My Life in Flint

Midnight Crusader

2009-09-03T09:26:00.002-04:00

So the other night around 2 am or so, I woke up when Jeff got out of bed and walked around to my bedside table and unplugged my cell phone. "What are you doing?" I asked him, mostly still asleep.

"There are snakes in the bed."

Um... really? But knowing that my husband is a semi-regular sleep talker, I felt confident that there weren't actually snakes in the bed.

Using my cell phone as a flashlight, he threw back the covers on his side of the bed.

"They're gone," he said. But his middle-of-the-night subtext was much richer: Ah, yes. Those tricky snakes are gone; I was expecting this... You've foiled me tonight, snakes, but next time, next time, you won't be so lucky...

More practice required

2009-06-30T12:16:00.003-04:00

I just returned from France where I was the guest flute instructor at the Limonest Conversatoire. In preparation for my trip, I practiced my French using Rosetta Stone software and made decent progress. Upon reaching France, though, I soon discovered (as I feared/knew, really) that I was sorely lacking the right kind of vocabulary for flute teaching.

I quickly started a list of the most commonly need phrases:

Start here.

Try it.

Like this.

That's better!

That's too fast.

That's too slow.

You're a little late here.

I heard ______

I like your sound!

Over the time I was there, I felt like I improved dramatically and by the end did not need to reference my sheet at all. I saw several students more than once while I was there and they confirmed that indeed I had made progress. I tried very hard to speak French (referencing my dictionary quite a bit) especially with the youngest students who were only 8 and didn't speak any English.

Of course, you know there had to be at least one case of lost in translation-ness and here it is...

I was meeting with an adult student whom I was told was quite advanced. (He was playing the Poulenc Sonata for all you flute-folk out there.) He also spoke English quite well. But, I was dedicated to my project of speaking French and so persisted with due diligence. Our conversation is recorded below, translated to English.

Me: Hello! My name is Jessica.

Mark: Hello! My name is Mark.

Me: Pleased to meet you!

Mark: Me too.

Me: Start at the beginning? (things like "would you like to" and other niceties were beyond me, but I said everything in a pleasant way hoping it would be communicated)

Mark plays the first movement very well. I am impressed and would like to communicate that I really like his sound. I'm thinking of how to say this as he finishes playing.

Me: (stated in my pleasant and most earnest Do-you-understand-what-I'm-saying? manner) I love you!

Mark: quite startled and now in English Wow! You love me? We've only known each other for 10 minutes! That's great!

Me: also now in English Oh, no! I meant I like your sound. I don't think my husband would be happy that I'm telling strangers I love them. So sorry!

So, the rest of Mark's lesson was in English...

Sweet dreams are made of these

2009-05-15T10:27:00.002-04:00

Last night Jeff went to bed much earlier than I did. He's a pretty light sleeper, so when I came to bed I started to have a little conversation with him. He was keeping up pretty well, especially for having been asleep for about 1 1/2 hours. I was starting to think maybe he hadn't really fallen asleep yet (it's hard to tell sometimes because his eyes are closed), and then in the middle of a sentence he said,

"I wish chocolate sauce was made in the US."

And I said, "Oh. They don't make it here?"

so sadly "No."

"Oh. That's sad. Do you like chocolate sauce?"

happier "Yes."

"What do you like to eat it with?"

a pause for thought "Cake."

"Cake? What about ice cream? I thought your favorite food was ice cream?"

"No... I don't really like ice cream anymore."

"Oh."

"I have to go to bed now. Good night wife."

When vanity and lack of sleep collide

2009-05-10T19:10:00.004-04:00

On Friday night Jeff and I got home from the bon voyage party for our French friends around 3:30 am. We needed to be up at 6:00 am to make it to Ohio for Jeff's brother's wedding. So after 2.5 hours of sleep, we were off right on time.

Later that afternoon, I pulled up to the church feeling pretty good about the outfit and thought that people might not even know how tired I was. I walked into the church and the first thing my husband says, surrounded by his fellow groomsmen, was "Wow, wife. You look hot."

The second thing: "Do you know you're wearing 2 different shoes?"

Immediate panic. I looked down and had a flashback to earlier that afternoon... while I was getting dressed, I pulled the desk chair over to the mirror in the room so I could stand on it so I could see my feet and choose whether the peep-toe or the pointy shoe was better. I clearly remember choosing the pointy. Apparently I stopped thinking about it right then.

I quickly ran to the doors, but then just as quickly came back in. While it was going to damage my pride, I was just going to have to be the daughter-in-law wearing 2 different shoes in the pictures. It was already 1:52 and I was told to be there by 2:00. There was not enough time to go back to the hotel and get back in time. I would just have to suck it up.

I explained this to Jeff and my brother-in-law, who had finally stopped laughing, and he clarified that actually it was just the music that started at 2:00. The actual ceremony didn't start until 2:30. Man, I can run fast in heels, even 2 of varying heights.

As I reached the car, a man was wiping some mud off his trousers. I made of sound of despair at my own idiocy, but he took as a recognition of his predicament. He said, "I can't believe I got mud on my pants." I replied in a sort of hysterical panic as I was climbing into the car, "Well at least you're not wearing 2 different f@$&% shoes...," and then just before closing the door, "Oh, I'm sorry I swore, I don't even know you." And then I was off.

I got back to the hotel, grabbed the appropriate shoe and got back to the church with time to spare. My husband escorted me to my pew. A few seconds later the photographer came over, glanced down at my feet and said, "My son told me what happened in the parking lot. I was just coming over to check if you were wearing 2 matching shoes now or if we'd have to be creative with the pictures and cover your feet with her dress or something." sigh

It's the stuff family legends are made of and I suppose I will become accustomed to the fact that I will hear this story at every family function for the rest of my life.

So, so fast

2009-05-08T01:27:00.002-04:00

I don't have many words today, just this picture of my French friend whom I love and the tremendous heartbreak of having to say goodbye tonight.

Who says history is boring?

2009-05-01T18:52:00.003-04:00

Today one of my students got done playing her short piece and said, "I like that one. I'd like to know who wrote that song." She looked it up and found the composer's name: R. Schumann.

Being the history aficionado that I am, I asked "Would you like to know something about Robert Schumann?" She said she would, in fact. I told her I was going to tell her two things. First, that while Robert Schumann is widely recognized now, during his lifetime it was actually Robert's wife, Clara, who was the really famous one. I told her she was like the Hannah Montana of pianists. My student nodded knowingly, taking this in stride. I explained how history sometimes changes people's perspectives and it wasn't until much, much later that people started to rediscover Clara's prominence in music.

Then her mom, who had been reading a magazine, piped up. "Oh, wasn't she that woman who changed her name so that people would think she was a man? Something Sand?..." I said, "Oh George Sand. No, that wasn't her." "Oh -- but then didn't Clara take up with another man?" "Well, she was good friends with Brahms, but..." "'Friends' my foot...," she mumbled. "Well, then who on earth was George Sand with?" she asked. "Chopin." "Ohhh, Chopin. Now there's a man I wish I'd known..."

The second thing I told her was that Robert Schumann actually went insane during his short life and tried to commit suicide by drowning himself in the river. "Whoa," replied my student. Then she wondered how a person would become insane. I replied, "Syphilis." "What's th-" Another interjection from her mom: "It's like the flu, honey. People can catch it." She paused, looked up and shook her head. "hmph. Musicians."

In sickness and in health

2009-05-01T12:21:00.004-04:00

I might need to review my marriage vows...

Both Jeff and I hate to clean. We enjoy living in a tidy environment, but the actual process of cleaning is one that we both avoid. Here's our conversation from this morning, just after coffee.

Jeff: Hey, do you have bug bites on you?

Me: No.

Jeff: I do. On my stomach and ankles and they're really itchy. I wonder if there was a bug that got me during the night.

Me: No, I've got nothing. Say, can we come up with a division of labor for the cleaning today?

Jeff: skeptically Okay...

Me: Okay, you do the entire kitchen and our bathroom and I'll do the 2 guest rooms, the guest bathrooms, the living room and vacuum. But I don't want anything to do with the kitchen.

Jeff: (without hesitation) Deal.

Time passes peacefully as we both work on our tasks. About 45 minutes later, I hear:

Jeff: Hey, I think I'm having an allergic reaction...

Me: To cleaning?

Jeff: No, to this medicine. He lifted his shirt to reveal 3765 tiny red hives all over him. I think I'm going to have to take Benadryl (a tiny hint of a smile started to form as he continued) and that's going to make me sleepy... (no attempt to mask his smile)

Me: huge sigh Oh, crap. If you think this is getting you out of cleaning the kitchen...

Jeff: You kind of suck.

St. Patrick's Day at the gym

2009-03-17T23:33:00.003-04:00

I've recently added a Pilates class to my workout routine. Tonight was my third class, and I'm starting to notice some things.

I am decidedly not flexible. There are many moves where one is supposed to point their toe directly at the ceiling while laying on one's back. Um, yeah right.
I really like rolling like a ball. It's super fun.
The type of breathing used in Pilates is quite relaxing.
A move only needs 4 or 5 repetitions to be effective. So, there is a great deal of variety.
People fart. A lot.

So, on that last point... The woman whose mat was next to mine was talking to our instructor before class began about her intestinal distress (ahem) and she told her that it was perfectly normal. When one is rolling up their insides while breathing out with such force, it can sometimes cause a gaseous side effect. She looked relieved. Then looked thoughtful, turned to me and said,

"I just thought I should tell you, I had corned beef and cabbage today for dinner."

A funny shopping trip

2009-02-22T18:18:00.003-05:00

I just got back from a quick trip to Target. I would like to report on two episodes...

Episode 1:

While walking through the clothing section of the store, I passed a mom who was my age and her son who was probably around 4 by the looks of him. As I was looking through a rack, I heard him shout:

"MOM! ARE YOU AN 'XL'????"

A much quieter reply came back, "(sigh) Yes, honey...,"

"MOM! I FOUND AN XL OVER HERE!"

"MOM! HERE'S ANOTHER XL!"

"MOM! THIS ONE HAS 2 X'S! DO YOU NEED ONE WITH 2 X'S???"

Finally, in a quiet, exasperated tone she responded "Okay, honey, thank you. Try not to shout anymore, okay? (sigh)"

Episode 2:

I was making my way toward the body soap aisle and was following a mom pushing her son, who looked to be about 2 or 3, in a cart.

He was making farting sounds with his mouth.

"Mom," he giggled and then made the sound, "I'm pooping." Fart, fart.

"Shh, honey, don't do that!" She glanced around her. She saw me.

Fart, fart, fart. "Mom! I'm still pooping!" Fart, fart, fart.

She glanced around again. I was studiously not making eye contact and was looking at everything we were passing with great interest. But I had to keep following her because she was turning into the very aisle I needed as well.

She paused in front of the body soap. Fart, fart, fart. She watched me as I stopped there, too. She left the aisle, without any soap.

