Friday, August 19, 2016
William James
"A great nation is not saved by wars...it is saved by acts without external picturesqueness: by speaking, writing, voting reasonably; by smiting corruption swiftly; by good temper between parties; by the people knowing true men when they see them, and preferring them as leaders to rabid partisans or empty quacks."
Quick Hitters
There's quite a bit to catch up on, since we've been away for so much of July and August, and I'm afraid that most of my thoughts for the past few days have been in "to-do" list style rather than in any kind of exposition or narrative. The good news, however, is that "to-dos" are getting big checkmarks beside them and the lists are getting shorter.
-The yard doesn't need to be mowed, but the weeds do. I don't think the grass grew at all over the two-ish weeks that we were gone, but there are big shoots of plantain and prickles and Queen-Anne's-lace that have shot up all over the yard. The view from the library (where I'm sitting right now) is actually rather nice right now, since all of the hibiscuses are in bloom. But I need to mow, and James is going to keep on reminding me about it until it happens.
-Speaking of James, we've done lots of deliberate preparation for homeschool Kindergarten over the last few weeks. I say this as much for my own reminding as an explanation--Kindergarten doesn't need to be a big deal academically. In school he'd mostly be learning how to stand in lines and take turns with toys this year. It will be good for him to do some more directed reading and counting practice, but his formal schooling success does not hang on this year. For his part, he's resisting any and all mentions of "starting Kindergarten" in a few weeks. If we mention piano lessons or buying school supplies or making activity plans he buries his face in his hands and declares that he's "never going to Kindergarten." He acted like this a lot last year in the weeks leading up to his birthday, which apparently terrified him. (He was a much happier and more relaxed little child on November 22nd.) Right now we've decided not to mention it in front of him--when Kindergarten starts it isn't really going to change his life very much. He already spends lots of time reading each day, we'll just have a little bit more say in which books he gets out of the library. My hope is that he'll hardly notice when "the school year" officially begins. It's on his mind, though. Last night he (George) told J--"James doesn't need to go to Kindergarten...he already knows everything." (I think I heard my Mom laughing all the way from Albion.)
-I've been going back and doing some reading in old journals recently. This time two years ago we were looking at houses, and on this day we tried to look at a bank foreclosure that sits one street up and kitty corner from the houses we ended up with. We weren't able to get inside, because either the realtor had the wrong passcode or the electronic lock was malfunctioning. I don't think we would have wanted the property anyway. There were contractors coming in and out of the place for nearly a year after we bought our house, and when it finally sold it looked MUCH nicer...but I think there was more work to be done there than we'd even guessed. Last year J's parents were up staying with us, and we were in the midst of a renovation week. Her father was cutting bathroom tiles with a wet saw rental, and I was refinishing the iron railings on our front steps. We put in our new library light fixture that night, and apparently even had time to go to a Red Wings game. August 19th is going to be considerably less exciting this year than either of the two years prior, and that's fine with us.
-I think most people knew this already, but it has to be safe by now to announce that I'm going to be an adjunct faculty member at SUNY Fredonia this year. The estimated drive time is 1 h 51 m each way...it will be a lot of driving. But I only need to do it once a week, and I'll be glad to get my name in at such a well-respected school. I finished re-writing my studio syllabus yesterday, and have started to get messages from students. It is a little fun to take part in the back-to-school excitement again. (Maybe I should read some of their messages to James.)
-The first orchestra concert back after the summer off is always a little shocking. You don't realize until you're sitting in your chair in the back row quite how loud you play in the context of a full brass section until you're back there again. I've stayed in shape and kept up a practice routine throughout the summer, but it's been nice to stay away from "full-blast mode." It's nice when the first show of the year is something like "Joshua Bell playing the Beethoven violin concerto" or "Renee Fleming singing some Strauss songs." This year it's going to be an afternoon rehearsal and evening concert of "The Music of John Williams." I love playing John Williams...but this could be kind of painful.
-I restacked the firewood we keep for bonfires behind the garage. It's been nothing but a disorderly heap for about a month. James was racing his toy cars on it and dropped one behind. Apparently he's strong enough to move quite a bit of wood on his own, because he'd pulled firewood all over the back yard before finding the missing toy. (And then, of course, he left the mess.) Working with a big stack of wood (well, kind of big) in the backyard in late August reminded me vividly of the big delivery of stove-wood my parents would get every year. It would be fort-making season for a few days while we scrambled around on it and used it as a big playground, and then there would be a "stacking day" when the basement bilko doors would be opened and Dad would instruct us on carrying the pile down and stacking it for the winter. Being the oldest, I always had to make sure that I carried more pieces per load than anyone else. It seemed like a big job at the time, and more than anything else it indicated the coming change of seasons.
