The frog of my main bow cracked last fall as a result of a small boy-related incident. I filled the crack with Krazy Glue and it’s been fine so far. I know, I know; purists are shuddering. I paid about $150 for this bow; it would likely cost me about that much to have the frog replaced. And I love this bow; the balance is perfect, the weight is perfect, and I don’t want to buy a new one.
Except with the spring concert coming up, I’m starting to worry about the crack, and have visions of the thing giving way during performance. My only usable back-up bow is a really heavy one that hurts my hand because the balance is off. Or rather, it was off.
Last night I took it to HRH and asked if he’d be able to shave some of the wood off the head and gradually extend the taper of the upper half of the stick further towards the middle. As it was, the taper went abruptly from a very thick stick to a much thinner section about three inches long at the tip. He said that while he could do it, he’d be uncomfortable because he’d be worried about breaking or ruining it. In return I pointed out that I’d only paid $80 for it, and to have the reshaping done professionally would cost more than that. Also, I still had my main bow, and so if this backup one was to be broken it wouldn’t be a tragedy.
So we took it downstairs and he set up the Dremel. In half an hour we had carefully reshaped the head and upper half of the stick beautifully. It’s lighter and better balanced, and the head is much more elegant than it was originally; it was very blocky before the remodelling. When I was happy with the weight, the balance, and the tapering along to the middle of the stick he buffed it, and I oiled it. Then came the final test: I sat down to try it out on the cello. To my satisfaction it travels well, and the balance is miles and away better than it had been. The fulcrum point is now a third of the way along from the frog end, where it’s supposed to be, instead of halfway along the stick. I no longer feel like my hand is going to fall off or cramp up from fighting gravity when I hold it. I’m going to use it as my primary bow at rehearsal tonight and see what happens.
Daring, but successful. I’d never have tried it with a more expensive or precious bow. It makes me wonder what we could do with a bow blank, a frog, the facings and screws, and a hank of bow hair. It would be interesting to make my own bow.
The Muppets continue to be omnipresent in our household. On Tuesday Liam took two wooden spoons from the drain board, chanted some gibberish, said “bork bork bork!” and tossed them in the air over his shoulder. I had to sit down to catch my breath after laughing. The Muppet Movie has become his movie of choice, which is fine because we enjoy it a lot. Watching it repeatedly over a short period of time has reminded me that it’s the source of quite a large number of in-jokes and catch phrases t! and I share.
Completely unrelated to this, he declared that he was Chef Liam the other day as he was helping me cook. I was browning beef cubes for stew when he took the spoon away from me and said importantly, “No, I stir, I Chef Liam.” So, keeping a watchful eye on him beside the stove, I let him finish browning the meat, then the onions and carrots. Then he helped me roll out pizza dough, spread the sauce on it by himself, then scattered some cheese, the pepperoni, mushroom, peppers, and then piles and piles of mozzarella on top! All I did was neaten things up and put in in the oven. Not long after that he came home and said, “I be a train driver.” Then a few days ago it was “I be a pirate.” And tonight, it was “I be a firefighter! In a helmet! And in a fire engine!” It’s kind of neat that he’s already experimenting with ideas for professions. Or maybe he just likes the idea of wearing the different hats.
The kid is crazy about the kitten. They play madly with one another, Liam dragging around a string and Gryff pounding after it, or Liam jigging a crumpled up drop card from a magazine tied to a shoelace and the kitten leaping around for it like Nureyev. If the cat’s not in the room, he waves the string around and says in a song-song way, “Gry-yff, I have your stri-ing,” and the cat comes shooting out from wherever he was in the house and launches himself at it while Liam shrieks with laughter. He has to go find the cat every night and pet him or blow him a kiss, depending on where the cat is, before he’ll go to bed. I am so glad that we seem to have succeeded in that particular objective of making sure cat and child get along and bond: the two of them have similar energy levels and keep one another busy.
He has recently developed an obsession with being photographed. For example: “Mama, I have a big idea!” he said to me a couple of weeks ago. “You could go get the camera and take pictures of me!” “In your bath?” I said. “You’re offering me free blackmail material to use against you in your teens? I accept. You will regret this.” His caregiver’s webcam fascinates him. He has begun collecting photographs of people he knows, and keeps them in a tidy pile on a bookshelf in the living room. He sits and sorts through them like baseball cards or something. The day we got Gryff, I had to print a photo out for him to take to bed and sleep with.
He helps wash the dishes, dragging a chair over and swishing them around in the water. He has also agreed to help feed Gryff, and he carries the bowl of food oh so carefully into the next room. He is much less careful with his bowls of Cheerios. If he asks to help while I’m getting dinner ready I’ll get him to set the table, too.
He has finally reached the age where he can tell us stories in bed. “Tell me a story about Mack! And Bun-Bun! And they were flying!” he’ll say. “Oh yes?” I murmur. “And then what happens?” “And then Bun-Bun falls down! And Mack falls down! And Mama finds them!” “And then what happens?” And then Liam goes on to tell me the whole story is what happens, although he hasn’t yet figured out that’s what he’s doing. He still thinks he’s telling me the story to tell him. Except I never do; at the end I say, “Wow, that was a great story, Liam,” and he says, “Yeah!” with enthusiasm, as if I’ve just finished telling it to him. The other day I came to an interesting realization: my son asks for bedtime fanfic. “Tell me a story about Thomas/Frog and Toad/Lightning/ Buzz Lightyear,” he will suggest. And even worse, it’s often Mary-Sue fanfic, where he is one of the main characters and the best friend of everyone. It’s all I can do not to laugh now that I’ve made the connection and he asks me for a story along these lines. The other night I was tired of making fanfic up for him and had zero imagination after a long draining day, so I started telling him the story of Goldilocks and the Three Bears. He listened in absolute silence all the way to the end, when he turned his head on the pillow to face me and said with a huge smile, “That was a really good story, Mama!” Of course it is, kid; it’s stood the test of time and countless refinements over the years.
Oh, hey, look at that; it’s the eleventh of the month, which means it’s time for Liam’s Thirty-Three Months Old! post.
Now that HRH has made his own introduction, I present to you the newest member of our family: Gryffindor.
Gryffindor is a five-month-old ginger tabby. Some of you knew Gulliver, HRH’s big orange cat who used to perch on his shoulders. We lost Gully in October 2005 to kidney failure, and HRH has taken a long time to get over it. If — and it was a big if — HRH ever got another cat, it would have to be one with as much personality, and who clicked with him as well as Gully had. This kitten, whoever he would be, had big boots to fill. This past January HRH said to me that perhaps, if there was an orange kitten out there who needed rescuing, just maybe he would be ready to welcome another one into his heart and home… assuming there was that spark.
What do the current feline residents think? Maggie has displayed a “whatever” attitude; if he gets too close she Looks at him and hisses half-heartedly. Nix and Cricket have cornered him once or twice by staring at him across the room, and make creaky noises when they see him in the same area, but other than that things are going very well indeed. He is open and cheerful and willing to meet them. He has shown himself to be a tremendously loud purrer, and very willing to be scratched and petted. Today he climbed up on HRH’s shoulder and rode along to the kitchen with him. I think there are wonderful things ahead for us all.
Total word count, hearthcraft book: 51,047
We have arrived at the stage of carrots. Moving words around so that they make more sense; expanding ideas; cutting things out that regrettably don’t add anything of direct value. Carrots, of course, is a term created by Ceri and I to describe a measure of something non-quantifiable as pertains to writing. They’re an acknowledgement of energy expended in making the work better.