A selection of thoughts

1. I registered for BSF (Bible Study Fellowship) yesterday. Will be going with two ladies from playgroup, along with our kids, who have a parallel class. Did my first daily lesson today, reading a handout of notes. Some familiar, some possible tiny red-tinged flags. The whole year we’ll be studying John — looking forward to getting into the book.

2. We continue to go to the Orthodox Presbyterian Church in Walkerton. In Sunday School, Glenn (the pastor) is leading us through the Westminster Confession of Faith. So far the weeks we’ve been attending have all been about baptism. It’s good to be refreshed on the rationale for infant baptism, something we both grew up with, grew out of, and hesitatingly returned to.

This week we talked about the perspective or attitude with which we look at, interact with, consider, our children — as already, in a sense, children of God, children of the covenant — not as heathen to be converted, but children to be raised up.

I find this idea challenging both to my old evangelical-fundie roots (gotta have a concrete, distinct experience of making faith one’s own) and my modern sensibilities (gotta respect and encourage the child’s right and responsibility to test ideas, explore, and choose).

I also find this idea beautifully inclusive and appealing.

3. Playgroup was at the park today. There were moments of clinging and moments of roaming and even some moments of direct interaction with other children. Normally I’ve required her to stay in the old-tire-mulched area where we are, but this time let her roam, within sight, to the pavilion, the other tire-mulched area, and in the grassy places in between and all around. It was fine.

4. The closet is progressing. All the contents are piled in the room. The new shelves are in the car along with their hardware. I’ve cleaned, patched, sanded, and painted. Tomorrow I hope to cut the hang rails to length, and perhaps start hanging.

5. I’m going to do a hammered dulcimer concert, Saturday October 24, at 7pm, on campus. Looking forward to it, mostly, but also dealing with the usual nerves, insecurities, etc. Gotta get the closet done so I can get the dulcimer out and start planning and practicing.

Three

1. Amy’s prayer this evening: “And thank you for the dining hall, and for the game, and for covering your ears, and for the cannon.”

We went to the dining hall for dinner, then to the football game. They shoot the cannon whenever our team scores.

Also, this morning we watched a video of some dulcimer players — Dan Landrum, Stephen Humphries, and Ting Ting — and now Amy has three dolls named Ting Ting. They are all sleeping, along with the new kitty doll, on the “air bed,” which is the checkers mat I made a while ago.

——— edited to add

For a long time now Amy’s been talking about the Amy light, Mama light, and Daddy light — the details are becoming clearer. The Amy light is the house light across the street to the right, the Mama light is our own lamppost, and the Daddy light is the house light across the street to the left. They’re her signs that nighttime has truly arrived, and that it’s dark. She stands at her window, under the curtains, and watches them.

Amy no longer likes me to use nicknames like bunny boo and so on — she says she’s not a boo, not a bunny, not a honey, etc — she’s just a little girl, just an Amy.

The other day I asked her if she was a cookie. She said no. I asked “What are you?” and she said “A little girl!” I said, “Do you know what I do with little girls? — I hug them!” Now she asks for that game, and almost before I finish saying “cookie” she flings herself on me for a hug.

———

2. I’m thinking about reviving my tradition of having a concert to celebrate my dulcimer anniversary. I’ve asked on facebook if any of my local friends would be interested in hosting a house concert — I really like house concerts, especially when the host is a friend; they’re relaxed and intimate.

I bet it’s too late already to try to use the academy’s chapel, but Mark will look into it for me.

And a friend suggested asking folks in the antiquarian society — folks who might have a nice big lake house.

3. I just finished reading this article, which is about the most hopeful and intelligent thing I’ve ever read on health reform so far, despite its annoyingly sensationalistic title.

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More to life than music

One of the first groups I played with was a sometimes duo, sometimes trio with another dulcimer player, Tom. Once when I was lamenting the end of a gig or rehearsal or jam session or something, he mentioned that there’s more to life than music, and I said, how could you say such a thing?

