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'."
Tuesday, October 22, 2013
Tuesday, October 15, 2013
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.
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.
Sunday, September 22, 2013
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.
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.
Wednesday, September 18, 2013
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."
Tuesday, September 17, 2013
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!
Saturday, September 14, 2013
Recitals
Tomorrow is a big day. I'm going to the Bills-Panthers game at Ralph Wilson Stadium after church with my Dad, Pax, and Bill. This trip was planned several months ago, but when J and I did our September calendar, we discovered a problem--her recital was the same day.
Calendar planning is an important part of our family life. J has a great combination of jobs that allow her to stay at home with James during the day, but also to contribute substantially to the family income and to get an investment on all the time and money she poured into her degrees. We sit down at the kitchen table every month and pull out our iDevices. We erase the previous month from the dry erase board, and then J writes in our regular commitments. (I'm not allowed to write on the white board, because my handwriting is too messy.) We mark up my school days, regular private lessons, Hochstein evenings, and church services. Then we go day by day to mark in which extra rehearsals and gigs we've taken, starring the evenings for which we're going to need childcare. It's a good system, and we usually know well in advance when we're going to need a sitter. One of the sacred rules of the system is that you must always mark entries into the calendar of your iDevice onto the master kitchen calendar as soon as you're aware of them lest there be unintended conflicts. Most of the serious quarrels in our marriage have arisen from one or the other of us (by which I mean, me) forgetting to mark new gigs onto the master calendar.
So anyway, as we were preparing our September calendar a few weeks ago we discovered that there was a conflict on Sunday the 15th. J is doing a recital with one of her college friends and a prominent area professional. They sound amazing (I listened to one of their rehearsals) and they're going to perform it at our alma mater and a local church in October. (I have a concert that afternoon in Syracuse.) J was a great sport about it. She encouraged me to go to the game when I offered to give up my ticket, and I've done my best to give her encouragement and childcare as she's rehearsed and prepared.
It's a real bummer to miss it, though. Recitals are integral to our story. In 2004, when I was a senior in college and J was a sophomore, I was about to begin my long-dreaded semester of student teaching. My senior recital was scheduled for the spring, and I felt I needed some sort of big performance project to get me through the slog of actually working five days a week.
At that point I was feeling rather snobby about the quality of trumpet solo music, and having at the age of 18 already performed all the trumpet repertoire worth playing (so I thought) I decided to do a "transcription" of a Beethoven cello sonata. I also put a baroque suite on the program and the Halsey Stevens sonata. Now all I needed was an accompanist crazy enough to put together the Halsey Stevens and a Beethoven sonata on the same program. Really, the Beethoven was a piano sonata with cello (trumpet) accompaniment. I knew that almost from the beginning, and I knew it would have to be J almost from the beginning. It was the beginning of the semester, and she wasn't yet over-committed to a dozen vocal recitals. She was in the last few months of considering herself a pianist first and a flutist second. We were pretty good friends, and had gotten along quite nicely putting together a few pieces on my junior recital. And she was very friendly and very pretty--and I was newly single. It would not be difficult at all to spend at least two evenings a week rehearsing together.
I pitched the recital to her more as a chamber music opportunity than as "accompanying" a trumpet recital. I think she asked to look at the music first, and then agreed. We had moved in all the same circles the previous year, but it was the evenings together in Cox Auditorium putting together the Stevens bar by bar that changed friendship into something more. I still can't hear the first four notes of the Beethoven without feeling a deep chill. This was the music over which we fell in love.
Not that the recital was easy on either of us. We scrambled to get it together in time, and never once looked at the opener or encore until the night before. J was in the lowest ebb of her crisis between flute and piano during our rehearsals. (I'd like to think that I didn't drive her away from piano by the program.) A few days before the performance I was taken to task and there were several upset phone calls made to RWC administration by a supervising teacher (though, not my master teacher) at my student teaching placement who was incensed that I dare distract myself with a recital when I ought to be lesson planning how to teach trumpet fingerings.
We played the recital, and more than one friend gave one or the other of us a knowing smile as we stood next to each other in the reception line, both dressed in our finest and smiling with relief. My Smith grandparents even took me aside and told me how nice we looked onstage together. I attempted to brush off the comment, but then my grandfather took my arm and said "If you get a chance to marry that one, do it!"
There were a few intervening weeks of missing the evenings together, and then some dates to RPO, and by the new year we were known for a fact to be together.
