Author Archives: Autumn

Quizzes and Memes

Here’s another no-prize…



find your element
at mutedfaith.com.

…as anyone who was around for Raven knows. Pippa Scott lives! (Somewhere, a scattered crew of a now-destroyed UFP starship cringes, for reason unknown to those around them. Especially Angus.)

Actually, I possess an odd talent for seeing multiple outcomes of a situation simultaneously, in vivid detail. I get overloaded easily, and this discomforting little ability pops up at the worst times, like in bad weather when I have to hit the brakes in a car. I can see all the positive, neutral and negative possibilities right then and there, all at once. It’s no wonder I get headaches, and have deja-vu so often it no longer feels like deja-vu. I also have a habit of remembering things that didn’t actually happen in great detail. This Time Mage thing explains it all!

Instrument Inventory

So on Saturday morning I e-mailed Ceri and wondered if she’d like to meet me for coffee, since I’d decided at SEVEN A.M. when my husband woke me up to say good-bye (“It’s either that or not say good-bye,” he explained to me; bitter thought in return: On Saturdays, it might be worth it) that I would get outside and enjoy the sun, terrifically windy though it was, and pick myself up a tambourine.

Short tangent: why do I need a tambourine? Because I don’t have one. Tangent over; back to your regular blog experience.

She called me and said yes, not only would coffee be neat, but had I eaten breakfast yet? Of course I hadn’t. (Breakfast is a week-day thing for me.) So I hopped a bus to the metro with my trusty current bus-book (Lathe of Heaven) in tow, and had read half of it by the time I’d hit her place. (Read the rest on the way home. I am now paranoid.) We had breakfast with Scott, and then puttered about music stores all afternoon. After trying out every single noisemaker in the first shop (I work retail, and occasionally have the urge to go dish it out gleefully to other poor wage-slaves) I picked up my tambourine, squinted at the price of the music stands, then watched Ceri sigh over the saxophones. I proposed another music store (heh heh heh) and she got all perky and excited. Scott left us at this point, and off we went to sigh over more saxes. Ceri was feeling so bereft of her rental sax of last year that she even went so far as to have the salesgirl calculate out how much paying off a new Yamaha alto sax within one year would come to by monthly payment.

I freely admit, I did this whole temptation thing intentionally. Why should I be the only one with a pile of instruments I don’t devote enough attention to? “But I have lots of tin whistles! And a bodhran! And I don’t play any of them!” Ceri wailed. So? If you don’t have a sax to ignore, you also don’t have a sax to pick up and play when you’d like to, is my reasoning.

My list of instruments (in order of acquisition):

Voice (ha! You thought I’d not include it?)
Flute
Cello
Viola
Harp
Tambourine (yay!)

The husband has a chanter and a bodhran as well. We have a piano in someone’s basement that will be there until we can afford to get it moved by official trained piano movers. (“Do not try this at home” takes on a whole new meaning when it involves an upright piano and basement stairs.)

Why do I have a household of musical instruments? I had to think long and hard about this the other day. I’ve concluded that it’s due to the potential that rests in all of them. I can sit in a patch of sun in the living room with my harp against my left shoulder (mildly heretical, but I bat left-handed too, maybe that has something to do with it), lean my cheek against the soundbox, and just feel all the music inside it. Call me crazy, but I can do that for an hour, then just touch the strings gently here and there, and then put it away again. It’s not about releasing the music, or liberating it, or whatever you like to call it; it’s about connecting with the instrument, feeling it inside you, releasing something in your own spirit that’s in harmony with it.

(Ed. note: It’s raining! Woo-hoo! I will put on my CD of Vivaldi double concertoes in celebration.)

Sure, accomplishing a terrifically hard run on the cello is satisfying too, but in a completely different way. Producing coherent and recognisable sound is work, which isn’t the same as pleasure for me at all. So why did you join an orchestra, I hear some of you asking in a snarky tone. Well, because when I was playing cello quartets a few years ago, I dicovered that I loved hearing the interaction between the different lines. I adore Bach, for example, four or more careful musical lines all dancing with one another, often produced by only two hands on a keyboard (I also adore Glenn Gould, so there). When I sing in a group, I love hearing the tenors sing against the altos; hearing certain musical lines in unusual juxtaposition thrills me for some reason. Working in orchestra satisfies me in a similar fashion: I can work through all the different lines and hear them come together to hear a richly textured tapestry of sound, and I’m right in the middle. I often wonder how the audience can ever approach the experience I’m having, simply because I’ve been studying these works performed in-depth along with thirty other people. (Not that I’m diminishing the audience’s experience in any way; as a writer and performer I am a firm believer in the audience-co-creates-experience theory.)

