Still Life with Zoe

We stole a folding stand from the CFA lost and found. It lives in a little bag on which is printed "Xing Fei" surrounded by music notes. Our, no doubt terrible, verbal rendering of this reminded me of Sinn Fein, the Irish political party. Since then, I've come to refer to it as the "IRA stand." It is a wonderful stand: sturdy, portable, short. I just worry that some day we'll open the bag and there will be a massive explosion.

Daifuku

I have been craving sweetened red bean paste for months.

Last night, I finally got my fix. J and K and I made mochi (the cheating way in the microwave) and filled it with deliciousness from a can of bean paste that has been sitting in our pantry just waiting for the right ceremonial moment to be opened.

So delicious and not particularly hard to make either!

And now to gobble up the leftovers . . . .

Octoberings

The leaves have turned and they are falling. No frost yet but the heat finally had to be turned on. This weekend was full of concerts and joy. Caught the end of Blue Heron after my rehearsal on Friday, went out for dinner on Saturday before seeing Jordi Savall and Hesperion XXI at Harvard. Met up with a gamba buddy I haven't seen in ages who drove down from VT for the concert and we drank beer and played gamba together well into the night. I cooked pancakes Sunday morning and had a lazy day before the Cambridge Concentus concert, followed by good food and going to bed early. What I was struck by this weekend is how many wonderful people there are out there whom I really enjoy and how little time I actually devote to seeing them. I've been holed up most of the semester spending a lot of time by myself here at home (and not as productively as I'd like) as well as a lot of time with K. I don't regret this because schlepping around to lots of parties and events is too much excitement for me but I have decided that I'm going to try to get out more. I'm not going to go to extremes but maybe I'll try to do one adventuresome thing a week. One thing I might otherwise not do out of fear, obligation, laziness, anxiety, etc. We'll see how it works out.

In other news, I am scrapping all of my bad left-hand habits and rebuilding my technique from scratch. It's about time and I knew it had to happen but the intonation on the cello recital was just not acceptable and is holding my playing back. I hate the patient and diligent work it takes to change something very fundamental about my playing but there is a masochistic part of me that enjoys how tedious it is, how frustrating. Because it's so obvious when you start to get it right and you can see the results of your work so easily.

But that work will happen tomorrow. Now for an early bedtime before a long (and hopefully productive) day.

Decisions

Decisions, those pesky mental tasks we put off as long as possible, letting them accumulate dust and cat hair like the piles of unread books sitting around my room. But lo, I have made some. I am going to stay in Boston a third year. I am going to apply to the musicology program at BU so I can do the combined major that J has been doing. I'm going to spread the extra courses out over two semesters so that I can also take German. I will come up with a brilliant and interesting thesis/lecture-recital topic, write the best Fulbright application ever, and continue playing with my wonderful musical colleagues. I am relieved to be done with the pondering over this. Whether or not it turns out to have been the right decision (although I think it will), now that I've made it, I can get to work on its implementation, a concrete thing that I find much easier than the endless contemplating.

There is something so invigorating about fall weather, the crispness of the mornings, the lazy warmth of the afternoons. I've been sleeping with the windows open and a big comforter wrapped all around me. I love the juxtaposition of the warmth and the cold air on my face.

My recital is four weeks from tomorrow. I'm not ready, but hopefully I will be when the time comes. There are a lot of notes in my program and a lot of expressive things I need to figure out, get control of, learn to execute well. It's funny feeling like a cellist again after years of identifying more as a gamba player who also plays Baroque cello. I do love the cello, in a different and perhaps not equal way to the way I love the viol but still, there's a deep affection for it. Cello has all the memories of my past from before I began gamba.

There is leftover sweet potato bread and rice and curry from my cooking efforts last night, I think they will make a lovely lunch after I finish my tea.

