What a Wonderful World

I have been thinking about this Louis Armstrong song for quite a while--as in every year that goes by when I don't get around to sending a Christmas letter yet again. I can hear his voice as I sing along, "I see friends shaking hands sayin' 'How do you do?' They're really saying 'I love you.' ... and I think to myself, what a wonderful world."

I am terrible about keeping in touch with some of my favorite people. I wish I could see each one of my family and friends face-to-face and say "How do you do?" I hope they would be able to see that what I'm really saying is "I love you ."

I feel so grateful to have become acquainted with so many wonderful people. Each of you has blessed my life and made me feel that this truly is a wonderful world.

Photo Challenge #9 - Music

It's hard to believe that "Music" is the subject that brought my photo challenge to a halt. I think it's because I feel guilty for not putting my heart into my music lately. I have only been doing routine singing. My fingers feel neglected and are aching for a fun workout on the piano. And I haven't touched our sweet woodsy-smelling guitar in almost two months.

Photo Challenge #3 - Black & White

I have happily been spending time with these blacks and whites.

For Brett, From Home (3/1/12)

We booked the cabin. And it is pet-friendly. You'll get to see Copper (and the rest of us) in just about two weeks!

I'm getting a little anxious. I haven't seen the wrens in the garage since the day they got stuck in the house. I hope they didn't get spooked.

I had some jobs around the house and didn't want to get sucked in to the TV, so I turned on NPR using the BlueRay player. I always forget about turning it on. I listened to a couple of Fresh Air programs while I did the dishes and mopped the kitchen floor. It was perfect. (Bonus: Listening to NPR always makes me feel smarter!--Except for CarTalk. That just makes me laugh and laugh.)

I am playing the piano for someone on Sunday, and it is a pretty tough piece of music. I started practicing it today, and I practiced hard. The side tip of my right pinky has key-burn. (I just coined that phrase.) I had been thinking about picking up the guitar again, but now I feel too injured. Wah.

You may not be here, but I got a certain satisfaction using one of your boots to squash a huge spider tonight.

Book - "The Children of Willesden Lane"

A new friend at church handed me a book ("The Children of Willesden Lane", by Monda Golabek and Lee Cohen) and said, "I think you'll enjoy reading this."

I thought it was so nice that she had thought of me. We sing in choir together and she knows that I play the piano. I was impressed to see that 14 names had been signed on the inside cover, people my friend had shared her book with.

Still, I wasn't convinced. I hadn't been in a reading "mood" (I go in phases.). I was also a little overwhelmed by the cover and the title, "The Children of Willesden Lane" with the subtitle "Beyond the Kindertransport: A Memoir of Music, Love, and Survival." That is quite a mouthful, including one word I wasn't sure how to pronounce ("Willesden") and one I had never heard of ("Kindertransport"). It looked and sounded like it would be intense and a little depressing. Because I am such a slow reader, I tend to get a little lazy. I have a hard time starting books that may take me a while (and a lot of thinking) to get through.

I finally felt the pressure of needing to buckle down and read the book so I could return it to my friend. What a pleasant surprise to discover that it wasn't a "tough read"--I was quickly hooked. It is the story of Jewish young woman in Austria who is practicing to become a great pianist like her mother. She has to give up her music for a while when she escapes to England before World War II on the Kindertransport. She finds her way back to the piano as soon as she can.

What made it even more fun was to see the comments and underlined passages of previous readers. I never mark in my books, but I loved the insights and this connection with other readers. Most pages were not this heavily marked, but this is an example from two pages towards the end of the book.

I enjoyed the book so much I wrote a thank you note to my friend. Here is what it said:

Thanks so much for sharing this book with me. I started it hesitantly, not knowing what to expect, but it quickly won me over. I wish I had a CD to go along with the book so I could feel the music along with the characters. I did get on the computer and looked up some of the songs. I rarely listen to classical music, but was reminded of how beautiful and powerful it can be. Yesterday I played through Chopin's Prelude in E min. (p. 9), and today I think I need to pull out Debussy's Clair de Lune (pp. 20, 87) again. I didn't have the drive to practice for three hours each day (!!), but I am so grateful to be able to play. Thanks again for sharing this story with me and reminding me to be grateful for all that I have (and to sit down and do some real practicing and playing!)

Before I returned the book to my friend, I had to pass it on to Anne, another reader and music-lover. She also loved it and said she would enjoy reading it again.

