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Category: Quotidien

Five Things Friday

1. Rain and headaches. That was yesterday. I woke up with a headache and the rain started before my first meeting ended. I was completely scatterbrained and drove past my second appointment and was therefore late. It seemed wise to spend the rest of the day quietly at home, where little actually got done, but I'm OK with that. Cold rainy days seem perfect for random laziness. Perhaps the headache was a gift. The pounding eventually subsided around 6 PM, when I had another meeting, but I still felt subdued and unfocused. I can't explain it but all has returned to normal this morning.

2. A building rises from the mud. Yes. Foundations are in place and they started framing the garage. Roofing materials also arrived and perhaps soon there will be a roof on the addition to the house. That period from Thanksgiving to Christmas felt awfully long, as progress was slowed by rain and mud. Waiting can seem interminable, and although necessary underlayment was progressing, I was feeling somewhat subdued about the project. Foundations, HVAC, and electrical wiring, as necessary as they are, don't look like much when they are going in, and I didn't realize how much I yearned to see something, anything, that looked like I might live in it again. Perhaps I just hadn't recovered from the shock of loosing plantings due to the need to replace and expand the buried drainage system, or the shock of the disruption of the backyard when the old garage was excavated and a buried septic tank was discovered, a buried septic tank that had to be removed. Every day it felt like the mud was increasingly exponentially. In December, that sense of having lost control was palpable, and although it is, perhaps, shallow and frivolous, seeing the framing take shape, floors and walls begin to appear, has lifted my spirits considerably.

3. I made chicken stock this week, for the first time since probably before Thanksgiving. The beef stock surplus is dwindling as well, so I will probably be back on a weekly stock-making schedule before spring is well established. With this batch of stock, I also made a pot Attukal Paya, a spicy Indian soup or stew made from mutton legs and/or feet, except that I used lamb because that is what I find at my local Asian Market. I've been making the soup for a few months now, off and on, but this is the first time I started with a base of my own rich chicken stock before extracting the collagen from those lamb bones. I will never go back.

I tend to pull the lamb out once I've extracted all the flavor, and then drink the pureed soup in a mug, but yesterday I had a bowl for lunch along with some baby bok choy I had seared in some smoked chaabani pepper olive oil. It turned out surprisingly well since I wasn't actually sure what to expect from the oil, a new-to-me ingredient and gift from my brother.

4. I also stepped out of my sartorial comfort zone, by branching out of my everyday boots and jeans mode and wearing a skirt and tights with a favorite pair of everyday boots. Actually, perhaps I found my groove because I was very comfortable and very much myself. Perhaps I am also rediscovering a bit of joy in the occasional jolt of black in my wardrobe. That black knit skirt had not been worn for a while, and now I can't wait to wear it again, black leggings and boots and all.

Of course the proportions worked better with the coat than they did with the sweater underneath, but that is something I can work on. It ended up not mattering much on Wednesday, the day I wore that outfit, because I had two meetings at the house, which is always cold given that it is not yet closed up, and otherwise ran errands. I ended up with my coat on for most of the day, the sweater simply acting as an insulating layer. The sweater itself, much as I have loved it in the past (it is 9 years old) may be spending its last winter with me. It no longer seems to just work the way I want it to work with the things I want to wear.

5. A secret garden. I suppose that best describes how I feel about this small collection of artifacts. Granted, they arrived in this spot because I didn't know where else to put them, but this location, the corner of my desk, has proved fortuitous because I see them everyday and they always make me smile. The glass rose is new, a Christmas gift from my brother, Charles. The silver llamas were my grandmother's, and I see I need to polish them, although at the moment I am also fascinated by the way the reflection of light off the rose plays out in a subtle play of colors dancing across the tarnished surface of the llamas. I don't remember the provenance of the small vaseline glass vase but looking at it I am reminded of where it sat in the house, on a windowsill in the sunroom, the play of light and shadow and the green of oak leaf hydrangeas behind it. Those hydrangeas are now gone, but the vase does not make me sad. There will be new plantings, new leaves, new light. For now however, we just wait, remember, and dream.

January 18, 2019
Random Post on Thursday Morning

I started writing a blog post last night but I was tired and I tore it up. I decided to knit instead. Now that was a far more calming use of my time even though I am still knitting the same red sweater. I am past the half-way point on the front, moving up the sides, and almost done with the sequined yarn. Before long I'll start the neckline shaping. I stopped knitting for a while, but now I'm back. Sometimes lately however, I am already too tired before I begin, and I end up unknitting as much as I knit. Somehow I find even that to be soothing, a way to let my mind purl with the stitches, putting the day to rest.