He explained: If all you do is music, all the time, it will lose its flavor and richness. Life feeds music — so there has to be room in between the music moments for the rest of life.

It’s true with other hobbies, jobs, pastimes, whatever, too.

I have a tendency to burn through on one project until I get it done, but I find that I enjoy that project — and others — if I just work a little on each one here and there, as I feel like it, and not out of any compulsion.

My top project lately has been a sweater. Several years ago I unraveled the commercial sweater it started as — which I’m pretty sure I bought in 8th grade, and which had gotten all stretched out and had some holes. Then sometime this spring I started knitting a new one. Got as far as half the sleeves before I realized it wasn’t going to work, and unraveled it, too. Started yet again, and now I’m nearing the hem (the sleeves come after the hem), and it’s the project I turn to just about whenever I have spare time, because I really want to get it done.

But it’s been more fun to do a few rows here and there, or work on it while listening to a book or watching TV, and take time for other things like making a blanket and a Boppy cover for a baby shower and practicing percussion rudiments on dulcimer or scales and tunes on whistle or flatpicking on the top three strings on guitar. And a little computer time, or lying down time, or reading, or petting the kitty.

I’ve just been talking about the use of spare time — but of course there’s all the rest of life, too, like spending time with Amy and Mark and friends.

Random KMW pictures

I spent last week in Kentucky for Kentucky Music Week — took classes in pennywhistle, guitar, and hammered dulcimer during the day, and there were concerts and jams in the evenings. I wrote about it more at my music blog.

I saw this plane on my way there and took pictures of it for Amy.

I took a bunch of videos during my classes, mostly for later review and practice, but didn’t think to get any pictures of or with my teachers and classmates, or concerts, or jams, or anything like that. Oh well.

The last night was the cake walk, Mardi Gras themed, complete with a king and queen. Here are the cakes, decorated by the instructors.

This one is for my friend Rick, because I know you like the tune Squirrel Heads in Gravy. Yes, that’s what tune is on that sheet music behind those decapitated mountain dulcimer playing squirrels in that frying pan.

And here’s the roadkill cake my friend picked when she won.

And the king (Steve Eulberg) and queen (Sue Carpenter).

When I got home, among other things I noticed that Amy had placed one of her stuffed animals and her teapot thusly; evidently the bear needed a drink (or perhaps a container in which to throw up).

I knew I was excited about seeing Mark and Amy again, but I wasn’t prepared for crying speechlessly when I saw and hugged and kissed her.

While I was gone, she and Mark kept track of the days on this little chart I’d made; Amy also did some additional coloring on it.

Why I was grumpy on Easter

Our church’s Easter celebration included a potluck breakfast and a worship service, both collaborations with the Hispanic church that shares our building. Earlier in the year, when the musicians had a meeting, we discussed having some special music for Easter. Because I don’t often feel comfortable doing special music during worship, I offered to play during the breakfast instead. The performance itself was fine, but I sure was grumpy.

A) Worship and special music.

I like to perform. I like playing music well, when I can, and I like enjoying my playing. I like being listened to and appreciated — I like when people like my music and like me.

Sometimes there seems to be some conflict, or at least tension, about how music should be done during worship. You’re not supposed to merely entertain, and you’re not supposed to draw attention to yourself or your own performance.

I value the personal and relational in music — I’m a person and the people listening are persons, and I like to do music in such a way that it fosters awareness of personhood and fosters relationship and connection.

I think there’s a good strong place for worship in that mix, because God is a person (three, actually) and is the author of personality and relationship; but it’s hard to find that place in a church setting, somehow. Sometimes church settings feel so concerned about focusing on God that it somehow translates to ignoring or denying people and selves and fun. As if by simply ignoring or denying people and selves and fun, you’re automatically focusing on God. Especially if the latest fashionable God sounds come out of your mouth or go in your ears. Other times churches can be so focused on doing the “right” music — the most relevant, the most stylish or slick, the most entertaining, and that’s just as offensive.

