Building a xylophone

At our elementary school, one of the cool units in third grade is the physics of sound. As part of that unit they have to build an instrument to show that they understand the terms they have learned and they have to demonstrate their instrument. Last year J built a stick fiddle, which never stayed tuned, but was cool otherwise. S decided to build a simple xylophone this year and I found these plans online. They have a lot of plans for home build instruments.

She did all the measuring and cutting of the conduit tubing and the pvc pipe. It is pretty neat to see an eight-year-old girl handle power tools, clamps and a measure like as if she has done it since years. I guess the apple landed pretty close to the tree here. Maybe if I play my cards right, she can become my apprentice and help with the 4 shelves that are on the carpentry to-do-list.



Of course measuring, marking and cutting for the first time, the pitch is not exactly on the mark, but for doing this with very little adult interference, I am amazed at the result. And this is her very first try on the final instrument:



During my search for plans - i.e. length of pipe for pitch - I found this guy who sells plans for building a 3 octave marimba and the children want to build one during April vacation. Since I had always kind of wanted to have one, I blame it on that Orff music education I had, I am easily convinced. This would be a fun project and I could teach some more wood working and the handling of some more power tools (oh yeah!).

The Road by Cormac McCarthy

I just joined a book group and the book for our next meeting is The Road by Cormac McCarthy. I though I share some of my thoughts.

it is a dark novel in a dismal and disturbing world with difficult images and gritty realism. The story is about a father and his son traveling to the coast set in a post-apocalyptic world devoid of any life but some people, ash and ashen snow. It is not a typical post-apocalyptic book though, the reader is not told any reasons for the state the world is in, we all can imagine many possibilities in today's world. This dark and inhabitable world works as a back drop by reducing everything to the bare minimum, allowing the focus on survival and relationship between father and son.

I did not care for McCarthy's style of writing. Though the sparse punctuation was actually befitting, his prose is a strange mix of minimalism and a constructed style that seems over thought and over worked. I found the incomplete and fragmented sentences very distracting. It made the reading process an arduous one, filled with frustrated rereading and prohibited fluidity and really diving into the story. 

The surroundings are well described and felt, and the sounds and visuals are vivid. The dark nights with the terrible frozen cold are interestingly juxtaposed with the movements of the twirling ashes. The people and places though stay undefined on purpose, the reader can gleam a tiny bit of insights into the father's history by his dreams and thoughts, but they are kept to a minimum because it does not matter anymore. 

The story line presents itself intentionally repetitive and tedious. It was a bit annoying to me how they always found food on the brink of starvation. Regarding the end it was clear that the father had to die and come to terms with the inability to end the life of his child and instead leave him alone. What I did not care for was this wholesome good family show up and take the son. It was contrived and convenient and it was also sappy and not appropriate in the context of the story. When we lived in California, we often were invited to screenings to see movies before the final editing, to see how people react to the story and if they understand the characters, but mostly to make changes to it to widen its appeal. Resulting is often a supposedly better, but ultimately bad ending (think Pretty Woman) that gets pasted on, never really fitting though. 

One of the themes in the book is good vs. bad. The son is good, pure and innocent (yet always scared), the father declares himself as good, but is he? The father slowly turns immoral, putting the survival of his son and himself above helping other people, survival of the fittest. One could argue that in a world like that it would the only way to be, but since everybody is eventually going to die anyway, would that survival above all not be futile?The son is clearly disturbed by the father's inability to see that. Even though father and son categorize the world into good guys and bad guys, the world is not that black and white, it is grey - figuratively and literally -  indeed. The question about what is good and what is bad, forces itself out of the book into the readers head. Concerning morality and ethics, do the values from gone civilizations still hold true?

Like any story set in a post apocalyptic world it reminds of what is truly important, leaves one with an uneasy feeling, also confronts us with the truth that what we have might be gone in an instant and the ultimately the only thing that matters and lasts, even outlasts death is love and coupled with love are hope and faith. If anything this book was about love and about hope. The hope carried me through to the end, at which there is nothing, the goal that carries father and son forward does not get rewarded. It is a let down for the protagonists as well as the reader, though I was not excepting anything different. But in the most dire situations it is hope against hope that gives strength to carry on. It is a world with only one certainty: death and that is a parallel to our lives, even though we have food and shelter and families, in the end that is the only certain thing there is and it seems that between the fragments of hope and the knowledge that there are two bullets in the revolver is where this story is relevant to everybody. Ultimately everybody struggles and if there would not be a sliver of hope and/or faith, we could just give up to live. In the book the deep love for his son makes the father keep going. The mother chose the other alternative and killed herself, leaving the father with no other choice as to stay alive and protect his son. Death itself can be a hope though when things are tough and the book shows how that is a dilemma parents are in, because children take that type of hope away. I am not sure I can adequately express my point here.

I liked this book on some levels and really disliked it on others. Obviously I feel ambiguous about this novel, I think it is interesting and is definitely a great book to think and talk about. I have a few doubts though about the importance it has been given. It left me depressed, I did not experience the uplift that a lot of fans had the joy to feel, if anything I was actually disappointed because it did not give me any profound insight or revelation, it offered no interesting new viewpoint and it lacked depth. On the other hand, I have to admit that

Laugh it in the face!

