Category Archives: Words Words Words

April 2003 Concert Review

I had an absolutely smashing concert last night, attended by friends whom I hadn’t known were going to be there. Apart from not being thrilled about half the selection of music, I enjoyed myself immensely. It was decided that rather than using the traditional concert seating, the viola section and the cello section should switch, putting the violas on the outside and the cello players between them and the wind players in the centre. I think it worked quite well, and I hope we stick with it.

I know I’ve complained about the Mendelssohn for months, but it came off beautifully. Pretty much everything did; there were no major or minor disasters, although the music was technically challenging. The pieces were mostly crowd-pleasers, and the audience certainly seemed pleased. I’m pleased to say that the only place I lost my focus was in the Brahms Hungarian Dances.

During a concert, I’m living in the moment to such an extent that it’s always a surprise when it’s over. Now I’m stuck humming the last piece on the program (Strauss, who’s not my favourite composer by a long shot, damn it all), defiantly pleased that I can pack away most of the music, sad to leave other pieces (such as the overture to Mozart’s Don Giovanni, which I have always adored; playing it in concert fulfilled one of my life-long dreams). It was an enjoyable evening, followed by coffee and doughnuts at our place and a darned good sleep.

I wonder what we’ll be playing next, for the Canada Day concert.

My private seminar on Friday night was lots of fun, too. Whenever I teach a basic class, I wonder if I’m just rehashing stuff they already know, but I’m always told that no, I’m filling in blanks and connecting dots for them and they’re terribly grateful for being shown the whole picture. I suppose I lose perspective a bit, having studied all this for eight years or so. Anyway, lots of fun, yummy food and wine, and we’ll definitely do it again. Also on the class-subject, some of my current Saturday morning students have asked me to put together a meditation class for them. I feel a fuzzy inside when things like this happen – you know, sort of, “You like me! You really like me! And you evidently think that I’m a good teacher!” I also appear to be inspiring students to create their own one-session workshops to share with other students, which flatters me beyond belief. I never, ever thought that I’d be An Example someday. Never. Now I feel like I have to live up to it, somehow. Okay, yes, evidently I believe that I’m a passable teacher, or I wouldn’t keep on doing it; but a compliment like this always surprises me, for some reason.

On Shopping For Clothing That Fits

For years I have purchased clothing based on an extremely outdated pragmatism. Buy them a bit big, then you can grow into them.

This was fine when I was a kid, when I was a teenager. As a teen and in my early twenties I was also much more comfortable wearing clothes that disguised my body slightly – call it a confidence thing if you like. Now that I’m pushing thirty-two, though, buying clothes that don’t fit just doesn’t work as well for me. (MLG’s constant voluntary assurance that I’m a babe helps a lot, too.) I have long legs and a short torso, as well, so shopping for clothes means that 98% of the time, they won’t fit me properly anyway. And since I (unintentionally) lost weight recently, all the clothes that were loose on me are now ridiculously baggy.

When I was looking for something to wear earlier this week, I snapped and saw red. Not a single pair of jeans fits me properly around the waist, which means they sag everywhere else, too. Damn it, it’s spring, and I want to look good. I want to feel like I look good, and jeans that are several sizes too big just don’t cut it.

So after work yesterday I took the metro up to Namur to check out the Le Chateau outlet, where they usually have decent clothing at decent prices.

Well, apart from the truly horrendous music, all their pants were thirty dollars or more. The music eventually chased me out with a headache, so I decided to walk along Jean-Talon to the Village des Valeurs instead. Who knows – maybe there will be something not-so-bad there, I thought, or maybe I’ll pull off an amazing find.

Door number two it was. The prize?

I came out with two very sexy pairs of Levis jeans in perfect condition. And they cost me less than twenty dollars total. If I told you what size they are, you’d lynch me, so suffice it to say that they’re about three sizes smaller than the jeans I’ve been wearing for the past four or five years.

Damn, I look good. And I’m thrifty, to boot.

Fate Accompli

I am so virtuous. So very, very virtuous.

Another two hours of work accomplished. That’s a total of five hours today! (Hey, if you are aware in any shape or form of my track record lately, you too would be cheering. Raise the roof! Raise it!)

I’ll polish it up tomorrow and send it off. Now, I’m going to kick back and go read some Jungian analysis of fairy-tales. (Yeah, well, I find it interesting, so there.)

Too Much To Expect?

There was a knock on my door yesterday morning at about eleven-thirty. I opened it to find a young woman with a dog standing in the hall.

“Hi,” she said with a smile. “I used to live in this apartment. I don’t suppose you have any mail for me?”

Now, we moved in thirty-eight days ago. The apartment was empty for a month before that for renovations.

“Er, no,” I said. “We’ve been writing `Return to Sender – Moved- No Forwarding Address’ on them all.”

“Did you get any mail today?”

“Well, I’ll put some shoes on and I’ll check,” I said. We went downstairs, and sure enough, there was a GST cheque for her in my mailbox.

“Oh, great!” she said. “Listen, if you get any more of may mail, can you just give it to Dale in apartment one? I’ll stop by for it every once in a while. I’ll be changing my address soon, I promise.”

Thirty-eight days, plus a month. Now, I don’t know about you, but when I move, I use that handy-dandy mail forwarding service which the Post Office provides for a nominal fee. The previous tenant’s mail that we have rejected included several government forms, parcel pick-up slips, school documentation marked `Time-Sensitive’, and personal letters.

I so do not understand people like this. Call me crazy, but I see it as my responsibility to ensure that I still receive my mail, to let the various organisations and offices know that I’ve moved. My husband says that some people don’t want their mail to follow them, that it’s an easy way out of responsibility for them. Granted, there have been times I’ve changed my phone number and deliberately not given certain people my new number, but that’s a slightly different matter.

I just don’t get it.

Writing Through The Argh

I’ve been reading Caitlin R. Kiernan’s blog on writing Low Red Moon journal every day for a while now, ever since Ceri posted the first reference to it a couple of months ago. It’s interesting to see how a published author feels about the day-to-day process of writing, editing, proof-reading, and the other minutiae of the writing life.

Today, on the craft of writing, she says, “[T]o put it another way, yes Samm, it is always difficult.

Except, sometimes, it’s really difficult.

When it’s easy, it’s only because you’re not doing it right.”

Sigh. You know, there are those days when things flow. Then, there are the days where you feel like you’re hacking your way through a textual jungle of snarled storylines and crossed characters, and you have absolutely not a single spark of imagination, and it’s work.

Damn it, though, it’s work you’d rather be doing more than anything else in the world. Even when you cry, and growl, and tear up notes, and re-write an entire day’s pages. It’s work you must do; you don’t have the choice. You write, or you shrivel up and blow away in the wind.

Some days, that makes me cranky. Actually, it makes me cranky most days. If I ignore it, it gets worse. So if I make myself pound words out, then at least I’ll have the grudging satisfaction of having a word count to write down in my log book, which does much to stave off the snarl-inducing feelings of guilt if I defiantly ignore my laptop.