze on. Our substitute George didn't seem as nice after that.

James' friend Alexa happens to own the exact same authentic George, and she brought it with her when we had a playdate at RWC the other day. Needless to say, James was the designated George-carrier all morning, and there were many tears at their parting. He howled and fussed and complained when we gave George back to Alexa.

I could tell right away that this morning was going to be a rough morning. He wasn't interested in his brand new Thomas the Train shirt. He tried to spill his cereal on purpose, he only wanted to beg for television and iPad time, and he fussed at anything that didn't go his way immediately. When he declined my offer to take him outside I wondered if he might be getting sick. "I think we need to strap him down in the stroller and take a long walk."

 "You know" said J "they sell the real G-E-O-R-G-E at Barnes and Noble."

And that was how we went outside. The sun was bright, the cold wind was behind us, and the leaves skittered across the sidewalks and crunched under our feet. We walked past Mt. Wegmans, circled round the grand plaza, and smelled the cinnamon brooms and pumpkin displays outside. We bought coffee beans and quinoa at Trader Joes, picked up hot drinks and Finger Lakes Coffee Roasters, and poked inside various shops. Then we went to the Barnes and Noble, and James set up camp with substitute George by the Thomas the Train toys. ("Dada, look, I have Thomas on my shirt!")

I browsed the children's books and thumbed through copies of Blueberries for Sal and The Mitten. We replaced our half destroyed copy of Chika-Chika-Boom-Boom, and debated whether or not to let him know we would by an authentic George. He found them on his own before we could decide, and attempted to carry off five at once. To his great surprise we told him he could take one, and he snuggled it tight as we made our traditional exit. (Go to the checkout counter via seven trips up and down the escalators.)

He wouldn't let go of the new George, and I had to hold him up on the counter, snuggling him tight, while the cashier scanned his tag. He snuggled new George (and old George) in the stroller in the face of the wind as we walked back home, and when we got back home he insisted on taking new George, old George, new Steven, and old Steven everywhere he went for the rest of the day. J pointed out that if we have another boy at some point he'll probably expect us to name him "new James."

He's been a completely delighted and delightful little boy ever since. I told J, "he knows this is the real George...George with a capital G."

"I think you mean George with a capital 'TM'."

Exodus, Chapter II

And it came then that the summer days ended and the time of harvest was begun, and in the ninth month R. Dudlius gathered his wife and her all her possessions and his son and all his possessions, and they made journey eastward beyond past the great city and its river unto the slopes of Mt. Wegmans, and they made their dwelling there in a new home which was strange unto them and unknown.

And on the day they made their journey they were joined by men of stout hands, including Thomas, son of Richard, the father of R. Dudlius and the grandfather of James Bear. Also with him did he bring his other strong sons, the minstrel Pax and the priest Calvus. Even up from the southern lands came the mother of fair Julie, in a journey not made lightly. Yet there was burdensome toil to be wrought, and in no wise was even their strength together equal to the labor. And then came also goodly William the Engineer, who had fit conveyance for such work and was much skilled in its accomplishment. And then also came the flute-girl Cassandra, and goodly Joseph, the father of Alexa.

On the twentieth day of the ninth month did R. Dudlius and his wife and his son strike their dwelling and move all their possessions, and there were exceeding many, even more than they had counted in their careful reckoning. So many were there indeed, that their conveyance was overbrimmed and could only be moved by the strength of its subtle engine. Among their possessions numbered many fine clothes, garments and undergarments and coats to be worn in cold of the northern-lands. There were also many fine costumes of such sort as the musicians should wear, yet the odor of these was no longer pleasant. There was also woodcraft for sturdy chairs and tables, and of these some were fine and carved well, but some also were rude and made by unskilled hands. There were in those days many boxes heavy laden with books. And in those lands books are contrived with light expense, and even the basest laborer might buy many books for himself to little cost. Yet these books are full of idle tales and nonsense, and it would not profit a man to read the books of that land, for they have no poets or wise men and such as they have pay no thought to the words they write in books. Yet R. Dudlius had among his books several dozen in the olden tongues, and even among these was he urged to lock them away in hidden places, for their appearance was in no way sightly to the eye. And also among the possessions of R. Dudlius and his wife and his son were devices made by strange craft for to be used with foods, and in that land also a base laborer might keep his own kitchen without cook or servant. There were also musical instruments of great beauty and value, and fine things for the small James Bear--pictures and skin-balls and doll animals and wheel-shod toys. And all these did R. Dudlius and his father and his brothers and his friends carry by the strength of their arms. And when all was finished the sun had descended and the night had grown cold, yet they took strong refreshment of ale for the toil of their work.

