A bitterweet Christmas memory

 This past Sunday Heidi Stevens, a columnist with the Chicago Tribune, wrote about her memories of Christmas trees as a divorced mother and how holidays don’t always look the way you think they should. It inspired me to think back on a particular Christmas about 10 or 12 years ago.

While in college, our daughter was dating a delightful young man whose family lived in a Chicago suburb about 45 minutes away from us. On this particular December, his mother had passed away fairly recently and his father and brother were both out of town. So he ended up staying mostly with us. I will call him J in this post.

Well, we don’t celebrate Christmas. Our family is Jewish. (Full disclosure, I was raised Lutheran but converted. This background turned out to be a plus in this situation.) J was obviously sad, and none of us blamed him for feeling that way. We knew there was no way we could create a Christmas like the one he was missing. But we wanted to do something. I bought a tiny tree, about 3 feet tall. J brought back a couple boxes of tree decorations from his house, and he and our daughter decorated the tree. We had presents, because, Chanukah, so they went sort of under the tiny tree. 

J sat by that tree for hours. My heart hurt for him. We welcomed him and treated him like family, but that doesn’t replace one’s family of origin. 

Christmas ended and the kids went back to college. Life continued.

Update: J and our daughter ultimately broke up. We don’t have contact with him because it was too painful for him to see us after the break up. He seems to be doing well, now living in a different state, across the country from us. 

You can find Heidi Stevens’ Balancing Act on Facebook (https://www.facebook.com/groups/254414918544059/) and also on X (@heidistevens13)

Musicians in December

 It's the holiday season! And one of the things that means for musicians is concerts. I am a community musician, meaning someone who loves to play, and generally doesn't get paid to play.

I am a member of three musical groups - a community orchestra, a community band, and a (French) horn ensemble. The band used to give a holiday-themed concert, but voted to give it up years ago. My horn group gives two concerts a year, one being in December. The community orchestra I'm a member of also gives a December concert. And this year I'm helping out another community orchestra with their holiday concert. So, concerts on December 7, 8, and 15.

On December 7, I am playing Handel's The Messiah with the Waukegan Symphony. The most famous part of the Messiah is the Hallelujah Chorus, which will end our concert. The first part of the Messiah is about Christmas. The second part, which we are not doing, is about Easter. I did not know that Mozart had adapted Handel's original piece. Mozart re-orchestrated, adding horns, clarinet, oboes, bassoons, and flutes to the Messiah. If not for Mozart, I would not be playing the Messiah this month. We are also playing a Christmas carol medley and Beethoven's Choral Fantasy for piano, choir and orchestra. Whew.

The day before that concert, I will playing a concert with the Cor Corp, a (French) horn choir. We always give a December concert, not necessarily holiday-themed, but we usually include at least one seasonal piece. This year it's a very cute arrangement of Jingle Bells and also Carol of the Bells. We're also playing the Star Trek theme in honor of a departed member of the group. And "Band of Brothers" - what beautiful theme music! 

The next Sunday I will be playing a concert with the Symphony of Oak Park and River Forest, not holiday themed, but we are playing music from the Nutcracker. Not so exciting for the horn section as we mostly get to play the upbeats in the waltzes.

I hope everyone will have the chance to hear some holiday music, no matter what holiday you celebrate.

Childhood Memory: building things

I was stuck today for what to write, so I got this prompt from 5-Minute Daily Writing Prompts (a book): Write about your childhood experience with experimenting or building. Did you play with LEGO blocks, mix crazy concoctions in your kitchen, make bottle rockets, grow crystals from a kit, or build elaborate forts?

Well, there were no LEGOs when I was a kid. I did have science kits, which I enjoyed. I don't think I actually learned anything from doing the experiments. My sister and I would sometimes mix various liquids, all safe to drink but tasting horrible mixed together. But building things...

One year I made a castle for my little brother, out of cardboard boxes and oatmeal containers, the round ones. It had a drawbridge and the round towers. I don't remember much else about it except my brother loved it. We must have played with it quite a lot. Years later when our mother was doing triage (which she did regularly) she wanted to throw the old castle out. My brother protested and kept it. 

I don't know how long that castle lasted. Certainly when my parents sold the house in Connecticut and moved into a condo in Minnesota, the castle did not move with them. 

I asked my brother if he remembers the castle. If he responds, I'll add on to this post. 

What my daughter did to celebrate her birthday

 My daughter Jamie turned 34 last Saturday and she decided to celebrate by giving cake to homeless people. She told us this and we were naturally concerned about her safety. But, she assured us that she was taking three friends with her, including two young men, and that they would stay safe. [Spoiler: they were fine.]

She called us after the weekend to tell us about it. The four of them drove to places that they were pretty sure homeless people would be. The first place was deserted, but the second place, a park, had quite a few people. 

She said she walked over to people saying, "Would you like a piece of cake? It's my birthday." Nearly everyone said yes and some asked if they could have a second piece. She was happy to give them more. Her girl friend had decided to bring socks to give to the people they met and gave those out. 

The one man who turned down the cake told them that he has terminal cancer and no access to healthcare. He asked them to pray for him. From what Jamie told us, he seemed to be at peace with his life and future.

The four of them were so pleased with how successful the venture was that they decided to repeat on Sunday. So Jamie baked another cake, and they all went out again.

I know giving cake to a group of homeless people will not change the world, but maybe it cheered a few people for a little while. It makes my heart happy that she thinks to do things like this. 

Interactions with People

 We recently returned from a trip to New Mexico. My husband's friend (since 5th grade, they are now in their 70s) and his wife had been asking us to visit ever since their new house was finished. It was a lovely trip - they have a beautiful house and there's a lot to see in the Las Cruces area. Beautiful scenery, so different from Chicago, of course. 

The two of them had planned quite a few activities for us, which was wonderful. Besides beautiful scenery, good food, and interesting places (like White Sands National Park!) what struck me was how many friends they have made in their time so far in New Mexico. And even more than that, how easily they both interact with everyone. 

They picked us up from the El Paso airport and then we stopped at a grocery store there before driving to Las Cruces. In the parking lot of the grocery, Lura started a conversation with the people parked next to us. It started with "would you like this cart?" and ended with us being invited to go on a historical tour of the old section of La Mesilla with the woman's extended family later in the week. Yes, Lura and I went on the tour and had to keep explaining to the very friendly family members that we weren't part of their family, alas.

Meanwhile, the guys were at a men's breakfast. John put together a men's group after moving to Las Cruces that meets every week. 

Another day they took us to the lovely mountain town of Cloudcroft. It's a little touristy, but charming and with beautiful scenery. In a cute shop that sells wine, fancy vinegar and oil, we again made new friends while tasting various items. 

Yet another day we visited White Sands National Park, which was amazing. And there Lura started a conversation with a group of exchange students from Germany.

I'm an introvert. I like people, but I have a hard time beginning interactions with strangers. My super power is listening attentively to others. Is it possible for me to learn to initiate conversations? I think I would like that. I'll need to practice, I think. And have some sort of strategy to get started.

Here's to trying new things!

New Mexico adventure coming up!

 This has turned into our month for traveling! We had a great trip to Boston, which I wrote about last week. Tomorrow we fly to New Mexico to visit one of my husband's oldest friends. They have been friends since elementary school. We are all now retired and John and his wife have moved to Las Cruces. 

I have been to New Mexico only once before; that was to attend a conference of the National Association for Gifted Children. I think it was in Albuquerque. It was my first teacher conference. It was wonderful except for the hotel overbooking. They obviously didn't understand that teachers will show up! I ended up in a conference room on one of those fold up beds. It was bad. I ended up with back pain that sent me to my orthopedic doctor once I was back in Illinois. But the conference was great, eye-opening for for a first year teacher of gifted students.

John and his wife have planned a whole itinerary for our visit. They also inquired about our food preferences and sensitivities. And they are picking us up at the airport in El Paso and stopping at a grocery store on the way back to Las Cruces so we can get food that we like and can eat. It's clear they are great hosts. 

So my mind right now is on what I need to do before leaving tomorrow. Packing, laundry, watering plants, leaving notes for our son who is coming over to check on things, ordering an Uber to airport...

I'm always relieved when we make it to the airport, through security, and finally onto the plane. 

Onward!

Boston! A brief travelogue

 We just got back from 4 days in Boston yesterday. I had only been to Boston once, when I was 17. My parents and I went to look at Boston University. I don't remember seeing much of the city. I don't even remember much about BU. (I did get accepted, but didn't go there.)

This trip was with my husband. We are engaged in a quest to see and hear as many major orchestras in their home hall (that is, not on tour), with their music director (not a guest conductor). And so, we saw and heard Gustav Mahler's Symphony #8, which calls for a large orchestra, a large chorus, plus a children's choir, and 8 vocal soloists, conducted by music director Andris Nelsons. It is nicknamed the "Symphony of a Thousand." The concert hall, Symphony Hall, was built in 1900, though it has been modernized since then. It was a lovely evening.

But there's way more in Boston than the Symphony! We ate really well - I'm not going to weigh myself for awhile! Wonderful seafood, not surprising. If you go to Boston and want a wonderful meal, I recommend the Atlantic Fish Company. We also ate a superb Italian restaurant, recommended by an Uber driver, Limoncello, in the North End. 

