?`s and ANNEswers

Ten minutes to write. Less time to read.

Beethoven and Me

Posted on September 7, 2009

I started learning Beethoven’s “Moonlight Sonata” in the grey of last November. I wasn’t learning an arrangement or a dumbed down version; I learned the real thing, the music as Beethoven wrote it. With octaves in the left hand and variations of C sharp minor chords in the right. It’s not for the faint-hearted.

But I forged on. Worked through the six minutes of music and decided the only way I could honestly concentrate on the dynamics was to memorize the notes of each line so that I didn’t have to look at the sheet music while trying to concentrate on the feelings. It took a long time, but I did it. Now I play “Moonlight Sonata’ once a day not only to keep my memory of the piece sharp but also to refine those feelings behind the notes. They are powerful when one understands them.

I’m still learning. But each time I play the piece there’s another nuance, another shading that comes with having mastered the music itself by memorizing it. The rest is interpretation. My life right now is somewhat chaotic, what with work demanding more time and the sale of our house becoming tedious and the pending fall weather with the transition back to grey. Yet, unlike last year when I could barely understand a line of Beethoven’s magnificent sonata, now I use this music to ward off the annoyance of constant emails for work, the delays in the sale of our house, and the falling leaves. For the most part, it works.

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At the Cove

Posted on September 6, 2009

Earl and I spent the afternoon in a charming minor league baseball stadium where the Silverhawks, the team we rooted for, lost by one run in the bottom of the ninth. As far as I know, this loss could mean the end of post-season play for the team because there’s only one more game to go in the regular season and the Silverhawks are on the bubble. The same team that won today, the Lansing Lugnuts, is back hoping to do it again tomorrow.

We’d driven to South Bend, Indiana, to attend the game because the weather promised to be perfect and we’d been to the Stanley Coveleski Stadium before and knew it was perfect too. Perfect in ways that a major league stadium can’t even fathom; perfect in ways that make attending a farm team game a completely different experience.

First, every seat in the house (think maybe 4,000) has a clear view of the action. The most expensive ones cost $7, but if you’re a family of six and don’t want to pop for that then general admission is $5. So you’ve gotten yourself into the Cove without paying as much as one bleacher ticket costs at Wrigley Field in Chicago. Which means you can actually have a hot dog without taking out a second mortgage. And maybe a brewski too.

The players are young, many African-American or Hispanic, and they play their hearts out without earning a gazillion dollars or copping an attitude. They play in the hope someone will scout them and move them up the ladder with the eventual goal of reaching the major leagues. Of course, they play for the love of the game too. Hopefully their major league compatriots still feel the same way.

I’m not sure what impressed me most: the efforts of the players, although it was clear they all needed more practice, or the efforts of Cove management to engage children in the activities of the day. Between each inning there was some contest held on the field that involved children. And one little girl, Eva, ended up brushing off the dust from the various bases when the groundskeepers raked the field in the sixth inning. It might not sound like much in the retelling, but as Eva ran off the field within a couple feet of where we sat Earl yelled, “Way to go, Eva” and she lit up like the fireworks that often accompany night games. I doubt you’d see this at Yankee Stadium or White Sox Park. Yeah, I know it’s not called that these days!

This is the second minor league game Earl and I attended this season. The other was in Fargo, North Dakota, when my son and his girlfriend and the two of us went to the Fargodome to see the home team win in the bottom of the ninth. Of course, it’s more fun to win, but the ambience was the same. Just an old-fashioned slice of Americana. I’m not particularly an old-fashioned girl (er . . . read woman), but I can appreciate that slice when I see it.

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Goodbye Tomatoes, Goodbye Summer

Posted on September 5, 2009

Two months ago today I wrote about our experiment with Ike and Tina Tomato. We’d purchased these gadgets that were guaranteed to grow phenomenal tomatoes and we’d already watered our plants and watched their development for a month when I wrote my blog. Neither the tomatoes nor I have been productive since.

Oh, the plants became huge but all we ever got were two tiny, deformed tomatoes, not even enough for one BLT. Finally Earl pitched our plants in disappointment. Our neighbor, however, has the greenest of thumbs and a generous spirit; so in the end it was he who supplied our tomato needs. His crop was delicious.

