|
|||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
Question for the week
|
Things I've Noticed Recently Posted: 05/09/08 Professional manicures don’t hold up like they used to. But professional pedicures still do. I supposed it’s because one’s feet are frequently covered by socks, while one’s hands bear the brunt of dishwashing, keyboarding, cooking, and the like. We had two trees taken down from the back yard, and it’s confused the squirrels and birds that once lived in them. They’re probably wondering where their home went. I see a couple squirrels have already taken up new residence in a nearby sycamore. The hummingbirds have found the feeder I put up just outside my office window. This feeder replaces the one I used to hang that attracted not only a bevy of birds but also a squadron of squirrels. It is squirrel-proof, however, since it’s filled with sugar water. I don’t think squirrels have a sweet tooth. Keeping our house picked up because it’s on the market isn’t that difficult, which goes to show that Earl and I are pretty much neatniks to begin with. I have taken to showering at the health club, however, because I don’t like to squeegee the shower doors. I am finally finishing the baby stroller blanket I’m making for a friend’s new granddaughter. While it’s about a third the size of a regular afghan, it’s taken me almost as long to crochet as the full sized ones I usually create. Maybe it’s because the yarn is so fine. Or maybe it’s because I rarely make the same pattern twice, so I’m always having to learn new stitches.
The Night Before Indy Posted: 05/05/08 Twas the night before Indy; And all through the state Not a vote was discounted, Not a vote was too late. The candidates were seen With smiles that seemed thin, In hopes that their rhetoric Would bring the votes in. Obama or Clinton, Who will it be? The working man’s vote Could decide destiny Yet, will it decide The race that’s still on? For when Indy’s over And the battle is won, The winner is still Just short of the prize, Which means that all eyes Will be mesmerized On to Nebraska, West VA and more Until the route’s run. I, for one, can’t endure.
Hiding Posted: 05/04/08 It feels like hiding to me. We’re putting our house on the market, the only house I’ve ever felt one hundred percent safe in, even though I’ve lived in over thirty places: houses, apartments, condos, you name it. They’ve all felt comfortable, but the house I live in now takes First Place among them. It’s my sanctuary. Maybe that’s why I feel the need to occupy my time as we meet buyers and their agents, negotiate a contract, keep up the yard, etc. Maybe that why I’m turning more introspective these days. I’m in hiding. I play piano because it’s one thing I don’t do easily, and I must focus all my attention on hitting the right notes. I cannot be thinking of something else. I read fiction because I can immerse myself in the story and pretend I’m in that world instead of my own. I write for the same reason. Of course this penance is self-imposed. We don’t have to sell our home; rather we see it as downsizing to be able to do other things. Like travel. Or like using our monies differently. Intellectually I accept all this. At the same time, I am conflicted. Which means that my mind is on board, but my heart is having difficulty with the decision.
Piano Forte Posted: 05/02/08 Last night Earl and I attended a free dual piano concert at our local community college. It was free because it was billed as the dress rehearsal for two local pianists who are performing a week from tonight in New York City. For a small town in Michigan, that’s pretty impressive. I had mixed feelings about going. After all, I began piano lessons in middle age and will never achieve the skill level that I knew the two pianists would demonstrate. Watching them made me wish even more that I’d been exposed to serious piano in my youth. Observing a really good pianist always evokes this in me. At the same time, watching them made me appreciate the music a piano can produce under the right tutelage. And these two pianists certainly made their instruments produce. Their program was devoted to classical French composers of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. While it might sound heavy, it was quite the opposite. Even Earl, who accompanied me although he doesn’t like classical music, was impressed. Walking to our car after the performance, I noted for the umpteenth time my own limited piano abilities. Earl, always supportive of my musical hobby, listened and tried to make me feel better. In fact, he’s offered to rent Carnegie Hall anytime I’m up for it. So this morning I was back at the keyboard with renewed commitment working on “Somewhere Over the Rainbow.”
Previous entries Due to the volume of entries, Anne's Ten Minutes A Day are now categorized by date and by topics. Some essays are found under more than one topic. Otherwise, select from the categories below.
|
||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