The best part of the trip, though, turned out to be our walking tour of historic sites. We had a wonderful guide and saw so many historic sites, including the cemeteries where many of the founding fathers are buried. After teaching Colonial history and the Revolutionary War for years to 4th graders, it was so cool to see the buildings, the Boston Common, the harbor, etc. It was a long walk, but a beautiful day to be outside. My husband, who is not as invested in Colonial history as I am, also loved the tour. 

Now we have about a week at home before traveling to New Mexico for something completely different!

Afternoon at the opera: Fidelio

 Beethoven wrote a single opera, Fidelio. When I took a class in music of the Classical Era (Haydn, Mozart, Beethoven, and other less known composers) the professor told us that he hoped we would be able to see Fidelio sometime and he hoped it would be in a language we didn't understand. We all chuckled. I took that to mean that it wasn't a good opera and assumed also from his statement that there were very few stagings of it. 

I might have been wrong, or he might just have been opinionated. He was a wonderful teacher with a good sense of humor who sadly died way too young, though.

Anyway, Fidelio is being performed at Lyric Opera of Chicago right now and we went to see it on Sunday. 

The main idea in the story is that Leonora's husband, Florestan, is being held as a political prisoner; Leonora disguises herself as a young man, Fidelio, and takes a job at the prison where she believes he is being held. He is indeed at the prison, held alone in the deepest dungeon, not treated at all well.  Fidelio/Leonora talks the head jailer, who is a decent person, into taking him/her down to that level to help with some tasks. She finds Florestan there, not in good shape, but has no way to free him. Pizarro is the villain in this story, the governor of the prison. He suddenly appears and wants to shoot Florestan. Leonora aims a pistol at Pizarro. Just then trumpets sound, announcing the arrival of the minister of prisons, who frees all the political prisoners, including Florestan.

Beethoven was a brilliant composer of orchestral and chamber music. He had already lost a lot of his hearing when he wrote Fidelio, which took him 11 years. The orchestral parts are amazing -- there are several extended duets for the two (French) horn players that are wonderful, in addition to the rest of the instrumental writing. (Full disclosure: I am a horn player.) The vocal writing is not bad, but not brilliant. And there isn't much action. I looked up articles on what various people think is wrong with Fidelio and basically found that most think it just doesn't work very well as a story, and also that Beethoven didn't write that well for the singers. Some also blame the combination of never having worked in opera and his hearing loss. 

Lyric Opera put on a wonderful production. They set it in the present and had a very cool revolving set showing different parts of the prison. A highlight for my husband and me was the orchestra, which was superb. And the theme of political prisoners is as relevant today as it was at its premiere in 1805 in Vienna.

Fidelio has challenging aspects, but the music is worth it. 

The Black Hole: Refrigerator Cleaning Time

My husband is a retired high school band director. Successful school band directors need to be organized. Think about the scheduling of events, the music library, grading, field trips, fundraising, etc. 

I am not disorganized, but I would call myself more organically organized. It's in my head for the most part, though I have started making more lists and calendars as I've gotten older. 

Anyway, it was definitely time to clean out the fridge. He also loves cleaning. I know, I'm lucky! 

So cleaning and organization came together yesterday when he decided he would create a database of everything in our refrigerator. So I continued with the triage, throwing the expired items and things we're never going to use, while he started the list of everything that is staying in the fridge, with its assigned shelf or drawer. (I'm guessing other people also buy an ingredient for a particular recipe and then that thing stays in the fridge, getting pushed more and more to the back.) I'm not sure how that database is going to work considering how often things move in and out of the refrigerator, but I'm game to try.

He did this with the freezer last week, but we just have the freezer that's connected to the fridge, so there's not a lot in there compared to the refrigerator. The list of items in the freezer is posted on the door and we cross things off as we use them up, and write them in as I add things. That's working so far. I do love looking in the freezer and not seeing a packed and frosty ice cave. I'm hoping for a similar result in the fridge section. 

Then it's the challenge of keeping it that way!

Reviewing Novels

 I signed up to review books on The Niche Reader. It sounded like an interesting thing to do. I like to read, and I would get to read new books. I get regular emails from The Niche Reader with descriptions of the novels that are ready to be reviewed, and can choose which and whether I would like to apply to read and review. When you apply you have to say why you want to review this particular book and you may or may not get chosen to read and review.

One of my reviews is up on Amazon, the other two are not yet posted. So far I have read two historical fiction novels, one set during the American Revolution and the other during WWII. The third book is a fantasy novel. 

When I read, knowing that I have to write something about the book, I sort of use two trains of thought. One is the usual, getting engrossed in the story. The other is critical, thinking about the writing, does the plot make sense, are the characters and setting realistic, who would this book appeal to? In reading the historical fiction novel, I also compared what I know about the American Revolution, which I taught for 17 years, to the events in the novel. I make notes as I read, but also think about my overall reaction to the book.

Then writing the review -- The first two books were easy because I really liked them. For the third book, I thought carefully about what I wanted to say and how to say it because I didn't like it. I actually had a hard time finishing it. And it was long. It's not that I don't like fantasy -- I do. I loved the Tolkien novels, Harry Potter, Narnia, A Wrinkle in Time, etc. etc. I wanted to be even-handed in my review. Since this book was part of a series, I went to Amazon and read the reviews of the other books in the series. I saw comments that reflected what I thought, so I came away with a better idea of how to express myself in a thoughtful way.

One of my former teaching partners had a way of recognizing growth and achievement in her classroom. She had a marble jar, but it was for "growth marbles." When anyone, including her, had a moment -- a realization, a breakthrough, an "ah-ha!," that person put a marble in the jar. I don't remember what happened when the jar was full, but I'm sure it was something fun - maybe extra recess? I feel like I earned a marble with this book.

When you give a mouse...

 There is a children's picture book titled When You Give a Mouse a Cookie. It's very cute. If you give the mouse a cookie, then he wants a glass of milk, then more and more things. There are quite a few examples of adorable mice in children's literature.

We have more than one actual mouse in our house. One of them zoomed out of our pantry when I went to get something, causing me to scream. And I'm not a screamer. 

I had been trying to catch them with the humane traps, but they are obviously too smart to fall for that. Somehow they even get the peanut butter without getting trapped. 

I have also been securing all sources of food that a mouse might like and be able to chew his way through the packaging.

We used to have cats. They caught mice. One of our cats would bring his catches to our son in the middle of the night, meowing with his mouth full to wake our son up and get congratulated.

My husband is Mr. Research, no matter the issue. So we now know much more about mice than we did previously. There are two distinct varieties of common mice - ones that live outside in fields and such, and ones that live in people's houses. If you trap them in a humane trap, you need to release them at least 2 miles, or maybe 5 miles (sources vary), away from your house or they will find their way back to you.

Anyway, we tried the snap traps and caught and killed two mice the first night. We'll be setting them again tonight.

Musing about my childhood raincoat

 My family moved several times while I was growing up because of my dad's job. We lived in Neenah, Wisconsin for almost all of my elementary school years. 

My mother bought me a white raincoat when I was maybe in second grade. It had sort of batwing sleeves and a hood. I'm sure she thought it was cute and also easily visible in a rain storm. However, my classmates decided it looked like a ghost and so whenever I had to wear it to school, at recess they would all run away from me yelling, "It's a ghost!"

I'm sure that was fun for them. It was not for me. It basically meant that whenever it was rainy no one would play with me. I hated that raincoat. 

I never told my mother and I never complained. It was unspoken, but clear that while we didn't lack for anything, we weren't spending money frivolously. I was not going to talk my mother into buying another raincoat. 

So I dealt with it as best a seven-year-old can. I reluctantly embraced the role and ran after my classmates pretending to be an actual ghost. 

I was so so happy when I outgrew that raincoat. My sister inherited it. Many years later, when we were adults, it came up somehow in conversation. She said the same thing -- the other kids designated her the ghost and ran away from her. She also played along with them. 

I haven't thought about that raincoat in years. I don't know why I thought about it today. It's 95 degrees and sunny here today. 

The DNC

 We all know the Democratic National Convention is in Chicago right now. My husband and I are avoiding the Chicago Loop and the United Center area. We are watching parts of it on various screens -- last night it was my husband's phone. 

One of my former students is at the convention! She is with a group called Civic Influencers, which works to get younger people and diverse people involved and voting. It is always a pleasure to find out what my former students are doing, but I am particularly proud of what this student is working for. 

I don't want this post to be about partisan politics. Instead, I am thinking about the excitement of the Convention and the history behind our elections, all the way back to George Washington. I'm not that knowledgable about that history*, but I know the election process has become more inclusive and of course, we all have access to seeing at least parts of the nomination process via the Convention being broadcast.

I'm also thinking about all the work that gets done off camera - my student working for civic engagement, others working to bring various issues to the attention of people who may have influence. 

The Convention continues tonight and we'll be watching again.

*I taught American history to 4th graders, from Jamestown through the end of the Revolutionary War for 17 years. I tried to learn something new each year, whether I could use it in my teaching or not. I know quite a lot about that time period!

