So. . .I figured that since I don't have enough time to do regular blogging, I'll just play a word association game with myself, staring with my newly-discovered favorite word.
firmament, jello, sky, stars, God, joy, lieder, piano, tenor man, Andrea Bocelli, "Who's coming?" - Christmas, baby, Kalyn, teeth, ice cream, Allen's Dairy Treats, crumbling ceiling tiles, marble, floor, smooth, wind, beach, the ocean on the beach at night, walking barefoot, spring grass, that first day of the year that feels warm in the midst of winter, March, birthday, orange, ribbon, gloves, humming, collie dog, North, Santa Claus, Beethoven's 12th and 13th Sonatas, sheet music flowers, don't cut up the Beethoven, "No, Hopey, that's not Beethoven - that's another pianist guy, Glenn Gould," Murray Perahia the pianist, Murray Perahia the elephant, Leonard Bernstein the tiger, Leonard Bernstein the conductor, Karajan lion/conductor, Symphony 6 conducted by the Berlin Philharmonic, Lancy, baby, trumpet, brassy, jazz, Shostakovitch, Mr. James, Gustav Holst, gun, cannon, Tchaikovsky, gorgeousness, a hand counting from five down to our entrace at the finale, Liszt transcription, ornaments, mordents, Baroque squigglies, baroque-and-roll, Don McLean's "American Pie," being a little kid, Bob Dylan, wizard, unassuming genius.
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Monday, January 10, 2011
Wintry Mix and Musings of Polarized Emotion Centered Around My Church Recital
So, this is my first post of the new year! I was quite shocked to log on and discover that I have not posted anything between then and now, but I suppose that just shows the fact that most of my classes last year were considered "romper-room" classes by my father, and therefore I had more time to come on and blog about six or seven times a month.
Some words about the New Year: I went over to Shannon's house to celebrate it; it had been several months since we had last hung out (that last time, she, Aaron, Rhaynely, and Chloe accompanied me to the $2 theater, where we watched "Inception"). It was also her cousin Linda's birthday party, and several people slept over. I was on the phone with my mother in the basement stairwell as the ball dropped (which we did not see due to Shannon's current lack of cable - which wasn't a bummer, since that whole tradition has started to lose its glitz), and the people gathered in the general basement area blew on their noise-makers and yelled to cheerfully announce its arrival. That night, we watched "Idiocracy," which is a pretty amusing film, and I quickly fell asleep afterwards.
Since then, not too much has happened. I've driven around in my mom's car and in Heather's car. I've played the piano and the trumpet, and I've eagerly looked forward to the recongregation of the choir, which is supposed to happen in two days. I miss singing with everyone there - in spite of the fact that I do not remember all of their names, I feel a sense of brethrenly belonging when I am with them. When I am with the Sanctuary choir, I am amid my brethren.
Also, the season of midterms (and in the case of block classes like chemistry and Health, final exams) has begun, and has been rudely interrupted by a wintry mix which dropped a lot of snow on the Triad in the mid-afternoon. School was cancelled last night as a precaution, due to the fact that most weather channels predicted that the snow would end up icing up the roads pretty severely. In effect, the snow from today has begun the icing process, and school tomorrow has already been cancelled. The downfall of this is that we missed the review day that we were supposed to have for our math quarter test, and if I want any help from Mrs. Freitag before we take the test, it looks like I'll have to arrive quite early in the morning, as demand for her tutoring will be high.
