So, what do we think of this article?
http://parentingfreedom.com/discipline/
J sent it to me today, and we've just finished up a long discussion about some of the main points. As far as I can tell, the exegesis of the Proverbs verses is sound. Whether or not the correct reading of those verses means that we ought not to spank children isn't so clear.
Here are a couple of things that we're taking for granted at this point:
1) Different kids need different sorts of punishment. Some kids might need to be spanked as a regular form of discipline (if spanking is an appropriate form of discipline) but their siblings might be better parented by the restriction of privileges, time outs, etc. Along those lines, some parents probably ought to avoid corporal punishment.
2) Whether or not the text of Proverbs is instructing parents to spank their young children, corporal punishment certainly was a common practice in the ancient world and in most of human history. Again, that doesn't say whether it's right or wrong, but it's the context for any other text we'd bring into the discussion.
3) There's no place for bullying, venting anger, or intimidating in our discussion of spanking for James. (Or any of our other children.) If we were ever to use corporal punishment (and we haven't yet) it would either be the measured and explained consequence of an action that James understood would lead to a spanking, or the measured and explained consequence of an action that was so dangerous/serious we had to make sure it would never happen again.
Oh, and for the record--both J and I were spanked as children, and neither of us hold it against our parents in the slightest, whatever we decide about spanking and James. In fact, we both probably got off pretty lightly, given what stinkers we could be while knowing the consequences. We've never doubted our parents' love, mercy, and kindness.
I look forward to your comments.
Oh, and write back quickly, because today James threw a hissy fit when he wasn't allowed to bring Steven Bear into the bath with him. (As if we'd never denied him this in 16 months of previous baths.)
Also, make sure you look up the actual definition of the word "prodigal" before writing an article on the internet about prodigal children.
Friday, March 29, 2013
Monday, March 25, 2013
Recently...
Recently, parenthood is...
...looking frantically for my baton before church, bending over to check under furniture, sorting through piles of music, and very nearly being late. Going to church, and conducting without a baton. Coming home from church, taking off James' shoes and coat, then going into the kitchen to turn on water for coffee. Watching James stroll into the kitchen singing to himself and waving the baton.
...chasing James all over the church, keeping him out of the stacks of canned goods that are being donated to charity, and rescuing him twice from stealing dum-dums from the senior pastor's office. Then holding him in my left arm through sixty minutes of rehearsal, because once the choir arrived, he insisted on being picked up and wouldn't be put down without screams and tears.
...begging for Life cereal in the kitchen, making big please signs and pathetic groans. Once given a handful of cereal, eating none of it, but crumbling it into cereal dust and pouring it down the front of his sweater and onto the floor.
...throwing any book he can reach off of the downstairs bookshelves and onto the floor, often while yelling at the top of his voice and especially when angry about not getting something he wants. But not being able to leave his room without indignant pointing and yelling if any of his books aren't put back on the shelf next to his crib.
...hearing the furnace kick on to its highest setting because James has snuck into the laundry room and turned up the dial to the hot-water reserve all the way.
...impassioned entreaties to get into the drawer with crayons. Getting out the crayons and coloring books and sitting on the couch, only to have James methodically push each crayon into the cracks of the couch-cushions, one by one.
...getting out New Steven while Old Steven is being bathed, and finding New Steven in the garbage can. Several times. But then needing both Stevens to sleep in the crib at night.
...looking frantically for my baton before church, bending over to check under furniture, sorting through piles of music, and very nearly being late. Going to church, and conducting without a baton. Coming home from church, taking off James' shoes and coat, then going into the kitchen to turn on water for coffee. Watching James stroll into the kitchen singing to himself and waving the baton.
...chasing James all over the church, keeping him out of the stacks of canned goods that are being donated to charity, and rescuing him twice from stealing dum-dums from the senior pastor's office. Then holding him in my left arm through sixty minutes of rehearsal, because once the choir arrived, he insisted on being picked up and wouldn't be put down without screams and tears.
...begging for Life cereal in the kitchen, making big please signs and pathetic groans. Once given a handful of cereal, eating none of it, but crumbling it into cereal dust and pouring it down the front of his sweater and onto the floor.
...throwing any book he can reach off of the downstairs bookshelves and onto the floor, often while yelling at the top of his voice and especially when angry about not getting something he wants. But not being able to leave his room without indignant pointing and yelling if any of his books aren't put back on the shelf next to his crib.
...hearing the furnace kick on to its highest setting because James has snuck into the laundry room and turned up the dial to the hot-water reserve all the way.
...impassioned entreaties to get into the drawer with crayons. Getting out the crayons and coloring books and sitting on the couch, only to have James methodically push each crayon into the cracks of the couch-cushions, one by one.
...getting out New Steven while Old Steven is being bathed, and finding New Steven in the garbage can. Several times. But then needing both Stevens to sleep in the crib at night.
Monday, March 18, 2013
Bread
I don't know what you're talking about. I've been blogging with a perfectly reasonable frequency.
As you may know, James is terrified of our vacuum cleaner. It turns out that he is also frightened of the bread machine. I made homemade bread yesterday. I used to make bread more often, but I hadn't in at least a year. Our bread machine was a wedding gift from my Mom. (I think it was a wedding gift. Maybe it was from a bridal shower. At any rate, I think it was from Mom. Thanks, Mom.) We used it occasionally during our year in the tree-house apartment, but then we used it a lot when we moved to North Carolina.
On Sundays especially, I would get up and get a loaf prepared before we left for church. (This was back during the days when J and I would go to church together, and sometimes we'd even go and not be responsible for being in charge of anything or playing any musical instruments.) We'd come back home to our little first-floor apartment, and the whole place would smell like fresh warm bread. Ahh...
