Winged Musings

on the boundless bonds of thanksgiving...

2009-11-27T13:47:00.009-05:00

Here in Indiana (ironically, mere hours away from my mother's birthplace in a neighboring state), I'm mystically pondering the two-sided coin of separation and unity...having been absent for a third year in a row from my side of the family's California Thanksgiving celebration. There I am the 'baby' of four sisters...yet my role in the central time zone is as the eldest among siblings/mates at the Chicago Martins festivities.

Having promised the Kingdom of Chocolate as my contribution to dinner, I brought pie to the festivities here - the 'derby' variety (pecan with chocolate chips) that is my California brother-in-law's favorite (I remember leaving the inevitable extra one in the Los Altos freezer on more than one thanksgiving), along with a chili chocolate torte that none of my family yet knows exists. This year, I made fresh cranberry relish - almost, but perhaps not quite as good as what has become the California favorite...while my inlaws here bemoan the lack of my mother's traditional cranberry sherbet I would usually bring to accompany the feast. Yet, the smell of my grandmother's onion dressing baking in both kitchens most certainly crossed the country's atmospheric borders of two time zones.

We ate gratefully and heartily in Palatine...wine glasses and coffee cups sang in our hands as, I imagined, my family continued their tradition of grabbing theirs after dinner to walk through the neighborhood, over an enchanted bridge, to a school playground, where grandchildren - and some adults - have been known to swing and climb until almost too dark to get home. We frolicked in hamlet of Woodstock here today. And I couldn't help musing on how all four of us Ormsbee sisters might be unanimous in wishing to have been present at the festival of the same name!

These past two days, I held and made eyes at my granddaughter...while in California, my sister Susan's newest grandchild was welcomed and properly photographed through the keen eyes of a niece. Sister-in-law Susan was the only sibling missing here, but was somewhat 'nearby' with a FaceBook pre-comment. Here and there, most of the main cousins (a newly coined phrase here!) are present for the main event. But this time, NY Sarah was missing from our arms and my heart ached.

The spectre of our mothers' aging, heart-aching lives looms large for both families. My fragile mother has not made the trip from the central California valley to the bay area Thanksgiving for a handful of years or more. Dan's mother is always present here, but shares with my mother the pressing weight of the lack of a co-host and a capable and supportive companion at such events. Both Maynard and Elson died with Alzheimers. But, in and through their lives, they both graced their precious families with humor and a love of life together...and the amazing gift of being able to fix or build anything needed for the benefit of such, with their mantles taken up by the next generations, including willing sons-in-law, grandchildren as well. But the hole these two men have left in spousal hearts and at festive table is, most definitely, unfixable. 'Mind the gap' comes to my mind, not to avoid falling in it, but to be tenderly mindful...and perhaps even respectful of it.

Also missing this year's feast here were our son Jordan and his wife Angela...who, at this moment are closing gaps, forging links during a two week trip to Brazil. Elson Martins - the patriarch of the U.S. clan - was the only one of his family to leave that homeland...and not return for any Thanksgiving equivalents. From Rio to Sao Paulo to Bahia, Jordan & Angela will sit at table with the Brazilian family they became part of during his master's studies there a few years ago. They have before and will again eat, hug, laugh, kiss, converse. I wonder - can they smell the mystical onion dressing from there?

Love happens in spite of and even through distance. Life cycles and swirls around us, making us one and making us miss being one. The being and the missing are all part of the whole. And I suppose it's meant to be that way.

Saith a Reviewer: " See this film. It will remind you of how thrilling it is to be an active thinking, feeling member of the human race."

2009-03-03T20:29:00.005-05:00

Ten minutes ago, I entered a dream...via the TV remote and Independent Film Channel. So...while utter and completely transfixed, I saw the last ten minutes of bloody brilliance in 'Waking Life'. AND - the tango music interlaced throughout is based on scores of the master - Astor Piazzolla.

Got 98 minutes?

TV info: A young vagabond listens to such varied subjects as existentialism, evolution, alienation, dreaming and the media. (Rated R)

Here, you can see a worthy review and fascinating info on the making of a masterpiece.

A Chloris...

2008-12-28T19:59:00.003-05:00

Utterly hypnotic art song by Reynaldo Hahn. Sung sublimely by French sensation, Philippe Jaroussky. Piano accompaniment puts me into a trance.

While packing in California less than 18 months ago, I went through binder after binder of accompaniments I had played in a concentrated year - looking for one two-page pearl: A Chloris. I did not find it. (Unwisely, I discarded almost everything else, thinking I would never need them. Surprise: by grace, vocal accompanying fell into my lap here.)

the most beautiful face in the world....

2008-12-13T17:28:00.002-05:00

Charlotte, one day old.

life in death and death in life...

2008-11-25T22:26:00.008-05:00

My mother's most fascinating life story is of her near death experience. She was an older teen, living at home...perhaps 17 or 18 years of age. She remembers being in the kitchen and saying to her mother, 'My heart has stopped beating'. Her mother insisted that was a ridiculous statement. But to Susanne, it was true: She began floating upward into the sky, irresistibly drawn towards the Light. Smelling salts and slaps brought her back to earth. I asked how she felt: 'Disappointed' was her reply. She had been happy and safe in the warmth and peace of the interrupted journey, and wished it could continue.

Recently, I received a long, poignant email from a friend who was heavy laden with the loneliness of loss...four friends, from near and far, having passed recently. 'Driving through a waterfall of tears' is how the grief fell on him. I feel that time in my life coming at me like a train - hijacking my intentional journey and slapping me with an about face. Tonight, news of another death from our California church family. Surely, this lovely lady is in a crystal place of light in God's love...light years from earth's sod.

But, what of us - those in the middle...between our making and our remaking? The juxtaposition of 'here' and 'there' is often too much to comprehend or bear. At times I rail, Why is it that we are left here...sometimes with lead footed heaviness... weary of being encapsulated in the imperfect state that traps us - a state perhaps most accurately defined by the unknowns of our exit details.

When my father died, I rejoiced for his separation from his painfully ailing body, so that he could be the radiant person he was made to be. So perhaps tonight I weep not for beautiful Dorothy, but for someone left behind who loves her. And for us, also left behind in a place we were not made for...in a life that we love and live, but that seems, sadly, light years from my mother's interrupted flight to freedom in the heart of God.

fall leaves...

2008-10-16T00:08:00.002-04:00

"Nature is, above all, profligate. Don't believe them when they tell you how economical and thrifty nature is, whose leaves return to the soil. Wouldn't it be cheaper to leave them on the tree in the first place? This deciduous business alone is a radical scheme, the brainchild of a deranged manic-depressive with limitless capital. Extravagance!"

-- Annie Dillard, Pilgrim at Tinker Creek

video d'resistance...

2008-10-07T19:02:00.002-04:00

Fr C is soft on Lucy...but it doesn't turn out quite as he expected:

by popular demand...

2008-09-21T08:17:00.004-04:00

The latest video of Lucy and Bat Girl. (She does have circles with the bat symbol on both sides of her body - very fitting, we think.)

Note the starting position, with the little trouble maker draped across Lucy's jugular.

good work...

2008-09-09T11:42:00.010-04:00

My mother always encouraged her four daughters to 'put your shoulders back' - a vehicle for lauding the importance of good posture. I couldn't do it. It never felt natural or right at all. Later, I would hear from others, 'hold your chest high'. Ditto there, for what seemed to me to be artificially manipulating the human body and perhaps the human spirit as well. Then there was 'Picture a string pulling you up from the top of your head'. Well, perhaps we're getting closer here.

Our daughters model good posture for the rest of us, a result of vocal studies. There is a lifting of their torsos out of that place of bodily solidity - the hips/abdomen - that naturally aligns everything in its path as it grows and stretches into proper position. To me, this technique doesn't artificial but rather very organic and natural in its action and result. I do it, when I remember to! And it just feels right.

When our children were young, I walked an inner tightrope between wanting them to know how wonderful and amazing they are - and not overly praising them for good work done or stressing how proud I was as if it is the latter that makes them the former. "I'm so happy for you" would sometimes be on my lips after an accomplishment. I'm sure I didn't balance the implied tension very well at all. But I didn't want them to think of the performing parts of life (from school work to recitals to degrees...dinners prepared and fabrics & paints, sewn and applied) as something that was to impress others or define their worth, but rather as some good work from and for them. Something to relish, enjoy and be grateful for. And also to ponder in that, in the mystery of how it interlaces with life. Something natural. "You're wonderful" was always in my heart because it's true - but in a much more cosmic sense than we know.

Wendell Berry's 'Good Work', (from What Are People For), offers a somewhat spiritual interpretation of good works that puts the natural back into a what is sometime an artificial concept in life:

Good work finds the way between pride and despair. It graces with health. It heals with grace. It preserves the given so that it remains a gift. By it, we lose loneliness: we clasp the hands of those who go before us, and the hands of those who come after us; we enter the little circle of each other's arms, and the larger circle of lovers whose hands are joined in a dance, and the larger circle of all creatures, passing and out of life, who also move in a dance, to a music so subtle and vast that no ear hears it except in fragments.

weeping for wonder...

2008-08-29T08:51:00.010-04:00

The spiritually profound O Magnum Mysterium by Morton Lauridsen.

UST Alumni Singers, both incredibly able and obviously popular (over 80,000 views).

Below, proof that a group can be seamlessly one, even when comprised of solo quality voices, one of which is deliciously featured here in Unusual Way (from the musical Nine, Maury Yeston, composer). Arrangement by their director.

saving fuel in Wonderful W...

2008-08-28T09:00:00.006-04:00

I just loved the serendipitous proximity of the high gas prices news header and the photo above it!

overheard this morning...

2008-08-21T15:57:00.005-04:00

"What was I saying when I so rudely interrupted myself?"*

- from an interminable ENFP

Oooo, I found a website that not only links to prayers for each Myers-Briggs personality type (ENFP: "Oh, Lord, help me to keep my mind on one thing at a....OH! Look at the birdie!!!"), but also suggests a style of prayer best-suited for the types. Augustinian, for NT's.

*Fr C isn't allowed to comment...as he already did.

somewhere... there's a beam down there to land on...

2008-08-19T12:05:00.004-04:00

How is this humanly possible???

UNCONSCIONABLE

2008-08-16T13:28:00.005-04:00

Just read in Yahoo news that - growingly persistent warnings aside - the known estrogen mimicker/hormone disrupter BPA is actually just peachy-fine for lining our food cans (including infant formula) and hardening our babies' bottles. This in stark contrast to other studies done by...you guessed it: scientists who are not in bed with the government agency or the chemistry council.

You may read an opposing and illuminating view here. Or, perhaps better yet: download/read the PDF of a thorough and riveting Vogue magazine article - 'An Inconceivable Truth'*.

If there is any question of risk - especially for babies, something should be BANNED until the safety can be 100% proven (pardon me while I seethe: 'Are any of these cr*$$* chemicals 100% provably safe???'). Unfortunately, while protecting big business, 'we' seem to approve things that are not acceptable with greater ease (and some bribes/bucks) than it takes to question or dislodge them later. It's all about money and CYA. (Cases in point: aspartame, mercury fillings & vaccines.)

Before I use some words that will ban this blog from the 'sphere, let me just say: I am not a sheeple and I refuse to go back to any regularly scheduled programming.

*This IS a magazine article. Therefore, there are bits of other articles on some of the pages.

Addendum: As standard news goes, the Washington Post's article is superior, IMHO. Their articles are not always accessible online, so here it is:

WASHINGTON — A chemical commonly found in can linings, baby bottles and other household products does not pose a health hazard when used in food containers, according to a draft assessment released Friday by the Food and Drug Administration.

The report stands in contrast to more than 100 studies performed by government scientists and university laboratories that have found health concerns associated with bisphenol A, or BPA. Some have linked the chemical to prostate and breast cancers, diabetes, behavioral disorders such as hyperactivity and reproductive problems in laboratory animals.

Exposure to the small amounts of BPA that migrate from the containers into the food they hold are not dangerous to infants or adults, the draft said.

"FDA has concluded that an adequate margin of safety exists for BPA at current levels of exposure from food contact uses," regulators wrote in the draft report, which will be reviewed Sept. 16 at a meeting of members of an FDA advisory committee studying the safety of the chemical.

The chemical industry and the agencies that regulate the use of BPA, the FDA and the Environmental Protection Agency, have deemed the chemical safe, largely on the strength of two industry-funded studies that found no problems. The American Chemistry Council welcomed the findings of the new report.

"FDA is the premier agency responsible for the safety of our food," Steven Hentges, an executive of the group, said in a statement. "FDA’s thorough analysis confirms that food contact materials containing BPA can continue to be used safely."

FDA critic Diana Zuckerman, president of the National Research Center for Women and Families, said the agency lacks sufficient data to declare the chemical safe.

"Clearly their effort was to minimize people being concerned about this," Zuckerman said. "It just seems that whenever there is an opportunity to look at a new important issue, they just seem to be siding with industry’s point of view."

BPA, in commercial use since the 1950s, is in many everyday items, including compact discs and automobiles. One federal study estimated that it is present in the urine of 93 percent of the population.

c'est moi...!

2008-08-05T09:17:00.001-04:00

BORG QUEEN'S COSTUME

This coming weekend, we'll be attending a significant anniversary celebration for Fr C's sister and her husband. Star Trek costumes required...at least if you want to have fun. Lucy can even come...if she's in costume.

So, ever clever BLT found this one for me. C'est partfait!!!

Christie's auction house description of it: A biomechanical body suit made from cast latex, painted as metallic cyborg hardware, with a pair of Borg gloves -- designed by Deborah Everton and worn by Alice Kriege as the Borg Queen in Star Trek: First Contact and subsequently by Kriege and by Susanna Thompson in Star Trek: Voyager (3).

Oooo Laaaaaa!!!!

Looks like it did already sell for $6K. Drat.

Former choir sojourners will know that an accoutremental surplice overlay is obviously obligatory...for 'other uses'. Demonstrating that 'Anglican Borg sound' has never been so fashionably commanding.

This.... ....plus this.... ....equals this!

christian the lion...