Since about 1.5 years I have been involved in a sport I now call medical football. In this case, I am the football being tossed between different doctors, specialists, tests and procedures, all while going on a roller coaster ride of medications and side effects and spending way too much time, money and nerves. Now I am no stranger to the medical runaround, but usually I had to take care of one or maybe at the most two problems and even though they were severe, painful and scary at times, it was clear what needed to be focused on. At the moment though, I have to think about nearly a dozen health issues plaguing me and I feel quite overwhelmed. The fact that there are so many things that need to be taken care of in regards to my daughters and their need for counseling, therapy and IEPs, all while house and cars are breaking left and right and the schedule is so tight that I am happy if I have enough time to pack and unpack our bags between everything going on.

The two most important points on my compass are Health and Happiness, since most other points are directly and indirectly related or dependent. It is easy during times of sickness and pain to give up, get angry and lose hope. If anything though, I am clinging to some sort of happiness, even though it is a kind of cynical humor making it possible. A lot of medical nightmares are actually sort of entertaining and funny, because they are so outrageous or absurd. I clearly remember the aftermath of multiple fractures in my left hand and wrist and the time spent in various old hospital hallways waiting for yet another opinion that would not bring me any further. I started writing on any pieces of paper I could find, describing the situations, feelings, people and buildings. It was a great outlet.

Humor is a wonderful thing, without it life would feel bleak. During grad school I took a couple of classes about comedy, satire and the likes and the need of people to look at the most awful through the lens of humor. Incidentally, John Cleese happens to be on PBS at this very moment, talking to a guy in India who meets with people to laugh for 15 minutes a day, just plain old laughing, without really any reason and even that reduces stress. So here's to laughing - ha ha ha!

out of sorts

I have completely lost my groove recently, I am not sure what it is or why, maybe the winter or maybe a loss of routine? It seems that lately nothing goes planned and something different happens every day. Between things breaking left and right, repeated snow days, constant medical appointments, starting new things and doing things out of the ordinary, it just feels a bit helter skelter at the moment. Being a person who loves to be in control, I sure hate feeling out of sorts. The problem is that as soon as things are a bit our of whack, I loose my handle on the daily stuff and all of a sudden there is way too much laundry or we run out of milk and bread constantly. It is not like there is no time to do the necessary things, but rather that the lack of routine paralyzes me somehow and I find myself playing computer games, actually killing time. Well, maybe it is just the winter blah, which descends upon me every January... Well wait, it is February already..., does that mean winter blahs needs to be over? As much as I love winter, I am so done with it now and I would like some sunshine please!

Good night!

Hot Pepper Jelly

With yet another snow storm on the way yesterday and the house running on empty in the bread and milk department as always, I decided on an impromptu stop at Whole Foods. Going without a list can be very dangerous... So while picking up this and that in the produce section, especially fresh celery root and a vast collection of mushrooms for Risotto, my eyes fell onto these beautiful hot peppers. I bought a whole selection, hoping I can remember what was what. I had recently read a recipe that used cranberries in a hot pepper jelly instead of pectin (they contain natural pectin) and as it happend, they had wonderful organic cranberries as well.

So when it was time to go to bed, I always get the urge to get productive instead and this is what I did. I diced 3 red bell peppers and 1 green bell pepper and halved and cleaned 3 Serrano, 2 Jalapeno, 4 Habanero and 3 Chile peppers and sliced them really, really fine. I combined that with a pound of cranberries, 4 cups of water and 4 cups of sugar and boiled it. Actually I started with 2 cups of each, but adjusted during the process. I kept this simmering for probably an hour (who keeps track) or more. Next step was the foodmill, which left me with 3 cups of thick, red, hot liquid and 2 cups of hot pepper solids, which I will use to make Salsa. I boiled the liquid for maybe another hour or less until it seemed the right consistency (too liquid, but perfect once cool). I had no recipe and have never made jelly in my life and I was surprised how well this came out, it is sweet and aromatic at first and about a second or two later, wham, it is hot! I did not make this a preserve, it will just sit in the fridge and probably not surviving very long, as DH and I both absolutely love it (with Neufchatel cream cheese on crackers).

My fingers are still peppered and no amount of scrubbing seems to get the pepper off. Every food I touch is instantly hot and I do not recommend rubbing your eyes, ouch.

John Updike

Today John Updike died at age 77 and that makes me quite sad. Whenever an author dies that I admire, it leaves me feeling unsettled and even though I tell myself that I neither knew them personally nor does this take away from all the great books they have written, this strange feeling of loss stays with me for a while.

I got into Updike back in grad school when a friend suggested the Rabbit books (at that point four, not five) and I devoured them. I am convinced that he is one of the best writers of the 21st century, his lyric craftmanship regarding words is nothing short of magic. Once I start reading it, I cannot stop and I remember reading 'Couples' (1968) in one sitting. I read most of his books translated into German and when I graduated school and finally had enough time to read whatever I wanted, I bought 'Month of Sundays'. I did not make it through the first page, it was way to hard at the time. Interestingly, when we moved to Pennsylvania years later - after a few years in the US - and I was unpacking the books, I stumbled across it and to my surprise had not one issue reading it. It was a very nice moment to be able to bathe in his words so truely.