I don't think there was room for it when we lived at St. Vivian's, and then it spent a long time atop the refrigerator when we moved to our current apartment. It's hard for me to reach on top of the refrigerator, especially when I'm holding James. He's a lunger.
Anyway, I wrote a blog in January about our microwave, and how much J disliked it. Pax, being the kind and generous brother that he is, was touched with compassion at the story. He offered us the use of their microwave, and said it would also be a good excuse to get into the nice new one that they received as a wedding present but couldn't justify opening while their slightly older model still worked.
NOTE TO BENEVOLENT FAMILY MEMBERS: Boy, I sure feel sorry for J! She's a good sport about it, but I can tell that she wishes we had piles of cash lying around. $50s and $100s mostly. Wouldn't that be great if someday we just had piles of cash? And James could play in them too? And maybe also a Monke rotary trumpet with the C air-vent key and a professional flugel and a C shepherd's crook cornet? But really, just the cash would be fine...
So anyhow, one afternoon when we took James over to visit his Uncle and Aunt we loaded up their old microwave into the back of the P.T. Cruiser, eager to bring it home and see if it did a better job than the fading Sunbeam.
JOKE FROM JULIE'S BROTHER:
Two drums and a cymbal fell off a cliff...
But seriously, we loaded the new microwave into the back of the Cruiser. And it rode around back there for about a week. Then we took it out and brought it inside, and it sat on the kitchen table for about another week. But THEN we threw out the old microwave and plugged it in, and because it was a good bit bigger than the older model, there was enough storage space on top to put the basket of crackers AND the bread machine. As it turns out, this microwave is a VERY POWERFUL piece of high-tech culinary weaponry. Our food has been regularly too hot since we've been using it, and we've even been reducing our usual cooking times by several minutes. It's a great problem to have. James has even given up pressing his nose to the front of it, I think mostly because he can't see anything spinning.
But as I was saying, the bread machine is now accessible again. And that's how I found myself making bread yesterday. I mixed up the ingredients for french bread while holding James and spilled minimal yeast on the floor. I'd say that given the floury mess we could have made, a couple grains of fungus were the yeast of our worries.
Then I loaded the pan into the machine, changed the setting to "white 2lb loaf" and hit Start. The machine came on and James just about jumped out of my arms. He went running out of the kitchen and watched the source of the funny noises from the doorway. When I picked him up and tried to show him what was happening inside the machine, he clawed his way over my shoulder to lean away.
But the bread turned out nicely. We even have real butter in the house, so it was delicious when it first came out of the machine. (May we continue to forget about country crock when we visit the grocery store.) But now its stale. Does anyone have any suggestions for how to store homemade bread so that it doesn't go hard within hours? (Note: J does not accept "Have six kids so that there's never any left after a few hours" as a valid suggestion.) Also, I enjoyed my bread-making adventure and am looking for new tweaks and recipes. (Calvus, are you reading this?) Oh, and James wants to visit somebody until the machine goes on top of the fridge again.
As you may know, James is terrified of our vacuum cleaner. It turns out that he is also frightened of the bread machine. I made homemade bread yesterday. I used to make bread more often, but I hadn't in at least a year. Our bread machine was a wedding gift from my Mom. (I think it was a wedding gift. Maybe it was from a bridal shower. At any rate, I think it was from Mom. Thanks, Mom.) We used it occasionally during our year in the tree-house apartment, but then we used it a lot when we moved to North Carolina.
On Sundays especially, I would get up and get a loaf prepared before we left for church. (This was back during the days when J and I would go to church together, and sometimes we'd even go and not be responsible for being in charge of anything or playing any musical instruments.) We'd come back home to our little first-floor apartment, and the whole place would smell like fresh warm bread. Ahh...
I don't think there was room for it when we lived at St. Vivian's, and then it spent a long time atop the refrigerator when we moved to our current apartment. It's hard for me to reach on top of the refrigerator, especially when I'm holding James. He's a lunger.
Anyway, I wrote a blog in January about our microwave, and how much J disliked it. Pax, being the kind and generous brother that he is, was touched with compassion at the story. He offered us the use of their microwave, and said it would also be a good excuse to get into the nice new one that they received as a wedding present but couldn't justify opening while their slightly older model still worked.
NOTE TO BENEVOLENT FAMILY MEMBERS: Boy, I sure feel sorry for J! She's a good sport about it, but I can tell that she wishes we had piles of cash lying around. $50s and $100s mostly. Wouldn't that be great if someday we just had piles of cash? And James could play in them too? And maybe also a Monke rotary trumpet with the C air-vent key and a professional flugel and a C shepherd's crook cornet? But really, just the cash would be fine...
So anyhow, one afternoon when we took James over to visit his Uncle and Aunt we loaded up their old microwave into the back of the P.T. Cruiser, eager to bring it home and see if it did a better job than the fading Sunbeam.
JOKE FROM JULIE'S BROTHER:
Two drums and a cymbal fell off a cliff...
But seriously, we loaded the new microwave into the back of the Cruiser. And it rode around back there for about a week. Then we took it out and brought it inside, and it sat on the kitchen table for about another week. But THEN we threw out the old microwave and plugged it in, and because it was a good bit bigger than the older model, there was enough storage space on top to put the basket of crackers AND the bread machine. As it turns out, this microwave is a VERY POWERFUL piece of high-tech culinary weaponry. Our food has been regularly too hot since we've been using it, and we've even been reducing our usual cooking times by several minutes. It's a great problem to have. James has even given up pressing his nose to the front of it, I think mostly because he can't see anything spinning.
But as I was saying, the bread machine is now accessible again. And that's how I found myself making bread yesterday. I mixed up the ingredients for french bread while holding James and spilled minimal yeast on the floor. I'd say that given the floury mess we could have made, a couple grains of fungus were the yeast of our worries.