2008-08-03T23:03:00.001-04:00

This amazing 1970 reunion has resurfaced, thanks to a spot on 'The View'. Christian's journey from his sheltered life in England (after having been born in a Rotterdam zoo) to being truly 'Born Free' in his ancestral Kenya was an arduous one, glossed over in the above video. If you have time and patience, the story of "Christian, the Lion Who Thought He was People" is told in depth in a series of fascinating and oftentimes unbelievable, black and white videos - beginning here. Intertwined is the story of "Boy", one of the 'Born Free' lions, who is an integral part of it all. There are ten parts to the series. The next video link is always to the right of the one you're watching -- under where it says 'info'. Or, click on the links below.

Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part6
Part 7
Part 8
Part 9
Part 10 (short)

the dynamic duo...

2008-08-02T09:25:00.007-04:00

Having some morning fun

Play among equals. Equally fond of each other. Both mouths wide open.

Kitten ends up quite damp from being 'guided' by The Mouth. Lucy's nose hopefully not the worse for wear from Muffmeister's Claws.

the right brain???...

2008-08-01T18:03:00.004-04:00

Auditory : 40%
Visual : 60%
Left : 46%
Right : 53%

Damsianne, you possess an interesting balance of hemispheric and sensory characteristics, with a slight right-brain dominance and a slight preference for visual processing.

Since neither of these is completely centered, you lack the indecision and second-guessing associated with other patterns. You have a distinct preference for creativity and intuition with seemingly sufficient verbal skills to be able to translate in any meaningful way to yourself and others.

You tend to see things in "wholes" without surrendering the ability to attend to details. You can give them sufficient notice to be able to utilize and incorporate them as part of an overall pattern.

In the same way, while you are active and process information simultaneously, you demonstrate a capacity for sequencing as well as reflection which allows for some "inner dialogue."

All in all, you are likely to be quite content with yourself and your style although at times it will not necessarily be appreciated by others. You have sufficient confidence to not second-guess yourself, but rather to use your critical faculties in a way that enhances, rather than limits, your creativity.

You can learn in either mode although far more efficiently within the visual mode. It is likely that in listening to conversations or lecture materials you simultaneously translate into pictures which enhance and elaborate on the meaning.

It is most likely that you will gravitate towards those endeavors which are predominantly visual but include some logic or structuring. You may either work particularly hard at cultivating your auditory skills or risk "missing out" on being able to efficiently process what you learn. Your own intuitive skills will at times interfere with your capacity to listen to others, which is something else you may need to take into account

Test courtesy of Brainworks.

prescribing some hammock time for my left brain...

2008-07-29T12:20:00.019-04:00

For the past few decades, the growing awareness of my inability to view something with the right side of my brain without my left side sidelining it has both surprised and troubled me. Surprised, because I am an iNFp (Myers-Briggs) musician who values creativity and beauty more than anything. Troubled, because I simply can't shut off the analytical tape that's playing.

So, for example, when I look at a magnificent live oak tree with magical moss dripping from every limb, I can't seem to lose myself in the wordless wonder of it all. My left brain's tour guide analysis insists on bestowing meaning from its standpoint. That's OK...but it won't shut up.

When I was young and started studying piano, the perfectionist in me figured out every note on the page, painstakingly carefully. Once. It would be instantly translated to the 'ballet on the keys' where my eyes would find patterns and meaning that melded with the sound - and the result was almost instant memorization in the right side of the brain. Later, I grew more balanced. By young adulthood, I became an analytical, killer sight reader, by necessity. And, gradually, memorizing dropped to second place.

Drawing on the Right Side of the Brain teaches a fascinating method for activating the most core creative process in the brain. Imagine taping a piece of blank paper to a table...setting a pencil point in the center...and then looking away at your subject - perhaps a carrot or your hand - and never looking away from it, while on paper your pencil traces what you actually see in your subject. If your end-result drawing looks remotely like the shape of a carrot or a hand, then you cheated. The goal of the technique is not to draw what we think we should, but what we actually see with our ('mind's) right eye'.

An accurate drawing of a drawing of a hand

Drawings of the real thing.
Note the complexities denoted by the hand positions.
Such is of great interest to the right brain.

Even now, though I place my body in a hammock...and begin to enjoy the intricate weavings of threads and colors, I will find myself wanting to describe the patterns, rather than wrapping my brain in their beauty. I'm committed to letting go or that. I know I'll get sidetracked by the left brain's geometric discourses. Or maybe even some worthy speculatings about our children being set up for weary, demented, aged brains because reading and math are emphasized so strongly over art and music in our schools... musing about whether their gray matter is being pushed into a painful pencil sharpener - rather than enjoying the inhalation of invigorating oxygen into their right brains. All of which is what took me out of the hammock after a few minutes in it this morning in order to blog about it.

But, that's for another day or time when I've earned some analytical time.

charlotte...

2008-07-17T11:40:00.003-04:00

See Charlotte. Grow, Charlotte, grow!

See Charlotte's head. What big eyes you have!

Think it's fun to turn Summer-saults? Acrobatic Charlotte. Come back in four weeks for more pictures.

Happy girl, Charlotte Louise. Enjoy the swimming and the good food...

...and Mommy and Daddy's love.

paw-nography...

2008-07-15T19:07:00.003-04:00

Bixby ~~wants~~ requires equal time.

introducing muffy...

2008-07-13T20:42:00.004-04:00

Who is the cutest of them all?

Fr. C dared me to entitle this post 'Hello, Kitty'. I refuse to blatantly bait Felipe that way.

So...here's the new kitten (and just for the record: she was 'unplanned'). Her specialties: careening, cavorting, catapulting. Two weeks ago, she careened into the spotlight from the woods surrounding our hosts' home on the evening of the year-end choir party. Her desperate yelping was piercing and resonant even for a much much larger animal. So we batted around 'Magnificat' as the most fitting name for a feline who loudly crashes a choir party, but we already have a Maggie in the grandkitty generation. And Muffy (short for the more respectable 'Muffin') just seemed to fit her. Besides, I like that name and can always plead that she named herself, as pets are wont to do.

Those who are animal lovers/whisperers know that each and every cat is distinct in every way, from how they move to the intricacies of their psyche. The Muffinator is sweet... spicy... grateful... engaged... communicative. She's a rival for 'brains' in an already brainy pet pool at our house. A sprite who's full of reckless inquisitiveness and is fearless in almost all things...and that's where the cavorting comes in. She doesn't simply aspire to climbing onto a sleeping Mommy: oh, no, she must leap in the air and land like, well, a plump tarantula...splat!...and then scamper off to prepare for a string of similar antics. And this is just in the middle of the night. She plays more intensely (insanely?) and intentionally than any cat we've ever had. And this is a vast understatement.

Muffy:5, Camera:1

Mostly, her moves come under the category of 'aerial'. The little flying-squirrel/super-girl likes to go with arms straight out and cape flapping. Or maybe she's spider~~man~~cat. I swear, she has little suction cups on the ends of her extremities. Let's just say she uses her claws well. We're all impressed. Here you can see samples of her horizontal and vertical techniques (oh, and her championship 'waiting the dog out' act):

So, how do Lucy-the-wonder-border-collie and Bixby-the-orange-tabby-terror fit into all of this? Well, it's been quite a journey. Her relationship with Lucy looked like it was headed to a control freak circus act. But much to my surprise, the little Muffmeister - who doesn't know she's a half a percent of Lucy's size & weight, is seemingly best friends with her. What she has in her favor: needle-sharp claws and entertaining moves. She is intent on snagging Lucy's nose with the former and can still dazzle her a bit with the latter.

Bixby isn't 'allowed' to open his throat to emit a teeny growl at the new kitten (Lucy long ago herded this wild cat into a straight jacket). But after two weeks of avoiding the new kid in the living room, he reached out a paw to so some 'air-playing' in her direction.

I'm still waiting for WWIII to start, i.e., the three super animal powers to meet in a dead end hallway.

When our children were young, we had a small 'Muffy' book. I may need clarification from them, but I think she was Hello Kitty's rabbit friend. I've stumbled across a couple of short and very clever Muffy adventure blogs. If you've got the time, you may enjoy Muffy Misadventures and It Was a Dark and Stormy Night, which are mostly about Muffy looking for her missing sister, Miffy. There's even a link to a 'Carrot Toast' recipe.

This one's for you, Muffy!

seeing nature from two sides...

2008-07-10T15:15:00.012-04:00

Today, I retrieved a nest from a bush that was part of 'zealous' shaping and pruning on my part a few weeks ago. It was beautifully crafted: awaiting the laying of eggs, cleverly cradled in the honeysuckle bush that would be producing berries to sustain little ones before they fledged. A perfect avian nursery...I had mortally disturbed.

At the time I buzzed-cut the bushes (but not with any electric hedger -- I like the real blades) in our side yard, I had a worthy mission: to coax them to fatten up and fill in and become one with the chain link fence, i.e., totally obscure it from view. My heart got stuck in my throat when I saw what I had exposed. Deprived of branches and leaves above, losing protection from sun and predator's view, the nest's future usefulness was - in a few 'chop chops' - obliterated.

I brought it inside and set it on the kitchen window ledge. The super clean bottom of the nest bowl confirmed that it was not last year's left over, but intended for fresh, new life this year. At eye level, over the sink, I admired its perfection...but still felt so sad over the deprived future. Then...an earwig crawled out of it and I quickly put him in the disposal.

Earlier, we had pulled up a sprung mole trap from the front yard. We've been invaded, inundated and overtaken by these creatures. Caught in the trap's blades was a perfectly formed mole with cute little toes. Cruelly - in its view - was life brought to an end. We had to work to release it, and somehow that seemed fair. I found myself wishing it could have been trapped live and released. Impractical, at best.

I have mixed feelings about my interactions with nature. I get really upset when anything is harmed...and, more and more, I do mean anything. A few days ago, I saw a teeny spider running across our carpet. I whispered 'sorry' before flattening it. When we first moved in here, a house centipede attracted Lucy's attention one evening. She ended up being stung in her mouth as she played with it. I was frightened -- had never seen one before. After I finished it off, I went to google 'ugly midwestern huge insect' and found out who/what I was living with. Come to find out, they like to stay to themselves, mostly out of sight, close to the walls. AND, they eat all the insects you don't want to have in your house...roaches 'n' stuff.. Okay. So I gave them a lease...I guess on Life. I felt proud of being able to ignore them, but the reality is this: If I see one 'loose', I worry about Lucy getting hurt. Or at least that's what I tell myself after killing it. And I do wordlessly apologize, every time. Recently, when I saw a baby one in a bathtub, I verbally patted it on the back and left it alone. A few days later, it was dead. The tub was too slippery to escape. How ironic.

I am at the same time a sympathizer and a murderer.

So...with an increasing sense of my intruding footprint on the environment comes guilt (even as I discard the moldy broccoli that was forgotten at the back of my vegetable bin, or wish my solution to keeping garbage smelling 'good' would be something better for the environment than sealing shrimp shells in the ziplocked extra thick plastic bag they were sold in...a bag that will be degrading for eons before those easily biodegradable shells see the light of day), but also the awareness of the inevitability of good and evil mixing it up in this life. Are we all a sea in a Garden of Eden salad?

As I said before...I'm ready for the peaceable kingdom.

Fourth of July in the 'hood...

2008-07-06T07:48:00.024-04:00

Aerial view of the greater neighborhood whose identity spans decades...
...as do their legendary celebrations...

Wow. We were warned. I mean...informed. Not one, but three parishioners called to ask if we 'know about the traditional celebration of the 4th' in our neck of the woods. It's decades old. And it's big.

Multiple parties started it off on Thursday night, some closing down the street. At the end of our block, parks 'n' rec picnic tables (in a small town, you can borrow anything) surrounded a home. A port-a-potty stood sentinel at the corner. Across the pond, the house that has become famous for festive music late into the night kept it's reputation for enhancing the mood until well after midnight.

The morning parade on the 4th was said to be 'smaller than usual'. Translation: no elephants or tigers...though they've had them in the past. An official baton twirler led it off, followed by bagpipers. Close behind: the large duck - I didn't get the story on him but I'm betting there is one.

Vehicles ranged from fire trucks to oldsters to jeeps and all the way down to golf carts. Impressively long!!!

The older set who had birthed this parade when their children were young walked the route boasting a 'Sex in the City' theme. Unfortunately...that picture got deleted from the full camera card to make room for others.

There is a 'W' missing before the 'TF' below! Gas prices drove the theme for the day. Even the grand marshal putt-putted on a wee scooter.

Pony rides were available on this corner before the parade. After the parade, 50,000 firecrackers (smoke bombs???) were thickly blanketed along the side of the road...producing, well....a highly impressive blanket of sound and smoke. A fitting end to a grand event.

But the parties went on!

A parishioner's grandfather - he'll be 100 on his next birthday. A treasured folk artist in this state. He carved, painted, etched and decorated the above walking stick. A highlight of the day for me: holding it and turning it as I read, aloud, the poem he cleverly wove into the design. I can't remember the name of the poem or poet...but, ironically, it did include something about failing memory.

The view from the grandfather's seat: A young boy rests on the largest tree swing I've ever seen. The lot straight ahead has a historic house on it that was the clubhouse when the greater area was a golf course.

The day ended with the longest fireworks display ever - well over half an hour - launched from two barges on the lake. Lucy and I drove to a point just beyond the lower right corner of the above google earth map and viewed them through the windshield. The barge was directly in front of us and therefore the show was deafening! Returning home a bit shell-shocked, we were (unfortunately) treated to more fireworks, this time launched from a house two doors down. I do mean launched. Barge-worthy.

mosaic of moi...

2008-07-03T23:28:00.007-04:00

In her 'Midweek Mosaic' post, Miz Minka gives instructions and links for making a photo mosaic. An 'in your own image' sort of art project. Fun!

The photos represent my name, my favorite food, the high school I attended, favorite color, celebrity crush, favorite drink, dream vacation, favorite dessert, what I want to be when I grow up (if ever...), something I love in life, one word to describe me, and my alter-ego name. I don't think I'll offer any detailed Jungian interpretations of mine. But the first photo is a Brenda in a training session with the National Zoo's celebrity, Tai Shan. Nuff said. As well as the capirinha, chocolate and damselfly.

micro greens...

2008-06-22T15:11:00.004-04:00

'Red micros', purchased from the Goshen Farmer's Market yesterday.
These are sprouted from arugula, mizuna, kale, amaranth, mustard, cress
and tatsoi seeds.
Crisp. Spicy. Extraordinary.

