The Musical Reader

Purge

2009-07-19T20:02:00.000-07:00

This post is an apt sequel to my previous, as its subject is, similarly, the state of my home.

(I just one minute ago, after reading chapters 8 and 9, surrendered Bleak House to my coffee table for the evening, so I'm sure you readers will forgive my opening sentence being of a rather Dickensian fashion...not that I'm presuming to be any sort of genius in the manner of Dickens).

Okay, we've been living in our house for a little over three years now, and in that time have either acquired or created two additional living entities to impose upon our habitat (Kid/Dog). These entities came with stuff. Lots of stuff. And I keep buying stuff. And Dave keeps buying stuff. It's like our house has binged...and, ladies and gentlemen, if you'll excuse a rather inappropriate eating disorder metaphor...I'm ready for the purge.

I am feeling a SERIOUS need to rid my house of all things I don't either: a) need, or b) find meaningful/beautiful. I need organization. I need feng shui. Basically, I need my house not to look like a shitbox.

To this end, I will accomplish the following:

1) Purchase/find/dig out from existing shitbox many cardboard storage boxes

2) Choose a room in which to begin (I've already chosen - it'll be the bedroom)

3) Clear all surfaces and remove all shit except large furniture

4) Re-evaluate the layout of the room, determine which additional shit is necessary, and in what location the shit will be most efficiently utilized

5) Empty boxes, placing items in either the room at large, or in one giant extra cardboard box labeled "SHIT TO DONATE"

Goodwill, I think you and I will both be winners in this situation.

(Any opinions or suggestions on my plan of action here are most welcome).

Clearing a Path

2009-07-09T17:41:00.000-07:00

There is a show on the Discovery channel entitled "Life After People", which I caught a glimpse of the other day. Basically, it shows what would happen to our monuments, landmarks, and cities if all people on Earth were to die. (I know it's all just for fun and educational entertainment, and it doesn't matter in the least, but I enjoy trying to wrap my mind around the fact that, in order for the show's premise to work, there would have to occur an event so miraculous that it achieves population wipeout while keeping our cities perfectly intact, so that we can watch the destruction of nature from a starting point that we recognize. Anyway.)

Of course after many years, structures start crumbling, plant life takes over, and by the time we're 10 million years gone, it's like we were never here in the first place, since everything is just overgrown with vegetation and dirt.

I just returned from an 8-day trip overseas, during which Husband, Child, and Dog were left behind to their own devices. When I walked into my house, I immediately thought of this show. There were dishes towering in the sink...grime covering the countertops...unopened mail and laundry completely obscuring the dining room table. When I looked in the bathtub behind the shower curtain, I actually gasped.

I'm considering producing my own show entitled "Life After Wife," in which I routinely escape to exotic places while leaving my family behind for a camera crew to capture how they (and the homestead) fare without me. I think it's a great idea, as long as someone besides me does the cleaning when I return home. It didn't happen that way this time.

Spanx Spokeswoman

2009-03-11T18:49:00.000-07:00

About a week ago, I sat drinking the first diet Coke of the day while waiting for a Saturday morning rehearsal at OLG to begin. A woman who has known me for several years arrived and shook me out of my sucralose stupor with the following question:

"Are you pregnant again?"

"No," I replied. "Why?"

"You used to be so skinny," she said, "and now you have a little tummy."

!

Well, I can't truly say that I took offense. First, WHY did I ask why? Second, she's right. I totally have a tummy. And many times when I catch a glimpse of it, I say to myself, "holy shit Cyndy, you look like you're about five months along."

Still...it's a fine line between tactfulness and truthfulness.

Pop Goes the Gland

2009-02-09T18:12:00.000-08:00

Okay, I know. It's been almost two months since my last blog post. Facebook, friends. Facebook. It is my excuse for all procrastination these days. Today I'm back...with a story not for the faint of heart.

First of all, I need to let you all know that Addie has never been to a professional groomer. I have wanted to take her many times (I believe she deserves a little pampering, plus I think she needs a professional to make the hair around her ears look really good), but Dave doesn't want to spend money on that, so I grudgingly oblige. Once I made an appointment for her and was going to take her in secret, but then I spilled the beans and Dave made me cancel it.

One of the reasons that I think a professional groom job is so important is the Expression of the Anal Glands. When I brought this up to Dave, he said "what the hell does that mean? She doesn't need her anal glands expressed."

"Yes she does," I said. "They get full of stuff and it hurts her."

"Listen," continued Dave, "there are plenty of wild animals who don't have their anal glands expressed regularly, and they're doing just fine."

Well, I bought that. Until today. Hanging out at Mom's, I suddenly noticed some heavy black gunk on Addie's rump. Upon closer inspection, there was a giant lump or something around there too. It looked pretty bad. I called the vet and she told me to bring Addie in, since it was probably an anal gland abcess.

When we got to the vet, it had started bleeding. The tech said, "yep, I can tell you right now. That's an abcess. A bad one too - it looks like it's infected." She tried to clean them out, and Addie wouldn't even let her squeeze the non-abcessed gland, because it was so full and sore. Long story short, the tech had to infuse Addie's glands with a special gel, and then she sent me home with a round of antibiotics and pain medication. We have to go back in a week to have it looked at by the doctor, and when the pain finally dies down and the infection goes away, then she can have them expressed.

As I paid for the meds, the tech said, "yeah, it's important to keep up on those glands. Otherwise this can happen." What a bad mommy I am. Actually, I think Dave needs to take the blame on this one.

I'm making a grooming appointment for poor little Addie tomorrow. And I don't care what Dave says - I am going to spring for the vanilla-scented calming milk bath as well.

Kibbles and Bits

2008-12-04T18:10:00.000-08:00

I know I've been terrible at keeping up with the blog lately. The reasons are: 1) I've been on Facebook and 2) nothing very blog-worthy happens in my life. Really...today's highlights are as follows:

* changing the look of my neglected blog
* 2 episodes of 90210 Season 6 on DVD during Ellen's morning nap
* surprise drop-in by my mom, complete with Panera lunch
* trip to Party America to get plates, napkins, etc. for Ellen's birthday party this Saturday
* moving on to a new novel (Atonement by Ian McEwan)
* my pictures arriving from Kodak
* getting a jingle-bell ball from Kindermusik at a reduced price
* discovering a piece of Addie's food in Ellen's mouth

We didn't make it to Target. But maybe that's a good thing...wouldn't want too much excitement in one day, now.

Kid on the go

2008-10-16T20:26:00.000-07:00

My jury service was better than expected. I requested a call-in status, so I had to call a recorded message twice a day--once at 12:15 p.m. to see if I should report at 1:30 p.m. the same day, and once at 6:30 p.m. to see if I should report the next morning at 8:15 a.m.

I dodged it until Friday of the first week. I arrived on Friday morning, sat for an hour, then was dismissed with the rest of my group, with instructions to return at 1:30. At 1:30, my group sat for another hour and then we all got dismissed, with the good news that they were ending our service after only one week, so we didn't have to show up or call in or anything anymore.

So, it was okay, and now I'm safe for four more years.

Here are two videos of Ellen that Dave shot while I was gone. There's one that's way under-exposed, but I'm including the link because it shows classic interplay between Addie and Ellen.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D60J5fNduSA

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-QYZtE7Vr-w

Justice will be served...but does it have to be by me?

2008-10-05T09:24:00.000-07:00

I have been a registered voter since the 2000 election, and always wondered when I would get summoned for jury duty. For eight years, it never happened.

Now that I have Ellen and child care issues to contend with, it has happened. Of course.

I am annoyed to the point of hating any and all (alleged) criminals. The simple fact that they (allegedly) did something that requires the presence of jurors at a trial, makes them all GUILTY of causing major angst in my life.

Can I use that line to get out of it?

ABS I

2008-09-19T20:10:00.000-07:00

Okay, I sort of sucked with abs because I completely forgot that I was participating in the contest until tonight, when I visited KC's blog and was reminded.

Well, I rushed right over to my living room and did my five minutes of abs, so I will officially be an "odd day" abs worker. But since I just started tonight, have I missed two days? Have I completely blown Abby's and my chance at winning?

Either way, I feel rejuvenated after five minutes of crunches, oblique crunches, and bicycles--killer!

Gumby is not digestible

2008-09-19T19:27:00.000-07:00

Thanks to the generosity of Bryn, Scout, and Anya, Ellen has been assuaging her teething pain with the help of a little rubbery toy Gumby. She learned quickly how delightful it is to gnaw on Gumby.

Yesterday Addie learned that too. Half of Gumby's right leg was missing when I found him in the toy pile in the office. Later that day, a small portion of Gumby's severed limb was found in the yard. Last night at 3 a.m., the rest made its reappearance.

We awakened to the sound of Addie gearing up to get rid of the last of Gumby. Maybe it's because of the night nursings when Ellen was new, but I seem to be slightly more coherent than Dave for these middle-of-the-nighters. If we are awakened by Addie (or whatever), Dave is with it enough to physically function, but still woozy enough to say and do hilarious things. And I am with it enough to watch the entire scene unfold, remember it the next day, and write about it in my blog. This is one of my favorite parts about sharing a bed with Dave.

Well, last night as Addie was making her heaving sounds, Dave and I both jumped into gear to get a towel or old shirt or something to put under her face so we wouldn't have to clean the carpet. Dave was middle-of-the-night frantic, but we were too late. When we heard the culmination of the retching, Dave had one of his moments. He literally FLOPPED face down on the bed in what looked like UTTER DESPAIR, sighing loudly "NOOOOOOO." In two seconds, he was sound asleep again. I don't think I've ever seen a better display of pure "gray stage" (most of you reading this know what I mean by that!). If you could have seen it, you'd be laughing too.

By the way, I ended up cleaning the carpet.

Grandmas Gone Wild

2008-09-12T11:37:00.001-07:00

Here is an excerpt from a high-larious email that my mom sent me this morning.

"I love Ellen so much and she is a social little girl!! I love her name too, and her eyes, nose, hair, face--oh she is SOOO cute and precious to grandma."

Wow. Do you think she likes her granddaughter? I think so.

Through the Years

2008-08-28T15:16:00.000-07:00

Here is my picture in eighth grade. The really sad thing about this is that this picture is my RETAKE. Yes, that's right. I thought my first picture (which was actually much better than this one) was really lame, so I decided to opt for the retake. At the retake, I tried to be "demure." Obviously this was a bad idea for many reasons, not the least of which is that it is ridiculous to try to be demure while wearing a sweater with a knit rocking horse and hearts on it.

Halloween, Junior year of high school. This Superman outfit is supposed to be for a child. Bless the days when I could fit into a child's Halloween costume (even if it is a bit short). I morphed (read: taped) two shots into one to make it look sort of like two pages in a flipbook, so I could hang it in my locker at school. It's taken at my dad's house.

Here I am in my dorm room at St. Olaf Freshman year. I am talking to Dave on the phone, and my roommate Kristin took this picture. Notice the poster of Luke Skywalker on the wall. I don't know why I have that guitar. I have never played.

This next one is Dave and me at St. Olaf during Sophomore year. Look how young we are. And we both needed a bit of fashion help.
I think this might be the same day, but I like this picture, so here you go.

Things I never thought I'd hear...

2008-08-25T21:24:00.000-07:00

Rachel Tholen to Cyndy Ingham, ten minutes after the latter cleaned her daughter's nose:

"Um, I think you have Ellen's booger on your bottom lip."

Freaks Running Rampant

2008-08-14T13:12:00.000-07:00

In the past eight months, I've memorized many children's songs. Most I've simply rekindled in my memory from my own childhood. Some make me laugh ("Ernie keep your cool, I'll teach you how to play the sax/I think I dig your problem--it's rubber and it quacks") and some make me positively tear up from nostalgia ("sing, sing a song, make it simple to last your whole life long").

But the only one that actually disturbs me is the old children's folk song called "Billy Boy," penned apparently at a time when pedophilia was no big issue. Billy Boy has "been to seek a wife, she's the joy of [his] life." However, each stanza ends with the line "she's a young thing and cannot leave her mother." Who is this Billy Boy and what does he want with a girl who is too young to leave the nest? When pressed about the exact age of this potential spouse in the third stanza, Billy Boy is very vague, answering only "three times six and four times seven, twenty-eight, and eleven" and of course follows that up by reminding us one more time that "she's a young thing and cannot leave her mother."

This reminds me of the Ringo Starr song "You're Sixteen" which I also find a bit disturbing. Anyone who is of the appropriate age to be dating a sixteen year old (i.e. someone also 16) wouldn't find the fact that his girlfriend is sixteen to be anything to sing an entire song about.

Did I mention that Dave's on vacation?

2008-07-31T18:19:00.000-07:00

In the past week I have confirmed that my dog is far more high-maintenance than my daughter. Here is a list of the calamities that have occurred since Tuesday the 22nd:

1. Addie ate the bird suet (the WHOLE bird suet), which caused her to wake me on TWO consecutive nights at 3 a.m. to go outside to relieve herself.

2. The third night after she ate the suet I woke, exactly one hour before my alarm was to go off, to the sound of dog-heaving, then of course had to clean the results.

3. Today when Ellen and I got back home after running errands, it seemed that Addie had torn the squeaker out of her toy squirrel, eaten part of it, and barfed again on the couch and on the rug in the living room.

4. She also had some diarrhea, some of which didn't make it all the way to the ground and hung out on her rear end just long enough to leave a spot on my bed, right by my pillow, on the sheets I just washed yesterday.

