I talk a little more in this one. Weber’s Concertino is a major staple of the clarinet repertoire. When it’s done right, it’s so much fun to listen to/watch. Even practicing this is a lot of fun. It’ll be nice when this piece sounds better.
Kay Ryan’s imagery has always made me think. I’ve enjoyed her poetry, and she knows how to describe the human experience. And then her poems become a part of the human experience. She’s definitely made my life more robust.
I just finished a book of poems by Joy Harjo, called An American Sunrise. She adds commentary to her poem “Story Wheel”: “Until the passage of the Indian Religious Freedom Act of 1978, . . . to write or create as a Native person was essentially illegal.”
Sometimes I work on passages of various clarinet pieces.
I’m thinking of starting a video series that includes my playing clarinet and talking about poems. This is the pilot, haha. Unfocused, yes. But two things I love.
I logged into this blog in the last week and found out I had written posts 82 days in a row before completely falling off the face of the earth. Not too shabby. A lot has happened since the last post.
In August we took a whirlwind trip to St. George to attend the last Utah Symphony Concert in which my brother-in-law would be performing for a while. He’s been a substitute percussionist for them for years now, but he went to the University of Michigan this fall to pursue super-advanced degrees in music things.
In August we also took a quick trip to Park City to explore and celebrate my husband’s birthday. It was also nice to let our daughter swim in the hotel pool as much as she wanted.
We spent the month of July building bookshelves, another birthday present for Reilly. It’s nice to have a place to put a lot of our books.
The beginning of school happened for Reilly and Z in the middle of August. Z brought home a cold at the end of August, and we all felt so crappy that Z and I got covid tests. Z never got her results back, but I tested negative. Being sick is so scary in these weird times.
Speaking of, a friend of my brother passed away from covid this week. Truly horrible.
More horribleness: In the last month a church leader gave a speech to some university faculty about taking up muskets against the evils of homosexuality. All of my LGBTQ+ friends were gutted, once again, by the hate the church spews. I don’t know how much longer I can try to reconcile this religion and their dangerous rhetoric with my staying in the church.
Last week I saw Hilary Hahn twice. The first time she performed at a nature center, just before a group of musicians from underserved communities. It was cool seeing her in a really intimate setting by the river with fewer than 100 people. She performed solo Bach. The second time was on a date with my husband at the Noorda Center for the Performing Arts at Utah Valley University. That night she performed the Brahms Violin Concerto. Every note was glorious. It was great seeing her play live again, with the last time being November 2012.
Oh, I cooked pork chops tonight. Started them on the stove in a cast iron pan, then threw them into the oven. They were amazing. But whenever I do a fluky awesome job cooking, I always wonder if it’ll be just as good the next time. I suppose that’s the fun of it.
Autumn has made its presence known. The morning chill, the leaves turning in the mountains. Autumn’s nice, but winter: can stay the hell away.
I may write more later on these individual subjects later. I might not.
Last night we finished my birthday cake. I got it on May 22 and it only took just less than 2 months for us to eat all of it.
It was an ice cream cake. And kept really well in the freezer this whole time. It tasted good up through last night.
It was a quarter sheet, meant to serve about 24. Even after having a party then giving some away, we still had a lot of cake. We worked through it slowly, a little bit at a time.
It’s now all gone, and I’m a little bit sad about it.
Last night before the movie I was introducing my brother to some friends. Sisters, actually.
They were chatting with him when I asked, can you tell we’re related?
And one of the sisters chuckled, “Yes, and you even sound alike!”
Such a phenomenon.
If you listen to Reilly and his siblings talk, you’ll notice the same thing.
I can think of other families where this happens.
It’s fun.
I’m glad we look different enough to not be confused with each other in other ways.
We like being our own person, too.
This evening I went outside to take a picture of our apple tree, which currently has 77 billion little apples on it, and just before took the photo, a friend texted me, saying that the National Spelling Bee was on.
YES.
I did take a picture, then I ran inside and talked into my remote control to turn the tv to the spelling bee. The first result was on ESPN3, a Zoom type situation with 16 boxes with a different kid in each of them. I couldn’t tell if they were watching the bee or this was an earlier stage of the bee or whatever. I finally asked my friend which channel it was on, and she said ESPN2.