I'm addicted to microgreens. I guess that's not a bad thing. Sprouts are in fact the most nutrient dense food on earth, themselves ripe with the magic of life's essential enzymes. My mouth told me as much when I first tasted the mix above at the same marketplace a few weeks ago. A package or two later, my increased energy became their best spokesperson. A micro second later came the familiar nagging greed for possessing the knowledge of 'doing it myself'.

So I embarked on a Google journey. After hitting dead end after dead end in my search for a workable home system (let's just say most info sources are geared towards selling the expensive little gems), I discovered a wealth of info at SproutPeople. There I found my ideal: hemp bags. Seeds for micros need some sort of medium and the hemp fiber is an easy, reliable and reusable (and therefore economical) one. Next step: obtaining a bag of seeds that replicates the 'wow' of the above mix.

An Amish farmer at the above market declared that it now take five apples to match the nutrition found in a 1965 version of one. Depleted soil, herbicides, pesticides are perhaps the basic culprits. But a larger issue looms on a grander scale: In our good intentions to feed humanity easily and thoroughly, we may not have done either as we super-manage food producing, processing, packaging. "We're consuming 'edible foodlike substances' -- no longer the products of nature but of food science." (Michael Pollan: In Defense of Food). Honing the art of nutritional science, we're seemingly much less healthy than where we started. Malnourished some would say. Perhaps we've lost something essential: What food was truly meant to be.

Thank goodness the pendulum is showing signs (...not macro quite yet) of swinging...of increasing awareness of and desire for health and wholeness. Being human, we will ever do it imperfectly. For now, I'm choosing a micro remedy - with some hope and gratitude in the mix.

talking cat...

2008-06-16T23:25:00.003-04:00

Miz Minka's recent post with a singing dog has reminded me of this YouTube video. When I discovered it a few months ago, both Bixby and Lucy came barreling into the room, trying to locate the interloper. On 'replay', Bix jumped onto the table beside me, walked across to the computer, went around back to sniff the speakers and...hissed!!!

Of course, I just couldn't resist replaying just a few more times for him. Some would say that's messing with his brain. He did end up staring at the speaker for quite some time.

Catatonic???

pond music...

2008-06-12T10:37:00.009-04:00

We're enamored of the nighttime bullfrog-serenading going on in the pond. While living in Aumsville, Oregon, thirty years ago, we enjoyed these amphibians on the millrace that bordered our property, which was across the street from a feed mill. (I'm not going to go 'there' now as the mill's practice of putting out poison for their mice had a fateful effect on two of our beloved cats, including the one we got as a kitten when first married. Well...I guess I did go there. heartbreak...) The 'singing' can be considered irritating But, like a gently rolling train in the midwest background, it truly grows on you.

Soon after the first bullfrog commenced his unique arias - a month or so ago - a second one emerged across the pond. Some nights it was obvious they had moved, but still seemed to be facing each other on opposite sides of the pond/island/etc. I took to calling them 'Tristan and Isolde', thinking them star-crossed lovers that yearned to be together but were separated by familial expanse: Mom & Dad didn't approve of a liaison. Then, my visiting sister-in-law googled bullfrogs and announced if they're singing they're both males.

Like most males in the animal world, they have to work hard to attract females. In this case, the females are a bit larger than them. The wily mates not-so-slyly and attractively (???) honk away. When females come to check out the nature-karaoke and are put into some altered state by the males' bravado, they are summarily and quickly jumped on. Nothin' romantic or star-crossed about that.

Just yesterday I heard an NPR story on Wagner's opera, Tristan and Isolde. Well, actually, the drama surrounding the writing of it. While consumed by the T&I story, he was also consumed with passion for his benefactor's wife, Mathilde. By the time of the opera's premier years later, his wife Minna and said mistress Mathilde were both out of the picture. And Cosima Liszt von Bulow (Franz Liszt's middle daughter) - wife of Hans von Bulow, a famous conductor who was, in fact, collaborating with Liszt on the opera and conducted its premiere performance - had just borne Wagner a daughter. She would bear him a second child and be pregnant with a third before officially leaving husband-von-Bulow for fifteen years of marriage with Wagner. At his death, she clung to the corpse for 24 hours and longed to take the plunge to the afterlife with him.

Makes pond life look pretty dull. But, clearly, in some way that refuses to be pinned down, 'it's not over until the fat toads sing'.

Recently, Fr. C submitted my blog for a literacy test. Came up 'junior high' level. OK. I can take that, I guess. My propensity for making up words and writing incomplete sentences and often disrespecting the English language and its rules (though I was fastidious when young) are most likely to blame. However, Richard Wagner's life-tale is certain to ensure a solid PG rating.

Interesting quote about Wagner: During rehearsals for Tristan, Wagner's friend August Roeckel recalled: "If a difficult passage went particularly well, he would spring up, embrace or kiss the singer warmly, or out of pure joy stand on his head on the sofa, creep under the piano, jump up onto it, run into the garden and scramble joyously up a tree."

Click on the picture of the scary frog above and a National Geographic page comes up with lots of interesting bullfrog info. You can even listen to their 'music'.

we're pregnant...

2008-06-06T10:41:00.009-04:00

Well, not exactly us. Sum and Dom are. Well, actually Sum is. Delight does not even begin to express our multi-faceted joy, generously kissed by gratitude.

Some time before the end of 2008 (hopefully a month before, for Sum's sake), we'll welcome a Chester or a Charlotte into this life. Oh such darling names! Middle names: 1) the D.C. station where S&D agreed to meet for the life-changing blind first-date; or 2) Sum's middle name.

They've heard the vibrant heartbeat, which has become palpable in grandmother/nana/wingedlady's prayers...a precious bird-in-hand...

music sublime...

2008-05-17T10:29:00.007-04:00

This video - an entry in Universal Music's search for an international choir - won the Cistercian brothers of an Austrian monastery a recording contract. CD available May 19th. Here, the official trailer.

Perhaps some of the ecstatic and mystical spiritual meaning of this art will come through to our 21st-century hardened and bored hearts.

mother's day treat...

2008-05-11T13:20:00.009-04:00

My Finnish Friend sent this for Mother's Day. If you click on the above nesting hummingbird, a site will come up with photos of her two offspring in their journey from wee eggs to adulthood. I believe these are Allen's hummers.

Clicking on this little photo brings up a wonderful site/sight, with a photo and narrative for each day in the Ruby-throated hummingbird's nest. Astonishing!!!

Such good moms, I might add...

the pond giveth...

2008-05-08T08:49:00.014-04:00

Part of my regular binocular viewing of the island has been to check out Mommy Goose on her nest. It is mostly an obscured view (as she intends, no doubt), behind a large tree. After being content for so long with glimpses of her profile - beak and a bit of breast, or, in the other direction - the tip of her tail, my patience (obsession???) paid off. On Monday of last week, I witnessed a well-timed miracle.

She stood on her nest (I've only seen this twice before when she was undoubtedly turning the eggs). And as she walked off it, in the direction of Daddy Goose - who was about 10 feet away, doing what he does best...which is to stand tall and watch for trouble and generally look entirely in control, eight goslings lined up behind her and teetered into their new world. Then, to my complete amazement, the family set sail into the pond and landed on our piece of the shoreline to feed on a slope rich with bugs.

Daddy looks straight at me. Seems to know I'm out there...snapping photos through a window.
Actually, the camera's flashing red light probably gave me away.

I immediately noted that goslings, though inherently cute for a lot of reasons, are not that attractive. Yellow balls with large gray splotches, they are! I watched the gangley parade with some anxiety, as if it was their first outing, though I didn't know that for sure. Some comfort was taken in evidence of Mother Nature's well-oiled system of the care-and-feeding of goslings: Daddy, constantly looking impressively imposing, while Mommy leads the way, encouraging, sometimes keeping them close, sometimes stretching their limits a bit. I rehearsed the mantra that I expected would become my focal point over the next few weeks: one, two, three...four, five...six.........seven. Now where is that eighth????

Mommy then decided to jump off the neighbor's retaining wall. Bad idea!!!!!!!!! Goslings were certainly frightened at the thought of leaping into an abyss to be near her. One brave one took the plunge, looking oh so awkward. A few others followed. Daddy, in his attempt to be helpful, was actually causing the rest of them to go further down the wall, away from the spot on our shore where they could easily step into the pond. In the end, all was well, with all but one joining Mom by recklessly flailing and falling, and the runt finding its way back to the sweet spot on our side.

The family then processed back to the safety of the island. And my racing heart rested.

I expected that I would not serendipitously be around for all outings, but enjoyed the grace of the next sighting on the island a few days later. Backlit by the morning sun, the little ones' angelic halos of glowing yellow downy fuzz didn't match the behavior: running around, way faster than their feet and balance could handle. One was intent on beak-fighting (must be the brave one who was first to jump off the wall a few days earlier, I surmised). Their playfulness reminded me of kittens. Generally, they looked like they would soon be nothing but trouble to their parents. Yet, Dad still did what he does best - watching and guarding. And Mom seemed to still have influence when she clucked. Her children played the essential game of evolutional survival: 'duck, duck goose' - seemingly on command flattening to the ground to be hidden in the grass, hopefully invisible from predators. They went for a swim. I counted, over and over...'one, two, three', etc. Good job, Mother Nature.

...and the pond taketh away...

The next day, I saw Mom & Dad alone on the island, near the nest, but no goslings in sight. Sentinel father, still solid and stoic. Mother...well, looking almost dazed, if I could anthropomorphise. I knew deep down that the absence of chicks didn't make sense. And any hoping on my part that they were soooooo well-disciplined as to be in nest 'time-out' didn't make sense. I set the binoculars down and walked away from the window.

Early Friday morning, we awoke to loud and constant honking. I rushed to the window to see what was going on. There, on the island's nesting point, was Mr. Goose, standing tall, silent, at his ever-vigilant best, giving protective space to a seemingly distraught mate. No longer Mommy goose, Mrs. was pacing in the vicinity of the nest...dramatically gyrating...her long neck twisting this way and that, up and down. Her trumpet-wailing could have woken the dead...but didn't. I cried with her. And then went back to bed to hide my head under the covers. Damn Mother Nature.

This display of parent loss was the only outward sign of their grieving. Mates for life, they still are a pond couple. But the empti-ness of the empty-nest speaks volumes.

I now think back to something that might be significant: when stepping into the pond surface, some goslings seemed to go under and then bob back up. Though I truly think they were just enjoying the ducking and diving, I've wondered if something was nipping at them from below. There are no obvious suspects to put in a line-up for the parents to identify. Painted turtles are omnivores when young, though nothing larger than a grub is listed in the non-vegetable part of their diet description. A more likely villain would be the visiting heron we've seen...or occasional hawks. Do I want their young to go hungry? No. But I'm ready for a world where the lion can lie down with the lamb. Right now, the circle of life is definitely a messy thing.

gift of the season...

2008-05-05T11:26:00.008-04:00

Returning home from a clergy spouse conference in this lovely diocese this past Saturday evening, I found a lilac branch waiting for me at the door. The gift-giver knew I was entranced by them here - a different variety than grows in California. What a treasure to find, after being consumed by lilac envy all the way home, mental scouring the yard to come up with possible sites for the myriad bushes I yearned to possess.

They grow big here. I suppose I would tire of a wall of them across the back...perhaps punctuated with a tribe of astonishingly beautiful redbuds...and a few of whatever graceful white blooming trees I see paired with them in front of the corner house down the street...and the many pictures I could take of pond wildlife, filtered through lilac light.

Or maybe not.

Many thanks, Sarah!

for the children...

2008-05-02T11:05:00.004-04:00

Delighted to see this statistic on Yahoo news this morning: The Center for Disease Control reports a 20-year high in breastfeeding among new mothers (albeit, some briefly). Three out of four to be exact.

I belong in the group that zealously maintains you can give no better gift to your child than to breastfeed. Oddly enough, this comes at a time when a 'better than breast milk' canned substitute is out on the market. Organic, it says on the label. Hmmm. Glad they at least steamed off the petroleum used in the process of manufacturing it. My Canadian naturopathic sensei says labor and delivery nurses are calling it the 'diarrhea maker'. I'm hoping that, if I were to look into it further, it might have been pulled from shelves.

The above statistics could be minisculy bumped up if the state of Texas, in its well-meaning but out-of-control zeal, had not removed all children from their polygamist mothers...including nursing infants. Get a grip, Texas. We know it's a complex situation, but don't make the very children you are trying to protect suffer in this way.

etsy charm...

2008-04-25T09:00:00.001-04:00

birch tree in fog capelet

A quick post, as I'm too busy to give proper attention to anything!!!

This past Christmas, I stumbled upon etsy.com and found Ellita's Flying Snail. It was a delight to choose a few special gifts from her hand-crafted, artful, one-of-a-kind creations.

You may click here for perusing her current gallery of items for sale, or go to etsy.com to sample all their galleries.

huh???

2008-04-25T08:13:00.003-04:00

An ad on NPR's Morning Edition this morning, as related by Fr. C:

"...sponsored by Scott's Turfbuilder, reminding you to sweep excess fertilizer off your driveway to avoid contaminating groundwater."

Hello. What about the part that actually goes into the ground...???

I'm as much of a fan of green grass as anyone. But it's time to find an organic way to make that happen. Here, a post that covers some of their efforts to do that.

adagio para cuerdas en g menor...

2008-04-16T10:27:00.005-04:00

Albinoni's Adagio for Strings in G minor.
The nicest rendition I've ever heard...
perhaps because of the organist's interpretation.
There is no indication of the identity of the performing group.

When I went back to school in my mid-thirties to obtain a teaching credential in music, they stressed an interesting, new (to me) approach to music education. Simply stated, if instruction resulted in a 'feelingful response' to music, that equaled success. Yes, we taught basics and concepts, etc, etc. Yes, we talked about what music means, etc, etc. But to simply enjoy being awash in the sound was considered the highest experience for the student.

I came across the above video as I was traveling a bit through the blog world a few weeks ago - one of those '...a link off a blog roll off of a link off another blog roll...', etc. There were other options on YouTube. But I found myself drawn to the simplicity of this one, just because. I didn't need a slide show of nature scenes (though I enjoy them) or to watch orchestra members ply their art (though I find that to be amazing.). This one gave me a chance 'just to be'. And in that, I found myself to be one with the music. And just that.

brenda the polygamist speaks out...