That reminds me that yesterday started and ended in the sewing room. I wanted to wear a skort I had purchased in Florida two summers ago. I wore it heavily that first summer, and not at all last year because it needed mending and some minor alterations. I failed to get the sewing room unpacked so the skort sat, unworn, until now. The inner portion was partially disassembled, so I traced it off before reassembly. I wanted to trace the entire skort so that I can make a pattern and reproduce it, but I could't find my tracing wheels and the day was moving on. Instead I dressed and took Tikka for a walk.

That makes the second garment I've worked on in the new sewing room. It took me a year, which is pretty bad, considering I will probably have to pack back up soon enough while we go through the remodel phase. I am not however, going to stop sewing, stop making, and this time I have a plan for how I can continue working, whatever else is going on. I've done enough of putting my heart aside. No more of that.

But all I've done so far is mending, although I have pulled fabrics and patterns. The first thing I worked on were my favorite black shorts. They needed taking in, in fact this is the second time I have taken them in and I still love them, even after 5 years and two major alterations. I suppose when they finally fail, which may well be at the end of this season, they too will have to become a pattern. But working on them was difficult. Black thread on black fabric in a room with no light is not how I define fun. I have not yet unpacked my task light that I used in the old sewing room, where the light was also very good.

Are you seeing a theme here? Things unfound? The lamp was not in any of the boxes labeled "sewing room", all of which have been unpacked. That meant it had to be in one of the boxes still in the basement, the boxes labeled quilting, needlework, or dying. Perhaps my tracing wheels could be located down there as well. But initially , at least before the skort, I wasn't eager to go down to the basement and haul those boxes out. Instead I went to Target and bought two small, inexpensive task lamps, six-month lamps, lamps I will be happy to use until the new sewing room is done, hopefully in early 2019, and then, if I no longer need them, will be happy to set free. Those lamps made using the sewing machine and the serger possible, navy on navy this time, for a navy skort.

Then the day got in the way. Tikka and I walked. I rode my bike. Sheets went in the wash while I went out in the garden to plant small dwarf sedums and Meditteranean iris, iris ungularis, in the sunny rock garden near the roses. After working in the heat and the sun, I went down into the laundry room and chilled, ironing sheets and drinking coffee. The laundry room stays about 62 – 64 year round, and I keep a sweater by the door, but yesterday, hot from the sun, the chill felt wonderfully refreshing. I looked at the last two winter sweaters drying on a rack, ready to be stored until next year, thinking about the large alpaca blanket I need to disassemble, wash, repair, and reassemble in a slightly new form, thinking about how much I love that space and how I should really hang photos on the wall, make the space more cozy.

Just as I finished the sheets, Varmint Busters showed up to take a look at the bat problem in the attic. Apparently not much can be done abut the bats until they leave for the season, meaning the end of November or early December. The previous owners had apparently tried to fix the bat problem before they put the house on the market, but rather than putting up the kind of screening and one-way gate system that prevents the bats from reentering, they have some other kind of ad-hoc screening system, which gives the bats a way in and a protected space in which to stay should they so desire. Apparently it also allows squirrels in, and the squirrels have already chewed through the screening, which I suppose the means I have had squirrels in the attic as well. Trying to get the bats out now will be a major headache, if it is even possible, and it probably isn't. In December the whole mess will have to be torn out and done properly. Oh well. Welcome to my old house.

Lunch, more work in the yard, some time spent starting to clean and clean-out the garage, errands, another walk with Tikka, dinner. So goes a day.

I decided that I would try to find the tracing wheels and the lamp, so I hauled the three large boxes out of the basement storage area and into the laundry room. Needless to say I found my lamp, in a box labeled "dye stuff — store". That was a mistake. I also found the tracing wheel and a stash of other miscellaneous tools, some of which will prove to be useful. I found a bolt of muslin, a plus for summer sewing plans. I also left a pile of stuff on the laundry room floor, stuff I have to go back and sort through and put away.