I mark Tuesday the 22nd as the day from which to chronicle all these Addie happenings, because it's the day that Dave left me here while he went backpacking in the majestically beautiful Montana mountains. He still isn't back. He isn't coming back tomorrow either. And he isn't coming back the day AFTER tomorrow. He is coming back on Sunday. Afternoon.

It's not that I don't think that he deserves a great vacation. He definitely does. But 13 days is a long time. I'm just saying.

Photo courtesy of Glacier National Park

Product Loyalty

2008-07-22T08:45:00.000-07:00

This morning as I shampooed my hair, I read the back of the bottle of Four Paws Magic Coat Tearless Shampoo for Dogs and Puppies with Sensitive Skin, which happened to be at eye level on the bar in my shower. I was amused enough that I thought I should share this.

"This exceptionally mild shampoo has been especially formulated for dogs. [Here comes my favorite line:] One shampooing will bring about wondrous results. It will condition the dog's coat and bring out a high natural lustre...with never a trace of dulling film. It will not irritate the eyes or skin. It will solve matting and tangle problems quickly...Magic Coat is like the freshness of spring. Your dog will love it...and you'll enjoy the luxury it affords him."

One more thing--I'm totally buying this. Watch it in action.

Unnecessary Glamour

2008-07-20T18:34:00.000-07:00

Tonight I walked in on my mom using one of the pricey but beautifully-scented Mustela baby facial wipes on Ellen's poopy butt.

To borrow from one of my favorite movies, it's fair to say that Ellen received her first "ass-cial."

Playboy: My Offer Is $1,000,000

2008-07-15T21:10:00.000-07:00

I had been wrestling with the "to quit or not to quit" breastfeeding dilemma for several weeks, when last month I finally decided that the pros of quitting outweighed the cons, and marked TODAY my last day as Milk Provider.

Breastfeeding has been the thing that has surprised me most about being a mom. I underestimated how very emotional it is--for the first six weeks or so, I loathed it. It hurt literally worse than labor (thanks in no small part I'm sure to my epidural) and I was veritably red, raw, and bleeding. Finally, Ellen and I got the hang of it and then it became the source of the truest 180 my feelings have ever flipped. I was proud, empowered, and I really loved the bonding aspect, not to mention Ellen's adorable faces while she was doing it.

In the last few weeks, I came to believe that it was contributing to my inability to lose baby weight, was causing my hair to fall out, and though it was not directly making my skin break out, it certainly was preventing me from using all the things that curb this problem. For these reasons, I wanted to quit, but everytime I thought about ACTUALLY quitting, I cried.

But all good things must end, and today was the last day. I got a strong peel on my face to jumpstart the acne clear, and now the milk is no good. So it really is done. I cried through the last nursing.

But of course my boobs haven't gotten the memo. So the milk is in there. Milk from THREE missed feedings so far. Reference post title.

What It Does to You, Part IV: The Silencing of the Stilettos

2008-07-09T19:13:00.000-07:00

Since I was about 6 months pregnant, my feet have been having major issues. Major to the tune of "I can barely walk when I get out of bed in the morning." I kept thinking they would get better, but since Ellen is now 7 months old and I'm still hobbling along and seeing absolutely no improvement, I decided I would take action and see a podiatrist.

After poking around and determining that I definitely have some tendonitis on the right, he asked me to stand up so he could take a peek at my arches.

"Would you say that before you were pregnant, you had pretty good arches?" he asked.

"Yes, I'd say they were medium to high," I answered.

"Well, you barely have any now. They've collapsed. And your feet are rotating inwards. This is certainly contributing to the pain you're having."

"Oooh. I see."

"It's common during pregnancy for your foot structure to change dramatically, due to the loosening of the ligaments and joints. When my wife was pregnant, I put her on orthotics right away. For you, I'm recommending 400 mg of ibuprofen three times a day, ice-ing your feet for about 15 minutes every night, and some custom orthotics. We can get a casting of your feet before you leave."

As the indifferent nurse/technician covered my feet in warm plaster, I thought to myself that although the wearing of custom orthotics may help my pain, it doesn't bode so well for summery strappy sandals. This is a real bummer.

Uff Da...that was awesome!

2008-06-24T18:21:00.000-07:00

In 1993, when I traveled to Copenhagen for my first international choir festival, I made friends with our Danish tour guide Katrine, who was only a few years older than me. Since then, we've been writing letters, which is pretty amazing. Literally, we've been continuous international pen pals for 15 years.

I just got my most recent letter from her, and I wrote her back and threw away the envelope, thinking that I surely had her address on my address list in my computer.

I didn't. I thought maybe it could be in my old PDA...but I gave it to my Mom and she had already erased the memory. Then I thought it could be in my new PDA, but the battery is dead and the charger is nowhere to be found. I went to buy a new one, but the PDA is an older model and they didn't have a compatible charger. So I googled my friend's name, and I definitely found some work information (she works in IT for the Danish Commerce and Companies Agency). But no home address.

So I googled "Danish address directory" and found what is basically Danish qwestdex.com. And there I found her! She has a pretty common Danish last name - Vedel - but I made my way through all the Eriks and Jenses to Katrine. Crisis averted! I must say that I am glad not to be ending a 15-year correspondence due to my absent-mindedness.

Yay for technology!

In Honor of Our New Printer/Scanner...

2008-06-22T14:28:00.000-07:00

We are always fielding the question, "who[m] does she look like?" We never can tell, so let's put it to a vote! Comment on your thoughts.

Below are pictures of Ellen as a newborn, and just recently.

Now here's Dave, at one day old, seven months, and about a year.

Finally, Yours Truly, at about one month, and then two at about five months. (I'm sitting with my Tholen grandparents in the one shot. They look so young to me--especially my grandpa, rocking the printed pants! They are only in their early 50's, I suppose).

I know it looks like I'm trying to win with the size of my pictures as opposed to Dave's, but I seemed to be a little smaller in all of them so...that's the story. Leave your comments!

Crisco and Fishing Wire

2008-06-18T08:36:00.000-07:00

I need to stop putting my pants in the dryer. What one week ago were crisp, clean-looking white cotton chinos now look like a John Travolta Saturday Night Fever get-up. Disaster.

A New Love

2008-06-16T19:12:00.000-07:00

A few months ago, I discovered a love for R&B after a viewing of the movie Dreamgirls with friend Maggie. (I should've known I had it in me; since high school I've loved the smooth sounds of artists such as Stevie Wonder and Marvin Gaye). Anyhow, I have been drawn to Alicia Keys, especially her song "If I Ain't Got You," so I finally bought "The Diary of Alicia Keys."

My first thought - WHY DID I NOT PURCHASE THIS ALBUM SOONER?!?! I am truly in love. This girl has maaaad talent. (Yes, please enjoy your chuckle as you picture me saying that last sentence). She can play, she can sing, and most importantly, she can compose...unlike too many posers with record deals who have someone else write everything for them, and then mask the fact that they can't sing the song they didn't write by swooping and sliding all over the place rather than sustaining a single pitch. I hear the influences of, yes--Marvin Gaye, and also Gloria Gaynor, and perhaps Janet Jackson...I don't know if Alicia would concur, but that's what I hear. (I'm sure she would credit many others). And I like it.

If I were as cool and beautiful as Alicia Keys, well, that would be awesome. Alas, if I were EVER in my life going to be as cool and beautiful as Alicia Keys, it probably would've had to be when I was about twelve years younger and 40 pounds lighter...like in high school. But then again, in high school I was a choir girl, which is usually considered the epitome of UN-cool.

But when I am singing along in my car, no one has to know that.

It Was the Brownie That Did Me In

2008-06-16T08:22:00.001-07:00

As you may suspect from the title, Dessert Detox is over. I mulled over starting right now with the "once a week splurge" idea, and Rachel talked me into it. With nothing in my stomach but a bowl of Grape Nuts four hours earlier and the brownies two feet away, it wasn't a very hard sell.

But today, I'm back on the wagon, and my splurge day is Sunday. I am going to make these splurges count (one treat on Sundays), and so I'll keep you updated on what I choose each week. That will be fun.

(P.S. I'm considering a Thursday "salty snack" splurge day, which I think is a good idea as long as I really stick to being as healthy as I can on all the other days. We'll see about this).

Nights Are Long Without You

2008-06-12T19:19:00.001-07:00

Okay, I know for sure I can do Dessert Detox, because tonight Dave and Pat went to Coldstone (where I usually nonchalantly pooh-pooh the "like it" size and go directly into a debate with myself about whether to get a "love it" or a "gotta have it" in my favorite flavor), and I had an orange and a yellow bell pepper as my snack.

Dessert Detox

2008-06-10T08:55:00.000-07:00

While wolfing down my second (though it probably counts more as "third" based on its sheer size) piece of Princess Torte cake after Ellen's baptism on Sunday, I came to a realization. I have a really bad sweet tooth, and I must break free. I crave sweets, but more importantly, I crave NOT CRAVING sweets.

So, in an attempt to diminish my sweet tooth and make myself able to enjoy sweets in appropriate moderation, I am going sweets free until Ellen's first birthday, at which time I will allow myself a splurge once a week. I am pledging it to you here. I figure if I just get some sugar out of my system, it will help me say no when I need to say no. And I need to say no. I'm larger than I've ever been in my entire life.

Please refer to the bottom of my blog page to see my progress.

So Not Zen

2008-05-23T19:40:00.000-07:00

For the past year and a half, I've been cultivating a meditation and mindfulness practice. I try to carve out at least 20 minutes every day to read a poem and then just sit, breathe, and notice my thoughts rather than get carried away by them. I must say that this has had a wonderful, positive influence on absolutely every aspect of my life, and I have gotten to the point that I prioritize daily (or close to daily) meditation above pretty much anything else.

I do my meditating upstairs in my little nook, and most of the time, Addie comes up there with me and lies next to me, basking in my Zen-ness. I think her presence with me is very sweet, and often she lies close enough to me that I can feel her soft fur on my arm while I breathe slowly in and out.

But tonight, halfway through my session, as I was calmly sitting in my "dignified posture" with my hands on my knees, Addie really let one rip.

The following breaths were less than cleansing.

The Encroachment

2008-05-21T11:55:00.000-07:00

I would say I'm pretty good at keeping things in their spot around the house. Little toys, clothes, rags, etc., don't pose too much of a problem for me.

But I am definitely at a loss as to what to do with large-scale baby equipment. Numerous baby items are taking over my house, which is not nearly big enough to accommodate these things in addition to grown-up furniture. Ellen Bellen has a Gymini for floor play, a purple Bumbo seat and play tray, and a giant exersaucer in our living room. There's also a gargantuan swing upstairs in in our bedroom. Of course there's also the car seat and the diaper bag. I could hide them away when they're not in use (I've considered this), but the only time they're really not in use is when Ellen is napping. I don't want to get them out and put them away every time I need them. That would amount to lots of getting out and putting away.

But really, Addie can't even get to the living room couch without trying at least two routes.

If I Joined a Nudist Colony, I Wouldn't Have to Do Laundry

2008-05-13T20:28:00.000-07:00

Seriously. I do enough loads that I'm considering this.

My Birthday Began with a Bit of Baby Vomit

2008-05-08T11:21:00.000-07:00

But since then, it's been okay.

I treated myself to lunch at one of my favorite places, the General Store Cafe. Ellen and I enjoyed the moments together, and she gave many smiles to prove it. I got a giant iced sugar cookie with rainbow sprinkles to celebrate.

Tonight it's cupcakes from Wuollet Bakery at my very last rehearsal at St. Al's. Last night the choir sang to me, and my accompanist brought me a beautiful pink Gerbera daisy.

Usually birthdays don't live up to the anticipation, but this year seems better. I think it's Ellen.

What It Does To You, Part III: "Off the Rack"

2008-05-04T18:51:00.000-07:00

Speaking of racks, mine happens to be the only part of my body that I feel okay about right now. Two giant nursers were the only good thing about my shopping spree yesterday. Well, I can't rightly call it a "spree." My only purchases (besides a few children's books at Barnes and Noble) were some badly needed jeans, and some new black pants because I have been wearing my maternity pair. Learning that I can still sport a muffin top in pants that are three sizes up from my pre-Ellen size literally made me want to cry in the middle of the garishly lit fitting rooms.

Now, I've heard tell that breastfeeding will help a woman find her way back to her pre-pregnancy weight. I have felt for several weeks now that at least in my case, this is absolutely false, and my fears were confirmed when I learned THIS not too long ago: yes, the act of breastfeeding uses many calories, but it also tells your body to hold on to some of the fat stores for adequate nutrition for the baby. Ah HAH! So, even if breastfeeding is burning, like, 3,000 calories a day, you won't see much of a difference if your body is trying to hold on to an extra 4,000 calories a day.

So...maybe I have to wait until I'm done nursing to see any real improvement.

Of course, then the great rack will be gone.

Que sera, sera.

It Was a Little Big

2008-04-17T19:25:00.000-07:00

Several months ago, my ever-expanding belly caused me to create an ever-expanding wardrobe, which expanded onto an assemble-yourself clothing rack purchased at Target. A few weeks ago, it collapsed under the weight of my abundance of sweaters and pants. (It had been leaning, quite noticeably, for weeks before this incident, which should have been a tip-off to remove it and/or get rid of some clothes).