The Smith grandparents were quite happy, of course, and they provided the next recital and our first public performance as a couple. We dusted off one or two easy numbers, threw in some simple sacred songs, and went to their little rural church in Waterport to play for their congregation. It was our first official performance as a couple. It also occasioned the first official picture of us as a couple, so that we could hang some posters in the music building. The crusty patriarch of the music department laughed when he saw them and told me that we looked like siblings.
It was a recital in December of 2005 that brought me home for a surprise visit from Chicago. J was now a confirmed flutist, and I came back a week earlier than expected to see her perform. I hid in the back of the recital hall behind some stacks of chairs, and listened to her play an extraordinary program while only able to see her feet. After she left the hall from her last encore I made my way backstage--followed by a crowd of peering friends who had learned what was afoot--and occasioned one of the loudest shrieks I've ever heard. I'm still not sure whether it would have been better to let her know I would be coming, but certainly neither of us will forget that recital.
Another long year and a half of graduate school followed, and we were engaged to be married once I graduated from Northwestern. Only my final master's recital remained, and J flew out to Chicago to accompany me at an old church in Evanston. I was exhausted, emaciated, and burned out. I only wanted to go home and get married, and then maybe think about playing the trumpet again once I'd done some very serious sleeping and healthy eating. She came in a few days early to rehearse and stayed with some friends of mine while I packed up my little studio for the last time and made ready to leave. I don't remember much about the recital--I do remember that it was unbearably hot in the church, and I'd stripped off my jacket and tie before we were two movements into the second piece--but I do remember walking along Lake Michigan on an afternoon threatening of rain, and sitting together having soup and coffee and a bread shop. Being together made us both a little more human again.
We played, I said good-byes to my teachers and studio mates, and we loaded up the few boxes of books, clothes, and music that had been my life in Chicago. J took a train to O'Hare to fly to Pennsylvania, and I was to ride back to New York through the night with my Mom and siblings. J's flight was cancelled, and she ended up coming back with us. We drove east through the night, almost too excited to sleep. With that recital finished, my life in the Central Time Zone was over, and we were to start our life together back east.
The
Calendar planning is an important part of our family life. J has a great combination of jobs that allow her to stay at home with James during the day, but also to contribute substantially to the family income and to get an investment on all the time and money she poured into her degrees. We sit down at the kitchen table every month and pull out our iDevices. We erase the previous month from the dry erase board, and then J writes in our regular commitments. (I'm not allowed to write on the white board, because my handwriting is too messy.) We mark up my school days, regular private lessons, Hochstein evenings, and church services. Then we go day by day to mark in which extra rehearsals and gigs we've taken, starring the evenings for which we're going to need childcare. It's a good system, and we usually know well in advance when we're going to need a sitter. One of the sacred rules of the system is that you must always mark entries into the calendar of your iDevice onto the master kitchen calendar as soon as you're aware of them lest there be unintended conflicts. Most of the serious quarrels in our marriage have arisen from one or the other of us (by which I mean, me) forgetting to mark new gigs onto the master calendar.
So anyway, as we were preparing our September calendar a few weeks ago we discovered that there was a conflict on Sunday the 15th. J is doing a recital with one of her college friends and a prominent area professional. They sound amazing (I listened to one of their rehearsals) and they're going to perform it at our alma mater and a local church in October. (I have a concert that afternoon in Syracuse.) J was a great sport about it. She encouraged me to go to the game when I offered to give up my ticket, and I've done my best to give her encouragement and childcare as she's rehearsed and prepared.
It's a real bummer to miss it, though. Recitals are integral to our story. In 2004, when I was a senior in college and J was a sophomore, I was about to begin my long-dreaded semester of student teaching. My senior recital was scheduled for the spring, and I felt I needed some sort of big performance project to get me through the slog of actually working five days a week.
At that point I was feeling rather snobby about the quality of trumpet solo music, and having at the age of 18 already performed all the trumpet repertoire worth playing (so I thought) I decided to do a "transcription" of a Beethoven cello sonata. I also put a baroque suite on the program and the Halsey Stevens sonata. Now all I needed was an accompanist crazy enough to put together the Halsey Stevens and a Beethoven sonata on the same program. Really, the Beethoven was a piano sonata with cello (trumpet) accompaniment. I knew that almost from the beginning, and I knew it would have to be J almost from the beginning. It was the beginning of the semester, and she wasn't yet over-committed to a dozen vocal recitals. She was in the last few months of considering herself a pianist first and a flutist second. We were pretty good friends, and had gotten along quite nicely putting together a few pieces on my junior recital. And she was very friendly and very pretty--and I was newly single. It would not be difficult at all to spend at least two evenings a week rehearsing together.