September

Here we are, on the precipice of another year. For me, the new year always begins in fall. Sadly, I think this has more to do with my immersion in the academic world than my Jewish heritage. Happy beginning of 08-09. This is a big year for me. Having established myself in Boston, made friends, played gigs, learned the ropes, I now can take advantage of all that to make smart choices about how much time I spend in rehearsals and for what. I know what I can and cannot do, what makes me happy, how important it is to have food with me at all times, etc. This is also the year I graduate from graduate school. I'll be a Zoe with a master's degree. How bizarre. That's almost enough qualification to do something important! I won't bore you with my agonizing over what comes next and the long term implications of that choice. But I do find myself in the mood for arbitrary devotion. I've always been independent, constrained only minimally by my family and closest friends, neither of which has much guided my life goals or choices. Since my mother's death, I've lost a lot of the feeling of grounded attachment to my family, and since that coincided fairly closely with leaving Oberlin and my network of wonderful friends, I've been afloat here. This is how I rationalize my current inclination to grab onto things and hold on tightly. I almost want make decisions, even compromises because of a boyfriend, a musical group. This is silly and unlike me. Luckily, my relationship with K isn't like that at all, it has a transient quality and its sense of inevitable ending, so I am not tempted to stay in Boston for him. I would, however, choose my next move if it meant I could continue playing with Leon and Tats. I don't think this is in the cards either as neither knows what happens after this year nor have we really solidified ourselves as an ensemble. So in the end, I'm stuck with myself, what do I want, what is best for me? These are questions that, ironically, I'm not able to answer. Ironic, because I'm good at helping others answer them, good at seeing what people really want even when they can't see it.

In other news, I've begun scheming about the recipe for my protein/granola bar that will overtake the free world for its healthfulness and deliciousness. That or allow me to continue to get nutrition throughout the business of the school year!

I Love Hugh Laurie

I saw a dead squirrel in Harvard Square the other day. This in and of itself is not particularly remarkable as I've seen many dead squirrels in my lifetime and even witnessed the killing of a few. But this squirrel was different. It was at the bottom of a tree, on its side, as if it had just fallen out of the tree and made a not so graceful landing. It's eyes were open, it had no visible wounds, I walked very close and could only tell it was dead because it wasn't breathing. Do squirrels really die from falling out of trees sometimes? Or perhaps this squirrel died in the tree and then fell? I've been watching a lot of episodes of the TV show "House." If I were on the show, I would want to figure out how the squirrel died. Of course, on the show, nothing turns out to be simple or straightforward, all the illnesses are rare, bizarre, unexpected. I think the show's emphasis on seeing everything as a potential symptom of illness has made me look at things differently this week. On the bus and the T, I've been noticing cuts and rashes on people, subtle ticks, how some people favor a leg or arm, the way they cough. I don't know nearly enough to even make guesses about their health but it's fun to notice these things.

Post-Conclave

My Faithful Readers, I have returned! I spent a week in New Hampshire playing gamba, drinking booze, playing more gamba and only occasionally sleeping. It was an intense experience and it took me a few days to recover (not just from the sleep but from being surrounded by people and music all the time). I feel more or less like myself again now (and really, when do I ever truly feel like myself?) and have returned to attempting to chart out the course of my life. I have several competing outlines at the moment, none of which have been fleshed out yet. I'm going to do some research into my options to fill in some holes and help me decide which outline I like best. Some of the plans surprised even me but meeting so many people at conclave who were in different places in their careers and following different paths, I was inspired to be less narrow in what I envisioned for myself.

One of the most exciting things at conclave (and the one I had no idea about) was getting to play on electric viols. One of the people there owns three and had brought them and his whole electronic set-up with him. The set-up included a really fun loop pedal that allows you to lay down multiple layers of grooves to jam over. Messing around on that stuff was pure joy. Also getting to improvise with someone else for the first time in too many years. I'd forgotten what an intimate experience that was and how integral improvisation is to my happiness and musical creativity. I'm definitely going to get some equipment so that I can better record and play over myself.

In other news, K took off for California yesterday and by the time he returns, I'll have left for my last vacation of the summer, so I won't see him until September. It's unfortunate and I'm sure I'll miss him, but conclave has filled me with a sense of purpose and musical drive that I think will keep me entertained.

For now, I will munch on a little more of J's delicious banana bread!

Off to NH!