Just a few days later, we drove to Reading, PA to go shopping in the outlets there. We were driving around and I looked around the town and then I looked up the hill and it hit me like lightning. I yelled out: "This is Rabbit town!" and I did not even know that it was actually true. The atmosphere he had described had been so precisely what I saw there. It just matched up. There were not a lot of moments in my life where literature became so physically real and tangible.

I have not read any Updike lately, but coincidentally just added 'Widows of Eastwick', the follow up to 'Witches of Eastwick' to my to-read-list. In general, I should revisit some of his books as it would be interesting to read them from my changed point of view now that I am smack in the suburban middleclass and middleaged and it is bound to be much more relevant at this point in my life and maybe even a bit more uncomfortable.

Yummy, healthy stir-fry

It seems that in my kitchen often yummy food is created on days that I am not really in 'cooking-mode', strange, maybe it is due to going with the flow and not analyzing anything or wanting to achieve something particular. So tonight I made up a very flavorful and healthy stir-fry.

I started with a seven grain + sesame pilaf (Kashi), because it takes a while - rice would work equally well. While that was going, I shredded one very big carrot, cut Baby Bella Mushrooms into chunks, chopped some chives and cleaned the undelicious ends of sugar snap peas (1 package). I also took 2 firm, but ripe bananas, halfed and sliced them. When the grains were almost done, I seared 1/2 # of small shrimps in toasted sesame oil. I added the above veggies plus a bag of sprouts and cooked it for just about a minute while stirring. I added about 2 handfuls of shredded, unsweetened coconut and about 3 Tbsp of Tahini and stirred it all before adding the chives and bananas. At last I added the Kashi and gave it one more stir. The idea is that the veggies are just about hot and not very cooked.

Freaking out in a crisis

One of the things discussed before the election was how cool and focused Obama always appeared and what kind of person should be in the White House: somebody who gets emotional and has a temper or somebody who is cool as cucumber? I think in the face of crisis a cool head is the better bet. Usually I stay pretty calm and level headed when things go wrong and deal with what is dealt to me. For example, I always have been a very focused first aid person and when things go wrong, I am a pretty good go-to-gal and can rationally look at a problem and come up with different ways to solve it. Well, this is usually the case, but sometimes I completely loose the cool and just freak out.

Having my class cancelled last week was a bit of a set back, I do not like set backs, who honestly does anyway, but I just decided to move on. Unfortunately this week started pretty crummy again. On Monday I get the lens for my DSLR back, it has been twice with Tamron, since it refuses to play nice with my Canon. I already knew it was not going to work and I was right, after five minutes it quit working - very annoying, but I called customer service without being angry and arranged to have it sent to them again. A bit later when driving to drop off J on the way to my rehearsal, a whole wheel lying in the road surprised us. Now who just looses a wheel and does not notice? At first we thought we are fine, but a bit further down the road, it was quite clear that now our wheel was busted and we barely made it onto a parking lot. Wow, our wheel was smoking, as was something else. So I called AAA, funny how they ask for your address and I am standing there shrugging my shoulders, trying to make this person in another state understand where I am, while I have enough bars on the cell phone to get a word through every now and then. Anyway, we just sat there in the dark, talking and waiting until DH and S were done with soccer and came to wait with us. We waited in a sports bar and later at night, after dealing with strange tow truck guys, made our way home. I was rather sad to miss rehearsal, but life throws you curve balls like this and so we watched Battlestar Galactica.

So today I am trying to get back into things and to take care of those setbacks like cancelled classes, broken cars etc.. I had ordered a blouse from my favourite designer in Sweden and it finally arrived, unfortunately with strange black stains. So I took some pictures and sat down at the computer to email the pics to Sweden to see what to do about this - and wondering why I am short of luck - and all of a sudden there is this loud noise, like a train derailing and the whole house was vibrating and then there it was, a great gushing noise. I was able to quickly determine that everything seemed fine upstairs, so I went downstairs to discover that the ceiling in the garage had turned into a waterfall. I ran to the closet with the water unit thingie to turn off the water and could not find the lever. That is when the cool evaporated and I started freaking out. The noise of the water gushing was very loud and my adrenaline was pumping, I was crying, upset and felt completely helpless. I ran around like a mad woman, looking at all the water valves we had and none of them did anything. Hysterically I called DH who had no more clues then me and instructed me to call 911. I went back to the closet and this time found the shut off valve. All the valve handles in this house are yellow, so why is this one, in this tiny dark closet, black? The most important one in the house? And why did I not find it in my panic, even though I knew it was there? To be honest, I am still a bit shaken and I am not looking forward to the mess, chaos and costs this will produce in the aftermath. At least DH will get a good workout while charging out crank-flashlights as there is no power in the bedroom, being on the same circuit as the garage and water is dripping from the outlets, yikes.