Unanswered Questions

 Today I have decided to use Tammy Evans' prompt: Make a list of 10 questions that have no answers. Or maybe have absurd answers.

Why I am so bad with technology?

Will I ever be fluent in French? (I'm working on it, but I really have no idea.)

How do you know when it's time to quit?

Who are those people who like lutefisk? (No offense intended - I am Norwegian by ancestry.)

Why can't I ever remember my dreams? (The ones while I sleep, not the real-life dreams.)

Does everyone talk to themselves?

Are there really ghosts?

Will I be able to read all the books I want to read?

Will I finish writing a novel? (This qualifies as a question with no answer because I have no idea what happens next in the story.)

Does the squirrel that hangs out in my backyard like the squished berries I throw out for her?

That was challenging, but I did it!

Side note: The American composer Charles Ives wrote a piece titled "The Unanswered Question." It's quite a haunting piece. You can listen to the LA Philharmonic playing it here: https://www.laphil.com/musicdb/pieces/765/the-unanswered-question

Summer Musical Theater Memories

 I was terribly stuck for ideas of what to write today. I looked in several books and online for possible writing prompts. I finally decided to use this one:

"Brainstorm ideas for a quirky musical that, as far as you know, has not been written. Choose one idea and write your title." Well, my thoughts led in a different direction.

I love musicals. When I was a kid, my dad had LPs of different musicals - Oklahoma, Carousel, West Side Story, My Fair Lady, and most likely others that I'm forgetting now. When I was in high school I got to play in summer musicals for three summers. I play (French) horn. My first musical was West Side Story. It was the the most difficult thing I had ever played. And I had a blast. It is a brilliant music theater piece. The second summer I played in the pit for Carousel. Such beautiful music and such an awful premise for a love story. I didn't think about that as a high school kid. My final summer musical was Brigadoon. I didn't know this musical before that summer. It was also a  lot of fun. I have since watched the movie, which is charming.

The orchestra for a show is in the pit, naturally. And that semi-invisibility leads to some goofiness. I remember one incident well. In Carousel, we had an electric bass in the pit, as well as an upright string bass. The electric bass player was a sensitive guy and every night he would cry at the same moment. I think it was when Billy Barker, who was killed in the first act, comes back as a sort of ghost and meets the daughter he never knew. It's a scene with no music, so the orchestra sits silently, then comes in for the next musical number. On this particular night, the other bass player, who was playing the non-electric instrument, stealthily turned up the amp on the electric bass. So when it was time for the next musical number the first note from the bass thundered out above the rest of the orchestra. He immediately turned it down and all was well. 

I'm happy to say that I was not involved in any way with that prank. 

Time Travel Choices

 My head is sort of swirling with things to write about today, but I decided to go with a prompt from the book "642 Things to Write About," the kids' edition. My prompt is:

"You have the opportunity to get into a time machine and travel back to any time. The catch is that you have to stay wherever you end up and must pick a time before you were born. What year do you pick? Describe your new life."

I'm ignoring the part about having to stay in the past. 

My parents have both passed away, my dad in 1998 and my mom most recently, in 2019. Lately I've been thinking about the things I don't know that only one or the other of my parents can answer. I do know that they met when my dad was 9 and my mom was 6, when both their families moved to the very small town of Hawley, Minnesota, near Fargo. They were both the first in their families to go to college, my mom because her mother wanted a better life for her, my dad because he wanted something different that he couldn't get without more education. 

Since both of them have left us, I find myself with questions that only one of them can answer. Sometimes I even catch myself thinking, "Oh, I'll ask mom." Then realize I can't. My mother was very into genealogy, though, and I have all of her research. I know that they each had to write an autobiography in college - I should find those and read them again. My mother was also a wonderful storyteller (though she would deny that) so I have those memories that she passed on to me.

What kind of questions do I have? Nothing life-changing. Questions about why they chose their paths in life. What was difficult, what was wonderful. 

So, no time travel for me, but maybe a dive into the documents they left behind. That is a type of time travel, after all.

The mysterious tinnitus

 I have blogged about hearing before (https://sherlockesque.blogspot.com/2024/03/music-noise-and-hearing.html). I have a new hearing issue and apparently it's quite rare. Lucky me!

I started getting a pulsing in my ears - not all the time, but sometimes. It's like a drum slowly beating. I brought it up to two of my doctors and neither had an answer. My ENT sent me for scans of my head, which showed that I'm normal, or at least my brain is. Yay! [Cue "Young Frankenstein" and Abby Normal.]

So I googled my symptoms, not something my doctors would endorse, I think. But I found my answer. I have pulsative tinnitus, a rare form of tinnitus. I am hopeful that when I tell my doctors they will take me seriously and not be offended that I self-diagnosed with Google. 

I play in three music groups, a band, an orchestra, and a (French) horn choir. The pulsing is worse after a particularly loud rehearsal or concert. I will experiment to see what might help - I really don't want to quit playing. 

On the other hand, I am grateful that I am generally very healthy. I am able to do pretty much everything that I want to do - travel, babysit the grandson, go to concerts, visit friends. And my husband and I will continue to do those things and more!

The Past, My Past

 I was stuck for what to write (again) so I turned to one of my idea books, 642 Things to Write About. I picked "Write a letter to your grandchild about the world you grew up in." I could go on at great length about that world, but I'll keep it shorter for today.

I was born in 1953. I am a baby boomer - it's not my fault.  I think there were about 40 kids in my kindergarten class. I feel sorry in retrospect for the teacher.

I grew up with television, black and white in my house until I was about 16 - we didn't rush to get new technology in my family. The Mickey Mouse Club, Lassie, RinTinTin - I could list a lot more. 

When I was 6, we moved from Seattle to Neenah, Wisconsin, a small paper mill town on the shores of Lake Winnebago (which means "dirty water"). I walked to school. Girls were required to wear dresses to school. (Public school!) 

My dad worked for the Marathon Paper Company, which made Northern tissues and other products. My parents carefully taught my brother, sister and I to stop using the word kleenex, which was made by the competitor in town. We had framed prints of the Northern girls, what we would call today a branding identification, on our bedroom walls. 

I had no clue as a kid, but it was both an idyllic place to grow up and a suffocating atmosphere. We ran free in the neighborhood, rode our bikes everywhere, and stayed out until our mothers called us in for dinner by yelling from the front door. There were lots of kids to play with. There was also no diversity except protestant and Catholic.

When I was turning 12, Marathon Paper was purchased by American Can Company, and we moved to Connecticut. My dad commuted into NYC. It was a different world, a very exciting world. It changed all of us, for the better, I think. 

Books - reams, slews, loads

 I like books. I really enjoy reading for pleasure as well as to learn and be informed. While I do have a Kindle and I use it, there is nothing like a physical book, in my opinion. I have books from when I was a very young child, from my teen years, and especially from my adult years. 

I have lots of fiction - many, many mysteries, fantasy, historical fiction, including writers from Jane Austen to contemporary writers. I also have many books about music, including a dozen about Mozart. In addition, I have seven novels about Wolfgang's sister Nannerl. I have a sizable collection of books related to the American Revolution - since I used to teach American history from Jamestown through the Revolution I became fascinated by the people and events of that time. And I admit I also like romances, those happily ever afters.

My son inherited this love of books. Though he doesn't live with us any more, being married with a little son, his old bedroom has a tall bookcase stuffed with books. 

The issue that has sprung up related to this abundance of books is space! And really, if I'm not going to reread a book and it doesn't have sentimental value, it needs to go find a new home. And, if I've had the book awhile and still haven't read it?? 

So my book project now is to read the books I own but haven't ever read. If I read enough to know it's not for me, I'll stop, but I'll give every book a fair try. Right now I'm reading New York Burning by Jill Lepore and Double Falsehood by Vaughn Entwistle. 

The subtitle of New York Burning is Liberty, Slavery, and Conspiracy in Eighteenth-Century Manhattan. It is nonfiction, an account of an unsuccessful slave revolt in New York in 1741. It's a slow read with a lot of detail. 

Double Falsehood is a novel set both in present times and in Shakespeare's time. It's 1597, Elizabeth is queen, and Catholics are being hunted. There are mysteries and adventures and plays being written. In the 21st century the narrator is a rather innkeeper in England. It appears that he will discover a manuscript in his inn though I haven't gotten that far.

It will be interesting to see how long this project will take me to get through all the unread books.

The Black Sweater Saga

 A black cardigan sweater is such a useful part of a wardrobe. Black goes with everything, and you can just throw the sweater on if it's chilly. I have a lot of trouble holding on to a black sweater. I wonder if that's common?

In November 2006 I was so lucky to get to go to China on a teacher trip. We went to Beijing and met teachers and observed classes. I was especially thrilled to be able to watch a piano lesson at the Beijing Conservatory. (It's the school superstar pianist Lang Lang attended). After Beijing we visited Xi'an and saw the clay soldier army in situ, which was amazing. Last we visited the Yunan province, which is sort of like Florida as far as retirees. 