And thus was the manner of their new dwelling. It an hour's walk from the home of Calvus the priest, though many wide roads lay between upon which mighty engines passed through the day and through the night. And there was beside one of these roads a circuit of buildings which enclosed a green courtyard. And this courtyard was much loved by James Bear, for in it he would take refreshment and hunt the squirrels which made their home in its trees, and he would also stand in the gazebos and give mighty shouts, for he considered himself as a great knight in the order of Sir Thopas. And there was entrance from this courtyard to a wooden house with six dwellings, and R. Dudlius made his dwelling at the top of steep stairs. Their dwelling was not according to their usual custom, for all the inside was much-bathed and clean from all dirt and defilement. This was pleasing to the wife of R. Dudlius, but most pleasing of all to her was the sorcerous device by which she would wash her kitchen vessels without basin water or the toil of her hands. On this device she was much overjoyed.

And it came one day that R. Dudlius and his wife and his son made visit to the house of Hamway, where dwelled their friend Joseph and his wife and son, and their maiden daughter Alexa. And when Alexa beheld James Bear she was smitten with the sting of love, and she desired much to embrace him and be embraced. Yet after the manner of Pan and the nymph Syrinx or Apollo and the river-maiden Daphne did Love cheat the maiden Alexa. For James Bear in no way desired her love, but wished only to disport himself with thundering engine which they call "vakyum" in their tongue. And Alexa burned with love, and entreated James Bear that he might hold her hand or embrace her and offer kisses, but he only looked upon his vakyum and paid her no heed. And even when the maiden Alexa seized him and made attempt to kiss his brow, even then would James Bear, son of R. Dudlius, not look upon her, but was only minded to hold his vakyum.

Program Notes

Last night was the Symph--a opening gala concert, featuring four works by Russian composers. The evening started with

Festive Overture by Dmitri Shostakovich

Shostakovich was the foremost Soviet composer of his generation and is especially remarkable for his powers of survival. He was the only major composer (besides Haydn) in the western canon to survive beyond his ninth symphony and also managed to escape Siberian exile despite several dissident works while living in the USSR. Festive Overture was written in 1921 or 1943, or possibly sometime in between, to celebrate all four days of Russian summer. The work starts with a three trumpet fanfare, which is a much more explicit way of letting the audience knowing that the concert has started than low and rumbly bass notes. Following more blaring and banging the strings take over with the presto theme--a word which here means "a tempo at which the musicians cannot turn the pages fast enough to put their instruments back up without being late for the next entrance." The tune is repeated with syncopated offbeats in the brass as they attempt to catch up and culminating in a grand tutti statement of the melody. The initial fanfare comes back at the end, but usually by this point the winds and brass are too tired to play it.

Violin Concerto in D by Peter Ilyich Tchaikovsky

The Tchaikovsky Violin Concerto is one of the great works of the romantic era and a special favorite of conservatory violinsts, each of whom is convinced that he he or she will soon be a famous international soloist, but willing (if they must) to temporarily serve as concertmaster of a top-5 orchestra in order to pay the bills while their solo career takes off. Each of these budding soloists puts this concerto on their junior recital jury and plays it slightly under tempo (that pesky third movement is so difficult!) with a tired looking accompanist. The work starts with a movement in sonata allegro form and features a celebrated cadenza which is not quite long enough for the timpanist to get in a full hand of poker with the third and fourth horns. The second movement is a canzonetta--an Italian word which means "little canzon"--and since the brass tacet, we will speak of it no longer except to mention that it transitions attacca into the third movement, and anyone in the back row that was playing on their phone usually misses the first few notes. The last movement is a rondo, a form in which an "A" theme is repeated between statements of other themes, meaning that every time the audience thinks they'll finally be free to clap and visit the lavatory that darn melody comes back in and reminds them that they have at least another 32 bars to go.

The Nocturne by Borodin

is strings only, and mostly gives time to the percussion section to finish their smoke break before the Stravinsky starts.

The Firebird Suite by Igor Stravinsky

The Firebird was originally an opera composed in 1911, and the suite highlights the musical episodes of the famous Russian fairytale. A wondrous bird of fire is captured by the heroic Prince Ivan, who wins a princess, bewitches the subjects of the evil King Katschei in an infernal dance, and then heals the basilisk wound on Harry's harm and flies him to safety with Ginny and Professor Lockhart. The opening music features lots of low notes in exceptionally tiny print, and then then it looks as if someone vomited thirty second notes all over the parts in the woodwind section. The Round Dance of the princesses lulls the audience to sleep, and then the opening "shock note" of the Infernal Dance makes Haydn's Surprise Symphony seem like a mild wheeze in comparison. A particular favorite of conductor James Smith is the Berceuse and Finale, which I know "berceuse" he listens to it several times a day. The brilliant ending is written in an odd 7/4 time signature, which means that no one in the back row actually counts it, but they just wait and hope that the conductor remembers to point at them in the right spots.

iOS7

The new iOS7 has advanced multitasking, an updated interface, and multiple usability improvements.