For a few days I had a pile of clothes, still on hangers, lying on the floor. To remedy this situation, a week or so ago I brought home an assemble-yourself wardrobe, which I put together and then proudly presented to Pally.

"That thing is a monstrosity," he said. "Where are we going to put it?"

When I thought about it, he was right. It actually touched our ceiling, which is sloped upstairs, meaning that our wardrobe couldn't go flush against the wall, but would have to sit in the middle of the room if it was going to be used. A picture to help you visualize:

I sorrowfully disassembled. My next plan is an assemble-yourself chest of drawers.

Tolerance

2008-04-09T07:52:00.000-07:00

There are only four weeks of rehearsals left for me at St. Al's. Obviously, I could not be happier about this.

Last week was rough. I have a serious bass problem, and last week my two strongest basses were gone. Neither of my two "strongest" basses read music, so let that serve as an indication to you on how strong the REST of the basses are. They are, quite literally, a disaster. There is no getting through to them.

Last night at rehearsal (this is a different choir, in which my tenors are the disaster section...though truly the basses aren't terrific either), I was conga-drumming away at the front of the room to one of their songs. (Yes, conga-drumming. This was the Contemporary Praise Choir...so please excuse the liturgical use of conga drum). I had instructed them some time ago that we would sing the final refrain a cappella, so my accompanist and my two guitar players (truly sub-par guitarists) stopped when we came to the final refrain. However, I continued with the drumming, to lend some rhythmic assistance to this fledgling group who must be consistently told things like "if the two notes have a bar across the top, you have to sing the words faster." (After seven years, I've learned that the reducto absurdum--this is an awesome phrase I learned from William Faulkner--is the only way they have a chance of understanding. Explaining eighth-notes versus quarter notes and "ti-ti-ta--ing" is completely futile--note that these methods for teaching rhythm are the standards in elementary school music classes, and they are completely lost on my adults. At this point I'd like to remind you that I have a Master's degree in Choral Conducting).

Anyway, when my other instrumentalists stopped and I kept drumming, some of my basses in the back started waving their arms at me frantically, indicating "STOP! STOP, STUPID DIRECTOR!" After the song was over, I politely said to them, "I think it only fair that I warn you that the next choir director who comes in here might not be quite as tolerant of choir members doing something like that as I am. Just so you know."

Troublemaker Ray in the back row said "Aw, we'll just have to break them in like we did you. It took you some time but you came around."

Hmm...and they wonder why at seven years mine is the longest Music Director tenure at St. Al's since the early 80's.

To Tide You Over

2008-03-30T18:15:00.001-07:00

The Kodak albums will be shared on the first of the month. Here are two previews, per the request of Aunt Rachel.

What It Does to You, Part II

2008-03-29T19:09:00.001-07:00

Upon close examination of my hair in the mirror a few days ago, I remarked to Dave, "I think my hair is thinning...right here in front."

"I don't think so," he said.

Unconvinced, I looked again, felt the spot, and frowned. Definitely thinner.

In the past few days I've noticed hairs absolutely everywhere...I'm pulling them off the couch, off my sweaters, out of my underwear.

Then two days ago I got a "Your Three Month Old: Week Four" update email, which included a "Quick Clicks" section for moms entitled "Why You May Be Losing Your Hair."

Ah hah. So it's not all in my head. Technically, it's coming off my head. Lots of it.

Easter Alleluia

2008-03-23T11:35:00.000-07:00

My Easter Alleluia is particularly joyful, because except for having to go BACK to St. Al's tonight to play for a pesky, ass-chapping 5:30 Mass, which I'm sure will be attended by about 50 people, I have officially completed my Easter Triduum responsibilities as a church employee.

ALLELUIA INDEED!

Last night was the Great Easter Vigil, and since we've gotten lots of snow this weekend, I had to carry my fancy boots in my arms and wear my snow boots on my feet. I was running around getting things ready for the Marathon liturgy, when at T-minus 30 minutes to choir arrival I decided that I should put my fancy boots on. To my dismay, they didn't zip all the way up my calf, and I had to make an emergency dash to Target to find some appropriate footwear. My official story, for posterity, is that this was due to my new opaque tights, which are certainly much thicker than my regular nylons. Unofficially, however, I am starting Weight Watchers online on Monday.

The Easter Vigil began at 7:00, and at 9:15, we were one prayer and one hymn from freedom. It was on the shorter side, and I couldn't have been more pleased, when the spirit suddenly moved Father Bill and he moved up to the podium and announced, "before we go, I would like all the newly baptized and initiated to come up to the front for a special blessing." My heart sighed as I glanced at my watch. But he wasn't done yet. "Grab your baptismal candle, and we are going to light them all once more from the Easter candle!" Must we? I thought. But the spirit was still moving Father Bill. "All the rest of you, grab your own little candles from the beginning of the liturgy. We are going to light them all!" By this time, my mind was doing a long, slow-motion NO-O-O-O-O-O-O, a la TV sitcom. Four verses of an impromptu "This Little Light of Mine" (started by Father Pat) later, we were instructed to blow out our candles so that we could finish the liturgy. All in all, this spiritual diversion wasted about 7 minutes of my evening. I know, in the long run it's not a huge deal, but after an hour and a half Holy Thursday liturgy, a two-hour Good Friday liturgy, three future Masses to look forward to, and two and a half hours into the Easter Vigil, I was a little upset with the spirit for moving Father Bill.

The highlight of this morning was most certainly Father The (it's pronounced Tay) saying, without pause, "We pray for our hairy bishop" instead of "our Bishop Harry" during the Eucharistic Prayer. My accompanist and I had a good laugh over that one.

Painful Sunday

2008-03-17T09:37:00.001-07:00

Palm Sunday was particularly painful yesterday. Saturday evening's Palm Sunday liturgy went very well, and Father Pat and the lectors reading the Passion According to Matthew kept things moving and got us out of there only 75 minutes after launch.

Sunday morning was a different story. Mass began at 10:30. The Passion Gospel began around 10:45. Time passed--tides came and went, the moon waxed and waned. After catching myself doing the Unsightly Head Bob more than once, I vowed to perk up and pay attention, if for no other reason than so that I wouldn't miss my lines with the rest of the congregation--"Release Barabbas!" and "Let him be crucified!" "They must be soon," I thought as I came out of my near-doze.

No...at 11:08, Peter had not yet denied Jesus. The cock hadn't crowed.

The scourging occurred around 11:13.

At 11:20, 35 minutes after beginning, the reading of the Passion finally came to a close. My accompanist looked over at me and said, "it's supposed to be meditative, but that was a little excessive." We blamed the new lector, who honestly read something like this: "There...were...three...women...with...Jesus...and...they...were............Mary Magdalene...Mary...the mother...of...Joseph...and Mary...the mother...of...Jesus...."

For good measure, the rest of the Mass included an extra Rite of Sending for the RCIA candidates who will be baptized and confirmed on Saturday at the Easter Vigil.

Next year, I will be strongly tempted to eschew traditional Gospel readings on Palm Sunday, and refer instead to the Gospel According to Mel Gibson. Who's in?

Nothing Can Top the 80's...except the Early 90's

2008-03-02T20:11:00.001-08:00

I think most of my blog readers are familiar with the Fug Girls. In case you're not, let me tell you this: I love them. They both are right around my age, give or take a year or two, and so I find the references in their posts to 90210, My Little Ponies, and MASH (the game loved by all intermediate grade females around the year 1990--not the TV show, which I certainly would have typed as M*A*S*H), both relevant and hilarious.

Their latest post (and, unless you're reading this at about 6 a.m. on Monday morning, it will no longer be their latest post since they are professional bloggers and therefore churn out multiple posts a day) is hysterical. It's actually the video that's hysterical, and also serves as the inspiration for this post's title. Take a break for a few minutes, and watch and listen. I strongly recommend reading their comments first. The post is dated February 29 and is titled "The Fugment of Zen."

Homecoming

2008-02-19T07:19:00.000-08:00

This past Sunday, my friend Bekah and I went down to our alma mater, St. Olaf, to see the home concert of the St. Olaf Choir, which we were both blessed to be a part of for three years. Being on campus again was so great--I hadn't been back for some time, and it was like stepping into another world. Okay, I secretly hope that Ellen becomes an Ole someday, but the bottom line (and I really mean it) is this--I hope that wherever she decides to go to college, she loves it as much as I loved (and still love) St. Olaf.

Bekah and I ate fries in "The Cage" and put our nerd-dom on display by visiting the bookstore and purchasing woolly Norwegian sweaters, mugs that hold a gallon of coffee and say "Um Yah Yah," and CDs of choral music.

One exciting moment of the day was finding an empty meeting room in Buntrock Commons where I could pump while Bekah guarded the door. I had already scared some older ladies by resorting to the bathroom floor by the electrical outlet (for whatever reason I could not get the battery pack to work and therefore had to forego the privacy of the handicapped stall). Does the 65+ generation even know what a breast pump is? Did they use them? I realize they may have raised children in the formula era, or during a time when a mother was expected to be COMPLETELY tied to her child and therefore never needed to pump because she just strapped them on. But really, this one woman in her very own Norwegian sweater looked positively horrified when she saw me. I swear I was trying to be discreet...as discreet as one can be while filling a bottle with breast milk.

Pumping "Disturbances of the Peace" aside, the day was fantastic, and reminded me both of how glad I am to be out of college, and of how glad I am to have had the wonderful college experience I did, filled with music and singing and friends and Ole Rolls at the Ole Store on St. Olaf Avenue.

Um Yah Yah!

A bit of levity after my last post

2008-02-19T05:22:00.001-08:00

Courtesy of the KQRS morning show...I think it might actually be funnier over the radio, but this video is definitely worth watching. As Tom Barnard said when they played it, "this newscaster does a hell of a job, because I could never do this story without breaking up." I was laughing out loud when I heard it...and at 6:15 a.m., that's really somethin'.

Beware--Totally Depressing Post...but it does include a picture of Ellen

2008-02-13T17:49:00.000-08:00

I can't stop thinking about little Demond Reed...I know a few of my blog visitors don't live around here and so might not know the news story about this 4-year old boy who was pinned down and beaten to death by his caregiver (and his caregiver's own 4- and 6-year olds) because he messed his pants. This happened in Minneapolis last week, and so we're hearing a lot about it up here. I start to cry...sort of intensely...when I think about it, and thought I'd totally give in to my sappy tears and post this Henry Wadsworth Longfellow poem here. It is called "Children."

"Come to me, O ye children!

For I hear you at your play,

And the questions that perplexed me

Have vanished quite away.

Ye open the eastern windows,

That look towards the sun,

Where thoughts are singing swallows

And the brooks of morning run.

In your hearts are the birds and the sunshine,

In your thoughts the brooklet's flow,

But in mine is the wind of Autumn

And the first fall of the snow.

Ah! what would the world be to us

If the children were no more?

We should dread the desert behind us

Worse than the dark before.

What the leaves are to the forest,

With light and air for food,

Ere their sweet and tender juices

Have been hardened into wood, --

That to the world are children;

Through them it feels the glow

Of a brighter and sunnier climate

Than reaches the trunks below.

Come to me, O ye children!

And whisper in my ear

What the birds and the winds are singing

In your sunny atmosphere.

For what are all our contrivings,

And the wisdom of our books,

When compared with your caresses,

And the gladness of your looks?

Ye are better than all the ballads

That ever were sung or said;

For ye are living poems,

And all the rest are dead."

These Are Days

2008-02-06T13:10:00.000-08:00

Ellen got her shots today. I say that like those are the only ones she's getting in her entire lifetime, which of course is not the case. The administering of the shots...two in each leg...was definitely the saddest moment of my day, but I must remember that immunizations are a wonderful thing and many parents in the Third World would give almost anything to hold their wailing child down while a stranger pokes four separate needles into them.

Other random moments from my day:

Today was the first of three days of CONNECT concerts for the education department at SPCO. Each day involves two back-to-back forty minute concerts, performed for approximately 900 elementary school children per concert. Quite an event. After the first concert, as a group of third graders followed their teacher to the bus, one little girl threw up in the snow. I felt really bad for her. Remember how much it sucked to be sick at school and to throw up in front of your classmates? I actually don't think that ever happened to me, but I always felt bad for any classmate of mine that I witnessed have that experience.

Parking for the CONNECT concert was in the ramp near Ted Mann, and this is where I used to park almost daily while going to grad school at the U. Back then, I befriended a very nice gentleman parking lot attendant who worked there nearly every day, and to whom I would wave as I pulled in the ramp. I always finagled to go to his cashier line, and we would shoot the breeze...one time he loaned me a "bootlegged copy of Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets from [his] home country of Pakistan," which I watched and enjoyed. Anyway, today as I pulled up to the cashier in the ramp, I noticed that it was my old friend, and he recognized me and said, "how are you--it's been a long time!" as I rolled down my window. I last saw him almost three years ago after finishing my Masters, and today I was even in a different car than I used to drive, so I was shocked that he remembered me. That was one of my happier moments today. He is going to be there on Friday for the last of the CONNECT concert days, and I promised to bring pictures of Ellen.

I should also mention that I am now driving a new (to me) car. It is a gray 2007 Chevy Impala, and its best feature is a remote starter! Second best feature--four doors! I'm lovin' it! Dave is now driving my Honda, and his Oldsmobile is going to be donated for a tax deduction (which of course would have been much more timely two months ago--as it is we must wait until next year to reap that benefit).