As for special music — in other words, a solo or small group performance as opposed to congregational participation — I have mixed feelings. Some people say they find special music really does (or can) positively impact their worship. That hasn’t happened often for me. Sometimes it seems like the performer is boasting or flaunting. Sometimes I have a hard time getting past their musical weaknesses. Very often I have a hard time getting past the accompaniment trax they use.

The point is, I don’t usually like to do special music — I’m not comfortable with it. Sometimes I’ll do something for a prelude, or for communion — that seems more reasonable than just a random solo in the middle of worship.

B) Subject / Object

I have a tendency to react instead of act — that is, I tend to live more like an object than a subject. I observe, try to discern what would be a fitting response, sometimes try to discern what response I want to do, and then I do one or the other. Sometimes this means that even when I want something and can go about pursuing it, I don’t, because I don’t want to ruffle feathers or bother anyone or call attention to myself — it’s safer to be an object sometimes. Except sometimes not getting what I want bothers me and ruffles my feathers, and I end up blaming both myself and everyone else.

We had not discussed logistics — where I would set up, whether or not I would have sound reinforcement, whether I should do background music or more concert-like material.

I planned a set suitable for a concert — some dulcimer solos, one on bowed psaltery, and several songs, mostly with guitar, one with dulcimer, and one a capella. All were selected with the Easter season in mind. I assumed I would have mics and some help with sound. I guessed I would be set up near the tables where people would be sitting.

It turned out that I was to set up in the opposite corner — rather hidden by the stage, and far from the tables. No one offered me a mic or sound check, and I didn’t want to ask for any — I didn’t want to mess up the equipment the worship team was going to be using, and I guess I figured if they didn’t offer a mic they didn’t want me to have one.

The room was loud. People were talking. That’s fine. But I should have planned a different set — no songs to sing, just pretty tunes to play. It wasn’t so bad as long as I was playing dulcimer — I like playing dulcimer even if no one’s listening. But when I picked up the guitar and began the first song, I felt — just weird.

Here I am, sitting in the corner, singing words I wrote very carefully, a song that took several years to write, a song about Eve and the Fall and the poignancy of realizing the separations the Fall precipitated, and I don’t know if anyone can hear my voice or the guitar, much less understand or even care about the words. I wasn’t sure whether to sing and play as if my audience were right there in front of me, or whether to try to sing and play loud enough that if anyone wanted to hear they could. Selfishly call attention to myself? Or be pointlessly quiet?

Someone brought over a mic after that song. I appreciated it, but I also felt foolish — like I should have known it was my job to get a mic to begin with. And besides — what if having a mic for my voice meant everyone could hear me singing (how loud did they turn it up?) but not hear the guitar or dulcimer?

The point is, I carried in my own inner tension — between my performer / subject self and my object self, and circumstances did not help clarify or resolve the tension.

(A little later, a few people came closer to sit and listen, and several applauded at times. That felt a little more comfortable — certainly more interactive, more relational. But still weird because it was still at church. Are people allowed to clap when they like music at church, if it’s during breakfast?)

C) Amy paranoia

I don’t have a guitar stand, so I lay the guitar down on its case next to my chair. On the other side, the bowed psaltery sat on its case. When I was playing dulcimer, my back was to the chair and the other instruments.

Amy is not always gentle with instruments. I like to do music with her, but only when I can pay attention.

Twice Amy was wandering around my chair as I was playing. Do I stop playing — disrupting the music and possibly calling attention to myself — in order to tell her to go to her daddy? Do I try to play and turn around to watch her at the same time? Do I forget about her and stop worrying about it, and just play, and if she breaks or untunes something deal with it later?

At least it was humorous when I stopped playing and called “Mark?” over the mic (because calling across the room without the mic didn’t get his attention, and because Amy wasn’t listening to me tell her to go to him).

