Well, no one answered the question I asked in my last post.
Too bad for you, it could have been worth something.
Look for the very small writing under the post title.
Now, hit the play button and listen to a little reggae while you read.
It won't hurt a bit. You can trust me.
Today, I had two preschool music groups in the morning (both first-timers so I had no idea what to expect), an elderly group in the early afternoon and then six piano lessons in quick succession. It was one of those days where I wake up and see the day looming ahead of me and wonder what the heck I have done to myself.
Now, from the declining end of the day, I can look back and see how good it was.
The first preschool group was adorable, if slightly rag-tag. I love how music creates a container for the energy of little children. Even in a big open area, a dozen children will sit in a circle with me and it will feel like our very own intimate space. We sang Christmas carols and played jingle bells and generally had a whale of a time.
The next group was a freebie for the Cultural Center. I am quite dismayed by their lack of marketing, but there were three children with various grown-ups and we had an entertaining time. Hopefully, word will spread and I will have a group come January.
Some lighter moments from the memory care facility:
I was wearing jeans and a white camisole under a blue sweater. As I was wandering the room, playing my guitar, one old dear kept motioning to me, pointing to my behind. I thought maybe there was a thread or something that was bothering her, so I positioned my derrier in front of her reaching hands.
But no.
She didn't like my camisole hanging beneath my sweater.
So I tucked it up underneath and she was perfectly happy.
Oh.
Okay.
Maybe a girl of my vintage shouldn't be wearing things hanging out from beneath my sweaters anyway.
Then, after we finished a rousing rendition of Nobody Knows the Trouble I've Seen, sweet R., who usually sleeps through most of the session, looked up at me with wide-awake eyes and said What trouble have you seen?
Wow.
I didn't want to share my worst troubles with her, way too complicated, so I told her how my Dad died when I was twenty and how I miss him.
Oh, that's so sad, she said, her eyes misting over.
And what troubles have you seen? I asked.
She thought for a moment and told me her grandpa died.
I love it when music awakens the sensibilities of my elderly clients.
Piano lessons were likewise very sweet today. We're getting ready for a Christmas recital at the care home and the kids love their Christmas songs. One little boy, who has been, shall we say, a little reluctant, has taken a shine to Jingle Bells. He did a magnificent job of playing it today and so I high-fived him when we finished.
I knew I was good, he said, beaming.
So we played it again while his sisters accompanied us on the guiros.
Awesome.
All things shall perish from under the sky.
Music alone shall live, music alone shall live,
Music alone shall live, never to die.
She travels. She cooks. She grows things. She parties. She loves on her grandchildren.
Monday, December 20, 2010
Thursday, December 16, 2010
Blast this Christmas music!
It's joyful and triumphant.
Who said that?
Who said that?
This song takes me right back to the 70's. It was written in 1956, the year I was born, oddly enough. It was first recorded by Harry Belafonte (and hit the top of the UK charts in 1957) and has been covered by such shining stars as Mahalia Jackson, Andy Williams, John Denver, The Lettermen, Nat King Cole, Rolf Harris (yes, that Rolf Harris!) and, sad to say, The Wiggles.
In 1978, Boney M.'s version rocked it again to the top of the UK charts.
I love Boney M.
I used to have a cassette tape that had survived from my youth. We used to rock out to it as we drove the interstates in our old non-air-conditioned Colt Vista.
By the Rivers of Babylon.
Brown Girl in the Ring.
Sunny.
Ahhh, sweet memories.
I love road trips.
I dare you not to jig a little.
You might even sing along.
Best.
Christmas.
Song.
Ever.
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
Bi-lingual happiness
Jenny's Mom is visiting, all the way from Peru, so we had them over to dinner on Sunday. I was flummoxed by what to have for dinner, because I wanted Elsa to enjoy it and Peruvian tastes are a little different than most Americans.
Then, Sunday morning (one of those Sundays, with too many things to accomplish by the end of the day) I had a brainwave.
We would have soup (corn chowder, because Peruvians love corn) and fresh wheat bread.
It was Elsa's birthday on Saturday and I wanted to make a cake, but knew I didn't have time. Again, inspiration in the way of flan.
Peruvians love flan.
And, it is easy. Go here for my fave flan recipe.
The meal was simple but successful. Elsa had two helpings of soup.
Te gusta sopa, Elsa? says I, in my best Spanish accent.
Si, si, she replied, with a big grin on her face.
Jon got in the dog-box with Jenny because he ate a helping of flan.
He tells her he doesn't like flan, she said.
Bad Jon.
Jenny's mom doesn't speak one word of English.
We got along really well.
Maybe that is why.
Did you know flan is flan in English and Spanish?
Afterwards, we made the most of our bi-lingualness and sang a few rousing verses of Feliz Navidad.
