Category Archives: Words Words Words

Done!

The anthology galleys are done and out of my hands. I had to send them away or I’d have kept poking at them.

Onward!

ETA ten minutes later: And now I am in that curious post-novel ennui phase where I can’t settle down and do anything. This is ridiculous. I should go make tea and take a notebook into the living room and scribble ideas out.

ETA @ 5:00: 460 handwritten words of setup. Am pleased. Now off to make polenta.

Weekend Roundup

Okay, who allowed this June thing? And why is it still going down to something like five degrees at night? Hello, late spring: We would just like to remind you that summer is twenty-one days away, and if you want to get any love you’d better start warming up to us.

As previously noted, on Friday afternoon after his nap we took the boy to see his first movie in a theatre. We really managed to arrange the best combination of circumstances: the perfect time of day, the perfect film, the perfect age. Go us! We sat in the very back row in case we needed to make a quick exit; he sat on a booster seat and we shared a little kid’s combo of popcorn and the tiny bag of Twizzlers that came with it. He didn’t talk a lot, only made the occasional comment, but he laughed and gasped and said, “That’s silly!” and such things at the appropriate moments. He got slightly upset at something at one point and started to whimper a bit, so I told him that it was all right, that it was just a movie and part of the story, and held his hand. Afterwords he whispered, “Thank you for holding my hand, Mama.” The majority of comments were heartfelt bursts of, “I love you, Mama!” which is shorthand for “I’m having an awesome time!”Up will never be my favourite Pixar film (I honestly can’t say what is at the moment) but they stayed true to their story and their characters, and the execution was as beautiful as it always is. Also, I cried about five or six times; it was very well-told.

Friday night I had my first post-recital cello lesson, where my teacher told me how impressed she’d been with my bow control and intonation. We looked at the current Suzuki 2 piece I’m reviewing, and I get the feeling she thinks I’m going to be done my book 2 review by the end of the month, which just so happens to be the end of her teaching year. We talked about setting up a review plan for the summer and basic prep work for book 3 in the fall. She also reminded me that I take good notes, and to review them regularly to remind myself about pronating hands and dropping shoulders and elbow angles. I feel a bit less panicked about two months without structure now. We finished by looking at some of the tricky passages in the orchestra music, and I’d done very acceptable fingerings for most of it, only really changing one. Was rather proud of that. I must be learning or something.

On Saturday Ceri took me to a spinning workshop as an early birthday present. We sat in the sun on comfy couches and chairs at Ariadne, and learnt about fibre and how to draft and how to use a drop spindle. The instructor looked at us all and said, “Hmm, well, I guess I’ll demonstrate how to use a wheel once we’ve covered plying, because you’ve all caught onto this really quickly and we’ll have the time.” My major problems are connecting a new draft to the draft that’s being spun (my joins come out lumpy); drafting evenly enough so that my resulting yarn is even; and keeping the spindle going with just a single twist of the fingers. I know there’s a technique where one taps the whorl that keeps it going, but we were parking it while we fed the twist up the draft. It was exciting in a relaxing sort of way, if that makes any sense. I demonstrated when we got home, and the boys were duly impressed. Wrapping the single for plying was just as annoying as it had been in the workshop, though. HRH: “Could you… knit with that?” Me: “I could go get needles and do it RIGHT NOW.”

But I didn’t.

Ultimately I’d like to spin enough to string my loom (note to self: using the loom will work better if you have a shuttle and a heddle hook) and make something. As I was falling asleep that night I thought it would be really nice if I could make something for my mother using yarn I’d spun myself and woven on the loom. Evidently there’s still an eager first-grader inside me, sticking macaroni to a tin can and spray-painting it gold to give to her on Mother’s Day. Why do I have such expensive hobbies? I think I’m a relatively simple creature, but I end up playing the cello and spinning. I need to sell another book just to supply myself with accessories and raw material.