It is time to finish sorting and unpacking anyway. I've been here too long, I hate the weight of things undone, things pulling me backwards, boxes of things that are never opened. Some things are waiting for the remodel, such as books waiting for library shelves, but generally I want it all unpacked and sorted, which is strange because in a couple of months I'll be embarking on the remodel and things will get packed up again. But I am different than when I moved here. Decisions I could not make a year ago come more easily now. I no longer want to drag the past along with wherever I go.

I went back upstairs and traced my skirt. I didn't take the tracing and make the actual pattern pieces. I was already too tired for that. As I mentioned above I tried writing a blog post, but I was too tired for that as well. Instead I knit 8 rows in my red sweater and went to bed. All in all a successful day. Today there is more planting to be done, and I have to water all the new plantings, take a walk, and deal with the chaos in the laundry room. It is enough.

May 17, 2018
This and That, Garden and Kitchen

April is almost coming to a close and I have been living in this house 11 months. A year ago at the end of April I owned this house, but I hadn't moved in yet. Work was being done, and I was here daily. I already felt like this was home, and yet there was so much I still hadn't discovered, that I still didn't see.

I am still in love with my house. It just feels like home. I smile when I turn into my driveway. I loved the house and the garden and even the empty lawn and the wooded slope in the backyard, so full of potential, before I moved in, but it feels like I am still discovering the joys of my own house. I don't remember the red azaleas from last year even though I was here everyday, even though this house felt more like my home than my old house did, even though the yard was filled with trucks and the workmen and I still lived elsewhere. But then, I was packing up the old house, getting ready to move. Perhaps I was a tad distracted.

I do remember the tiarella near the front door, I admired them all summer, but I don't remember them blooming. That was probably lost in packing, and moving, and making choices. Above is a photo I posted to instagram the other day. These lovely little foam flowers make me smile every time I walk through my front door. In fact I am just happy being home. It seems absurd that such a small little patch of earth can hold so much promise and joy and happiness. Moises meets me at the door, Tikka dances around in circles, I curl up in a chair with a book or music or work in my kitchen. Even the fact that another drawer has broken on the old refrigerator doesn't dent my joy.

When I returned home from Nebraska last week, I was stunned to turn the corner to the garage and see the large pink Azaleas. I had photographed them before, they had started to bloom before I left, but I returned to a mass of bright vivid pink. My heart swells with laughter every time I turn that corner, every moment I am confronted with such a mass of pink. Who knew that a pink azalea could mean so much?

I need to start a garden journal before I forget, forget what I saw, forget what I planted, forget my dreams. I had one in Hyde Park. I may not have brought it with me. I guess I thought that part of my life was over and I abandoned it. Or perhaps it will still turn up somewhere. Perhaps I was too quick to think my life was over in those days. Perhaps now I feel like it is just beginning. Not such a bad thing, to begin again, and again and again.

Do I feel so much more settled in my skin, so much more like myself because I found a place I can just be myself? Or did I find the right place because I was already beginning to reawaken to who I was, who I am, hopefully who I can be? These are all chicken or egg questions and there is no correct answer, but my first spring in my home has been a joy, and I have been happy to sit and watch the birds, to dig in the dirt, to read a book, to simply come home — home — and feel that deep sense of contentment, that sense of this is where I belong. What is next?

Oh, and I've been cooking too. Well I cook when I am happy, even for myself. Since I was under the weather this past week, it has mostly been for myself. This is kai yat say or stuffed egg crepes from Leela Punyaratabandhu's Simple Thai Food. Leela writes the blog shesimmers, which I've been following off and on for quite a while. The dish is savory but mild and pretty simple. It is pretty much an omelet, only shaped a bit differently. I had it for lunch and made no attempt at creating a traditional Thai meal. I like the square omelette. The ratio of filling to egg seems higher, and there are no ends where you just get overcooked egg without filling, which seems to happen too often in traditional omelets. Or perhaps I am just too picky. Besides the little package is pretty. Perhaps I will experiment with the idea some more.

Anyway, I hope you are having a good week. I went to hear a concert the other night, a piano trio. I had to leave after the first work because I started coughing and couldn't control it, but that first piece was worth the effort. My spirit danced even as my lungs convulsed. I took a nice walk yesterday, and went out to dinner with family. I ironed sheets. Yes, I am the kind of person who finds ironing sheets a joy, perhaps even more of a joy than slipping between freshly ironed sheets that first night,,..

I hope your week is filled with small joys.