Sometimes very stupid things happen and this is one of those, instead of closing the garage door we came through, DH opened the other one and a night with both open was enough to freeze a pipe. Oh well, it could have been so much worse. It is upsetting to me though, how I lost my cool and just freaked out. It appears that there are two things that do this, water and fire. I cannot stand it though, being a person that has a strong need to be in control. Strange though how much can go wrong at some times, I wonder if this is some kind of test or is this just fate? And why do I loose my compass when I need it the most urgent?

An emotional Obama Inauguration

Today has been a very special day today, since we were very happy with the election of Barack Obama and had been looking forward to this day for weeks. When we were in Washington D.C. last October and found the Museum of American History closed, I brought up the idea of coming back when it is opened again and why not do so at the inauguration of - hopefully - Obama. Pretty soon after the election it became quite obvious, that millions of people thought it a good idea as well and so we decided to forgo that plan and make it a special day here in Massachusetts. When we found out that they are going to have a live simulcast at the newly renovated and beautiful Hanover theater in Worcester, we knew we had to go and reserved tickets. The kids had no school anyway and DH took the day off. The T&G has a good picture of the event.

We got to the theater around 10 am and it was filling up fast with people of all ages, even school classes attended. It was a fantastic atmosphere, anytime great politicians like Jimmy Carter, Al Gore or the Clintons would be on the screen, people would cheer and clap. I find myself hard pressed to describe the applause and cheer that went on anytime Barrack or Michelle Obama appeared. This felt like a rock concert. I found myself swept up in all the emotion, it touched me deeply and I could not help and cry tears of joy. All the pomp and circumstance, the glamour, the ceremony, the music, the moving speeches: there is no country that mixes emotion and politics this well. Maybe that is important in a country, where ideals are so important, especially today. Getting good video in a dark theater is about impossible, but the audio does a nice representation as to how it felt like.



The last inauguration I watched was Bill Clinton's in '93 - doped up with Theraflu on the couch - and it was also the last time I was that psyched (Al Gore came to campus and made quite an impression on me). I do not remember to ever have watched anything similar in Germany when we got a new chancellor. After a few hours in the theater, we proceeded to a friends house for an inauguration party and spend the rest of the day talking about the events, politics and life in general. I must have heard his speech numerous times by now and I thought it was a good one and very appropriate. It was in tune with his campaign and what he stood for, he painted a picture of the circumstances we are in, but also showed the ways to deal with them. I especially liked the 'hope and virtue' bit, harking back to Washington;s crossing, the call for sacrifice and the awareness that the world has changed and so we all must change with it.

On a different note, my amaryllis bulb that my mother planted on my birthday for flowering at christmas, took a really long time and on this fine day finally came into bloom. I like how all the leaves bow to Buddha and how big and beautiful the two flower heads stand. I always try to have some concentrated thoughts for somebody while lighting the Buddha's candle and today I lit for Obama. He has a huge and complicated mess to deal with and I wish him and his family godspeed (for the sake of all of us).

Music Wednesday - new beginnings

Yesterday was a kind of anniversary for me and I thought it would be a very appropriate day to start a new chapter. I enrolled in glass fusing and bead making classes and it was supposed to start last night. Filled with anticipation and excitement, I set off into my new chapter, just to find it 'empty'. When I got to the glass studio, they had a notice at the door, that the Worcester Center for Crafts has decided to close operations until they can figure out how to proceed in this difficult economic climate. So imagine me standing there in front of the door, forlorn in this industrial and deserted area of Worcester on a night cold as ice and having my new beginning just taken away from me - well and the $450. That I was not informed of this ahead of time and offered a refund is so unbelievable, that I couldn't even get angry, I was completely stunned.

Instead, without much planning though, did today turn into the new pages I was looking for. I had my first voice lesson today. It was almost impossible to get any real voice out, I was cold and nervous, but I figure that we all have to start somewhere in order to get somewhere else. Coincidentally, J started with choir today as well. Through some degrees of separation we found this wonderful program in Worcester. She did a small audition and stayed for 2 hours of rehearsal. I think she will enjoy it tremendously, of course it is a big beginning for her and not easy, she is quite shy and does not know anybody. It is interesting that we are setting out onto this journey of singing together, it is rather neat actually. And both of us found out today, that we have a very large range between the lowest and the highest note.

The last months have felt cluttered and unfocused, I did not experience the degree of control that I need to feel good and it was/is a bit overwhelming. I had felt such direction in summer and was very driven and then it slipped away somehow. In the last weeks though, it seems like things are back on track, furthermore, it feels like it becomes clear where we as a family like to lay focus. Music is definitely turning into a very important force in out lives. When kids are little, there are so many different things they try and now we are getting to an age, where they find their niches and interests and can delve deeper. We concentrate on our own individual things, but all of us focus on music as well.

I always envisioned myself with a large family all making music together. I did not get that large family, but maybe I can get the making music part. At least the compass is set.

It was twenty years ago today...