Sunday was the multi-family outing to the Canadian Museum of Nature in Ottawa. The Zouak family had to bow out, as poor ADZO is still recovering from an appendectomy, but everyone else was still on board. Google lied through its virtual teeth when it said it would take just under three hours to get there. It took us two hours, and we ended up knocking about the museum lobby and lunchroom for forty-five minutes waiting for the others. The drive there was wonderful, one of those early summer mornings where all the colours are extra-vivid. The boy was very patient (as patient as someone on the threshold of four years old can be) and was overjoyed when the rest of the party arrived. The museum is half closed, as they’re undergoing extensive renovation, but the holdings that were on display were terrific. Lots of dinosaur bones from Canada, and great life-sized models. The other floors were mammals and birds, all very interesting. There’s some great interactive stuff presented on touch screens, which thrilled the boy because buttons and dials and such are always Very Cool. He’s still at the “what’s around the next corner” stage, which is hard to control when the rest of your party is taking the time to really look at the exhibits, but once we got to the higher floors he started focusing better. It’s a quite remarkable museum, and it was all brilliant enough that we decided we’d be going back next spring once the renovation was complete. We enjoyed our packed lunches in the lunchroom, and we left just after one o’clock for the trip home, knowing the boy, although apparently fine, would very soon reach saturation level. The drive home was not as nice, with dramatic pressure changes back and forth, storm fronts all around, and really dreadful wind.

Overall it was a wonderful weekend. Now, back to work. The anthology galleys are due back tomorrow, and I want to finish a second pass on them. I have a new freelance assignment that’s due on Friday, too (blessedly short). And I came up with two story ideas on the trip to the museum yesterday that I want to noodle about with. One is courtesy of something Liam said while reading a book in the back seat, so I think I will write it for him. It’s going to end up being a short chapter book, possibly for the eight to ten age range. We shall see. It’s quite nebulous at this point.

What I Read In May 2009

The Tenth Circle by Jodi Picoult
Mercy by Jodi Picoult
Alex and the Ironic Gentleman by Adrienne Kress
Lambs of London by Peter Ackroyd
Mountain Solo by Jeanette Ingold (reread)
The Servants by Michael Marshall Smith
Babyproof by Emily Giffin
The Children’s Book by A.S. Byatt
Palimpsest by Catherynne Valente
The River King by Alice Hoffman
Deja Dead by Kathy Reichs
Drood by Dan Simmons
The Beekeeper’s Pupil by Sara George
Something Borrowed by Emily Giffin
Blackbird House by Alice Hoffman

I never know whether or not to include the chapter books the boy and I read together. If I did, the four Catwings books by Ursula K. LeGuin would be on the list, too. (Rereads for me, first-times for him.)

Thoughts:

The Children’s Book was wonderful for about three-quarters, then took a turn into the political environment leading up to and during WWI that didn’t interest me as much. I admit that I skimmed those parts until I got back to the actual character storyline. So I won’t own it in hardcover, but will absolutely pick up a paperback copy next year.

I couldn’t get into Something Borrowed at all and gave up on it a third of the way through. There was something about the pacing and the characters that just didn’t sit well. But Babyproof got me from page one. Go figure.

The Servants: Very nicely written; subtle, not beaten into the reader’s head. No time wasted explaining how all this was happening. Also, eleven-year-old protagonist. Rare. Usually older or younger. Good age.

Drood was huge and really well-done. I want to say more but can’t quite formulate it.

In Which We Are The Coolest Parents Ever

In half an hour, we will be packing the boy up to take him to a movie theatre for the very first time. Pixar’s Up is opening today, you see.

We switched Grandma’s Fridays for this. And yes, if he was in school, we’d be manufacturing an excuse to keep him home.

Earlier in the week we were concerned and rather disappointed, because the only listings available were for the 3D showings, and there’s no way the boy would be able to sit through an entire film in a movie theatre for the first time and keep a pair of polarized lenses on at the same time. But we checked this morning and to our relief, all the non-3D listings were up as well.

He has been told that there will be popcorn. I said we would share a bag, and I was informed that no, Mama, you could get your own bag.

Right. If he’s not awake within the next five minutes, we’re waking him up.

ETA: He. was. awesome. So was the movie.

Dear 4/4 Cello:

Fifteen years ago I bought you almost new from another student cellist, your only identifying label a small one that says “Made in Hungary.” We’ve seen a lot together, from Twinkle to Scheherazade. I was stunned when luthier after luthier examined you and told me that you were about my age and a high-end intermediate model, not the shlunky new student model I’d been told you were by the previous owner. Over the past fifteen years your sound has developed beautifully, and you’re powerful and strong. Your action is easy. Your only prima donna trait is your tendency to demand a new bridge every eighteen months, and really, when you think of what can otherwise go wrong, that’s pretty reasonable.