"Honey, you shouldn't make those kinds of sounds in the store," she whispered to him.

"Mom, I wasn't really pooping..." I heard him say as they turned the corner.

I made 'em sweat alright

2009-02-20T08:54:00.004-05:00

Well, it was awesome.

And, there's something to be said for people's low expectations...

I got to the gym last night, changed as fast as I could, grabbed my CD, handwritten sheet of moves and tape (to hang it on the mirror, of course) and went out. A couple of my friends from class were up at the front. A few other ladies that I recognized from class were hanging out by the machines that border the aerobics space chatting and looking skeptical. One of these ladies walked over to us.

"I just want to tell you that they say they're going to bail," she said.

"Oh...," I said. "Well, it's going to be really good! They should stay!"

"I told them we should give it a try, but I don't know..."

So I took my sheet of handwritten moves and walked over to the lady that looked most skeptical.

I showed her my sheet. "Look, it's going to be good, I promise. I practiced really hard. You should stay." And then I went and taped my sheet to the mirror.

The group of ladies on the verge of bailing out made their way to the middle of the space. I smiled.

I was nervous for about 8 jabs at the beginning and then every time a new block of moves was about to start (the transitions can be kind of tricky), but I think it was really good. They all clapped when it was over and many of them made it a point to come talk to me afterward, which was cool. They were impressed that I had made my own moves. They liked my sheet.

I'm glad I joined this gym. I've found more than I was hoping for.

My big break

2009-02-18T23:52:00.003-05:00

Well, tomorrow something very exciting will happen.

I will get to cross another job off my top 5.

(On my list:
1. Farmer
2. Bartender
3. D.J.
4. Mailman
5. Aerobics instructor)

As most of you know, tomorrow night I get to sub for my kickboxing instructor.

I have my very own copy of my favorite CD from class (it both opens and closes with Rihanna's S.O.S -- great for punching and kicking) and my instructor even wrote down some moves. I tried to use her combinations as I was practicing, but found that it seemed a little easier to use the moves that occurred naturally to me with each track. However it took awhile to get the combinations to work out properly with the music the way I thought they should, so I probably worked through each track 3 or 4 times. And when you add that time all together, well, that's a lot of kickboxing.

So, I'll head off to bed now and probably dream of kickboxing. Jeff better watch out for any errant kicking... hehe.

All's fair...

2009-02-03T23:06:00.006-05:00

You know how Jesus walked on water?

Well, we might be dealing with some seriously holy squirrels.

Our squirrel war has intensified pretty significantly over the last few months. When I think back to our first feeble attempts to capture the squirrels (the sticky glue paper), I can only shake my head with a sigh at our naiveté. After the squirrels used the papers as play things (they covered them with the loose cellulose insulation from the attic) we knew something had to change.

So we bought 2 live traps. Squirrels make a lot of racket when they get trapped in one of those, let me tell you. Jeff took the first two squirrels that were captured to a park near our bank, which is about 8 miles from our house. As soon as he opened the trap, they were out like a shot. Straight back to our house! That's right friends. You could trade in your fancy navigation system for a run of the mill squirrel. Turns out they have a natural GPS system of their own, so even when taken away from home, they can still find their way back. Okay, okay, so I don't know for certain that the squirrels we captured 2 days later were the same squirrels, but they looked suspiciously similar.

We were having trouble with the idea of actually killing captured squirrels until the other day when it became abundantly clear that not only were the squirrels still very much in this battle, but that we were in serious danger of losing. Our defenses had been compromised. Jeff was taking his laundry to the basement when much to his surprise, he saw a squirrel. In the basement. That's right, out in the clear light of day. Having witnessed such a brazen move, we knew we had to strike back.

We put the traps back up and when we heard that we had captured one, we waited. And waited. And after a day, we didn't hear anything anymore. Sad, I know, but this is war.

Well, we've been feeling pretty good about the repairs Jeff made in the attic because we haven't heard anything for a couple of days. There's been no more sightings in the basement and we were starting to breathe a little easier. That is until this morning.

I was sitting in the office drinking my coffee when I heard Jeff say "So that's why I haven't seen any squirrel tracks."

I looked out the window and to my surprise, I saw a squirrel walking ever so carefully on the snow and he wasn't making a single track. It was like Jesus himself had taught him.

Now how are we going to compete with that? With God on their side, I'm afraid we don't stand a chance.

Exercise: Good for the body and soul

2009-01-27T22:41:00.003-05:00

You know what's a really great feeling? Being missed.

To be missed implies a history. 1) I know who you are, 2) I like seeing you, 3) I noticed that you were gone.

Ahhh....

I got to kickboxing tonight after not being able to go last week at all, and this is on top of a reduction in attendance overall the last couple months due to work commitments. So after class my instructor and a couple of girls from class came up to me and told me all of the new things they tried last week and said that we should really try them out next Tuesday because they knew I'd really like them. There was laughing, a casual touch on the arm to emphasize a point, and a general ease in conversation. Details that of themselves aren't really a big deal but one day could add together to be something great: friendship.

And that would be a big deal.

In gratitude

2009-01-16T18:42:00.003-05:00

(An open letter to the reference librarian at the University of Michigan-Flint.)

Dear Reference Librarian:

Please accept my sincere gratitude for your endless patience and unwavering dedication to the pursuit of reference materials.

I am in awe of your knowledge of the proper way to request a copy of an article from a journal that doesn't exist at our library. It worked far better than my method of throwing my hands up in the air and shouting "Why doesn't this stupid library own anything???"

And thank you for saving me from printing (and paying for) 384 pages of a dissertation called Tooters and Tutors. The 'email this' button will allow me to read first and print second (an axiom that might make a good reference librarian t-shirt slogan, don't you think?).

I appreciate the reminder that I shouldn't forget my library card/copy card in the copy machine. You're right, it did take me a week to obtain and it absolutely would be a shame to lose it on the first day.

Oh, and I didn't forget that you were the one who caught the fact that I had requested my seven books be sent to the Ann Arbor campus instead of ours. Good catch, Mr. Librarian!

So, thanks again and next week I will try to use my "library voice" when shouting at the computer/card catalog/New Grove Dictionary of Music and Musicians, second edition.

Sincerely,

Jessica

'Too' funny

2009-01-09T09:09:00.002-05:00

In a recent lesson, I've started talking to one of my younger students about tonguing, using one's tongue to provide definition to a note, like saying the word "too". This student's mother sits in on her lessons, so she was there too.

Me: (to the girl) Do you remember what tonguing is?

Her mother: (under her breath) Something I got grounded for in high school...

A hefty resolution

2009-01-02T13:52:00.003-05:00

This entry has been weighing on the back of my mind since I first started this blog on the last day of June. Actually, I've been thinking about it for the last couple years. Which is a long time to think about something and not do anything about it. So, I'm going to finally get it out in the open, which I believe must be the first step in doing something about it.

I'm going to write my paper.

Yes, THE paper. And then I can finally get my degree and become Dr. Price. (That looks kind of weird to me as I type it...)

For those that don't know, I currently hold ABD ('all but dissertation', usually, but in this case, 'document'. Document = way shorter than dissertation) status at MSU. That means I've taken all the required courses, played all the required recitals, passed the hardest test I've ever taken in my life (that the professors said "set the gold standard" for the history comp, please forgive that tiny indulgence of vanity) and the only thing that stands between me and getting my doctorate is this paper.

Here's my plan.

I recently left my job at Spring Arbor. It was time to go; the commute was too long and there were too few flute students to justify the time it took to be there. I used to teach there on Fridays. Now, my Fridays are completely open. Fridays will now become my research, and eventually, my writing days. I think that if I can contain the mess that this researching and writing will become, I can handle it and it won't completely disrupt my life.

Today is the first Friday of 2009.

I am going to do this, and it will be done by 2010.

Some quality alone time

2008-12-31T11:40:00.002-05:00

Yesterday I made a trip to the happiest place on Earth... no, not Disneyland... IKEA! I just love IKEA and consider myself to be an expert on maneuvering in the store. I know where all of the secret passages are and always carefully plan my route before even going through the doors.

Jeff, however, hates going to IKEA. As much as I love it, he hates it. So I've learned that it's much better to leave him at home when I go. Apparently other women have learned that as well...

My purchases yesterday included a giant mirror, 3 ft. x 4ft., weighing about 35 or so pounds. It was a little unwieldy. As I stood in the parking lot pondering how I was going to fit the mirror into the trunk of our Saturn, a very nice woman walked by.

"Say, that's a pretty big item for a pretty small car! Would you like some help?"

"Wow, thanks! That'd be great! My husband bowed out of coming today."

"Oh, well I purposely go when my husband is at work," she replied. "Otherwise, I'd just kill him."

Walking in a winter wonderland

2008-12-19T14:08:00.007-05:00

We had a snow day today and everything was cancelled! So we went for a walk around the neighborhood and enjoyed winter's splendor.

We love this house... it's for sale... any takers?

Home again for tea and fresh bread. What a great day!

Well, no, but it kind of looks like it, doesn't it?

2008-12-18T10:41:00.003-05:00

Recently Jeff was a guest musician in my Saturday Young Musicians classes. He was there to demonstrate the soprano, alto, and tenor saxophones.

With the 3 year olds, I like to use comparison words to help them build vocabulary. So I'll ask them things like, "Which saxophone is bigger?" and "Which saxophone sounds lower?" I also think it's useful to ask follow up questions so they have a chance to explain why they think that. Sometimes I get unexpected, but clearly rational, answers.

Jeff brought his prized vintage alto (a great jazz horn) to show them. It was made in the mid-60s, so it looks pretty used. There are large patches where the lacquer has rubbed off and the brass is exposed, and some of the lacquer that has remained is turning a little greenish or orangish in places from oxidation. After playing and talking about that horn, he held it up next to the tenor, which was made only about 5 or 6 years ago. It's in pristine condition. Beautifully shiny, no visible scratches, and a uniform color all over.

"Which saxophone is bigger?" I asked.

"That one!" they shouted and pointed at the tenor.

"Which one is older?"

A short pause, and then "That one!" as they pointed at the alto.

"How do you know?"

A longer pause and then one girl finally said, "It has mold on it."

Christmas Tree Day!

2008-12-07T21:01:00.006-05:00

Today we went to Runyan's Christmas Tree Farm to find the perfect tree! It was a beautiful, and totally freezing, day.

Jeff is holding the 2 implements needed for Christmas tree selection: the measuring pole and the saw. I picked out about 12 trees that I loved that were all taller than the measuring pole.
Too bad...

I liked this tree a lot, but it was too small.

Jeff was having fun burying his feet in the snow. He does this when he wears snow boots.
See how happy he is?

Could this be the one?

Yes! Love at first sight!

Jeff was in charge of the sawing portion of the trip. It took a little while to get through the trunk, but....

Success at last!

Yay, Jeff!