April 26, 2018
Big Ears: Setbacks and Triumphs

So I am wandering a bit in this post, about Big Ears and not. Please have patience. I'm not asking for anything but patience.

After I exhausted myself on Friday, the rest of Big Ears seemed something like a blur. That even though I intentionally planned a rather light day on Saturday, and lucky for me I did. I started off with a performance by trumpet virtuoso Peter Evans, which was certainly mind-bending. I can't really say that I would classify what I heard as music, but he pushed the trumpet to produce effects and waves of sound, tone, and tempo that I certainly never imagined; there were times where the sound was loud and crashing, a tornado in the room, and there were other periods of soft, gentle, melodies, a gentleness I had never really imagined from a trumpet. So although I personally didn't hear music, I was fascinated, and I could easily imagine music being written to incorporate what I was hearing, I could imagine the sounds I heard as part of greater works. I would say that the concert was difficult but also exciting.

Then I had a short break and a dilemma. At 2PM there were three concerts I was interested in: Bela Fleck and Abigail Washburn, Jon Gibson, and Rushes Ensemble, with Cyro Baptista also performing again at 2:30. I had already decided not to go to Bela Fleck, not because I wouldn't love it, but because I had heard Fleck and Washburn perform together before, and felt I should push myself to explore something new. Given that reasoning, I also opted out of Baptista, even though I had been entranced by his concert the day before. Torn between Gibson and Rushes, I opted for Rushes Ensemble, only because of the bassoons. It may not have been the best choice, but I am a woman who loves the bassoon, a woman who will, and did, go out of her way for bassoon music. The work being performed, a piece written for 7 bassoons, was very interesting, with rotating waves of sound. It most certainly was not Telemann or Mozart, but I did not expect that it would be, and it was beautiful nonetheless. Or at least the first half hour was beautiful; then I got bored. Perhaps I just got hungry, and I realized that I had a walk of several blocks before I could eat. I probably should have eaten between concerts. I had had an hour. But I played with Tikka instead, thinking I could wait until after the bassoon concert. I had forgotten that, although I had a decent breakfast of hard boiled eggs and hot smoked salmon on salad, I had not eaten much the day before — a felafel salad plate and a small bucket of popcorn even though I had gone to concerts all day long, walked 13 miles, and my smart watch told me I had burned 800 calories more than my usual. Not smart. So I left and had a leisurely lunch, and spent some time with Tikka.

If my 2 PM concert was not my favorite, the next concert I attended, the 5 PM performance by Jason Moran and Milford Graves was one of the high points of a weekend that, in retrospect seems filled with high points. The music was fabulous, and incredibly inspiring. I felt as if the music flowed in such a way that it encapsulated the breath and pulse of the room, audience and musicians as one, drawing us in and transforming us, at times slow and centered, at others rising up. Amazing.

The next concert on my agenda was billed as Roscoe Mitchell Trios at the Bijou, performing Bells for the South Side, among other works, and although there were more than three musicians on the stage, they did in fact play in trios. The music was very different from what I had heard Roscoe Mitchell playing the day before. That music had been warm and full of heart. This was fascinating, minimalist, and far more purely intellectual. I enjoyed it, and my brain was hopping along all sparkly and intrigued, but I wanted something more, so I didn't stay, opting instead to wander back to the cathedral to hear Johnny Gandelsman playing Bach. Gandelsman is technically very proficient and he played the Bach well, but he also brought a warmth and a humanity to the music. The performance was incredibly heart-warming, and intellectually thrilling as well. Sometimes the Bach solo violin pieces become a showcase for technical virtuosity and the soul of the music is lost; not in this case. I sat entranced.

By the time that concert ended, it was pouring and I was tired and hungry. I had hoped to eat at Kaizen, hoped it was late enough that I would luck into a table because I had forgotten to make a reservation. Alas a few people arrived just ahead of me and snagged the last table and last seat at the bar. I didn't want to wait so I walked over to Emilia where they managed to work me in and I was very happy. I settled in for a good meal and a glass of wine, a symphony of food and drink, along with some people watching and reflecting. The evening ended with a lovely dessert, not on the menu, of a small bit of rich and satisfying vegan dark chocolate mousse, with Amaro soaked citrus and luxardo cherries. It reminded me of music, of Roscoe Mitchell's minimalist compositions, but it was far more satisfying.