-Currently reading The Metaphysical Club--an examination of the ideas of Oliver Wendell Holmes, Jr., William James, Charles Peirce, and John Dewey.
-The yard doesn't need to be mowed, but the weeds do. I don't think the grass grew at all over the two-ish weeks that we were gone, but there are big shoots of plantain and prickles and Queen-Anne's-lace that have shot up all over the yard. The view from the library (where I'm sitting right now) is actually rather nice right now, since all of the hibiscuses are in bloom. But I need to mow, and James is going to keep on reminding me about it until it happens.
-Speaking of James, we've done lots of deliberate preparation for homeschool Kindergarten over the last few weeks. I say this as much for my own reminding as an explanation--Kindergarten doesn't need to be a big deal academically. In school he'd mostly be learning how to stand in lines and take turns with toys this year. It will be good for him to do some more directed reading and counting practice, but his formal schooling success does not hang on this year. For his part, he's resisting any and all mentions of "starting Kindergarten" in a few weeks. If we mention piano lessons or buying school supplies or making activity plans he buries his face in his hands and declares that he's "never going to Kindergarten." He acted like this a lot last year in the weeks leading up to his birthday, which apparently terrified him. (He was a much happier and more relaxed little child on November 22nd.) Right now we've decided not to mention it in front of him--when Kindergarten starts it isn't really going to change his life very much. He already spends lots of time reading each day, we'll just have a little bit more say in which books he gets out of the library. My hope is that he'll hardly notice when "the school year" officially begins. It's on his mind, though. Last night he (George) told J--"James doesn't need to go to Kindergarten...he already knows everything." (I think I heard my Mom laughing all the way from Albion.)
-I've been going back and doing some reading in old journals recently. This time two years ago we were looking at houses, and on this day we tried to look at a bank foreclosure that sits one street up and kitty corner from the houses we ended up with. We weren't able to get inside, because either the realtor had the wrong passcode or the electronic lock was malfunctioning. I don't think we would have wanted the property anyway. There were contractors coming in and out of the place for nearly a year after we bought our house, and when it finally sold it looked MUCH nicer...but I think there was more work to be done there than we'd even guessed. Last year J's parents were up staying with us, and we were in the midst of a renovation week. Her father was cutting bathroom tiles with a wet saw rental, and I was refinishing the iron railings on our front steps. We put in our new library light fixture that night, and apparently even had time to go to a Red Wings game. August 19th is going to be considerably less exciting this year than either of the two years prior, and that's fine with us.
-I think most people knew this already, but it has to be safe by now to announce that I'm going to be an adjunct faculty member at SUNY Fredonia this year. The estimated drive time is 1 h 51 m each way...it will be a lot of driving. But I only need to do it once a week, and I'll be glad to get my name in at such a well-respected school. I finished re-writing my studio syllabus yesterday, and have started to get messages from students. It is a little fun to take part in the back-to-school excitement again. (Maybe I should read some of their messages to James.)
-The first orchestra concert back after the summer off is always a little shocking. You don't realize until you're sitting in your chair in the back row quite how loud you play in the context of a full brass section until you're back there again. I've stayed in shape and kept up a practice routine throughout the summer, but it's been nice to stay away from "full-blast mode." It's nice when the first show of the year is something like "Joshua Bell playing the Beethoven violin concerto" or "Renee Fleming singing some Strauss songs." This year it's going to be an afternoon rehearsal and evening concert of "The Music of John Williams." I love playing John Williams...but this could be kind of painful.
-I restacked the firewood we keep for bonfires behind the garage. It's been nothing but a disorderly heap for about a month. James was racing his toy cars on it and dropped one behind. Apparently he's strong enough to move quite a bit of wood on his own, because he'd pulled firewood all over the back yard before finding the missing toy. (And then, of course, he left the mess.) Working with a big stack of wood (well, kind of big) in the backyard in late August reminded me vividly of the big delivery of stove-wood my parents would get every year. It would be fort-making season for a few days while we scrambled around on it and used it as a big playground, and then there would be a "stacking day" when the basement bilko doors would be opened and Dad would instruct us on carrying the pile down and stacking it for the winter. Being the oldest, I always had to make sure that I carried more pieces per load than anyone else. It seemed like a big job at the time, and more than anything else it indicated the coming change of seasons.