Say, I can't feel my toes...
Um, maybe you shouldn't bury them in the snow...

Dancing with the tree.

And then they kicked the Sugar Plum Fairy's ass...

2008-12-06T22:35:00.003-05:00

Today in my Young Musicians classes we talked about ballet, specifically The Nutcracker, as the season is upon us. First we listened to the dances on a CD and made up our own choreography and then we watched a video of the ballet.

When we got to Waltz of the Flowers, out came 10 ballerinas in fluffy layers of ankle-length pink tulle followed by 2 ballerinas in purple.

"Oooh....," said the girls collectively.

"Pink's my favorite color!" they cried.

"They're so beautiful!"

"I want to be a ballerina, too!"

Just then the ballerinas made a large circle as one more ballerina, dressed all in white, slipped into the the middle. The pastel-colored group fluttered around Dew Drop, their pointe shoes moving rapidly.

"What do you think is going to happen?..." I whispered to the group.

"They're going to fight!" said a little boy.

I laughed at the thought of 13 tulle-clad ballerinas duking it out on stage, and laughed a little harder at that boy's fervent hope that something interesting was finally about to happen.

Is it possible that 1988 was really 20 years ago? No....

2008-12-03T22:19:00.006-05:00

So today in a lesson, I was showing my especially astute student a piece in one of my books from my student days. It had the date, minus the year, written on the top.

Me: Oh, look! I was working on this piece on December 3rd, too, when I was in 7th grade. Hmm... let's see, what year would that have been?... I graduated high school in 1995, so -

Student: (giggling)

Me: What's so funny?

Student: You graduated high school the same year I was born! (short pause) Wow, you're old.

Me: *sigh*

It was even called 'Starr'

2008-11-25T22:57:00.005-05:00

So the other day I went to Sephora to pick up a couple things -- staples, nothing too exciting. I had vague notions about looking for a new blush. I was walking around the Bare Escentuals display when I noticed a section of lip glosses called "Buxom Lips". I saw a color I liked, so I grabbed one of those handy applicators they have all over the store and tried it on.

As I put it on, my lips began to tingle with a very strange and immediate sensation. Being a flute player and thus keenly aware of my lips and their well being, I was more than a little alarmed. I quickly grabbed a tissue, dabbed some eye make-up remover on it (which seemed the better choice than the bottle marked 'alcohol') and wiped off the gloss. They continued to tingle, but it was considerably lessened now that it had been removed.

Yikes! I thought, as a I made my 5th circle around the display checking to see if there was anything I'd missed. As I passed the mirror on the other side of the display, I noticed that I did like the remaining color... very much...

Back to the lip glosses. Maybe I'll try this again... I casually applied the gloss and waited for the tingling to start. As I was waiting, a sales associate came over to see if I needed any help.

"This lip gloss is making my lips tingle. Is that normal?" I asked her.

"Oh, that's the additive in the gloss to make your lips fuller," she replied, nodding as she said this. "It's normal."

I checked out my lips in the mirror. I stuck them out a little to see if they looked any different. It occurred to me that this could actually be helpful to my career. You see, I have somewhat thinnish lips and if my lips were slightly fuller, it could potentially make playing the flute just a tiny bit easier...

"Excuse me," I approached the sales associate, "Do you know how long the effects of this lip gloss last?"

"Oh," she paused, "I'm not sure. Maybe 30 minutes?"

Hmmm... not long enough to make it through a concert. Rats.

For the love of Mozart

2008-11-21T15:41:00.003-05:00

So I have this student with one of the oddest, most charming quirks that I've ever witnessed while teaching flute.

She's been working on a piece by Mozart (Andante in C for all you flute folk out there) that she absolutely loves. Throughout the piece there are several cadences, or places where the music naturally comes to an end, as in the final sentence of a great paragraph. At these points, there is 'formula' of sorts that Mozart and his contemporaries used to highlight these moments of completion that goes something like this:

TRILL! - 2 - 3- 4 da da da!

They are the kind of recognizable moments that help define the music of this era. They are lovely, gracious endings that one can count on when playing the music of this time.

My student loves them. I mean, really, really loves them. So much, in fact, that she cannot get through all 4 counts of the trill to the da da da ending because she is smiling too much. So her cadences go something like this:

TRILL! - 2 - 2 1/2 (smile) unfocused air sound - tiny amounts of suppressed giggling - ....

And then she stands up straight, smooths the front of her shirt and says "Okay, sorry," and begins again. She furrows her eyebrows, makes her most serious face, and then... smiling.

I'm not totally sure what's going to happen when she actually plays this piece in public. Her best attempt so far was to hold off the smile until the 3rd beat...

The bah-humbug sister

2008-11-20T12:28:00.003-05:00

Here is a transcription of a recent conversation with my sister:

Mel: Jess, I know what I want for Christmas!

Me: Oh! What?

Mel: A curling iron.

Me: (longish pause) . . . no you don't.

Mel: (more insistent) Yes, yes I do!

Me: No, you don't. You have straight hair. The straightest hair of anyone on the planet. You just have to accept this.

Mel: Duh, Jess, that's why I want a curling iron. (slightly offended in tone)

Me: Okay... what size curling iron? (trying to play along)

Mel: The smallest size.

Me: (cutting in immediately) No, no. (the playing along now over) That's just not going to work. How about I get you a gift card to a great salon and they can make you have curly hair for 1 day. It will probably last a couple of hours before it falls out, which will be more curly-hair time than all of the minutes put together that you could get out of a curling iron on your own.

Mel: That's stupid.

Me: You have beautiful hair! Gorgeous straight red hair!

Mel: My hair isn't red. Have you looked at me lately?

Me: It's kind of red...

Mel: No. It's not. (big sigh) Fine. Get me a wig then.

It's kind of like being invincible

2008-11-17T21:35:00.003-05:00

A pair of yellow rubber gloves purchased from the local grocery store (yes, the same place I found my amazing swimsuit) has changed my life.

Since childhood I have hated (no really, hated is not too strong of a word here) getting my hands dirty. I don't know why, just something in my genes, I guess. My mom tells me that as a tiny child I would cry until she rinsed them off. Well, I don't cry any more, but I still go out of my way to avoid having dirty hands.

In my pre-glove world, washing the dishes always grossed me out. Especially when I first had to empty the water Jeff left in the sink from the night before. While I can't imagine that anyone likes sticking their hand in the cold, gray, grease-streaked dishwater, I really despised it. And then I would have to wring out the dishcloth; there's just something about a dishcloth that rubs me the wrong way.

I now live in a post-glove world, where little things like dishcloths and dried-on food bits don't slow me down one bit. I have also noticed that I'm considerably faster at doing the dishes in my post-glove world.

I have thought of other uses for my gloves, such as:

Wiping down the counters
Cleaning the bathrooms
Scrubbing the floor around the toilets
Teaching my Young Musicians classes on Saturdays

So bring on the dirt. I'm ready.

It was a little sad, actually

2008-10-26T13:12:00.005-04:00

I just got back from Sam's Club.

Right inside the door, after you show the greeter your membership card, there is a huge display of giant flat-screen plasma TVs. They reminded me of those gently glowing bug lights both because of the bluish glow and the effect they had on the men entering Sam's.

It was actually difficult to maneuver my cart through the aisle because of all of the men that had been drawn to the display, who were all wearing that sort of dazed and happy look on their faces. Many of them were accompanied by their wives who had taken over cart duty and were simultaneously trying to push their carts forward with one hand and grab their husbands by the elbow with the other.

Other wiser, more experienced women just continued into the store, completely ignoring their husbands altogether assuming they would eventually catch up. As I was just about to clear the display area, a man whipped around in my direction and said,

"Marywehavetohavethisdoyouseehowclearthepictureiswesoneedthisforthegame," all in one breath. He looked a little bewildered, looking at me, as he realized his wife was not there.

"Oh," I said, "I think she went off that way," as I pointed toward the aisles where the giant-sized cleaning supplies were kept.

"Oh. Thanks." Eyes downcast, shoulders hunched, he shuffled off in that direction.

Talk about a disappointment

2008-10-18T14:38:00.003-04:00

Every Saturday I teach a class called Young Musicians. There are three sections: kids 3-4 years, 5-7, and 8-10. We just had our 6th class this morning.

Today after the class for kids 5-7, a mom pulled me aside.

"Mrs. Price, I have to tell you this funny story," she started. "I asked my daughter how she was enjoying your class and she said she really likes it!"

"Great!" I said.

"But," the mom went on, "then she said she was kind of disappointed that she hadn't learned any magic tricks yet."

"Oh?..." I said.

"Yes, apparently she thought she was taking Young Magicians classes on Saturdays."

Old habits die hard

2008-10-16T11:00:00.004-04:00

I have this problem. I've had it for awhile, actually. Since last year. It's not earth-shattering or anything, but it does cause distress.

My work pants, all of them, are too long. Not just a tiny bit long, I'm talking TLC's What-Not-to-Wear-intervention too long.

"Just go to a tailor, silly girl!" I can hear my mom saying in the back of my head. I should, I really, really should. Because after the stunt I pulled yesterday, no self-respecting professional could live with herself.

Back in junior high, the trend among the pre-teen scene was shortish t-shirts. I am a short girl, always have been, so my t-shirts seemed extra long. Tucking was way out. So what did I do? Tape. Scotch, to be precise. Every morning, I would carefully fold the hem of my shirt up about 4 inches or so and apply tape. Lots of it. Voila! One shortish t-shirt.

(You're cringing a little bit, reading this, aren't you? Because you know where this is going... yeah, I don't blame you.)

So, yesterday I'm practicing in my office between students and I catch a glimpse of my almost put-together self in the mirror. "Damn...," I thought. So I sat down at my desk and carefully folded the hem of my beautiful slacks up about 3 inches and applied tape. Lots of it. Voila! Hemmed slacks.

This lasted through one 30-minute lesson. Thankfully I have a tiny bit more self-respect than I did as a junior high student and realized that I could not get away with this because a) the tape was releasing on the seams and was peaking out from "hem" and b) it kind of made a weird sound as I walked. (Hmm.. I just realized that I used the same logic as a criminal who is sorry only because he has been caught.) Let me be clear: had the tape held and was sound-free, I would have been satisfied, at least for yesterday, with my scotch-taped hem.

I have a problem. This is clear. This weekend I will find a tailor and hopefully put an end, once and for all, to my homemade hems.

A feast for the eyes

2008-10-12T17:23:00.005-04:00

Our friend Jim, Jeff, and I just got back from taking a walk around our neighborhood. What a beautiful day! Michigan is such a gorgeous place in the fall. I hope you enjoy these. (you can click on the photos to make them full-sized)

Happiness

2008-10-10T22:00:00.003-04:00

What does it take to be happy?

Happiness, my friends, is driving down Corunna Rd., cresting the small hill and seeing a red glow in the distance. Like a beacon in a sea of darkness, I am drawn to the light. As I approach, a feeling of goodwill towards men fills my heart and everything seems right in the world.