Then I loaded the pan into the machine, changed the setting to "white 2lb loaf" and hit Start. The machine came on and James just about jumped out of my arms. He went running out of the kitchen and watched the source of the funny noises from the doorway. When I picked him up and tried to show him what was happening inside the machine, he clawed his way over my shoulder to lean away.
But the bread turned out nicely. We even have real butter in the house, so it was delicious when it first came out of the machine. (May we continue to forget about country crock when we visit the grocery store.) But now its stale. Does anyone have any suggestions for how to store homemade bread so that it doesn't go hard within hours? (Note: J does not accept "Have six kids so that there's never any left after a few hours" as a valid suggestion.) Also, I enjoyed my bread-making adventure and am looking for new tweaks and recipes. (Calvus, are you reading this?) Oh, and James wants to visit somebody until the machine goes on top of the fridge again.
Thursday, February 28, 2013
Trading Fives
5 things I love about my wife
1) She doesn't ever keep score. We've been married for almost six years now, and in that time I've done and said plenty of stupid things. If she were the sort of person who held on to old hurts, she could make me feel pretty miserable. If she were the sort of person who needed a fair distribution of work and responsibilities for the house to function, I'd be in her constant debt. In fact, if J kept score at all, I think that our marriage would have started to look like that sad caricature of the couple who can't even enjoy being around each other because they have to keep up their leverage for the next fight. J forgives, never demands whats owed her, and pours herself out freely. There's a word for that, and it's grace.
2) She is really really talented. You get used to a person when you live for them long enough, so I'm not always conscious of the fact that J is the same girl who came into college playing jaw-dropping Brahms and Ginastera on the piano, and not only that, but was instantly the best flute player in school. It's easy to forget that she was a 4.0 student who wrote the best history papers in her class, edited everyone else's homework, and was also the captain of the all-star softball team. And tested out of theory and aural skills. And could sight sing anything put in front of her and recognize any harmonic progression immediately. And now she's my wife, and I'd almost forget all those things, except that she keeps on being talented and being offered jobs at Hochstein and revitalizing the church where she works.
3) She is a big picture person. She went for four years without any sort of clothing line in the budget. She loves new clothes. But she is incredibly patient, and she is much better about constantly minding the budget than I am. She knows when we need rules for the house, and when it's okay to splash in the mud puddles, even though that's against the rules. (More for James than me.)
4) She takes really good care of us. The most thrown together end-of-the-month leftovers we eat are so much better than anything I ever ate in grad school. She does laundry, she washes dishes, she packs meals, she remembers what I forget, and she stays awake when I come home late. All that would be amazing by itself, but it's even more special because she loves taking care of her men, and it's really obvious.
5) She is really, really, really good-looking. You just can't quite ever get used to it, either. You'd think that after living together for almost six years that it wouldn't be a big deal for your wife to walk inside the door, but when J comes inside it still feels like an event.
5 things I love about my son
1) He loves Steven Bear SO much. It warms my heart just to think about how much he cares for that grubby little bear. Whenever I put him to bed at night he holds him close to his face, and when I get him up in the morning he's usually sitting in his crib and snuggling him. He talks to him (they laugh a lot) takes him everywhere, and is the first thing he reaches for when he's scared or upset. When he eats, Steven has to sit next to him in the booster seat and have food on his tray. (J told me that today James wouldn't even open his mouth for food unless Steven "ate" it first.) The other night J said to me "I worry about that bear...I worry that he won't last as long as James is going to need him." I laid in bed and thought about how heartbroken James would be if (may it never happen) we lost Steven. It made me happy to see him nodding at Steven as they "chatted" when I got him up the next day.
2) Sometimes when I come home J will take James over to the window, and he'll watch me walk up the driveway and the front walk. He grins the whole way, and starts to bounce as I get closer. When I get to the door he'll start laughing and smush his nose up against the glass. It's really nice to know that someone is that happy to see you.
3) He climbs everything now. He isn't very good at it, but he's figured out that he can get on top of stuff if he gets his leg up. It's hysterical to watch him pit-patting over to the rubbermaid blockade in front of the stairs (he needs a running start) and then to lift his left leg up as high as it can go, trying so hard to get it up onto some sort of foothold. He can't get up more often than not, but when he does manage to get up on the blockade or the sofa, he'll just perch there for a few seconds with the most smug and pleased 15-month old grin you can imagine.
4) He loves bath time again. I don't know that he's quite as excited to be in the water as he used to be, or to play with his bath toys, but he loves to KICK. As soon as we lay him down he gets a big grin and looks at us, and then he flails his legs until he has so much water in his eyes that he has to stop. He loves it when we react with "indignation" and he's taken to shrieking as he goes. Occasionally he'll work up to a big "double-barreled" kick where he raises both legs up as high as they can go and then slams them down with a yell. Our bathroom floor is very wet in the evenings.
5) He is still little enough to hold comfortably, and he loves being held. Every once in a while when he comes running up with his arms lifted high, I'll think to myself "Again? James..." and then I think about how little time is left when he'll want to be held by his Daddy. And he's not that heavy yet. He is just the right size for holding.
5 things I love about playing the trumpet
1) I used to get genuinely scared of playing a part other than first trumpet. Did it mean that I wasn't good enough? That I wasn't the best trumpet player in the room? Now I love section playing. I love section playing of all kinds. It is deeply satisfying to play the low note of an octave with another trumpet player and to strike the note precisely in tune with just the right articulation and color. It's satisfying to zap the offbeats with a three or four man section at a pops concert, and it's satisfying to do a slow crescendo in a soft brass chorale that builds and builds until the power of the section is shaking the stage.