One of the items I packed for the trip was a black sweater. Flying back from China was really long (as was getting there). Changing planes in Hong Kong and then in Los Angeles to finally arrive in Chicago. Slogging through the LA airport with purse and carry-on, I dropped my black sweater. When I realized that, I walked all the way back to the TSA station, but couldn't find it. I was so tired, I didn't want to go through TSA again, so I said good-bye to that black sweater.

A few years later we were on vacation in Bellingham, Washington (which is one of the most beautiful places I have ever visited). Our daughter was participating in a music festival and we came to see her and hear some concerts. We went out to dinner. It was warm and I took my new black sweater off and hung it on the chair. Well, of course, I walked off without it. Once I realized, we went back to the restaurant but it had vanished, probably to the Island of Lost Outerwear. 

Being tourists, the next day we were all browsing in the shops and I found my next sweater. It was completely different from the one I lost in LA, which was long and silky. This one was short and chunky. I loved it. I can't remember what happened to that sweater, but I don't have it anymore. 

My next sweater is long, silky and made of bamboo. I wear it often. 

There is one more sweater story though. After my mom passed away, my sister and sister-in-law were dealing with my mom's clothing. She had an entire collection of cardigan sweaters in a rainbow of colors, including black. I claimed that black sweater. It was a cable knit, with buttons. I didn't wear it as much as the silky bamboo sweater, but apparently I wore it enough to lose it. Yes, I think I left it in a restaurant in Chicago. I didn't realize it for several weeks, too late to try to find it. 

At least I have my beloved bamboo sweater.

Memories of Elementary and High School

 Quite a few years ago I had a conversation at my school (the school where I taught) with two other teachers about our elementary school experiences. So we're talking about school memories from the 1960s and 70s, maybe 80s. All three of us had memories of being bored, so bored, and so we were comparing what we did with our time until dismissal each day. 

We each had managed our hours differently. I think that Amy read surreptitiously and Matt looked out the window. I made up stories. Usually about people who I also made up. Sometimes whole families. I would watch the second hand of the clock, each 360 degree turn marking a year in my fictional people's lives. A lot happened in my head - kids had adventures, babies were born, people disappeared and came back years later! 

Surprisingly, my grades were not terrible, though not stellar either. 

We moved from a very small town in Wisconsin to Connecticut right before I started junior high. It's tough time to start when you're new and have no friends yet, but I loved that new school. I did make friends, but I also had interesting, engaged teachers who made learning appealing and inviting. 

I learned a lot, about the subjects being taught, but also about people. I had mostly teachers who really cared about their students and loved their subject matter. I remember interesting assignments in high school - I wrote a song in French for a French assignment and I read Rosencranz and Guildenstern are Dead for my project after reading Hamlet in my Humanities class. American history was organized by topic rather than being chronological - I remember we began the year looking at U.S. foreign policy, starting with Washington's farewell address. I campaigned for a candidate for a local office in Civics. And of course I played in the band and orchestra and learned music theory, even composing some music. 

I still not a stellar student - I graduated in the middle of my class GPA-wise - but I had great experiences and learned a lot. 

Conversations with Imaginary People

 Several years ago I signed up for National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo.org), a challenge to write 50,000 words in November each year. I had an idea for a novel, but I quickly realized that my idea needed a lot more if I was going to come anywhere near 50,000 words. It was a really good learning experience, and I was not discouraged. I kept working on it sporadically. One of my issues was just not enough plot. Another was that I didn't know why the "bad guy" had it in for the protagonist. 

It's interesting how a fiction that you create in your head can take on a life of its own. My characters had conversations in my head that I didn't initiate. (Other writers told me this happens and to take advantage of it and write it all down). 

I decided to try interviewing the antagonist, whose name is Karl Gruber, to see if he could shed any light on this. This part of the novel takes in 1782 in Austria. The protagonist is Allie. Both are musicians, but Allie is an accidental time traveler from our time. Naturally she doesn't want to tell people that. She is also going by an alias, Anton, a horn player from the newly created United States. She has been invited to join a rural court orchestra led by Antonio Rosetti, a real person from that time.

Me (the author): Karl, why are so suspicious of Anton?

Karl: He appeared out of nowhere. I know many musicians in the Austrian empire and I have never heard of Anton Berger. He speaks German well but with a strange accent. 

Me: Where do you think he's from?

Karl: Herr Rosetti says he is from New York, one of the British colonies.

Me: Well, wouldn't that explain the accent? He would most likely be an English speaker.

Karl: Well, yes. But it's more than that. There's something very odd about him. He's not like anyone I've ever met.

Me: Couldn't he be just a stranger to Austria?

Karl: Yes, but it's even more than that. 

Me: Are you afraid he will harm the orchestra?

Karl: Perhaps. He avoids personal questions. He appeared  out of nowhere. Franz [another musician] arrived with him just yesterday. Where did he come from? 

Me: Why does it matter so much to you?

Karl: It is just wrong. He  doesn't belong here. Everyone is accepting him at face value, but I think there's more to it than that.

Me: He hasn't done or said anything to you that is threatening.

Karl: No. But I feel he is hiding something. People who are hiding parts of themselves can be dangerous. I like my life here. I don't want it to change. I think this strange young man will change things.

Conclusion: Karl is perceptive, but baffled. He is afraid, of what, he doesn't know. 

We (me and the characters) will see where this goes.

Cousins and dinner out

 My husband has a lot of first cousins. I counted them up once; including those who have passed away, he has over 50 first cousins. Both of his parents came from large families, eight and ten children. And almost all of them had children.

The cousins on his father's side created a cousins' club years ago. When I joined the family (40-something years ago) they were having family club get-togethers every month or two. That fell by the wayside, I'm not sure why. Now there's an annual picnic in the summer. It's a boisterous group so get-togethers are a lot of fun.

As an aside, that side of my husband's family welcomed me with open arms and a lot of teasing. 

In my family, I have two first cousins. We didn't grow up together, as my family moved away from them when I was 6 years old. We only saw them on occasional trips back. They live 2,000 miles away. Because of political differences they do not talk to me anymore. I'm okay with that, especially as I have all these cousins-by-marriage.

I'm thinking of cousins today because one of my husband's cousins has made it his mission to keep family ties strong. We get together with him and his wife every other month for dinner in a nice restaurant. We have a date with them tonight, trying out a new restaurant. I am sort of an extreme introvert. My special talent is listening. (I tell people if I were on Star Trek, I would be from Guinan's home planet, the planet of listeners.) But when I am out with the two of them, I talk - a lot. 

So - good food, good conversation, a chance to relax and catch up. 

My very vivid kindergarten memory

 I started school in Seattle, but my memories of that year and a half are very faint. I remember walking to school to a whole gang of kids from our neighborhood and then walking home after half day kindergarten with my best friend Leslie. (Looking back, it seems unreal that two five-year-olds would walk home by themselves and no one thought anything of it. Though we were of course warned about stranger danger.)

Our neighborhood was new We had just moved there because my brother was about to be born and we needed another bedroom. Some of the lots were still under construction. When I was a kid building sites were a magnet for kids. Of course, we weren't supposed to mess around in them; there were a lot of dangerous spots in a construction site.

So Leslie and I were walking home and a wet day and we stopped to stomp around in the mud. I think this site was next door to my house, but memories are a bit foggy. We were wearing rain boots and having a fun time. Then my foot got stuck in the mud. I couldn't pull it out. Leslie pulled too, but my foot didn't budge. 

Leslie said, "I've gotta go home. Bye!" 

We were five years old. I said good-bye. Neither of us thought about having Leslie go get an adult. I don't remember even being panicked. 

So I started calling, "Help!" Over and over. 

On that particular day, my mother was in the hospital, having just given birth to my brother. My grandmother was staying at our house, taking care of my sister and me. It felt like I called and called forever, but my grandmother did eventually hear and come out to see what was happening. She pulled me and my boot out of the mud and took me home. 

That's where my memory stops. She probably cleaned me up and gave me lunch.

When I was teaching writing and story arcs to my elementary students, I used this story as an example. Everyone has stories to tell.

Why I play the Horn

 When I was in elementary school, 6th grade was when you could start a band instrument. I wanted to play trumpet. However, it was 1964 and everyone in my life thought that girls don't play trumpet. Thinking back, it is astonishing how much effort was put into talking me out of trumpet. 

My mother called my orthodontist. I don't know what he actually said, but she implied he said no trumpet. My father got out my brother's toy trumpet and had me try to play it. I didn't realize it wouldn't make a sound unless you pressed one of the buttons, so my dad insisted that I couldn't make a sound and therefore could not play trumpet.

Finally, a compromise of sorts was reached - I could start learning cornet. Now, a cornet is basically a trumpet. The difference is trumpets have a cylindrical bore while cornets are conical, giving the cornet a more mellow sound. [shrugs shoulders]

Band was big in my hometown of Neenah, Wisconsin. I was in a group lesson with 5 or 6 boys as I remember. The beginner band included all the elementary schools in town, so it was huge. 

The next year we moved to Connecticut and I joined the junior high band in our new town, playing my uncle's old cornet. 

People kept telling me that I should be playing French horn. And they didn't say that because trumpet/cornet was not for girls. They said it because something about the way I played said that French horn would be a better fit. Finally in 9th grade, I saw that the world was filled with trumpet players and was lacking in French horn players. So I agreed to take a horn home along with a beginner method book. 