Now, I believe that I've had dreams between now and then, but the only one that I can really remember involved my mom, Jeff, and I. We were going to go water-skiing or something like that, and so we had to descend into this cramped, moldy shed in order to dig out the necessary equipment. It was a beautiful summery day outside, but as we approached this rickety old shed, I began to have feelings of dread. I knew that I would be ridiculed or reproached if I did not go in to help them dig out the equipment for skiing, but I knew that the shed would be pregnant with colonies of spiders and those nasty jumping crickets that look like spiders. So, Jeff had to wedge open the door with force, and that barely allowed room for us to squeeze inside, where shafts of light fell on the dirt from holes in the rafters. We walked down some creaky wooden stairs which felt as though they might give beneath us. I held my arms protectively across my chest and walked quickly away from the stairs because I had seen a lot of webs in the general area. As I stumbled away I saw that the shed opened onto a marble-tiled, open expanse of floor with a man-made river running through the center. There were stores along the walls and an upper floor with more stores, like at the mall. And the floor was so shiny! and nice! I called out to my mom and Jeff, and they followed me into the open expanse of the mall-area. It was not very crowded; there were some people who sat with their feet dangling into the walled river. I pulled a bag of cinnamon toast crunch from my pocket and began to eat it dry as we walked and looked about in wonder. Suddenly, my mom pointed out a woman with reddish hair who was sitting along the side of the river with a laptop and said, "She's one of my customers; let's go say hi." I lagged along behind, hurriedly trying to put away my cinammon toast crunch. I did not have time to clean off my fingers, however, before the dreaded moment when my mom said, "So-and-so, this is my daughter, Robyn; Robyn, this is So-and-so," and the woman reached out her hand. Because my left hand was occupied with putting away the bag of cinnamon toast crunch, I was forced to shake this woman's hand with my sticky, cinammon-sprinkled right hand. It was easy to observe her disgust. I then woke up.
So, in other news, a couple of nights ago, Stormy and I finally had a Gary Oldman marathon at my house, in which we watched "Bram Stoker's 'Dracula,'" "Immortal Beloved," and part of a movie called "True Romance." We plan to continue it some night so that we can finish the third movie and progress to the Harry Potter and Batman movies. She left at about 12:30 that night, and I quickly went to bed, super-nervous about the following morning, January 9th, when I would be playing the piano for two church services. This oppurtunity was arranged a couple of months ago during the choir season; I happened to be early to a rehearsal, and so I played on the piano for a couple of minutes. When Ms. Moyer arrived, she extended the invitation to do the prelude and offertory sometime in January, and I quickly accepted the invitation. Over the course of December, I narrowed down my choice of what I was going to play to the "Adagio" from Beethoven's "Tempest" Sonata, the "Adagio Cantabile" from his "Pathetique" Sonata, and the 14th Invention of Bach (with her assistance, because I am very self-conscious about my Bach interpretation). So, this past Wednesday, we met at the church after school to work out the problems that I had with the Bach piece; then we progressed to my insecurity with the long series of runs in the "Tempest;" and then we finally decided on upping the tempo a little bit in the "Pathetique" to keep it lively. And then I practiced like mad until Sunday morning, when, after a night of frenzied tossing-and-turning and nightmares of failing epicly, I ate a banana and seven grapes and arrived at the churh at 8:00 to practice. I had bedecked myself in my casual black cotton dress, some leggings, and my gloves (because it was cold outside and I didn't want my hands to be all stiff) and I had brought my book of piano literature in case our organist wanted to go over some spots last-minute. As it turned out, I just spent the next half hour rehearsing on the nice Baldwin piano in the Sanctuary. At about 8:35, Ms. Moyer came in and told me where I could find some water; she also told me that it would be best to start around 8:50. When I came back, I noticed that some people had started to file in, and I continued to practice trouble spots, though I applied the soft pedal so as not to confuse the people into thinking that the prelude had started. At around 8:40, I ran the part of the "Pathetique" that was thick with ornamentation and had it approved by Ms. Moyer. She then warned me that people would probably talk during the prelude and I told her that I was used to playing under such conditions and would be grateful for it in case it covered my mistakes. I watched the red digital clock which was on the wall over the congregation. I breathed deeply. I ran the middle part of the Invention very slowly. There weren't very many people in the congregation and they