Bright and early on the morrow I depart for scenic Ringe, New Hampshire. Why, you ask? For the Viola da Gamba Society of America Summer 2008 Conclave, obviously! Seriously though, it's my first time going to this annual event where the whole American gamba world congregates to play consorts and drink booze for a week. I'm pretty excited. Not only will I get to hobnob and drink with awesome dorky people much like myself, I will also get to coach and be coached by lots of different and talented people. I haven't really heard that many different gamba players and I'm interested in seeing their approaches to technique and music. A full report will be made upon my return. In anticipation of bad cafeteria food, I have packed a half-loaf of bread I made yesterday, juice boxes of soy-milk, luna bars, apples and peaches to supplement my diet with. Gotta change a broken string on the gamba tonight and then get some sleep because I'm getting up early!

Beach Story

As promised, a story of many adventures:

K and Xt and I went to the beach yesterday. It was a beautiful morning, there were sand sculptures to behold. As we left K's apartment, we wondered if maybe it would rain later but left anyway. It turned out "later" was "while we were still on the way to the T-station." I had brought an umbrella and Xt had a raincoat and K was prancing along with his shirt rolled up in his pocket (it was exceedingly hot out and humid) and we made it to the train damp but intact. Being the hardy and obstinate people we are, we never considered not going to the beach. As we got off the train we were overwhelmed by crowds of beach-goers returning home. Our arrival was also heralded by some claps of thunder and ominous flashes of lightning. Determined not to have traveled so far in vain, we made our way to the beach, jumping through puddles and failing to stay dry (note to self: sharing umbrella with a tall person makes for a lot of rain on the short person). Everyone was huddled under the pavilions and the beach area was deserted except for the sculptures (which were only just starting to melt a little in the persistent rain). So we stashed our stuff that needed to stay dry (mostly, my extra set of clothes and phones) and set off. It was great fun. The sculptures were fabulous, there was the added pride of being "those people" that everyone was watching from their dry shelters and thinking we were crazy. We were totally soaked when we walked back to the train, forded the river that was where the street had once been (fortunately, no oxen died and no axles broke) and ate peaches and sandwiches while trying to wring out our clothes while we were wearing them. The trip home was pretty miserable, but the hot shower upon arrival made it all worth it. We watched some BBC ocean nature shows and later made summer rolls for dinner. A lovely evening. Thus went yesterday.

Unrelated but Important Note: "The Secret Life of Words" may well be the best film I have ever seen. It will not be enjoyed by those who like to have a concrete story line and dislike overly depressing things, but I highly recommend it to anyone who enjoys interesting characters and human relationships. I watched it Saturday night and I plan to watch it again on Wednesday with K. It is that good.

Sweltering in Boston

I've been absent from the online world for a while and though it was a welcome respite, I have decided to return. Spent a week with my dad both in Canaan and Ithaca. Did lots of important sorting there, including my mom's jewelery, all the family photos (which are now in albums), old clothes of both mine and my mom's. And now I'm back and trying to stay busy with all my musical projects and the endless cutting and pasting that inevitably accompanies them. J is back from Ohio and it's nice to have her around again, keeps me upbeat, keeps me from napping too much, keeps me cooking and cleaning. It's good. And K, he's good too. We may go adventuring tomorrow which I will surely recap here if it happens. Life is slow and domestic these days, J and I scrubbed out the basement (which had been much abused throughout the year by the cats) and hung curtain-rods and curtains. We've made delicious meals and soups and sight-read music together. Sadly, J and my taste in movies has some non-overlapping corners from which I seem to have picked all our current Netflix. I will endeavor to watch them quickly so she and I can find things we'll both enjoy. The sky is luminous, the air is heavy, the cats are soft but shedding. A cold shower is a wonderful thing.