Since this book was such a pleasant surprise, I decided to check my stack of "To Be Read" books. I pulled out a book that has been on the shelf for a few years. Anne had loaned it to be to read and return so long ago that she hardly recognized the book when I finally did return it (oops).

Anne's book was called, "The Road From Home: A True Story of Courage, Survival and Hope." It is the story of a young Armenian girl who flees her homeland during World War I. It tells of the Armenia genocide, an event I was unfamiliar with (How sad is my lack of knowledge as it pertains to history!). Can you see why I might have hesitated to start this book?

Again, I was so glad that I read this book. Because it was written from the voice of a young girl and was targeted for young audiences, it was perfect for me. I have a hard time remembering history. Stories like these two help me put myself in that time and place for an extended time (slow reader, remember?) and make it more real. In fact, these are not just stories, but were real events. And I am better for having learned about them.

Everybody Dance Now

If I believed in reincarnation, I would say...
In my past life I was a dancer.
Or perhaps, in my next life I will be a dancer. I can feel it in my bones.

But since I don't believe in reincarnation, it is left for me to say...
In my dreams, I am a dancer.
Or perhaps, I fantasize of being able to dance.

Not that becoming a dancer is on my list of realistic dreams or life goals. It's not. At all. I'm not creative enough to be a real dancer. And it's too late to teach me how. But who knows? Maybe someday I will have enough guts to go back and take a dance class sans partner.

I took two dance classes in college, many moons ago. I took a clogging class my first semester of college--which I hated. Until it was over. Then I loved it. I still have my shoes tucked away in the corner of my closet. I broke them out about ten years ago to participate in a talent show at church with my dear friend, Janice. We did a routine to an Alison Krauss song and had so much fun.

My last semester at BYU I took a folk dance class, which I loved from the beginning. I was sorry that I didn't take folk dance my first semester and continue taking classes while I was there. A minor regret.

Nowadays I only pretend to dance maybe once a week, for about five minutes, when no one is home, and a song comes on the radio that gets me moving.

On Saturday Todd had a birthday party at the skating rink. Instead of just dropping Todd off and leaving, I paid for Ryan and myself to do some rollerblading.

Most mornings I take Copper rollerblading after the boys get on the bus. I really enjoy it, but it still feels like exercise.

When I am skating in a rink it feels like Dancing.

I don't love all the music; and why, oh why, would you give kids whistles at a birthday party??? Still, I had so much fun "dancing" around the rink for almost three hours with very few breaks.

I will go on the record to say that there is something so attractive about a man who can dance. There was an off-duty employee at the rink who was easily the best skater on the floor. My eyes were drawn to him all afternoon. Half of it was, mmmmm it is so nice to watch him move--and the other half of it was, I'm so envious of how easy he makes it look!

Lest I injure Brett's feelings . . . Brett, the kid was probably fifteen years younger than I am. And I wasn't attracted to him, just his dancing. Ultimately, to quote George Strait, "I just want to dance with you." What do you say? Maybe you could be my partner for that dance class I want to take someday.

Really, what do you think?


That's what I thought.

I can still fantasize.

Bulbous Bouffant . . . Macadamia

I got to see my twin sister Lisa in Utah this past November. Okay, so she's not really my twin. In fact, she's nine years younger than I am. In other words, she's like fifteen--or something close to that. But whenever we get together with the family we are undoubtedly called by the other's name. All.The.Time. Especially by Mom. So, we decided to have a little fun with it. Lisa straightens her thicker-than-mine hair every day. Every Day. This was the second time in my life I had straightened my hair. I am just too apathetic--and lazy, I've concluded.

What do you think? Can you see the sisterly resemblance?

Lisa straightened my hair the night before I flew back home. That day I enjoyed the silky smooth feeling of my new hair and looked forward to seeing what Brett thought about it.

As you may know, Winter has passed us by this year. We have been enjoying the season called "Humid" for months now, with very brief reprieves. The night that Brett picked me up from the airport in the convertible was no exception. By the time we got home, there was only a hint of the formerly silky smooth hair. By morning, all traces of it were gone. Ah, Florida.

I got three inches of my hair cut off this week, and we haven't had a dry day since. Which means that somehow I am sporting what I can only describe as a modified bouffant.

It's not exactly a bulbous bouffant, but when considering my hair this morning I couldn't help but think of this "song". The first year that Brett and I were married we lived in Tallahassee and drove "home" once or twice a month. Sometimes on the drive we were rewarded with a little Dr. Demento time on the radio. That is when I discovered this gem. Just saying the word "bouffant" brings back memories.