By the way, can we please start a discussion about the season premiere of Lost? I was totally disappointed.

Favorite Commercial

2008-02-04T09:36:00.000-08:00

I admit that I did not watch the Super Bowl in its entirety, so I know there are commercials I missed. But I definitely saw this one, and was grinning from ear to ear the whole time. Upon second viewing, I could do without Naomi Campbell, but overall I think it's great.

For Your Viewing Pleasure

2008-02-02T20:00:00.001-08:00

Today I attempted Leisa Hart's "FitMama Postnatal Workout." It's not too bad--it incorporates some cardio, yoga, Pilates, and stretching, and Leisa Hart looks rather pleasantly like Katherine Heigl so I feel almost like Izzie Stevens is guiding me back to my pre-Ellen body. That being said, I'm not much of a fan of DVD home workouts--they make me feel like SUCH a dork that I pretty much laugh my way through them.

But when it's 15 below outside (though not today, I guess), and you don't belong to a club because of outrageous dues, there's not much of a choice if you want to get back into shape. And...when you're nursing and you look down and see what was once your stomach actually flopping over the band of your underwear, you know that getting back into shape can not be optional. I will begin running again, but not until it's at least 40 degrees outside. In the meantime, I must prepare.

Hence, Leisa Hart's DVD, and this embarrassing photo.

Eventful Staff Meeting

2008-01-31T08:48:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I returned to St. Al's for my first staff meeting after maternity leave. I did make the announcement about my resignation, but the highlight for me came when our discussion took a slightly bawdy turn.

"We'll need to discuss next year's 50th anniversary of the parish," Father Pat said.

"Is it 50 years that the congregation has existed, or 50 years ago that the church was built?" asked Youth Minister Teresa.

"Well," Father Pat continued, "in 1959, they laid the...they started building the...okay, technically it's called the Dedication and Canonical Erection."

Silence. Teresa's eyes bugged out. "What?" said Father Pat with a grin. "That's what it's called!"

Then Teresa made the following unfortunate blunder. "I didn't mean to be shocked about the word....I was just surprised at the length of the thing."

I was pretty much done after that.

Home Brew

2008-01-22T20:08:00.000-08:00

Pally and Patrick really had a ball with this. Our house smelled...funky...for a while.

We bottled tonight, but it will be a little bit of time still until the beer is ready for tasting. Pally and I tasted the non-carbonated version tonight. I'm no beer connoiseur, but I thought the flavor was good, for the uncarbonated, unbottled version.

Who's Afraid of the...

2008-01-20T06:43:00.000-08:00

Many of you have heard the story of one of Dave and Pat's most memorable excursions to Isle Royale, during which Pat videotaped an "encounter" with a wolf.

Here's the video...I recommend reading the story on the site first, so you know what's going on.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Dvgxprpa7EA

I Am Grateful

2008-01-18T19:06:00.000-08:00

Two weeks ago, I officially gave notice to our pastor that I would be resigning my position of Director of Music, effective July 1, 2008.

It has been (or will be by the time I leave) seven years since I first began there, fresh out of college. In that time I've "graduated" from roommate-living to single-living (a definite upgrade), received a Master's degree, gotten married (by the St. Alphonsus pastor!), bought a house, gotten a dog, and had a baby. I've sort of "grown up" in the St. Al's community.

Fr. Pat could not have been more gracious at our meeting. "You can leave with your head held high," "Thanks for seven beautiful years," and "St. Al's will always be your family," he said.

Of course there are things about it that I will NOT miss, like working every weekend, evening, and holiday, and certain volunteers whose attitudes really chap my ass. But there is plenty I will miss--namely all the choir members and parishioners who have become a meaningful part of my life, and with whom I know I'll keep in contact.

Most of you have listened to me complain for seven years, and are probably wondering why I'm waxing so (prematurely) nostalgic now. Don't worry. I'm sure that in the time between now and June 30th, the complaining will enjoy a thousandth (or so) wind--after all, there is still Holy Week to endure. But on July 1, I know I'll feel a little pang of loss, and I will wonder where the time has gone.

Here Come the Ellen Pictures (and a bonus picture of Dave)

2008-01-14T07:44:00.000-08:00

The one-month picture.

We like the hand pose here...all her idea.

We fully anticipate nerdiness from Ellen. Exclusively from Dad's side of the family, of course...

My Days Are All Filled With An Easy Country Charm

2008-01-06T18:53:00.000-08:00

Credit is due to both KC for the idea of using song lyrics as blog post titles, and Mr. John Denver for the words themselves.

Maternity leave is nice, but sort of boring. I do a lot of household chores, a lot of holding of Ellen (often while she's screaming as she tries to pass some sort of bubble from either end), and a lot of breastfeeding, which is not for the faint of heart or nipple. I believe I have at least one clogged milk duct, which makes the not-so-fun task of feeding my infant even more not-so-fun.

To assuage the boredom and pain that accompanies being a human milk machine all day long, I have been catching up on Lost, thanks to the DVDs that friend Pat brought over. I'm so glad he got me to start watching this show, for several reasons. Not only is Lost completely sweet and totally addicting, it has also provided me with my latest celebrity crush.

Those of you who know me well, know that I move in and out of attractions in an amusing sort of way, and I tend to develop crushes on characters rather than the actors who portray characters. I guess that's not entirely true, given that it does require the physical appearance of the actor as well as the personality of the character. It's like Multiple Personality Attraction. Two big ones come to mind--there was Mark Hamill as Luke Skywalker, and Dominic Monaghan as the hobbit Merry. (Yep, that one was weird. Coincidentally, he is also on Lost).

The latest, with which Lost has provided me, is Naveen Andrews as the brilliant, totally hard-core yet surprisingly sensitive Iraqi torturer Sayid. I am really looking forward to Season 4.

What It Does To You

2008-01-01T15:29:00.000-08:00

There was a woman who completed a marathon two days before giving birth. Before you go getting all impressed, let me just clarify that the woman wasn't me. I read about her in a running magazine. (On December 4, two days before Ellen was born, I only made it 10K).

Of course, if I'm being honest, I have to admit that I haven't run at all since about June. I always wanted to be one of those pregnant women who are totally healthy and still hitting the gym every day. That didn't happen.

But the other day, while looking down at my bare legs, I had to say to myself, "wow Cyndy, your legs really look pretty skinny. That's not too bad." Then I made the mistake of looking again, and determined that the word I should have used in lieu of "skinny" was "scrawny."

Nearly seven months of barely any exercise has made my calf muscles atrophy. I'm not kidding. I have lost significant muscle tone, and now the shape of my legs (from thigh to ankle) is a slight V.

But...just so we're clear...here's why a V-shaped leg (at least until I start running again) is not SUCH a terrible thing.

And...It's Yours

2007-12-15T15:03:00.000-08:00

I have a great new tactic for cleaning the office at our house.

I call it the "Shut the Door Method." It's quick and easy--the perfect solution.

After a year and a half of trying to keep up with Dave's unfortunate tendency toward saving what he deems "important" and I (and I'd wager more than half of the U.S. adult population) deem "clutter," I have officially ceded the office to him and will no longer try to tidy up in there.

I am going to take out just about everything that belongs to me. Of course I can't take out the computer, so I told Dave that the ceding of the office should require the purchase of a laptop just for me. I don't think he bought it.

Nonetheless, I'm feeling better already.

Ellen Rachel Ingham

2007-12-15T15:01:00.000-08:00

I figured that I should definitely have a picture on my blog in which you can see Ellen's face. She is a wonderful baby and we couldn't ask for anything more.

There Are TWO Mommies in This House

2007-12-11T17:56:00.000-08:00

Well, here we are. Ellen Rachel Ingham was born on Thursday, December 6 at 11:24 p.m. We brought her home on Saturday and have been slowly but surely adjusting to life as a family. As you can see, Addie LOVES Ellen. She is going nuts being protective and attentive. It's pretty cute, actually. She was up with us during that rough first night...we really are in this all together.

It is challenging. But it is wonderful.

Grandmothers: Friend or Foe?

2007-12-05T14:40:00.000-08:00

Today both my mother and my mother-in-law came over for a gift-opening/luncheon, to make up for a family shower in WI that I missed over the weekend, due to a concern that I was developing preeclampsia and would need to be induced. (After 24 hours of collecting all my urine--seriously, a jug of it was sitting on ice in the bathroom--two blood draws, an ultrasound, one trip to the clinic and two trips to the Maternal Assessment Center at Abbott Northwestern--well, three if you count the delivery of the 24 hours worth of urine--and other intrusive tests, of course everything was deemed "normal" and I was sent home to wait in my self-made cloud of impatience and irritability. No Baby yet).

Anyway, both my mother and mother-in-law at once, with no one as a buffer, was a lot to take. Even Addie, my dear pup, seemed a bit overwhelmed. I do love my mother and mother-in-law, but dealing with them in their role as the grandmother of your own child is quite a new and challenging scenario.

And my daughter isn't even born yet.

1. Grandma Ingham brought over a lovely present of easy dip that I can whip up after the baby is born, for when I have visitors. "You'll have visitors!" she says. Well, yes, I know there's no stopping some amount of visitors, but I guess I am of the opinion that one ALWAYS reserves the right to refuse visitors at one's own house at any time. And when you have just had a baby, you DEFINITELY reserve the right to tell people NOT to come over. And...if they do come over...you reserve the right to not have to serve cute hors d'oeurves and sparkling refreshments. I did make it clear (I hope) to Grandma Ingham that visitors should always (Baby or not!) CALL first to let the visitee decide whether or not they'd like to play host. I don't think I'm alone in this opinion.

2. One of the first things Grandma Koerner said when we sat down to lunch was "you need a wreath for your door." Grandma Ingham asked if we would be getting a Christmas tree, nearly as soon as she arrived, then she asked AGAIN at lunch (after Grandma Koerner brought up the wreath). Well, we've been focusing primarily on getting things ready to bring a newborn home. And seriously, I was feeling pretty proud of myself for having stockings up (one has even begun to be stuffed...), the Nativity up, and six presents wrapped, complete with tags and ribbons. There are even more presents that have been purchased that are as yet unwrapped. Oh yes, and by the way, until this week, I have been at two jobs frantically trying to prepare for my impending Family Leave. Never mind--I guess I'm still not up to the Grandma standards for Christmas decor.

3. Grandma Ingham is insisting on a picture with Santa Claus at the Mall. I said, "well, we'll see how Mama feels about that." "Oh, but the Santa picture is a classic," Grandma exclaimed. Hmm...I guess I just don't feel the same way about that...I think the last thing I'll want to do mere weeks after giving birth is go to a mall full of holiday shoppers, and stand with a newborn in a never-ending line full of rowdy children, to wait for a crappy Polaroid of my baby daughter with a stranger in a tacky bright red Santa suit. I understand the need for the Santa visit when Baby is a little bit older (duh--how else will Santa know what she wants for Christmas), but when Baby is new to the world, can't focus her eyes on anything further than 12 inches away, and her primary concern is learning how to most efficiently suck on a boob, I just don't see the need.

4. One of my favorite conversations of the third trimester (which was repeated by the Grandmas this afternoon), is "When Should Cyndy Have the Baby." Grandma Koerner would like it on a certain day that doesn't conflict with this. Grandma Ingham thinks Sunday will be best so that we can have another baby shower on Saturday. Daddy doesn't want Baby to arrive until his work schedule clears up because it's "easier on his team." And my favorite--I am ordered by my overly-Catholic grandmother to have the baby this Saturday in honor of the Feast of the Immaculate Conception. How about this, everybody? We stop talking about when the baby should be born, and honor both the fact that Cyndy has no control over when she gives birth, and that she wants the baby to come this very minute? Any mention of "hold off until this shower" or "hold off until that date" REALLY pisses me off at this point. Only one person--my stepdad--said the right thing: "for your sake, I hope it's any minute."

I'm sure there will be many more Grandma Tales with which to regale all of you once Baby is here. I know my blog has been disappointing in recent weeks, but I'll do my best to keep at it. At the very least, it's a great place to vent. And, let's be honest, I think a place to vent will be a dire need.

Who's That Harlot?

2007-11-06T12:31:00.000-08:00

Last night I attended an informative breastfeeding class at Abbott Northwestern Hospital, where I will be delivering in about six weeks (or maybe five? Here's to wishful thinking...)

I did so sans husband AND sans wedding ring (Dave had to work, and due to swollen fingers I haven't worn my wedding ring for about 4 months), and all I could think about on the way was that other people in attendance at the breastfeeding class, ALL with husbands or partners in tow, would look at me and think "who's that harlot over there with a belly out to here and sporting neither spouse nor ring?" For a split second while filling out my name tag, I thought with a smile that I should write "Hester," and then I got over it and grabbed a seat.

Fortunately I wasn't the only one there without a partner, but I know I certainly would have felt less sheepish while bringing a teddy bear to my left breast for practice if I weren't alone. (Of course it's not like anyone noticed, since they were all busy making sure that they were correctly bringing their own teddy bear to their own breasts).

Anyhow, it's exciting to really be OFFICIALLY on the way to parenthood. I guess I've been officially on the way to parenthood since the beginning of April, but now it feels real, because I'm taking concrete steps to learning about what I'm supposed to do when I bring this little girl home and am most certainly thinking "what now?" Also, I've read the Secrets of the Baby Whisperer. (I like her style). Our Childbirth and Parenting class is next weekend.

I will NOT be going alone.