J and I spent the last half hour making Siri say "boobs."

Week 2 Bills Game vs. Birthday Party for a 2 year old

I went to the stunning Buffalo triumph over the dastardly Panthers last Sunday, and today I spent three hours at a birthday party for James’ friend Alexa. After both events I was tired, hoarse, and a little over-full of junk food. Here are some other things that happened at both events:

Keeping unbalanced people from crashing into you, other people, and furniture

At the birthday party, it was about fifteen toddlers who were running as fast as they could and screaming. Oftentimes they would not look where they were running and stumble over stray toys or other toddlers. (It was hard even for the adults to move anywhere without stepping on one.)

At the game, it was a procession of drunk people who swayed unsteadily and then crashed into you awkwardly, thereby giving you an intimate idea of their personal odor as they either processed out of the aisles towards the bathroom or back into the seats holding even more beer.

Loud denunciation of authority figures

At the birthday party each toddler felt obliged to assert to his or her own parents that they were in NO WAY going to do whatever it was that that particular parent had asked them to do, unless the parent had requested that they stop doing something, in which case the toddler would should that they absolutely WOULD continue to do that thing.

At the football game the fans in our section kept up a steady stream of advice to and criticism of the coaching staff, informing them in the most colorful language that they ought to be calling more passes than runs, unless there were consecutive incompletions, in which case they would wonder in amazement why the coach didn’t just “run the expletive ball.”

Odors

At the birthday party, it was unmistakable aroma of soiled diapers, though there was no way to tell from which particular child it might be emanating. At first the parents attempted to corral their own children long enough to check their backsides, but a general surrender to mob rule was made about halfway through the party.

At the football game, it was a mix of beer, nacho cheese, and a long phalanx of porta-johns outside the parking lot. Woe betide the poor souls who waited in line for their use—I don’t see any way in which the aftermath of their usage didn’t require the burning of clothes and a chemical shower.

Merchandising

At the birthday party Curious George was the unchallenged sponsor of the day. He appeared on the plates, the napkins, the favors, and the tablecloth. The birthday girl herself wore a Curious George outfit, and his dominance of the day was shared only with Barbie and Dora. He inspired great reverence, even among the three-foot savages.

At the football game the charging buffalo (and the throwback standing buffalo) were sponsored by a number of companies, including Tim Hortons, Subway, Carruba Collision, and the-attorneys-who-shall-not-be-named. Above all, the Bills logo inspired great reverence, even among the six-foot savages.

Overbold assurance of future success

At the birthday party each child who was not granted immediate access to his or desired toy made their case to the nearest adult that whoever was using the desired toy was not doing it right, or that they could do it much better. There was no shortage of self-praise.

At the game the phrase “15-1, baby!” was heard multiple times while exiting the parking lot.

Removal of unwanted clothing

At the birthday party the young ladies made numerous wardrobe changes and more than one young man shed a sweater or shoe without looking ever looking back toward it.

At the game I turned to Pax as I saw a shirtless man being escorted out by security and said “Looks like that guy’s getting kicked out.” And he said “I don’t think that’s a guy…”

Haphazard disposal of waste

At the party—which was hosted at the impeccably clean home of our friends, the Hamways—there were used napkins and plates strewn everywhere, pizza crusts and strawberry stems lying in the driveway, balls of every size lying in the yard, toys cars turned on their sides and entire diaper bags overturned.

At the game there were empty beer bottles, cans, and cups everywhere one looked, smushed slices of dropped pizza, confettied programs, human refuse that might have been vomit, and human refuse that might have been even worse.

Unwieldy traffic

At the game there were tens of thousands of vehicles piling into six main parking lots and hundreds of unofficial parking spaces. There were ambulances, mounted police, busses, golf carts, and pedestrian traffic pouring through the streets.

At the party there were two toy cars, two trikes, a toy slide, and a ball pit. There was no mercy.

Group singing

At the game, there was the famous Shout! song whenever the Bills kicked a field goal or scored a touchdown, followed of course by Sweet Caroline at the close of the game.

At the party, there was Happy Birthday, the solemnity of which was somewhat offset by our practice of singing it every time we read Curious George and the Birthday Surprise—therefore, nearly a dozen times a day.

A moment of inexpressible joy leading to the wild embrace of total strangers

At the Bills game, there was an improbable defensive stop with less than two minutes to play, then a masterfully engineered 80 yard drive with no timeouts by a rookie quarterback in his second game that nearly ended in a disaster but was resuscitated by a pass interference penalty, culminating in a scramble to the 3 yard line and a game winning touchdown pass to Stevie Johnson with just six seconds left! Then ensued wild applause, the hugging of strangers, and chanting of the quarterback’s name.

At the party there was a cake with a picture of Curious George on it!