My daughter and I have been hard at work on our Christmas 2013 video, which I will hopefully be able to post on Monday. Meanwhile, here’s a recording we made about five years ago, when my girl was three or four. I’ve added some photos and video to our very rough-around-the-edges Garage Band recording. Towards the end we both start cracking up. She gets fed up with my giggling and starts hiccuping to boot. I remember thinking at the time that we would eventually tackle it again and do a better recording. We never got around to it. Now, when I listen to this, the imperfections are exactly what I like best about it. It’s a pretty good reflection of our life – kind of a mess, really, but full of love and laughter.
The theme of the weekend was: “Missed (But Not Really) Photo Opportunities…or: Clearly, I Need Professional Help”
Friday
I told my daughter she should dress up, because we would be heading straight to the boys’ recital and her dad’s concert right after school.
Seeing her stricken expression, I reconsidered my position, “Well, maybe you could change really quickly as soon as you get home from school.”
“Oh, good,” she said with palpable relief, “Because I’m pretty sure I’m going to be playing football today, and that can get really messy.”
My little football player:
The boys’ piano recital:
Colin’s concert:
Sadly, before I could get any photos of Colin, I had to bolt from the concert when I started feeling sick.
Saturday:
I felt much better after an early night and was able to help a little with “Ashton’s Birthday Wish.” This is a drive started by a remarkable boy, who decided that instead of having a birthday party, he would collect and distribute winter coats to people in need. His mom told me he was crushed that he couldn’t be there. He had just gotten out of a wheelchair after surgery, had overdone it, and was in terrible pain. This is when being crazy and always toting a big fat camera in my bulging purse pays off! I took a few pictures so she could share them with her son.
Later that day, a couple of my son’s friends came over for a sleepover. The idea of three thirteen year old boys in the house at once had been terrifying to me, but it was surprisingly sane. It almost killed me not to take photos, but I managed to restrain myself in order to preserve my good relations with my son. (OK, it’s possible that I may have surreptitiously taken a few).
Sunday:
Our new washer and dryer were delivered. My son and I nerded out, watching the first load go through its cycle:
We had a few quiet moments this afternoon…
And then we went to Lessons and Carols, my favorite service of the year. My daughter was singing in the choir for the first time. I tried to resist the urge to take photos, because church policy forbids it. I failed.
It doesn’t really count as a violation of the policy if you take blurry pictures with your phone, right? Still, I was punished anyway, when my daughter rolled her eyes at me when she saw me taking photos.
The candlelight service was beautiful. People all around me were breaking down in tears. I was undone by this verse from In the Bleak Midwinter, a hymn set to a poem by Christina Rossetti:
Angels and archangels may have gathered there.
Cherubim and seraphim thronged the air.
But his mother only in her maiden bliss,
Worshiped the beloved with a kiss.
We had some friends of ours over for a dinner party on Sunday evening and for a postprandial divertissement we decided to listen to some classical music, because we’re super-cultured that way.
We put on an obscure concerto written by the Austrian composer, organist and master of musical theory and counterpoint Johann Georg Albrechtsberger (1736-1809). Albrechtsberger was well-known in his own day and had a number of illustrious pupils, including Ludwig van Beethoven. He succeeded Mozart as Kapellmeister of St. Stephen’s Cathedral in Vienna.
OK, let’s get real: we had our friends over for takeout pizza. We did listen to classical music, and it had this effect…
What’s so funny? Listen to at least a little past the 1:00 minute mark:
Albrechtsberger was inspired to write his concerto, one of at least seven for the jew’s harp and strings, when Emperor Joseph II returned from his own coronation enthused by a performance he had heard in a monastery by a jew’s harp virtuoso. Albrechtsberger’s star has dimmed, but his concerto for jew’s harp and strings is still moving urbane sophisticates to tears to this day.
I’m a lousy traveler. Two Sundays ago, as I was about to head out the door to go to St. Louis for the conference I was attending, I collapsed in a pathetic heap on my foyer floor. “I don’t want to go,” I whimpered. As usual, I had made terrible packing decisions. Colin brought down a smaller bag for me, helped me repack my things more sensibly, and sent me on my way with a few reassuring words. Flying makes me nervous. I get lost all the time. Hotels give me the heebie jeebies. I’m always petrified that bedbugs are infesting my suitcase. I don’t like being away from my family for extended periods of time.
Once I was in St. Louis, everything was fine. I got to see a little bit of the city before the conference got under way. I heard inspiring plenary speeches by former Secretary General of the U.N. Kofi Annan and Dr. Alfredo Quinones-Hinojosa, or “Dr. Q,” a neurosurgeon at Johns Hopkins, who began his life in this country as an illegal immigrant tomato picker from Mexico. I attended sessions which gave me a renewed sense of purpose and mission. Most importantly, I rediscovered the heady, intoxicating, and hypnotic power of HGTV in my hotel room in the evenings. Although I’ve never tried it, I’m fairly certain that crack cocaine couldn’t possibly have anything on House Hunters International. I’m still having withdrawal symptoms.
On Friday as I headed back to the airport with my colleagues, the weather was looking ominous and I wasn’t at all confident that we were going to make it out of St. Louis. We managed to safely fly out before tornadoes shut down the airport. It was past midnight when I finally got home. What pure and unmitigated joy to peek into my children’s bedrooms and to see them fast asleep, and then to fall into my own bed for the first time in almost a week. For the first time in three weeks we’re all together, under one roof, and will be for another month and a half except for a few days here and there. Bliss.
I picked right up where I left off. It was a typical weekend. We went to the last soccer games of the season for the two youngest kids, a pool party, a graduation party, church…I did loads and loads of laundry. I nagged my kids to clean their rooms. I helped my daughter with her homework. But all of these ordinary events were burnished with a glow of comfort and familiarity. As I was driving back home from the airport late on Friday the song Home on the Range came into my head. This was one of four songs I would sing over and over to my oldest son on infinite loop back in the days when he was a sadistic baby who would torture his mother by refusing to ever sleep. It was a song I had grown tired of, having sung the same old tune night after night after night. This evening I sat on my deck and sang it again along with the sweet trill of the birds:
My daughter’s black eye (see yesterday’s post) gives her a smoky Joan Jett sort of look. Every time I look at her “I Love Rock ‘n’ Roll” goes through my head. I keep singing it to her and playing it for her in the hope that she’ll take the bait and start growling it out like the rock star that she is. It would be so awesome if I could even just get her to do the “OWWWW!” Although she steadfastly refuses to sing the song, she consented to do some Joan Jett poses for her crazy mama:
On Saturday we went to hear a Christmas concert performed by Zephyrus, Colin’s early music ensemble:
Pre-concert dinner at The Nook on the Downtown Mall
Still chipper
At Christ Episcopal
Slipping into food coma
Colin greets his biggest (&littlest) fans.
Another day, another church, another performance. This time it was for the boys’ piano recital:
Getting ready to perform at Olivet Presbyterian
“Whirling Leaves”
“Sonatina in G Major”
“Santa Claus is Coming to Town”
Still tired from the night before.
Mouthful of brownie?
Enough with the pictures!
It’s time to eat!
I messed around with my new Pono MT ukulele, strung with a low G. I’ve never played with a low G before, and at first I didn’t like the sound. I realized, though, that it works really well for darker songs like this one. (Click through twice to hear, this link will bring you to a second page & a second link to):
o wonderful, wonderful 