So I Like Ice Cream

2007-10-23T20:19:00.000-07:00

It might be time to admit to an ice cream abuse problem when, after ordering a Culver's turtle sundae, you save the maraschino cherry for the last bite and as you pop it in your mouth the following thought runs through your mind: "boy, I love turtle sundaes, because they come with a maraschino cherry for dessert."

Official Pregnancy Gripe

2007-10-19T09:01:00.000-07:00

Okay, there are a few fun things. A pregnant person definitely gets nice attention from strangers--smiles, door holdings, "hello"s and "have a nice day"s that very obviously would never have been given were there not a Belly/Baby involved. And it's sort of fun to feel Baby move around and kick.

But I think that's where the fun ends. Now that I'm firmly in the third trimester at almost 32 weeks, I'm having a tough time. In the past week some SERIOUS pain has sprouted around and on either side of my pelvis. It is so painful that I can barely walk, literally. I am majorly limping and going at sloth speed. I can't bear much weight on either side, especially my left--this makes stairs especially difficult because unless you want to go up and down like a toddler, stairs require weight alternating between sides of the body. Of course since I visit the bathroom at least twice during the night, and our bedroom is the loft upstairs and our only bathroom is on the first floor, I am required to go up and down a full flight of stairs at least twice during the night. I can barely make it, and since last night when I couldn't deal with it anymore, I have taken to actually CRAWLING up the stairs so weight is distributed across four limbs rather than two. You can't really crawl going down, so in that direction I just have to grin and bear it, although I haven't ruled out the stair butt-slide if this persists.

I look like a pregnant waddler (even if it's pain-related limping and not size/weight-related waddling) which is one thing I NEVER wanted to be. NEVER.

This is obviously in addition to the following: ugly pregnancy-related edema, out-of-control acne (for which I can't do anything because anything that helps is taboo during pregnancy), mid/upper back pain (almost as painful as this new pelvis thing, though the pelvis thing has really taken the cake now), weight-gain, nausea (that was the first trimester), irritating and persistent heartburn (Tums weren't really doing the trick--I've had to up the ante to Zantac twice a day), and other things too gross/inappropriate to mention.

By the way, the pain I'm having is due to my pelvic joints stretching to prepare for the major physical event that will be taking place in approximately eight weeks. (EIGHT WEEKS! And is the nursery anywhere close to ready? That would be a "no"). My doctor told me that the only thing that really gives relief is to get in a swimming pool and be weightless three times a week. And that, my friends, means that a MATERNITY SWIMSUIT is in my future. Dear God, it's an oxymoron.

(Okay, I realize that many women have trouble getting pregnant at all, and would kill to have the problems that I have right now. I just want to say that I recognize that. I recognize that although there is shittiness I am also very lucky, and I really am excited for Baby Girl's arrival. Obviously. So there you have it).

"Punny" Choice of Words

2007-10-09T15:45:00.000-07:00

Today when I opened my Yahoo page, the headline read "Lindsay Lohan says rehab was 'sobering.'"

I wonder...does she mean that as a pun? In which case I'm not sure I will take seriously the fact that she went to rehab, and will fully expect a relapse.

Does she not get the connection? In which case I will assume that she really is that dumb and again, will fully expect a relapse.

Oh, let's be honest. Even if she is brilliant and meant it as a pun to show her sense of humor and maturity (?) in dealing with this tough time in her life, I will fully expect a relapse.

Are You Serious?

2007-09-28T19:30:00.000-07:00

I had to endure my first Liturgy Commission meeting of the year this past Thursday, which I was definitely dreading due to the simple fact that the Liturgy Commission is run by the Director of Liturgy, with whom I am extremely peeved (see post titled "Case In Point: The Importance of Communication in the Workplace"). Just as I expected, we wasted time doing the following: reading the Gospel and sitting around in silence while D of L waited for us to answer his question "what word grabs you in this Gospel?"; getting our "homework" for the next meeting, which is to read an excerpt from the actual doctrine of Vatican II so that we can "learn about liturgy" and discuss it (this would be over the head of even a college Theology student, let alone the church volunteers who serve on the Liturgy Commission); and discussing official Church policy regarding Eucharistic Ministers. This is of course all in lieu of addressing actual LOGISTICAL liturgical issues which have unfortunately fallen by the wayside, resulting in some major embarrassment at Mass for me while the D of L, though the Mastermind (or more appropriately the Absentmind) of the whole operation, is safely hidden away in his office (again, see aforementioned post).

In spite of all this, the most interesting point of the evening came when Father Ed told us all that he couldn't believe it when last weekend an older couple came up to him Sunday morning and said "we should have an all-Caucasian Mass."

It's an interesting thought. I wonder...do they mean the kind where everyone wears beautiful white robes like angels, with lovely pointed hoods, and congregates reverently in a yard with a cross that is symbolically aflame (surely to represent the presence of the Holy Spirit)?

Shucks, we don't do anything like that. Maybe the Liturgy Commission should bring it up to Father Pat and see what he thinks. This couple might be on to something.

New Song

2007-09-25T18:48:00.000-07:00

I like a new song. I have been listening to Cities 97 a little bit lately, and have fallen in love with the song "Last Request" by Paolo Nutini. I downloaded it tonight and went to Paolo Nutini's website...he is a strange-looking person, but kinda hot...in a Joe Hoye sort of way (which I realize for most of you means "not at all"). By the way, Joe Hoye was my boyfriend in high school. Disaster. He has evoked many strong opinions in my family. But this Paolo Nutini--he is a musician with an awesome song, so he automatically gets hot points. I'm going to get his album.

The fact that I'm listening to new music is a big thing. I usually don't go any later than 1987, the year which marks the release of U2's "The Joshua Tree."

If you care to check out Paolo Nutini...http://www.paolonutini.com/about/

You can at least see if you think he's hot or not. Post a comment and let me know.

Case In Point: The Importance of Communication in the Workplace

2007-09-24T16:04:00.000-07:00

If you want to boil it down to one sentence, the job of the Director of Liturgy at any parish is to ensure that any and all liturgies run smoothly, efficiently, and according to the doctrine of the denomination for which the liturgy is being celebrated. Of course it follows logically that to achieve this objective, it would be of utmost importance for the Director of Liturgy to keep everyone INVOLVED in the liturgies apprised of changes and/or special instructions. Common Sense 101.

About a week and a half ago, I emailed our Director of Liturgy to request direction for a Benediction service coming up this Tuesday night, at which the choir is singing. I gave him a specific date (the date of the choir's last practice before they are to sing at the service) by which he HAD to tell me what was expected from the music department. (Obviously we need to be able to practice what it is we're going to do...and boy do we need the practice...church groups are not ones to wing it...). Well, the Benediction is tomorrow, the choir's last practice was a week ago, and I haven't heard "boo" from our Director of Liturgy--not even an "oh my gosh I'm so sorry that I didn't get that information to you in time...here's what's going on." (Frankly, it's pathetic that I have to ask him directly for information on special liturgies anyway). But it gets worse.

Yesterday evening, I was playing for the 5:30 Mass, which was serving as the beginning of a 40-hour Adoration that we're doing from now until Tuesday. Anyway, the end of Mass came along, and Father Bill started to explain to the congregation what the 40-hour Adoration is, etc. He continued, "so, Cyndy, to transition to the Adoration, we won't be doing a closing song." I gave him the "okay" and closed the book. No big deal. Alas, he continued, "you may do a hymn of adoration if you like."

This was right during Mass, in front of the entire congregation. Over the microphone. And Father Bill expected me to pick, on the spot, with a couple hundred people watching, a "hymn of adoration" that a) I know I can sightread, b) I know the congregation will sing, and c) I know that my cantor will know well enough to at least not look like a complete idiot. Then apparently I am to yell down to the cantor "hey Larry, we'll do this one." (Never mind the fact that Larry the Cantor is one of my EXTREMELY high maintenance volunteers, who freaks out at the slightest change, needs to run through EVERYTHING before he cantors--even the things that we do at every Mass, every weekend--and neither reads music nor catches on to new things very well. Some of you may recall an email I sent a couple years ago about a certain long-time choir member who, after at least ten years with the group, asked confusedly "what is a measure?" after I announced that we would start at measure ___. That was Larry).

With my face flaming red (and my face can turn really red), I put up my hands and said "I wasn't given any direction on this, I'm sorry."

Father Bill should definitely have known not to open his mouth in that way--it's in poor enough taste to spring a surprise on the musicians at the last minute BEFORE Mass, let alone DURING Mass in front of the congregation. But ultimately, this was the fault of our beloved Director of Liturgy, who should have had a plan for this transition from Mass to Adoration, and should have let both Father Bill and me know about it ahead of time.

Thank you, D of L, for making me look like a fool. Way to do your job.

"Happy 9/11" or alternately titled: "James Brolin Shows He's a Tool"

2007-09-20T17:59:00.000-07:00

You all might have heard about this by now, but just in case...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QCJIWHHBPxs

I heard it on KQ this morning on the way in to work.

My Pants

2007-09-18T10:40:00.001-07:00

When I am home on a rare evening, I like to wear really comfortable and non-constrictive things. We've already covered this topic in blog posts past. (The post was inspiring enough to a young Brazilian t-shirt maker that he felt moved to leave a comment in Portuguese).

Sunday night was no different. I put on a t-shirt and my gray cotton pants that I find extremely comfortable. Then I suggested to Dave that I could slip on my light blue Crocs and we could take Addie for a walk. He said "okay," and after a minute or so, "are those the pants you're going to wear?"

"Yeah. Why? You don't like my pants?"

"We-e-e-ll...they just don't leave much to the imagination."

So I took a trip to the bedroom with the tall mirror in it. I hadn't noticed before (or more accurately, hadn't cared to look), but he's right. The buttocks region is extremely pronounced in my comfortable gray pants. (I'd say "sculpted" but I'm pretty sure that's not the right word in this situation). And one can definitely make out the exact shape and curve of my thighs and knees. The pants basically look like leggings.

Nothing like realizing that even your comfortable lounging clothes are unflattering.

By the way, I'm wearing my gray pants as I'm writing this blog post.

I Believe It's Here

2007-09-14T09:40:00.001-07:00

I believe I can say it's officially Autumn for the following reasons:

School's back in session.

I'm already annoyed with several choir members at St. Al's.

Yesterday I had to wear a sweater.

I've seen several trees with colorful leaves.

I'm feeling the need to indulge often in skim chai lattes with a shot of vanilla. Yummy yummy--my stepmom turned me on to those a few years ago, and it's now a seasonal staple. In her words (which I find charming), "it is like drinking Fall."

Most importantly...Pumpkin Shakes (I believe they are important enough to capitalize) are back at Culver's. I had my first of the season last night after Bell Choir rehearsal. It ROCKED. Seriously, you need to try one.

P.S. I shall try to ignore the fact that it's supposed to be close to 80 this weekend. Boo.

KMA, people. KMA!

2007-09-04T19:08:00.000-07:00

My first night of rehearsals at St. Al's was less than stellar.

After a full day at SPCO (still great!), I headed through surprisingly decent traffic up to Brooklyn Center. Things took a wrong turn when I visited my mail box and opened the following letter, dated today:

"Dear Cyndy,

After much thought and prayer, I've decided not to sing with the choir this year. For some time I've been concerned about the quality and quantity of the music, especially for the major feasts, and this year will likely be uninspiring. I wish you well and hope your pregnancy and delivery go smoothly. I'll rethink about re-joining next year. Sincerely, Choir Member Who Shall Remain Nameless."

Not really a big deal, nor a big surprise from this particular woman, who I know has been underwhelmed with my performance at St. Al's since I began six years ago. But I don't think I would be human if it didn't hurt a little bit...I know how to read between lines, and although she comes across as very courteous, here's what she's really saying:

"Dear Cyndy,

After much thought and prayer, I've decided that I don't want to deal with you this year. For some time (since you've started), the music has sucked, especially on the days when major effort should be put forth to make it NOT suck, and this year (with your getting ready to pop out a kid) will be the suckiest yet.

[I'll leave alone the final paragraph since it's the high point of the letter and altering it may make me angry and cause undue stress for the unborn child who is clearly ruining the auspicious singing careers of both Letter Writer and at least one other person I know who is quitting because she is pissed that I'm taking a two month break from work, to which I am entitled by law, after I give birth.]

Sincerely, Choir Member Who Shall Remain Nameless"

So, that was annoying, but I was fine and let it roll off my back until about 6:30, when (half an hour before rehearsal was to begin) things came to a head due to an unfortunate incident with a wet floor and hot Lean Cuisine teriyaki steak bowl.

I made my way to the teacher's lounge to use the microwave. Of course there was a small meeting with school parents in there, so I heated my bowl and tried to remain inconspicuous. After about three steps out of the teacher's lounge, I missed the "CAUTION: WET FLOOR" sign and went right down on my ass. My teriyaki bowl spilled everywhere, and immediately several parents from the meeting in the lounge were at the door asking me if I was okay and helping me to pick up my destroyed dinner. Some of the food got on my arm (not to mention my new shirt and new skirt) and I now have burns on my left wrist, since I did not let my bowl cool off by sitting in the microwave for 1-2 minutes after cooking, per the Lean Cuisine instructions. One of the burn spots has formed an honest-to-god blister.

Well, that was just too much for my delicate psyche. I held back the tears until I could get back to the door of my office and music room (which is only about twenty steps away), and then, with red eyes welling with "I feel sorry for myself and my wrist hurts" tears, I encountered my first choir member to arrive for rehearsal.