When I got to that channel, they had declared a winner, but I got to see the confetti explosion and the immediate post-bee interview.
It was amazing. The young lady was incredible. Made history. From the five minutes I saw her it was easy to see how cool she was. A bright personality. I’ll have to catch a rebroadcast of the bee soon.
I’m glad they had it, even if it was six weeks later than usual. And that they were safe during the event. And it was good they didn’t have it last year.
What a fun night.
You hate a story about a corporate coverup. And you hate it the entire time because you get to know the humans who suffered, and you don’t know if they’ll be around to see justice served. You don’t know how people running these corporations are ok with concealing evidence and deceiving employees and the public about how dangerous working conditions were.
Many, many women suffered.
But they persevered. And they were loved and had tireless lawyers who did not stop until justice prevailed. Until regulations changed.
Their families and friends supported them. Loved them. Spoke fondly of them. And wistfully.
Heartbreaking.
And then other corporations can’t learn from the past and try the same shit.
Infuriating.
You hate it.
(But you love it because the story is so important, and its effects extend to our day. And your heart opens to the families of these sufferers.)
I guess there’s a Netflix movie about it. The review this photo came from said the movie could have been better.
TV: Mad Men Season 6; Superstore Season 6
Music: Birds of Chicago
Books: Radium Girls
Podcasts: Cold, Season 2
Clarinet: About an hour of practice that included reed adjusting.
Exercise: Digging around and chopping at some stumps in the yard with an axe for about 30 minutes
I wonder if I can keep this up. I mean, I even squeezed in a nap.
There’s so much to watch. And listen to. And read. I need to find a way to get to it all. Let me try to break this down.
| Sun | Mon | Tues | Wed | Thurs | Fri | Sat | |
| Books | 1 hour | 1 hour | 1 hour | 1 hour | 1 hour | 1 hour | 1 hour |
| Music | 1 hour | 2 hours | 1 hour | 2 hours | 1 hour | 2 hours | 1 hour |
| TV/Mov | 1 hour | 2 hours | 2 hours | 2 hours | 2 hours | 2 hours | 2 hours |
| Podc | 1 hour | 1 hour | 1 hour | ||||
| Exer | 30 min | 30 min | 30 min | 30 min | 30 min |
There are definitely more hours in the day than I have scheduled here, but these are minimum amounts.
Today my brother told me about how he was on a walk earlier today and got stopped by some missionaries. He told them he grew up Mormon, so he knows their angle.
They asked why he stopped going to church.
They asked him if he still believes in God.
Those are not topics he’s going to talk to just anybody about.
Those are topics even I can barely broach with him.
I mean, people exercise their faith/philosophies very differently. And it sounded like those missionaries were trying pretty hard to get my brother to open up. And it would be one thing if he actually wanted to talk, but it sounded like one those situations that, no matter their efforts, because he didn’t want to talk, they weren’t getting further in that conversation. You know?
Today I only rinsed some of the conditioner from my hair during my shower. And now? My hair feels so silky! I just worry it’ll look and feel greasy tomorrow.
A few weeks ago I got my pixie cut cleaned up at a chain salon. As the stylist snipped, hair rained on the black cape. Not just my dark-brown-almost-black hair, but a bunch of grey, too. The question is: Do I call those lighter hairs grey (definitely with an E) or silver? I mean, I’ve dyed my hair silver in the past, and it has looked rad. And I’ve definitely earned mine, so.
I’ve started a nightly face cleansing routine. Pores and wrinkles and age spots in my face; the slightest crèping in my neck and décolletage. In my 20s and through my 30s I didn’t really wash my face at night. I guess I let the oils in my skin do all the work, and only occasionally my skin would break out and I’d call it yet another puberty. But now, it seems my skin is actually starting to dry out. If I can’t control my silvering hair, then I should be able to regularly clean my face, right? Besides, after washing and moisturizing, I like how soft my face feels.
So, there’s that.
A Little Thinking 