spring and sonatas on kelly pond...

Yup. Lucy has a monkey on her back.
But we knew that, didn't we?

The weather here is still schizoid. But Mother Nature seems to have second sight - she has declared 'open season': Spring. Of course, this doesn't preclude the possibility of being buried by a snowstorm in the near future...

For the past week, I've been watching Mr. & Mrs. Duck swim lazy laps around the island. Today, Mr. stood on the island - a sentinel while Mrs. is quietly laying eggs? Apparently not. Flapping wings...both rising into the air...then gracefully landing and swimming a bit. Now back on the island. Through the bare yet still protective branches on the south end, I see them (she looks plump!)...checking out the breeding area...that special spot that Lucy loves to 'charge' when she goes out there. We'll have to clip her wings.

Speaking of clipping, Bixby is a prisoner in his own house. Serves him right, eh? Lucy-the-wonder-border-collie is highly 'sound activated' these days (translation: her brain is on tilt) and any sound sets her off like a nervous canine C3PO. Bixby certainly can't scratch the furniture (yay!) or Lucy is right on him (though he has learned to assume the position, look furtively around, then proceed if she's not is sight). He's also learned - the hard way - that Lucy can hear from any remote corner of the universe. Bixby took a swipe at my robe sash the other day. I swear Lucy heard the paw 'whistle' through the air from a house-mile away. They truly deserve each other. Worthy opponents. Really. They 'dance' well, actually, and seem to respect each other. Equal smarts there.

So, back to the pond. The excitement yesterday: a pair of beached turtles on the island!! Beautiful. I thought twice about going out into the cold to snap a picture. Settled for taking it in the safety of the deck rather than doing the right thing and being twenty feet closer at the pond edge. Oh well.

Today - after bending over and letting the weight of my upper body stretch out the major kinks from practicing too much, too late last night (foolish Bixby again took a swipe at a swinging sash and - again - regretting it)...more accompanying, teaching, practicing. The Sulek Sonata: Vox Gabrieli* is consuming, to say the least. Will be playing it a week from Friday at Grace's third and final student recital. Starting to meet with trombonista on an every-other-day basis. Exciting. Terrifying. Unpossessable. I love it for that. But...my muscles (and brain) protest. I swear, the ratio of piano notes to soloist's is 10,000:1. Did I mention terrifying? This, and other pieces, are my spring. (Hmmm...'spring' in a definitely 'winter' body...Not good.)

*The beginning of this piece has a hang gliding effect in the piano - very hard for me to match up with the soloist. But beautiful! At 3:50 - another exquisite marrying of two motifs - soloist, overarching triplets; accompanist, quadruplet X 4). And, lastly: the end as the initial theme is recapped with bravada (7:14). I feel sorry for the page turner.

cuteness...

Mom & three-day-old baby at a zoo in Peru.

Just for its sheer adorableness factor...

brainscanner...

Not quite sure who/which blog introduced me to brainscannr.com. But it's very fun. Type in your name and you get a bunch of wise and mysterious 'smilies' representing your true self...or many selves, if you're DD. What I especially like is the Japanese-creator's response to the 'So...what do the Smilies actually mean?' question: What do you want them to mean???

I started with Unkle Phil's moniker for me: Dragonbug. Pretty much right on (maybe not...but if I don't say it first, Felipe will certainly jump on it): Lots of hands reaching and clasping each other...a bunch of eager but dingy smilies cheering them on. Then there's the row of hearts down the middle. Yup. It's all most definitely one of my personalities.