I noted that Big Ears was turning out to be both better than I had expected and yet also more frustrating. My frustrations however stemmed more from my own patience, or lack of it, with myself. Perhaps my expectations had been too high: My first big ears, I still couldn't stand long, even though it was nearly a year after my back surgery. But this year I stayed downtown so I could go to more concerts. I walked 8-11 miles a day the weekend in Paris and again in New York in February with no ill effects. I routinely walk between 6 and 7 miles a day. I thought Big Ears would be a piece of cake.

Unfortunately things were not proving to be that easy. One of the reasons I stayed for the entire Medeski, Martin and Wood concert Friday night was that I was having a lot of pain walking. I had mentioned that I was having leg and hip pain in previous blog posts over the previous two weeks, and that I had concerns about being able to handle the amount of walking required, as my movement had been severely curtailed. In fact I had just worked my way up to 4 miles a day before Big Ears started, and that only by taking many short walks. By Friday night, my right leg was dragging and I was in considerable pain but I was going to be damned if I missed that concert. I arrived, got a bourbon and the aforementioned popcorn and settled in. I didn't plan to stay for the entire concert, but I was entranced enough that I did. Two hours later I was comfortable enough but able to walk back to my hotel room, but further concert-going was out of the question.

Even so I was up half the night with leg pain. And the pain was worse on Saturday. I was beginning to realize what should have been apparent all along, that this wasn't a leg injury but back pain, sciatic pain. The sciatic nerve was so inflamed that other muscles were being inflamed as well. I've experienced this before, but it had been a long time. The back surgery I had 4 years ago was for a disk at L4. That was causing pain and numbness in my left leg, and in my back, but I had experienced intermittent sciatic problems for 30 years in my right leg, at times so severe I could barely function or walk. That particular pains stems from some changes at L5-S1, but they are not changes that would or could be improved by surgery. I'd have one or two "spells" a year and then move on. I wondered why it had stopped, but apparently it never did. The L4 disk, which had been bad, had just overpowered the other, and it took me long enough to recover, to stop perhaps being overly cautious, for small accidents to happen. A simple unexpected step Into a dip, a small twist, and there I was again.

Before you jump all over me, I am not looking for sympathy. I intended to take it easier on Saturday and I did. I intended to walk only 5 miles or so, but it ended up being over 8. But I also know that the only way to overcome back pain is to keep moving. Once I realized what was going on, I knew I needed to move as much as I could, stop when I needed to, but also not let myself freeze in place. Sunday was hard. And I missed some concerts because I couldn't walk to them. I got to one end of Gay street and stayed there. I could walk and stand but getting up a hill would do me in. Once I couldn't walk any more I went back to my hotel and rested. At that point I was fine as long as I was standing and walking; walking slowly perhaps, but still walking. Sitting was a problem, but that could be addressed in time, so I went out again.

I heard and did more than at any prior Big Ears. I had fun. I also pushed myself, perhaps more than I should have, but I wouldn't do anything differently, and I would have hated to have missed the festival. I'm not inclined to let a little inconvenience get in the way of music and fun. I also had fun. I spoke to more people I didn't know than I have at any previous Big Ears Weekend. I got out of my head and into the social aspect of the place. Once I knew what the problem was I could actually manage better. And yet, despite pushing myself, or because of it, I am actually better now and am functioning well with only minor nerve issues.

Aside from learning that I was simply more comfortable in my skin than I had been for a while, I learned a couple of other things about myself. I had forgotten what it was like to be so wrapped up in something I love that everything else becomes unimportant, and I had also forgotten that, once I get wrapped up in something I love, I need to remember to take time for self-care, like food perhaps. I also reconnected with another one of my gifts, one I had forgotten, namely stick-to-itiveness or stamina. I'll never be the fastest, or the strongest or the smartest, but damn-it I've got stamina. When I played tennis, my success at doubles was not because I had great shots, although I did have a strong backhand, but because, if you couldn't knock me out with a killer serve or super shot, I could wear you out. The longer the match the stronger I got, the more sheer determination would kick in. I thought nothing of a 3 hour plus match. I would wear the opponent down, and the more tired everyone got, including myself, the more focused I became. I'm still that way. That came in handy this past weekend. There is a point in any journey, through pain, fear, discomfort, anything really, where you either say "I quit" or you push on. I can push on, and once you push on, the rest of it becomes secondary, well until it doesn't, but that is another story.