2) The stereotype of the average meathead trumpet player is that he only wants to play one color: bright-high-loud. But there are so many colors in the sound of the trumpet, and it really is a joy to practice well-written music and explore them all. There's a loneliness in Quiet City that's hard to capture, and some of the sweetest trumpet moments are in the big Strauss pieces. It's great to play loud and brassy, of course, but there's also a fascinating palette of low sounds for the Carmen prelude and Shostakovitch 5. Practicing for an hour or two really is like putting colors on canvas.
3) It's really nice to have new etudes to practice. I got a new etude book in the mail last week, and it's been a blast to work through it. Even the smell of the manuscript paper is exciting. And not only is it good to have new material to practice, it makes all the old etudes fresh again when you come back to them with new ideas.
4) The trumpet is not too big. Can you imagine having to lug a cello or a harp everywhere? To have to drag that thing out to your car every day, let alone traveling by airplane? Every door would be an ordeal, and forget about going up and down stairs. On the other hand, oboes and clarinets are too small. If I played the oboe I'd lose my instrument once a week. Plus, they're to delicate. If you accidentally drop a trumpet, you might have to get a dent removed. If you accidentally drop an oboe, you're out $7000. I'd much rather play the trumpet
5) You can never have it all figured out. It's always a challenge to play high, loud, soft, low, fast, beautiful, and whatever else is difficult to do on the trumpet. And, contrary to what anyone will tell you, not even the truly great ones have it all figured out. There is always a note that isn't quite secure or an interval that's a little difficult. And that's what makes it so satisfying to play the trumpet well.
5 things I love about living in Western New York
1) There's coffee everywhere. As someone who has personally lived in the South, I can attest to the fact that you have to go to a mall to find any sort of coffee shop, and even then it's usually a Starbucks. (I think there was one Dunkin Donuts about 6 miles away from where I worked.) Here, there's a Tim Horton's in every little hamlet, not to mention all of the local coffee shops. If you need coffee, you can find it. And living here, we need coffee.
2) Yes, the snow is no fun to drive in. But I do love the snow. When you're home for the day and it's snowing outside, it's hard to imagine anything more beautiful. And as much as snow can be ugly when it's all browned and salted, it's beautiful when it's laying all white in the backyard and nested in the trees. I might be an old man in Florida some winter, but for now I love the winters here.
3) The Buffalo Bills. Chris Kelsay retired yesterday, which anywhere else in the league would have been a two sentence blurb at the bottom of the paper. Who cares about a backup defensive end? But in Buffalo, if you've lived with the team and suffered with the team and really get what the city is about, you'll always be a hero. It's a very unique fraternity of suffering up here...but the team means more here than any glitzy big city with multiple championships in storage.
4) My family lives here. I have five siblings, and they are absolutely my favorite people and my best friends. Not one of them lives more than a half-hour away. I'm trying very hard not to take this season for granted.
5) The RPO is here. I loved living in Chicago and going downtown to watch the CSO. I love listening to the New York Phil on the radio and hearing the great orchestras play live. There will never be an orchestra for me like the RPO, though. I still can't believe that I get to sit under the great chandelier at Eastman and play with them sometimes. It's a privilege like nothing else I do.
5 things I'm loving reading
1) Gibbon's Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire. It's absurdly long. Gibbon made a lot of mistakes, and he brings some pretty ridiculous assumptions to the story from 17th century England. But it's an amazing book for anyone who's even remotely interested in Rome or Christianity, and I actually find myself wishing it was longer sometimes. I accidentally left it on the bench in the foyer at school today, so I'm hoping I still have my copy when I go in tomorrow!
2) 1 Peter. Just when you think you have the Koine vocabulary pretty well figured out you read 1 Peter and find yourself in the lexicon twice a sentence. It's unlike anything else in the New Testament stylistically and theologically. I need some recommendations for Petrine criticism, if anyone has any, and I'm sure that I'm only scratching the surface with my current notes.
3) Iliad book 14. The battle beside the ships is at fever pitch, and just when you think it has to be settled one way or another the troops regroup and it starts again. It would collapse into boring repetition if it was anything else, but the clanging of bronze and the speeches of heroes are like an old fine wine.
4) Metamorphoses Book II, which I was reading from an old school primer that stopped after Phaethon's fall. I started reading it on my trip out to San Francisco, and once I got back I stayed up late several nights to scribble out a translation in my notebook. I may need to buy a real copy of this sometime soon.
5) Dickens. I finished Pickwick Papers a few days ago, and am in Dickens withdrawal. The world just isn't quite as rosy when you aren't looking through the windowpanes of Dingley Dell every evening. Plus, Dickens' endings are never quite right. I suspect this is because the stories ought to go on forever.
1) She doesn't ever keep score. We've been married for almost six years now, and in that time I've done and said plenty of stupid things. If she were the sort of person who held on to old hurts, she could make me feel pretty miserable. If she were the sort of person who needed a fair distribution of work and responsibilities for the house to function, I'd be in her constant debt. In fact, if J kept score at all, I think that our marriage would have started to look like that sad caricature of the couple who can't even enjoy being around each other because they have to keep up their leverage for the next fight. J forgives, never demands whats owed her, and pours herself out freely. There's a word for that, and it's grace.
2) She is really really talented. You get used to a person when you live for them long enough, so I'm not always conscious of the fact that J is the same girl who came into college playing jaw-dropping Brahms and Ginastera on the piano, and not only that, but was instantly the best flute player in school. It's easy to forget that she was a 4.0 student who wrote the best history papers in her class, edited everyone else's homework, and was also the captain of the all-star softball team. And tested out of theory and aural skills. And could sight sing anything put in front of her and recognize any harmonic progression immediately. And now she's my wife, and I'd almost forget all those things, except that she keeps on being talented and being offered jobs at Hochstein and revitalizing the church where she works.