Be forewarned. It's catchy.

(And, just for fun, here's another one of Brett's favorites.)
(Why stop there? Brett, this one's for you.)

Sappy Love

I am a romantic. There, I've said it (again).

I have been involved in a few conversations lately about movies and how Hollywood so often uses a certain formula to guarantee a big hit. The formula might go something like this: boy + girl + happily ever after = successful movie! And for me, that formula works. Sometimes I try to branch out and watch something that deviates from the formula. Sometimes, I am glad when I do. But I always come back to the "happily ever after."

Brett is not a romantic, and our tastes vary greatly when it comes to what we like to watch. We manage to find things to watch together, but only because there is just enough romantic drama thrown in to keep me interested. Take that away, and you can kiss our couch dates good-bye.

It's the same with books. I always reach for those books whose endings I can guarantee will make me happy. However, I often feel like I need to challenge myself by reading a book with a different formula. More often than not, I appreciate that the book actually made me think.

I recently read a book called, The History of Love, which I picked up from the used book store knowing nothing about it. With a title like that, I expected a "happily ever after" ending. However, this book did not follow the "boy meets girl" formula that I am so loyal to. Quite the contrary. The book was written in a completely different style--somewhat disjointed, in fact. In the end, I felt like I could use a second reading of the book to pick up everything that I missed. Rather than being about "happily ever after" this book was about dealing with the loss of love, including the loss of family and friends. I don't know that I would highly recommend it to everyone, but I was glad that I read it. It had me thinking for a few days after I read it, and that's always a good thing.

With music I have different requirements. I want a song that is highly "sing-able" as well as full of emotion. It doesn't matter so much whether the the song is about love lost or gained. In fact, some of my favorite songs are rather melancholy. I enjoy singing while I play the piano, and sappy love songs are usually a lot easier to play than something upbeat (i.e. fast). I have really enjoyed playing and singing Frank Sinatra's "This Love of Mine", "A Certain Smile" from one of my oldies music books, "Where is Love" from Oliver, and "I'm Not That Girl" from Wicked (this week's favorite). Sappy, sappy, sappy--and yet, I love them.

I don't know why this feels like a confession. I would like to be part of the intellectual group that appreciates "good" movies, books and music. But the truth is--I don't. Not really. So, does this make me less intellectual? Perhaps.

I'm trying to be okay with that.

Piano Man

I have been teaching piano lessons for a few years now, ever since Todd was a baby. I don't feel like I'm all that special as far as teachers go, but I do enjoy it. I think I am a reasonably-priced, fairly low-pressure teacher who works mostly with beginners. For some parents that is exactly what they are looking for. The boys are often in and out of the room occasionally interrupting me, but I still manage to make progress in the lessons. I have especially enjoyed teaching those students who come prepared and are excited about learning to play. What a joy they are.

I have one student who has given me the sweetest drawings with a message of "I love you" on the back. She also seems genuinely interested in learning to play, and has quite a bit of talent for her young age. You can bet that she has won me over!

However, the most rewarding student, by far, has been my own son Todd. I had always hoped that my boys would want to play the piano, and Todd has shown more interest in learning piano this last year. I would occasionally show him something about playing piano, but I was not consistent. I have been teaching a boy who is just one year older than Todd. The more Todd listened in on his lessons, the more confidence Todd gained that he could play the piano just as well. So I bought Todd the beginner books and started teaching him the lessons, though we were still very inconsistent. I did not want to push Todd, and I did not want to harp on him about practicing. I told Todd that I would give him a lesson as soon as he was ready with his theory work and songs. We averaged about one lesson per month. Things started to change in December. Todd was asking for lessons more frequently. He has been picking things up so quickly lately and has been breezing through his books. I think he may be partly motivated by his competitive spirit (he wants to pass up his peer). But I also think he is excited about the progress that he has been making. He understands the material, learns the songs quickly and has been gaining finger strength. And he knows that he is playing well. This week we have had four piano lessons, and Todd has been up at least twice this week practicing before 6:30 in the morning! I hope that Todd's desire to learn piano continues. I have enjoyed the little duets we have played together, and look forward to playing more with him.

We recorded a nice performance of "Go Tell It On the Mountain," but the video was too long and wouldn't post for me. I hope you enjoy this duet of "Yankee Doodle" instead. I love Todd's look of concentration!