2008-04-15T08:42:00.012-04:00

What a horrid, sad situation in Texas. Of course, we want to, have to - and must protect children. Granted, that polygamy is basically a disgusting concept. Granted, the government's intention in taking hundreds from the Yearning for Zion compound in Texas is grounded in appropriate concern. Granted, that such naivety and passivity on the part of mothers and fathers is grossly unfortunate. Granted, also, I'm sure, is that a polygamist compound might just be a great place for a pedophile (or two or a score or more) to 'abide' and such should be prosecuted vigorously.

And, while granting that children generally do not admit to abuse when parents are around, yet I do not greet with joy the news that each child being held in state custody will have a lawyer...but not a mother. Hundreds of children who knew nothing about the outside world are having a cruel introduction to it. They now have no one they trust to interpret, in their own language and spirit, what-the-heck is going on. I understand why it can't be. But, it's sad and ultimately costly.

I wept while watching the news video of 'Marie' describing her heart break...how her son came to her in the night with a naive request that broke my heart also. 'Brenda' follows with a statement of what happened at the separation.

Granted, in this blogger's mind, that the whole polygamist thing might have been settled easily - and eons ago - if it were males of young age that were deprived of control over their deepest selves. And, granted, immediately, that young males are in some way also victims in the current situation.

elephant intelligence...

2008-04-12T22:36:00.007-04:00

Skeptical? See below, a 'copy/paste' from the Self-Awareness portion of Wikipedia's page on Elephant Intelligence, even containing a reference to my previous post's video. The entire page is nothing short of astonishing. Sections on Altruism, Problem-solving and Death Ritual - particularly so. Required reading for Fr C and Felipe!

"Asian Elephants have joined a small group of animals, including humans, great apes and Bottlenose dolphins, that exhibit self awareness. The study was conducted with the Wildlife Conservation Society (WCS) using elephants at the Bronx Zoo in New York. Although many animals will respond to a mirror, very few show any evidence that they recognize it is in fact themselves in the mirror reflection.

"The Asian elephants in the study also displayed this type of behavior when standing in front of a 2.5m-by-2.5m mirror - they inspected the rear and brought food close to the mirror for consumption.Absolute evidence of elephant self awareness was shown when "Happy" repeatedly touched a painted "X" on her head with her trunk, a mark which could only be seen in the mirror. Happy ignored another mark made with colourless paint that was also on her forehead to ensure she was not merely reacting to a smell or feeling.

"Extraordinary video documentation of an elephant painting a picture of an elephant - possibly indicating self-awareness - has become widespread on internet news and video websites. The quality of the painting is extremely high, leading many astonished viewers to doubt the video's authenticity. The website snopes.com, which specializes in debunking urban legends, lists the video as 'true'."

another wonder of nature...

2008-04-10T16:57:00.006-04:00

Be sure to watch this to the very end! The artist's final, detailing stroke blew me away.

I would make a case for something more than a 'self-portrait', as this is billed on YouTube, but perhaps something deeper and more far-reaching: a sense of identity and recognition of tribe (though a group of elephants is poetically referred to as a 'memory' of such. Love it!). The elephant knows he's an elephant, is primarily interested in elephants. Don't humans paint mostly other humans? So he chooses to paint an elephant as a true reflection of what is essentially known to him.

Notice, he didn't paint a lion. But might yet do that if an elephant was holding one...??? (joke)

wildlife obsession...

2008-04-09T09:21:00.021-04:00

The duck couple floating in the liquid gold of morning sun...

The pond wildlife community never ceases to amaze. Mr & Mrs Duck remain at the top of the completely adorable list. No sign of nesting. Unfortunately, I glimpsed a large (aren't they all) Canadian goose behind a tree on the south tip of the island in the prime breeding spot - sitting still for hours and facing the opposite end as if the better to see interlopers approach over the bridge. I hear geese can be verrry protective of their young. And even though I'd rather see the ducks on that prime spot during nesting season - and know that border collies are considered to the most effective geese-nuisance 'ridders' in the world, I'd fear for Lucy's safety if turned loose on the island at this point.

I have wildlife-viewing obsession and am currently completely over the top when it comes to turtles. With our small but wonderfully powerful binoculars, I spied a large turtle sitting with the above-referenced goose yesterday. Odd couple!! What I want to is to be able to snap a picture of that with binocular clarity and mega close up perspective. A picture taken from the deck is a safe photo bet, as long as I move noiselessly: turtles and ducks will skedaddle at the least little sound (I've even seen deer from way across the pond lift their heads when I simply open the deck door). But a bit too far away. Once, I was successful in going out the front door and coming around to the back, moving as silently as possible on the grass to surreptitiously take a turtle pic from land's edge. Closer... better. The best, but riskiest: from the end of the protruding dock. If you ever want to see 18 turtles hit the water in a split second, that's the way to do it. But then you get to watch their little noses moving just above water level as they swim about and ultimately heed the call of the sun's heat to return to the warm grass.

So, I've seen them - and tried to photograph them - in all their glorious charms, watching their numbers grow from one to 25 on a very fortunate day...observing great variety in sizes as their young join them...admiring their silver-gray backs when dry and warm...and glossy blacks when first coming up from the pond. Yup. Completely bitten by turtle obsession.

Admiring their own reflections?

Meeting of the tribal elders?

Probably not listening to a speech from the robin;
but - as they normally do, simply facing the direction they arrived out of the water.
Ideal/efficient for exposing their backs to the sun?

The day I counted 25 of them: varying degrees of size, dry/wetness.
A wee one on the far right perhaps coming up for a first day in the sun?

The island seems to melt into the opposite shore...
as turtles spread out across the nearer edge
we are most fortunate to have in our view.

Springing...

2008-04-05T08:38:00.000-04:00

..though not completely sprung. Branches budding...curtains fresh-air billowing...garden fever possessing. But mainly pond wildlife captivating...

addendum to previous post...

2008-04-01T10:24:00.006-04:00

A commenter has brought up an excellent point.

In case you can't access the linked article in the previous post (Grrrrr....I find it irritating when you must 'join' to read something educational...or otherwise. When I'm done with 'My Day' I'll try to find a way to post the referenced articles in the previous post.) below is a suggested 'alternative' timeline/list of vaccinations from a naturopathic doctor quoted in the article. Babies have immunity from their mothers for quite some time. Perhaps infants can be spared some unnecessary assaults. Even veterinarians are now advocating moderation in pet vaccines.

No vaccinations until your child is two years old.
No vaccines that contain thimerosal (mercury).
No live virus vaccines.
The following vaccines should be given one at a time (not as a combination vaccine), every six months, beginning at age 2:
1. Pertussis (acellular, not whole cell)
2. Diphtheria
3. Tetanus
4. Polio (the Salk vaccine, cultured in human cells)

i've been scooped...

2008-04-01T08:34:00.007-04:00

This hippie arm chair health expert has been scooped. Thank goodness. I mean...when you have not one but two blogposts on a subject in 'saved drafts'...well, that's pathetic.

So here* on Dr. Mercola's website you can read an e-article by Dr. Russell Blaylock on the dangers of excessive vaccinations, with an important response from Dr. M following it. Vaccines have (thankfully) been in the news lately, with the awarding of damages to a family whose daughter became autistic after her 18-month-old set of shots. Myriads of parents have been insisting that their son or daughter was a perfectly normal (or above normal) child until that point. The reply: Oh, but autism generally shows up at that age. Yeah. That's the point, they would say. And - 'convulsions' following the administration of multiple-innoculants cocktails really aren't damaging to the child. As if...

While acknowledging that vaccinations have historically done great good, in truly human fashion we have gone overboard with them and done wrong. Let's face up to it**.

Dr. Mercola is a naturopathic doctor and he can be over-the-top. I generally appreciate that in him! When he offered to pay a 'reward' of over $20K to any adult who would drink a cocktail of vaccinations on The Schedule for children from birth and up - adjusted for weight, of course...well, I know people might think that's just being sassy. But...why has no one taken him up on it?

I might just add that when this Boomer was born, the number of vaccinations was far less than even the 1976 number.

*It could just be my computer...or it could be that Dr. M's site is getting slammed with so many hits that it's now taking a long time to load. Or...maybe he will insist you join his email list. I may need to post the articles on my next blog entry. Let me know...

**But it's likely the threat of law suits and huge amounts of $$ being awarded that keeps the establishment averring their safety.

spring and sonatas on kelly pond...

2008-03-25T08:39:00.019-04:00

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...

2008-03-18T11:27:00.001-04:00

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

Just for its sheer adorableness factor...

brainscanner...

2008-03-12T09:08:00.012-04:00

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...

2008-03-10T21:45:00.005-04:00

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

2008-03-09T15:42:00.009-04:00

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...

2008-03-05T21:20:00.015-05:00

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...

2008-03-02T23:30:00.014-05:00

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.

how silently...how silently....

2008-02-29T10:53:00.006-05:00

...the wondrous gift is given...

Marvelous snowfall this morning...huge, relentless flakes. Magical, mystical, miraculous. Along with everything else, the pond is buried in the snow, and the monochromatic landscape has an uber-expansive feel. The island is only defined by the trees...oh, and the cross-country skier, who just - maybe - came from a nearby shore, rather than scraping her way over the bridge.

By Sunday, the ever familiar pendulum swing (locals have never seen such a schizoid winter) will take us to the 40's with rain, and the bare, unattractive ground will be with us...perhaps for a long time.

babies in the news...

2008-02-28T18:45:00.003-05:00

I'm encouraged to see baby health and wholeness issues occasionally featured in the news. Things like...Pediatricians say our children need to be outdoors more. That rolling in the grass, communing with nature are somehow essential to their entire well-being. Imagine that! Maybe nature's green is better that a picture of grass on the computer? Maybe the Baby Channel -- offering programming for 6-month-year-olds and up -- might just be unnecessary - hmm... or even possibly even harmful? That's something we may know, deep down, but I love seeing it featured center-stage.

Then we have some really scary stuff: Container Syndrome -- you know, where you put the baby in a multi-purpose carrier that you rarely have to take them out of. Carry it to the car and it becomes a car seat. Carry it into the house and they can stay in it and play...and watch you from it while you eat dinner...and even sleep in it. Truly, this invention springs from wanting 'the best' for your baby -- offering a seamless existence and minimizing bumps. But the result of overuse of container is not only stunted development (yup - it turns out they really need to squirm and fuss and roll on the floor -- or the grass! -- and try to hold their head up and gain strength from their struggles to crawl), but also grossly misshapen heads that can only be fixed by wearing another container - a helmet. All in all, don't they mostly need the messiness of real interaction? The warmth of human contact? (...maybe even the kind you see in 'underdeveloped countries, where mothers wrap their children in wondrously swathy fabric and tie them to their bodies and then go about their day? Yeah...I know it's possibly harder and perhaps more uncomfortable than we think. But it's both a real and romantic notion that I've always admired. Maybe it would have been worth living in a third world country.)

Then we have a downright evil: Phthalates* -- in the news right now because, in testing the urine of babies who have been recently bathed and shampooed in products like...well, Johnson's baby shampoo, they find a disturbingly high level of phthalates therein. As if our chemically burdened bodies aren't already harming them enough in utero. Perhaps we shouldn't be too hard on our 21st century selves. Even Eskimos and other humans who live in pristine conditions on the 'untouched' poles of our world carry almost the same chemical load as the rest of us. But babies are actually touched by this load before they can even be conceived. Vogue magazine's article An Inconceivable Truth is a powerfully informative article on environmentally instigated infertility - and phthaltes take their rightfully damned place on this list.

But coming back full circle to creative play: NPR recently had a wonderful segment on 'play' (Hear or read it here). It seems there's a frightening lack of creativity in our children's play. And they trace it back to...TV? Yes, but in a more particular and surprising way than our corporate lives of just being blobs in front of the TV. Actually, blame is squarely on the shoulders of 1950's The Mickey Mouse Club. Really. Well, actually, the commercials. Toymaker Mattel seized a golden opportunity to advertise toys year-round... ones that prescribe and control the direction of play activity by their very nature. It turns out 'wasting time ' in 'mindless play' is not only NOT a waste of time -- it's essential.

Now that we're all depressed, let's play:

*There's lots of 'PR' from the phthalates industry online (reminds me of the initial not-so-comforting defense of mercury dental fillings. 'Sure mercury is harmful to humans. But your saliva covers the tooth and you really don't absorb any of it'. Yeah... Methinks they're worried about liability...) NotTooPretty.org has a wealth of information on phthalates and other poisons found in cosmetics.

love 2008...

2008-02-16T14:58:00.009-05:00

The amazing sand artistry of Ilana Yahav:

What strikes me is the transient quality of her work. Doesn't sand - her medium - embody the essence of that most challenging aspect of being human?

love and death by chocolate this valentine's day...

2008-02-14T02:46:00.002-05:00

This Valentine's Day is full of the usual...and a lot of 'extra'. Usual lessons to play for at Grace during the day. The extra part is rehearsing with visiting prospective students (singers) this evening (auditions happen tomorrow), playing for one or two Grace students at their Musical auditions this afternoon. In the middle -- one private piano student at home.

Somewhere, I lost a standing time to rehearse with Don B's wife, who is preparing, studying, singing 20th century cabaret songs for her doctoral dissertation. Did you know Stravinsky, Satie and Britten wrote such?

If you have time, click on the simply gorgeous dessert above, and you'll be transported to heavenly bliss in the form of a recipe on Raspberry Eggplant's blog. If you make it...be sure to send me a piece.

wisdom according to calvin & hobbes...

2008-02-12T07:29:00.001-05:00

I love Calvin and Hobbes - perhaps the most brilliant and clever 'strip' ever to appear in print.

During one of our excessively heavy periods of snow here in America's heartland, Blogless T sent me a link to the most complete line-up I've ever seen of the deliciously demented 'Snowman' series, two of which made guest appearances on Miz Minka's blog. Awesome!

Recently, I was looking for more. An on a quick C&H cruise around the internet, I happened upon a treasure: 25 Great Calvin and Hobbes Strips (subtitled, Why Bill Watterson is our hero). Considering the recently closed 'bow and arrow deer hunting season' - thinning out the beyond generous numbers of deer here in Kawzie County - I lost it over the one below. If it's too small to read, click on it for a hopefully larger version. Or just lose yourself in the aforementioned site.

that inbetween time...

2008-02-07T00:20:00.002-05:00

...and I don't think that alternating between snow and rain, freezing and not, covered and bare earth is what I had in mind for an Indiana winter. Yet...what an ideal icon for Lent...

and to dust i shall return...