3) She is a big picture person. She went for four years without any sort of clothing line in the budget. She loves new clothes. But she is incredibly patient, and she is much better about constantly minding the budget than I am. She knows when we need rules for the house, and when it's okay to splash in the mud puddles, even though that's against the rules. (More for James than me.)
4) She takes really good care of us. The most thrown together end-of-the-month leftovers we eat are so much better than anything I ever ate in grad school. She does laundry, she washes dishes, she packs meals, she remembers what I forget, and she stays awake when I come home late. All that would be amazing by itself, but it's even more special because she loves taking care of her men, and it's really obvious.
5) She is really, really, really good-looking. You just can't quite ever get used to it, either. You'd think that after living together for almost six years that it wouldn't be a big deal for your wife to walk inside the door, but when J comes inside it still feels like an event.
5 things I love about my son
1) He loves Steven Bear SO much. It warms my heart just to think about how much he cares for that grubby little bear. Whenever I put him to bed at night he holds him close to his face, and when I get him up in the morning he's usually sitting in his crib and snuggling him. He talks to him (they laugh a lot) takes him everywhere, and is the first thing he reaches for when he's scared or upset. When he eats, Steven has to sit next to him in the booster seat and have food on his tray. (J told me that today James wouldn't even open his mouth for food unless Steven "ate" it first.) The other night J said to me "I worry about that bear...I worry that he won't last as long as James is going to need him." I laid in bed and thought about how heartbroken James would be if (may it never happen) we lost Steven. It made me happy to see him nodding at Steven as they "chatted" when I got him up the next day.
2) Sometimes when I come home J will take James over to the window, and he'll watch me walk up the driveway and the front walk. He grins the whole way, and starts to bounce as I get closer. When I get to the door he'll start laughing and smush his nose up against the glass. It's really nice to know that someone is that happy to see you.
3) He climbs everything now. He isn't very good at it, but he's figured out that he can get on top of stuff if he gets his leg up. It's hysterical to watch him pit-patting over to the rubbermaid blockade in front of the stairs (he needs a running start) and then to lift his left leg up as high as it can go, trying so hard to get it up onto some sort of foothold. He can't get up more often than not, but when he does manage to get up on the blockade or the sofa, he'll just perch there for a few seconds with the most smug and pleased 15-month old grin you can imagine.
4) He loves bath time again. I don't know that he's quite as excited to be in the water as he used to be, or to play with his bath toys, but he loves to KICK. As soon as we lay him down he gets a big grin and looks at us, and then he flails his legs until he has so much water in his eyes that he has to stop. He loves it when we react with "indignation" and he's taken to shrieking as he goes. Occasionally he'll work up to a big "double-barreled" kick where he raises both legs up as high as they can go and then slams them down with a yell. Our bathroom floor is very wet in the evenings.
5) He is still little enough to hold comfortably, and he loves being held. Every once in a while when he comes running up with his arms lifted high, I'll think to myself "Again? James..." and then I think about how little time is left when he'll want to be held by his Daddy. And he's not that heavy yet. He is just the right size for holding.
5 things I love about playing the trumpet
1) I used to get genuinely scared of playing a part other than first trumpet. Did it mean that I wasn't good enough? That I wasn't the best trumpet player in the room? Now I love section playing. I love section playing of all kinds. It is deeply satisfying to play the low note of an octave with another trumpet player and to strike the note precisely in tune with just the right articulation and color. It's satisfying to zap the offbeats with a three or four man section at a pops concert, and it's satisfying to do a slow crescendo in a soft brass chorale that builds and builds until the power of the section is shaking the stage.
2) The stereotype of the average meathead trumpet player is that he only wants to play one color: bright-high-loud. But there are so many colors in the sound of the trumpet, and it really is a joy to practice well-written music and explore them all. There's a loneliness in Quiet City that's hard to capture, and some of the sweetest trumpet moments are in the big Strauss pieces. It's great to play loud and brassy, of course, but there's also a fascinating palette of low sounds for the Carmen prelude and Shostakovitch 5. Practicing for an hour or two really is like putting colors on canvas.
3) It's really nice to have new etudes to practice. I got a new etude book in the mail last week, and it's been a blast to work through it. Even the smell of the manuscript paper is exciting. And not only is it good to have new material to practice, it makes all the old etudes fresh again when you come back to them with new ideas.
4) The trumpet is not too big. Can you imagine having to lug a cello or a harp everywhere? To have to drag that thing out to your car every day, let alone traveling by airplane? Every door would be an ordeal, and forget about going up and down stairs. On the other hand, oboes and clarinets are too small. If I played the oboe I'd lose my instrument once a week. Plus, they're to delicate. If you accidentally drop a trumpet, you might have to get a dent removed. If you accidentally drop an oboe, you're out $7000. I'd much rather play the trumpet
5) You can never have it all figured out. It's always a challenge to play high, loud, soft, low, fast, beautiful, and whatever else is difficult to do on the trumpet. And, contrary to what anyone will tell you, not even the truly great ones have it all figured out. There is always a note that isn't quite secure or an interval that's a little difficult. And that's what makes it so satisfying to play the trumpet well.
5 things I love about living in Western New York
1) There's coffee everywhere. As someone who has personally lived in the South, I can attest to the fact that you have to go to a mall to find any sort of coffee shop, and even then it's usually a Starbucks. (I think there was one Dunkin Donuts about 6 miles away from where I worked.) Here, there's a Tim Horton's in every little hamlet, not to mention all of the local coffee shops. If you need coffee, you can find it. And living here, we need coffee.
2) Yes, the snow is no fun to drive in. But I do love the snow. When you're home for the day and it's snowing outside, it's hard to imagine anything more beautiful. And as much as snow can be ugly when it's all browned and salted, it's beautiful when it's laying all white in the backyard and nested in the trees. I might be an old man in Florida some winter, but for now I love the winters here.