The most logical assumption would be that I am referring to St. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, but I am actually not. Twenty years ago today was a point at which my life changed forever. It was Friday the 13th and I was on embarking on a journey bigger than ever before. I had worked for a family with 3 children for many years, being nanny, tutor and everything in-between until they moved from Hamburg, Germany to Concord, MA. Their farewell party invitation was my first paid graphic design job (and it was paid well). So they needed some nanny help over there in New England and asked me to come flying.

So I found myself on the morning of Friday the 13th 1989 at the airport with no less than a dozen of friends to get me safely to my first airborne adventure.* To be really honest, I had no desire to see and experience the USA, I was in love with Great Britain and that is where me and all my friends wanted to live. Consequently they all did, but I overshot by a 'few' miles. My concept of this country was quite set, I had a very prejudiced view of America, mostly through the media. It is almost impossible for me to recall how I pictured this country, but plastic, bold colors, superficialities, violence, noise, inequality and ruthlessness come to mind. I had been a very politically active teenager in the middle of the Reagan years, with cold war, SDI and cruise missiles being something to demonstrate against. I accepted the job offer anyway. I liked being part of that (slightly dysfunctional) family again and because in all fairness, I thought I should at least get my prejudices validated first hand. Last but not least, curious me was interested in visiting NYC, after all, everybody said that was something in itself and not part of the country really.

It took about three weeks for me to completely fall in love with Concord, Boston, the Transcendentalists and the beautiful landscape. I lost my perfect british accent - yes really - and came to think that this country was made of milk and honey. One could say that I went from one extreme to the other. Blame it on Concord, how was I supposed to know that not all people live like that, take the Daimler to the Ritz for lunch and have front row seats for every concert at the Symphony? The day I landed at Logan in Boston seems so long ago and yet is still so present in my mind. For sure I learned that preconceived notions and first impressions are not to be believed, that everything has more than one side to it and that we can like and dislike something at the same time. It made clear that the truth is often somewhere in the middle.

That Friday the 13th 1989 changed my life, whether I wanted it or not. Even though it is a mute point, I do think about how I came to be here, so far from home and to some extent I do regret having chosen this path. I am a person who clings too much to the past and ponders alternate roads of life - a complete waste of time - and so this day today is filled with very mixed feelings, kind of like a celebratory and melancholy confusion. I don't even know why I have to think so much about it, I might as well try to find the meaning of life and that is probably something I cannot see from my little vantage point.

It is, what it is. I came to Massachusetts 20 years ago today!

* When I returned, not one person was waiting for me. Every single person thought that there will be so many people anyway, it would make no difference whether they show up or not.

Maroccan Turkey Tangine

A wonderful dish with north African flavors for the crock pot. This is very easy to prepare ahead of time and by adjusting the temperature of the crock pot, it can be timed any way it is needed. If guests are coming and it is a very busy day, this recipe is ideal and fills the house with wonderful aroma of the spices.

Cut 2 onions into wedges and slice 2-4 cloves or garlic really thin, I use a truffle slicer. Cook those in olive oil for a few minutes, let the onions pick up some color. Meanwhile cube about 2# of turkey and toss it in flour seasoned with salt and pepper. Add the turkey to the pot with the onions and garlic and sear. Add 1-2 sticks of cinnamon, 2 tsp ground coriander and 2 tsp ground cumin, (best to grind them fresh just before since it gives so much more flavor) and 3-5 carrots sliced. Cook for a few minutes. Add 2.5 cups broth (Better than Boullion Organic Chicken is the best!) and a small can of tomato sauce. Bring to a boil and add 1 cup of chopped dried, but moist apricots. Cook in the crock pot for 2-3 hours, then add 2 small cans of chickpeas and cook for another 1-2 hours. Some freshly chopped parsley and ready it is.

I serve this with whole wheat couscous, which is probably the most effortless dish ever. I also like to have whole wheat pita bread, a yogurt-cucumber-dill sauce, some fresh fruit and veggies, maybe a nice arugula salad and fresh bread. Black olive hummus with pita chips as well as stuffed grape leaves (think rice, feta, golden raisins and pine nuts) make a nice appetizer for this meal. I definitely like wine with this and go with one of my favourite Casablanca quotes:

"Captain Renault: What in heaven's name brought you to Casablanca?

Rick: My health. I came to Casablanca for the waters.

Captain Renault: The waters? What waters? We're in the desert.

Rick: I was misinformed."

athletic body vs. athletic mind

Yesterday my daughter had a collision with a basketball and lost. Not catching it right, the ball jammed her fingers quite badly. Not having improved overnight, we set off to the hospital to have it x-rayed this morning. Luckily there was no fracture. Having to deal with injuries is of course second nature to me due to my own childhood spent with uncountable amounts of injuries. I am a pro taking care of it.

An interesting thought came to my while driving about that never occurred to me before. I have always thought about people being either athletic or not with variations in-between. J was given the perfect body for sports and the energy too, so how come that she does not care for it that much and can not excel? A few years ago she did Ballet. She was amazingly talented, but could not bring the needed focus. She already hated gym in second grade and dreaded the day it was in the schedule, complaining about being the slowest in the whole class. All this time I thought that if she would put her mind to it, she could be extraordinary at swimming or dancing, gymnastics or tennis. And that is exactly that, if she would/could put her mind to it.