D) Sharing

This is a minor detail like C) above. I sometimes have a hard time sharing. Sometimes it’s pure selfishness. Sometimes, though, it’s because when there’s too much going on, each thing loses.

In college, one fall I went on a weekend conference where I heard the gospel in a way that changed my life. I’m not normally one to preach all that much, but I so wanted to share this message, so I called a church friend and asked his help to host a meeting of our friends so I could talk to them about what I’d learned. It was arranged — but another person was also invited to speak about one of her meaningful experiences. I was upset. I just wanted us to have our separate turns — different nights — so that we could each have the full attention and significance for our message.

Maybe this sort of thing also contributed to my grumpiness on Easter. There was the breakfast, my music, the regular worship music, a kids thing, a Last Supper reenactment, a dance…

Maybe that’s not always a bad thing. Maybe it would have been fine if I’d have stuck to pretty background music. Maybe the point is that I would have felt better about my own performance if it was at the coffeeshop without any other show except the occasional noise of the coffee machines.

The dulcimer question

Sometimes it amazes me what provokes that sinking feeling in the pit of the stomach.

Last night I was thinking about my hammered dulcimer.

At the beginning of the month I played at a local coffee shop, and they talked about having me back “soon,” which to them means “maybe Valentine’s Day.”

If I only play out once every three months, that means there can be a lot of time that the dulcimer sits in its case, and then a few weeks before the gig I start practicing a bit.

On the one hand, I could push myself to be disciplined — to play so many hours a week (maybe even keeping track — a blogger acquaintance had a group practice log that was a neat idea), to get out and relearn pieces that I no longer know well enough to play, to get out and diligently study pieces I want to learn or haven’t finished learning, and / or to diligently study and practice techniques like percussion rudiments or chromatic scales or sight reading.

In the same vein, I could more actively seek students and gigs — get in a regional wedding planning brochure, post flyers at music stores, give CDs to potential venues.

Or I could do like I have been doing since several months after Amy’s birth, and perform only occasionally and play only occasionally, even going weeks or months without playing at all.

And maybe that’s okay — maybe it’s okay to not care enough to be disciplined about dulcimer — maybe it’s okay to become a hobbyist, to let my repertoire slide, to lose the classical stuff I’d love to play but am not sufficiently motivated to study and maintain, to not make any progress in becoming a better or more interesting player.

Maybe some later day, when Amy’s in school (elementary? college?) or out of the house, maybe then it’ll become a more focused passion again.

Or maybe not.

There’s only so much time — and one needs to balance obligations (shoulds) and inclinations (woulds), and if what was once inclination now feels like obligation, perhaps it’s okay to drop it a little. Too bad the inclination to play that Bach prelude (the other one) is fairly strong, but the inclination is not there at all to do the hours and days and weeks and months of repetition, measure by measure, phrase by phrase, until I’ve learned the movements and memorized the sound and appearance, and then the additional hours and days and weeks and so on of practice until it hangs together nicely as music.

It was just so weird to think through all of this, and to feel — momentarily but very sharply — “oh dear, what if I don’t want to play dulcimer that much anymore?”

And what does that feeling even really mean?

(“Does it mean I’ve wasted eight years and however many dollars? Does it mean I’m a phony? Does it mean I’ll earn ridicule among the dulcimer community? Does it mean I’m neglecting my Calling or burying my Talent, earning condemnation in the Church? Or selling out to those in the Church who don’t believe in women working, or in music as valid work unless it includes strings of holy words? Does it mean I’ll never get around to making that next CD? Does it mean I’m ‘just’ a mama now, and a domesticky cooking and sewing mama?”)

Quick recap

I should write about the festival in my music blog, but for now here’s the quick summary of what happened.

I arrived at 8 and had almost an hour to wait until my TV spot, which meant I got to let the dulcimer acclimate slowly.