Most of my back was fused when I was 16 years old. Before that I wore a brace for five years. I was always determined that I could do anything anyone else did, if I wanted, and my parents encouraged that attitude. I have no regrets. I've had a fabulous life thet would have been very different had I not had that surgery, if I would even be here at all. And I still have a fabulous life ahead of me. I have only two disks that are not fused, and they are both well on the way to self-fusing themselves. The simple truth is that I will probably have intermittent periods of difficulty for most of my life, a simple mis-step with a little twist can cause weeks of pain, but it is not the end of the world. And the only thing that helps is moving, specifically walking. If I can only walk 100 feet now, I need to walk 110 feet the next time, and so forth until I can do more. So here is the thing: I don't want setbacks to hamper my life more than they need to. But I also no longer want to pretend like they don't happen. Life is what it is, things always happen, and I am who I am, good and bad, all rolled into one.

Would I rather have been pain-free for Big Ears? Of course. Do I regret anything? No. The fun outweighed the discomfort, and working through it probably did me more good that staying home ever would have. I heard things I might never have heard otherwise. I spoke to people I would otherwise never have met. In fact, the difficulties may have focused my attention more; I took nothing for granted. I had a blast. And now that is all out of the way, I can tell you about the fun stuff on Sunday at another time.

Next year will be even better. It probably won't be perfect, but if you are looking for perfection you are just looking for an excuse to fail.

March 30, 2018
Saturday Afternoon

Look! Look! New flowers!

The shrubs outside the front door are also getting ready to bloom. I have been asked if they bloomed, but I hadn't seen the blooms, or didn't notice them while the construction crew was here last spring. I think the shrubs are too big, but nothing is going to be done about them in the near future. I can only change so much at a time. But I like the way the top of the hedge looks like a see of buds.

I managed to walk up the steep hill toward the end of the street today, for the first time in over a week. There were days I walked around the neighborhood, except for that block, but not the last two days. Luckily most of the way home was downhill. I started uphill again just before I could finish one block and turn back down to my house, and I could feel my hip beginning to rebel, so I cam home. While I rested I've been playing with thread.

Mostly needlepoint, but some knitting too. I finally started the front of the Lazy Days tunic, and I also finally updated the knitting blog with the status of that project. Believe me, not much has been happening around here, and yet everything has been happening. New flowers arrived right before my eyes. The front of the sweater is going more easily than the back, but that is simply because my fingers finally have the feel for what they are doing. And the new peonies out front are poking up their heads, but they aren't very photogenic yet. Most of us eschew photographs immediately upon waking in the morning.

I'd like to add something about last night's symphony performance of Orff's Carmina Burana, but I really can't right now. It was fabulous and I enjoyed it immensely. But it is also getting caught up in all kinds of other random thoughts, thoughts that don't seem to have anything to do with Carmina Burana, but maybe they do. When I find a thread I'll let you know.

March 17, 2018
Five

1. A catch-up post of sorts. It seems that last week I was under the weather, psychologically or spiritually anyway, and I am although I am good this week there remains a bit of a backlog, a backlog which also reminded me that during periods of upheaval I often neglect things that are important to me. One of those things is that I stopped writing about music last fall and never caught up. I didn't stop going to concerts; there were simply other things going on in my life and I couldn't really marshal my thoughts into coherent patterns. Now all of a sudden I feel I have been remiss. I am trying to be consistent, and obviously occasionally failing at that, but I have simply decided to carry on, attempting to release the burdens of expectation I place on myself and accept that there are flows and eddies in life and in blogging. I shall simply hope not to bore you too often.

2. Nearly two weeks ago, on Sunday March 4th, I went to the last concert of the Knoxville Symphony's Chamber Classics series. It was a really sparkling and bubbly concert, and a perfect way to end a beautiful season. The concert was billed around Mozart's symphony #41, the "Jupiter" and that was, indeed, the final work, but the theme of the concert was Bach's third Brandenburg concerto, which opened the concert. The Bach was beautifully light and sparkling and the music seemed to dance through the hall. Aram Demirjian seems to have brought a greater emotional depth to performances, without overplaying, and there was a tightness and clarity to the music that reminded me how far this chamber orchestra has come since I moved to Knoxville, six years ago now. I sat, reveling in the music, perfectly content. The remainder of the concert focused on works that were inspired by or modeled after the third Brandenburg, including the aforementioned Mozart.