A Good Weekend

It started off with a quiet Friday evening and me watching a good movie. "Protagonist" is a documentary of four disparate but parallel life stories told through the structured framework of formal Greek tragedy. Great stories, great puppets, I recommend it. Saturday, I cleaned the house. Not quite like a fiend, but there are no longer grapefruit-sized balls of cat fur hiding in every corner. Also, the kitchen has returned to its comfortable and user-friendly status. Went to a Baroque oboe recital that was unbelievable. My friend G is finishing up his DMA requirements and this was his last recital before he moves to Indiana. He is a real character and plays with so much elegance and elàn (out comes the crossword puzzle vocabulary!). A bunch of us went out to a bar afterwards and K came and met me there after he was done bowling in pajamas with a bunch of the Kwifflebee/Oberlin people. This morning, I fooled around on K's guitar (totally cheated by tuning the g to an f# to mimic gamba tuning), managed to sing and play La Folia, figured out some Marais and then wrote a fun progression which I scribbled down in tab for future use. Meanwhile, K had cooked us delicious scrambled eggs with vegetables and cheese, it was sooooo yummy. Then I tagged along to the foursquare game in which I eventually participated and really enjoyed. Playing with people who are fun and not very competitive is great. This was followed by lunch and much browsing in an amazing loose tea store. On my way home, it started raining and I actually had an umbrella with me, so I ambled along listening to the downpour and staying dry from the knees up. I arrived home to the bread I had made yesterday and subsequently forgotten about and even played some gamba!

Happenings

I have returned to the world of the internet! Both much and little have transpired since my last post. For efficiency I return to the convenient list format.

-Watched some movies. Nell: very good; Where Angels Fear to Tread: not as good

-Recorded a song for my gamba bluegrass album. Recording quality is low, audience approval (audience of one, K) is high. Refinement in recording technique and equipment would be helpful, ability to listen to my own voice without cringing would also be a plus.

-Went to NYC for one night to see an art opening. Survived Lucky Star bus-ride, ate good food, walked for hours, saw wonderful art, fun people, did crossword puzzles. Saw father who returned me to Boston and had dinner with me and K. K liked father, no word yet from father on useful insights into psychology of K, verdict pending.

-Had a "sick day" with K (who is actually sick) on Thursday. Soup was made, books were read, crosswords were solved, tea was drunk, much laziness ensued. A good day, all around.

-Today, I recovered from over-extended social muscles. Sat around, did crosswords, read, listened to music, stared off into space, snacked, failed to accomplish anything useful. A quiet day that I will finish off with a movie (of course).

Random thought of the day: letters are awesome, real letters, on paper, with handwriting. I think I will write more of them. Not because I want to receive return posts (although it's always exciting to get a letter!) but because you can have a burst of thought about someone, put it in the mail and forget about it so that it's a surprise when he or she gets back to you about it!

Also awesome: gigantic thunderstorms! Today's was amazing. I even lit candles on the off-chance that the power would go out (can't seem to find J's lighter and so I lit them off the stove which wouldn't have worked in a blackout!). Sadly, no such luck, but I did watch the pouring rain travel in the wind like little bits of fog swirling around the street. The kitties started at the thunder and ran around the house in terror while I luxuriated in the intensity of the whole thing from the vantage point of the couch!

More Stolen Words

A dear old friend of my family and brilliant writer, Steve Kuusisto, posted a poem on his blog this morning that made me smile so I've decided to repost it here for all of you. My father once said that the aim of poetry is to bring back the dead. He hasn't yet explained to me how this works but Steve's poem puts me in mind of the idea.

How Poetry Works

I wasn’t one of those who believed in the end of days.

I gave a butterfly my fingertip.

I was sweaty, loving, crude, open, honest, and bookish.

I didn’t just "believe" in the Bill of Rights,

I wove my clothing from its threads.

I held the kelson of creation and a dying man

And knew they are the same.

I saw the constitution of the living and of the dead

And knew they are the same.

Sometimes in the sweetness of a summer’s hour

I held the face of the man I loved

And I held the face of the woman I loved

For all faces are divine

Reposed in the ardor

Of the sky.

What did I tell you anyway?

Poems hold so tightly to everything, everyone--

There is no good time to go.

These leaves know nothing

But light and dark

And how to live.

--S.K.

Stuck in a Rut

Been a while since I've been seriously stuck but here I am again, unable to do anything unless there are people around. I tagged along with K this morning to the Arboretum (where he volunteers) and got to help label various plants. Mostly this consists of leisurely driving around the beautiful grounds, talking about the trees, trying to locate specific plants on confusing maps and then switching out the labels because the sub-species name has changed, or the info about where it is isn't actually correct. We relabeled some rhododendrons and some bamboo. Hearing K and the guy who works there rattling off the family names of various trees and shrubs, talking about the "peak" of the various flowers, tasting immature plums and speculating about various fruit. It made me very happy. Why am I always so excited about the things I don't know? Why am I not excited about early music right now?

