...okay...I'm trying a trick here. I don't seem to get writers block when I write on The Salt Water Chronicles, but as soon as I open up a new Word doc and see that horrible, blank whitness staring at me, all the demons start crashing into my brain and I become convinced that there is no way I can write anything remotely intelligent about music (don't forget that part about how I never COULD write anything remotely good about music and that's why I never wrote my dissertation etc. etc. etc. It's a great tape loop I've got goin' on in this brain, trust me). SO I'm going to inflict my thoughts about Faure, Brahms, and Turina upon the unsuspecting world at large. Okay, here we go (really...honest...)
Ah-hem.
Johannes Brahms (1833-1897), Gabriel Faure (1845-1924), and Joaquin Turina (1882-1949)--composers from three different countries, whose careers shadowed historical events from the creation of the German state to the horrors of WWII and the Franco Regime--created vastly disparate and unique sound worlds.
Although the formal structure of the first movment of Faure's Op. 15 hews to a clear, fairly strict sonata form, he creates intensity from through his rich and complex harmonic language . He frequently employs intense, slithering chromaticsm to create color in his unique sound world. Despite the minor key of the movement, the music contains little Sturm und Drang. Instead, it is filled with moments of space and tranquility created by his specific dynamic markings and textures.
The opening movement of Brahms' Op. 25, on the other hand, fully inhabits the word of storm and stress. Phrases ache with yearning and forward motion; moments of jubilance are subsumed by mystery and darkness. The first movement of Op. 15 also clearly illustrates Brahms' use of continuous development, a hallmark of his style. Brahms almost never presents material the same way twice, but instead will alter the key, or the texture, or the harmonic underpinnning. In this way, he commands our attention and creates a distinct style.
Better known for his guitar and keyboard works, Turina wrote just one Piano Quaret. He creates a third, unique sound world that is strongly influenced by the rhythms and harmonies of Spanish folk music. Like Brahms, he restates themes throughout a piece, but without the intense contrapuntal textures. Instead, Turina creates drama through dotted rhythms, pizzicato,and exploting the extremes of each instrument's register.
Each composers' work reveals different aspects of the Piano Quartet medium. Their approaches to harmony, form, and texture create sound worlds that allow us to escape for a moment from our own.
ARGGG--okay, enough of this torture. Why I turn all formal and my thoughts freeze when I start writing about music...I don't know. I'll look at this again tomorrow. Blah.
2.25.2005
2.21.2005
I HATE Practicing...
I would just like to state, for the record, how much I hate hate hate hate hate practicing. I have never liked practicing, even for the brief years when I actually made an effort and practiced four hours a day (it was a long time ago, and yes, I'm glad that I did it). There are moments when I love playing, and it sends me into raptures. But those are few and far between. I suppose that's the difference between "practicing" and "playing" anyway.
The fingertips of my left hand have turned black and sting. And I still can't play the damn cross-string work in the recap of the Brahms, which, because I love so much, I want to play perfectly. And as for the Turina, all I can say is starting a phrase out of thin air on the B two octaves above middle C is just not funny. WhatEVER...
The fingertips of my left hand have turned black and sting. And I still can't play the damn cross-string work in the recap of the Brahms, which, because I love so much, I want to play perfectly. And as for the Turina, all I can say is starting a phrase out of thin air on the B two octaves above middle C is just not funny. WhatEVER...
2.20.2005
Thoughts About Christo & Jeanne-Claude's "Gates"
(Can you tell I'm catching up on my blogging?? I have at least three thoughts a day that cause me to say "I have to blog about that" but then I am either in the middle of troubleshooting an issue at work, or not near anything to write with and have to remember to post later...so here they all are)
Stephen, Kate, and I spent Saturday afternoon at Central Park experiencing the Gates. The overall vibe in the park was one of wonder and happiness--despite the 30ish degree temperature, it was mobbed (although you won't be able to see that in the photos due to Stephen's aversion to taking photos that include people). I overheard a woman say to her two friends (in a classic outer-borough accent, mind you): "This just doesn't do anything for me." There have been quite a few spoofs of the project, too--check out Boing Boing for a good sampling (the source of all that is wacky on the web...scroll down the posts for 2/20).