Side note: (9th grade was still junior high in my school district in Connecticut.)

(I will now call my instrument the "horn" as that is the universally accepted name for it.)

It is much, much more difficult to find the correct pitches on a horn than on a trumpet. I struggled for months, but I got better. When I arrived in high school, I was the only horn player in the school. And it was not a small high school. My band director told my parents I should take private lessons. They eventually found an excellent teacher for me in a neighboring town. With his  influence, I went to his alma mater for college, the Eastman School of Music.

Along the way I fell in love with this beautiful instrument.

And my father was incredibly proud of me. And repeatedly embarrassed the teenage me in front of numerous relatives and friends. 

If you ask any horn player why they play the horn, almost all of us will say "the sound." But there's also the incredible repertoire of music written for the horn, from Bach to 21st century pieces. I am lucky that so many people kept nudging me to try it. 

I'll be off to a rehearsal tonight!

"Where were you born?"

 Today I turned again to my book of writing prompts/ideas (642 Things to Write About-Young Writer's Edition - I bought when I was teaching young writers, but a lot of it works for adults too), not being able to think of a good topic. I turned to "Where were you born? Using your imagination, describe the day you were born."

I was born in Seattle, in August 1953. My parents had been married for a year, but they had known each other since they were children. They were from the same small town in Minnesota and their mothers were good friends. My dad's parents and brothers had moved to Seattle during World War II in order to work in the defense industries there. 

In 1952, my mother and grandmother visited my dad's family in Seattle. By then my dad was out of the Navy and had joined his parents there. 

My uncle Don, who was a few years older than my dad told me years later, "Your mother and her mother came to visit. Trev [his wife] and I went away for the weekend. When we came back, they were engaged." He said sounding both a little bewildered and affronted. Don liked to be in charge.

Anyway, my parents were married not too long after that, back in Minnesota. I was born one year and one week after the wedding. 

That day might have been sunny, even in Seattle. Since it was 1953, my father would have been elsewhere, fathers not being allowed at their children's births. I imagine him going back to their little house, waiting for a phone call. He picked up his cello and began to play. He probably would have played some hymns, but I'm going to imagine him playing some of the Bach Cello Suites. [If you'd like to hear a bit of one of the Suites played by the incredible Yo-Yo Ma, click this link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1prweT95Mo0]

When the phone call came, telling him he had a daughter and his wife was resting comfortably, he took a deep breath and said a prayer thanking God. Then he drove to the hospital to see us. 

I was a large baby with quite a lot of dark hair and a black eye, thanks to the doctor. But to my parents I was the most wonderful thing in the world at that moment. I know that because that's how I felt when each of my children was born. 

SOL 2024: So Much Fun!

 I've participated in quite a few March SOLs but this year has been the most fun! There were so many great ideas to try - top three lists, guess the year I was born, various poem formats, book spine poems, and Villain Origin stories. It was very inspirational. Thank you all!

I also tried some new prompts from the book "642 Things to Write About." It is aimed at young writers, but with some adaptations, they work for adults, too. 

I felt freer to try new things in my blogging, inspired by other bloggers here. This is such a great group.

I feel like I can make a go of a regular writing habit, something I have struggled with. Writing has become fun this month. Before it felt important, but more like tooth brushing than a creative time for trying different, sometimes quirky, types  of writing.

I hope to see some of you on Tuesdays. Also next year! SOL 2025!!

On Reading in the Middle of the Night

 Like many people, I have some trouble sleeping. Years ago a doctor told me that if I can't sleep in the middle of the night, I should get up and read a really boring book. 

Most of the time I can fall asleep. My main problem is waking up in the middle of the night unable to get back to sleep. I don't know why this happens. When I was still teaching, I would wake up and start to worry about school. I would make lesson plans in my head, which I would of course forget by morning. 

Now I'm retired and usually don't have much to worry about. I don't know why I'm awake. So I do get up, go downstairs (so as not to wake my husband), and read a novel. The book can't be too exciting and usually I have read it before. Reading takes my mind off not being able to sleep, so then I can go back to sleep.

I do see a sleep doctor, a neurologist who specializes in sleep. I take time-release melatonin and L-theanine. The time release is supposed to help me stay asleep.

In the past, before electricity, people generally went to bed when it got dark. In the winter when the nights were long, people often woke up in the middle of their long sleep and used that time to have a snack, interact with their bed partner, and finally go back to sleep for the rest of the night. Thinking about that, I wonder how much of our modern problem with sleep is caused by artificial light. There's no going back from that.

Anyway, my solution is to read downstairs, in the middle of the night, nothing too exciting. It works for me.

Mary Poppins meets Samwise Gamgee

 Yesterday's conversation between Lord Peter Whimsey and Winnie-the-Pooh was so much fun to write that today I'm imagining another conversation.

Mary Poppins: Well, hello. You must be my new charge. I can't say I've ever nannied a child who looks like you.

Samwise Gamgee: I'm not a child! I'm a hobbit.

Mary: A hobbit? Let me think. Not a habit? No, that makes no sense. 

Samwise: No! A HOB-bit. We are a race of beings, shorter than humans, with furry feet. We live mostly in underground homes.

Mary: Hmm. Do you need a nanny? Or possibly a somewhat magical nanny?

Samwise: I am not a child!! Hobbits are just shorter than humans like you. If you don't believe me, you can look us up in Wikipedia! I'll even give you the link: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hobbit

Mary: Do you have a child, perhaps? I need children in order to fulfill my purpose. 

Samwise (suspiciously): What do you need children for? What do you do with them?

Mary: I introduce magic into their lives. But I do it while acting the cross nanny and denying any magical happenings. I am NOT the Disney Mary Poppins! That saccharine creature is a travesty of, of, I can't think of a fitting word. But, children grow up too fast, especially now. They need magic. They will grow up and perhaps forget, but something of magic will always stay with them.

Samwise: My story has magic in it, too. But it is a darker, more dangerous magic. And it left a mark on every being who touched the Ring. 

Mary: I am sorry to hear that. You have escaped from its clutches?

Samwise: Yes. It was a very near thing, though, for my friend Frodo. And some darkness stayed with him.

Mary: You don't need a nanny, magical or not. What do you need?

Samwise: I need nothing. I came home and married my sweetheart Rosie and we have 13 children. That is all I ever wanted in life.

Mary: I will leave you then. I need to find children who need me. I can see that your children have everything they need with you and Rosie.

Samwise: Farewell. It was interesting meeting you.

Mary: Likewise. 

[Mary Poppins opens her umbrella and sails away into the sky.]

Samwise: Time to go home. I am a most fortunate creature. 

A fanciful conversation

 My prompt today: "Two of your favorite characters from two different books meet. Write a conversation between them. How do they appear and what are they talking about?"

I'm going to choose interesting characters that will have an entertaining conversation (I hope), not necessarily my most favorite characters. 

Lord Peter Whimsey: "Hallo, hallo, hallo, what's all this then?"

Winnie-the-Pooh: "Oh, hello. This  is the Hundred Acre Wood. Would you like some honey?"

Lord Peter: "Err, no. Thank you. [looking around] I have no idea how I came here."

Pooh: "Do you know Christopher Robin?" 

Lord Peter: "Err, no. Should I?"

Pooh: "He is my boy. He is the one who knows the way out of the Hundred Acre Wood. Where did you come from?"

Lord Peter: "I was at my home, playing Bach on my piano. There was a knock on the door, so I got up to answer it. Everything went foggy and here I am. I would like to return to my home."

Pooh: "Ah. The Hundred Acre Wood is a magical place. You should have noticed that you're talking to a bear."

Lord Peter: "Well, yes. That is rather odd. Perhaps it was something I ate. Or drank."

Pooh: "Now you're thinking of Alice. That's a different story altogether."

Lord Peter: "Since I am a detective, I should be able to solve this mystery! Where would I be able to find this Christopher Robin?"

Pooh: "He comes and goes. He is in two worlds, but he knows the way between them. Would you like some honey while we wait for him?"

Lord Peter: "That is very kind of you, but no. You don't happen to have tea, do you?"

Pooh: "No, I don't believe I do."

Silence falls. 

As this conversation progressed, it became obvious that these two particular characters have nothing in common. They might as well be waiting for Godot along with Vladimir and Estragon. We will leave them in the Hundred Acre Wood and hope that Christopher Robin comes soon. 

Top Three Lists

Today's post is inspired by Tammy Evans (https://writertammye.wordpress.com/2024/03/26/top-three-lists-solc24-day26/) who wrote about creating Top Three lists.

Museums

Metropolitan Museum of Art

Louvre

MOMA

Desserts

carrot cake

chocolate mousse

pecan pie

Beaches

Todd's Point (also known as Greenwich Point), Connecticut

Cannon Beach, Oregon

Santa Monica, California

Places to read

Living room sofa

Train

Coffee Shop

Animals

Cats

Penguins

Lions

Cookbooks (current favorites)

Moosewood Cooks at Home

Isa Does It

The Minimalist Baker's Everyday Cooking

Children's Books

The Return of the Twelves

From the Mixed Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler

A Wrinkle in Time

Television Shows

Star Trek, the Original Series

Start Trek, The Next Generation

The West Wing

What do my lists say about me? One thing pops out - I seem to be a vegetarian. (I do eat fish though.) And I really like Star Trek. I was not able to list my top three adult books -- there are just too many that I love.