I pitched the recital to her more as a chamber music opportunity than as "accompanying" a trumpet recital. I think she asked to look at the music first, and then agreed. We had moved in all the same circles the previous year, but it was the evenings together in Cox Auditorium putting together the Stevens bar by bar that changed friendship into something more. I still can't hear the first four notes of the Beethoven without feeling a deep chill. This was the music over which we fell in love.
Not that the recital was easy on either of us. We scrambled to get it together in time, and never once looked at the opener or encore until the night before. J was in the lowest ebb of her crisis between flute and piano during our rehearsals. (I'd like to think that I didn't drive her away from piano by the program.) A few days before the performance I was taken to task and there were several upset phone calls made to RWC administration by a supervising teacher (though, not my master teacher) at my student teaching placement who was incensed that I dare distract myself with a recital when I ought to be lesson planning how to teach trumpet fingerings.
We played the recital, and more than one friend gave one or the other of us a knowing smile as we stood next to each other in the reception line, both dressed in our finest and smiling with relief. My Smith grandparents even took me aside and told me how nice we looked onstage together. I attempted to brush off the comment, but then my grandfather took my arm and said "If you get a chance to marry that one, do it!"
There were a few intervening weeks of missing the evenings together, and then some dates to RPO, and by the new year we were known for a fact to be together.
The Smith grandparents were quite happy, of course, and they provided the next recital and our first public performance as a couple. We dusted off one or two easy numbers, threw in some simple sacred songs, and went to their little rural church in Waterport to play for their congregation. It was our first official performance as a couple. It also occasioned the first official picture of us as a couple, so that we could hang some posters in the music building. The crusty patriarch of the music department laughed when he saw them and told me that we looked like siblings.
It was a recital in December of 2005 that brought me home for a surprise visit from Chicago. J was now a confirmed flutist, and I came back a week earlier than expected to see her perform. I hid in the back of the recital hall behind some stacks of chairs, and listened to her play an extraordinary program while only able to see her feet. After she left the hall from her last encore I made my way backstage--followed by a crowd of peering friends who had learned what was afoot--and occasioned one of the loudest shrieks I've ever heard. I'm still not sure whether it would have been better to let her know I would be coming, but certainly neither of us will forget that recital.
Another long year and a half of graduate school followed, and we were engaged to be married once I graduated from Northwestern. Only my final master's recital remained, and J flew out to Chicago to accompany me at an old church in Evanston. I was exhausted, emaciated, and burned out. I only wanted to go home and get married, and then maybe think about playing the trumpet again once I'd done some very serious sleeping and healthy eating. She came in a few days early to rehearse and stayed with some friends of mine while I packed up my little studio for the last time and made ready to leave. I don't remember much about the recital--I do remember that it was unbearably hot in the church, and I'd stripped off my jacket and tie before we were two movements into the second piece--but I do remember walking along Lake Michigan on an afternoon threatening of rain, and sitting together having soup and coffee and a bread shop. Being together made us both a little more human again.
We played, I said good-byes to my teachers and studio mates, and we loaded up the few boxes of books, clothes, and music that had been my life in Chicago. J took a train to O'Hare to fly to Pennsylvania, and I was to ride back to New York through the night with my Mom and siblings. J's flight was cancelled, and she ended up coming back with us. We drove east through the night, almost too excited to sleep. With that recital finished, my life in the Central Time Zone was over, and we were to start our life together back east.
The
Tuesday, September 10, 2013
James' Toys
Hello! My name is James D. Bear, and I am almost two years old. I have many beloved toys, and I like to use them in very specific ways and places--woe betide the parent who tries to use a toy in a way that I don't like. Here are some of my favorites:
Red plastic baseball bat
This is my FAVORITE toy and no one is allowed to play with it except for me. The nice-but-scary neighbor man gave it to my Daddy for me to use. I mostly use it for my game of hitting balls that are lying on the ground, but I also use can slide it behind the couch or under the bushes when one of my balls is lost. It makes a funny sound when I drag it on the sidewalk, and Daddy and Mommy always hold it by the wrong end. (It ought to be held by the heavy end.) Mommy and Daddy tell me that I can't use it to hit people, but sometimes I really want to hit them with it to see what happens.
Trucks puzzle
This is my FAVORITE toy and no one else is allowed to play with it except when I get to the helicopter piece, because I can't get that one in by myself. I am SO GOOD at solving puzzles, and everyone claps for me when I put the pieces in the right way. Except sometimes I am very sad because I do not know where the police car piece has gone. I ask Daddy, and he doesn't know either. I am very good at solving puzzles.