Before jumping into the debate "what is art?" that surrounds the project, I'll tell you that I loved the Gates--the experience of walking around them, running under them, jumping up to touch the fabric, standing on their bases, watching other people look and think about them. The structures themselves are not profound, or even necessarily "pretty" in and of themselves--the fabric looks like polyester draperies from the 1970's and the supporting structure is covered in plastic (some gates had started to crack). What's remarkable is how simple, replicated structures can transform both how you move through space and what you think about that space. I've walked down paths in Central Park many times, but never with the same intensity, never thinking "let's go that way because of the curve of trail!" You notice paths (and conversely, what's off the path) differently when the space is demarcated so vividly.
We were lucky, too, to have bright sun and blue sky, which provided a sharp contrast for the saffron cloth. In some light, the cloth looked bright orange, sometimes more yellow, softened by the sun seeping through, and sometimes it seemed to fade to a pale tan. The wind played tricks with it, causing the cloth on one gate to billow while others stayed still.
I've overheard buzz, though, that somehow the Gates are not "Art" with a capital "A". I say "why not?" (along with "who-cares-about-defining-what-art-is-this-argument-makes-me-so-tired" but I brought it up...) The Gates changes the way you see--the way a painting or sculpture or graffiti can challenge you to change the way you see. It alters the way you view a familiar space (even if you haven't been to Central Park, you've seen it in movies and photos) by defamiliarizing and recasting it. It may not inspire awe, the way some works of art do (Serra's sculptures come to mind), but it brings art into the world and encourages people to look and think--which is the whole point, as far as I'm concerned. :)
Stephen, Kate, and I spent Saturday afternoon at Central Park experiencing the Gates. The overall vibe in the park was one of wonder and happiness--despite the 30ish degree temperature, it was mobbed (although you won't be able to see that in the photos due to Stephen's aversion to taking photos that include
Before jumping into the debate "what is art?" that surrounds the project, I'll tell you that I loved the Gates--the experience of walking around them, running under them, jumping up to touch the fabric, standing on their bases, watching other people look and think about them. The structures themselves are not profound, or even necessarily "pretty" in and of themselves--the fabric looks like polyester draperies from the 1970's and the supporting structure is covered in plastic (some gates had started to crack). What's remarkable is how simple, replicated structures can transform both how you move through space and what you think about that space. I've walked down paths in Central Park many times, but never with the same intensity, never thinking "let's go that way because of the curve of trail!" You notice paths (and conversely, what's off the path) differently when the space is demarcated so vividly.
We were lucky, too, to have bright sun and blue sky, which provided a sharp contrast for the saffron cloth. In some light, the cloth looked bright orange, sometimes more yellow, softened by the sun seeping through, and sometimes it seemed to fade to a pale tan. The wind played tricks with it, causing the cloth on one gate to billow while others stayed still.
I've overheard buzz, though, that somehow the Gates are not "Art" with a capital "A". I say "why not?" (along with "who-cares-about-defining-what-art-is-this-argument-makes-me-so-tired" but I brought it up...) The Gates changes the way you see--the way a painting or sculpture or graffiti can challenge you to change the way you see. It alters the way you view a familiar space (even if you haven't been to Central Park, you've seen it in movies and photos) by defamiliarizing and recasting it. It may not inspire awe, the way some works of art do (Serra's sculptures come to mind), but it brings art into the world and encourages people to look and think--which is the whole point, as far as I'm concerned. :)
Books in Waiting
As I've mentioned before, my "Books in Waiting" pile (along with my knitting "works in progress," which I'll save for a different post..) is now officially out of control. Here's a sampling of what's in it, after a visit to the first New York outpost of McNally Robinson Booksellers:
Babyji, Abha Dawesar
The Chinese Bell Murders, Robert Van Gulick
This Earth of Mankind, Pramoedya Ananta Toer
Women of Sand and Myrrh, Hanan al-Shayakh (she also wrote Only in London, which I loved)
The Rice Mother, Rani Manicka
McNally Robinson has done something I consider quite daring in it's organization of fiction: it sorts fiction first by region. That means you can browse South Asian fiction, or Japanese fiction, or the literature of Oceania. (They also have a "literary nomad" section for authors like Salman Rushdie and Vladimir Nabakov). Part of the reason that I read is to delve into worlds unfamiliar to me, and to travel mentally to regions of the world that I haven't seen yet (yes, I hold out hope that I will see all of this world somehow). I think their organization allows people to stumble across authors that they may not know, and might not have found otherwise. The danger is that it might "pigeon-hole" authors in ways antithetical (or irrelevant) to the subjects they write about. I think, though, that they've made an effort to make sure that the books are about the place in which they've been sorted.