Heard a fabulous concert last night of mostly Victoria with lots of my friends singing. I loved hearing Renaissance stuff again, it's been a while and I miss singing. There is so much I should do but don't want to. So many primary sources I should really read, so much technique I should rebuild, so much music I should learn. But when I'm here alone, I don't want to do anything. Yes, I know it's just my weird form of depression, but it never fails to confound me that the moments I least want to do anything are also the moments I want the most. I have so many conflicting dreams, I don't know what to follow. I'm not sure if I want to be the person I've been aiming to become anymore.

I'm sure I'll feel better in the morning and maybe I'll start the work of digging myself out of this terrible hole I've fallen into.

Shostakovich!

Last night, after the frisbee game, K and a friend of his and I went back to K's place and ended up listening to the entirety of the eighth quartet (one of my favorite pieces in the whole world). What an experience! Having failed to listen to any "classical" music post 1750 for the better part of a year, the dissonances and rhythms were so fresh and striking all over again. It was as if I'd never heard the piece before even though I knew what was coming. Re-experiencing the languid sorrow of the first movement, the heart-racing fear of the second, the subversion of the third, the terror of the fourth, and the resignation of the fifth, brought my heart back to places I hadn't visited in a long time. I loved every second of it. And I loved seeing K and his friend both go through their own versions of the ecstasy I was feeling. To see the expressions on their faces when the harmony crunches itself up into a place you never expected it to go, a place you didn't realize music could go. To see the shock in K's features when the lone violin note is interrupted by the banging-on-the-door/gunshot themes, the dawning comprehension when I pointed out the name-theme and when he identified it later on his own. That was pure joy for me. I love music theory, I love science, I love explanations, but I don't want to know Shostakovich's secrets. Somehow, he does things with harmony that no one else can, things I don't understand, can't replicate on my own. He moves masterfully between dissonance and consonance, milking the expressive power of both. He is one of my favorite composers and I had forgotten about him. How happy I am to be reminded!

MmmHmm

Two nights ago, I made a lemon cake for T's 25th birthday party (see facebook for amazing pictures of said party). Last night, I made a feast. What can I say, I was feeling inspired! T and his roommate and Stiney came over as well as K (to whom I will introduce you in a later paragraph). Here is what I made:

-Apple-carrot confetti salad with lemon juice and dried cranberries (check-plus and easy to make!)
-Spicy lentil-filled deep-friend pastries (check-plus on the filling, check-minus for all the hassle of rolling them up and frying them)
-Sweet potato bread (check-plus as always!)
-Bell peppers stuffed with rice, tomatoes, mint, dill and parsley with a creamy feta sauce over them (check-plus!)

Needless to say, we stuffed ourselves, and then ate more, and then ate cake! Then we cleaned up the kitchen and sipped tea and played Anagrabble (a game with the Scrabble tiles). It was fabulously fun and I'm still smiling to remember all the different spices and flavors and all the wonderful laughter with friends.

Okay, who is K, you ask? K is a new friend and a wonderful person who also happens to be an extremely attractive man who by some grace of god likes me too. He's not a musician (I never expected to date anyone other than musicians!) but listens with more emotional intelligence and passion than many musicians I know. He may not know the words I've learned to use to describe music, but he knows the feelings that are behind them. I'll tell you more about him in the future if I don't manage to scare him off! But for now, I'm happy.

Now it's time to get back to eating left-overs and writing blue-grass tunes!

Some sort of credo

I just watched "Jesus Camp." Yes, yes, I knew exactly what I was getting into. I knew it would be upsetting, confusion and anger-inducing. And yes, I watched it anyway. Much of it is what you'd expect. Much of it reminded me of the several Evangelicals I've met throughout my life. I was prepared for the intensity of belief, the anti-rationalist viewpoints, the genuineness of feeling. What I wasn't prepared for was the emotional manipulation of young children. It's one thing to teach children what you believe, what you want them to believe, but it's totally different to tell them they are inherently bad people and that everything they want is wrong. All those shots of the kids weeping during sermons just about broke my heart. I'd be interested to see where those kids end up in 20 years. Some will probably be preaching or having babies to preach to, but maybe some will find other ways to live. It's a veritable children's crusade with as many psyches damaged as lives lost in the first one.