Of the middle pieces, Stravinsky's Concerto in E-flat major, called Dumbarton Oaks, was my favorite. This is Stravinsky in his more Neo-classical mode. Immediately following the Bach, as it was, the direct reference to the Brandenburg 3 was evident, and yet it still sounded like Stravinsky, crisp and modern. The music still danced, but that dance was a little dryer, the sparkle a little sharper. The third piece was entitled Muse, by Christopher Theofanidis, a piece specifically written as a modern reimagining, a "new" Brandenburg. It was melodic and contemporary and I suppose well played. I did not dislike it, but I have no specific memory of the work other than that it was pleasant and I caught the references to the Bach, some of which I thought were clever. I suppose I actually need to hear it again. This is not a criticism per se, merely an acknowledgement that I often need to hear something multiple times before I can coherently wrap my head around it.

Of course the Mozart was brilliant. The musicians managed to highlight the baroque polyphony in the finale without deemphasizing the very Mozartiness of the work. Again, the musicians played with intention and lightness and the music danced in a way that Mozart concerts rarely seem to achieve. We've grown so familiar with Mozart that I sometimes feel performances and audiences take it for granted. This was Mozart as we all know and love, but it was Mozart afresh, light and sparkling, music that is the star of the party, the guest who lights up the room with wit and charm, who carries people away in a bubble of their own making.

3. Friday, a week ago today, I went to a very different kind of performance. A modern opera, Follow Suit, performed by the local Marble City Opera Company. The libretto, which I was fortunate enough to be able to read before the performance, is by Emily Anderson and I found it light, charming and witty. The setting was in a hotel bar; as was the performance, and my group was lucky enough to arrive early and claim beautifully positioned seats for the performance, a position that hit the right balance between singers and musicians. The subject matter, wedding-centric, addressed relationships, failed and hopeful, fear, longing, and the burden of expectation, was deftty and skillfully explored. The music itself was a bit modern, a bit edgy in places, and it seemed to this listener to suit the setting and the subject well. I was completely charmed and I would love to see and hear this work again and again.

4. Despite my spring-induced urge to be out walking more, I have been slowed down right by hip and groin pain, partially involving the adductors and also some other muscles. This is a life-long issue, partially relating to some anatomical issues due to my scoliosis, but also severely aggravated by a twisting fall down a flight of stairs nearly 20 years ago, which luckily for me caused no fractures, but unluckily did result in some muscle tears and strains and probably helped precipitate some arthritic changes as well. At that time it took me six months to learn to walk again, at least walk well or for any distance. In comparison, this current pain is but a minor residual. There is little point in complaining, just adapting and accepting that my body will do the best it can if I give it both rest and opportunity. Besides adaptation surrounds me. It is spring. Forward movement and growth abound despite minor setbacks like spring frosts. Life moves forward, reminding me that flexibility, not certainty, is key. Perhaps fewer, shorter walks. Perhaps an occasional foray to the mall, despite the mind-numbing nature of mall-walking, on those days that even a slight incline becomes tortuous. I will be out among the flowers often enough.

5. And closing with yet more music, last Sunday afternoon I attended a beautiful performance of Durufle's Requiem. For me this was something new as I had only heard the work in its variations with organ (solo) or organ and chamber orchestra, but not with chamber orchestra alone. I was entranced, and promptly went out and bought a recording, which has entertained me during times of enforced rest, knitting or needlepoint in hand. I do think the orchestral version has become my favorite, although given that there are far more recordings with organ or organ and orchestra, this may be a minority view.

March 16, 2018
Where is Wonder Woman When You Need Her?

I know I left my Wonder Woman Pen on my desk last night. I know this because I told myself it was a mistake. A loose pen and a cat are an invitation for loss.

This morning I couldn't find Wonder Woman at all and a search ensued. She wasn't in the office, even under the bookcases. I eventually found her downstairs under the corner of a rug. My the adventures she had overnight!

My Wonder Woman pen is currently my check-writing pen. Sometimes it is the little gifts that are the best, although generally it was a good season for celebrations and gifts. Wonder Woman leapt out of my stocking into immediate use, where she makes a chore fun. The Edward Gorey calendar is about to go on my bulletin board, where he can bring smiles every day.