 

The Coming Cicada Apocalypse

You've probably heard the news that this summer two different batches of cicadas will be hatching. One is the the every 13 year brood and the other is every 17 years. The 13-year bunch is called Brood XIX and the 17-year cicadas are Brood XIII. Not every part of the United States will be visited by these critters, but Illinois, where I live, is getting both. 

I remember the last big cicada summer. My neighborhood was not much affected because the subdivision had been built between hatching and construction had destroyed many of the hibernating (?) insects. But other areas were really affected. We like to visit Ravinia, a summer music venue north of Chicago, near Lake Michigan. (Chicagoans just call it the Lake.) Ravinia is a lovely wooded venue. That summer cicadas were falling out of the trees. Very creepy. I'm not sure which brood that was.

We do have lesser amounts cicadas every summer. I recall my cat (no longer with us) bringing live cicadas to the back door. She wanted to bring his new pet inside to play with. (FYI, she was not an outdoor cat, but she was extremely smart and clever and often snuck out the back door when someone was going in or out.)

I don't think my neighborhood will escape the cicada influx this summer. I'm hoping our local wildlife will find them tasty. Though we are in a suburb about 30 miles from Chicago, we have raccoons, coyotes, possums, and of course squirrels and birds living alongside us. 

I'm not much of a hat wearer, but I think I will be wearing hats a lot more this summer.

Music, Noise, and Hearing

 I have been playing in bands and orchestras since junior high school. Along the way I have often sat behind the trumpet section, or next to the percussion section. I have been exposed to a lot of high volume sound. So no surprise, I now have hearing aids, though my ENT calls it a minor hearing loss.

Nowadays there is greater awareness of the importance of protecting one's hearing. There are plugs to put in your ears that take the volume down. Some music groups use plexiglass shields placed between the percussion and the musicians in front of them, or between the trumpets and the players in front of them.

I have never been to a rock concert, so I can't make comparisons, but I would guess that those musicians also have hearing issues if they perform for long enough. And probably the audience members as well.

The problem with using the noise protection ear plugs is that then you can't hear people speaking. This is a problem in rehearsals where the conductor expects that you will hear what he says and then do that, whatever it is. 

If I could go back in time, would I do anything differently? I would probably use ear protection in at least some concerts, but not rehearsals. Would it save my hearing? Probably not. I am fortunate that modern hearing aids are really good. My hearing aids are connected to my iPhone, so I can adjust the volume and setting using the phone. They have different settings for normal environments (whatever that means!) and loud environments, not only to help protect your ears but to help you hear better in, say, a noisy restaurant. Many hearing aids now are rechargeable, so no tiny batteries!

I remember my father-in-law's much larger, clumsy hearing aids, and feel grateful for modern technology. 

I'm also grateful for all the music I've gotten to play and hear over many years. No regrets.

Summertime Thoughts

 Once again today I turned to 642 Things to Write About since I couldn't even think of one. I randomly turned to this prompt: "What are your favorite things to  do during summer?"

Living in Chicago, it seems like winter lasts for years and summer lasts a couple of weeks. That's not the case in actuality, but it always does seem like summer goes too fast. What do I like to do in the summer?

• Sit in my backyard enjoying the sun.
• Take walks outside, wearing shorts!
• Go to concerts at Ravinia. Ravinia is the summer home of the Chicago Symphony and also hosts many other concerts of lots of music genres. It's a beautiful place, peaceful, with lots of trees, and good musick, of course.
• Cook on our Weber grill using real charcoal.
• Go to the beach. This is something I haven't done in years. I used to take our kids to a beach on Lake Michigan at least once a summer. I love just sitting in the sun (with a lot of sunblock), watching the waves, and walking in the water.
• Clean out the garage. Okay, that one's not so much fun, but it will feel good to accomplish that and we can't really do that in the winter. 
• Read a lot of books. Yes, I do that all year, but there's something special about reading novels in the summer. It reminds of the summer reading programs my mother signed us up for every summer at our library.

What are your favorite summer things?

First words. Where do they lead?

 I am again turning to by helpful book, 642 Things to Write About. Today I picked "Go to a bookshelf and pick out a book that has a red spine. Flip to page 42. What's the first word? That's your first words, too. Go!"

First I have to digress and note that 42 was the mysterious number in The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. Coincidence?

Following the directions the first thing I realized was the first word on page 42 in many books is a boring word like "but," "what," or "their." I kept looking and assembled a list of first words from 14 books with red spines. So I'm going to make a sentence or two with those words. With a some extra words to create complete sentences that make some sense.

"Sunday, Dottie required a kerch. What had their books done to the younger royal daughter? Had books begun to affect her? But, this is a case for the inquisitive librarian." 

I think this is the beginning of a light-hearted story for children. Perhaps Princess Dottie wants to sneak out of the castle in disguise (the kerch) after reading an adventure novel, perhaps The Prince and the Pauper? What adventures might she have? 

Adventures would be determined by what time period we're in, as well as where the story takes place. If this is a children's story we don't want the adventure to be too scary. If the castle is in the country, she could go in the woods and maybe find a magical adventure to another place. If the castle is in the city, she could run away to a museum or a park. Hmm, The Mixed-up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler. 

She also needs to find a friend or partner along the way. Maybe a young boy who has a very different life. Maybe a talking fox. 

At some point she needs to have a purpose more than, "I want to see the world outside the castle." A magical quest? A rescue mission? 

The possibilities are fun to think about! Maybe I should actually give it a try.

Graphic novels and me

I have a LOT of books. I have favorites that I reread, books on music and history I keep for reference,  children's books from my own and my children's past, and more. I also have some books that I have not read though they've been on my shelves for quite a while. So I set a goal of reading some of them, maybe eventually all of  them. 

I started with "Kill Shakespeare," a graphic novel. The intriguing premise is a truly fictional world inhabited by characters from Shakespeare's plays. Hamlet is the main character, who has to determine which of two warring sides is the "good side," while dealing with his father's ghost who wants to come back to life. 

I struggle with graphic novels. I think they are a wonderful idea. I had students who hated to read, but would devour graphic novels. And I have people in my life with reading struggles who happily read graphic novels. But I have several personal issues with this genre. They go so slow because you have to look at the illustration to figure out what's going on besides reading the words. I find it hard to tell the characters apart from the illustrations. I like having "said Hamlet," and "King Richard glared at Iago," etc. I also like the written explanations of the action. 

I did get to the end of the book where I discovered "to be continued." Grrr.

My next TBR is a normal novel. Though, come to think of it, it is part of a series. Oh well.

The Art of Coffee Making

 My son is a manager at Starbucks. I don't take advantage of that, however. He does sometimes gift us with something from his store, recently it was a new, large coffee mug. 

I make coffee in a press pot, also known as a French press. I first had coffee made in this kind of pot years ago in a Minnesota restaurant. It was the best coffee I had ever had - so smooth, no bitterness. And such a low-tech method. Grind the beans, boil the water, let it brew for 4 minutes or so and you've tasty, full-bodied coffee. 

I have a coffee grinder and so I grind beans every morning. You use a coarse grind for the press. A finer grind might seep into the coffee through the mesh in the press pot.

While my coffee is brewing for 4 minutes, I heat up some oat milk in the microwave and use my little battery-operated frother to create some foam. Press and pour the coffee into a mug, add the frothed milk, and a tiny amount of caramel syrup, and it's ready to drink.

And I'm ready to start the day.

This post was inspired by Leah Koch's post about making coffee!

The Magic Flute

 Yesterday evening we went downtown (Chicago) to see "The Matchbox Magic Flute." Mozart's The Magic Flute is one of my absolute favorite operas (tied with Mozart's The Marriage of Figaro). I told my husband I will always go see the Magic Flute.

Operas, like plays, are not always the same. The staging can make a huge difference in how the audience perceives the story and message. The productions of the Magic Flute that we have seen range from the exquisitely magical to awful, in my opinion. My favorite production was at Indiana University. We went because  our daughter was playing in the orchestra. The staging was beautiful and playful. The main stage piece was a tall, wise wooden structure with doors that opened, swinging out like windows showing a singer from the shoulders up. At several times "Mozart" himself appeared in a window. The Magical Flute should be magical and this one was.

We've also seen this opera a few times at the Lyric Opera of Chicago. One staging put the story in the backyard of a young boy who was directing the opera. Some of the costumes were bedsheets! But once the story started, we were only aware of the setting from time to time. We were immersed in the story.

The last time we saw it at Lyric, I hated the staging. It was very high tech, with quite a lot of filmed bits. Like, the Queen of the Night, who first appears as a bereaved mother asking the hero (Tamino) to save her daughter (Pamina) from the wicked Sarastro. Later we come to see that she was deceiving Tamino. This particular production gave away her evilness in the first time we saw her. The high tech projection gave her a set of spider legs and tried to trap Tamino even as she is trying to convince him to save Pamina. Not cool, in my opinion.