Racquetball racquets
These are my FAVORITE toys and no one is allowed to play with them except me. And besides, Mommy and Daddy use them wrong anyway. They think you can only use the racquets to hit balls. The racquets give me super powers, which is why I always push them on the ground in front of me. I like to hit things with them, and my favorite is to dig up driveway gravel with a racquet in each hand. When I look through the racquet netting everything is funny looking, and they are also good to stand on.
Bodran drum
This is my FAVORITE toy and no one is allowed to play with it unless I have a better and louder drum to bang on. Every morning when I get up the first thing I do is to pull my bodran drum out of my toy box and bang on it as loud as I can, whether anyone is sleeping or not. I am a great drummer and I play very good music, so everyone always claps for me. Sometimes Daddy yells at me because I stand on the drum to look out the window.
Duplos
I have a big box of duplos, but there are only two that are worth anything--kitty duplo and doggy duplo. I want my own real kitty and doggy so VERY badly, but Mommy and Daddy always say no. Sometimes I have friends over to play and they want to play with my duplos, and then I must have every single duplo and no one else is allowed to touch any of them. Best of all, though, is the duplo box. This is what I sit on when I play the drums.
Wii exercise board
Mommy and Daddy have an exercise board because they think that they will use it for exercising when it is past my bed time. Ha! I always make sure that they are too tired for that. Besides, that is not what it is used for anyway. It is my conducting podium, and I have conducted many stirring performances of the Firebird Suite from this very spot. I wave my baton and jump and down, and then when the music is over I get applause and take a bow and ask to conduct it again. And again. And again. And again.
Pelican
My pelican toy is so silly. It makes a funny squawk sound, and you can tow it around by a string. There is only one place where we are allowed to play with the pelican toy, and that is in the kitchen. If someone tries to play with it in the the living room, I must explain to them that is the wrong place. I like it when I hide behind my high chair in the kitchen and Daddy tows the pelican in behind him. I think this is the funniest thing I've ever seen every single time he does it! Then, I take the pelican away from him and make him do it again.
Magnadoodle
My magnadoodle was a present from Aunt Jessica last Christmas, and it is one of my favorite toys. Mommy and Daddy think it is for drawing, but I know better. I hold onto the pen and tow it behind me like it is a dog on a leash. Mommy and Daddy will not let me have a real doggy, and I want one ever so badly. I can walk around all afternoon giving my magnadoodle some exercise. It is also good for stepping on, but my silly parents shoo me off of it. They don't know how to use any of my toys!
Tower equipment
There are so many things in my house that can be used to make towers. I especially like to use my rubber blocks, and my favorite rubber block is the RED one. I make sure that the red block is the last one I put away and the first one I take out every morning. Most of the time when I build towers I don't even use the red block, because I love it so much that I have to hold it. I also use Mommy's spices to make tall towers, and then I knock them over. But best of all is when I can use the foam chiropractic noodle that our friend Janette gave us. It is taller than me just on its own, but when Daddy builds towers on top of it, it is SO tall. I love to knock those towers over! And then we must build them again!
Tractors
I have two tractors, and they are my favorite toys. One of them has three buttons on the top that used to make sounds. One of the sounds was an engine starting, the other was a horn, and the last horn was a manly-sounding voice that said "Nothing runs like a Deere--Grrrr!!!" I play with my tractors every day, and the best place to use them is on top of Daddy's legs. He will bend his knees, and then I will drive my tractors up and down his legs. Sometimes he tries to read a book, but them I make him hold one of my tractors and drive it up and down his legs. I like it best when he makes his engine sound with his lips. Then I will make MY tractor engine sound too!
Sleigh Ride Puppy
My Mommy and Daddy got this book at a "white elephant" gift exchange, and they even tried to give it back. They're so silly! This is the greatest Christmas present ever. It is a toy doggy that sings "Sleigh Ride," except it changes the words to "curled up together like two fleas on a doggy would be." He has a silly voice, and he rocks back and forth when he sings. I could listen to him sing "Sleigh Ride" forty or fifty times in a row! And sometimes, I copy his dancing or wave my baton to conduct him. He makes me feel like Christmas all year round. I really wish I had a real doggy...
Red plastic baseball bat
This is my FAVORITE toy and no one is allowed to play with it except for me. The nice-but-scary neighbor man gave it to my Daddy for me to use. I mostly use it for my game of hitting balls that are lying on the ground, but I also use can slide it behind the couch or under the bushes when one of my balls is lost. It makes a funny sound when I drag it on the sidewalk, and Daddy and Mommy always hold it by the wrong end. (It ought to be held by the heavy end.) Mommy and Daddy tell me that I can't use it to hit people, but sometimes I really want to hit them with it to see what happens.