2008-02-06T07:35:00.000-05:00

"Ashes", by Simran Gleason*

It's Ash Wednesday. At the end of the day, my forehead will be adorned with a smudgy, sooty black cross -- the product of the incineration of last year's Palm Sunday palms.

As a child, I was raised Baptist. I barely even knew what Good Friday was for. So, definitely, something as 'connectedly foreign' as Ash Wednesday meant nothing to me. Anyone with smudges on their foreheads were suspect. Strangely, I thought this pushed them out of the true inner circle of the knowledge of our Lord.

We're past the 'incarnation' time of year. The Word has become flesh. But there is certainly something in the incarnational statement 'God with us' that comes to bear on Ash Wednesday ashes...along with a plethora of other earthy things in our liturgies...from marking/covering one's self with the sign of the cross, to bowing at the name of Jesus...acknowledging the holy Gospel with a trinity of crosses on forehead, lips, heart, to letting our prayers go up in incense.

And this is why I'm an a 'Catholic Christian' -- an Anglican one, to be precise. Incarnation is real. I can feel it in my blood and bones. God came to us in a very messy way - by choice. I dive into that mess to meet the One who dove in here first. Every swath of fabric he wore is represented in our vestments. Every breath he takes is Holy Spirit in our lungs, also. Ditto for His blood in our veins.

As we prepare to immerse ourselves in the Paschal mystery, some 40+ days from now, I'm reminding the self I live into, to not see it and other liturgical and theological dressings as an act detached from me -- but rather something that is more a consuming presence within...breathing with me...ever intertwining with my DNA.

So, I'm relishing the thought of wearing dirt...as a reminder that I came from dust and to dust I shall return. I find in that some humbling, but also very good news. It's not all about me, but rather the whole scheme of God with us. I wear it, taste it, breathe it - not merely spiritually, but incarnationally into my very being.

Pardon me while I utter Alleluia.

*From the Artist: "'Ashes' is a series of undeveloped mythologies beginning with a cycle of dissolution and response. Descent into ashes: a chrysalis state where annealing occurs below the surface of awareness. The swirl of emotion, transformation and re-emergence into the body. Stories of entering into that filigreed network of fiber and bone, muscle and membrane. Isolation and relation: situated awareness."

cowboy skipping short film: followup...

2008-02-06T00:26:00.000-05:00

Blogless T has proposed a contest: "And the moral of the short film (skipping, part two) is..."

His entry: "Tis better to have skipped and died, than to not have skipped at all..."

And from Unkle Phil's comment, how 'bout: "The secret to getting that 'height' in their skip...eat beans first!"

I'll throw in there, "Better to die with no inner child regrets than to live having slain it."

Any others?

snow greed...

2008-02-01T08:54:00.000-05:00

Last night, our county was promised a total accumulation of 11 - 15 inches by the end of today. It's now "9 -13". That better come with a guaranty.

Looking at doppler radar, I think we need to move our town to a more cooperative county, somewhat closer to Michigan.

skipping, part two...

2008-01-31T10:33:00.000-05:00

AtomFilms.com: Funny Videos | Funny Cartoons | Comedy Central

"The Last of the Real Cowboys". You won't want to miss Billy Bob Thornton skipping in this whimsical western. Brilliant dialog as two cowboys discuss getting in touch with their inner child. It's pretty clear who's being real!

EXTREME skipping...

2008-01-30T09:59:00.000-05:00

Skipping Boxes -- Dave Bckerman

"Nobody puts Extreme Gene in a corner. Green grass...blue skies... The world's spinning. It's time to take a ride." -- Extreme Gene

A recent, horrifying discovery: it seems I can't skip anymore. Well, technically, I can - but there's not much height in my steps. I crave the lithe and lofty ease of a 7-year old's advantage.

I'm showing signs of the cost associated with a low-exercise life. Vigorous practicing/playing piano is actually quite effective. But, it takes a Hindemith-type workout to get my respiration rate up and to feel the 'burn' (yeah...I'm exaggerating). I do have Mozart, Kabalevsky and Bruch on my plate. But right now, I feel called to spend quiet and somewhat more introspective time at the piano.

If it were summertime, I could go outside and power walk. The weather is currently...well, frightful (technical term from a Christmas song). Currently, it's 5 degrees (-15 with wind chill). At 7pm last night, it was close to 50 degrees. We expected the dramatic storm that hit late evening -- severe winds and rains turning to snow. A California girl is always ready for "blizzard conditions" to come , but, that -- the pretty part -- didn't materialize. Translation: very little snow! Drat. It's only attractive to have frozen condensation on the inside of a storm door if it's a wonderland outside. There's nothing out there that beckons, unless, perhaps, I might like to see if my breath would freeze in mid-air.

This morning, I jogged around the house. The kitchen island, the dining room table, the living room coffee table -- they present themselves to one who is willing to 'run in circles'. Thank goodness for stairs, also! A small epiphany: Why not simply run instead of walking when needing to move about the house? Yet...skipping truly beckons, and not just because I might miss being a child (I can still be child-ish). It seems I am very much not alone.

I happened upon extremeskipping.com today (a warning for the language sensitive: some things on the site might be offensively in your face). 'Extreme Gene' shares the zen of it all in this fairly famous video*:

I picked up a new trick from Gene (besides intuiting that there really aren't any rules): zigzagging. Crossing a foot over the other adds an extra twist to the body. Oops, this newcomer just twisted her ankle. I guess I won't be jumpin' off curbs and bouncing off walls...just yet.

Skipper Kim from San Francisco has a blog and a website devoted to the subject.

Highlights from Jay Aaron's review of Gene's video can be found here. Then, just click 'On This Page' to go to the article.

P.S. I did find a video on YouTube that shows a very trim Gene!

intersecting milestones...

2008-01-30T00:14:00.000-05:00

This past weekend marks another significant milestone -- the 10th anniversary of my stepfather's death. This sweet man had swooped down upon our (in some ways...) dark lives when I was 15. A prince of a man, he was, who redeemed my mother's sorrowful life and brought blessing to us all.

My mother had worked a full time job and a weekend job and occasionally took 'roomers' into our home to make ends meet, post-divorce from my father. There was something very sad about that time, of course. I remember being left alone at night while she and my next older sister went to work. It was sometimes frightening. I would have much preferred going with them and sitting in a corner of 'Ye Olde Hoosier Inn', watching the hordes arrive...dine...depart (the glory years of this now defunct establishment). One night, imagination running wild about who might break in and 'get me', I made my way to the corner of our kitchen and hid, shaking, under the table -- the only place I thought I could have a comprehensive view of someone entering. (Yet, that era did begat imaginative creativity in many, many positive ways...sewing, playing piano, reading, etc, etc... that necessary flow from 'alone time'.)

And then came Maynard on his white horse. Life, in technicolor, he brought with him. He & my mother had over 30 years of loving life together. In the end, his Alzheimer's robbed them both of some pretty important dreams. Pneumonia was his final ticket out. On the day he was moved from the hospital to the facility where he would die the next night, another person's life was rudely interrupted and forever changed.

Even as Fr C was saying prayers at my father's bedside, the St. J's organist's 30+ years of service came to a halt with a literal stroke. Kenneth recovered somewhat, but the next ten years brought new cataclysms and greater challenges to his fragile self. This year, in the same month my father had died, he went into the 'nearer presence of our Lord', with a loving send-off from those whose lives he had touched. I could not be there. From afar, I pondered how I was touched not only by this man's life, but by his impaired life.

Hours after my father's death and our organist's stroke, I hoisted myself onto the St. J's organ bench. And there I sat...and played...and struggled...and learned for ten years. And, thereby, an undeserved, grace-filled blessing from this 'work' entered my life. This journey was shared with amazing musicians and friends -- and even sweet, laughing children who came up post-service to try out the keys and offer gifts of artwork and hugs!

The 'one degree of separation' between these two men who had never met, who shared suffering on the same day, has facets that defy mere human understanding. Together, they do embroider the spirit within and around the many they touched.

I've already remembered...given thanks... during this, the January anniversary my stepfather's walk into the Light of God. I had carried with me the sadness of having wanted to be with him the night he died, but didn't. Knowing only his death was generically imminent, I went home to rest before rising to play at church. I recently found out that my oldest sister had gone over to stay with him -- with his body -- just after he died. That speaks the peace I had been seeking.

Holy Maynard, Holy Kenneth, pray for us.

Recently, a playful internet search of Maynard's complete name brought up an out-of-print book that mentions my stepfather twice. As a nurse then -- and also a manager of a doctor's practice -- his kindness made an impression on the author, a fledgling nurse . Fortunately, I found a copy of this book to send to my Mother.

a pre-december 2007 wish...

2008-01-25T08:37:00.000-05:00

~~What I wish +JDS had written to +KJS.~~

Hmmm...

~~What I wish +KJS had written to +JDS.~~

OH: What I wish +JDS/+KJS had simultaneously found so inspiring that they had to pick up the phone and plot together.

+J/+K: I had an impulse to call you today. Not entirely sure why...but it seems to be prompted by the Holy Spirit.

Contacting you has been on my heart also. An unlikely scenario has been playing through my mind. It would involve us taking on a work of grace together.

My heart has been strangely prepared for the possibility of this. Recently, I've been meditating on Philippians, chapter two -- specifically the verse that refers to humbly regarding other better than yourselves.

Unbelieveable. I also have been pondering this verse in my heart and have felt called to specifically consider those 'others' as being from a group that I consider misled or just plain wrong. Or even, and perhaps more especially, you!

I agree! I've had a growing concern for the sheep on the edges -- the ones in our respective flocks we are working and praying for...the ones we are acting to protect and nurture in the name and cause of the gospel of our Lord.

There is great woundedness out there. I see sorrow and fear; even anger and indignation. Many are in pain and feel persecuted, belittled, and misunderstood by the other side. I believe the Spirit can heal all this, regardless of any essential or even remaining differences between them.

I share that act of faith.

So...what if we were to focus on them together unlikely act of service -- temporarily laying aside our regular responsibilities, along with any important crusades for what is right, and instead take on a shared role of service to those most marginalized and suffering?

I've thought along the same lines. This may sound outrageous, and even impossible, but we know all is possible in our Lord: What if we went on a journey together around the country, humbly regarding these weak as better than ourselves and...well, what better way to do this than by washing the feet of those who are in need?

Excellent! I'm convinced that our Lord has laid this upon our hearts. I can almost see us dressed in our servant roles, without any indication of our ecclesiastical stature -- would that we could show up in robes and sandals!

...stopping in with our bowl and towels...

...taking turns washing and drying...

...serving in blessing...

...blessing in serving...

Some may be hurt and angry and wary of being served by 'the other side'.

Then I will be honored to step aside and humbly offer prayers silently while you serve.

And I will do the same for you. Why don't we come up with lists of those most in need to start with?

It would please me to first visit ones you are most concerned for.

Thank you. And then we'll continue by stopping in and serving some of your sheep and continue to zigzag our way across the country. And what if we meet people along the way that are outside of our collective fold, but want to be served by us?

Then, of course, we will do so with ministering hearts overflowing with love and grace...seeing Jesus in them.

Perhaps at some point maybe we won't even need our bowl of water...

...but could wash their feet with our tears.

(together): "Well, it seems we are of the same mind. May I wash your feet first?"

malcolm guite and mystical sake...

2008-01-22T20:59:00.000-05:00

Malcolm Guite oh so very kindly stopped in today. Rather an epiphany...a generous shining. Ah, grace...

Today's post was to be entitled "mozart...mozart...and then, mozart! mozart! mozart!!!" But, this is for Malcolm. I'm wondering if the Spirit that breathes upon poetic waters was/is the root of a distinctive presence -- a mysterious renewal, really -- that I felt a week ago.

The semester's Grace symphonic chorus project is the Mozart Requiem. The accompanist asked if I would fill in for her at the first rehearsal this past Monday. Sure, I said...amid trepidations of orchestral reduction reality checks. Then, the conductor asked if I would sub for him, as he went off to N.Y. for an audition. Why, Sure...

Not Brahms, Berg, Chopin, or Rachmaninoff. Mozart. Wow. Perhaps it's the prayers that sustain this place that whispered to me, 'Prepare". So, I spent time with the score - mostly the opening movement...marking themes...relishing them...admiring them. Internalizing them. Then, on to 'motifs'...and more of the same, admiring, relishing... In the end, it all came out well. The alums of the group were strong -- they sang it three years ago. For the student cohort, it might have been the first requiem ever (there's much to offer, beckon, embrace there - but they'll discover that). Yes, it went well.

Throughout the process, the prevailing spirit in my soul was one of wonder...of 'other'. Of timelessness. Of 'beyond'. These, from beginning to end, were a part of a unique epiphany: a connection with...a palpable sharing of...creation at Mozart's hand and of God's inspiration. I found myself calculating the 'mere' generations of separation (single digits, perhaps) that connect a work's premiere and a resurrection experience in the 21st century.

Later that week, a Grace violinist left a Mozart Sonatas book in my box. It plays vaguely familiar. A previous accompanist's life? Again, the Spirit glides over the waters. I rest in it.

This past Sunday, the much-larger-city Philharmonic chamber group came to Wonderful W for a concert. Actually, a rescheduling of their usual December visit (snowed out). T.V. says, with both dismay and amusement, "They usual dumb down for us" (totally unnecessary for this cultured crowd!). But they can't do Christmas music now. Nope. It's Mozart! (Eine Kleine...), Mozart! (piano concerto). Mozart! (Jupiter Symphony). Wow.

I prefer concert variety. But, this is an epiphany season. And, in such, of such, is a manifestation, an obligatory covering of glory. I take it, with gratitude.

The circle of blessing continues. Read and relish, Malcolm Guite's poem, Mozart at Greenbelt.

It was not lost on us that, as this concert ended, another one on the west coast was being prepared for at St. J's: furniture moved, musicians arriving, conductor's baton guiding the group as they glide through their second and final rehearsal for an event that evening -- the first of this year's 7th annual series of three. Sounds of John Rutter...of world class clarinetist Patricia Shands on Finzi (Here, you may read about one of her other performances. I am listening to the Presto as I write. Wow!).

Many thanks to T&S M for the Moonstone Sake accompaniment to this moment.

big flakes...