3) The Buffalo Bills. Chris Kelsay retired yesterday, which anywhere else in the league would have been a two sentence blurb at the bottom of the paper. Who cares about a backup defensive end? But in Buffalo, if you've lived with the team and suffered with the team and really get what the city is about, you'll always be a hero. It's a very unique fraternity of suffering up here...but the team means more here than any glitzy big city with multiple championships in storage.
4) My family lives here. I have five siblings, and they are absolutely my favorite people and my best friends. Not one of them lives more than a half-hour away. I'm trying very hard not to take this season for granted.
5) The RPO is here. I loved living in Chicago and going downtown to watch the CSO. I love listening to the New York Phil on the radio and hearing the great orchestras play live. There will never be an orchestra for me like the RPO, though. I still can't believe that I get to sit under the great chandelier at Eastman and play with them sometimes. It's a privilege like nothing else I do.
5 things I'm loving reading
1) Gibbon's Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire. It's absurdly long. Gibbon made a lot of mistakes, and he brings some pretty ridiculous assumptions to the story from 17th century England. But it's an amazing book for anyone who's even remotely interested in Rome or Christianity, and I actually find myself wishing it was longer sometimes. I accidentally left it on the bench in the foyer at school today, so I'm hoping I still have my copy when I go in tomorrow!
2) 1 Peter. Just when you think you have the Koine vocabulary pretty well figured out you read 1 Peter and find yourself in the lexicon twice a sentence. It's unlike anything else in the New Testament stylistically and theologically. I need some recommendations for Petrine criticism, if anyone has any, and I'm sure that I'm only scratching the surface with my current notes.
3) Iliad book 14. The battle beside the ships is at fever pitch, and just when you think it has to be settled one way or another the troops regroup and it starts again. It would collapse into boring repetition if it was anything else, but the clanging of bronze and the speeches of heroes are like an old fine wine.
4) Metamorphoses Book II, which I was reading from an old school primer that stopped after Phaethon's fall. I started reading it on my trip out to San Francisco, and once I got back I stayed up late several nights to scribble out a translation in my notebook. I may need to buy a real copy of this sometime soon.
5) Dickens. I finished Pickwick Papers a few days ago, and am in Dickens withdrawal. The world just isn't quite as rosy when you aren't looking through the windowpanes of Dingley Dell every evening. Plus, Dickens' endings are never quite right. I suspect this is because the stories ought to go on forever.
Monday, February 25, 2013
Vacation...
February break was all about cleaning.
We cleaned EVERYTHING in our house. Well, we never got around to wiping out the microwave, but Pax and Kylie actually gave us a new microwave, so we can just throw the old one out without wiping out the baked on food scuzz.
I decided that we were cleaning on Sunday afternoon. J's parents had just left to drive back to PA, and I informed J that tomorrow would be our spring cleaning day. She played along, and I made lists of projects to do for each room.
Monday came along, and I got up at 6 AM to get started. I put on some coffee, pulled on a grungy sweater, and began by sorting all of James' toys.
THINGS I FOUND IN JAMES' TOY BIN:
A racquetball, four measuring cups, a remote control, and fingernail clippers
James got up around 6:45 and promptly started pulling out and emptying all the bins and baggies of toys that I had neatly organized and put away. I have no idea how J even remotely keeps up with the house when I'm working a normal week.
We cleared counter space, threw away unused coffee mugs, cleaned out the kitchen cabinets, swept, dusted, emptied all the trash from the upstairs and the downstairs, ran five loads of laundry, folded five loads of laundry, put away five loads of laundry, took three bags of old clothes to the Goodwill, moved furniture from the downstairs to the upstairs, sorted books, moved furniture from the downstairs to the garage, moved furniture from the garage to the downstairs, put away towels and linens, cleaned under the beds, hung up dress clothes, sorted our storage boxes, sorted two filing cabinets worth of music, vacuumed the carpets, held James as he ran in terror from the vacuum, washed the dishes, broke a wine glass, cleaned up the wine glass, sorted tax information, paid old bills, organized the closet, cleaned out both cars, and even gave James a bath.
We slept well on Monday night.
The rest of the week was glorious in a less productive but much more restorative way. I got my suits dry cleaned for the first time ina month year several years, and I played a Gershwin show with Symphoria out in Syracuse. When I saw that there was a number on the program called "Slap That Bass" I told J "I guarantee you that whoever the trumpet player was before me has crossed out one letter of that title.
And just as surely as the title of "La Mer" is suffixed, the eraser marks were still visible.
I was bummed to go back to school today.
But it sure is nice to come back to a clean house.
We cleaned EVERYTHING in our house. Well, we never got around to wiping out the microwave, but Pax and Kylie actually gave us a new microwave, so we can just throw the old one out without wiping out the baked on food scuzz.
I decided that we were cleaning on Sunday afternoon. J's parents had just left to drive back to PA, and I informed J that tomorrow would be our spring cleaning day. She played along, and I made lists of projects to do for each room.
Monday came along, and I got up at 6 AM to get started. I put on some coffee, pulled on a grungy sweater, and began by sorting all of James' toys.
THINGS I FOUND IN JAMES' TOY BIN:
A racquetball, four measuring cups, a remote control, and fingernail clippers
James got up around 6:45 and promptly started pulling out and emptying all the bins and baggies of toys that I had neatly organized and put away. I have no idea how J even remotely keeps up with the house when I'm working a normal week.