More on the books later--the most difficult choice is going to be where to start...
Babyji, Abha Dawesar
The Chinese Bell Murders, Robert Van Gulick
This Earth of Mankind, Pramoedya Ananta Toer
Women of Sand and Myrrh, Hanan al-Shayakh (she also wrote Only in London, which I loved)
The Rice Mother, Rani Manicka
McNally Robinson has done something I consider quite daring in it's organization of fiction: it sorts fiction first by region. That means you can browse South Asian fiction, or Japanese fiction, or the literature of Oceania. (They also have a "literary nomad" section for authors like Salman Rushdie and Vladimir Nabakov). Part of the reason that I read is to delve into worlds unfamiliar to me, and to travel mentally to regions of the world that I haven't seen yet (yes, I hold out hope that I will see all of this world somehow). I think their organization allows people to stumble across authors that they may not know, and might not have found otherwise. The danger is that it might "pigeon-hole" authors in ways antithetical (or irrelevant) to the subjects they write about. I think, though, that they've made an effort to make sure that the books are about the place in which they've been sorted.
More on the books later--the most difficult choice is going to be where to start...
Latest Music Obsession--Joanna Newsom
...So Stephen and I were sitting in the cafe in Casco Bay Books last weekend, sipping lattes and trying to restrain ourselves from running through the stacks pulling books off the shelves like over-zealous two-year olds (with charge cards, alas) when all of a sudden a new track started playing and I said "What on earth is THAT?" I wavered between thinking Joanna Newsom's voice was the most god-awful affectation (think of an odd cross between Janis Joplin, PJ Harvey, Edie Brickell, and Bob Dylan) and the most brilliant, new, exciting sound I'd ever heard. I decided on the latter. You'll love it, or you'll hate it--there's no middle ground--but it's worth a listen (there are some clips in the link above). It's the only CD I've wanted to listen to over and over and over again in something like ten years.
2.14.2005
Kodama!!!!
I have all good intentions of writing about my weekend in Maine, but it will take reserves of energy that I simply do not have at the moment. Instead, I will share this link to the Wooster Collective with glee...Princess Mononoke is one of my favorite films, ever--the first time I saw it (in the nasty Anjelica Theater) I felt a sense of awe and absolute astonishment at what I was seeing--Kodamas in the trees, chattering, appearing, disappearing, teasing, playing. It just made me happy to see Kodamas painted on walls in Spain!
2.06.2005
"Cumbahlind Fahms"
Guest Post by Stephen, aka The Blog Pirate (formerly known as The Letter Pirate). Excerpted from communication to the Howe Family (yes, a "pre-emptive" family letter).
This weekend we made a quick escape to the Berkshires! We got up at a regular work time on Saturday morning, got dressed and hopped into the car. The weather was perfect for driving--in the 40s mid-day and a bright, clear blue winter sky. We took the New York Thruway up to Albany, exited onto 787 towards Troy (when RPI was a fire hydrant, Union was a pup . . .ed. note: this is a song that Stephen's dad sings whenever we mention Albany or Troy, NY because of its proximity to Union College), and headed east towards Massachusetts on 7. We found our way to Route 2 which carries us over the Berkshires into North Adams. Route 2 is one of those wind-y, mountain roads with lots of curves going up and down hills with steep ravines dropping off to one side. It is the type of road with lots of signs screaming brake warnings to truckers and where choruses of "DON'T HEEL, DON'T HEEL" would echo out if we happened to be on a boat. (ed. note: growing up, Stephen's mom would shout "don't heel!" whenever their boat would tip on the ever-placid Lake Minetonka...much to the chagrin of the rest of the family, who made sure to tease her about this behavior mercilessly. Families...gotta love 'em).