-Currently reading The Metaphysical Club--an examination of the ideas of Oliver Wendell Holmes, Jr., William James, Charles Peirce, and John Dewey.
Thursday, August 18, 2016
Vacation
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| James at work on sand castles with the three most coveted beach toys--the sand roller (which was eventually confiscated), the red shovel (also eventually confiscated) and the green bucket, which was legitimately his. |
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| La Mer. Owen about to get soaked and sandy, starting every morning promptly at 9:00. |
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| J and Owen playing the sandy feet game. Note J's original pair of sunglasses, which were soon after claimed by the ocean. |
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| We don't even care what the kids are doing. This was before we both got REALLY tanned. |
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| We managed to get James to leave his George behind for picture night, but Owen wouldn't have any of that. |
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| Sandy knees immediately after pictures finished. James made a spectacular unprompted jump down from the lifeguard chair. |
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| Taken towards the end of an impromptu evening 10K |
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| Kids with the Great-Grands--James with the Davises, Owen with the Weitzels. |
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| A vibrant (double) rainbow once we were back in Pennsylvania. I woke James up to show him. He looked for a few seconds and then went back upstairs without a word and fell right back asleep. |
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| "Trah-kah" ride |
Illustrative of the difference between the boys:
James: "Daddy do you like a lot of spicy? You like a lot of spicy, and I don't like spicy. Mommy only likes some spicy, and if she accidentally has too much spicy she can take a drink of water. She doesn't like lots of spicy, she just likes a little spicy. I don't like a little spicy, I don't like spicy. If I accidentally have a little spicy I can take a drink of water too. Hey, can you move your sauce away from my plate? It is TOO spicy, and I don't like spicy. Owen doesn't like spicy either. I don't want that sauce, because it is TOO spicy."
Owen:
<points at Country Sweet sauce>
"Do you want to try this, O?"
"Yah."
"Here's a little bit for your plate. Let me know if you like it."
<Dips a piece of pizza in and takes a bite.>
"WAHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
<Paws at tongue, turning deep red, making choking noises and reaching whole fist into mouth.>
"..AAAAAAAH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
"Here, here, take your water, you're going to throw up if you keep doing that."
<Makes retching noises, tears streaming down cheeks and nose, smacks table with hands repeatedly and then sucks violently at sippy cup.>
"Ok...so don't eat any more of the..."
<Dips another piece of pizza into the sauce, pops it in his mouth and smiles.>
"Mmm, guh!"
<Grins with tears still streaming down cheeks.>
Thursday, August 4, 2016
Wednesday, August 3, 2016
Tuesday, August 2, 2016
Yardwork Day
This isn't going to be a blog about yardwork, because Owen woke up early from his nap and is now roaming around the couch attempting to burrow under us.
This is our break, Owen. You're supposed to sleep until 4:00, and we can read and write and drowse in the living room in the peace and cool stillness of the air conditioning.
Instead he began shrieking at 2:30. He'd spilled his entire sippy cup in his crib (I haven't changed his sheets yet) and was a mess of soggy clothes, runny nose, and Smith-boy sweaty mussed hair. For a golden moment I thought he was going to fall asleep between us when I brought him downstairs.
Instead he's been climbing up the side of the couch and then taking flying leaps on top of J (who is making a determined effort to remain asleep), chattering away about Old MacDonald, and now dragging a blanket around the dining room...and now crying again because he tripped on the blanket and fell on his face.
Here's a transcript:
"Do you want to look at the animals on the blanket?"
"No!!!! AHHH!"
<Runs over to the couch sobbing and buries his face in his hands, pounds his fist.>
"NOOO!!! AHHH!!!!"
<Runs back to J, pulls imploringly on her dress>
"You're going to have to use your words. What do you want?"
"Do you want some water?"
"Nah."
"Do you want a snack?"
"Uh."
"Do you want some fruit?"
"Uh."
"Do you want a plum?"
"Nah."
"Do you want a banana?"
"Uh."
"Okay, I'm going to put the blanket back on the couch..."
"NOOO!!! AHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
So anyway, I did some yardwork which was mildly interesting this morning, but I can't remember any of it over the sound of banana-deprived shrieks. I think I picked up some bits of old shredded shingles that the boys had pushed around in a dumptruck, and I definitely did some weeding and trimmed the big bushy shrub in front.
In the time that it took me to write that paragraph Owen has somehow moved from the high chair to the kitchen, where he standing on a chair wearing an apron and eating bits of raw sweet potato.