We cleared counter space, threw away unused coffee mugs, cleaned out the kitchen cabinets, swept, dusted, emptied all the trash from the upstairs and the downstairs, ran five loads of laundry, folded five loads of laundry, put away five loads of laundry, took three bags of old clothes to the Goodwill, moved furniture from the downstairs to the upstairs, sorted books, moved furniture from the downstairs to the garage, moved furniture from the garage to the downstairs, put away towels and linens, cleaned under the beds, hung up dress clothes, sorted our storage boxes, sorted two filing cabinets worth of music, vacuumed the carpets, held James as he ran in terror from the vacuum, washed the dishes, broke a wine glass, cleaned up the wine glass, sorted tax information, paid old bills, organized the closet, cleaned out both cars, and even gave James a bath.
We slept well on Monday night.
The rest of the week was glorious in a less productive but much more restorative way. I got my suits dry cleaned for the first time in
And just as surely as the title of "La Mer" is suffixed, the eraser marks were still visible.
I was bummed to go back to school today.
But it sure is nice to come back to a clean house.
Sunday, February 17, 2013
Bears in the Garbage
I sat in our old well-worn armchair this morning with a carafe of fresh hot coffee beside me and the Pickwick Papers open on my lap. I was in my oldest and most comfortable pair of slippers, warm socks, pajamas, and my flannel bathrobe. The sun was coming in through the east windows, and I could see big flakes of snow gently coming down outside. I had several hours before leaving for church, and I had nothing to do but keep an eye on James and work on my book and my coffee.
It was perfectly peaceful and relaxing. The house was quiet.
The house was quiet.
...something was wrong.
Sure enough, I stood up and walked into the kitchen.
The lid was off of the trash can, and James was sitting on the floor sucking on his fingers, which he was reaching into the plastic carton of blueberry yogurt I'd had for breakfast. (Again.)
After I cleaned him up and found some toys for him to play with, I went back to one of my favorite chapters in Dickens, chapter 28 of Pickwick Papers. Here are some of the highlights:
"Christmas was close at hand, in all his bluff and hearty honesty; it was the season of hospitality, merriment, and open-heartedness"
"As they turned into a lane they had to cross, the sound of many voices burst upon their ears; and before they had even had time to form a guess as to whom they belonged, they walked into the very centre of the party who were expecting their arrival--a fact which was first notified to the Pickwickians by the loud 'Hurrah' which burst from old Wardle's lips when they appeared in sight."
"No I ain't, sir," replied the fat boy, starting up from a remote corner, where, like the patron saint of fat boys--the immortal Horner--he had been devouring a Christmas pie, though not with the coolness and deliberation which characterized that young gentleman's proceedings.
Whereupon Mr. Winkle gallantly inquired if it couldn't be done by deputy; to which the young lady with the black eyes replied "Go away"--and accompanied the request with a look which said as plainly as a look could do--"if you can."
When they were all tired of blind-man's bluff, there was a great game at snapdragon; and when fingers enough were burnt with that, and all the raisins were gone, they sat down by the huge fire of blazing logs to a substantial supper, and a might bowl of wassail, something smaller than an ordinary wash-house copper, in which the hot apples were hissing and bubbling with a rich look and a jolly sound that were perfectly irresistible.
The chapter following is the great story of Gabriel Glum and the goblin king, which is exactly the sort of thing that I would have been confused about and disliked (but what happened to the real story) before I was officially converted to Dickens. I could tell, even from the old Great Illustrated Classics versions of David Copperfield and Oliver Twist, however that Dickens' characters simply had to stick. They are too memorable to be boring, even if you're nine years old and all the humor is going over your head.
Maybe it was the Christmas joy and merriment from Pickwick (along with some beautiful upstate snow) that made the afternoon so wonderful. I met J and her parents for lunch at an old restaurant that used to be a train depot in Leroy, and had the most wonderful half an hour waiting for the them to arrive. As I sat at our table with menu in hand looking out the windows and around the dining room, I couldn't help grinning to myself knowing that my wife would be arriving and lighting up the room, dressed up in a cute outfit for church, the youngest and the prettiest in the room, and toting a cute baby boy to boot. (He was fascinated by a model train that ran upside down on the ceiling, and he made a great game of dropping silverware on the floor on purpose.)
And NOW I'm off for a whole week to play at home snowed in with both of them and to sleep, clean, practice, relax, eat, drink, and be merry. And to finish Pickwick Papers. And, apparently, to keep a better eye on the trash.
It was perfectly peaceful and relaxing. The house was quiet.
The house was quiet.
...something was wrong.
Sure enough, I stood up and walked into the kitchen.
The lid was off of the trash can, and James was sitting on the floor sucking on his fingers, which he was reaching into the plastic carton of blueberry yogurt I'd had for breakfast. (Again.)
 |
| Not the only type of bear who gets into garbage |
After I cleaned him up and found some toys for him to play with, I went back to one of my favorite chapters in Dickens, chapter 28 of Pickwick Papers. Here are some of the highlights:
"Christmas was close at hand, in all his bluff and hearty honesty; it was the season of hospitality, merriment, and open-heartedness"
"As they turned into a lane they had to cross, the sound of many voices burst upon their ears; and before they had even had time to form a guess as to whom they belonged, they walked into the very centre of the party who were expecting their arrival--a fact which was first notified to the Pickwickians by the loud 'Hurrah' which burst from old Wardle's lips when they appeared in sight."
"No I ain't, sir," replied the fat boy, starting up from a remote corner, where, like the patron saint of fat boys--the immortal Horner--he had been devouring a Christmas pie, though not with the coolness and deliberation which characterized that young gentleman's proceedings.
Whereupon Mr. Winkle gallantly inquired if it couldn't be done by deputy; to which the young lady with the black eyes replied "Go away"--and accompanied the request with a look which said as plainly as a look could do--"if you can."
When they were all tired of blind-man's bluff, there was a great game at snapdragon; and when fingers enough were burnt with that, and all the raisins were gone, they sat down by the huge fire of blazing logs to a substantial supper, and a might bowl of wassail, something smaller than an ordinary wash-house copper, in which the hot apples were hissing and bubbling with a rich look and a jolly sound that were perfectly irresistible.