Then there's 'Canary in the mines'. Like the caged birds who were taken down into mines as a barometer for dangerous gases (if they drop dead in their cage, it's time for the humans to skedaddle), my environmentally intolerant/multiple chemically insensitive self is the one you'd want to send into a polluted building (or shall we just substitute planet?) first to see if it's safe. Remember little Haley Joel Osment in Sixth Sense? 'I see dead people...' Well, all of my senses, plus a sixth one, can pick up/label/bear the marks & consequences of exposure to the (mostly) human-created poisons that surround us everyday. I was sending FEMA warnings about those trailers way before they gave it thought (and now that they are...they're not really certain those billions of formaldehyde particles are actually harmful to the inhabitants. Please...!). Every time I see commercials pushing fragranced products that are a danger to all -- but especially victimize children (Oh, sure...your children just love to inhale petroleum-based perfumes and phthalate scent extenders and whatever else Satan encouraged Glade to put into plug-in air fresheners that disperse the product into the air and thus into their lungs and eventually will be part of the ugly and destructive chemical load those little ones will bear into adulthood. Yup. Your home is happier for all this...), I want to scream. Wake up, people! This is a topic for its own blogpost. But for now it seems clear that brainscannr is RIGHT ON: A bunch of emoticon sheeple hug the perimeter of a desolate cave-like brain while I'm singing in the middle, trying to warn them.

I forget what Brainscannr gave me for my real name. It doesn't really matter right now.

RIP, Virginia B...

Just heard that elderly and ailing Virginia Weston Blewett passed last night in Stockton. A classy lady, she represents all that is best in that part of the world. She leaves behind a legacy of love and generosity not only in her family, but in her church and her city of birth and life.

Being a native of that California city, I remember well the home she was born into on a street which - though a mere ten blocks from the historic downtown area on the far southern edge of the city - was formerly named 'North Street' as a nod to its pre-1900, four-square mile 'Mudville' boundary-keeping. (Before that, it was the North Street Canal -- sounds romantic enough, but actually it's purpose was not idyllic floating on Sunday afternoons but rather flood control.)

Wikipedia describes the 1906 Hurrle-Weston home as the 'White Queen of Stockton'. When this magical and marvelous mansion came on the market more than a decade ago, my niece wanted to purchase it and we accompanied her on a tour. I fell into love...and in lust. It embodied magical old space and artistically seductive opportunities in every way. I mostly remember marveling at the rows of marble in the basement -- Various sizes and shapes from washbasins to roof tiles stored there provided ample resources for any conceivable repair.

With a Walgreens across the street to its right, a Taco Bell on its left, busy and noisy traffic flowing by, it had a good view of some of the decline of 'North Street'. Its saving grace was in becoming a bridal shop. I like to think that Virginia was pleased with the gentility of that fate.

Rest well, Virginia. You are still loved and already missed.

pascalina avga

Holy Week is beginning...well...in a week. Once again, I have Greek Orthodox envy - specifically lust and longing for Pascalina Avga, their blood-red Easter eggs.

I once made these for the children in our previous church. Having sent to New York for 'kosher' - or whatever the Greek equivalent is - dye (thank you, Martha Stewart), I expected perfection in result. Close. But not quite Martha.

I'll be going to Chicago for a few days later this week, joining our second-born daughter* who will have just finished a conference there. I'm certain I could fairly easily find some amazing dye in a box covered with exotic lettering and thus feel very authentic. That, is an irresistible thought. (The bail-out: I could use Rit dye. But right now, I've lost the best link to that method. OH - scratch that: yellow onions provide the magic!)

I could follow these instructions for dyeing with such a product, go here for an authentic game of dueling Greek eggs. And Word Eater offers a good read: "What to do when confronted with a Greek egg".

*For those of you who know that Sum was hit by a car a month ago while crossing a street to catch a bus, she reports that she is close to 100% healed! Pretty amazing, even for a tough cookie (as her husband calls her)! Having flipped in the air ('cartwheel' a bystander said), wrenching her head/neck/knees/back, etc, etc, etc, we consider this nothing less than miraculous. Barb: you're right. Following ER orders saves loads on the 'physical therapy' end. Ibuprofen ('bathing the body in it', as her doc said) seems to have played a major and successful role. Hallelujah!

endodontic empathy...

Oh, how I wish I had seen dear Minka's post this past Sunday. At that point, I didn't know what was in store for me the next day. But, as Monday unfolded in a surreal, dental way for me also, her hand would have felt close enough to grasp. Perhaps I could have imagined us as young friends, at the end of the day...building a tent out of blankets and huddling together, sharing something rather scary...and the relief of surviving it.

