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...
9.03.2009
6.30.2009
More practice required
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...
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...
5.15.2009
Sweet dreams are made of these
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."
"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."
5.10.2009
When vanity and lack of sleep collide
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.
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.
5.08.2009
So, so fast
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.
5.01.2009
Who says history is boring?
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."
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
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.
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.
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