were sparsely seated. It was 8:48. I perspired, and prayed quickly. I felt a hand on my shoulder and Ms. Moyer told me that I would do fine. Then it was 8:50, and I bobbed for a moment, feeling out a steady, sort of slow tempo. And then I played straight through the Bach, with my biggest error being some inconsistency in the time (speeding a little bit, and then slowing down too much to compensate). Overall, it did not go as horribly as I thought it might. Then, I did the "Tempest," on which I did fine until the long run, which I bungled up in the very middle, though I was quick to go past the error and continue through the run. So, maybe, people didn't notice it too much. I sustained the last B flat for a while, and then I got up and pranced over to sit in a chair behind the organ. I was introduced as a member of the youth and the Sanctuary choir shortly afterward, and my services were not called upon again until the offertory. In between, Mr. Moyer led the singing with his gorgeous tenor voice. There is nothing like a rich tenor voice, in my opinion. Then I did the "Pathetique," and I compensated for any bunglings that might have occured in the "Tempest." This first performance of the "Pathetique" was the best of any of the songs in either service, I think. At the end, I got up and skipped back to my place near the organ. That day, Mike Horne was doing the sermon on the parable of the Prodigal Son, which is always one of my favorite sermons each year, because it so deftly summarizes everything that I believe (or most of it, anyway). We also sang a couple of my favorite hymns. In any case, it was a good service, and a couple of people, including Dr. Daniel and some fellow choir members, came up to me afterward and thanked me for playing, and I awkwardly thanked them for thanking me - and for allowing me to exalt God and my soul and such. After the 9:00 service, they had the incoming deacons and elders give their testimonies, and so I went to the choir room upstairs to practice on the piano that has the blinking light. It has a really light and easy touch but very alien-sounding keys. I did that for about half an hour, went to the bathroom, refilled my cup of water, and returned downstairs, where there were mobs of people all over the Sanctuary, socializing loudly. I supposed that all of the deacons and elders were being congratulated at that point. Just as I mounted the stage, I saw my dad, Heather, and Hope walk in and I waved goofily at them. I was slightly cocky at that point due to the fact that the noise was so loud that no one would probably notice any of my mistakes; and so, when the time came at 10:50 to start the prelude, I did the inverse of the previous service. I bludgeoned the Bach and surprised myself with the lack of failure at the "Tempest" sonata (afterwards, my dad told me that, while I messed up the Bach, I did not stop or make it obvious that I messed up, which is a good thing). After the prelude, Dr. White asked the congregation to applaud, and it was awkward. And then, the "Pathetique" during that service also went well, though I got overexcited at the climax of the piece and pounded on the keys a bit too hard. Shortly before the offertory, my mom, Wesley, and Kalyn entered, sitting in the seats to my far left. According to my mom, I tilted my head in a very goofy manner to wave at her through the opening in the propped-open piano. In any case, at the end of the service, I thanked everyone and found my way through the mob of people to where Heather, my dad, and Hope were standing, and eventually my mom, Wesley, and Kalyn walked over, too. Ms. Moyer played this killer postlude on the organ - I think it was "Little" Fugue in G minor or something like that by the bomb.com that is Johann Sebastien Bach. So, we went to sushi afterwards, and it was all hip-hip-hooray! and what-not.
So I went to youth group that night; and while I was there, I finally came to understand something that had been affecting me during many of the church services, including the one earlier that morning. Sitting with a group of girls around the table that night, not really thinking of much to say as usual, I felt this sort of aching loneliness (not the best way to describe it, but it was a sort of agitation). And it came to me that this loneliness was the result of a transitory but extreme warmth that I felt in my soul when I was around these people. This transitory warmth, I think, was indicative of a profound love for my brethren - it seems that when I am in church, I am reminded that all people are my brothers and sisters, and it is a very humbling experience, I tell you. So, in any case, I am like the Reverend Jim Casy in that I "love people so much I'm fit to bust sometimes," and hence the aching feeling. Because there is no "proper" way to express a love that is extreme enough to eclipse all of humanity during its strongest moments. So it is restrained, like Freud's libido, and it just doesn't seem natural. It irks me that, in general, I don't have "a way with" people; I think that I often come off to be very cold, when I would gladly run around embracing people if that were considered socially decent.