A couple weeks ago, while brushing the side of a molar (#31) I lost a tiny bit of composite filling from an area best described as the root of a tooth. A California holistic dentist had cleaned the 'way below the gum line' area and packed it with a fluoride laced remedy...probably over a year ago. I don't think it was supposed to be permanent. But I had hoped it would be, as it was a nerve-wracking procedure. Sunday evening, mere food-laced saliva that traveled to that side of my mouth felt like a screwdriver in said tooth. It became clear that I was going to have to deal with it soon -- i.e., find a dentist here in Wonderful W that would restore/patch it with similar materials.

By 10am Monday I was in a dentist's chair. There would be no patching. Dentist's assessment: X-ray showed probable decay in the root and possible infection. Tooth didn't seem to respond to her attempts to rouse it and she suspected it was dying. Call to endodontist in much-larger-city landed me a 4:15 spot that very same day. I was thankful for someone's cancellation. As dento-phobic as I am, the root canal would stop the pain. Or so I thought.

If I had known what was to come, I would have taken my Valium a bit closer to the appointment...and certainly would have popped two! By the time I got in The Chair, it had worn off. I didn't leave the office until 6:15 -- long after they were to close. Two hours...three canals. Novocaine that was supposed to cause 'profoundly numbness', but didn't. An unforeseen problem: the canals were 'calcified'. Two of the three were successfully drilled and routed. I was shivering and wasn't sure if it was from being cold or from being stressed. Did I mention I'm certifiably phobic???

The 3rd canal presented an additional - and perhaps insurmountable - challenge. The material that had been packed into the outside of the ailing root last year had become pressed into the canal. It would be a hard-as-nails obstacle to further work in that area. Prognosis: The jangling nerve may still be there. I may still have pain. I may lose the tooth.

I had a good child-like cry on the drive home.

Miz M had 'apical' surgery. I can't imagine having numbing shots above your front teeth. Wishing her well with her stitches and sending her - retroactively - the kind of prayer that sustains in the moment.

celebrating kirk...

Honestly, when I received a concerned phone call from my brother-in-law this morning, I was inwardly terrified that I might be writing 'Kirk: R.I.P' tonight instead of the above. Our nephew went missing yesterday. He and a friend did not return from a dirt biking outing in Washington state Saturday afternoon as they had promised. All sorts of horrid things that run through loving and concerned minds...from getting lost or perhaps injured, to being victims of a crime. Relief today, when their truck was located from a cell phone signal. Relief when the two were found...and rescued...and are recovering.

A few years ago, when I was putting together a Power Point presentation on 'The Millennial Generation' for my university enrollment-expert boss, I was looking for a 'model' for this generation and asked Kirk's photographer father to send me some pics. A close-up of Kirk ended up - larger than life - on the opening slide. Looking rather cocky and self-assured, actually. Especially with the full-color, revolving planet earth that replaced one of pupils.

It was rather an apt representation of him. He is fearless in his relationship with life. When he was quite young and was hit by a car on an Oregon coastal highway, his mother hoped for a minute that this experience might instill some caution into his free spirit. But when he bounced up off the pavement and declared 'That, wasn't so bad!', she was clearly disappointed. I still remember a panicked call from his grandfather when grade-schooler Kirk went 'missing'. Actually, he had gotten irritated at waiting for his mother to finish her business at his school and decided to take off on his own and walk the 5 miles to his home...without telling her.

His young wife and their newly born son are two wonderful reasons for Kirk to change his ways. He'll have lots of time to think of this as he recovers from some serious surgery on a spiral fracture to an ankle. Having got lost yesterday, he and his friend set out to find their way to the truck...ran out of daylight doing so. In the dark, in their haste, an injury stopped them cold. They burned helmets and bike parts to stay warm during the night.

Do prayers form and move through our being from the 'point of knowledge and concern' forward? Yes...but why not backwards, also? The cocoon of God's tightly relentless grasp was a Kirk-appropriate splint. From the first misstep. A loving straight-jacket of grace for him.