"Ma'am, would you care to try a fresh Original Glazed?" says the man behind the counter.

I nod, unable to fully express my pure joy at having happened into this moment, as he hands me an extraordinary creation of man: the Krispy Kreme doughnut.

I wouldn't call it a full-blown phobia...

2008-10-09T17:03:00.005-04:00

Tiny children make me nervous. They like to be close, touch you, pet your hair, and sit in your lap. Even when you'd rather they didn't do those things... especially after you've just watched them pick their noses, for example. Or cough. All over themselves, their neighbor, and your leg.

Even though they make me nervous, it seems that they like me. I'm not sure why.

For example, today at work a line of tiny children was walking through our hallways on the way to their music class. I happened to be walking back to my office, which was in the same direction as their room. I thought about waiting until the line had passed, but instead chose to merge into an adjacent strip of hallway floor. So there I was, walking down the hallway side-by-side with the line of tiny children, when all of a sudden, there was a tiny hand holding my hand. Shocked, I looked down at a tiny brown face with beautiful eyes wide open, a huge grin, and a giant orange pumpkin crafted out of construction paper pinned to his shirt.

"Hi!" he said. And then grinned.

"Hi, to you," I replied.

We parted ways when we came to my office. Off they went to music class and off I went in search of my Purell...

Frustration

2008-10-07T10:45:00.003-04:00

Right. So I'm 31, closing in on 32.

WHY DO I STILL GET PIMPLES??!!

It's so unfair! (just to throw in a little teenage angst since my skin apparently still acts like a teenager).

Reverie

2008-10-05T14:53:00.007-04:00

Last night Jeff and I attended a concert that featured Bolero by Maurice Ravel. For those of you unfamiliar with this piece, it can be described as a tone color study of the orchestra. Ravel wrote a very simple melody which he set over and over again using each member of the winds in turn. After focusing on them individually, he mixes them together with the strings in several different combinations before reaching the exciting climax. Another less generous way of describing this piece is 16 minutes of the same thing over and over and over and over. I happen to like it.

Anyway, hearing the piece performed last night reminded me of the last time I heard this piece which was while I was performing it in Lyon, France this past March. We were in a beautiful 18th-century building, by far the most stunning room I have ever performed in. I took this photo after our rehearsal that morning. For the concert, the hall was standing room only.

What made this concert so memorable (in addition to the amazing venue) was the absolute joy of performing with our French colleagues. I have never heard a horn sound the way it did that week in France; the bassoon became an instrument of great beauty and richness. It was truly an immense pleasure to play with them.

I think the reason it was so easy to perform with them was also the worst part: it was a temporary experience. We were together for one week, rehearsing and performing, and then we knew it would be over. It lacked that sense of competitive unease that can lurk in the back of one's mind about who is playing what part and who got what gig last week and so on. It was so much easier to focus on the music, even when most of the direction coming from the podium was in a language I couldn't understand.

I know that when people speak of a 'soul mate', they are generally referring to their spouse or partner, but I believe there is also a space in there for a friend who all at once understands you, who connects with you on a level that is immediate and real. The kind of friend Anne of Green Gables (Anne is such a classic) called her bosom friend. I had that in France and it was magnificent.

And I miss her.

So as we were sitting there at the concert last night listening to Ravel, my mind went back to France, where everything was intoxicating: the food, the wine, the music, and the friends.

Parlais vous anglais?

2008-09-26T15:43:00.005-04:00

Jeff and I have recently decided to learn how to understand, speak, read, and write French. Fluently, if possible. In the last 3 years, we've been fortunate to travel to France twice and have had our French colleagues visit us twice. Jeff is going again (lucky!) in November and they are coming to Flint in May. Whew! Each time we have marveled at how well they speak English and have been embarrassed that our French is tres terrible.

So, we purchased (brand new off eBay for $100 less than retail, thank you very much) Rosetta Stone. It's really fun, actually. Their basic philosophy is that the most effective way to learn a language is the way you learned your native language, by complete immersion, i.e. without translation. So, for instance, up will pop 2 pictures: one of a boy and one of a girl. And then this French voice will say "une fille" and will highlight the picture of the girl. (Shoot, now I can't remember if it's un fille or une fille... rats...) Once you've mastered choosing the right person, they show that same girl holding an egg and the whole process starts over again.

Another essential component is learning how to pronounce words like an actual honest-to-goodness French person would pronounce them. So, they'll say "des femmes" and then this little bleep sounds which is your signal to repeat the word into the microphone attached to the headset you're currently wearing. If you pronounce the word satisfactorily, you move on.

Okay, fine. Not too hard. Yeah -- until you hit lesson 2! All of sudden in lesson 2, the French pronunciation police are out in full force and they aren't messing around.

So the other night I was working on my French lesson when the picture of a newspaper flashed on the screen. "un journal" says Ms. French. "un journal," I reply. BUZZ. Wrong. "un journal" repeats Ms. French. "un journal," I try again. BUZZ.

I notice this green play button on the picture that I hadn't seen before. I click on that. It takes me to this alternate world of pronunciation help for dummies. Not only do you hear Ms. French pronouncing the word successfully, you also see what her voice looks like in sound waves. Cool. Ohhhhhhhh, I think, as I see that first her voice scoops down a tiny bit then explodes up before sliding gracefully down at the close of the word. Feeling better prepared, I click on the record icon and speak. Let me tell you, I didn't even need the BUZZ! I could see I was nowhere close. My voice line didn't even connect; it looked like a stick drawing, one line straight down, one line straight up, one line straight down. Crap. I try replicating Ms. French about 5 more times. Finally, I feel prepared to go back to the regular screen to try again.

"Un journal," says Ms. French ever-so-coolly.

"Un journal," I say with utter confidence (well, with just a hint of desperation).

BUZZ.

"Shit!" I say.

BUZZ.

Pipe dreams

2008-09-21T19:00:00.005-04:00

This Friday was Jeff's birthday. He turned 31.

I got him a pipe. He really wanted one and he's very happy.

Pipe smoke, it turns out, is a very pleasurable smell and I find that it actually compliments the style of our house quite well, just like a lamp with the perfect shade or a furry blanket that's nice to the touch. With the season turning to fall, there's so much comfort in the idea of a warm fire, a great glass of wine, and a quiet night at home with Jeff, smoking his pipe.

"I'd like the model with the built-in battering ram, please"

2008-09-13T16:43:00.007-04:00

I just got back from a rainy excursion to my local Yankee Candle because I've recently decided that I can't play one more note in my practice room until it smells like Spiced Pumpkin. (Good news -- Spiced Pumpkin candles are currently buy one, get one 50% off!)

While there, a young dad came in pushing a baby in a pretty high-tech stroller. There he was minding his own business, sniffing the lids of various candles like the rest of us, when she pounced.

Ridiculously Obnoxious Saleslady (R.O.S.): (speaking directly to the baby in the loudest cutesy baby voice I've ever heard) Well, aren't you just the cutest little baby in the wo-orld! (the 2 syllable pronunciation)

Dad: (polite fake laugh of acknowledgment) Thanks. (baby makes the tiniest of sounds)

R.O.S.: (Bending over and shaking her finger at the baby with a super scary smile on her face) No fussing in he-re! (and then, one octave higher) No fussing in he-re! (stops and smiles at the dad)

Dad: (polite laugh number 2) Yeah, I think he's teething. (trying to maneuver the stroller around the woman, but it was tough because it's a really small store and the Spiced Pumpkin display was blocking his only escape route)

R.O.S.: (still smiling that creepy smile and still directing all comments to the baby) Oh, I remember that age, I sure do-oo! (and then...) Aren't you just a great big chunk? Aren't you just the fattest, little chunkiest baby I've ever seen! Fat, fat, fat!

(At this I stole a quick glance at the kid. I don't like to make eye contact with babies because I think they, like dogs, can tell when you're afraid of them... Anyway, he didn't look all that chunky to me, plus her comment seemed a little mean-spirited regardless of his overall trimness.)

Dad: (polite laugh number 3) Yeah... uh, excuse me. (he inched the wheels forward)

(R.O.S. took up her post at the cash register. A group of women was ready to check out and their daughters were hanging back behind them. They were minding their own business sucking on those gigantic ring pops that dentists love so much, when the baby made the 2nd of the tiniest of sounds.)

R.O.S.: (in a scolding tone, talking over the women's heads) Girls! Don't you hear that little baby trying to talk to you?

(I made a second stealth glance in the baby's direction. Hmm, he's not even looking at the girls, I thought. The girls, startled, looked over their shoulders disinterestedly at the baby who had begun to pull his socks off.

His dad began to slowly wheel the stroller backwards in preparation for a reverse y-turn out of the store. R.O.S. left her post and deftly moved to block his escape.)

R.O.S.: (again taking up her baby speak) Don't you want a car freshener today?

Dad: (seeming to suddenly realize that his high-tech stroller could easily run over this woman, inched forward, tentatively at first, then with more determination)

(Good god, he's going to do it, I thought! I admit, I wanted to see it happen. Just as he was picking up some speed a young woman carrying a Victoria's Secret bag poked her head into the store.)

"Honey? Ready?"

I let out a small sigh of disappointment as R.O.S. moved out of the way and the dad and his baby left the store. I was really looking forward to seeing that baby take her out.

Not exactly the Aha! moment I was hoping for...

2008-09-11T10:33:00.002-04:00

So, yesterday afternoon I was having a lesson with a talented young lady. I was really getting into what we were working on and I noticed she was looking at me fairly intently. A good sign, I thought. We must be on the same page! I finished my statement with an air of immense satisfaction of having reached her and paused to hear her reaction.

"Do you know you have a really long gray hair on the left side of your face?" she asked.

Happy Birthday

2008-09-10T00:00:00.003-04:00

Today is my mom's birthday.

I was talking to one of my adult students today during her lesson. She and her family just found out that her niece is pregnant and she's only 20. She's in college right now, a junior, and is currently studying hotel management on a study-abroad program in Europe. The girl is scared and upset, wants to come home, quit school and find a job, any job, that will allow her to provide for this baby. The father's parents are saying discouraging things. It's a bit of a mess. I kept thinking, Wow. What is she going to do?

And then I remembered, my mom found herself pregnant with me when she was 20. While she was still in college. Without a job and without insurance. I doubt that was part of her and my dad's plan.

My mom's plans changed. We've never really talked about it, but I would assume she was going to college with the plan of beginning her career after graduation. She's a brilliant woman. She would have been excellent at whatever she chose to pursue. Instead, she stayed home with me. And then with my brother, my sister, and is finally seeing my youngest brother through high school.

And she's excellent at it.

So, on her birthday, I say THANK YOU! for making those sacrifices, and for making those hard decisions. I believe I'm finally beginning to understand what that meant.

I love you, Mom.