I might go back outside and work in the yard some more.
This is our break, Owen. You're supposed to sleep until 4:00, and we can read and write and drowse in the living room in the peace and cool stillness of the air conditioning.
Instead he began shrieking at 2:30. He'd spilled his entire sippy cup in his crib (I haven't changed his sheets yet) and was a mess of soggy clothes, runny nose, and Smith-boy sweaty mussed hair. For a golden moment I thought he was going to fall asleep between us when I brought him downstairs.
Instead he's been climbing up the side of the couch and then taking flying leaps on top of J (who is making a determined effort to remain asleep), chattering away about Old MacDonald, and now dragging a blanket around the dining room...and now crying again because he tripped on the blanket and fell on his face.
Here's a transcript:
"Do you want to look at the animals on the blanket?"
"No!!!! AHHH!"
<Runs over to the couch sobbing and buries his face in his hands, pounds his fist.>
"NOOO!!! AHHH!!!!"
<Runs back to J, pulls imploringly on her dress>
"You're going to have to use your words. What do you want?"
"Do you want some water?"
"Nah."
"Do you want a snack?"
"Uh."
"Do you want some fruit?"
"Uh."
"Do you want a plum?"
"Nah."
"Do you want a banana?"
"Uh."
"Okay, I'm going to put the blanket back on the couch..."
"NOOO!!! AHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
So anyway, I did some yardwork which was mildly interesting this morning, but I can't remember any of it over the sound of banana-deprived shrieks. I think I picked up some bits of old shredded shingles that the boys had pushed around in a dumptruck, and I definitely did some weeding and trimmed the big bushy shrub in front.
In the time that it took me to write that paragraph Owen has somehow moved from the high chair to the kitchen, where he standing on a chair wearing an apron and eating bits of raw sweet potato.
I might go back outside and work in the yard some more.
Monday, August 1, 2016
A Birthday Toast
The clock has just turned to midnight at 478 Harwick Road, and I've just sat down at the computer with a glass of Glenlivet 12. My last orchestra concert of the 2015-16 season is now completed, and as of four minutes ago it is my 31st birthday.
Today is the end of a long season. I'll take my dress shoes off tonight and put them away for a very long time, and at some point during this next week I'll take my tuxedo and most of my other formal clothing to a dry cleaners. I'm going to be on holiday for the next month.
We're going to the beach in a week. I'll spend my days watching the boys play in the sand in swim trunks with a book in hand. It's going to be grand.
As the year is wrapping up I'm marking another year of birthday. Really, now that I'm old enough to think about it, most of the birthday credit ought to go to my Mom. And she should get extra credit on my birthday, because I was her first child and she was young and terrified and didn't have any idea what she was in for. It's nearly impossible for me to imagine her with just one child, let alone taking just one child home from the hospital and attempting to stop its crying for the first time.
Any birthday toast, then, has to begin with her. Mom, I'm raising my glass of scotch to you. This is 31 years that we've made since you put on your bravest face in the hospital in Medina.
I played an incredibly lovely piece at the camp concert yesterday for chamber choir and solo trumpet called "I Am Not My Own." I just looked on the website to see if the video of the performance was posted yet, and unfortunately it isn't. I'll update a link if it comes up in the next few days.
As I think about turning another year older and look back on what the past year meant, I have taken those words to heart.
I am not my own.
I am my mother's first baby, a seven pound bundle wrapped in hospital cloths with a shock of dark hair, and I am completely helpless to do anything for myself.
I am my father's oldest son, the one that he counts on to play fair, share toys, and make sure that none of the younger boys are getting into any serious trouble.
I am perpetually an older brother. I am someone's student, hopefully not one of the difficult ones. I am someone's 3:00 trumpet lesson.
I am someone's employee, wearing an apron and handing out coffee and donuts. I am J's boyfriend, visiting over the holidays and being welcomed by her family. I am an in-law. I am someone's teacher. I am someone's trumpet section-comrade. I am a father, the soother of bumps and the distributor of equal turns with the much-prized dump truck toy.
I am not my own.
And as I sit here in my tux at this late hour, sipping my scotch and thinking about what it means to have a birthday, I am profoundly grateful that I have been all of yours. Everything that is good about being me in my 31st year is because I have been the son or the husband or the student or the friend or the brother of spectacularly kind and generous people. I raise a glass to you, if you are reading this. No matter why you're visiting this blog or what stake you have in keeping up with me, thank you for making some part of my 31 years a privileged and happy time.
Cheers.
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