All of a sudden it was clear to me, she has a athletic body, but she does not have an athletic mind. This took me so many years to see the obvious, even though I saw all the puzzle pieces. Now I am the exact opposite, I have never looked athletic, but I always have been. I have an athletic mind, I have the drive, the need and a very competitive streak. Unfortunately my mother - having neither athletic mind nor body - never allowed me to do any organized sports, but I roller skated, played soccer and biked every single day. When I was older and made enough money, I was doing so much and so many sports, some days I had to run from one training session to the next. The strange thing about this is, that it appears to be easier to overcome the not athletic body, if the mind really wants it, even if it is really hard. On the other hand, the best talent and physical prerequisite mean little, if the focus and determination are missing.

I have always envied people that have both, athletic body and mind, wished to be like that as well and thought - falsely - that if I put enough force into it, I could get there. But today I see that we might not be perfect athletes (unlike S), for opposite reasons, but we are creative, artistic and sociable. And so I will go on pushing my body where it does not want to go and also be more forgiving to J, who would just rather drape her athletic body over some pillows to devour kid lit.

A quote on Wednesday

The groundwork for all happiness is good health.

- Leigh Hunt

I don't know enough about Leigh Hunt - well actually I know almost nothing about him - to say whether this was born out of a day like I am having today, when life is just so hard and happiness quite unattainable due to lack of health. I have health issues that have been mounting since years and the more I tackle them, the worse it seems to get on the long run. I had planned to write about something specific today, but was in too much pain to actually sit down and think and try to work through that uncomfortable distraction. In the afternoon I finally gave up and surrendered to the powers of Vicodin and Valium, which slowly eased the pain into the background, just to replace it with such woozy dizziness that made my senses over react and my heart race.

So a no go on the writing front as on the happiness front...

It bothers me though to just call it a day now, I almost feel as if I will curse my blogging efforts if I don't write today and that it will turn into days, weeks and month again. It appears that every night, in the last hour of the day, when everybody is deep asleep, even the cats, and it is so quiet that I can hear the kitchen clock ticking in the other room, I get this overwhelming urge to add to my blog, after all this day only comes but once. Maybe it is just this inbred need fueled by a lingering protestant work ethic? There is a nice sense of accomplishment in clicking on the 'publish post' button and even though it does not take any pain away, at least it gives a small, tiny moment of happiness.

Well, I have a huge collection of quotes and I can always dive into that treasure, pull something out and reflect on it. Or not, like tonight.

P.S. He looks quite lovely I think, reminds me of a young James Stewart.

conclusion: epiphany (epiphanias)

So here we are, the last night of Christmas. It makes me always a bit sad to let go of Advent and Christmas and at the same time, I do like the purity of the next phase, the clarity that follows. Epiphany or Three Kings Day on January 6th is such an interesting day and celebrated differently in every country or even every state within a country for that matter. January 6th is celebrated as the day the three wise men from Persia came to Bethlehem. Being away from 'home' leads me to cling to some traditions a bit more tightly and that is not an easy task. When we lived in Pennsylvania - next to Bethlehem as a matter of fact - it seemed that everybody was done with Christmas on December 26th "and out with the tree". It was a tad disconcerting for me, thinking that it was just the second day of Christmas and surely, people should know by that old song about the 12 days of Christmas?












This is a lovely triptych painting by Hieronymus Bosch from 1495. There are some interesting details to look at and explanations here. I love the paintings of Bosch, they are so intriguing. Just this year I could not get my eyes away from his rendition of hell exhibited in the Doge's palace in Venice. A close look reveals the well known strangeness one finds in his art, all these little weired details, like who is the more or less naked guy inside the stable? Why does Jerusalem look so futuristic, even today? And isn't it wicked funny how he loved to have dutch windmills incorporated? It all seems so bizarre and almost absurd, which is probably why I like it so much. But back to Epiphany...

As a child growing up in the protestant north of Germany, I knew about the Three Kings or Three Wise Men, after all, it was an essential part of every nativity scene and usually the most royal. I suppose this is a misinterpretation in a way, but then again, maybe one could argue about wisdom being the most rich to aspire to? I digress. When I moved to Bavaria, this day was a holiday, they have so many down there, it is incredible. I liked it being a holiday, which also means that stores are closed and it is quiet and peaceful, an appropriate ending for the Christmas season. A day to fully enjoy and to contemplate what lies ahead while burning frankincense and myrrh and lighting candles. My mother told me yesterday that it would be bad luck to have any christmas cookies left after this day, but I decided not to hop into that superstitious trap and indulge. Weired superstitions I grew up with would definitely be an interesting blog topic :)

One of the nicest customs is the 'Sternsingen' (Star-singing) where children, traditionally boys in costumes of the wise men go from door to door in their community, sing for people or recite poems, get sweets in return or nowadays collect money for charity . Afterwards they proceed to ask for the household being blessed and leave chalk markings on the door. The markings this year would be 20*C+M+B+09. The C, M and B are for Caspar, Melchior and Balthazar (the kings were named in the eighth century), the star is for the star of Bethlehem and the crosses symbolize the father, the son and the holy spirit.