Hair-don'ts

2008-09-05T11:05:00.009-04:00

I'm having a bad hair day. Well, to be honest, a bad hair week. I don't know, maybe it's the humidity, or it's time for a hair cut, or I need to switch shampoos. In any case, it bums me out.

That is, until I remembered some quality hair moments from my junior high and early high school days and realized that a bad hair week cannot compare to these 'dos.

Here I am modeling my own designs at the 4-H county fair in Omaha. 7th grade, I believe. Yes, I did make the shirt. And the shorts. See how my carefully folded-down socks and earrings match perfectly?

This shot was taken in Nashville while visiting my aunt and uncle and cousins. I LOVED that hat. I cannot even begin to explain how much I loved that hat. The sunglasses, I believe, were a promotional item from a gas station. And finally, it really is a shame that you can't see the full outfit because I finished this classy ensemble with a pair of pig boxer shorts. It was oh-so-carefully planned. See how happy I am?

Ah, yes. Here I am preparing to go to Homecoming my freshman year. Freshly sunburned from a marching band competition earlier that day, I went with the motto "Bigger is better." It was 1991, though, so I was not alone. Loyal readers of this blog might catch the irony in my choice of puffed sleeves.

Here it is: the pièce de résistance of my bad hair-do Hall of Fame. Okay, people -- here's the worst part. This hair-do is not a fluke. I would carefully construct these gravity-defying 'dos each and every single day. On purpose. Because I thought it looked good.

There, now I don't feel so bad.

"Mortify: to humiliate or shame, as by injury to one's pride or self-respect"

2008-09-01T19:49:00.005-04:00

I make a living teaching flute lessons, as you may know. Since the mechanics of playing the flute occur mostly inside one's body, I regularly employ analogies and descriptive imagery to help illustrate my points. Over time, my students become accustomed to this and we grow to understand each other.

I recently had a lesson with a talented young man. We were discussing the ending of his notes, something that I consider a lot myself. cue wavy lines and tinkly music...

Me: Sam, (not his real name) I notice that some of your notes are ending rather abruptly.

Sam: I know. (a little disheartened)

Me: I've been thinking a lot about this myself lately, and think that when I end notes like that, it kind of sounds like I'm choking a chicken.

Sam: (blinking) What did you just say?

Me: (launching into my description using full hand motions) Well, you know. Imagine you have this chicken and all of a sudden, you grab it by its neck and choke it. No more air would get through, but it would be pretty abrupt and probably wouldn't make a very nice sound.

Sam: Oh. I see. (kind of laughing) Choking the chicken. Got it.

Our lesson continued. It's not my best analogy (I have both a Twizzler and Olympic gymnastic/ice skating analogy of which I'm especially proud), but I thought it got the job done. And I really do think that sometimes notes sounds like that.

So this weekend while we're driving, I'm telling Jeff about this particular analogy and Sam's reaction and Jeff spits out his drink because he's laughing so hard. Seriously, there was diet Coke on the windshield. And I'm like, What?!

It turns out that 'choking the chicken' is a popular euphemism among teenage boys for, well, yeah, you know. And I was like, ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! Because, I have three pretty advanced teenage boy students right now, and I'm pretty sure I've said this to all of them.

Oh my god.

Just like a shiny present

2008-08-29T09:05:00.006-04:00

I miss having a first day of school.

I was one of those kids who was pretty excited for the first day of school. New school supplies held so much promise. Looking at the lists provided by my teachers, I would wonder what we were going to do with a compass or protractor... I would wonder why we needed colored pencils. Sometimes the teacher asked for rubber cement instead of glue. What could that mean?

In Omaha, I remember walking down to the bus stop wearing my favorite red-plaid dress with the white peter-pan collar and thin red-leather belt. I can't remember if that was the first day of 3rd or 4th grade (I think 3rd), but I do remember the smell of the air and excitement in my stomach. And, of course, I remember Mark Shannon, the smartest boy in the class who I absolutely l-o-v-e-d until he broke my heart one day in the letter-writing unit when he wrote me a brief letter that read:

Dear Jessica,
How are you? What are you doing? I suppose playing with Ashley. Anyway, I want to let you know I don't like you like you think I do. I just like you like a friend.
Sincerely,
Mark Shannon

I don't know which was worse: the content of the letter or the fact that our teacher, Mrs. Screamin' Neiman, now knew that Mark Shannon did NOT like me.

I remember high school orientation. I wore a purple button-down shirt with shoulder pads, a fantastic tapestry vest with black-satinesque back, and black shorts. I also wore a thin gold necklace. I was so cool. I definitely had planned that outfit out days in advance.

My favorite first day of school, though, is without doubt the first day of college. Well, first day, first month, it's all rolled together in my mind. Living at 629 McIntyre Hall was a wonderful year. My loft bed, mini-refrigerator (not the tiny kind, the taller one), toaster, coffee pot, and popcorn popper were all symbols of this new life that was ruled by me. Wow, what a great feeling. I watched MTV for the first time, (I will always have a soft place in my heart for the Peaches video by The Presidents of the United States of America) stayed up too late, and ate too many chocolate-covered espresso beans. I fell in love, however briefly, with Chip, the RA on all-male floor below mine. He was a junior, an English major (oh, the romanticism in that fact alone was almost enough) and his room smelled like coffee. He also wore oxford-style Dr. Martens which pushed his cool-factor through the roof. Alas, he was in love with an exchange student from Sweden, so it didn't work out. I made friends whom I loved, and still do, and became a much better person than I was.

I miss the promise of what first days of school held: you never knew exactly what was in store, but it was all new and much of the time seemed like an adventure. Now that my school days are over, I will simply have to write my own adventures.

We should at least charge rent

2008-08-26T19:15:00.008-04:00

How many different types of wildlife have to reside in an area before it's declared a 'wildlife refuge'? And are bees technically considered wildlife?

Lately when we've been outside on our patio, we've noticed that there are a few more bees than you might typically expect at an outdoor function. A couple weekends ago when we had a little get-together, one of our guests pointed out that he was noticing that the bees seemed to be disappearing inside the wall, close to the light that doesn't turn on (some of you are familiar with this light).

Then, two mornings ago, Jeff was back from his run and was stretching in the sunroom monitoring his breathing, listening to the birds, when he noticed a certain buzzing that broke his reverie. A buzzing coming directly from his left. A buzzing coming alarmingly from inside the wall. Hmmm.

Today we had a bee expert out to the house. Did you know that bee experts have special stethoscope-microphone devices designed especially for listening to bees through walls? And, if you're an especially good bee expert, you can tell by the decibel meter approximately how many bees you might be dealing with. Let's just say that the bee expert likened listening to our wall to attending this really killer Led Zeppelin concert back in the 70s.

It seems that word is getting out among the animal kingdom. The Price house is open for wildlife. Rodents in the attic, bees in the wall -- what's next? Snakes in the sewers? God, let's hope not.

"Flint's finest hour"

2008-08-23T10:24:00.006-04:00

The Crim Festival of Races was today in Flint. The races include a 10-mile wheelers, 10-mile run, 8K run, 8K walk, 5K run, 5K Family Walk, 1-mile run, 1-mile walk, and a Teddy Bear Trot. The races attract participants from all over the world and is arguably one of the best things that happens in Flint. As the announcer said on ABC12 this morning, Crim race day is "Flint's finest hour."

Jeff and I had been living here for about 4 months when we experienced our first Crim last summer. The course is 10 miles long, starts in the heart of downtown Flint, and eventually winds its way through our neighborhood. We live near the 7-mile mark. The morning of the race, we were awakened by the sound of a marching band that sounded like they were right in our backyard. Turns out they were one street over, but still, a pretty rousing way to start the day! We watched as over 1200 people ran, walked, and wheeled their way toward the finish line.

One year later, and Jeff was in the pack sporting number 3121 on his shirt and I was on my bike watching for him.

Hi Jeff! (yelling and waving my arms, notice the two guys in the foreground with their bewildered expressions)

(Jeff isn't actually in this photo, but I thought it was a nice shot.)

Leaving our neighborhood after coming up a very long hill.

Gooooooooo, Jeff!

Crossing the bridge over the Flint River. About 1 mile to go.

Yay, Jeff!!!!!!!!!

Where have all the good clothes gone?

2008-08-20T17:55:00.010-04:00

I just got back from some retail therapy... bad news, people. There simply are no good clothes for fall. Pull out the old stand-bys from last year, because trust me, even if they're faded or a little pilled under the arms, they're probably still better than what I saw today.

Here is a list of problems encountered this afternoon.

The no. 1 problem plaguing the fall fashion line-up can be summed up in this question I overheard in two different dressing rooms in two different stores: "Does this shirt make me look pregnant?" I mean seriously, does every single shirt have to have an empire waist with a voluminous bottom half? Do the fashion designers of the world have no faith in American women and have thus determined that the best way of dealing with a little unwanted padding around the middle is to simply borrow the tried-and-true pattern from their good friends in maternity wear?
Unless your name is Anne and you hail from Green Gables, you might find the puffed sleeve trend a little disturbing. Actually, Anne is currently sporting at least 2 of fall's heavy-hitting trends, the aforementioned puffed sleeves, and the ruffled bodice. Another terrible idea if you have anything over what, a B cup?
My final gripe with this year's fall fashion is the cropped round-button 3/4-sleeve boxy jacket. Here's how this one goes. The designers of the world united and said, "Let's take some beautiful wool, known for its fluid drape, and wrap it around your shoulders, buttoning at the neck so that the fabric lies over the largest part of your torso and then extends down in a straight line from there. Voila! Perfection!"

So, let's take a stand. If no one buys into any of these trends and the clothes stay on the shelves, perhaps they'll start making some reasonable clothes again and we can all get dressed without having a meltdown every single morning.

Workin' it

2008-08-16T14:41:00.014-04:00

This afternoon was my first chance to attend the AquaBox class since that first day. Knowing that pool space is at a premium in this class (don't have to tell me twice!), I got there early. Many of the same ladies were there. This time, the nice lady who almost drowned suggested that she be in front of me from the start. Good idea.

So, there I was kind of hanging out by the wall warming up my arms as the other ladies chatted amongst themselves. One lady was mentioning that she hasn't been here the last few weeks because she was visiting her daughter in Arizona. The others were glad to see her again. There was discussion of weekend plans and grandchildren. And then the conversation turned, as it sometimes does when a group of women get together, to men.

"So, Dory, what are you doing this weekend?"

"Well, I'm actually, I'm going to have to leave class early today to get ready for this afternoon."

"Oh? What are you doing?"

"Well," she continued, lowering her voice and fluttering her eyelashes a little bit, "my friend is picking me up. We're going to dinner at the 21 Club."

"Ohhhhh!"

"Is this the same boy that you play chess with, Dory?" asked the third woman.

I stood there, respectfully looking at the walls around the pool, checking the clock, basically anything I could do so they wouldn't think I was listening -- but of course I was! Anyway, I was struck by the word 'boy'.