At one point in the film, a child declares that America is sick and only Jesus can cure it. I say, we are all sick! Always, every single one of us. We all make do, we all find things with which to console ourselves. But leave me my options! Maybe Jesus will cure you, but I require Bach, and perhaps Marais too. My sickness requires fresh vegetables, and good books to read. We all have the same malady but every individual requires a different treatment!

Half of me wants to run away to Europe and never look back and the other half insists that America is not "God's nation," it's my nation. Maybe I'm too much my mother's daughter (she wrote a whole book about sense of place) but I'm attached to this land, to the fruit trees, the lakes, the crazy weather, the winding highways, even sometimes the stubborn insistence on excess. I'm not sure I'm cut out to spend my life fighting the Evangelicals (nor do I think that stooping to their mercurial metaphors is a good idea) but I can be evangelical about what I believe. It may not be written in a inconsistently-translated tome in dire need of some editing nor is it necessarily articulatible (especially without neologizing!) but I'll try. At this moment, I believe in beauty, in happiness, in the large and the minute, in individuality, in love, in the logical and the inane, in laughter and tears, in change and whimsy and in loyalty, and perhaps most importantly, in contradiction, in the gray area in between everything. I believe in "I don't know."

This instant, I believe in eating more baby carrots.

End of sermon.

One notch above miserable

The very worst part about being an adult is getting sick. When you're young, you get leave to do nothing, others will pick up the slack for you. You have a family to commiserate with, to make you tea. You get to stay home from school, eat whatever you want and watch movies all day. As an adult, there are no perks. The cats still need to be fed, the bills need paying, the only food is what you make yourself and the dishes pile up if you don't do them. Then there's all the anxiety about the things I should be getting done, the grand plans I'm not working on because I'm sitting around being sick and feeling sorry for myself! Ah, self-pity, what a trap you are! My tea, the tissue box and I are going to escape, we'll hide in the livingroom, with a book perhaps and let the day pass quietly. The only thing I got that the germs don't is time, I will patiently outlive them!

Lazy Summer Days

So, let's recap the last week or so. Went to Florida to ostensibly visit my grandfather and his wife but really to see my dad and sister who visited at the same time. We luxuriated on the beach, got sunburned, laughed. We fought too, but not much and it was good to see them both.

I also just found out that the trip to Taiwan is canceled. Apparently, the economy there is very bad and the company that was organizing the tour went bankrupt. I'm disappointed but also a little relieved. People my age are supposed to love to travel, and I do love seeing new places but the traveling itself wears me out. I need time to recover from the trip before I can really enjoy a place and usually there isn't enough time for that. So I was nervous about being on the other side of the world, jet-lagged, with three days to fix a harpsichord and prepare for a professional concert series. I would have loved to see Taiwan, to walk through the natural gorge carved out of marble, to eat exciting food, to teach Baroque cello. But there is a lot more of my life coming up in which I will do those things. For now, I'm happy to enjoy what I have in Boston: great friends, decent weather, my lovely house, free time.

I cooked for the first time in a long time last night and it made me feel like me again. I can still bake bread without a recipe. I can still create something delicious out a pile of beautiful vegetables.

So here I am, sitting around the house, not really doing anything but enjoying the mundanity of it all and scheming up adventures and dinners.

Who'd have thought?

I feel strong! This is in large part thanks to Kayle and the rest of the kwifflebee-ers. I've been playing frisbee with them for the last few weeks on Tuesdays and rock-climbing on Wednesdays. I've always had a tortured relationship to exercise. I love playing games and running around with people but I get way too bored trying to do it by myself. Attempting to jog, I quit when I get tired; playing frisbee, I will keep going despite blisters on my feet and cramps in my legs. And I love it! Last night, climbing, I flashed a route that at first I thought would be too hard for me (it was rated 5.8+). Even Kayle (with all his extra height and wingspan) had some trouble with it. I felt like I could do anything! I don't know what will happen once the school year starts and I'm busy again, but for the summer, I'm going to keep running around as much as I can.

Sidenote: Lest you all think I was joking about being a bluegrass rockstar, I'm still writing, still composing, still making up songs in my head on the way home from the bus-stop!