I said a quick hello and continued to the bathroom, where I cried for a minute or two, then composed myself and returned to my office to scarf down some Mentos for dinner before facing the troops - my monotone tenors, completely undedicated basses, and sopranos who, though they are sopranos, are deathly afraid of any note above hymn-tune range (which, by the way, is so called because it is meant to accommodate any voice, including alto or bass).

How many days until I can quit St. Al's?

Public Poo

2007-09-01T13:38:00.000-07:00

It seems that my blog has taken a turn towards discussing bodily functions...or at least my titles have. (By the way, English majors, is it "towards" or "toward"? I always question this one, and I don't know the rules. Is there a difference?)

I guess the title of my last post, "Presidential Poo" was misleading to some of you, who thought I would be discussing President Bush's endorsement of the remarkable product Poof. (Instead, you got a rant about the president's arrival destroying any chance of a happy commute home).

But I don't think this title is misleading. Today I was in Macy's at Southdale, and had to use the restroom. I found the nearest one, and there was a little line of young women waiting. Apparently one stall (out of two total) was out of order. Anyway, the woman who was two ahead of me went into the stall. We heard the normal sounds of public restroom use, and then it was quiet. Nothing was happening. Then, that's right...we heard the poop grunts. Actual straining. The woman right in front of me, who would have been next, turned around and gave me a smile as if to say "never mind...it's all yours" as she walked out. I decided I would follow her, and I flashed a similar smile to the two ladies behind me.

Now, I don't even like to do the public poo when there's NO ONE waiting. I'm terrified I'll get caught by someone walking in. And I DEFINITELY wouldn't do it when I know there's people waiting to use the stall, ESPECIALLY when those people have already been waiting in line with me for several minutes and have seen my face.

Does this make me a poo prude? I guess I prefer to think of it as "poo polite."

Presidential Poo

2007-08-21T19:01:00.000-07:00

Those of you who know me know that I am completely politically un-savvy. Oh, I suppose I have my own political leanings and my own belief system, but I really couldn't tell you the first thing about...I'd say...most political issues or current events (unless you count the things I find on people.com). I bow out of political discussions and try to absorb as much information as possible by listening to whoever is voicing an opinion, all while assuming an interested but, I suppose, patently detached look on my face.

I'm not saying that current issues don't apply to me, or that I don't have a voice that I could use for the greater good...most of the time I'm just too uninterested to actually take the time to catch up so I can read a newspaper article without questioning every other concept or wondering to which recent event a certain sentence refers. I liken politics and current events to "movies involving heists," which my dearest friends know I neither care for nor find accessible enough for me to want to deal with. My brain just doesn't do politics. They make me feel stupid and I'd rather just leave it for People Who Know What They're Talking About to deal with.

So, that all being said, I probably don't need to spell out for you the fact that there will rarely be any sort of comment about the President on my blog.

But today, I was annoyed enough to write this post. Today, the mere presence of President Bush in the Twin Cities made my drive home from my first day at my new job with SPCO (which was great) a living hell. Certain parts and directions of major roads such as 494 and 62 were closed, right during rush hour.

Okay Mr. President--if you can't lower gas prices, at least don't make me sit in traffic for an hour and a half while we all make room for the highway safety of your stupid entourage. Boo!

Rocket Launch...Photo Mislaunch

2007-08-18T11:22:00.001-07:00

Last April, Pat gave Dave a rocket for his birthday. We launched it last weekend, and I recorded the event on my digital camera. Pat even got video.

It was an awesome launch. The rocket went off, with a satisfying sound, scaring Addie and eliciting a whole-hearted "SWEEEET!" from me. Though it took some searching to recover the rocket, Dave did so. (They relaunched a few days later, and now the rocket is officially lost).

Anyway, this post was going to include pictures of the launch, but Web Un-Savvy here can't seem to get it to work. I know I've done it before. But it is just not making sense to me. The pictures have been uploaded successfully and I am able to order prints from Snapfish if I want to, but getting the pictures HERE is proving impossible.

The only thing to show for my effort now is this post (which is WAY lamer than it should have been) and my frustration, which, if I continue to let it go untamed, is sure to explode shortly. Perhaps Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows can yank me out of this web-induced funk.

Baby Ingham

2007-08-01T18:56:00.001-07:00

Today was my long-awaited ultrasound. Baby looks good, all around, and I'm still right on schedule at 20 weeks. We didn't get a good face picture, because Baby was very stubborn and kept its hands by its face and didn't want to turn into the picture. Baby moved around quite a bit during the ultrasound, and that was really fun to see.

Of course we went to the ultrasound knowing the answer to the question "do we find out or not?" I wavered before I was actually pregnant, but since I discovered I was enceinte, I've wanted to know. I want to know that it is "my son" or "my daughter" (not the ambiguous "Baby") kicking me and giving me heartburn. I want to know that everything I'm experiencing is to bring an actual person into the world. That is much easier to do, and makes hard things (for me, mercifully, "hard things" have been very few and far between) much more bearable when I can envision Baby as having a specific gender and a name (which we've picked out and will not reveal until Baby is born in December).

I did get the disapproving head shake from one friend when I revealed that we indeed WOULD find out the baby's gender at the ultrasound. This was a male friend, and I must say that the disapproving head shake upset me slightly. The reasons for finding out, which I've listed above, are the sort that only a person who's experienced pregnancy (or is capable of experiencing pregnancy) could really understand. Therefore, I find this "to find out or not to find out" question to be somewhat off limits to men, with of course the obvious exception of fathers-to-be.
So...anyway...we DID find out, and we have discovered...

It is a girl!

Streakin'

2007-07-30T10:13:00.000-07:00

No, I don't mean the naked kind.

I've had a self-tanner malfunction. I bought some foam that leaves a temporary color to aid in streak-free application. I now know that it's not a tint that aids in even application, but the correct consistency of the tanner. Foam (even tinted foam) is too thin. When I used a nice thick Clarins gel-type substance, although it wasn't tinted, it went on much more smoothly.

So tonight at work I have to wear pants. It's almost 90 degrees out. And the only pants that fit me right now are black. And I really should wear long sleeves to hide my arms, but I don't think I can go that far.

I'm ready for fall.

Potty Perfume

2007-07-23T15:14:00.000-07:00

This was the caption of a little paragraph in a "Great New Finds" (or some such section) in Redbook magazine, which I paged through at Mom's yesterday.

Upon closer inspection, I discovered Poof, and I've already placed my order. You can order it too (for only $15.90 including standard shipping) at http://www.houserice.com/.

You add a few drops of this little wonder to the toilet bowl before going, and it creates a barrier in the water, so the smells are trapped in the toilet and don't permeate the air. This is a big problem at our house. If it works, I'm getting some for my dad, too.

Please notice and comment on the fact that I chose brown as my font color for this post.

The Un-Heeler

2007-07-16T16:49:00.000-07:00

Addie is a Brittany. She is an active dog, and I feel like a bad dog-mommy if I don't take her on a fairly long walk, as close to everyday as possible. The first time I took her on a walk, I learned of her strength. She is a puller. So I tried the Gentle Leader headcollar. It did help the pulling, but it left funny marks on her face. So I tried the Gentle Leader harness. It impeded her movements and I was concerned it was chafing the inside of her legs. So I tried the Petco-recommended leading collar, which did nothing but encourage more pulling.

I figured I just had to learn to live with it, and I was used to it and it was fine, until a few weeks ago when I went walking with my stepmom, stepsister, and some friends of the family. One of the friends decided that she would have a try with teaching Addie to heel, so we slipped a choke collar (borrowed from stepsister's dog Gracie) on Addie and Doreen took the leash.

Doreen was great. Addie heeled. So, inspired by Doreen's success and armed with new techniques, I made a trip to Petsmart the next day to get the choke collar. I made a vow that I would continue with the training. My Addie would heel for me just as she did for Doreen.

It's not going well. I can't get her to learn not to pull, no matter how rough I get with the yanking. It's not even physically comfortable for me to be yanking on her leash every three seconds (literally). I've gotten frustrated enough that I have considered quitting the training multiple times. (I guess I consider it about every time we walk). Protests from friends and family ("stick with it...she'll get it eventually") and my own stubborness and perfectionism (especially with a kid on the way, I need to know that I can enforce discipline and rise above frustration and impatience) kept me going. I yanked. And yanked. And yanked.

But today I have officially decided that this heeling attempt will happen no more. I'm the only one who walks her, so if I don't have a problem with it, then no one else should. I'm sick of dreading walks because of this ridiculous training. And though I still feel like a bit of a failure, I tell myself that inability to get a dog to heel does not necessarily indicate incompetence in the field of child discipline.

So, Addie is a puller. She will never be a heeler. And I love her anyway.

Jump!

2007-07-11T15:08:00.000-07:00

I'd like to take a moment to praise Van Halen for their 1984 hit, "Jump." I know this is extremely random, but I downloaded it not too long ago, and have been listening to it a lot lately. It instantly produces a smile.

First of all, it's hard not to love a song that so shamelessly highlights the synthesizer.

Second, the song has nostalgic ties for me. I was five years old in 1984, and my mom was a mere 27. This song was a favorite--we would play it together and physically "jump" during the refrain. I feel very lucky that I have a mom who was young and hip enough to make a #1 rock hit into a child's activity.

"Jump" probably belongs on my Top Ten List. I am officially making it an Honorable Mention.

I do of course recommend listening to the actual song, but this is worth watching as well (even if you can only stand a minute or so). I'd say David Lee Roth still has it. I mean vocally. As far as Van Halen-type phonating goes.

Disaster

2007-07-05T14:51:00.000-07:00

While procrastinating on www.people.com, I came across the following article about Britney Spears.

http://www.people.com/people/article/0,,20012207_20044704,00.html

She discusses how her attack with the umbrella was related to a "roll" she was trying out for. She "takes her rolls very seriously." (Sure, Britney. This blogger sees right through you, and other celebrities who publicize such statements). Perhaps she shouldn't bank on getting any parts until she learns to correctly spell what it is she's trying out for.

I know that I myself could be considered pathetic after making a blog topic out of Britney Spears. But when the level of someone's stupidity actually borders on tragic, I think it is one's duty as a citizen to make fun of them.

Top Ten Albums

2007-07-03T09:05:00.000-07:00

I do greatly enjoy reading and creating top ten lists, and after Rachel's not-so-subtle plea for more, I have decided to attempt another top ten compilation, in the form of Top Ten Albums.

Now, this begs some clarification. There are certain rules when determining Top Ten Albums. "Albums" do not include soundtracks or Greatest Hits collections. If you're playing What CDs Do I Take to the Desert Island, soundtracks or Greatest Hits collections may be included, but when playing Top Ten Albums, that is cheating. Greatest Hits collections are good because they excerpt the highlights of many albums. To create an original record, out of thin air, on which every song is worth listening to, is an art, my friends. These are the albums I have deemed "works of art." (This Top Ten list clearly suggests that if you've done it once, you'll probably do it again--2, 5, 8, 9 and 1, 6 are repeat artists. This probably indicates that I need to expand my listening repertoire. Oh well).

This time, these are in random order. Although I think my number one really does belong there.

1. Simon and Garfunkel - "Bridge Over Troubled Water"

[Please never call it "Bridge Over Troubled Waters". I hate that. I bet Paul and Art do too].

2. Pink Floyd - "The Wall"

3. Tears for Fears - "Songs from the Big Chair"

4. Michael Jackson - "Thriller"

5. Pink Floyd - "Dark Side of the Moon"

6. Simon and Garfunkel - "Bookends"

7. Billy Joel - "An Innocent Man"

8. Pink Floyd - "A Momentary Lapse of Reason"

9. Pink Floyd - "The Division Bell"

10. Marlo Thomas and Friends - "Free to Be...You and Me"

[You might claim that this does not qualify as an album, per the guidelines that I myself laid down, but I consider it a loophole, because although many different artists contributed, the pieces they contributed weren't intended for independent albums or independent purposes--every song/recitation on this album is meant to be there, and was created specifically for "Free to Be...You and Me" and the listening enjoyment and intellectual enrichment of children everywhere. It belongs].

Au revoir, Monsieur Proust

2007-06-27T15:16:00.000-07:00

This week at the cabin, watching Rachel tear through her apparently really engaging book, while staring at my fourth volume of Proust's monster and thinking "I should get though some more Proust while I'm out here," I had the notion that if your book is such a chore that agreeable alternatives to reading include sitting on a wicker couch either flipping through fashion magazines from 2004 (literally), or staring at nothing, it might be time to abandon ship. Technically, the end came after my next thought, which was, "shit, after this volume there are still THREE MORE VOLUMES to go." So I said to Rachel and Dave, "how do you feel about my abandoning Proust?" Without even looking up from her really engaging book, Rachel said, "I feel good about that. No one reads Proust. I'm an English major and I've never read it." Dave concurred--"I had never even heard of him until you made me watch 'Little Miss Sunshine.'"

It is a big deal for me to abandon a book. Mostly because I try very hard to read "good stuff" so as to surround myself with brilliance and to not waste my time. Hence, if I've begun a book that thousands of very smart and scholarly people have deemed worthy, I figure I had better finish. It's never a problem because I truly enjoy what I read--if not for engaging plotline, then for universal truths, or beautiful prose, or interesting characters. I can remember only one other time I abandoned a book, and that was the completely lame Johnny Tremain in seventh grade. So I toiled with this decision.