Blushing a little, Dory responded. "Yes." She quickly continued. "But, I don't think it's going to go anywhere for heaven's sake! He is 20 years younger than me."

I almost gasped out loud!

I'll admit, the first time I went to class, the ladies struck me as the kind who enjoyed coming to this class for a little workout and company and then went home and did grandmother-esque type things... like, bake cookies or visit their grandchildren or knit. But, apparently I had it all wrong. These ladies are working out for a reason. They are working out in order to work it! You go, girl!

I cocked my head a little more toward them because their conversation had gotten conspiratorially low.

"Dory," the woman floated a little closer, "you never know." And then she winked.

Job requirements: Punch, kick, talk and make it look easy

2008-08-15T00:21:00.005-04:00

Tonight at kickboxing, my fabulous instructor said something to all of us at the end of class:

"Stuff, stuff, stuff, stuff, stuff, Oh, and if you're ever interested in teaching, I would be happy to train you..."

What?! Seriously??

Okay, need to go back a little bit. Somewhere along the line, I developed this list of jobs that I thought would be really fun and that I'd like to do at some point in my life.

On my list:
1. Farmer
2. Bartender
3. D.J.
4. Mailman
5. AEROBICS INSTRUCTOR

I have already held the following jobs: farmer and bartender. Bartending was much more fun and a helluva lot more profitable than farming. Holy cow, do you know how hard it is to be a farmer? Good grief those people work hard.

Anyway, not to brag or anything, but my kickboxing instructor has called me 'hard core' on more than one occasion. I think I may be punching my way toward crossing one more job off my list.

Oh, to runaway and join a rock band

2008-08-13T19:50:00.005-04:00

An open letter to Jack Johnson (my new favorite singer of all-time)

Dear Jack:

I have recently discovered your work through Pandora Radio. I bought your CD In Between Dreams yesterday at my local Target. I played it for the first time this morning as I got ready for work. I even made my husband listen, too. Well, to be fair, probably even the neighbors heard it, as I had it cranked up to maximum volume. I love to dance (although I'm not what you'd consider a good dancer) and I danced as I applied my eye shadow.

I love your music. And, as it turns out, I'm a musician, too. Flute. Now, I've listened to your CD about 3 times through today and I will admit, I was trying hard to imagine some flute sounds mixed in with this fabulous music because then, well, you would need a flute player and I would so do it. Bad news. I don't think you need flute. Which sucks. Because I would totally be in your band. I noticed you used accordion on a couple tracks. That was cool.

I would still like to be in your band, so I've come up with the following ideas..... 1) Nada.

Lame. I would like to be in a rock band. I could do it.

Well, if you ever need a flute player or a pretty bad dancer (I do kickbox quite well, though, and that's kind of like dancing...well, I can totally punch in perfect time at any tempo), please don't hesitate to call.

Sincerely,
Jess

Knotted, er, I mean, knitted

2008-08-11T23:47:00.007-04:00

It's 11:47 p.m. and I should be in bed. It's officially past my bedtime, but I am committed to a project that I started almost 3 hours ago. To turn this mess into...

This.

How did I get here, you may ask? Well, it all started much earlier today. We'd just had coffee and I was sitting in our office (my new favorite place to sit) looking at our newly installed bookshelves that were just waiting to be filled with all of our music books and flute and saxophone CDs. A long project, but with a very satisfying result.

Then I turned my attention to the closet in one of the guest rooms that was one of the last refuges of boxes from our move last year. The boxes contained mostly old quilts and blankets from our childhoods. They were nice boxes to open.

At the bottom of one box, I found my knitting bag, which I hadn't thought about in about 3 years and before that, 12 years. Jeff had joined me in the sorting process by then and found this little test piece I had made.

He was so impressed -- seriously! And I was like, this is nothing! Back in my youth, I actually knew how to knit and made my very own sweater and everything, which got a blue ribbon at the 4-H fair, thank you very much. (There's no way I could do that now, by the way...) Anyway, there he was, standing there all impressed and the topic of scarves came up. So I asked him if he would actually wear a scarf if I made it and he said definitely yes. And he would tell everyone that I made it for him, too.

So this evening I sat down with my mother's trusty "Learn How to Knit" book that has both left- and right-handed instructions (lefty here) that has all the patterns I recognize. It came back pretty quickly, so I was inspired to get to work on the scarf this very night. (I must admit that I was perhaps influenced by my recent completion of The Friday Night Knitting Club, a book I enjoyed very much.)

I pulled out the lovely green wool yarn that I bought 3 years when I last thought I might knit something nice for Jeff. It was wrapped in this beautiful figure-8 twist. I found the end, but then something terrible happened and I ended up with the mess you saw at the top. So here I sit. Pile of knotted wool yarn in front of me, wishing I could go back in time and be much more careful as I pulled on the loose end. *sigh*

It is nice to have a project.

Of Mice and Men

2008-08-07T10:17:00.003-04:00

[Please make sure to read this before proceeding]

A play in One Act

Cast of characters:
Rod: An unidentified species of rodent
Charlie: His side-kick
Jess: a perturbed homeowner
Jeff: the other perturbed homeowner

Place: A spacious attic in Flint, present day

(The curtain opens with Jess at the computer. She glances up toward the ceiling, annoyed, listening to the persistent gnawing. The lights fade down on Jess and come up on Rod and Charlie in the attic.)

Rod: (walking on his hind legs, using a piece of floor joist as a toothpick) Hey Charlie, here's another one of those sticky sheets, watch out for it. (talking as he expertly maneuvers around it)

Charlie: (a heavy set fellow, prone to clumsiness) Thanks, Rod. There sure are a lot of these sticky things up here these days. Where do you think they came from?

Rod: (stomping extra hard on the floor, snickering as he glances down) Oh, I have my suspicions.

(Jess angrily glances up at the ceiling, trying to will the power of x-ray vision to see the little bastard through the floor)

Charlie: Say, Rod, I'm hungry. Where should we go today?

Rod: (looking at his wristwatch on his wiry rodent arm) Hmm... well, it's about 10:30 in the morning. I'd say the humans are out of bed and are probably working on the computer, so why don't we snack above the office? That would probably piss them off most.

Charlie: (chuckling) Good one, Rod. Good one.

Rod: (clawing ferociously at a piece of insulation) And then for our lunchtime snack, we'll move over to the guest room closet at the end of the hall where the human practices the flute. I'm sure she heard us in there yesterday. I think I heard her scream a little bit. (cruel chuckling)

Charlie: (grabbing his rotund belly, shaking with laughter) Rod, you are truly inspired.

(lights fade on Rod and Charlie, and come up on Jess as she calls down the stairs to Jeff)

Jess: Jeff, do you think we should check the traps today?

Jeff: (calling back up the stairs) No, I don't think so. Remember, if we don't go up there, they won't realize they're traps and we'll be more likely to catch more.

(sounds of gnawing pervade the office)

Jess: Hmmm... I'm not so sure of that...

(Lights fade. Curtain falls with sounds of Charlie gnawing and Rod's fading laughter).

THE END.

We know you're up there...

2008-08-05T21:36:00.009-04:00

We have creatures living in our attic. We're not sure what they are, but we know they like to chew things... because we can HEAR THEM chewing in the walls, scurrying about, wreaking havoc. We're not fond of these creatures.

Last summer, we called an animal removal place and they sent over a guy who placed a trap on our roof. At that point, we thought we were dealing with squirrels. The removal guy said that for one flat fee, he would remove an unlimited number of animals. Great! Everyone else was charging per animal, so this seemed very reasonable. Well, after our $250.00 squirrel was captured, we hoped for the best.

Flash forward to the recent past...(cue the wavy lines and tinkly music)
Laying in bed on a Sunday morning...
Me: (stiffening at the recognizable sound) Do you hear that?

Jeff: (groaning) Yes.

Me: Crap.

We've been talking about how we should really get up into the attic to investigate, but, gosh darn it, things always seem to come up that would be much more fun, like ANYTHING! So this past weekend when my dear, sweet sister and her affable and capable boyfriend were visiting my parents, we convinced him to come help Jeff deal with this problem in exchange for food. Because he's in college and food is always welcome, he agreed.

Mom, Mel, and I took off for IKEA (the happiest place on earth) and left Jeff and Hans (not his real name ;) ) to take of the problem. Their plan: go buy a million glue traps and spread them out all over the attic. We called at regular intervals to check on the progress. Each time, Jeff answered a little out of breath and assured me of their progress. It was hot, this was hard, yeah, they've seen lots of evidence of some sort of creature, it was difficult work, but yeah, they were really working hard, etc... I was even feeling a little guilty...we had been gone for about 4 or so hours and they had been working in the sweltering attic all afternoon...

We got home and they had finished the job. As I was showing Jeff my latest treasures from IKEA, he made his confession. Here's a dramatization of the account.

(cue wavy lines and tinkly music)
Jeff: Hey Hans, as long as we're at Wal-Mart getting these traps, let's go check out the bb guns.

Hans: Okay.

Jeff: (holding a bb gun in his hands looking a lot like that kid in A Christmas Story) Cooooooooooooooollllll....

Hans: (who is a very capable outdoorsman who provided this year's Thanksgiving main course by killing it with his bare hands) Yeah, it's cool.

Jeff: (who had a somewhat sheltered childhood...indoors) You know, this could come in handy. I mean, when we catch the mice or rats or whatever, we can't just let them stay on the glue sheet until they die. It would be much more humane to get it over with right away. Plus, IT WOULD BE SO COOL TO SHOOT THINGS!

Jeff buys the bb gun. They spread the traps and are finished in a cool 1 hour flat.

Jeff: (with a slight dampness in his eyes, cradling his bb gun in his arms) Hans, in this moment, I have finally fulfilled my childhood dream. (a deep sigh of happiness) Let's shoot stuff.

Hans: Cool.

So, they opened the sliding door to the back patio in the backyard, lined up 4 Coke cans and shot them to pieces for the next 3 hours...

We still haven't caught anything. But Jeff can hit the "C" in Coke with amazing precision.

Life is sweeter...

2008-08-04T23:25:00.003-04:00

Yeah, I've decided I'm not so into keeping track of my candy consumption on my blog because a) who wants to read about that? and b) I just don't want to. So, I'm going to try and eat less candy and that will be that. Cool? :)

Will punch for food

2008-08-03T17:26:00.004-04:00

How many calories are there in 1 M&M? Okay, more importantly than that, how many jab-cross punch combos do I need to do to cancel it out??!!

Just kidding, kind of... Here's the problem with exercising: it makes me hungry. It's this horrible catch-22 phenomenon. I think, Hey! I'll go to the gym, ride the bike, do a little walking, take a walk with Jeff tonight after dinner, and then eat 28 peanut M&Ms.