I'll tell you what, we know how to have a good time at our house!
My low E string was broken, hence the strange strumming pattern.
Which reminds me, gotta add that to my list for today.
I've been blogging too much lately, considering all the other tasks sitting on my list.
But it makes me strangely happy.
Try the flan recipe, it will make you happy too.
So will this video.
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
Winter vagaries
We had a warm, dry spell yesterday and I went out to do some yard work.
There were bulbs, sprouting hopefully in a bucket, that Jeff had dug up while fixing the sprinkler system. I managed to get about a third of them planted before I got bored and pulled a few weeds.
As I was picking up the weeds I noticed the rhodies spreading a little further into the common driveway than I would have liked, so I pruned them up a bit.
By the time I got those squished into the yard recycling bin and planted a few more bulbs, I barely had enough enthusiasm for the outdoors left in my bones to snap a few pictures of these lovely water droplets hanging on the variegated willow.
There were bulbs, sprouting hopefully in a bucket, that Jeff had dug up while fixing the sprinkler system. I managed to get about a third of them planted before I got bored and pulled a few weeds.
As I was picking up the weeds I noticed the rhodies spreading a little further into the common driveway than I would have liked, so I pruned them up a bit.
By the time I got those squished into the yard recycling bin and planted a few more bulbs, I barely had enough enthusiasm for the outdoors left in my bones to snap a few pictures of these lovely water droplets hanging on the variegated willow.
We had a tornado just a little south of us today. It wrecked a few buildings and caused a lot of damage. Tornadoes are rare but not unheard of in Oregon. A friend of mine, who lives just up the hill from us, lost her old farmhouse to a tornado a few years ago. It touched down and uprooted a Douglas fir, which fell on her house and knocked it off its foundation.
I think about monotony a lot. I used to crave it, when my life was a little more tumultuous. But now that it is mine, if I choose it, I find myself going in the other direction.
Even the best minds in the world disagree on the subject.
C.S. Lewis said, The long, dull, monotonous years of middle-aged prosperity or middle-aged adversity are excellent campaigning weather for the devil. I'm not sure if it makes sense grammatically, but I can certainly relate to the sentiment.
I feel monotony and death to be almost the same. Charlotte Bronte. But dear Charlotte was of a rather depressive nature and should possibly be disregarded.
People, chained by monotony, afraid to think, clinging to certainties...they live like ants. Bela Lugosi. One of the greatest thinkers of all time, I am sure.
The monotony and solitude of a quiet life stimulates the creative mind. Albert Einstein. We should pay heed to Albert, although I do not subscribe to the ideal.
And finally, one for the pirates among us.
You know who you are.
There is nothing so desperately monotonous as the sea, and I no longer wonder at the cruelty of pirates. James Russell Lowell.
Me, figuring out captions
...good friends who will go on adventures with you...
Brenda and Lori and Karen's hands at the biker bar. Karen would not have approved of this photo of herself so I cropped it. |
...big bowls of clam chowder...
Sunday, December 12, 2010
Retro Christmas pics
Our first Christmas, with our darling newborn.
It was a meagre but deliriously happy time.
It was a meagre but deliriously happy time.
I think this was our first Christmas in Oregon, at Jeff's National Guard party.
Which would explain the present.
No idea.
Bad Mommy.
My kids will hate me, in varying degrees, for the next ones.
I'm also not sure of chronological order.
Bad Mommy.
When's Mom gonna get that hearing aid fixed?
Hold still, wait for the click,
You're in this year's Christmas Pics
Tears rollin' down my nephew's face,
Santa's house can be a scary place,
Hold still... wait for it,
Hold still, wait for the click,
We're in this year's Christmas,
This year's Christmas,
This year's Christmas Pics.
Co-dependent me
I was feeling sad and gloomy.
Kind of grey and Eeyore-ish.
You see, I had poured my heart and soul into the last blog post and hardly anyone had left a comment.
Not that Kathy and Sam are "hardly anyone", but I was expecting more feedback. Nay, even crying out for it.
Well, I thought, I guess I was too grumpy.
Or something.
Which is pretty humourous when you consider that I used to go weeks between comments. I was just looking at my Australia trip posts and noticed that there was only a comment or two on the whole trip.
I have become dependent on approval from others.
How sad is that, when I used to blog just for the love of putting my thoughts down into writing?
And by the way, did you notice, I have a fan in Moscow?
Oops, did I just say that out loud?
Did you see Neo-neocon's comment on my Leonard post?
I am so awesome!
Crikey, somebody shut the woman up!
Anyway, as I logged on to start this post, I noticed four unmoderated comments.
Blogger has been playing jokes on me again.
Stupid Blogger.
Stupid Blogger.
All that it takes to make me happy is, apparently, four comments.
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