Trucks puzzle
This is my FAVORITE toy and no one else is allowed to play with it except when I get to the helicopter piece, because I can't get that one in by myself. I am SO GOOD at solving puzzles, and everyone claps for me when I put the pieces in the right way. Except sometimes I am very sad because I do not know where the police car piece has gone. I ask Daddy, and he doesn't know either. I am very good at solving puzzles.
Racquetball racquets
These are my FAVORITE toys and no one is allowed to play with them except me. And besides, Mommy and Daddy use them wrong anyway. They think you can only use the racquets to hit balls. The racquets give me super powers, which is why I always push them on the ground in front of me. I like to hit things with them, and my favorite is to dig up driveway gravel with a racquet in each hand. When I look through the racquet netting everything is funny looking, and they are also good to stand on.
Bodran drum
This is my FAVORITE toy and no one is allowed to play with it unless I have a better and louder drum to bang on. Every morning when I get up the first thing I do is to pull my bodran drum out of my toy box and bang on it as loud as I can, whether anyone is sleeping or not. I am a great drummer and I play very good music, so everyone always claps for me. Sometimes Daddy yells at me because I stand on the drum to look out the window.
Duplos
I have a big box of duplos, but there are only two that are worth anything--kitty duplo and doggy duplo. I want my own real kitty and doggy so VERY badly, but Mommy and Daddy always say no. Sometimes I have friends over to play and they want to play with my duplos, and then I must have every single duplo and no one else is allowed to touch any of them. Best of all, though, is the duplo box. This is what I sit on when I play the drums.
Wii exercise board
Mommy and Daddy have an exercise board because they think that they will use it for exercising when it is past my bed time. Ha! I always make sure that they are too tired for that. Besides, that is not what it is used for anyway. It is my conducting podium, and I have conducted many stirring performances of the Firebird Suite from this very spot. I wave my baton and jump and down, and then when the music is over I get applause and take a bow and ask to conduct it again. And again. And again. And again.
Pelican
My pelican toy is so silly. It makes a funny squawk sound, and you can tow it around by a string. There is only one place where we are allowed to play with the pelican toy, and that is in the kitchen. If someone tries to play with it in the the living room, I must explain to them that is the wrong place. I like it when I hide behind my high chair in the kitchen and Daddy tows the pelican in behind him. I think this is the funniest thing I've ever seen every single time he does it! Then, I take the pelican away from him and make him do it again.
Magnadoodle
My magnadoodle was a present from Aunt Jessica last Christmas, and it is one of my favorite toys. Mommy and Daddy think it is for drawing, but I know better. I hold onto the pen and tow it behind me like it is a dog on a leash. Mommy and Daddy will not let me have a real doggy, and I want one ever so badly. I can walk around all afternoon giving my magnadoodle some exercise. It is also good for stepping on, but my silly parents shoo me off of it. They don't know how to use any of my toys!
Tower equipment
There are so many things in my house that can be used to make towers. I especially like to use my rubber blocks, and my favorite rubber block is the RED one. I make sure that the red block is the last one I put away and the first one I take out every morning. Most of the time when I build towers I don't even use the red block, because I love it so much that I have to hold it. I also use Mommy's spices to make tall towers, and then I knock them over. But best of all is when I can use the foam chiropractic noodle that our friend Janette gave us. It is taller than me just on its own, but when Daddy builds towers on top of it, it is SO tall. I love to knock those towers over! And then we must build them again!
Tractors
I have two tractors, and they are my favorite toys. One of them has three buttons on the top that used to make sounds. One of the sounds was an engine starting, the other was a horn, and the last horn was a manly-sounding voice that said "Nothing runs like a Deere--Grrrr!!!" I play with my tractors every day, and the best place to use them is on top of Daddy's legs. He will bend his knees, and then I will drive my tractors up and down his legs. Sometimes he tries to read a book, but them I make him hold one of my tractors and drive it up and down his legs. I like it best when he makes his engine sound with his lips. Then I will make MY tractor engine sound too!
Sleigh Ride Puppy
My Mommy and Daddy got this book at a "white elephant" gift exchange, and they even tried to give it back. They're so silly! This is the greatest Christmas present ever. It is a toy doggy that sings "Sleigh Ride," except it changes the words to "curled up together like two fleas on a doggy would be." He has a silly voice, and he rocks back and forth when he sings. I could listen to him sing "Sleigh Ride" forty or fifty times in a row! And sometimes, I copy his dancing or wave my baton to conduct him. He makes me feel like Christmas all year round. I really wish I had a real doggy...
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