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.