The Matchbox Magic Flute was a whole different thing from any Magic Flute I had seen. It was at Chicago's Goodman Theater, in a tiny theatre space. The singer-actors were mostly not opera singers. They sounded more like musical theater singers. It was in English (not German) with a much smaller cast. There was quite a lot of modern humor, and it was much shorter than the original. Very clever staging in a small space with minimal props. 

Just one more Magic Flute I have to include, and that is Ingmar Bergman's version. It is also wonderful, in a different way. It takes place in a theater, and he shows us audience members watching the opera now and then. He also shows the singer-actors backstage, taking naps, etc. It is delightful.

What's in a name?

 My dad's name was Waldo, and even before Where's Waldo? he hated it. When my brother was born, my mom suggested naming him after my dad. He said absolutely not. They named him John.

My dad's older brother was Donald and his younger brother was Fremont. My dad accused his mother of starting to read romance novels after Donald was born. He thought she must have gotten the idea for these more unusual names from her reading. He always went by Wally, which was more acceptable to him.

When my dad joined the U.S. Navy during World War II, he discovered that his parents had misspelled his name on his birth certificate. It was down as Waldow. Actually my grandparents thought Waldow was the correct spelling and then a few years alter decided it should be Waldo and just started spelling it that way. The Navy was not so flexible and so Waldo had to go to court to legally change the spelling of his name.

My mother didn't particularly like her name either, which was Corinne, pronounced Core-reen. Many people said core-rin even after being corrected. I think the bother of always correcting people and hearing it said wrong was a big part of her dislike.

It's interesting that many "old fashioned" names are coming back and also that parents don't use nicknames as much for their children. When I was in school there were lots of Billys, Jimmys, Bobbys, etc. Now kids seem to go by William, James, and Robert. 

What's in a name? How does a name affect a person? How many people want to change their names? Or go by a nickname? 

A memory of practical problem solving

 Once again I turned to my book, "642 Things to Write About," looking for a blog idea. The book  is intended for young writers, so I generally adapt the ideas. Today's prompt is "What would you do if your parents forget to pick you up after school?"

I was in high school, but not yet driving. My town had two unconnected libraries, the large Greenwich Public Library, and the small Perrot Library. Neither was very close to our house. My mom had dropped me off at the Perrot Library. I don't remember why I needed to go there. Someone was supposed to come pick me up at a designated time. But no one came. 

This was way, way before cell phones. I waited and waited. I don't really know why I didn't ask the librarians to use the phone. I don't think it even occurred to me to ask. Or maybe the library had closed by then. It was way after the time I was supposed to be picked up - maybe 45 minutes or so. So I decided I had better just walk home. It was not particularly close to our house. In fact, I just now used Google Maps to find out -- it would take about an hour to walk from the library to our address. I knew it was far, but I couldn't think of another option. And I did know the way. 

So I began walking. I had walked maybe half a mile when I saw our family car. My dad was driving. I was able to get his attention. He stopped and picked me up and we drove home. I don't remember my parents' reaction. It's a rather fuzzy memory at this point. I do remember thinking that I needed to figure it out myself and not rely on others. What I nervous? I don't remember. But then, I did know I could get home on my own.

Happy St. Patrick's Day

 It's St. Patrick's Day. I'm not Irish, but you can't ignore St. Patrick's Day in Chicago. We were in the Loop last night to go to a concert. (The Loop is the downtown area of Chicago. The El train makes a loop around the area, hence the name.) There was a lot of green being worn and a lot of happy people. 

We ate in a restaurant on Michigan Avenue, a major street in the downtown area, right across from Millennium Park. The park is always full of people; it's where the "Bean," a silvery metal sculpture shaped like a kidney bean, is. Last night the park was full of happy, noisy people wearing green, as was the sidewalk on Michigan Avenue. 

Part of the Chicago River gets dyed green for St. Pat's. We didn't see it this year, but I have seen it other years. It's very green. There is green beer available, too. 

I did 23andMe some years ago. I am basically 100% Scandinavian, but 23andMe continually does something with the DNA and sometimes comes up with different results. For a brief time some years ago, I was a little bit Irish. Now I'm not. Oh well.

Do other cities and towns celebrate St. Patrick's Day so exuberantly?

The Year I was born

 I enjoyed reading arjeha's post with hints of the year he was born, so I have decided to use that as my inspiration today. So--

The year I was born-

• Queen Elizabeth II was crowned.
• Dwight Eisenhower became the 34th president of the U.S.
• The Korean War ended.
• The first Corvette was built!
• Jonas Salk creates the polio vaccine.
• Elvis Presley graduates high school
• Ernie Banks joins the Chicago Cubs, becoming the team's first Black player.
• Fahrenheit 451 is published

And a lot of other things happened! What year was it?

Recess Choices

 I was stuck today for what to write, so I turned again to the book, "642 Things to Write About." My chosen prompt is "Write about the most fun recess you've ever had." (The book is aimed at kids, but I like it, too.)

Taking the prompt as a stating point, I am remembering recesses when I was in 4th grade at Wilson School in Neenah, Wisconsin. Neenah is a small paper mill town between Appleton and Oshkosh, on the shores of Lake Winnebago. At recess the girls jump-roped and the boys played football or some other game with a ball. For some reason I had never learned to jump rope. What I usually did at recess was play on the equipment -- climbing structures and swings is what I remember. In 4th grade though there was no climbing structure, and the split between boy and girl recess activities grew strong, maybe because we were on the side of the school building without the swings and climbing things? 

I had two friends, two boys who were not athletic and so didn't play football, etc. We played imaginary games, make-believe. I remember in the winter when there were a lot of snow piles, we would climb them as part of our make-believe. As far as I know no one commented on the three of us making this unconventional choice to make up our own games. 

The school redistricted the following school year and I went to a new school. I never saw those two boys again.

Do kids who play make-believe grow to be different than kids who only played sports? When I first got my teaching position, I taught kindergarten. This was in the 1990s. Kindergartners played a lot of make believe at that time. I remember solving the problem of three girls wanting to "Parent Trap," but there are only two girls in that movie. "This time they are triplets," I said. They were a little disgruntled, but made it work. Another time one little cutie staged a wedding between herself and a boy who looked completely bewildered, especially when another kindergarten girl shouted, "You're stealing all his love from me!" 

I think perhaps the little ones are still making believe in their play. I hope so. 

A question I hate to be asked

 Well, really, I'm going to share a question I hated to be asked as a high school senior.

The summer after I graduated high school my family went to western Minnesota, where both my parents were from, to visit relatives. A LOT of relatives. I had been accepted to a wonderful music college and my father was VERY proud of me. I was an awkward teenager and very shy. Also somewhat snarky, but I generally kept that to myself and my interior dialogue.

So, every time we met yet another relative, my father would announce that I was going to this wonderful music school. And every single time the response was, "Oh, you like music?"

I was polite and just nodded or said yes, but inside I was thinking, "I'm going to a music conservatory! Of course I like music! Why are you even asking?!"

Being much older now, I look back on this with more kindness. My father was really proud of my achievement, and maybe somewhat relieved since I had been a very mediocre student except for music. These relatives didn't know me at all, really. We didn't live near any of them and half the time I had no idea who they were. They were trying to be kind. In fact, they were kind. 

Well, you grow up and your perspective changes.

A trip to Chicago to see Aida

 It's 9:50 am and we are getting ready to take the train downtown, to Chicago, to see the opera Aida at the Lyric Opera. 

I have never seen this famous opera. I went to music school and so ended up playing in the pit for a few operas, but opera was never part of my regular concert-going until a few years ago. Dean and I decided we ought to expand our musical horizons and subscribe to the Lyric Opera. 

Conclusions so far: Mozart's operas are wonderful! He was a musical genius, but he also understand drama and people. The melodies are wonderful and the stories heartfelt. Wagner was also a genius, but of a different sort. His stories are epics, like the ancient myths, and the music lush.

Besides those two composers, I have noticed recurring themes in many operas: Love stories. Gypsies. Two brothers who don't realize they are brothers (sometimes because one of  them has been raised by gypsies) until one of them kills the other (usually over a woman). The main characters, or at least one of them, dies at the end.

Aida, by Giuseppe Verdi, is a love story and the two lovers die at the end. But before that there is a lot of wonderful music. 

First sentence of my autobiography.

 I am inspired today by a post from a few days ago from litbitsandpieces.com.

Well, I could just start my life story with, "I was born in Seattle in 1953." That's not very interesting though.

How about,"Music has been an important part of my life since before I could talk." Better. That implies that my autobiography will be focused on music in my life, that music is maybe the most important thing in my life. That would not be entirely false. Music is very important to me and has been part of my life since before I can remember. In fact, my parents told me that as a baby I would sing in my crib in the morning instead  of crying like a normal child.

But music isn't the only thing in my life. Hmm.

"As soon as I learned to read, stories filled my life." My mother would scold me for reading without sufficient light, telling me I would ruin my eyes. She might have been correct: I began wearing glasses in 4th grade. I was also one of those students who read in class, oblivious to what else was going on. 