In those same two months, I produced no writing whatsoever. No blogs, no essays, not even a letter to the editor. (I live in an area where residents express their opinions regularly on the editorial page of the local paper.) With the emergence of Facebook, my email output also waned. It’s not because I’m on Facebook (I’m not.); it’s because some of my friends are and seem to prefer communicating that way. I don’t hear from them via email as often anymore.

And the summer has passed. Tomorrow is Labor Day and the day after that Michigan schools resume. I must remember to take a different route to the health club or be willing to accept that crossing guards control part of the road I normally take. Tuesday morning they will be in charge of the congestion and confusion on Glenlord Road as Ernest P. Clarke School rings the morning bell.

That bell seems to be ringing for me as well. I find myself drawn to my blog, and it feels good to reconnect. Even if it’s slow going. (These five paragraphs took me more time than the ten minutes a day I attempt when I’m in blog mode.) I am a student once again and ready to take up my work.

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Meet the Tomatoes

Posted on July 5, 2009

You’d have to live in a cave in Siberia not to have seen the commercials for the Topsy Turvy®, a contraption that promises bountiful tomatoes without the hassle of planting a garden. Well,Ike and Tina Tomato have been hanging upside down for six weeks just outside our back door.

We’ve watered them and fertilized them and named them because I believe things with names grow better. To date, they’ve produced lush leaves and a few flowers. But no tomatoes.

I didn’t know how long it takes to grow tomatoes, so I went to the Topsy Turvy® website. The site offers the usual testimonials and boasts that its product will produce up to 30 pounds of tomatoes per plant because the root systems explode inside the plastic planter. The site does not, however, offer any tips on how long this takes.

So I went to Google® and learned that some tomatoes are ready to pick 50 days after being planted, while others take 90 days. Doing the math, I figured we’re at Day 42, so there’s still hope. I’m already hungering to bite into a juicy BLT sandwich.

Preferably before Labor Day.

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Piano Revelation

Posted on June 25, 2009

I’ve taken piano lessons for six or seven years now, and I’ve noticed that my improvement isn’t a steady upward line on a bar graph. Rather it’s similar to the stock market: up one day, down the next, but over the long haul it remains up.

When I started I didn’t realize piano was such a challenging instrument. I thought it would be like typing, at which I am a whiz. But, no, it’s more complicated. In typing, you press one, two at the most, keys at once. In piano, you can press ten keys at once and add your feet to the pedals.

Then there’s the issue of rhythm, that ability to assign a length of time to a particular note and then parse the other notes around it so they are more than, equal to, or less than the note involved. Typing doesn’t really consider this. A good typist strikes all keys with the same rhythm of time, which never really has to change.

I plod on with my piano lessons. And what I’m experiencing right now is that much of the work of the previous few months has come together in an “Ahaa!” moment. I love it when this happens, because I make great strides. I begin to read music after struggling with identifying notes. I get the sense of rhythm. I look forward to sitting down at the piano.

I know that I’ll tackle more difficult pieces and the struggle will continue. The “Ahaa” moment will be replaced with more work. But for now, I’m reveling in the current plateau I’ve reached.

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R.I.P.

Posted on June 20, 2009

Over the years, I’ve blogged about life in Michigan, especially life around our home. I’ve featured squirrels and birdhouses and willows. I’ve shown flowers and the river and the change of seasons. And I so wanted to have a keepsake photograph of the ironwood tree that came down last night in the middle of a frightening rainstorm.

But my new computer and my old photo program won’t talk to each other, so I’m left with words to describe how we feel.

The ironwood tree outside our bedroom window was the first thing of beauty we saw on wakening and the last thing we saw before closing our eyes at night, thanks to some beautiful lighting we installed three sweet summers ago. The tree held court for birds of all hues, especially since Earl kept a feeder filled on a daily basis. It also was home to a special kind of bell that would ring in the wind. We’ll never hear it ring again.

We’ve spent the day being melancholy about this. There are fifty trees on our property; and, of all of them, the two ironwoods we had were our greatest pride. Now there’s only one. And we’re as bereft as we would be if a human member of our family had perished.

So I urge you: if you appreciate some special thing of beauty, do so wholeheartedly. Revel in it. Take photographs, even if your computer doesn’t like it. Because you never know what can happen.

We are in mourning tonight.

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New Computer

Posted on June 17, 2009

I am the owner of a new computer, which means I’m frustrated. The new computer has a lot going for it; namely, it’s fast, sleek, and light. At the same time, it has a mind of its own and thinks it knows me better than I know me. I resent this, since I’m not one to take orders from others lightly. Especially electronic orders.