So, I have to resort to self-tattling. It was something I was trying to avoid, but clearly, I'm not strong enough to do this on my own. I will henceforth be instituting a daily M&M count, starting from now (which will conveniently let me omit the small handful of M&Ms I just had walking upstairs to the computer...hey, how many M&Ms can I have for walking up the stairs?... 1? 2?...)

5:31pm
M&Ms: 0, 3 at 9:03pm
Reese's Pieces: 0
Jelly Bellys: 0
Ghirardelli chocolate squares: 0

(What can I say? Jeff loves candy and apparently has much more self-control than I do -- damn him!...)

May the force be with me.

Bobbing in time

2008-07-30T10:23:00.008-04:00

This past Saturday I went to my first AquaBox class at the gym. Here's how it went...

I arrived about 7 minutes before the class was to begin. As I walked past the pool to my locker, I noticed about a half dozen buoyant ladies gently bobbing up and down in the pool. "Whoa, I'm late...," I thought as I scurried to throw my clothes in the locker and get out to the pool. I grabbed my new aqua shoes (black with pink trim and a zipper closure, very chic) and went inside the pool area.

"Are you coming to class today?" asked a bobbing lady. She was very smiley, and as I looked around, I noticed that most of the ladies looked very good-natured, if not what might be considered 'in shape'. Several of them were wearing shower caps and a couple had those swim caps that buckle under your chin. I believe that I may have been the youngest in the pool by a good 35 or 40 years or so. "I am!" I replied. "Is it hard?" "Oh, no!" said the bobbing lady, "It's much easier than on land." (This actually made me a little apprehensive because I really did want a good workout and I was VERY hopeful that this would be a good class because the meeting time worked out so well with my schedule during the year).

I hopped in the pool by the stairs, which was about 3' deep. The bobbing ladies were already spaced evenly in 2 rows, and I could tell they were exactly where they wanted to be, so I squished in by the steps. Behind me, the pool gently sloped down to a total of 5'. Before we started, I noticed a nice older lady right behind me with white hair and very red eyes. I can only assume her eyes were that red because she kept going below the surface of the water at regular intervals, seeing as she was approximately 4'5", and the water was 4'4". I suggested we switch places since I was taller, but she assured me that no, thank you, she was fine. Okey-doke.

So the music starts and we begin. And really, it literally is kickboxing under water. Contrary to what the nice bobbing lady told me, if you're doing it right, IT'S REALLY HARD!!! So as I continued to struggle against the water, I began to laugh a little bit here and there because I couldn't believe HOW HARD THIS WAS! One by one the bobbing ladies would turn toward me and laugh a little bit themselves. "Don't worry, dear, it gets easier," one of them said. Thank god!

I was getting into a good groove, really giving the water a serious thrashing, when I felt a little tap on my shoulder. There was the little white-haired lady looking a little panic-stricken. "Excuse me," she gasped, spitting out a little bit of pool water, "would you mind if we traded places now?" Good grief! "No, please!"

After the class ended, I got out of the pool and started to head toward the locker when I noticed that almost the entire class moved directly from the pool to the huge whirlpool tub. I thought that looked pretty good, so I hopped in, too. "Wow," I said to no one in particular, "that was pretty tough!" Mm-hmm, murmured the now-still ladies. They tilted their shower cap-clad heads back and closed their eyes, and I relaxed a little bit more, perfectly happy to be exactly where I was.

Congratulations, fspaflutist! You've won!

2008-07-29T10:38:00.009-04:00

These are Franco Sarto boots. They have a leather foot and a suede upper. They are beautiful, in my opinion, and I won them yesterday on eBay for $19.99. It's true. (This is a fabulous price, by the way, for people who may not know... Mom... :)

I love eBay. But I would not classify myself as a casual shopper. I always go in with a specific item in mind, and when I find it, which I almost always have, it is such a gratifying experience. Here is a catalogue of my prizes from eBay.

Eugene Goossens' Four Sketches for flute, violin, and piano (score and parts). This was my first purchase and it had all of the elements that made it a classic eBay victory. It was the only item of its kind available (indeed, this piece is out of print), I was pitted against another bidder, and the auction ended at midnight. I put in my initial bid and then two minutes later ran back to the computer to enter my highest bid, just in case the other person outbid me. For 2 days I watched as the other bidder would tentatively raise their bid only to be instantly outbid by me (automatically done by the computer) "Ha, ha, ha" I would laugh to myself as I tapped my fingers together. But then, the other bidder disappeared altogether. "Perhaps I scared her off!" I thought triumphantly. I started to develop paranoia, though, "where did she go? Is she waiting, silently, in the wings to try and pounce at the last minute?" My eyes, red from staring suspiciously at the computer screen, were tired and ached for sleep. And then, 3 minutes before the auction ended at midnight, there she was with another bid, only this time it was much higher. My heart started beating faster -- I really wanted this music -- and I typed in my bid. Shoot, typed it in wrong -- delete, delete -- entered it in again, press submit, YES! made it! Midnight, auction over and the music was mine!
A pair of REALLY fantastic jeans that retail for well over $100 in exactly the size and style I wanted for $38.
A second magical swimsuit (because this find was just too good to only own 1) for $9
And now, these fabulous boots which I needed because I literally walked my old ones to death in Paris. What a romantic way to die. If you're a boot.... ah, Paris...

I've thought about trying to sell things on eBay, like my friend who even has her own store, but I think that's a little more than I can do. For now, I'll just stick to finding fabulous treasures that I can't live without.

A few of my favorite things

2008-07-27T18:17:00.010-04:00

Here's a picture of my wonderful husband, taken almost 6 years ago exactly on our honeymoon in Maine.

After 6 years, I am still learning things about him... Here are some of my favorite things. :)

I had no idea (neither of us did, actually) that Jeff really has curly hair. And by curly, I mean curls that women would die for (we know this because women, often complete strangers, tell him this frequently).

That Jeff has a serious talent for cooking. I once read somewhere that in order to be a great cook, one must be generous of spirit. That's so true. To take the time that he does to make everything to the best of his ability without cutting corners and without trying to find an easier, but not quite as good, way of doing things takes a person who truly wants to give to others.

My husband is a kick-ass jazz saxophonist. I knew he had an undergraduate degree in jazz studies, but when we met during our masters degrees, he was strictly about classical saxophone. I never heard a single note of jazz from him until...hmm... 4 or 5 years after we were married. And then, he practiced his butt off and now sounds so good. I'm so impressed. To me, he is a rock star.

A new form of exercise sweeping China

2008-07-25T09:01:00.002-04:00

Perhaps I'll try this for exercise... hee,hee,hee. Just kidding, Mom.

Next time I'll try carrot sticks

2008-07-22T21:37:00.004-04:00

Don't eat Taco Bell before kickboxing class.

That's probably the best advice I have ever given on any topic, ever. About 1 hour and 25 minutes ago, I had a very different blog entry shaping up in my head.... (cue the wavy lines and tinkly music...)

Flashback
Wow! This kickboxing class is great! This is really fun. I'm so glad I joined this gym! I can't believe how it's all coming back to me after 7 years! I'm doing pretty good! And there are a couple girls my age -- maybe we'll strike up a chat after class....

(more serious kickboxing moves involving 'the mountain climber,' a move only a masochist would enjoy)

Oh... I'm not feeling so well... I wish I hadn't eaten those $.79 nachos from Taco Bell... ughhh...

"COME ON ladies! Kick those legs!"

Oh my god, I think I'm going to puke... (quickly exiting the class to head to the bathroom where my premonition indeed becomes reality, 4 times in a row)

Well. I feel much better now. Won't make that mistake again.

"Oh! You're back! Good. You ran off kind of quickly..."

So, there you have it. I've joined a gym. I really like it. And now I'm the pukey girl. Perhaps not the most auspicious beginning, but there's always the next class.

Just one of those perfect days

2008-07-21T11:54:00.010-04:00

This past weekend Jeff and I met up with my parents and little brother at Greenfield Village (a living history place). It was a ton of fun. There was a stilt race (I won), lunch at the Eagle Tavern, street-fair food (including a giant turkey leg), and some rain. Then we saw Dark Knight on IMAX. GREAT DAY!

It's hard to beat Michigan in the summertime...

2008-07-18T21:12:00.004-04:00

After several pictures of a gross bug skeleton, I thought something pretty would be nice. Here's a picture of our backyard taken from my beautiful new desk in our fantastic newly redone office (pictures of that to come later).

It's just a lovely, lovely evening.

Waldo strikes again -or- The Meanest Husband in the World

2008-07-18T09:49:00.002-04:00

I don't think my heart can continue to take these shocks.

My make-up drawer this morning....

MF seeks MF to become BFF

2008-07-16T19:07:00.009-04:00

I've been browsing the personals on craigslist and I feel kind of strange doing it.

Here are two that caught my eye:

"Looking for tennis partner. Moderate skill level."

and

"I'm a young married woman looking for girls in their mid-20s to hang out with evenings."

Why am I looking at the personals? Here's the problem: I have no friends. Well, at least I have no friends that live within a 5 or 10 minute drive. Or heck, even a 50 minute drive. (Yes, of course, I have Jeff and he is the greatest friend I could have, but I'm talking girlfriends here)

Those two ads caught my eye because I'm looking for a tennis partner of moderate skill level and I'm looking for girls to hang out with that are young and fun. But, I'm a little reluctant. And a little bit shy and a little bit wary and a little bit chicken...

Here are some facts about living in Flint:
1. We have a beautiful house that we feel lucky to have every single day.
2. We enjoy our jobs.
3. There is no one my age that lives here. I'm not kidding.

I don't know. It feels a little desperate to answer an ad; besides, you never know what you're going to get. (I answered an ad once for a roommate in college and that turned out disastrously...)

Earlier this year, one of the girls in my top flute quartet told me "You're just as nerdy as my chemistry teacher!" My reply: "Really? Is she my age? We could probably be friends."

Recently I asked one of my adult students who's in her mid-40s about how I could meet people my age in the area. She suggested I have a kid and join a playgroup. Um, no.

It was so easy in grad school to find people of like interests and who shared similar ideas about what constituted a good time. The hard part was finding the time to actually hang out. Ah, those were the good ol' days.

So maybe I'll keep looking at the ads and who knows, I might answer one. After all, it's only tennis.

Where's Waldo?

2008-07-16T15:51:00.004-04:00

My discovery upon getting home from work this afternoon...

Jeff has started walking around our house randomly chortling to himself as he walks by.

I'm sure he thinks he's hilarious.

Thick-Skinned

2008-07-15T13:21:00.005-04:00

My husband is a nerd.

This is a picture of our freezer. With a present for me.

Yesterday I saw what appeared to be a giant bug clinging to our outdoor steps, which I pointed out to Jeff. Rather than being grossed out like me, shockingly, he picked it up! He pointed out the tiny hole where whatever kind of insect this is (a locust? a cicada?) had crawled out, leaving behind this shell...or skin...or body armor. It was a real Discovery Channel sort of moment. A moment my mother would enjoy having. I just thought it was gross.