Checking out famous first lines:

"It was a dark and stormy night." Probably not, I was born in August in Seattle in the afternoon.

"Where now? Who now? When now?" (Samuel Beckett) Intriguing, might work.

"All this happened, more or less." (Slaughterhouse-Five) I like this one. I think that's perfect for an autobiography, since memory is so unreliable. I wrote a post about memory earlier in this challenge: https://sherlockesque.blogspot.com/2024/03/fond-thoughts-about-smells-and-memories.html

"I had the story, bit by bit, from various people, and, as generally happens, each time each time it was a different story." (Ethan Frome) Again about memory, and it is true that what you know about your earliest years comes from other people's memories.

Last one:

"A story has no beginning or end; arbitrarily one chooses that moment of experience from which to look back or from which to look ahead." (The End of the Affair, Graham Greene) I like this quote, though I don't think that it works for a life story. 

I'm not going to steal someone else's first line, but it's been fun looking at them. I think I'll go back to my music statement.

A Last Visit to my Dentist

 I went for my last six-month visit/teeth cleaning with my dentist this morning. He is retiring. I have been going to him for over 30 years. He lives near us. Our sons were on the same park district soccer team in elementary school. We see him at High Holidays at our synagogue.

Our relationship is not friendship, but it's more than doctor-patient. I'm happy for him that he gets to do retirement things (like I am already doing)--traveling, visiting children and grandchildren. When he said good-bye to me he seemed, not sad, but possibly a little wistful. I imagine he is having these patient good-byes multiple times every day. 

When I retired from teaching three years ago, there were many things I was looking forward to. Traveling, sleeping late, no more parent-teacher conferences. But also many things I knew I would miss - working with my teaching partner, seeing my teacher friends, planning new lessons, outdoor ed. And teaching! I loved teaching social studies, math, writing, reading. I go back to sub, but it's not the same.

I'm not sorry to be retired. And I'm sure my dentist will also enjoy his retirement. But there are things you lose when your life changes that much.

Villain Origin Story

 I read the Villain Origin Story in thedirigibleplum.com a few days ago and decided to give it a try. The idea is to list the things that turn you into a super villain. I'm really quite a laid-back and accepting person, but there are a few things....

Toilet seats in public bathrooms. Sometimes they are a bit wet. Ugh.

People who conduct along with the music in a live concert. Don't they know how distracting this is for everyone around them? Apparently not.

Teachers who are mean to children. It is rare, but I have encountered this a few times, adults belittling or making fun of students. I really don't understand that. However annoying some children can be, the teacher affects each child with her/his words and actions, for good or bad. Go complain to your friend or your spouse about those kids, out of hearing of children.

Everything else I can think of is just a minor annoyance. What would be the opposite of the Villain Origin Story? What would you call the things that remind you of the good in the world?

Book Spine Poetry

 I am inspired by several other bloggers who posted book spine poems yesterday. 

Here's my first:

Ignore Everybody

In the Land of Invented Languages

The Well of Lost Plots

Lies Sleeping

In the Mind's Eye

[Very mysterious, I think. I couldn't decide whether to punctuate after after the line or the first two lines]

Through the door

The slippery slope

Where memories lie.

A quartet in autumn;

A devil to play.

I tried briefly to see if I could make a poem with the spines of children's books. The ones we have don't seem to lend themselves to poetry however.

Tooth Fairy Tales

 When I was a child, the tooth fairy would come silently in the night and leave a quarter, taking the tooth. A simple transaction. When my own children began losing their baby teeth, the tooth fairy started visiting our house. My daughter had a lot of questions about the tooth fairy, so I suggested she write the tooth fairy a letter and leave it under her pillow with the tooth.

"Dear toth fary

where do you Live. 

What is your addres

Love

Jamie"

The tooth fairy did answer. I don't remember what she said (Jamie kept the letter. Who knows what happened to it.) A later letter to the fairy (she had asked the fairy's name):

"Dear Evangeline,

What forest? What do you do with my teeth

Love

Jamie"

Evangeline must have told Jamie she lived in a forest, maybe an enchanted forest. Meanwhile, my son, Ben, who is three years older than Jamie, decided to write to his tooth fairy. He found out her name was Esmerelda. He must have thought this fairy was too girly because he complained. So Esmerelda passed him off to Edgar, another tooth fairy. Edgar was all, "Dude, where's the tooth?" Which rather shocked Ben, who expressed a wish that the girly fairy would come back.

The tooth fairy correspondence had a rather short run, as eventually all the teeth that are going to fall out, have fallen out. I kept the kids' letters, but they kept most of the letters from the fairies.

It was great fun. I'll have to ask Ben and Jamie if they remember the tooth fairies' letters.

Bees, an observation

 I really didn't want to write any more about car accidents and I think I need a break from writing about music, so I browsed through a book of writing prompts (642 Things to Write About). I picked this one:

"Track the path of the next bug you meet. What is it up to? Where is it going? What do you think it is thinking?"

Quite a few years ago I attended a teacher workshop at the Chicago Botanic Garden (https://www.chicagobotanic.org/). The idea was incorporating nature into the classroom curriculum. I probably still have the handouts and notes from that somewhere. The Botanic Garden is wonderful - if you visit Chicago you should definitely try to visit. It's located in Glencoe, a north suburb. 

The part of the workshop that I remember most clearly was the assignment the leader gave us to choose a bee and observe it for 10 minutes or so. We were in one of the flower gardens, maybe the rose garden. It was a beautiful, sunny day, not too hot. I found two bees hanging out in a flower. Most of the bees were gathering nectar and pollen. After watching for a bit, I decided that one of the bees was injured or sick. It didn't move much and stayed farther back in the flower than the healthy bee. They were not going anywhere, just staying in the flower. Sometimes another bee would land on the flower, but the healthy bee would drive it away. It was fascinating and I still don't know if that is normal bee behavior.

I don't know much about bees and most of what I know is from the Outlander book series. Main character Clare has bees and there is some discussion amongst the characters about bee behavior and how to keep them happy. 

To return to the questions- one of my bees was a caretaker, the other was maybe injured, maybe in pain. They weren't going anywhere. I hope there was some resolution before night. 

What could they be thinking? Do bees make friends? Is it normal to guard a fallen comrade like this? 

It's an unsolved mystery.

Musical Mishaps

 Every musician has stories of concert disasters, from minor happenings to full-blown catastrophes. There are wrong cues from the conductor, music blowing away in outdoor concerts, musicians falling off risers... 

Years ago I was playing in a community orchestra and the big finale of this particular concert was the 1812 Overture. It's the one with canon at the end. It's often played on the 4th of July, though the victory it celebrates is the Russians beating the French in 1812. 

One of the viola players offered to supply canons for the concert. We did not rehearse with the canons, they just came for the concert. I actually don't know how many of then there were - they were in the wings on the side of the stage that was furthest from the horn section.

You might guess where this is going.

Everything was going great. We got the section near the end of the piece where the canons fire. They began going off with satisfying booms. But, they also created smoke. Quite a lot of smoke as the piece continued. And the smoke drifted onstage. It was thick smoke and soon it began to shroud the stage, obscuring the conductor and most of the orchestra. 

We kept playing. I think the smoke was thickest at the rear of the orchestra, where I was sitting. We managed to finish the piece and everyone pretty much acted like it was nothing out of the ordinary while we were taking our bows. 

I think that might be the last time I played the 1812. 

Fond thoughts about smells and memories

 I read somewhere that people cannot remember smells in the same way we remember visual and aural memories. But we do remember them. And a good thing too, as burning dinners and forgotten candles need to be identified. But it's harder to describe the memory of a smell unless you can relate to something else, I  think.

One of my childhood memories is walking into my great-uncle Alvin's store in a tiny town in western Minnesota. We would visit relatives in that area every other summer. The store was mostly a clothing store, with men's on one side and either women's or children's on the other, I can't remember. I think there was a second floor, too. And another great-uncle had a jewelry counter in one corner. It was in an older wooden building and every time we walked in, the familiar, pleasant smell of the place would flood my memory. I would guess the smell came from a combination of the wood and the clothing.

It's been years since my Uncle Al passed away. (He  was confident and somewhat reckless. He fell off his roof while trying to fix something.) I'm sure the building the store was in is gone.

But, I was curious about smell and memory. So I googled it.

I learned that "smells have a stronger link to memory and emotion than any of the other senses." (Google)   I also read that: Olfactory memory is more difficult to study than visual or auditory memory. Due to limitations of human olfaction, memory for odors has generally been tested with recognition tests, not with recall tests (see Herz and Engen, 1996, for a review). Olfactory memories seem to differ in some ways from other forms of memory, such as a tendency of smells to be particularly evocative of emotional memories." (Sciencedirect.com) 

And: "Odors take a direct route to the limbic system, including the amygdala and the hippocampus, the regions related to emotion and memory." (harvard.edu/gazette)

It's interesting to me that smell is such a strong sense, but it is so difficult to describe in the absence of the particular smell. I know we describe things as smelling burnt, sweet, sickly, and so on, but how to describe my uncle's store? I would know it anywhere, but I can't explain it enough that anyone else could recognize it.