But, I'm sorry. Monsieur Proust, we've been through a lot together...the first three and a half volumes of your monster, to be exact. But you've failed to entertain. And I need to get out now while my love of books is still intact.

Welcome Wagon

2007-06-15T19:22:00.001-07:00

Sometimes, when I'm at home, at night, in my comfy clothes, I don't wear a bra. Actually, when I'm at home, at night, in my comfy clothes, I never wear a bra. Who needs the constriction?

Anyway, tonight was just another night in the life of my chest. I went outside to play with Addie a little bit, wearing my blue shorts, light blue crocs, and gray cotton tank top, sans support.

As I was running around and playing tug with Addie in the twilight, in the relative privacy of my backyard, I suddenly heard some voices coming from the yard of the house two doors down--the house with the brand new neighbors, who just moved in a few weeks ago, and whom I've not yet met.

I looked a little closer and saw a young man sitting in a lawn chair, facing our yard. I guess I can be grateful that my shirt was neither wet nor white, but still, there are not a lot of places to hide when you're flyin' free in a form-fitting tank.

Welcome neighbors.

Beatin' Heart

2007-06-11T16:43:00.000-07:00

After a morning including nausea and yet another puke, I had my second doctor's appointment. We heard the baby's heartbeat today. Mom asked me if I cried when I heard it. Well, no. I smiled and said, "that's cool."

That was such a Mom question.

Well Done, USPS

2007-06-01T11:59:00.001-07:00

I've been putting off my trip to the post office for new .41 stamps, but I finally went today and it was worth it. The new Star Wars stamps are AWESOME. These are not the stamps.

Top Ten, Volume III

2007-06-01T07:02:00.000-07:00

Are these top ten lists boring? I don't care. They are very fun to think about. And you may have noticed that my BEV (blog entry volume) has grown almost exponentially since I began the series.

Again, it is Rachel's fault that I am posting the following. Top Ten Books. This was fun. My commentary is pretty uneducated, but I thought I'd just share a little about why I chose each book (a la my favorite section in Oprah's Magazine--Books That Made a Difference to [insert famous person]).

10. Animal Farm - George Orwell

I read it as a ninth grader, and haven't read it since, but it was the first book that showed me that literature has a lot to teach us about being citizens of the world.

9. The Grapes of Wrath - John Steinbeck

Another one that I haven't read since high school, but I remember the feelings it inspired, and the images it conjured. I love every John Steinbeck that I've read, and this is one of his very best.

8. A Prayer for Owen Meany - John Irving

John Irving is another of my favorites. The plots are real and heartbreaking, and the writing is beautiful. I need to reread this one.

7. Gone With the Wind - Margaret Mitchell

Besides introducing one of the most memorable heroines in literature, GWtW got me so involved that I hardly noticed how much I was learning about the Confederacy and the Civil War.

6. Wicked - Gregory Maguire

Maguire shows that fantasy can be mature and realistic. The story is delightful and the writing beautiful. I read Maguire when I just want to have fun but don't want to venture all the way into the "beach read" category. (The "beach read" category is one I tend to avoid altogether).

5. The Fountainhead - Ayn Rand

Now we're getting down to it. Rand is probably my favorite author. This novel and my number one novel got me thinking more than anything else I've ever read. Rand is so unwavering in her convictions (as I suppose anyone who claims to have "convictions" should be), and her writing's purpose is to illuminate her philosophy on religion, government, capitalism, individuality, and the evils of mediocrity. Her ideas were completely fresh to me when I first read her, which secured her place in my mind as one of the most brilliant philosophers and novelists ever to live. I'm not sure that I agree with her completely, but she is very convincing, and I believe she's right about many, many things.

4. The Once and Future King - T.H. White

Who doesn't love Camelot? Lancelot and Guinevere? King Arthur? I found lots of "universal truths" in this book, and the very end, when King Arthur speaks to the young Thomas and reflects on his reign, is incredibly moving--one of my favorite scenes in literature.

3. Contact - Carl Sagan

I love this book for its blurring of the lines between science and faith. Though at cursory glance it might appear to be about contact between Earth and another world, it is really about Eleanor Arroway's journey from atheism to faith. The most intriguing part is that her conversion takes place because of the very thing she thought proved her atheism. In the end (I won't spoil it), Sagan very subtly affirms his own faith to his readers. I got goosebumps when I read it--a beautiful, beautiful book.

2. Anne of Green Gables - Lucy Maud Montgomery (I include all eight books in the series)

Oh Anne. What can I say about Anne, but that I became so absorbed with her that I refused to believe that she was only a character. Her adventures are so entertaining, and in the later books, when she and Gilbert have a scad of kids, I believe her interaction with them serves as a great example for parenting. Anne the Mother realizes that everything is relative, and treats her children's comparatively minor crises with due sensitivity, love, and the knowledge that crises of any kind (regardless of how amusing to an adult) often mean life and death to a child. Anne is one of my favorite people in the entire world.

1. Atlas Shrugged - Ayn Rand

[see number 5]

Oh, that's gonna be bad...

2007-05-30T15:17:00.000-07:00

I was comfortably parked on my guest room bed watching the road race in "Grease" (have you ever noticed that "Crater Face"--the guy Danny races--looks like a REALLY SLEAZY Brad Pitt?) when I heard some rufflings coming from the living room.

When I went out there, I discovered Addie on the couch, with an empty bag of dried apricots which I left on the coffee table. I had had about five of them, and that was it. The bag WAS full.

That's just gonna be really bad later. I wonder from which end the apricots will make their final appearance.

Top Ten, Opus 2

2007-05-30T09:14:00.000-07:00

Rachel's asking me to post my top ten choral and orchestral pieces saved me from taking another nap today. Thanks Rach.

Only two of the following pieces or works are purely choral, with no instrumental accompaniment (7, 1). One is choral with organ (10). Three are choral with soloists and chamber and/or full orchestra (9, 4, 3). One is a quintet from an opera (5). The other three are purely orchestral (8, 6, 2). All selections are either twentieth century or late Romantic, which the nerdy part of me (admittedly, a big part) takes note of. (Should it be "of which the nerdy part of me takes note"? I guess I'm just continuing to dig my nerd hole). Here are my choices.

10. Litanies to the Black Virgin - Francis Poulenc

9. War Requiem - Benjamin Britten

8. "Nimrod" from Enigma Variations - Edward Elgar

7. Vespers (All-Night Vigil) - Sergei Rachmaninoff

6. Death and Transfiguration - Richard Strauss

5. "The Promise of Living" from The Tender Land - Aaron Copland

4. Dona Nobis Pacem - Ralph Vaughan Williams

3. In Terra Pax - Gerald Finzi

2. Symphony No. 9 - Beethoven

1. "Os justi" from Three Graduals for the Church Year - Anton Bruckner

The people in the pictures are Bruckner, composer of my number one, and (obviously) Beethoven, composer of my number two. The other picture is of the church at St. Florian's monastery in Linz, Austria. One of my most memorable choral moments happened while visiting St. Florian's in 2001 with the St. Olaf Choir. Bruckner studied there and later became the resident organist. He is buried in a tomb underneath the church, and we were given the opportunity to go into the tomb. We were literally standing there in the darkness, surrounding the coffin containing his body. There were dim lights, and the tomb was lined with hundreds of skulls, apparently skulls of Christian martyrs (according to our guide). It was a strange, morbid, sacred moment. We were very quiet for a few minutes, and then someone suggested that we sing "Os justi," which was one of our favorites in the tour repertoire (well chosen by Dr. A because we knew we would be in Linz and at St. Florian's). I won't ever forget the three moments that followed.

Top Ten

2007-05-29T07:05:00.000-07:00

I've decided that it's time to begin the baby's education on "the human experience." To this end, I've begun playing music at my stomach--many studies indicate that fetuses respond to sound stimulation in utero. I myself was part of a study as an infant, because of my parents' diligent playing of music to me before I was born. (The conclusion was that I was indeed listening to the music as an infant, and clearly had some sort of remembrance of my "fetal experience.")

So I bought some appropriate headphones at Target, got the iPod all charged up, and began with Louis Armstrong's "What a Wonderful World." I've also played selections from "Free to Be...You and Me" (one of my favorite albums of all time), John Lennon's "Imagine," and orchestral selections like Peer Gynt and Peter and the Wolf.

So far this playing of the music has been the most moving experience of the first trimester. (Less moving was the barfing of the banana one morning--yes, that was a bad moment). First of all, it's the first activity that actually suggests that the baby is not only real, but human and therefore sensitive to the beauty of the world. Second, when I play the music, I get this unmistakable emotional sense that the baby hears and responds and is actually moving. Of course there's no real physical sensation yet, because it's way too small, but I know that I feel something. Super cool.

So, the following are the top 10 songs of my life, all of which are important to me and must therefore be introduced to the baby. I do not include choral or orchestral music, because that gets its own top 10 list.

10. "Layla" - Derek and the Dominoes (not the Eric Clapton unplugged version!)
9. "Your Song" - Elton John
8. "One of These Nights" - Eagles
7. "She's Always a Woman" - Billy Joel
6. "Leave a Tender Moment Alone" - Billy Joel
5. "With or Without You" - U2
4. "One Step Up" - Bruce Springsteen
3. "Tiny Dancer" - Elton John
2. "The Boxer" - Simon and Garfunkel
1. "Bridge Over Troubled Water" - Simon and Garfunkel

Not a Haiku

2007-05-24T06:43:00.000-07:00

I didn't see it, but apparently on "The View" on Wednesday, there was a feud between Rosie O'Donnell and Elisabeth Hasselbeck. Later that day, on www.people.com, I found several articles about the incident, including one from which the following excerpt is taken:

Meanwhile, O'Donnell has also spoken out about the confrontation, in her own unique way. On her blog Wednesday afternoon, she wrote in her signature haiku style, under the headline "cease fire":

a split screen
new heights or lows
depending on who u ask

Nope, not a haiku. This is a haiku (albeit a poor one...nonetheless...):

Who here is stupid?
Ro or Article Writer?
Either way, that sucks.

"Losing My Religion"

2007-05-20T14:11:00.000-07:00

Clearly, I am a disappointing blogger, particularly to the persons whose faith in my supposed extraordinary blogging abilities was the impetus for beginning. But seriously people, there's not much to report, except that I am a pregnant deadbeat. I take naps twice a day. Sometimes I don't get out of my robe until 4:30 p.m. If I'm not sleeping, I'm on www.people.com wasting time and brain cells reading about Paris Hilton doing jail time, or Jessica Alba being "totally over" her hotness, or Hugh Grant throwing a Tupperware-ful of baked beans at paparazzi.

One "deadbeat" activity that I enjoy, which I consider to be slightly more worthwhile than celebrity gossip website surfing, is watching old shows on DVD. I Love Lucy is a favorite, but I must report that my day was absolutely made yesterday when Amazon.com succeeded in shipping the second season of Beverly Hills, 90210.

I immediately put in the first DVD and started Episode 1, in which Brenda is afraid that she is pregnant (after two weeks of sleeping with Dylan), learns she is in fact not, gets freaked out that things are moving too quickly, and subsequently breaks up with Dylan in his convertible on the beach at twilight.

Those of you who know and love the show will recall that the Brenda/Dylan break-up scene really came to life because of the choice of background music, which was "Losing My Religion" by R.E.M. I say "was" because "Losing My Religion" is gone from the DVDs. Apparently they couldn't get the rights to the song, and so they've inserted a completely inappropriate song which is unknown and entirely too peppy for the scene. They've ruined it, folks. They've ruined the momentous Brenda/Dylan break-up scene.

There had to have been a way for them to fight for that song. I'm not sure I can be consoled until they redeem themselves with "Linger" by the Cranberries at the Peach Pit After Dark. And I think that's a WAY later season.

The Universe Still Owes Me

2007-05-11T05:52:00.000-07:00

The nausea has kicked in, folks. Today, I officially puked. The Universe still owes me.

Performance Reviews Still Looming

2007-05-07T12:34:00.000-07:00

One of my choirs is no longer rehearsing during the week, just until the end of the year, which is May 27. They only sing for Mass on two more Saturdays, and they know their (ridiculously easy) songs already, so I figured we could just run through the songs before Mass, rather than have separate rehearsals on Tuesday nights that last about twenty minutes because they have less than a handful of songs to run through.

It is great, and just what I need at this point in the choir year. I don't know why I never thought of this before. It's time for the wind-down. Pentecost, which marks the final time the choirs sing or rehearse until September, and the subsequent Blessed Monday (a personal Holy Day which I named myself), can't come soon enough.

Still, there is one major hurdle to jump over before we reach the end, and that is Performance Reviews. I am supposed to run my first one tomorrow (on my birthday--yes--but I can't complain because I offered the date), but I failed to give my supervisees the forms they need to fill out in order for the review to take place. (It took me two emails to get the form from the parish administrator--I thought I was being clear the first time when I asked for "the forms I need in order to run the reviews" but apparently not). This might delay them another week, which is actually fine with me because I need to prepare, and three hour naps are getting in the way.

Really, the last thing I want to do at this point in the choir year, not to mention this point in my career (right before I hope to find a brand new job), is run these reviews. Blah.

Organizing from the Inside Out

2007-05-04T13:47:00.000-07:00

On my last visit to Barnes and Noble, I picked up the selection Organizing from the Inside Out, by Julie Morgenstern (apparently "America's Number One Organizer"). The manual is supposed to be a "foolproof system for organizing your home, your office, and your life."