Inspiration - Insomnia

You never realize exactly what is inside you until you allow it to find its way out into the light.

Sometimes thoughts creep along on growing fingernails, sometimes ideas exit in your breath, hitchhiking on a sigh or an exclamation. Sometimes a realization oozes its way out through your pores, mixing with your sweat. Sometimes poetry dribbles past your watchful lips, staining the paper translucent. Sometimes, music falls from your eyes, cocooned in teardrops, making its way towards the sea.

Why the hell not?

Dear Faithful Readers,

It's confession time. Some of you already know that I'm a vain fool with a weakness for folk music but I'm finally going to admit it to the world: I want to be a rock star!

Having recently been introduced to Pandora by J-the-amazing-and-technologically-cognizant, I've been listening to a lot of Chris Thile and have developed a huge crush on him. Here's the letter to him I've been composing in my brain:

Dear Chris,
You're fucking awesome. I don't know if you're aware of the existence and kick-ass-ness of the viola da gamba but if you're ever curious, I'm your girl! I want to tour the world with you; just think: Mandolin and Viol! It's a niche and no one's there yet. Let's not miss our opportunity.
Love,
Zoe

But with no recent experience playing non-Classical music, I doubt he'd believe how truly brilliant I am. Sometimes even I have trouble believing how brilliant I am! So, I'm going to prove it. Tons of people do the singer-songwriter thing so it can't be that hard! If Joanna Newsom can do it on harp, I can do it on viol. Maybe after I release my first solo album he'll be willing to give me a chance!

Besides, what else is the summer for if not ridiculously grand and futile projects?

In Others' Words

Lots of people post song lyrics on their blogs. Today, I offer you translations of two 17th-century Italian song lyrics from a lovely recital I played in last night.

They spoke to a nostalgia and infusion of memories that I've been feeling lately.

Lagrimosa Beltà

Tearful beauty
for whom I longed for so many nights with sighing,
how have you so become?

Who was that savage?
Whose heart, full of contempt,
could have proved harsh against you?

Misery, I know well, and you cannot deny it.
Time, the age of great worth,
has calmed the breast
has silvered the gold of thy beautiful hair.

Lady, see the end approaching,
see that everything is mortal and fades.
In time beauty becomes worthless,
it is the common blow that none may parry.

The rain comes after the calm
and after the lightening bolt, grim thunder;
who is cruel does not merit pardon,
to be faithless to love is a vile outrage.

To such a vision, Ladies, render up your hearts.
With piety and humility,
learn to leave that sumptuous pride and
soften thy thoughts.

Beauty displays its splendor not in such as she,
nor ever did.
Then let she who would have lasting beauty
avail herself of pity.

Amanti, io vi sò dire

Lovers, I can tell you
that it is much better to flee
from a pretty woman:
whether she is cruel or merciful,
whatever the situation,
to die for love is madness.

You need not think
of finding joy in love,
the happiness of love
is a thing of the moment,
and after all a beautiful woman
never bestows roses without thorns.

The hope of enjoyment is based on suffering,
beauty and courtesy
do not go hand in hand,
I can say, to my misfortune,
that love goes together with death.

It would take floods of tears to put out the volcanoes
of a heart in love,
of a soul that is inflamed . . .
Before it reaches shelter,
how often it says: Alas, I am dead!

Believe in one
who can say from experience: I saw, I was:
If you won't believe,
let it be,
it matters little to me,
carry on loving.
In any case,
those who must break their necks
will not escape steep slopes or deep falls.
As the wise proverb always says:
You cannot escape your destiny.

My lady, I know who you are,
Cupid, I know what I am doing,
I'll have nothing more to do with you,
keep your distance, both of you!
If everyone were like myself,
Cupid would be a fool, and not a god.

Reflections on a year in Boston

My roommate requests that I update this now that the recital is over and so I will do it just for her!