My old computer went by the name “Kim,” but I’m refusing to name my new computer. I’ve decided I don’t want to anthropomorphize inanimate objects, even if I have to read error messages from them. I doubt naming this computer would fix that problem.

Tomorrow my tech guy returns for the third time to see if he and my un-named computer can become more compatible. I want the scroll function on the keypad disabled; I want the font size in my emails reduced; I want automatic restarts also disabled. I want to be in charge.

So be aware Microsoft, NOD, Mozy, and all you other programs out there. I may have a computer that works at the speed of light, but I choose to work at a speed I’m more comfortable with. Probably the speed of turtle. Or maybe a speeding turtle.

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What I Did on Holiday

Posted on May 24, 2009

Tomorrow is Memorial Day, and Earl and I are in Denver, CO. We drove here for a sixtieth wedding anniversary; and, while the highlight of the trip certainly was the party last night, we have seen some interesting things along the way. On the top of Earl’s list is the I-80 Truckstop at Exit 284 in Iowa.

Earl has never been a trucker, but he is fixated on this truckstop. It has room for 800 trucks at the same time. There is a 70 foot buffet, and salad is not particularly well represented. There is a dentist and a chiropractor on staff. The auto parts department is large enough to hold one sixteen wheeler and two other cabs and still have room for product. In fact, these vehicles really ARE in the showroom. Then there are the gift shops and the food courts. It’s about as far away from fredflare.com (the company I work for) as one can get, but it’s also about as close to a slice of Americana on this holiday weekend too.

Happy Memorial Day to all.

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Reminiscing

Posted on May 13, 2009

I am approaching the fifth anniversary of my first blog. While so many more bloggers have entered the scene — and so many more social sites too — I’m considering leaving. I haven’t blogged in almost two months, and I’ve hardly thought about it either. I may have said what I have to say in this format.

What do I recall of the past five years? Well, blogging kept me honest in my effort to write something regularly, almost daily much of the time. I had resigned from all my freelance clients, feeling the world would not be better off if I continued to write press releases and marketing brochures. Still, I wanted to keep my skills current. And I wanted to express myself.

So I determined to write ten minutes a day and put it out there. Not so I’d become famous, but so I’d have a collection of writings somewhere down the road. If I didn’t challenge myself with this, I knew I wouldn’t write much at all.

Instead, I’ve written over 100,000 words, ten minutes at a time. That’s the length of a well-developed novel. At the same time, I haven’t worked on the essay format or the personal memoir format or the short story format that interests me. I don’t know that I would have pursued those endeavors, were I not blogging; but since I’ve been married to my blog when writing time came along each day those formats waited in the wings.

I’m not sure what my plans are, going forward. I think I’ll just freestyle it. If I want to blog I will; and, after this almost two month break, I do find myself saying secretly “This would be a great blog subject.”

I also find myself longing to tackle the essay and personal memoir and short story formats.

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St. Patrick’s Day, #2

Posted on March 15, 2009

Tuesday is St. Patrick’s Day, and I’m celebrating it in an Italian restaurant called Sarello’s in Fargo, ND. It’s a long way to go to eat Irish cuisine, but I think it will be worth it.

My older son, Kevin, is reading poems as part of the entertainment; and I’m offering an old Irish blessing, one that my mother always gave at family occasions when such was called for. Mother was most proud of being one hundred percent Irish; in fact, her name, Patricia, might have been derived from the saint’s name itself.

In Fargo, we’re going to play Irish rebellion songs in the background as we quaff Guinness and other beers from the Emerald Isle. We’re ending the evening with Bailey’s Irish Cream; and in between the menu calls for fish and chips and smoked trout and shepherd’s pie, but no corned beef. I don’t know why.

I’m half Irish, but it’s probably been since my Mother died that I’ve celebrated in high fashion. I even had to scrounge to make sure I had something green to wear. Otherwise, I guess I could have dyed my hair for the day. After all, I once dyed it coal black to go as a geisha to a Halloween party.

That said, I’m looking forward to celebrating with this son of mine, who has studied his Italian heritage far more than his Irish one. He speaks Italian but not Gaelic, for instance. Yet, Tuesday could be the start of a whole new chapter in his life ,and I’m eager to be there.

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