The last thing that should be taken into account is a tragedy that came to my attention yesterday. There was a boy from Reagan by the name of Nick Doub who suffered severe brain damage from a car accident and who passed away today. I cannot bear to think that this boy was a senior, about to go off to college and find a job and continue the family. I cannot bear to think that his parents taught him to read, and labored to teach him to write, and answered his questions about the grass and the moon and God. It is sad to think that what was once a bedroom will now be a memorial shrine. It is sad that such potential could be so quickly wiped from the earth. I hope that his parents will have the touch of divine resilience to move them onward and not try to understand this tragedy (because what can be gained from trying to understand it?), and I hope that we will all keep him in our hearts. I know it must happen often, but it is such an awful thing nonetheless. Well, I shall retire now with my mother and baby sister. It seems that school is again cancelled tomorrow.
Some words about the New Year: I went over to Shannon's house to celebrate it; it had been several months since we had last hung out (that last time, she, Aaron, Rhaynely, and Chloe accompanied me to the $2 theater, where we watched "Inception"). It was also her cousin Linda's birthday party, and several people slept over. I was on the phone with my mother in the basement stairwell as the ball dropped (which we did not see due to Shannon's current lack of cable - which wasn't a bummer, since that whole tradition has started to lose its glitz), and the people gathered in the general basement area blew on their noise-makers and yelled to cheerfully announce its arrival. That night, we watched "Idiocracy," which is a pretty amusing film, and I quickly fell asleep afterwards.
Since then, not too much has happened. I've driven around in my mom's car and in Heather's car. I've played the piano and the trumpet, and I've eagerly looked forward to the recongregation of the choir, which is supposed to happen in two days. I miss singing with everyone there - in spite of the fact that I do not remember all of their names, I feel a sense of brethrenly belonging when I am with them. When I am with the Sanctuary choir, I am amid my brethren.
Also, the season of midterms (and in the case of block classes like chemistry and Health, final exams) has begun, and has been rudely interrupted by a wintry mix which dropped a lot of snow on the Triad in the mid-afternoon. School was cancelled last night as a precaution, due to the fact that most weather channels predicted that the snow would end up icing up the roads pretty severely. In effect, the snow from today has begun the icing process, and school tomorrow has already been cancelled. The downfall of this is that we missed the review day that we were supposed to have for our math quarter test, and if I want any help from Mrs. Freitag before we take the test, it looks like I'll have to arrive quite early in the morning, as demand for her tutoring will be high.
Now, I believe that I've had dreams between now and then, but the only one that I can really remember involved my mom, Jeff, and I. We were going to go water-skiing or something like that, and so we had to descend into this cramped, moldy shed in order to dig out the necessary equipment. It was a beautiful summery day outside, but as we approached this rickety old shed, I began to have feelings of dread. I knew that I would be ridiculed or reproached if I did not go in to help them dig out the equipment for skiing, but I knew that the shed would be pregnant with colonies of spiders and those nasty jumping crickets that look like spiders. So, Jeff had to wedge open the door with force, and that barely allowed room for us to squeeze inside, where shafts of light fell on the dirt from holes in the rafters. We walked down some creaky wooden stairs which felt as though they might give beneath us. I held my arms protectively across my chest and walked quickly away from the stairs because I had seen a lot of webs in the general area. As I stumbled away I saw that the shed opened onto a marble-tiled, open expanse of floor with a man-made river running through the center. There were stores along the walls and an upper floor with more stores, like at the mall. And the floor was so shiny! and nice! I called out to my mom and Jeff, and they followed me into the open expanse of the mall-area. It was not very crowded; there were some people who sat with their feet dangling into the walled river. I pulled a bag of cinnamon toast crunch from my pocket and began to eat it dry as we walked and looked about in wonder. Suddenly, my mom pointed out a woman with reddish hair who was sitting along the side of the river with a laptop and said, "She's one of my customers; let's go say hi." I lagged along behind, hurriedly trying to put away my cinammon toast crunch. I did not have time to clean off my fingers, however, before the dreaded moment when my mom said, "So-and-so, this is my daughter, Robyn; Robyn, this is So-and-so," and the woman reached out her hand. Because my left hand was occupied with putting away the bag of cinnamon toast crunch, I was forced to shake this woman's hand with my sticky, cinammon-sprinkled right hand. It was easy to observe her disgust. I then woke up.