Where was I? Oh yes. Ceri and her saxophone. So I say, heck, yes! Own that sax! Hold it; press the keys gently; watch the complex mechanism move; lose yourself in the dance of sunlight on the brass. Blow a couple of notes here and there. Above all else, love it, and love the potential that lies within it, that lies within you. If no one ever hears you, so what? Music is about you and your experience. It’s pure emotion. It’s about raising your spirit. Technical brilliance is never a measure of that. If you enjoy working musical challenges through, hey, great; otherwise, life’s too short to say, “Oh, I’ll never be able to devote the time I should to it.”

Do it.

Irony

Call from Concordia Sports Medicine last night:

“Hi! It’s about your appointment next Thursday.”

“The seven-thirty?”

“Yes. We’re really sorry – we have to cancel it. Your osetopath just had surgery on her elbows.”

What the heck are you supposed to say to that?

“Argh!”

“Has it been long since your last appointment?”

“Well, about five weeks.”

“Ouch! Any problems?”

“My back is going “crunch” in the middle.”

“That sounds bad. Would you like to see another osteopath?”

“Well… I lived like this for months before I saw someone, so I’m not dying or anything. Tell my doctor to not worry and that she needs to heal just like everyone else. If my back gets really bad I’ll call you.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll shoehorn you in somewhere as soon as you call. Thanks!”

Little do they know that I now have a secret weapon: Excedrin Extra-Strength, with acetaminophen, aspirin and caffeine. Somebody who loves me has family that goes to the US. It was a lovely surprise. That plus finding a nice flat spot in the park so I can simultaneously lie in the sun and realign my spine sounds like a terrific idea.

Speaking of border-crossing, Vanilla Coke makes its new debut of the millennium on Wednesday. You know, I’ve never been to Plattsburgh…

Meh

Laptop modem still not working.

My back is going “crunch” in the middle.

Still haven’t heard about an interview for those teaching posts.

Got my copy of my tax forms back from the tax guy (finally – he had the wrong phone number) and I owe $2.23 to the federal government, and am owed $43 from the provincial. No, I don’t understand either.

I practiced my cello last week (yeah, I’m pretty stunned myself) and got to the point where I could play Beethoven’s first symphony all the way through at half speed. Good thing I practiced, because we three cellos had to play through some very embarrassing bits alone over and over. I was mortified, although I shudder to think what I would have sounded like if I hadn’t practised.

I still have one more day to go before my weekend. It will be a long one.

CURRENTLY READING:
A limited edition hardcover collection of two decades of Charles de Lint’s Christmas chapbooks, all gathered into one volume “in a moment of weakness” as the inside flap says. Very good. Very, very good. Uneven, yes, as they were never intended for true publication, only Christmas gifts for his wife and then a small circle of friends. It’s called Triskell Tales: 22 Years of Chapbooks. The early stuff that I’m still in is about two of his recurrign short story characters called Cerin Songweaver, a harper, and his oak-spirit wife Meran.

I recently reread The Doomsday Book by Connie Willis too. Small print. Periods were difficult to see. Yes, I was wearing my glasses. I remember it being a lighter read than it actually was, less suspenseful, less historical. Odd, that. Then again, I read it over ten years ago. I think I prefer To Say Nothing of the Dog and Passage.

I also read A Long Fatal Love Chase by Louisa May Alcott which is about an innocent young lady whose guardian loses custody of her in a gard game and marries her off to a dashing genleman who turns out to already have an estranged wife. When our heroine discovers this she flees in the night and he pursues her through various cities and false identities. Nice and not-brain-bending for a Monday afternoon in the sun. The word “challenging” certainly would never come up in relation to this book, but it was fun.

This weekend Ursula K Le Guin’s The Lathe of Heaven is up, as my book club is doing it on Tuesday night.

Birthday List

Things I want for my birthday:

– A good music stand. One with a solid table so when I go to write something on my music it doesn’t bend and slip off. It still needs to be relatively portable, though, so nothing that weighs a ton.
– A new cello bag. Preferable one with backpack straps as well as handles. It’ll need to be waterproof, and have at least 10 or 15 mm of padding. They’re about $100. The bag I have has been well-used for eight years by me and who knows how long before that, and is wearing through. I don’t want it to rip when it shouldn’t (like when I’m carrying it on a bus).