2008-01-20T12:34:00.000-05:00

Big flakes. That's how we define wonder in Snowland. We've had some in recent days. But nothing to match the magical saturation of such as the calendar turned a page into a new year.

New Year's Eve began with innocent fun on the pond. In the morning, the neighborhood ice hockey youth scraped off the thin layer of nighttime icy snow from their rink on the south end. It was beautiful: nice and square, with two goals marking the victory spots. Next to us, young-family-on-the-pond were putting on their skates. For their youngest child -- this was obviously a first. She couldn't control her blades even while sitting on the edge of the dock. Adorable! Soon the family unit was gliding and sliding around the ice, their numbers extended by visiting relatives. Afternoon brought other skaters to the frozen surface. Traversing the full circle of the pond, they had to duck at the bridge each time they completed a lap. I'm wishing for stronger ankles.

Then the drama began. Late afternoon, Fr. C and I made a dash to Much-Larger-City for a little electronics run. The helpful employee asked if it was snowing yet. Hmmm...this took us by surprise. We laughed at the light dusting as we drove off to find a quick dinner before the 45 minute drive home.

But later, it was NOT a happy drive back to Wonderful W. Does it count as a blizzard if large fluffy flakes blow angrily into your windshield, negatively affecting crucial visibility? This Californian thinks so. The driver searched for signs of tracks from other vehicles (if you can actually follow the snow plow, so much the better). The state highway was nearly deserted, and rightly so. So were the parking lots of eating and drinking establishments in our town as we finally drove in. Those who had New Year's Eve plans obviously found themselves with a sudden change in such.

The storm persisted over the next few days. It snowed...and snowed...and snowed some more, eventually turning into one of those 'once in quite some years' kind of white beauty all around -- the effect my mother paid dear money for when she had our Christmas tree flocked each year: Fluffy snow with a kind of thick heaviness that defied gravity, everywhere you look. Though there was a plethora of huge fir trees with floppy branches weighed down by white glory, my gaze and heart (and camera) were transfixed by the sculptured bare trees which sported inches thick frosting on their branches. Even the power lines were impressively and inversely laden with inches of snow on top. A close up view from the dining room window gives the impression of 'air snow-tunneling' - an inverse, above-ground, white equivalent of what moles are doing in the dark underground.

Then the rains came and all melted -- creating flooding as overloaded streams and rivers join with others. Muddy. Dull. Cold. Not entirely unlike the central California Valley in the grip of winter -- including the flooding part, which is unlikely there, but struck them recently. As the waters generally recede here, some will not have an escape route and are preserved, freezing in place as we speak, until spring (or earlier if global warming shows its face).

As of Tuesday, some big flakes were sighted. The pond - which had completely thawed and was rippling like a summer lake with highs in the 50's - is freezing around the edges. Bring on the snow, ice, freezing temperatures. Please. Oh yes, and the pond ice hockey.

Been toying with this post for a while. Now, as I truly 'post', we have record-setting lows. I'm not sure if it is because it came on so suddenly. But, rather than the usual opaque, ice-cube look, the frozen pond looks dark, ominous...with a sheen that perhaps comes from being wind-scoured during its freeze. You can really sense a menacing depth which bears no actual connection to the innocence of this shallow and sweet place. If I had taken the pic below a bit earlier in the day, there would be no blue in it at all, but only black.

RWO...RIP...

2008-01-15T21:26:00.000-05:00

A post-midnight email from California on New Year's Eve bore the not entirely unexpected news of my father's death.

This was a man I truly did not know well, but whose shadow affected me deeply through the suffering of my mother...though his 'mistake' was redeemed many-fold in the lives of both of them through succeeding, blessed marriages. He was essentially out of my life way before my age got into double digits (i was the youngest of four daughters); and, before that, he was, to my young mind, an 'impresent' presence, traveling up and down the central valley, plying his cattle-related veterinary business.

But I came to know of him more completely in recent years, through updates from a California sister who, along with other family members, lovingly and respectfully has cared for him during the challenging six years prior to his death. She is known as a 'Buddhist Quaker', and undoubtedly both those edges defined and shaped her lovely actions.

In between those poles of time & experience, of my growing up & his dying, there was a slightly awkward re-entry into a somewhat shared life which began when he called me over 25 years ago. I had a father already - a stepfather. My children had a grandfather already - one who shared, lovingly and creatively, a giddy life of grandchildren joy with my mother. Yet, my father came as a quiet, gentle stranger into our lives and will be remembered not for tragedy and mis-steps, but for that very gentleness along with a lifetime love of music and its practice.

For this man who became a libertarian and an atheist soon after he left us...but who still remembered every tenor part to every hymn from his youth and sang such loudly as my sister played piano in his nursing home-away-from home ...my sister left 'How Great Thou Art' looping on the CD player at his bedside the night that he was to die. It played for quite some time before, during, and after his death.

That night, certainly some time around the actual moment of passing, Fr. C had a dream...of playing How Great Thou Art on the piano. In that dream, folks were singing. But, at some point, he started improvising and losing himself in it. And voices grew quiet.

But at the finish, they joined once again in song.

As he watched S2 play, the embroidered 'RWO' is barely visible on his sleeve
during a visit to us in Oregon oh so long ago...

epiphany of beauty: they still gives me shivers...

2008-01-12T15:05:00.000-05:00

The untimely death of Christopher Bowman ('Bowman the Showman') just came up in Yahoo news. A google image search on him - his brilliant career and all too short life - led to further searching (as it always does with google, eh?), and landed where art begins and ends: heart-shaking videos of the all-time greats, Torvill & Dean. I still weep with wonder and gratitude for them.

Their perfect scores in the Olympics of 1984 ('Bolero') remains at the top even now, despite their magnetic tide pull on all wanna-be's to their altar of style and originality over the years. But today it is their 1984 paso doble that makes my soul hold its breath. It is one of several required dances in the Olympics - 'compulsory', with prescribed steps and rhythmic precision providing a platform for the pair's creativity. Torvill & Dean set the standard with this one. So: Enter Christopher as matador. And Jayne as cape...with inherent possibilities for twirling, throwing, dragging...and (for her) draping. Despite its 'age'...Breathtaking.

Some other (more recent) high points out of their myriad: Oscar Tango. And Sarabande (a collaboration with Yo-Yo Ma). YouTube has many others, including their interpretations of Dave Brubeck's Take Five, John Lennon's Revolution paired with Imagine, and even Diamonds are a Girl's Best Friend.

it's epiphany...

2008-01-07T18:12:00.000-05:00

...with manifestations & insights...spiritual & artistic...life & beyond...remembering Louisiana excess in the form of king cake, parades, and general obligatory partying...now embracing epiphanies in all colors and dances...

it's Christmas...

2007-12-24T14:59:00.000-05:00

...full of complete joy...in celebrating a family birthday...singing the descant to 'Once in Royal David's City' at midnight mass...and soaking in the spirit, food & 'spirits' of our first Christmas in Wonderful W. But wait...there's more to come!

O Antiphons, part eight...

2007-12-23T17:26:00.000-05:00

December 23: O Emmanuel...

O Emmanuel, Rex et Legifer noster
exspectatio Gentium, et Salvator earum:
veni ad salvandum nos, Domine, Deus noster.

O Emmanuel, our King and Lawgiver,
the Desire of all nations and their Salvation:
Come and save us, O Lord our God.

O Emmanuel
O come, O come, and be our God-with-us
O long-sought With-ness for a world without,
O secret seed, O hidden spring of light.
Come to us, Wisdom, come unspoken Name
Come Root, and Key and King, and holy Flame,
O quickened little wick so tightly curled,
Be folded with us into time and place,
Unfold for us the mystery of grace
And make a womb of all this wounded world.
O heart of heaven beating in the earth,
O tiny hope within our hopelessness
Come to be born, to bear us to our birth,
To touch a dying world with new-made hands
And make these rags of time our swaddling bands.

-- Malcolm Guite

O Antiphons, final...

2007-12-23T16:40:00.000-05:00

Ghent altarpiece by Jan VanEyck

A click on the above painting will take you to a Website that has, toward the bottom, a listing of the antiphons with an audio file of a corresponding Latin chant for each.

O Antiphons, part seven...

2007-12-22T12:01:00.000-05:00

December 22: O Rex Gentium...

O Rex Gentium, et desideratus earum,
lapisque angularis qui facis utraque unum:
veni, et salva hominem.

O King of the nations, and their desire,
the cornerstone making both one:
Come and save the human race,
which you fashioned from clay.

O Rex Gentium

O King of our desire whom we despise,
King of the nations never on the throne,
Unfound foundation, cast-off cornerstone,
Rejected joiner, making many one,
You have no form or beauty for our eyes,
A King who comes to give away his crown,
A King within our rags of flesh and bone.
We pierce the flesh that pierces our disguise,
For we ourselves are found in you alone.
Come to us now and find in us your throne,
O King within the child within the clay,
O hidden King who shapes us in the play
Of all creation. Shape us for the day
Your coming Kingdom comes into its own.

-- Malcolm Guite

Dale Warland Singers: Spaseniye Sodelal

2007-12-21T13:47:00.000-05:00

An Advent YouTube gift for this day, bringing yet more splendor lucis to my soul: *Spaseniye Soledal, a Kievan Synodal Chant by Pavel Chesnokov (translation: Salvation is created in the midst of the earth, O God, O our God. Alleluia.)

Click on the above photo to watch and hear this wonder.

*This video is mis-named - Otche Nash is an 'Our Father'.

The Dale Warland Singers is perhaps the finest choral group ever. His artistry and choice of spirit-slaying repertoire had a profound influence on me. With his retirement, the group has disbanded, rather than finding a new leader.

O Antiphons, part six...

2007-12-21T12:33:00.000-05:00

December 21: O Oriens...

O Splendor lucis aeternae,
veni, et illumina sedentes
in tenebris, et umbra mortis.

Splendor of light eternal
and sun of righteousness:
Come and enlighten those who dwell in darkness
and the shadow of death.

O Oriens (Paradiso XXX:61)

First light and then first lines along the east
To touch and brush a sheen of light on water
As though behind the sky itself they traced
The shift and shimmer of another river,
Flowing unbidden from its hidden source;
The Day-Spring, the eternal Prima Vera.
Blake saw it too. Dante and Beatrice
Are bathing in it now, away upstream...
So every trace of light begins a grace
In me, a beckoning. The smallest gleam
Is somehow a beginning and a calling;
"Sleeper awake, the darkness was a dream
For you will see the Dayspring at your waking,
Beyond your long last line the dawn is breaking."

-- Malcolm Guite

it's advent...

2007-12-20T18:38:00.000-05:00

...giving thanks for Malcolm Guite's Advent sonnets and dipping a baby toe into Christmas with one tree up 'and a Bix-by-ee un-der the tree.

O Antiphons, part five...

2007-12-20T16:43:00.000-05:00

December 20: O Clavis David...

O Clavis David, et sceptrum domus Israel;
qui aperis, et nemo claudit;
claudis, et nemo aperit:
veni et educ vinctum de domo carceris,
sedentem in tenebris et umbra mortis.

O Key of David and sceptre of the House of Israel
you open and no one can shut;
you shut and no one can open:
Come and lead the prisoners from the prison house,
those who dwell in darkness and the shadow of death.

O Clavis
Even in the darkness where I sit
And huddle in the midst of misery
I can remember freedom, but forget
That each dark clasp, sharp and intricate,
Must find a counter-clasp to meet its guard
Particular, exact and intimate,
The clutch and catch that meshes with its ward.
I cry out for the key I threw away
That turned and over turned with certain touch
And with the lovely lifting of a latch
Opened my darkness to the light of day.
O come again, come quickly, set me free.

-- Malcolm Guite

Malcolm Guite...

2007-12-19T12:16:00.000-05:00

I feel a bit as if I am on holy ground. This, this angelic step happened a few days ago in a way that often repeats in blessing: a serendipitous stroke of computer keyboard keys and - voila! - something new and profound enters through a light-filled door.

So it is with Malcolm Guite: an incredible poet and musician, theologian and teacher, person and angel.

I've enjoyed perusing his site and 'meeting' him. And, I believe, there's always going to be more, with him.

It seems he is writing a third book of poetry which may center around the O Antiphons. For now, I am enjoying his incredible, soul-encouraging sonnets on each of them.

O Antiphons, part four...

2007-12-19T09:34:00.001-05:00

December 19th: O Radix Jesse...

O Radix Jesse, qui stas in signum populorum,
super quem continebunt reges os suum,
quen Gentes deprecabuntur:
veni ad liberandum nos, jam noli tardare.

O Root of Jesse, stand as a sign among the peoples;
before you kings will shut their mouths,
to you the nations will make their prayer:
Come and deliver us, and delay no longer.

O Radix
All of us sprung from one deep-hidden seed,
Rose from a root invisible to all.
We knew the virtues once of every weed;
But, severed from the roots of ritual,
We surf the surface of a wide-screen world
And find no virtue in the virtual.
We shrivel on the edges of a wood
Whose heart we once inhabited in love.
Now we have need of you, forgotten Root,
The stock and stem of every living thing
Whom once we worshiped in the sacred grove.
For now is winter, now is withering
Unless we let you root us deep within,
Under the ground of being, graft us in.

-- Malcolm Guite

O Antiphons, part three...

2007-12-18T21:16:00.000-05:00

December 18th: O Adonai

O Adonai, et Dux domus Israel,
qui Moysi in igne flammae rubi apparuisti,
et ei in Sina legem dedisti:

O Adonai, and leader of the House of Israel,
who appeared to Moses in the fire of the burning bush
and gave him the law on Sinai:
Come and redeem us with an outstretched arm

O Adonai

Unsayable, you chose to speak one tongue
Unseeable, you gave yourself away,
the Adonai, the Tetragramaton
Grew by a wayside in the light of day.
O you who dared to be a tribal God,
To own a language, people and a place,
Who chose to be exploited and betrayed,
If so you might be met with face to face,
Come to us here, who would not find you there,
Who chose to know the skin and not the pith,
Who heard no more than thunder in the air,
Who marked the mere events and not the myth.
Touch the bare branches of our unbelief
And blaze again like fire in every leaf.

-- Malcom Guite

O Antiphons, part two...

2007-12-18T19:14:00.000-05:00

December 17th: O Sapientia:

O Sapientia, quae ex ore Altissimi prodiisti,
attingens a fine usque ad finem,
fortiter suaviterque disponens omnia:
veni ad docendum nos viam prudentiae.