So, in other news, a couple of nights ago, Stormy and I finally had a Gary Oldman marathon at my house, in which we watched "Bram Stoker's 'Dracula,'" "Immortal Beloved," and part of a movie called "True Romance." We plan to continue it some night so that we can finish the third movie and progress to the Harry Potter and Batman movies. She left at about 12:30 that night, and I quickly went to bed, super-nervous about the following morning, January 9th, when I would be playing the piano for two church services. This oppurtunity was arranged a couple of months ago during the choir season; I happened to be early to a rehearsal, and so I played on the piano for a couple of minutes. When Ms. Moyer arrived, she extended the invitation to do the prelude and offertory sometime in January, and I quickly accepted the invitation. Over the course of December, I narrowed down my choice of what I was going to play to the "Adagio" from Beethoven's "Tempest" Sonata, the "Adagio Cantabile" from his "Pathetique" Sonata, and the 14th Invention of Bach (with her assistance, because I am very self-conscious about my Bach interpretation). So, this past Wednesday, we met at the church after school to work out the problems that I had with the Bach piece; then we progressed to my insecurity with the long series of runs in the "Tempest;" and then we finally decided on upping the tempo a little bit in the "Pathetique" to keep it lively. And then I practiced like mad until Sunday morning, when, after a night of frenzied tossing-and-turning and nightmares of failing epicly, I ate a banana and seven grapes and arrived at the churh at 8:00 to practice. I had bedecked myself in my casual black cotton dress, some leggings, and my gloves (because it was cold outside and I didn't want my hands to be all stiff) and I had brought my book of piano literature in case our organist wanted to go over some spots last-minute. As it turned out, I just spent the next half hour rehearsing on the nice Baldwin piano in the Sanctuary. At about 8:35, Ms. Moyer came in and told me where I could find some water; she also told me that it would be best to start around 8:50. When I came back, I noticed that some people had started to file in, and I continued to practice trouble spots, though I applied the soft pedal so as not to confuse the people into thinking that the prelude had started. At around 8:40, I ran the part of the "Pathetique" that was thick with ornamentation and had it approved by Ms. Moyer. She then warned me that people would probably talk during the prelude and I told her that I was used to playing under such conditions and would be grateful for it in case it covered my mistakes. I watched the red digital clock which was on the wall over the congregation. I breathed deeply. I ran the middle part of the Invention very slowly. There weren't very many people in the congregation and they were sparsely seated. It was 8:48. I perspired, and prayed quickly. I felt a hand on my shoulder and Ms. Moyer told me that I would do fine. Then it was 8:50, and I bobbed for a moment, feeling out a steady, sort of slow tempo. And then I played straight through the Bach, with my biggest error being some inconsistency in the time (speeding a little bit, and then slowing down too much to compensate). Overall, it did not go as horribly as I thought it might. Then, I did the "Tempest," on which I did fine until the long run, which I bungled up in the very middle, though I was quick to go past the error and continue through the run. So, maybe, people didn't notice it too much. I sustained the last B flat for a while, and then I got up and pranced over to sit in a chair behind the organ. I was introduced as a member of the youth and the Sanctuary choir shortly afterward, and my services were not called upon again until the offertory. In between, Mr. Moyer led the singing with his gorgeous tenor voice. There is nothing like a rich tenor voice, in my opinion. Then I did the "Pathetique," and I compensated for any bunglings that might have occured in the "Tempest." This first performance of the "Pathetique" was the best of any of the songs in either service, I think. At the end, I got up and skipped back to my place near the organ. That day, Mike Horne was doing the sermon on the parable of the Prodigal Son, which is always one of my favorite sermons each year, because it so deftly summarizes everything that I believe (or most of it, anyway). We also sang a couple of my favorite hymns. In any case, it was a good service, and a couple of people, including Dr. Daniel and some fellow choir