North Adams is your typical worn-out, seen better days, Western Mass (or even Upstate New York) type of town, with one exception: they have a burgeoning arts scene and a very modern art museum (Mass MoCA) built into the sight of a former printing factory on the Hoosac river (repeat to yourself many many times for fun: HOOSAC HOOSAC HOOSAC HOOSAC HOOSAC). We stopped here first had lunch in their little cafe and went off to see some art. The exhibits were good (and different from the last time we were here) but not spectacular. Although there was one structure composed of a Ford Taurus in various states of being rolled over and flung through the air (each car was like a freeze-frame of a car rolling over--no connection to Route 2, mind you). Shooting from the cars were strings of light to look like either explosions or fireworks. We also saw an exhibit on alternative housing called the Interventionists (and despite beingcalled the Interventionists, one could not intervene with the art at all,always blocked by do not touch and do not step signs), and a piece on race called The Black Factory (by a Bates Professor, William Pope.L). Somehow at the end of all this we got snookered into going into the museum bookstore and bought books. Shocking, I know.
After the museum we drove arond the corner to the Porches, our hotel (www.porches.com). Similiar to the museum, the porches is constructed from a set of Victorian row of houses that formerly housed the mill workers. The houses have been thoroughly rennovated and now resembles a set of Adorondack cabins, although much nicer. All of them are painted in burnt wooden colors: gray, wash-out reds, ochres, mustards, and pale greens. There is a heated outdoor pool, sauna, etc. The hotel was rather full, surprising to us for the dead of winter in Massachusetts. That afternoon we walked into town to see the highlights (not much) and found ourselves at one of the few open stores, a cafe called Brew-Ha-Ha. In the evening we walked back to Mass MoCA where we ate at their restaurant, "11".
This morning, we woke up, had breakfast at the hotel (continental breakfast comes with the room and they have a little eating area or you can sit in the lounge--they TV trays that you can set up next to your chair and a fire in the fireplace). There was organic yogurt, chocolate croissants, cereal, fresh grapefruit, fresh bed, hard-boiled eggs, juice and of course coffee. After breakfast we loaded up the car and headed back to Jersey. We stopped to fill the tank at a Cumberland Farms and Michaela had me practice my Boston accent over and over by saying Cumbah-lin Fahms (ed. note: I think we know who instigated repeating the phrase over and over...). This time time we took 7 South until we reached the Mass Pike, took the Mass Pike into New York and picked up the Taconic Parkway right over the border. The Taconic parkway is a nice alternative to the Thruway and cuts through the mountains heading south. From there we picked up 84, back to the Thruway and on into Jersey on the GSP.
This weekend we made a quick escape to the Berkshires! We got up at a regular work time on Saturday morning, got dressed and hopped into the car. The weather was perfect for driving--in the 40s mid-day and a bright, clear blue winter sky. We took the New York Thruway up to Albany, exited onto 787 towards Troy (when RPI was a fire hydrant, Union was a pup . . .ed. note: this is a song that Stephen's dad sings whenever we mention Albany or Troy, NY because of its proximity to Union College), and headed east towards Massachusetts on 7. We found our way to Route 2 which carries us over the Berkshires into North Adams. Route 2 is one of those wind-y, mountain roads with lots of curves going up and down hills with steep ravines dropping off to one side. It is the type of road with lots of signs screaming brake warnings to truckers and where choruses of "DON'T HEEL, DON'T HEEL" would echo out if we happened to be on a boat. (ed. note: growing up, Stephen's mom would shout "don't heel!" whenever their boat would tip on the ever-placid Lake Minetonka...much to the chagrin of the rest of the family, who made sure to tease her about this behavior mercilessly. Families...gotta love 'em).