I never knew how huge you were until I handed you to the principal cellist of my chamber orchestra for a moment, and she exclaimed about your width and depth. You were just my cello; that’s the way you were. So when I spoke to my new luthier and he measured you, I was surprised to find out that you are in fact an oversized 4/4. I am petite. I always thought people’s remarks about how amusing it was to see a tiny person playing a large instrument were generic sorts of comments. Now I wondered if there was something else to it.

After much discussion with my new teacher a year ago, we decided to start trying 7/8s; she said that the smaller size and proportion would positively impact my technique. I felt horrible, like I was cheating on you. I felt even worse when I discovered that it actually was physically easier to play a 7/8; I didn’t have a huge chunk of wood in my way when it came to putting my left hand in higher positions and moving my bow arm to play the C string. Even as I searched for a 7/8 whose tone I liked and whose action felt good, I thought I’d never sell you: I would be loyal to the end, whether I bought a second cello or not.

I rented the latest 7/8 for four months to play it exclusively in order to test the playing-better theory. And then last week I brought you upstairs from your lovely exile to play you, to see if there really was a difference. You were almost perfectly in tune, as if you’d been waiting for me.

And you were… harsh. Oh, your action was as easy as I remembered it being — easier than the 7/8, truth be told — but your sound was so bright and cutting that I found myself wincing. I remembered how I searched endlessly for the perfect combination of strings to tone down your brightness, to give you the more mellow sound that I craved. The sound that, I must admit, this 7/8 has in creamy, caramel-y spades. I had no physical problem playing you, but I did notice how large you were and how I had to lift my arms more to get around you, which limits the power I can devote to refining the sound I draw from you. You boomed, you were operatic, and… I cringed a bit. Were I a true soloist, your sound would be perfect for me. But I’m not. I’m a small-ensemble, orchestral-section girl. You’re… big, in every sense of the word. And I’m small.

I know now that keeping you would be sentimentality, pure and simple. While I can physically handle you, it’s just easier with a 7/8. And your sound isn’t what I’m looking for. Now that I know I have other options, I’m a bit sad. It was easier when I didn’t know any better.

You held my hand through pizzicato, my first shaky bow strokes, in-class group recitals, public recitals, joining my first orchestra, and playing bass in an eclectic cover band. We’ve experimented with a wide variety of strings and bows. I’ve given you four new cases over the years. Remember the time I shipped you to Toronto in the baggage car of the train, and the base of the hard case got punched in somehow? I panicked and opened you up right there in the middle of Union Station. And you were fine, laughing at me as if it would take more than whatever happened to hurt you. You have nicks and scratches all over you from minor mishaps over your forty years, and you don’t care. You haven’t a single wolf, and your balance across your strings and throughout your octaves is beautiful. I’ve never found your limits.

Come August, I’ll list you in local classified ads and hope you find someone who will love you as much as I have, someone who needs your size and your beautifully developed, unique sound. I love you. And I release you.

Hmm

I was poky this morning, dragging my metaphorical heels and saying, “I don’t wanna work.” And I spent what I thought was a lot of time kicking around online, hopping through my usual stops of news and journals and Facebook and Twitter and various forums, looking for distraction. I made bread. I don’t think I really settled in to the documents I had open on my desktop till around eleven.

And now? Wow. Freelance assignment finished, half the galleys done, and two hours of cello interspersed throughout. And I thought I was wasting the day. I shall have a glass of wine as a reward!

The Recital Report

A triumph! No screw-ups, secure shifts, solid intonation, some pretty damn fine subtle shaping, and oh look, stable bow weight resulting in nice smooth crescendos! Huzzah! The ensemble pieces were good too. In fact, everyone did very well. And I am very proud of the boy who behaved extremely well, but who, alas, fell asleep right before the Star Wars theme that was the thirteen-year-old’s choice of solo (just past the halfway mark of the recital). He quite enjoyed what he did hear, however. I am told he played air cello and clapped like a mad thing after the duet.

Summer is going to be very long. I will miss cello activites. I have another month of lessons to go and almost six weeks of orchestra, but year-end performances are always tinged with melancholy.

And now, I am going to reward myself with a glass of red wine that I saved from the bottle MLG brought to accompany dinner last night.