members, came up to me afterward and thanked me for playing, and I awkwardly thanked them for thanking me - and for allowing me to exalt God and my soul and such. After the 9:00 service, they had the incoming deacons and elders give their testimonies, and so I went to the choir room upstairs to practice on the piano that has the blinking light. It has a really light and easy touch but very alien-sounding keys. I did that for about half an hour, went to the bathroom, refilled my cup of water, and returned downstairs, where there were mobs of people all over the Sanctuary, socializing loudly. I supposed that all of the deacons and elders were being congratulated at that point. Just as I mounted the stage, I saw my dad, Heather, and Hope walk in and I waved goofily at them. I was slightly cocky at that point due to the fact that the noise was so loud that no one would probably notice any of my mistakes; and so, when the time came at 10:50 to start the prelude, I did the inverse of the previous service. I bludgeoned the Bach and surprised myself with the lack of failure at the "Tempest" sonata (afterwards, my dad told me that, while I messed up the Bach, I did not stop or make it obvious that I messed up, which is a good thing). After the prelude, Dr. White asked the congregation to applaud, and it was awkward. And then, the "Pathetique" during that service also went well, though I got overexcited at the climax of the piece and pounded on the keys a bit too hard. Shortly before the offertory, my mom, Wesley, and Kalyn entered, sitting in the seats to my far left. According to my mom, I tilted my head in a very goofy manner to wave at her through the opening in the propped-open piano. In any case, at the end of the service, I thanked everyone and found my way through the mob of people to where Heather, my dad, and Hope were standing, and eventually my mom, Wesley, and Kalyn walked over, too. Ms. Moyer played this killer postlude on the organ - I think it was "Little" Fugue in G minor or something like that by the bomb.com that is Johann Sebastien Bach. So, we went to sushi afterwards, and it was all hip-hip-hooray! and what-not.
So I went to youth group that night; and while I was there, I finally came to understand something that had been affecting me during many of the church services, including the one earlier that morning. Sitting with a group of girls around the table that night, not really thinking of much to say as usual, I felt this sort of aching loneliness (not the best way to describe it, but it was a sort of agitation). And it came to me that this loneliness was the result of a transitory but extreme warmth that I felt in my soul when I was around these people. This transitory warmth, I think, was indicative of a profound love for my brethren - it seems that when I am in church, I am reminded that all people are my brothers and sisters, and it is a very humbling experience, I tell you. So, in any case, I am like the Reverend Jim Casy in that I "love people so much I'm fit to bust sometimes," and hence the aching feeling. Because there is no "proper" way to express a love that is extreme enough to eclipse all of humanity during its strongest moments. So it is restrained, like Freud's libido, and it just doesn't seem natural. It irks me that, in general, I don't have "a way with" people; I think that I often come off to be very cold, when I would gladly run around embracing people if that were considered socially decent.
The last thing that should be taken into account is a tragedy that came to my attention yesterday. There was a boy from Reagan by the name of Nick Doub who suffered severe brain damage from a car accident and who passed away today. I cannot bear to think that this boy was a senior, about to go off to college and find a job and continue the family. I cannot bear to think that his parents taught him to read, and labored to teach him to write, and answered his questions about the grass and the moon and God. It is sad to think that what was once a bedroom will now be a memorial shrine. It is sad that such potential could be so quickly wiped from the earth. I hope that his parents will have the touch of divine resilience to move them onward and not try to understand this tragedy (because what can be gained from trying to understand it?), and I hope that we will all keep him in our hearts. I know it must happen often, but it is such an awful thing nonetheless. Well, I shall retire now with my mother and baby sister. It seems that school is again cancelled tomorrow.
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