O Wisdom, coming forth from the mouth of the Most High,
reaching from one end to the other mightily,
and sweetly ordering all things:
Come and teach us the way of prudence.

O Sapientia
I cannot think unless I have been thought
Nor can I speak unless I have been spoken
I cannot teach except as I am taught
Or break the bread except as I am broken.
O Mind behind the mind through which I seek,
O Light within the light by which I see,
O Word beneath the words with which I speak
O founding, unfound Wisdom, finding me
O sounding Song whose depth is sounding me
O Memory of time, reminding me
My Ground of Being, always grounding me
My Maker’s Bounding Line, defining me
Come, hidden Wisdom, come with all you bring
Come to me now, disguised as everything.

-- Malcolm Guite

part one: O Antiphons...a day late...

2007-12-18T16:28:00.000-05:00

In the weavings of a mystical web page, whose threads of inspiration include Julian of Norwich and a modern day poet, a treasure of 'O Antiphons' was grace-fully stumbled upon.

They are not as mysterious as they seem. Most, if not all of us, already know the 'O Antiphons' through the almost universally familiar Advent hymn, O Come, O Come, Emmanuel, with its verses all beginning with the same impassioned plea, "O Come..." (Here, a beautiful and concise webpage on the Antiphons.)

There are seven "O Antiphons", one for each of the seven days leading up to Christmas Eve. They are, in fact, chanted this way in many corners of the world, as singular statements, chained together in time, out of time...defining a season of waiting. December 17th would be the 'First Day of O Antiphons'. And, so, I'm a day late.

To follow, a post on each of the Antiphons, on the appropriate day. From the heart of poet, musician, and priest, Malcolm Guite, an interpretation of each antiphon will be included in the form of a sonnet. I think of it as a sort of seven-day Advent, or perhaps Emmanuel calendar gift from him.

Today, I rejoice: we'll be gifted with two - to catch up.

snow day...

2007-12-17T20:02:00.000-05:00

I hear Fr. C playing the piano upstairs: Advent III hymns...the ones he won't get to sing this year.

From Saturday late night through Sunday afternoon, a dramatic storm delightfully dumped about two feet of snow on our town, bringing life to a winter wonderland standstill. The local television station announced church closures. Even the 'community mega-church' canceled ('They have no concept of the Lord's Day', Fr. C muttered)! Well, WE don't cancel...WE just can't come, was his profound proclamation.

So we proceeded to experience some elements of an 'ordinary Sunday' -- the norm for most in this country, but a never for us. In between snapping pictures of various stages of 'white' development, the dona de casa would make omelets. As I opened the carton of eggs purchased the prior afternoon at a Chicago Trader Joe's, the declaration on the inside jumped out at me: This is the day that the Lord hath made; let us rejoice and be glad in it!

And, so we did. Frosted with magical grace, even the chores of the day (OK...I didn't do much shoveling...) had a lightness about them.

Early morning island serenity...but there's "more" to come...

After snow blowing before 6am & showering, dressing:
still not going to church...and there's more to come...

Lucy pondering (lack of) backyard options...

The pre-6am work majorly undone...

Lucy leaped and loped through the backyard ('movie at 11')...

"Upholstery in white": Deck table and chairs, an eery and ghostly landscape.

Wait -- isn't that blob on the far right our Christmas Tree????

Lucy and I brave the snowy wind to walk in a truck's wake on the silent street...

Target boots save the day!

Jesus shops for sandals...

2007-12-15T23:42:00.001-05:00

At BuyNothingChristmas.org, there is a marvelous tract - a tongue in cheek excursion with Jesus as he shops for sandals. Click here for the first page, and then 'next page-it' to the end.

This website's concept of drawing back from Christmas consumerism is something I found winning and persuasive last year. Still do! What really struck me this year, as I was again tickled by the tract and its invitation to see shopping through Jesus' eyes, was much more than the obvious and total inanity of Jesus shopping. This time, I read the comments and was just astounded at how people can take something so seriously and unimaginatively. And thereby miss the point. Talk about a plethora of suggestions as to what he should have done, with some complaints about 'blasphemy' (Jesus doesn't know how to pray). It's not about that! Yes, thankfully, some commenters got the point: 'Jesus shopping' does make us uncomfortable. He certainly wouldn't descend into the consumer mosh pit - then or now.

But to sum up a discomfort that stems from this: How strongly we feel we know exactly what Jesus wants, thinks, should do, should require us to do. The temptation is to treat Jesus like a super action figure that we can pose to fit our own purpose or foist onto others as a reflection of ourselves.

I've always been entranced by the concept of relationship...of 'hanging out', in a manner of speaking. Enjoying his presence without putting words in his mouth or needing to dissect something. No 'projecting' and making him in our own image. No squeezing him to fit a tangible mold. As humans, we love to pin something down and tear its wings and heart out. In great contrast, I recently heard a friend describe with awe and gratitude the discovery of 'just being' with Him...removing the shoes of our heart's feet and basking in awesome presence...and nothing more. Maybe then we can surpass all knowing or 'think-we-know'ing and find something truer than we though possible.

The mystics were great at this. May we take a lesson from them.

in or out? bixby in the driver's seat...again...

2007-12-14T10:16:00.000-05:00

A pic from happier & warmer times...

Inspired by Catsinger's delightful, side-splitting and publishable 'Cat-mas Carols', here's a tribute to Bixby's ~~evil-~~ cute-ness, evidenced by a game of cat and mouse at the open doorway to our icy deck this morning. I thought he wanted out. And thus the drama began. (Bixby's comments/interruptions in...what else...orange...)

(Sung to the tune of Love, Look Away, from Flower Drum Song)

Bix, look away;
Bix, come away right now!
Move while I shut the door.
Move, or your a$$ is... MEOW*

Please do not play;
Please do not toy with me!
Frost forms upon my nose;
Toes, numb as they can be.

So nonchalant...
So 'in control'...
Twisting the knife,
Make me the fool.

Since you can see
It really matters to me.
Strrrrrrretching the point, she'll see!
Come away! Move away! What'd you say?
Meow-ME**

Translations:
* 'whatever'
** 'Geez...I'm really not sure... Actually can't commit on this. I'll give it some consideration and get (not) right back to you on it...

yup...it's advent...

2007-12-13T10:35:00.000-05:00

It's Advent. Specifically, somewhere between the second and third Sundays of this approximately four week season. In our own hearts, household and lives we 'celebrate' this season. It's one of waiting, preparing...quietness, introspection...and, actually, some sense of penitential awareness and action.

Coming from a family where Christmas started on the day after Thanksgiving -- well, it took me some years to fully live into this time of 'Prepare ye the way of the Lord'. But assisted by a little 'push' from excessive December busy-ness, which made it pretty much impossible to do anything until after Advent IV, I've become a big fan.

Contrary to popular belief, the next season (Christmas!) doesn't begin 12 days before it. Nope. You don't get to the 12 drummers drumming until 11 days after The Day, making Christmas actually and not too surprisingly, the 'First day of Christmas'.

Discussion with friends who join us in this liturgical tradition sometimes involves bemoaning the fact that we don't live into the 12 days of Christmas fully and properly! Excessive, lengthy celebration is the hallmark of 'getting into the spirit'. After the long, dry wait...shouldn't we give a present on each and every day of the 12? And, as we haven't sung a single Christmas carol until Christmas Eve (or maybe Lessons & Carols if it falls late enough), shouldn't we sing our hearts out for days -- not just listening to CD's, but actually filling our lungs with air and joyfully caroling?

The true twelve days coincide with a period of time that most people think of as 'Christmas is over'. Without intentional Christmas celebration, I think we may not live beyond that and thus fall short. Any excessive ideas out there?

Advent resources:
St. Margaret Mary parish's simple, but lovely, daily advent calendar.
Finding God site's calendar -- more basic, but very thoughtful. A meditation with scripture links for each day.
BBC Radio's Bach Advent Calendar. It's all about Bach. But it has enchanting stories of his life. And the music played is appropriate for Advent.

(not) finding your true voice...

2007-12-11T20:04:00.002-05:00

Google cracks me up. It 'reads' my gmails and supplies a list of interesting (translate: tempting) links off to the right, based on words and phrases used in an email I'm reading. Sometimes, it even eerily matches a 'concept'.

As I e-correspond with a number of friends and family who share a passion for a certain genre of music, I'm not surprised when I see 'National Cathedral Music', the Black Folder and Choral Charisma on the sidebar. But there's one in the bunch that just screams misfit: yourtruevoicestudio.com, where you are a click away from finding your talent. Hey -- apparently it's just like talking! Turn down your speakers if you click on this one. Screaming MeeMee's, GIVE ME A BREAK!!! Belting out your heart in imitation of the mass vocal cord murderers we see on the likes of American Idol has about as much to do with a beautifully floating, truly natural voice as Hershey's does to Green & Blacks. Take a cue from a group of women who can sing Javier Busto's Magnificat , complete with six incipits, and absolutely knock your socks off (I'm sure!).

Ahem. I guess yelling while singing is just not my bag.

completely undone...

2007-12-09T21:25:00.000-05:00

A fortunate find: A custom invitation from a year ago. Hearts and talents, freely and generously given, together bring a dream to life. I am completely undone by the sweetness of all it connotes.

Art... sacred space...Anglican tradition...all united and involved...of one mind. The inscripted text inside combines all...singing sublimely, encapsulating the incarnate:

While all things were in quiet silence,
And that night was in the midst of her swift course,
Thine almighty Word leaped down from heaven
Out of thy royal throne. Alleluia.

Here, the hearts-standing-still setting by Ned Rorem.

TNCW

2007-11-15T22:26:00.000-05:00

It's Tuna Noodle Casserole Week on Robyn's blog. Today -- 'making friends' with TNC variation.
Wow, did this bring back memories of children and friends in a small kitchen in the Pacific Northwest.

Mine started out with homemade macaroni and cheese. I can still see it smell it and almost taste it. Sizzling butter in a pan...blended with flour for a 'roux'...adding the milk, waiting for it to slightly thicken and then adding the piece d' resistance, grated Tillamook cheese (we were on 'WIC' in those days, and this exceptional cheese was on the list, i.e., free)...blending and cooking to make a sauce for elbow macaroni (how plebian!).

One day, I had some tuna & mayo, leftover from sandwiches. I dumped that in to the mac'n'cheese mosh pit (I've always used that term inappropriately. Just ask a certain choir). Then I would add frozen peas. Not sure where that came from. Hmmm...I'm channeling some kind of remembrance from my childhood -- ah, creamed tuna on toast. Well, maybe that included peas. But I doubt it. The peas are undoubtedly random.

I remember rather clearly a day with my young children and a few friends with their children. They requested the gourmet home made mac'n'cheese (though at that age, my kids begged for Kraft...). And when I made it without tuna and peas, they were taken aback and insisted I 'make it the right way'.

That was an eye opener. I never thought of it as anything but 'the kitchen sink' and really couldn't believe they craved the concoction.

Ah, the flavors of the past beckon. I could go on...with homemade custard (made with honey) - oh so good, still warm from the oven... mashed avocado on buttered whole wheat toast with grated onion and salt on top... fried egg sandwiches topped with red onions sauteed in butter, with one piece of bread heavily buttered and the other heavily mayo'd...

In this pre-Thanksgiving week, it's easy to crave the poison 'comfort' food one grows up with. But -- more about poisons mom fed us, later.

OMG. Cooks.com has an actual recipe for tuna and peas on toast.

Moments musicale... part trois...

2007-11-10T23:49:00.000-05:00

Once again, Dave* plays something from Amelie, this time, "La Noyee". This particular video was in the #1 spot on YouTube UK homepage. Wow. Over a half a million 'views'. (Note the MySpace address at the end)

This young man is an incredible and formidable talent. Click on the picture to go to his blog.

Thanks, Dave. We'll be watching your bright future, gleaming with the promise of uncompromising heart and uncontainable talent. An excerpt from his blog speaks to the former:

"So many of you have shown a great interest and belief in me, so many of you have said such wonderful things about my playing, so many of you share with me this one common love for the sheer beauty of Yann Tiersen's music.. how it touches us through shivers, like a gentle breath on skin... how it mourns to our hearts, like nothing save the tears of a child... wistful, innocent, true."

*Ah, all grown up, looking more mature. And his room is clean (just joking...if he did clean it, he really didn't have to...). If I were fourteen, I'd be madly in love and daydreaming about running off with him. Of course, I felt the same way about Paul McCartney, and look where that got me...

episcopal cafe...

2007-11-10T12:46:00.000-05:00

From the Diocese of Washington's Episcopal Cafe website: their Meditations page. I especially appreciated 'O Gracious Light', a slide show of cathedral stained glass reflections. The accompanying music is lovely. (Yet, it might have been nice to have an actual 'Phos Hilaron' sung!)

moments musicale... part deux...

2007-11-09T23:35:00.000-05:00

From what appears to be the bedroom/music studio of a very talented U.K. musician. 'Dave' has a gift for playing by ear and is enthralled with the music of composer Yann Tiersen. Here, Tiersen's Valse d'Amelie

moments musicale... part one...

2007-11-08T09:45:00.000-05:00

A 'circle of life' type video, featuring the hypnotic Comptine d'un autre ete from one of my all time favorite movies, Amelie. Heart-bending marriage of the two.

(Glad to see a touch of realism portrayed in the difficult left hand part -- a glimpse of a deceptively difficult stretch?)

a guest essay: practice makes perfect prayer...

2007-11-01T22:58:00.000-04:00

In an essay on the Covenant blog, guest writer, mother, and violinist Mari Carlson invites us into her busy life and at the same time illuminates the practice of prayer.

"My violin pulls me into prayer. The violin and bow hold my hands and lead me on a journey."

Read it all, each and every wonderful word, here.

Thanks, Fr. C.

ten thousand things...

2007-10-31T00:49:00.001-04:00

Excitedly, an evite to our son's final masters art show in Salvador, Brazil, which opened today at the Dutch Consulate there. Server is slow on his new website. But you can enjoy some of his current and earlier work at Nuvens Sismograficas.

Of particular and dear significance to his mother is his 'cutting edge' work on Caravaggio's Supper at Emmaus*.