And then, rather than disposing of it promptly, he took it inside! When asked about his intentions, he replied that he was going to save it and scare me with it. How nice.

So today, I go to the freezer to get my lunch, and there is the creature.

See, a total nerd.

Nailed

2008-07-10T12:24:00.007-04:00

So after being inspired by my friend Kathleen's post on her amazing do-it-herself kitchen remodel, I thought, I'm going to replace those light switch covers in our bedroom! And I'm going to get some nails and hang up that mirror above our dresser!

So I headed out, happily listening to the Retro Lunch, to the neighborhood Home Depot. I decided to look for the nails first. Now, all my life I have only seen nails that have come in those small see-through boxes with the bend-back lids. There are about 50 or so nails in a package. That's what I was after. I find the aisle marked "nails". Perfect.

Did you know that there are 346 varieties of nails that come in quantities of 1000? Hmm.

Okay, okay. No problem. I can read. Let's see... construction nails? No... Drywall nails?... No, we have plaster walls... Common nails? Maybe! Okay. 4" smooth, qty. 1,000,000. No.

Perhaps I'll look for the light switch covers.

I found them without too much trouble, although it really makes no sense that they would make covers in brass color, but wouldn't make those little dimmer knobs in brass. Doesn't that just make sense??? Come on, light switch cover people!

Okay. Back to the nails. Me wandering around the nail aisle... enter helpful Home Depot guy.

Helpful Home Depot Guy (H.H.D.G.): Can I help you ma'am?

Me: Yes! Do you sell ordinary nails?

H.H.D.G.: Ordinary nails?...

Me: Yes! You know, the kind that you would use to hang a picture or something?

H.H.D.G.: (looking at the 346 varieties of nails in front of us) Well... I bet that one of these would work for you. Let's see, do you have drywall?

Me: (looking doubtfully at the 346 varieties of nails) No, plaster...

H.H.D.G.: Okay, I'll just call someone from hardware to check what nails will work on plaster.

2nd H.H.D.G.: (coming around the corner) Hi, ma'am.

Me: Hi!

H.H.D.G. She's looking for a nail to hang a picture.

Me: Yes, and I only need, you know, a couple. Not a million.

2nd H.H.D.G.: Well, do you want a wall anchor or toggle bolt?

Me: (starting to make hammering motions in the air, hammering into my imaginary plaster, not drywall, wall) No, just an ordinary nail to hammer into the wall so I can hang my picture.

2nd H.H.D.G.: Well, do you want a nail or a brad?

Me: (laughing out loud now) I think just a nail. An ordinary nail. Do you have those?

2nd H.H.D.G.: (walking a little ways down the aisle) Well, we have these... (gesturing disdainfully toward a small area of shelf full of small see-through boxes with the bend-back lids)

Me: Yay! Perfect!

And so ends my foray into home improvement for the day...

Lightness

2008-07-07T10:44:00.006-04:00

I love the internet.

The other day I confirmed as a friend on Facebook an ex-boyfriend who caused me great pain in the past. It was just a matter of time, really. I had starting becoming friends with mutual friends and you know how Facebook lists "Jessica and Person X from her past are now friends," well, a couple days later in came this request.

I accepted. I admit, I was curious how he was doing 8 years later. (8 years after making me feel like the size of an ant...)

I saw he was engaged and it looked like life was going well for him. I sent him a post saying congratulations, glad to see things are going well.

The same day, he sent me a message telling me how excited he was about his fiance and upcoming wedding, and that life was good.

And then...,

He apologized.

It was amazing. The simple acknowledgement that he had hurt me, and he was sorry. I felt a weight that I didn't know I still had lift.

You know, you meet people and more frequently than not, they disappear from your life. And how you knew them is how they stay in your mind. I mean, I feel like I've changed quite a bit over the last 8 years, but whenever I thought of this person, all I would feel is the pain and embarrassment that I felt back then.

It seems that this person has changed, too.

Painted!

2008-07-05T21:07:00.005-04:00

Before:

After:

Tired... time to drink wine and watch a movie. Have a good night!

Getting ready!

2008-07-05T13:49:00.002-04:00

We're about to paint! I hope to update you from a freshly painted (went with Contemplation in a last minute change at the store) office!

Memories of the 4th

2008-07-04T10:30:00.004-04:00

There are some 4th of Julys that stick out in my memory.

The first one I am recalling today was when my family and I lived in Colorado, so that would have put me somewhere between the ages of 6th grade to my senior year of high school. I don't remember exactly where this memory occurred, and truth be told, I might be combining a church picnic with the 4th of July...

There was a park nearby the community recreation center that had a baseball diamond, basketball courts, a largish gazebo with picnic tables, and a big slanty hill good for spreading a blanket out to watch the fireworks. I remember being with my family and laughing at the collective 'oohs' and 'aahs' of the crowd...

The next one that sticks out was in Michigan when my family lived there -- that would have been when I was in college and grad school. There was a really large park with a beautiful lake that has a great bike trail all around it. On this holiday, we brought our grill and found a spot with a terrific view of the lake and stayed for many hours. The problem with the 4th of July is that there is a definite 'end' to the festivities. People can arrive at their leisure, but when the last of the fireworks drifts out of the sky, people are ready to go...which means a parking nightmare...which means my dad getting so angry at the backup...

Another Michigan memory at Greenfield Village with one of the Army bands and the DSO performing... so many people on the large green...happily walking back to my family with an ice cold Lynchburg Lemonade with the strains of a Sousa march in the air...

Jeff and my first apartment the first summer we lived there, also in Michigan, with a couple friends. Great BBQ and excellent firework viewing from our small balcony in downtown Lansing. That apartment was 640 square feet of good memories...

It's funny how memories can remain, even when nothing especially notable happened. Just nice times with family and friends in the middle of summer.

34D

2008-07-03T11:16:00.005-04:00

As some of you know, I've been on a quest for a swimsuit to wear for when we go up North to hang out with friends. It's been a daunting task to say the least.

The problem areas:

I have boobs and they're not small (a fact that's given me grief my whole life...)
A tummy that is decidedly not flat
I don't like to show my butt

So I go into several local fitting rooms armed with several swimsuit combinations. I grab some tops that are the same size t-shirt that I would wear. I put them on and how does the saying go?... my cup runneth over?... yes, that's about right. So I put on a size that's larger -- it's just a number, who cares? Well, somewhere between cave women and Victoria, they figured out that a string tied around one's neck (even if it is a substantial halter) will not satisfactorily lift in any sort of meaningful way.

After muttering "Are you f#@(%& kidding me?" in the middle of the Target dressing room, the dressing room attendant suggested I look elsewhere.

Another day, another store...
Aha! Maybe I'll try the compression method! I grab some tops off the shelf that are called sport suits -- they say something about surf boarding. Now, I've never been surf boarding, but I would think those ladies would want everything securely in place as they are flipping around the ocean. So I go in the dressing room and squeeze in to the top. Good so far! Everything is firm up top, feeling comfortable, oh wait... what is that at the bottom? I think this must be in the laws of physics somewhere, but what one squeezes up here, is going to have to come out somewhere, like the bottom of the top in this instance. Not pretty...

Back out on the floor... searching, searching... what's this? A top with my exact bra size stamped right on the tag and what are these? Underwires! The choirs of heaven sang and a light shone down upon me, right there in the middle of Meijer. I took the suit (grabbed it and ran would be a better description) to the dressing room. Oh my god! It didn't suck. Everything was in place, and it was longish, so it covered my tummy and it came with a swim skirt to cover my butt.

The gods have made a perfect swimsuit and left it for me at my local grocery store. Thank you, swimsuit gods.

Retro... really???

2008-07-02T09:15:00.004-04:00

I've noticed a disturbing trend lately...

Frequently I find myself driving to work around the lunch hour and will sometimes listen to the radio instead of NPR. I don't usually enjoy much of the music that's currently on the radio, but it seems that during the lunch hour, they play music that I like, that I can sing along with. Yesterday as I was driving to work, the DJ came on and said "You're listening to the retro lunch on CK-105."

I almost crashed into the car in front of me. Since when did my favorite songs (read "I") become retro?!! And why wasn't I informed? What is the magic age of retro-ness?

Also yesterday I was talking to my dear sweet sister, who is in her early 20s. She was telling me how she and her boyfriend were watching old episodes of Friends on DVD. When Friends was on the air, she was a lot younger and always thought "wow, they're so cool! I can't wait until I'm older!" Apparently my sister had an epiphany yesterday while watching and thought "wow... Jess is way older than them" and then TOLD me that while we were chatting.

One final anecdote on this disturbing line... I was watching Wimbledon recently (you know, trying to pick up a few tips now that we're playing tennis) and Federer and some guy who wasn't Federer were playing. The announcers were discussing how this man came to tennis later in life (9 years old) and how at 32 this was his first Wimbledon.

My thought: "Wow, he's old."

Beating Inertia

2008-07-01T12:16:00.005-04:00

Well, it's official. After one full year of living in our new house, we're finally tackling the office. We held off all this time due to one simple fact: we didn't want to do anymore painting. After painting our living room, dining room, and master bedroom, we just kind of decided a break sounded like a good idea. The decision not to paint, though, started this chain reaction of events that resulted in an area that was pretty horrible.

Jeff and I both have TONS of music that we keep organized in a legal-sized 4-drawer filing cabinet that, when filled, weighs, well... a ton. When we moved, we had to transfer the music to boxes in order to lift the cabinet. We decided we would wait to fill the cabinet until we picked its final location in the new office. We haven't picked that location because first we needed to paint, which would require moving the filing cabinet a couple more times. So, whenever we needed to find music, it would be pulled out of the boxes to be sorted through with whatever was not required ending up on the floor... lots and lots and lots and lots of music... and envelopes and random pieces of paper and shopping bags and dust and you get the gist...

Adults shouldn't have rooms that looked like ours. It's pretty sad when my 15-year-old brother got great delight in running upstairs to peek into the room only to run back to my mother to tell her that our room was way worse than his...

So yesterday we cleaned it up. And today I picked a paint color. Well, I'm still trying to decide between two Behr paint colors: Skyline Steel (a bluish gray) and Prelude (a darker bluish gray). Then we're planning on getting this desk from IKEA:
and perhaps this orchid:

In any case, it feels much better to have this project started, even if it did take a year.

Curiosity...

2008-06-30T22:28:00.004-04:00

So, do I need a blog? Probably not. Do I think that this is a good idea? Not entirely... but for some reason I sorta like the idea of it. A couple of friends from high school who I haven't had conversations with in (2008-1995=13) 13 years (that can't be right...) both have blogs and I find them fascinating and look forward to reading them. So that's a reason... I would like to be better at writing and, being a musician, I know that practicing helps (sadly, practicing does not make perfect...), so there's another reason... I want to do something other than watch tv at night...

(I'm not even sure I really want anyone to know I have a blog...)

Well, I'll give it a try and see what I think.