Now if only Wonder Woman could help me fish the sock out from behind the sock drawer, the one that I want to wear today and which is keeping me from closing that drawer completely. Perhaps I regret automatically throwing away all my wire coat hangers. Perhaps buying a dresser where the drawers don't come all the way out very easily was short-sighted. Actually, perhaps it is time to clean out the sock drawer.

Perhaps it is time to just sit back for a little self-forgiving chuckle.

Have a good day, and may your biggest problems be missing pens or lost socks.

January 4, 2018
Fun Things

A friend and I went on a little adventure last weekend. We drove down to Brevard, North Carolina, to see the Embroidery Guild of America's 21st National Exhibit. This was our destination:

We didn't know what to expect, and we drove past the building the first time. It was well worth the visit, and many works were incredibly beautiful, showing great technical proficiency and creativity. I didn't really understand some of the pieces, but the creativity amazes and inspires me.

Photography was not allowed. I bought the catalog so that I could remember things that inspired me. The back cover is shown above. Below is a promotional photo from the exhibit. Oddly, none of these were my favorite pieces. I know the exhibit will be traveling. I highly recommend it.

The workmanship was so inspiring that I came home and spent the next afternoon ripping stitches out on a piece I had been working on. I had been dithering as to whether or not it mattered, but it does.

We took the scenic route down, through the Pisgah National Forest. It was a slow winding road, but quite beautiful. Just outside the park we had lunch at a bicycle shop/tavern. The food came from a Lebanese Food truck and was incredibly good. I couldn't help but think about how much the world has changed in the last half-century. We took the "fast" route home, on the interstate. But it took us the same amount of time. Perhaps it is just the "fast" route because you are moving faster, not because you reach your destination any faster.

Last week I also made garam masala for the first time since I moved. One part of me can't believe I have lived here for over three months and am only now making garam masala. But at the same time I also noticed that I had not used either dried basil, tarragon, or oregano yet either. These are spices that I usually go through quite regularly. There were some additions to the herb and spice rack this week.

Perhaps summer food simply cries out for fresh herbs. I don't believe the fresh and the dried are interchangeable. Their uses, and their flavors are very similar, but not quite identical. Perhaps, now that it feels more like fall, I feel like cooking food that allows the flavors of dried herbs to shine.

Expanding the spice rack while still recovering from a cold/sinus thing, gave me a perfect excuse to fritter away part of an afternoon making matching labels for all my jars.

I'm trying something different. I am a bit overextended at the moment, and I have been struggling with blogging anyway. I don't want to give it up, but it seems I've become to stuck in one place, blog-wise, and I want to venture out. I'm giving myself permission to not stick to a schedule. I'm also going to try a few different things, like this post, and see what happens.

Until next time,.

September 13, 2017
Cozying up to my Kleenex

I've come down with a late summer cold, nothing that won't be improved by some time spent curled up with some books and tea and a box of kleenex. I'll be back after Labor Day.

August 31, 2017
Breath and Blossoms

The Hellebores are out and blooming. Earlier in the week I was able to sit outside and admire them, able to pretend that spring was truly just around the corner. By Friday there was a turnabout, reminding one more of Mother Goose: "The North Wind doth blow, and we shall have snow". It did flurry most of Friday morning, with no lasting effect. It is possible I might have wished otherwise, that I may have found a blanket of white charming, in which case I might have run out to take a prettier picture. My fellow Knoxvillians may be happier with the security of browns and the safety of dry roads.

Of course the hellebores are not the only signs that spring will in fact spring-forth. There are buds on the forsythia and a medley of green shoots are forcing their heads up through the dirt, with promise of various spring bulbs to follow. They add a lovely counterpoint to the fading pink blossoms cast off from the camellias, which are nearing the end of their blooming season after nearly two months of abundant frivolity.

And I too am feeling brighter, and nearly ready to leap forward. Upon the recommendation of a friend I booked an appointment at a Salt Spa, and have had two treatments. After the first, I was able to breathe more deeply than I had had been possible since sometime in mid December, and although I still have a remnant of my cough it is in retreat. Two treatments and my sinuses remain clearer, my breathing easier, and not surprisingly my thoughts perhaps more coherent. It may be coincidence, but I am inclined to say the treatments help. Besides, as I rationalized before beginning, how could scheduled meditative time be a bad thing, even if there were no other benefit. Given that I had been unable to breathe easily enough to meditate before attending the spa, I am happy for the win.

January 28, 2017