The interviewer (can’t remember her name!) came on stage with me and asked me questions, a little practice round. I let her try the dulcimer, which she thought was fun — she used to play drums. She has an eight-month-old.

The time came, and she asked me two questions not in the practice round, and I blabbered unpreparedly, but at least stayed positive and enthusiastic and didn’t embarrass myself completely. Then I got to play a tune.

Then I walked around, looked at neighbor yard sales, walked around, looked at things, and so on, until the festival program started.

There were introductory remarks, then a father-daughter duo with guitar, some kind of shakers, and vocals, then me.

I played mostly quite well without too much shaking, although there were rough spots on some tunes. But the audience did not run away screaming, and the festival organizer thanked me and said it was nice to have someone of my “caliber” at their festival.

I think I finished earlier than I was supposed to, but no one seemed to mind.

I had some ice cream.

I came home.

I ate lunch.

I weeded in the garden while Mark mowed, until it started to rain.

Amy’s new underwear are in the dryer, along with other laundry. And I was just thinking about hanging them on the line, when the rain started.

My CDs are still at the festival booth… maybe this evening we’ll swing by to pick them up. I also forgot to get my paycheck.

I have had a few sinking moments today but they are not lasting long, so far.

Guess what?

1. I’m going to be on tv tomorrow. Local (South Bend) station, WSBT, playing and talking about hammered dulcimer, as part of a feature on the Yellow River Festival. I’m not sure what time yet, but it should be somewhere between 7 and 8:30 in the morning. If you don’t live here or miss it, you might be able to catch it on their website — they have some stories available as video on demand.

I am very nervous. Talk about short notice. I have to decide what to wear. What to play if I get a chance to play something. Consider what they might ask, what I might say. I hope I don’t say anything to embarrass the festival people.

2. Weeks and weeks after I backed out of the garage too close to the side and broke the side mirror off, it is now fixed. Amy and I sat around in and out of the body shop office while they put the new mirror on, and we got to meet a baby and two little kids stopping by their daddy’s work on their way to the grocery store.

3. After the body shop, we went to Wal-mart to buy some toddler underwear. I was hoping to find some thicker underwear, training pants, but they didn’t have any. I hemmed and hawed and then decided to buy regular underwear and see what happens. A few of my friends have mentioned going straight from diapers to underwear, so there’s precedent.

Amy was very excited to buy the underwear, hold the packages all the way home, and practice trying to put them on and take them off. We talked a lot about not peeing in underwear, but taking it off and using the potty.

She has had two dry diapers this morning (and I think those are the only diapers she’s worn between waking up and napping) and has peed in the potty three times.

4. I’m tired of 33×365. I’m going to take a little (or long) break.

And it was good

The split pea soup, a double recipe, made five meals — the other four are in the freezer. I was a little concerned about it because it looked so thin, but it tasted great and the blender made a nice puree. And Mark remembered we had leftover ham in the freezer, so there was a little meat in the soup, too. (I know, I could have cut apart the hocks and gotten one or two tiny pieces, but, no thanks.)

The bread was also pretty good, although it was a little sour / yeasty to my taste. Maybe I let the second rise go too long, or maybe the recipe really was crazy to call for a tablespoon of yeast (I had to check twice to be sure that’s what it said).

On the other hand, the “pour boiling water in a pan on the lower rack” method is apparently not safe for use with a baking stone. It cracked. Loudly. Fortunately, only three pieces, and the bread was unharmed.

And here we are, still awake, because my dulcimer acquaintance in Chicago, who has no little children and works a non-teacher job, and who is in the next time zone, called us at 10:15 to discuss our carpooling plans for the Chattanooga festival; Mark was already asleep and I was almost there. Oh well.

May I mention that Amy can count to twelve? Sort of. If you say “1″ she says “2″ and so on, and sometimes she strings together several numbers all by herself, often in the right order. And when she’s looking at a book she sometimes repeats phrases or sentences she remembers from it.