North Adams is your typical worn-out, seen better days, Western Mass (or even Upstate New York) type of town, with one exception: they have a burgeoning arts scene and a very modern art museum (Mass MoCA) built into the sight of a former printing factory on the Hoosac river (repeat to yourself many many times for fun: HOOSAC HOOSAC HOOSAC HOOSAC HOOSAC). We stopped here first had lunch in their little cafe and went off to see some art. The exhibits were good (and different from the last time we were here) but not spectacular. Although there was one structure composed of a Ford Taurus in various states of being rolled over and flung through the air (each car was like a freeze-frame of a car rolling over--no connection to Route 2, mind you). Shooting from the cars were strings of light to look like either explosions or fireworks. We also saw an exhibit on alternative housing called the Interventionists (and despite beingcalled the Interventionists, one could not intervene with the art at all,always blocked by do not touch and do not step signs), and a piece on race called The Black Factory (by a Bates Professor, William Pope.L). Somehow at the end of all this we got snookered into going into the museum bookstore and bought books. Shocking, I know.
After the museum we drove arond the corner to the Porches, our hotel (www.porches.com). Similiar to the museum, the porches is constructed from a set of Victorian row of houses that formerly housed the mill workers. The houses have been thoroughly rennovated and now resembles a set of Adorondack cabins, although much nicer. All of them are painted in burnt wooden colors: gray, wash-out reds, ochres, mustards, and pale greens. There is a heated outdoor pool, sauna, etc. The hotel was rather full, surprising to us for the dead of winter in Massachusetts. That afternoon we walked into town to see the highlights (not much) and found ourselves at one of the few open stores, a cafe called Brew-Ha-Ha. In the evening we walked back to Mass MoCA where we ate at their restaurant, "11".
This morning, we woke up, had breakfast at the hotel (continental breakfast comes with the room and they have a little eating area or you can sit in the lounge--they TV trays that you can set up next to your chair and a fire in the fireplace). There was organic yogurt, chocolate croissants, cereal, fresh grapefruit, fresh bed, hard-boiled eggs, juice and of course coffee. After breakfast we loaded up the car and headed back to Jersey. We stopped to fill the tank at a Cumberland Farms and Michaela had me practice my Boston accent over and over by saying Cumbah-lin Fahms (ed. note: I think we know who instigated repeating the phrase over and over...). This time time we took 7 South until we reached the Mass Pike, took the Mass Pike into New York and picked up the Taconic Parkway right over the border. The Taconic parkway is a nice alternative to the Thruway and cuts through the mountains heading south. From there we picked up 84, back to the Thruway and on into Jersey on the GSP.
2.03.2005
Thoughts on Lunch
For years, the word "lunch" has struck fear in my heart.
It's a meal that too often gets lost in the frenzy of the day--some days I can't pull it together enough to take lunch until 2pm (far too late when breakfast is at 8am)--and most often, I eat sitting in front of my computer, fantasizing about how I would like to eat curled up in a chair while reading a novel. (I maintain, however, that my keyboard is relatively clean, considering...I make sure to disinfect it and go after it with canned air at least once a week ;) )
And it's not just making the time to eat. The big stress is WHAT to eat. There are quite a few options in my work neighborhood (walk outside to get a sandwich from the fantastic French bakery "J'adore", order in from the Chinese run cheap Mexican place, Subway, the prepared food or salad bar from Whole Food)--maybe the problem is that there are too many options and not enough brain-space to think about what I want. So lately I've started *bringing* my lunch to work. (I know this is not nearly as shocking to other people as it is to me--I've been ordering in for years).
Today's offering is smoked Atlantic salmon wrapped around Neufchatel and sprinkled with freshly ground pepper on top of Melba toast...the ground pepper is what really makes it good (and no one said that bringing lunch was supposed to be healthier, right??). Sometimes Stephen makes sandwiches for us with organic salami, which allows me to say "it's okay to eat salami--it's Organic!" But the best part of the whole thing is that I don't have to sit at my desk and figure out what's for lunch. It's the little things...