The chapter following is the great story of Gabriel Glum and the goblin king, which is exactly the sort of thing that I would have been confused about and disliked (but what happened to the real story) before I was officially converted to Dickens. I could tell, even from the old Great Illustrated Classics versions of David Copperfield and Oliver Twist, however that Dickens' characters simply had to stick. They are too memorable to be boring, even if you're nine years old and all the humor is going over your head.
Maybe it was the Christmas joy and merriment from Pickwick (along with some beautiful upstate snow) that made the afternoon so wonderful. I met J and her parents for lunch at an old restaurant that used to be a train depot in Leroy, and had the most wonderful half an hour waiting for the them to arrive. As I sat at our table with menu in hand looking out the windows and around the dining room, I couldn't help grinning to myself knowing that my wife would be arriving and lighting up the room, dressed up in a cute outfit for church, the youngest and the prettiest in the room, and toting a cute baby boy to boot. (He was fascinated by a model train that ran upside down on the ceiling, and he made a great game of dropping silverware on the floor on purpose.)
And NOW I'm off for a whole week to play at home snowed in with both of them and to sleep, clean, practice, relax, eat, drink, and be merry. And to finish Pickwick Papers. And, apparently, to keep a better eye on the trash.
Monday, February 11, 2013
Confessions
1) I was driving 51 mph in the town of Clarendon yesterday, and I got pulled over, and it was no one's fault but my own. I thought through several different ways to write about the experience. I considered arguing that I wasn't actually going 51 mph, and that the cop might not have clocked me accurately since I was coming up a hill. I considered justifying my error by claiming that I was driving J's car, or complaining that I was going at the flow of traffic. I thought of complaining that the speed trap outside the fire station is a dirty trick and that the 35 mph zone is just a way to fleece out-of-towners. I even considered sidestepping the issue of fault altogether and writing about how angry and frustrated the whole experience made me feel. But no, all of those don't matter. I was speeding. And I was caught. And it was my fault.
2) Whether or not I have a "good" day or a "bad" day depends way too much on how well my practicing goes for that particular day. If I hit all the high notes and my lips feel good, I usually come home with a smile on my face. If my chops feel off and I keep on fizzing out or cracking notes, I come home with a scowl. Today was a good day. I practiced a bunch of really hard etudes, put in some good work on some orchestral excerpts, and had an effortless day on the piccolo trumpet. If everything else in my day had been exactly the same but I'd had lousy practicing, I would have come home a grumpus. This is not fair to James and J, and it's an immature way to approach practicing.
3) I watch the clock when I teach lessons. I try to be subtle, but I'm almost always thinking "okay, ten more minutes until this student leaves, and then I can check my email and read for a few minutes before my next student comes." It'd be one thing if I was teaching a whole class, but I see most of my students either one-on-one or in small groups. There's no reason why they shouldn't have my full attention. To be honest, the really good students get most of it. But for a lot of my students, I'm only paying three-quarters attention at best, and that's shameful. I would have been devastated if I'd found out any of my private teachers were watching the clock and waiting for me to leave.
4) My 12 days of Valentines project for J fell apart badly. I was supposed to have a video ready last Friday, and it didn't happen. We were going to have a movie night on Saturday, and I never got the movie. There were several other events that fell through as well, and the ones that I managed to get done on time weren't nearly as funny or romantic as I'd hoped. I sort of gave up towards the end. There wasn't really a good reason why, either. We're still going to do the date I had planned for the 14th, but even that's going to be scaled back from the original plans.
5) Sometimes when James and I are playing outside in the snow it will be time for him to go inside. (I can tell he's just as cold as I am.) But I know that if I pick him up and carry him inside, he'll scream bloody murder because he wants to stay out. Sometimes I'll let him fall over in the snow on purpose so that he gets upset and needs to be held, and wants to go in where its nice and warm.
2) Whether or not I have a "good" day or a "bad" day depends way too much on how well my practicing goes for that particular day. If I hit all the high notes and my lips feel good, I usually come home with a smile on my face. If my chops feel off and I keep on fizzing out or cracking notes, I come home with a scowl. Today was a good day. I practiced a bunch of really hard etudes, put in some good work on some orchestral excerpts, and had an effortless day on the piccolo trumpet. If everything else in my day had been exactly the same but I'd had lousy practicing, I would have come home a grumpus. This is not fair to James and J, and it's an immature way to approach practicing.
3) I watch the clock when I teach lessons. I try to be subtle, but I'm almost always thinking "okay, ten more minutes until this student leaves, and then I can check my email and read for a few minutes before my next student comes." It'd be one thing if I was teaching a whole class, but I see most of my students either one-on-one or in small groups. There's no reason why they shouldn't have my full attention. To be honest, the really good students get most of it. But for a lot of my students, I'm only paying three-quarters attention at best, and that's shameful. I would have been devastated if I'd found out any of my private teachers were watching the clock and waiting for me to leave.
4) My 12 days of Valentines project for J fell apart badly. I was supposed to have a video ready last Friday, and it didn't happen. We were going to have a movie night on Saturday, and I never got the movie. There were several other events that fell through as well, and the ones that I managed to get done on time weren't nearly as funny or romantic as I'd hoped. I sort of gave up towards the end. There wasn't really a good reason why, either. We're still going to do the date I had planned for the 14th, but even that's going to be scaled back from the original plans.
5) Sometimes when James and I are playing outside in the snow it will be time for him to go inside. (I can tell he's just as cold as I am.) But I know that if I pick him up and carry him inside, he'll scream bloody murder because he wants to stay out. Sometimes I'll let him fall over in the snow on purpose so that he gets upset and needs to be held, and wants to go in where its nice and warm.
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