Music = Mediation?

Last month I was talking to a friend overseas and she expressed how wonderful she thought it was that I was singing, she told me that the brain waves during singing can be compared to meditation. Certainly I can attest to the effect that singing has on my psyche, I feel tremendously different after rehearsals. Mondays are stressful days in this family and I barely have anything left inside me to go and sing. 30 minutes in the car by myself and with inspiring music and I already feel a bit better. But after rehearsals I feel elated, at peace, a content happiness. During grad school I would bike home late at night after rehearsals, being so filled to the brim with musical experience, that I had to sing out loud all the way home and damn the mosquitoes that flew into my mouth!

Music in general has a dramatic impact on my mood and behavior, I have noticed that decades ago and certain music, for example Baroque music, would somehow make me be a better me. On the other hand aggressive or very depressive music could have the exact opposite effect. A few years back I started to have music like Telemann or Bach in the background and the kids were more peaceful those days, were picking less fights and just seemed more together. My husband on the other hands likes to have very high energy crazy and wild jazz on and it drives me nuts. I like that kind of music, but I like it with nothing else, in a club or sitting down and listen to it intently, in the background, it drives me over the edge, while his hyperactive brain probably is in tune with it.

I had set out tonight to find some articles about the brain while singing and the equation of singing and meditation, but that was more difficult than anticipated, mostly because I only found information about Tibetan singing meditation bowls, an interesting subject, but not what I was interested in - even though it seems logically connected. I did find a lot of very lengthy articles about the brain on music/singing, the whole dispute regarding the Mozart effect, medicine and music and so forth. I neatly bookmarked them, for a later day to read as this requires some more in-depth research. One thing is absolutely clear, singing changes the brain and it changes it for the better and for me it is a fantastic antidepressant. And just between us, sometimes when I think I cannot take my life anymore, I think of all that music I would not experience, not getting to know or not listen to again, if I would not be alive.

Music is so wonderful, wouldn't it be amazing if we could plant it into the natural world? Paul Winter recorded amazing music while on a trip down the Grand Canyon and it is so breathtaking and pure, and displays such dynamics and harmony between the natural surroundings and the music, especially the drums (that make you think your speakers are broken), the french horn and of course the soprano sax. Imagine taking a chorus to Purgatory Chasm and singing out there between the rocks? That would be such an experience.

tweens and gigabytes

It is programmed, as soon as a girl hits puberty, the telephone becomes a lifeline and constant contact to friends a necessity. They can spend hours just hanging out on speaker phone. I remember watching whole movies on TV with my friend on the phone. I wonder a bit in retrospect, why exactly did my best friend and I spend 3 hours on the phone, if we spend virtually any moment together anyway? We met on the way to school, spent the day there (or not :) ) and then hung out in the afternoon, had dinner at one of the houses and very often slept over at each others houses. There is probably a closeness that one can never achieve with anybody again, this melting together of two lives. I can still remember our long lasting giggle fits as if they were yesterday, usually unprovoked and out of nowhere. Once we laughed so hard we broke down and sat down on the sidewalk of the busiest shopping street in our home town (imagine 5th ave in NYC) and holding our midsection in pain, tears streaming down our faces and people coming to our aid, worried we are victims of nerve gas assault or extreme food poisoning.

The next biggest thing was music and my tween seems to follow me right there. Today she received her iPod, she had saved enough money to buy a refurbished nano and I had to do the FedEx tracking constantly for about a week :). So she asked me to throw music onto it and her wishes were Beatles and ABBA. The fantastic thing about that is, that those two were my first big loves of pop music. So much for sameness (if that is a word actually), enter the difference: the digital age. Where I had records and needles, she has this tiny thing, not much bigger than a credit card and it can play 2000 songs or show a movie - bizarre. Both parental units have video iPods and they are huge next to that.

Selecting it though came with one interesting conundrum, the question: "what are gigabytes?". I was in 11th grade when I got introduced to the binary system, computers and all that comes with it. I understood it fast and within weeks I was teaching programming to my math class, since the teacher was absent every week for jury duty. But how do you explain it to a 4th grader who recently decided she hates math (she is about 250 hours behind on practicing math facts)? So we headed to our big black board - it is green - and attempted to explain the binary system, bits, bytes, megabytes and gigabytes, and we failed. So we proceeded to have our own discussion about a multi terabyte NAS RAID* for our house and lost them all together.

My daughter might have reached puberty, lives on the phone and walks around with a digital camera and an iPod, but she still comes to me for explanation and instruction. I will bask in my superiority regarding the digital life, knowing full well how short lived it will be and that there will be a time, when the tables are turned.

* Network Attached Storage - Redundant Array of Independent Disks

Fast Forward to Beginning

I chose this oxymoron on purpose: a new year is here, how did that happen so fast? It is painfully apparent that blogging has been non existent. I was unable to keep my daily juggling act in proper order, since two more units were thrown into the sequence and it all fell apart. My mother came for a long and enjoyable stay and I have been sick, sick, sick ~ and frankly I am sick of that. The sad thing is, that as soon as life is going out of order, the things that are important just for and to oneself are the first being thrown onto a back burner. I had really started to enjoy writing, even knowing that maybe nobody actually reads it.