It's a meal that too often gets lost in the frenzy of the day--some days I can't pull it together enough to take lunch until 2pm (far too late when breakfast is at 8am)--and most often, I eat sitting in front of my computer, fantasizing about how I would like to eat curled up in a chair while reading a novel. (I maintain, however, that my keyboard is relatively clean, considering...I make sure to disinfect it and go after it with canned air at least once a week ;) )
And it's not just making the time to eat. The big stress is WHAT to eat. There are quite a few options in my work neighborhood (walk outside to get a sandwich from the fantastic French bakery "J'adore", order in from the Chinese run cheap Mexican place, Subway, the prepared food or salad bar from Whole Food)--maybe the problem is that there are too many options and not enough brain-space to think about what I want. So lately I've started *bringing* my lunch to work. (I know this is not nearly as shocking to other people as it is to me--I've been ordering in for years).
Today's offering is smoked Atlantic salmon wrapped around Neufchatel and sprinkled with freshly ground pepper on top of Melba toast...the ground pepper is what really makes it good (and no one said that bringing lunch was supposed to be healthier, right??). Sometimes Stephen makes sandwiches for us with organic salami, which allows me to say "it's okay to eat salami--it's Organic!" But the best part of the whole thing is that I don't have to sit at my desk and figure out what's for lunch. It's the little things...
1.31.2005
This Post Exists So Stephen Has Something To Look At In His Thunderbird Aggregator...
It occured to me today that not only had I better start practicing for The Garden Street Quartet's recital on the 27th, but that I have to start on the program notes, too...eek. So if anyone out there has any fabulous thoughts on Brahms, Op. 25, the Faure c-minor (no, I can't remember the opus number right now, sigh...), or the Turina, Op. 67...feel free to share :) (We're just performing the first movements of the Brahms and Faure, a practice which I generally despise, but which in this case suits me just fine. I cannot stand the second movement of the Faure, and I can't imagine our audience sitting through a program that long, either.)
More later...
p.s. I checked Bloglines and saw that I have a subscriber! (Thanks, Sam!) Maybe that'll keep me posting more often...blogs are pretty damn boring otherwise.
Edit: Faure, Op. 15. Next I'll learn the key commands for the accent that should appear of the "e" in the composer's name...
More later...
p.s. I checked Bloglines and saw that I have a subscriber! (Thanks, Sam!) Maybe that'll keep me posting more often...blogs are pretty damn boring otherwise.
Edit: Faure, Op. 15. Next I'll learn the key commands for the accent that should appear of the "e" in the composer's name...
1.30.2005
List of Current Thoughts
I'm not quite sure where to start after a crazy January, so I'll just plunge in and see what thoughts come up. Here's what I've been thinking about/feeling lately from the sublime to the banal:
1. Upon wandering through Anthropologie on Bolyston Street this past week it occured to me that even though I adore almost every piece of clothing I see in the store (the skirts are too adorable--colors! Rick-rack!), buying any of them at all would require me to overhaul my entire wardrobe and to wear impractical shoes, not to mention the dreaded stockings.
2. I have a book buying problem. I figure this is less of an issue than, say, a drug or alcohol problem--it's cheaper, for one thing, and it doesn't have as negative an impact on those around me. The main issue is that books take up a lot of space. And they're heavy--not that that would stop me from traveling with them. I was unable to leave Boston without buying a book (Alice Hoffman's "The Probable Future," which I chose because of its New England specifc setting).
3. It made me unbelievably happy to run into my favorite English teacher from high school this past weekend.
4. I'd like to find more time to read poetry.
5. I'm never, ever, ever going to carry both my Mac and my IBM in one messenger bag again for fear of separating my shoulder.
6. I wonder if there's a way to find time to blog more consistently. Maybe shorter, more frequent posts....
7. There are a ton of really amazing knitting blogs out there--very inspiring. Here are a few of my current favorites:
Stitch Marker
All Tangled Up
Brainylady
Dogs Steal Yarn
And those four link to many other cool sites...so many sites, so little time...