I’ve made an interesting discovery. A few years ago when I replaced the bow that originally came with my cello, I found that it was a 3/4 size. Looking at all the bags that other people use for their cellos at orchestra, I think my bag is a 3/4 size as well, because it barely fits my 4/4 instrument, and a full-size bow won’t fit in the bow pocket and still allow the top flap to fold over.

Just thinking, that’s all.

Editor’s note: No, you haven’t missed her birthday. She’s simply giving you a couple of months advance warning. Isn’t she sweet?

Joy!

Well, well, well.

I remember this feeling. I think it’s called “having fun in life”.

MLG not only (a) handed me a laptop with the words “Happy Birthday” on Saturday, he also (b) reminded me that I have a finished novel tucked away somewhere, and (c) by complete dumb luck managed to link some dreams I’ve been having recently with some short stories and scenes I’d scribbled down a few years ago. I spent most of yesterday loading the chapters of my book onto the new laptop, re-reading some old short fiction, and generally being impressed with myself. It takes a lot to impress me with my own work; I’m a really tough critic.

So I have all this creative writing, some ideas ready to be worked on, and a laptop. Hmm. One plus one plus one equals…

He also pointed out to me that sitting down to practice the cello is just a matter of self-discipline. Now, I’ve already been working on the self-discipline thing, doing meditation and devotions in the mornings which take up about forty minutes. That plus washing up, dressing, and breakfast (yes, I know, what a novel concept) pretty much cover my two hours of being up before I leave, but maybe I can squeeze in half an hour of practice on one particular bit of music, like the irritating staccato runs in the opening movement of Beethoven’s first symphony.

Friends like this are good to have. They prove to you that you’ve accomplished some pretty terrific stuff in your lifetime, that you’re not as much of a loser as you thought you were, and that life is pretty good.

In addition, I’ve made a pact with a friend: when our tax returns come in, we’ll buy inexpensive bows to begin some archery exercise with. Once or twice a week, nice and early in the morning, we’ll meet down at the football field and work on shooting straight. Maybe by the end of the summer we can think about using targets.

Fun stuff. Not just work. Work was pretty much taking up all the important time I had. Now, what with this application for the teaching positions (no, nothing yet), I’m starting to shift focus to other things. Things that make me happy, as opposed to taking up my time because they have to. And I refuse to obsess about scheduling. Scheduling fun time defeats the purpose.

Babies

I heard a fantastic rendition of a Beethoven cello sonata on the way home last night, and I said to myself, “I could do that” – the operative word being could, of course, not can. It simultaneously thrills me and depresses me to know that if I practiced, I could be really, really good. If I get this teaching job it will free up a lot of time, which I intend to partially fill with regular practice sessions.

I’m still awed about Devon. What will she look like when she’s six? Thirteen? Twenty-one? What will her first word be? What will be her favourite colour? What will her laugh sound like?

Debra called me the other day and said, “Are you having baby pangs?” Heck, yes. Every time I see her four-month old daughter Elspeth, as a matter of fact. I’m fairly certain it will be the same way with Devon. I even dreamed last night that my oldest friend Annika was pregnant, and she looked fantastic. We used to joke that the three of us (Paze, Annika and myself) would all be pregnant at the same time. I think my subconcious is dredging that up and throwing it at me now that Paze is non-pregnant.

Babies – wondrous creatures who require much care and feeding. I know darned well that we can’t afford one right now, time-wise or financially. I’m trying to change careers, and my husband Ron has just started work again, after all. People keep telling me that it’s never a “good” time to have a baby with a preachy, syrupy tone, and it irritates the hell out of me. If you can’t approach a life-changing decision like introducing another member into your family unit who will be completely dependent upon you for several years with responsibility (financial or otherwise), then what business do you have doing it? It drives me up the wall that dogs require licenses, but they’ll let anyone have a baby. Anyway, we don’t touch on the subject very often, because it’s a bit sensitive all around. Our own families both have their opinions on the whole idea, and I think we’re both a bit afraid of what it will do to our own relationship (which has taken a beating over the past year anyway what with all the financial trouble and job-less-ness). We’ve made a tentative date to talk about it again at the end of this year. A lot can happen in a year.

Ever seen a pregnant woman play the cello? Probably not. Go ahead, laugh. Most of the people on the cello chat board I frequent who are mothers have said they had to play “side-saddle” for the last few months of their pregancies. Women at the turn of the century used to play like this. Instead of holding the cello between your legs (so unladylike!) you sit sideways in your chair, knees together and to the left, turning your torso to the right while leaning the instrument against your left shoulder as usual. If that sounds uncomfortable it’s because it is, and it plays havoc with the physics of cello-playing as well. If it’s your only solution, though, heck, I’d take it too!