*Remembering that, in the spring of 2005, I created a particular 'winged blog' for the unfulfilled purpose of an England 'travelogue'...one of the crowning moments of profundity on that trip being the Caravaggio exhibit at the National Gallery in London, where a hand reached out to me from that very painting...mirroring my own hand reaching into the sacred space of the whispering gallery at St. Paul's Cathedral as the pipe organ raised the roof, just a few hours prior. Oh, so very grateful...and...you really just had to be there...

I do see that Blogspot gives me 'credit' in years for having started Winged Musings then...even though it laid empty and dormant for two years, until this past spring...

i'm tagged!!!!!!!!!!

2007-10-27T04:34:00.000-04:00

Thanks, Miz Minka, for tagging me with Google Fu Fun meme!!! Having run across my own blog when I was searching the net for replacement cushions for my Martha Stewart wicker sofa - bought sans such at a KMart killer sale mentioned in my blog, I read the instructions*...and got going.

Number one hits, no quotes:

damselfly mind
mystical sake
bixby is always armed and dangerous
...and of course, blog names...

Still ticked that 'anglican choral nerd' came in second. (Must have been the 'John Rutter' the first guy had in there. Oops...I see now that I've moved to third place - The internet is like trying to hold on to a river. Felipe: see this Lutheran blog for the 11/12/06 statement on the beauty of anglican music - his was hit #8. Wow - also discovered ePiscoSours at #6. Love the net). Oh...NOW I see. It was Anglican Choral Music Nerd that I first searched upon. And, look: I've now been moved to the Number One Spot...undoubtedly courtesy of me clicking on my own blog in the search results. As I said...gotta love the net and its own special flow...

'I'm thinking GDCC must have crack in them' came in third. Sheesh. What do chocoholics have to do to get some attention here??? (BTW - Ghirardelli Double Chocolate Chocolate Chips are $1.97/bag at Walmart here. That's 2 cents less than they were some years ago at Trader Joe's)

And finally: I actually had to use quotes to get "Patricia Barber is still bloody brilliant" to come up #1...but did enjoy all the other results that confirm the universality of this statement.

*From Adventures in Ethics and Science, the Google-fu meme, originated by David Ng.

“I'd like to suggest a meme, where the premise is that you will attempt to find 5 statements, which if you were to type into google (preferably google.com, but we'll take the other country specific ones if need be), you'll find that you are returned with your blog as the number one hit.
This takes a bit of effort since finding these statements takes a little trial and error, but I'm going to guess that this meme might yield some interesting insight on the blog in question.
To make it easier, we'll let you use a search statement enclosed in quotations -- this is just to increase your chances of turning up as number one, but if you happen to have a website with the awesome traffic to command the same statement without quotations, then flaunt it, baby! Of course, once you find your 5 statements, pass the meme on to others.”

WAR-saw in-di-AN-a, war-saw IN-di-an-a...

2007-10-22T11:22:00.000-04:00

You know you're in Warsaw when...

...you arrive at your new home in August and it is unlocked...with the key waiting for you inside on the kitchen island

...the boy next door can jump off his bike and leave it on the front lawn for however many days he'd like and it never gets stolen

...you call your doctor's office and Christian radio is their hold music

...ice cream places close down for the winter (though we did mention to Ritter's Frozen Custard that they might want to revise their November 11th closure date in deference to global warming)

...ECW is alive and very well, and the end-of-the-year party was on a pontoon boat

...a TV star comes to visit her grandparents at Christmas...and actually comes to church (Hayden Panettiere)

...everyone waves and says hi when you're on a walk

...you pull in your driveway at night and there's a deer in 'your' headlights

...the city might just offer you use of one of their trucks if challenging health problems and inadequate finances make it hard for you to clean up a house they've declared unsafe (from the local paper)

...a plumber says he'll be by tomorrow and it's OK to leave a key for him if you're not going to be home...but when he finds out you will be home in the morning says 'Oh, I'll be sure to come then!' And he does...

...gas prices don't seem to jump when the price of oil goes through the roof (might they be less greedy in waiting for their supply of cheaper gas to run out before jumping on the high price bandwagon?)

...awesome community concerts are FREE! Musical talent abounds!!

...a local dry cleaners gives you a biscuit for the 'dog in the car'

...DMV (actually BMV) offers an 'In God We Trust' license plate...and, thankfully, a cardinal one!

...you look up at the night sky and see more stars than you thought God had ever made

october 17th musings from garrison keillor...

2007-10-20T23:29:00.000-04:00

I'm wondering if he is referring to Maryland's historic, Episcopal parish,
Mount Calvary Church...

WENT TO BALTIMORE AND SAW THAT IT WAS GOOD

By Garrison Keillor

In Baltimore with friends Sunday morning, a splendid fall day under blue skies, we marched off to the nearest church and found ourselves in an old brownstone temple of 1852, wooden box pews, stained glass on all sides, old tiled floor, for a high Anglican-Catholic Mass, a troop of choristers in white, altar boys, bearded priests in medieval vestments, holy water and puffs of smoke and bells and chanting of scripture, precision bowing and genuflecting, all rather exotic for an old fundamentalist like me but deeply moving, and it made me think about my father, whose birthday was October 12, and brought me to tears.

It was formal high Mass, none of that hi-and-how-are-we-all-doing-this-morning chumminess, and the homily only summarized the scripture texts about healing, it didn't turn into an essay on health care. Ten voices strong and true in the choir and positioned as they were under the great arch of the chancel, their tender polyphonic Kyrie and Gloria infused the whole building with pure kindness.

The singing was O my God just heartbreakingly good. There were less than thirty of us in the pews, fewer than the names on the prayer list, and to hear "Behold, how good and joyful it is; brethren, to dwell together in unity" sung so eloquently as the priests swung to their tasks was to be present in a moment of extravagant grace that does not depend on numbers or any other measure of success for its meaning, just as the Grand Canyon does not depend on busloads of tourists to be magnificent. Most of our brethren, bless them, are off enjoying brunch or reading the funnies or lifting weights at the gym, and our faithfulness does not make us better people. We simply happened to walk by and see this vast canyon of God's love and stand looking into it.

Faithfulness was a guiding principle in Dad's life. He was the fifth of eight children of a farmer and a schoolteacher on a little farm on Trott Brook in Minnesota. Dad worked with his hands, tending his garden, fixing his cars, cutting and joining wood. He was faithful to his family, to the Ford Motor Company, and also to his separatist theology and visions of millennial splendor. If you are true to Christ and separate yourself from this world, you will be raised to glory in paradise. My father was faithful to this, even as his little band of believers dwindled, diminished by schism and by escaping children, and I was unfaithful.

I separated myself from the separatists with my eyes open. I wanted to live a big complicated life and not sit in a closet. I do not repent of that, though I have plenty else to repent of and am sorry that it came between Dad and me. There have been dozens of people who happened to sit next to me on airplanes over the years who knew more about me than my dad did. No more his fault than mine.

Now I'm an old tired Democrat, sick of this infernal war that may go on for the rest of my life and in which more of our brethren will die miserably, both American and Iraqi. I'm sick of politics today, the cleverness and soullessness of it. I am still angry at Al Gore for wearing those stupid sweaters in 2000 and pretending he didn't know Bill Clinton, and I am angry at everyone who voted for Ralph Nader. I hope the next time they turn the key in the ignition their air bags blow up.

But here in an old brownstone church at an ancient ceremony, there is a moment of separation from all the griefs of this world. Ten men and women are singing a cappella, "Bless the Lord, O my soul, and all that is within me bless his holy name," and their voices drench us fugitive worshipers kneeling, naked, trembling, needy, in the knowledge of grace, and when we arise and go out into Baltimore, the blessing follows us.

It followed me as I ate a dozen oysters that afternoon and hung around the library and paid homage to H.L. Mencken's house on Union Square, that hearty old sinner who said, "Church is a place in which gentlemen who have never been to heaven brag about it to persons who will never get there." Thank you for your service to our language, Henry. Thank you for your life, Dad. And now onward to November and the first good snowfall and the first day of ice-skating.

Tribune Media

notes from grace college...

2007-10-13T11:50:00.000-04:00

Didn't initially expect much to come from my contacts with Grace College, (email exchange in June "I'm coming to Warsaw! Would love to make/teach music in the community! Need help?"...then dropping off resume when we arrived in August...). But it certainly has blossomed into something in between keeping me from looking for a real, full-time job and surprisingly reinforcing the musical life I love. I sometimes find renewed musical strength and resources with in me through this work and am grateful for that. In somewhat chronological order:

They need a second rehearsal/performance pianist for the Symphonic Chorus (a combination of students, alums and community folks that is still rather small and cries out for more tenors to augment the section of one male, one female) which is doing Brahms Liebeslieder Waltzes this semester -- described sometimes as being written for 'two pianos with optional embellishing singers'. Easy and pleasurable work on Monday evenings. Next semester I'll have that night off.
Voice lessons need accompanying. Keeps multiplying, but we're still in single digits. Five one-hour lessons (including a post-grad student who pays her own way and so I voluntarily play for next-to-nothing), one half-hour lesson. They prefer to give their own students this kind of work and experience, which is a good idea.
A Hindemith piano concerto with trombone accompaniment. Just kidding...sort of. This trombone sonata is a killer for me. But practicing it incessantly is doing more for getting me back in physical shape than anything else. Unsure how this will be paid. Most likely by the student...
Their pre-college fine arts academy has lost their advanced piano teacher. I have three students -- one aged thirteen and another who is fifteen are college level. A third one reminds me of a niece of mine -- both in her looks and in her gracefulness (no pun intended there!). Downside: as most of the academy teachers are Grace students, it is tied to the college semester. I only have 12 lessons with them per semester, instead of the 18 in my own studio. Plus, I'm not sure that I can put my foot down and say 'College-level students must take at least a 45-minute lesson and preferably an hour!'. I have to force myself to cut the lesson off at a half hour...and usually I'm not successful.
Retired St Annes' parishioner signs up for piano lessons. She is a complete joy to work with!!! Rediscovering the piano after working through John Thompson Book Four as a youth (those who have used/played this series know that his five books take a student practically up to a basic college level) and being an avid reader, The Piano Shop on the Left Bank is something she would surely enjoy. (The son of new parishioners begins lessons next week. I would like to end up with 25 or 30 students. Not sure that's realistic. My total of five students is more than I usually have when we've moved to a new place.)
Awesome Grace vocal prof Don Bernadini needs accompaniment for rehearsing music for upcoming auditions. This tenor is amazing. Accompanying in his studio reminds me of UOP conservatory days in the studios of the likes of Lynelle Wiens, David Brock. I realize how much the very creative vocal studio work has impacted my perception of things vocal...choral...and even piano. Unfortunately, vocal accompanying includes 'icky'...technical musical term, here...but mandatory orchestral reductions of opera arias. Some are better than others. Personally, I hate it when a reduction that is impossible to play has added-in teeny orchestra notes that you really can't reach...just to remind you of how inadequate a pianist is and how it really should be done by an orchestra (just kidding...).
Violin student needs accompaniment for a senior recital. Oops -- two selections (Mozart Rondo - yup, another orchestral reduction, wherein my fingers have to pretend they can do violin I & II, viola, and cello runs all at the same time...and Bartok Roumanian Dances) must be ready for a general student recital in a few weeks. Again, not sure how to charge for this. I wish Grace College would create an accompanist position with a 'Hey, we expect you to do anything and everything for any and every body' kind of salary so I wouldn't have to ask poor students for $$.
An adjunct voice teacher began telling a student this week about the tone of an amazing vocal ensemble that was based in Minneapolis. She turned to me and asked if I had ever heard of the Dale Warland Singers!!!!!!!!! Gosh, she even traveled to their final concert before the group disbanded -- they couldn't fathom being under a successor's baton upon his retirement. I mentioned their December Stillness CD, which she of course knows well. And it conjured up in my mind and heart and ears Stravinsky's Ave Maria... Kverno's Corpus Christi Carol... Messiaen's O Sacrum Convivium... and Hess's The Oxen... all on this CD, which served as inspiration for the 'going to the next level' that the St. John's Choir & Choir Friends embraced for Lessons & Carols and Holy Week.

Pardon me while my heart sheds tears of gratitude and amazement for the unexpected gift of that journey...and looks forward to whatever else unexpected might come my way here in lovely Warsaw.

a gift from spasmically perfect...

2007-10-09T23:08:00.001-04:00

I would call it 'a magical excursion through a mass of humanity'. SP's insightful and spiritual sense hits the spot at the center of life. Don't miss 'Not that scary anymore' on her blog.

Winged Musings

on the boundless bonds of thanksgiving...

Saith a Reviewer: " See this film. It will remind you of how thrilling it is to be an active thinking, feeling member of the human race."

A Chloris...

the most beautiful face in the world....

life in death and death in life...

fall leaves...

video d'resistance...

by popular demand...

good work...

weeping for wonder...

saving fuel in Wonderful W...

overheard this morning...

somewhere... there's a beam down there to land on...

UNCONSCIONABLE

c'est moi...!

christian the lion...

the dynamic duo...

the right brain???...

prescribing some hammock time for my left brain...

charlotte...

paw-nography...

introducing muffy...

seeing nature from two sides...

Fourth of July in the 'hood...

mosaic of moi...

micro greens...

talking cat...

pond music...

we're pregnant...

music sublime...

mother's day treat...

the pond giveth...

gift of the season...

for the children...

etsy charm...

huh???

adagio para cuerdas en g menor...

brenda the polygamist speaks out...

elephant intelligence...

another wonder of nature...

wildlife obsession...

Springing...

addendum to previous post...

i've been scooped...

spring and sonatas on kelly pond...

cuteness...

brainscanner...

RIP, Virginia B...

pascalina avga

endodontic empathy...

celebrating kirk...

how silently...how silently....

babies in the news...

love 2008...

love and death by chocolate this valentine's day...

wisdom according to calvin & hobbes...

that inbetween time...

and to dust i shall return...

cowboy skipping short film: followup...

snow greed...

skipping, part two...

EXTREME skipping...

intersecting milestones...

a pre-december 2007 *wish*...

malcolm guite and mystical sake...

big flakes...

RWO...RIP...

epiphany of beauty: they still gives me shivers...

it's epiphany...

it's Christmas...

O Antiphons, part eight...

O Antiphons, final...

O Antiphons, part seven...

Dale Warland Singers: Spaseniye Sodelal

O Antiphons, part six...

it's advent...

O Antiphons, part five...

Malcolm Guite...

O Antiphons, part four...

a pre-december 2007 wish...