8. I'm wondering about sending out old-fashioned valentines to people this year...and maybe a chocolate mousee or two...But then I think about how much I hate Valentine's Day--the horror of not getting a carnation in junior high, the stress of "enforced" giving (do you sense a theme here?). Then again, it's fun to give people unexpected gifts (which makes this holiday different from Christmas).
9. Knitting projects: must finish other fingerless glove for Stephen, restart poncho for Rebecca....then there's the chenille blanket for Kate (which she doesn't know about, but she probably hasn't checked in on this blog for a while, so I'm not too worried ;) ) I keep thinking of making something for myself, but it seems so wrong somehow.
10. Lurking deep underneath all of these thoughts are a whole nexus of other thoughts--about how sad I am for Jennie-Rebecca, who just lost her mum; that I'm happy because she's moving back the The Brick Arbor; how I don't want our parents to be ill or die; how losing that generation takes us just that much closer to mortality.
1. Upon wandering through Anthropologie on Bolyston Street this past week it occured to me that even though I adore almost every piece of clothing I see in the store (the skirts are too adorable--colors! Rick-rack!), buying any of them at all would require me to overhaul my entire wardrobe and to wear impractical shoes, not to mention the dreaded stockings
2. I have a book buying problem. I figure this is less of an issue than, say, a drug or alcohol problem--it's cheaper, for one thing, and it doesn't have as negative an impact on those around me. The main issue is that books take up a lot of space. And they're heavy--not that that would stop me from traveling with them. I was unable to leave Boston without buying a book (Alice Hoffman's "The Probable Future," which I chose because of its New England specifc setting).
3. It made me unbelievably happy to run into my favorite English teacher from high school this past weekend.
4. I'd like to find more time to read poetry.
5. I'm never, ever, ever going to carry both my Mac and my IBM in one messenger bag again for fear of separating my shoulder.
6. I wonder if there's a way to find time to blog more consistently. Maybe shorter, more frequent posts....
7. There are a ton of really amazing knitting blogs out there--very inspiring. Here are a few of my current favorites:
Stitch Marker
All Tangled Up
Brainylady
Dogs Steal Yarn
And those four link to many other cool sites...so many sites, so little time...
8. I'm wondering about sending out old-fashioned valentines to people this year...and maybe a chocolate mousee or two...But then I think about how much I hate Valentine's Day--the horror of not getting a carnation in junior high, the stress of "enforced" giving (do you sense a theme here?). Then again, it's fun to give people unexpected gifts (which makes this holiday different from Christmas).
9. Knitting projects: must finish other fingerless glove for Stephen, restart poncho for Rebecca....then there's the chenille blanket for Kate (which she doesn't know about, but she probably hasn't checked in on this blog for a while, so I'm not too worried ;) ) I keep thinking of making something for myself, but it seems so wrong somehow.
10. Lurking deep underneath all of these thoughts are a whole nexus of other thoughts--about how sad I am for Jennie-Rebecca, who just lost her mum; that I'm happy because she's moving back the The Brick Arbor; how I don't want our parents to be ill or die; how losing that generation takes us just that much closer to mortality.
12.28.2004
The Veil is Lifted...
Well, now I know why I used to walk home from school terrified that a gigantic Tyrannosaurus Rex was going to barrel its way down Summer Street and devour me: I clearly had watched too many episodes of "Land of the Lost". I just finished watching the first two episodes of the series (thank you Netflix!) and was transported immediately back to the farthest left cushion on the family room couch where I watched the program growing up. (I never thought I had watched that much TV, but maybe I really did). The sets and production values are totally laughable, the acting bad and earnest, and what drug was the person who invented Sleestak taking?? But despite all that (or maybe because of it...), I still loved the show--with a little pluck and smarts, you can outwit and outrun any T Rex, right? ;)
12.14.2004
Looks like a Must Read...
I don't know how I managed to miss this in bookstores--Stephen Mitchell's translation of the Tao de Ching is my favorite--lucid, flowing, and graceful. Can't wait to dive into Gilgamesh!