So here we are on the first night of the new year and I just wanted to check my email before getting comfortable in bed and proceeding with 'Marley & Me' - a very enjoyable read. And then it occurred to me that this new day in this new year is a perfect opportunity to tempt the blogosphere again, because it feels different this year. I have to explain this.

Since being a child I have not been particularly fond of New Year's for several reasons. I loved parties and I loved fireworks, so that is the perfect combination to love those festivities, but when I was a little girl, I had to sleep while the adults partied and conveniently forgot to get me at midnight for the fireworks. Parties were unusual though for that night as my mother always had the blues at the turning point of the years. Staying at my grandmother was not what I would define as a fun evening either, she did not care to celebrate the new year and just went to bed after eating the obligatory New Year's eve jelly donut. I remember being seven years old and being strapped into a body brace to correct a badly jointed fracture and my grandmother refused to come and get me out so I can see some fireworks.

Other midnight celebrations would have my uncle trying to scare the living daylights out of me with extremely loud but not the least visually pleasing fireworks. And then there was the year I was standing with probably about one thousand people looking at fireworks and my disposition to be singled out shone when I was the only one getting hit by a rocket (which thankfully had mostly burned off).

My relationship to a new year has rarely been friendly, usually I hate the beginning of the year, as it is so new, blank, has no character, I miss the old year and dislike the transition. And this year, this transition, how does that feel? That is the strange thing, it feels so different and I am looking forward to this new year, I am happy it is blank and new. It appears like this big white freshly stretched canvas, waiting to be painted in all sorts of colors or maybe even just a few. I feel that this year will bring good things and will let me grow into directions that I could not before and that the past year, that have not been that good, are the roots for something good to come. It feels like I am pushing through some darkness and I still have some pushing to do, but that there is going to be a light waiting for me - not by a miracle, but by me making sure that there will be and creating opportunity for such light.

Happy New Year!

The joy of harvest

Even though the greatest joy in life is to love and be loved in return, there is something extremely fulfilling about harvesting, especially if it involves apples, the best fruit in the world by far. Have you ever noticed how much 'real estate' in a produce aisle is devoted to apples? Because they are the most versatile of any fruit and so delicious - well, unless they are called delicious :). The apple tree in the picture is at Red Apple Farms, a fantastic old farm that is a good hour away, but worth every minute of traveling there.



I used to have reservations regarding fruit picking. As a child I was forced to go into the woods with my mother to find mushrooms and pick blueberries. The mushrooms were completely camouflaged and avoided detection and the blueberries were so tiny, growing on low scraggly bushes, in short I hated those excursions as a kid. Then a few years back, me and the girls met some other family for blueberry picking at one of the local farms and I became instantly addicted to picking fruits.

There are few things as satisfying as harvesting and I think that is due to it being literally satisfying, satisfying the need for sustenance that is. Gathering something as essential to life as nourishment is a task so basic, that it appeals to something deep within us. I find the same holds true to tasks like chopping wood for example. When I was in grad school, my room was heated with a little wood/coal stove and bizarre as it sounds, I liked going into the basement and chopping wood and filling the coal bucket, since it related to something essential for my survival: heat. In our complex and modern lives is very little space for basic tasks, we are all accustomed to comfortable convenience. When visiting old farms like Artemas Ward's farm, most visitor have the same reaction: so much work! But I find that I yearn for such simplicity, where there is a lot of work, but the work is all related to one's own life and survival. I absolutely love the idea of growing trees for cutting down the wood to make furniture, or have sheep for wool to make sweaters and socks, grow flax for spinning linen thread and weaving it into fabric and dying it with plant material.

Oh well, this makes me think of Tasha Tudor again, I am sure she would understand exactly what I am trying to say. Alas, since I live in this crazy, modern world, outings like apple picking have to satisfy my need for 'basic'.

Breathe

When we first met, I did not have enough money to bring this Buddha home, even though at first sight I knew he was supposed to end up in my company. A year later I could not find him - probably because I was looking for him - and then another year passed. To my delight, while not looking for him, I stumbled across him literally, since he was on the floor and quite dirty. I was very happy to take him to my home, where he had a spot waiting for him.


My husband did not quite get it at first, but when I told him that the presence was enough to give me joy every time my gaze fell upon that peaceful face, he understood (or was smart enough to just shut up). As I am in the phase of work till you drop from exhaustion and sleep deprivation, I easily get frustrated, angry, stressed and loose oversight. But one moment in his presence and my breath slows down and my happiness factor goes up. He might be made of clay, but there is more to him than molecules. I call him Siddhartha, which might be blatantly wrong, after one of my favourite books of one of my favourite authors (Hesse). After the purchasem it was quite fun taking him on all the errands we had to run. I am sure that people passing the car thought we are completely nuts. Maybe so, but at least happy!