I have always prided myself on being a clean and organized person, but in recent months I've come to realize that I may need a little assistance in this area of my life, particularly since Dave seems to have a physical aversion to orderliness and cleanliness which seriously sabotages any effort I put forth in this area. (Luckily, there is an entire section in this book on "how to live, work, and deal with disorganized people--and how to help them").

In my ideal world, my home has a place for everything, and everything is in its place, but for the life of me, I can not seem to get there. (Unless of course you consider the "place" for half of Dave's wardrobe to be the floor in the guest bedroom, and the "place" for three month old grocery receipts to be the entire top of the desk in the office. The slick office organizers from Pottery Barn that we got for a wedding gift do not seem to be helping, nor do the extra assemble-yourself mini-dressers from Target, which I hoped could at least hide the clothes in the guest bedroom. The trick is the folding and putting away. There's always that pesky extra step). This messiness seriously affects both my nerves and my self-esteem, particularly when my mother-in-law is on her way over. Dave seems to be in denial of this. He exhibits a vague amusement at the entire thing, borne certainly from his belief that it's not really that big a deal.

Well, it's a big deal, and I'm fighting back. If Organizing from the Inside Out doesn't help, I can always refer to Stop Clutter from Taking Over Your Life. I will keep you posted.

The Incredible Sleeping Woman

2007-04-28T12:57:00.000-07:00

I can sleep. And sleep. And sleep.

I've just emerged from yet another 3+ hour nap. That's after a night's sleep that lasted at least nine hours. Blaming the pregnancy is very easy, but I'm not entirely sure that that's it. If I'm really being honest with myself, I think these three hour naps are just a slick and (somewhat) justifiable tool for avoiding the million other things I should be doing and would rather not.

I need to stop it.

It's just "hallelujah" over and over again...?

2007-04-27T09:35:00.000-07:00

I don't ever broach the topic of my choir at St. Al's doing the "Hallelujah Chorus" from The Messiah. They desperately want to do it, and have expressed that to me many times. I am of the opinion that Handel's masterpiece should be performed by a LARGE group (not twenty-five on an average day, with a balance including only three tenors) of skilled musicians who know what they're doing.

Recently, a certain clergyman had the bad taste to bring up the "Hallelujah Chorus" in front of the choir during a rehearsal that he visited. He said that not only did he want to hear them sing it (which of course they latched onto immediately with shouts of "we know it! we can do it! we want to do it!"), but that he wanted to direct it. (I will note here that said clergyman has no formal training in choral conducting).

To quote him directly: "It's just 'hallelujah' over and over again!"

Well, as I put it when telling a few friends about this incident later, there's a bit more to it than "hallelujah over and over again." There's a fair amount of "contrapuntal business" that happens throughout the work. I think the nuns in this YouTube video do a marvelous job of demonstrating that magnificent complexity. Enjoy.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NQdlBqQAQ1A

The Doghouse

2007-04-26T06:35:00.000-07:00

This weekend we will be watching not only Shelby (my in-laws' dog), but Piper (my parents' dog). With Addie in the mix as well, we will be livin' in the Doghouse.

Piper has never officially stayed here before, and she's still learning the ropes, as evidenced by an occurrence of about five minutes ago.

The dogs and I made our way to the side door, which is right in front of the stairs to the basement, so they could be put outside. Piper stood in a most unfortunate spot, because when I opened the door, it hit her and sent her catapulting down the stairs--facing up, paws splayed in a futile attempt to stop the momentum, which brought her clear to the bottom.

When she finally reached the basement (not without a turn and a tumble), she looked dazed for a moment, and then shook herself off. She miraculously survived, and has apparently made a full recovery; at this moment she is running outside chasing Addie.

Great Practical Joke

2007-04-25T09:04:00.000-07:00

My friend Patrick noticed, beginning several weeks ago, that whenever he walked into or out of a store with sensors, he was setting off the alarm. He had no idea why. He asked everybody. Could it be the titanium plate in his ankle? Could it be something in his clothes? It just kept happening.

Two days ago he found a little slip of metal in his wallet--the little things that you find in books at the bookstore--that someone had deposited there. He doesn't know who did it.

I think this practical joke is one of the cleverest I've heard of. Hysterical!

The Plant-Eating Dog

2007-04-25T08:30:00.000-07:00

Addie gave me a bit of a scare today. I put her outside to run around and play, and when she came to the door, she had dirt all over her nose, and my cyclamen plant, which I strategically placed beyond her wire fence in the driveway outside to await repotting, was gone.

When I looked closer, I concluded that she definitely could have stuck her little nose through the holes in the fence and reached the cyclamen. (I thought I had put it in a safety zone--oops!) I immediately googled "dogs eat cyclamen" and found a website that indicated that cyclamen is indeed considered a toxic plant.

So I called the vet, told them I had a plant-eating pooch, and they said to bring her right in. Without even brushing my hair, I threw on some clothes and Addie and I loaded up and took off. They took her back, put a pill in her eye to induce throwing up, and when the nurse came back out to give me a report, he said, "did you see her eat the plant?"

"No," I said, "but she had dirt all over her nose and my plant was gone."

"Well," he continued, "there's a big pile of kibble back there, but no plant. And if she ate her kibble before she ate the plant, then we definitely should have seen it. I don't think she ate any plant."

So we got sent home (not without paying for the pill, which came to $25--luckily they didn't charge me for the office visit). Addie is still nauseous, and she is resting on the floor.

The poor thing.

Okay! New post!

2007-04-23T06:51:00.000-07:00

I'm sure that everyone who reads my blog is a friend and knows my news (baby--coming in December--just in case someone else has found his or her way here). So far everything is great, and mercifully, I have not felt sick. I dealt with my share of puking and nausea several years ago. I have puked from the passenger's side of a car onto the street many times, twice while driving (a treat), on a bus into a bag with a hole in the bottom (a treat for everyone sitting behind us), and in several foreign cities. What's more, I dealt with nearly debilitating nausea for about two months straight after the bus incident. So, with a nausea-free pregnancy (at least so far), I feel the Universe apologizing to me now.

In other news, Addie is a humper. My friend and stepsister and I were treated to the vision of my 26 pound spaniel humping my stepsister's MASSIVE Great Pyrenees (male, by the way), who is literally three times her size. Hilarious, and almost unbelievable.

Performance Reviews

2007-04-12T13:28:00.000-07:00

Performance reviews are coming up for me at work. This marks time number one in my six years at St. Al's that my performance as a Music Director has been reviewed by the pastor. But...wait for it...since I technically supervise my accompanist, I will not only be receiving a performance review, but I will be giving one.

I'm a bit befuddled as to how such a thing will go--music in a church setting is a tricky field in which to rate the performance of people whom you oversee. My accompanist is paid a stipend, so she is technically an employee (hence she receives a review), but in all reality she is a glorified volunteer. She doesn't have any formal musical training. The things that she could improve upon to make things run more smoothly in the music department do not stem from a lack of dedication to her job, or insubordination, or any of the classic employee maleficence. Rather, they stem from her lack of training, which in a normal work setting would never come up in a performance review, because the lack of training itself would preclude her ability to get the job being reviewed. I can't exactly write the following on a report which I need to deliver to my pastor and the parish administrator: "Always on time, except in the case of quarter-note triplets, which she plays incorrectly as a quarter/dotted quarter/eighth pattern. Always willing to follow directions, except in cases when directions are given in a compound meter (6/8, 9/4, etc.)--said meters cause her to drag dreadfully behind the beat."

I will have to think about this one.

This all being said, my accompanist is a wonderful woman who is truly talented (despite certain inadequacies I might have mentioned above), and has been dedicated to the parish of St. Alphonsus for, literally, longer than I've been alive.

A Note About Chocolate Covered Altoids

2007-04-07T15:52:00.000-07:00

The new dark chocolate covered Altoids are good, but they really reach their potential when two are enjoyed, back to back. With Altoid number one, you get the chocolate, and you get the peppermint, but you don't get the combination. If you put a second one in your mouth immediately after, you can enjoy the peppermint aftertaste from Altoid number one with the fresh dark chocolate of Altoid number two.

I recommend them.

One Big Gripe

2007-04-06T15:09:00.000-07:00

First I would like to remark that wind is by far my least favorite element (weather, not Periodic Table). Especially cold wind. It irritates me more than snow, rain, cold, and excessive heat.

Next I would like to discuss age. I've thought often about the fact that most people find that they grow more confident and self-assured as they mature. I think about this fact and it intrigues me, only because my experience so far has been the opposite. At the age of (nearly) 28, I feel by far less talented, less smart, less attractive, less confident, and less self-assured than I felt in high school. I'm not fishing for compliments here; I just felt it was time I expressed this.

I especially notice it in these early days of looking for a new job. I seriously lack the confidence I had in high school, which enabled me to believe that I could get pretty much any job I wanted. Now, when I catch myself dreaming about leaving my current position, I remind myself that I would have to be chosen among a group of others if I were to get a different job, and my heart automatically sinks. I almost fear hoping for or counting on anything. (I can and do pump myself back up, but I never had to do it to such an extent in my slightly younger days).

Case in point--when Senior year of high school rolled around, I applied early decision to St. Olaf. Nowhere else. It never even occurred to me that I might not get in. I wasn't worried about it in the least. (Luckily it all worked out). Maybe that's a sinful sense of hubris I displayed. Nowadays, I don't feel like I can ever have too many options.

I often hear older people mention how they would like to be my age again. There are a few nice things about it, I'll admit--faster metabolism, no wrinkles, more energy. But I think I'll find that I grow more confident and secure again once I hit about my mid-40s, and that will be nice. I don't think I'll be sad when my "young person perks" are traded for the benefits of the older woman, such as security in my career, knowing that the most difficult challenge of my life (raising kids to adulthood) is behind me and not ahead of me, and living with furniture that I didn't have to assemble myself.

Additionally, I'd like to point out that this is the time in our lives when Dave and I will make the least amount of money while at the same time being in the most amount of debt we will likely ever be in.

Still...one day at a time. (And only 761 until I'm 30).

Very Classical

2007-04-05T06:54:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I went into the iTunes store in order to download an album of Grieg's Peer Gynt Suites. While perusing the album choices, a particular listener's review caught my eye. It read "good. Very clasical [sic], but good." While I greatly appreciate that a person obviously uneducated in music has downloaded Grieg and enjoyed it, I might suggest that said person not post a review that clearly brings to light how very little he or she knows.

In the first place, what does "very classical" mean? I don't believe there are degrees of classical-ness. How would one measure classical-ness? Number of woodwind solos? Dynamic range? So a work with four crescendos written into the score must be considered "more classical" than a work with two?

In the second place, unless you're talking about a specific style period, namely the period from about the mid-eighteenth century to the first part of the nineteenth century, hallmarked by Mozart and Haydn, "classical" is a somewhat loosey-goosey term when describing music. People use the term very broadly, and what does it mean? Is classical music instrumental music? In that case, "Marooned" from Pink Floyd's album The Division Bell must be considered classical. Is classical music old music? Someday AC/DC will be old too. And drinking songs and sea shanties have certainly existed throughout history.

My point is not only that morons should not venture decidedly unauthoritative opinions in a space reserved for at least somewhat more authoritative ones, but also that music is far more varied than the layman may think. By the way, in my four years at St. Olaf getting my Bachelor's, and three years at the U of MN getting my Master's, I never heard any of my music professors use "classical music" as a broad, all-inclusive term.

Keith Richards and his "joke"

2007-04-04T16:33:00.000-07:00

I hope everyone saw the article about Keith Richards, in which he admits to mixing his father's ashes with cocaine and snorting them. Now his publicist is saying that it was a joke. I think it is so funny when stars say these things, and then clearly their publicist is like "shit! How are we going to cover that?!" So then they say it is a joke. I never believe it. I just see in my mind the conversation that ensues between publicist and star whenever the star does or says something ridiculous. In the case of Keith Richards:

Publicist: What is this?! You told the press that you snorted your father?

Keith: Yeah. It's no big deal. Dad wouldn't care, and he went down smooth, just like I said in the interview.

Publicist: No no, we can't have the American public knowing that you snorted your father. I'll make a statement saying that it was all a joke. Can you go along with that?

Keith: If you say so. I have some blow over here...want some?

Same thing when Faith Hill lost to Carrie Underwood at the Country Music Awards or whatever, and threw a fit into the camera...the next day they said it was a joke. Do these people think we're that stupid? Apparently Hollywood is full of stars with really bad taste AND timing.

The Carsick Dog

2007-04-04T08:12:00.000-07:00

My sweet little Addie gets nauseous when I drive. I hesitate taking her anywhere, but yesterday I had to sit over at my parents' house to wait for the satellite guy to come. Of course their ETA was a four hour block of time, so I figured rather than leave Addie in her kennel for so long (because inevitably they would show up as the clock struck four), I would bring her along so she could play with Piper.

She did really well in the car, and she didn't throw up this time, but I feel like I need to put a sign in the back of my car that reads "Driving like a putz so my dog doesn't puke." I have to take every turn and every curve at sloth speed in order to keep Addie's breakfast inside her stomach, and often the person behind me switches lanes and charges ahead with an irritated sidelong glance at me. What gets me is that I'm usually the person in their position, behind some eighty year old woman whose eyeline is about an inch above the dashboard.