Powells.com From the Author - Stephen Mitchell
Powells.com From the Author - Stephen Mitchell
12.10.2004
A Painting a Day
I came across this site via Boing Boing (if you haven't visited Boing Boing, you're missing one of the most eclectic, fun sites on the web...). I particularly love "Egg 8". And what an amazing commitment! Check it out. A Painting a Day
12.06.2004
Test Image
I'm testing out instructions on how to post images (without having to use the Blogger "Hello" application...). This is my first foray into html IMG tags (okay--full disclosure. It is my first foray into html at all, period...). Okay, so here it goes:
This is one of Stephen's photos from Berlin of the Martin Gropius Bau.
This is one of Stephen's photos from Berlin of the Martin Gropius Bau.
12.02.2004
Thoughts on YA Fantasy Literature
I've been reading Pat O'Shea's The Hounds of the Morrigan, a vast and sprawling fairy-tale-like novel published in 1985, and while I'm enjoying it, I keep feeling that it's missing a level of depth that I crave from this genre of fiction. It may be that in most of the other YA fantasy fiction that I love--Madeline L'Engle's Time Trilogy, Susan Cooper's The Dark is Rising Sequence, and Nancy Bond's A String in the Harp, for example--fantasy is an element of the story, and may even drive the plot of the story, but underneath lies an exploration of human relationships, or the personal growth of the protagonist.
The Hounds--while introducing many funny and interesting characters--is not about Pidge and Brigit's growth as a people (and Brigit is shockingly precocious for a five year old--though not as convincingly as Charles Wallace in L'Engle's Time Trilogy). (And in the interest of full disclosure, it is really bothering me that Morrigan's hounds have all the hallmarks of Irish Wolfhounds--creatures I cannot imagine hunting small children, considering my family's first Wolfhound was responsible for watching me in the yard...). The story itself seems too baldly told, and unwittingly brings to the surface undercurrents of gender issues that seem to lurk in Celtic mythology--any time the main "evil" charachters are female and the "good" character is male, I get a little worried (although, to be fair, I would need to take a much closer look at the legends to know that for certain--is the Morrigan completely and thoroughly a destructive goddess? Or is she more like Kali, or while a destroyer, also has positive qualities?)
By contrast, A String in the Harp explores how children who have recently lost their mother adapt to living far from home; the Time Trilogy (in part) explores how the Murray children cope with a "abandonment" by their father, social awkwardness in school (how to cope with "outsiderness"), and the bonds of familial love. I wonder if O'Shea just meant to write a different kind of good vs. evil book, where the clash between good and evil really is the entire point, and the vessels of that clash are really secondary to the story. In any case, I'm glad I'm reading it because at the very least, it's entertaining, and it's piqued my curiosity about Celtic mythology again, so I think it's time to do some research (and write my own YA fantasy novel...)
The Hounds--while introducing many funny and interesting characters--is not about Pidge and Brigit's growth as a people (and Brigit is shockingly precocious for a five year old--though not as convincingly as Charles Wallace in L'Engle's Time Trilogy). (And in the interest of full disclosure, it is really bothering me that Morrigan's hounds have all the hallmarks of Irish Wolfhounds--creatures I cannot imagine hunting small children, considering my family's first Wolfhound was responsible for watching me in the yard...). The story itself seems too baldly told, and unwittingly brings to the surface undercurrents of gender issues that seem to lurk in Celtic mythology--any time the main "evil" charachters are female and the "good" character is male, I get a little worried (although, to be fair, I would need to take a much closer look at the legends to know that for certain--is the Morrigan completely and thoroughly a destructive goddess? Or is she more like Kali, or while a destroyer, also has positive qualities?)
By contrast, A String in the Harp explores how children who have recently lost their mother adapt to living far from home; the Time Trilogy (in part) explores how the Murray children cope with a "abandonment" by their father, social awkwardness in school (how to cope with "outsiderness"), and the bonds of familial love. I wonder if O'Shea just meant to write a different kind of good vs. evil book, where the clash between good and evil really is the entire point, and the vessels of that clash are really secondary to the story. In any case, I'm glad I'm reading it because at the very least, it's entertaining, and it's piqued my curiosity about Celtic mythology again, so I think it's time to do some research (and write my own YA fantasy novel...)
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