The only news of interest is the recital so I'll start there. It went well. Actually, that's an understatement, it went really well. Better than I had hoped. Sure there were mistakes (lots of them, some more serious than others) but they didn't ruin anything and the parts I didn't mess up are really spectacular. Val told me (with tears in her eyes because she had a bad cough!) that I was in a completely different place than I had been a year ago when last she heard me play. Listening to the recording, I hear she's right. I don't know what it is but I sound like a professional who makes a bunch of mistakes instead of a student who plays very well. A strange distinction but accurate. I seem to have developed a poise and confidence in my playing that I've never had before. I don't know how, maybe it was meeting all these people who think I'm a great musician. I think I'm starting to believe them! I know I didn't work as hard as I could have this year. I didn't practice as much as I wanted to. But I played a lot. And I performed a lot. I think I finally got some of the "experience" I was so sorely lacking in Oberlin. I may not like living outside of the Oberlin bubble but it's been good for me musically.

So now the summer officially begins for me. As usual I have lots of ambitious plans I will not get around to or end up finishing but I like having them nonetheless. Proof of my greed for life, a testament to a vision of who I try to be. I have accepted that I want too much, I cannot live all the lives I desire, accomplish all the things I wish I could. So wanting them all will have to be enough and I'll do what I can.

What are your goals/hopes for the summer?

I want to learn a lot of new music. I want to cook new and interesting recipes. I want to play lots of frisbee. I want to read a lot of books. I want to figure out what I'm going to do after I graduate from BU (hopefully get a Fulbright to Europe to study with someone amazing). I want to plan interesting concert programs for next year and get some workshop/teaching gigs. And most importantly, I want to have fun with people I love!

Absence makes for bad blogging

I haven't posted in a while and I probable won't again for another while (so many whiles, or was it wiles?). My recital is on May 16th and until then I'll be practicing and trying not to stress out too much. For the meantime, you'll have to amuse yourselves without me.

Marais

I've been unproductive recently. This happens to me with alarming regularity, for a few days I just won't be able to do anything useful that's not scheduled. This used to be less of a problem back when everything in my life was scheduled and had due dates. Now that I'm supposed to be self-motivated and ambitious, losing days to my meandering motivation is keeping me from doing everything I want to.

So instead of letting today slip away, I went out into the world and got something done. Perhaps not the most pressing or important of things, but it was something. I sat in Espresso Royale for two hours nursing a cup of coffee (that doubled as lunch) and finishing cutting and pasting and writing out the parts for my Marais suite. Then ran back to CFA to scan my fragile constructions and then to the library to wait in line forever so that I could print them out for free. Tomorrow I will put them in envelopes and leave them for my collaborators and that task will be finished. Of course, being able to play said pieces would also be useful, but I have a couple weeks left for that!

I love this weather, if only it would stay like this and never get too hot! The smells of all the flowers opening and the variety of birdsong makes me yearn for picnics and jumping in lakes and bike rides and farmer's markets and rhubarb pies! It also makes me lonely. When did we grow up and get too busy for these things? How did we get tied down, stuck in our ways, confined to our own stereotypes of ourselves?

Having Style

I've been experimenting with this bizarre concept this year. Don't worry! I'm still the same old barbarian Zoe you've always known, but now with the added superpower of being able to look nice when I choose to. The other day when it was just on the cusp of being warm enough to wear a dress, I wore one with leggings under it. Yes, those silly things that end mid-calf that some college-students seem to mistake for pants. And lo, I kind of liked how I looked! Last month, shopping with Val in Chicago, I bought a pair of pointy-toed boots! Today, for a performance, I've got burgundy stockings with subtle flowers on them under a simple black dress with a little cleavage and a couple beads. I almost feel elegant (however, I plan to ruin the whole effect by wearing silly shoes!). Both my dead grandmothers would be pleased. They always wanted a granddaughter who looked cute and beautiful but never got one since my sister and I were too willful to be either of those things. I do not intend to become less willful or more superficial, and I am not willing to give up too much of my time to drying my hair or sifting through clothing. However, being able to look nice is a good addition to my repertoire of impersonations!

Time

Albert Einstein once said: When you are courting a nice girl an hour seems like a second. When you sit on a red-hot cinder a second seems like an hour. That's relativity.

He's right. True relativity happens in the brain. Here we are in Spring again. It seems like just a few weeks ago I moved to Boston but it's almost been a year. Today also happens to be the year-and-a-half anniversary. That seems as if were ages ago and yet, talking about it the other night with L, I went back there in my memory and it could have been last week. Strange.

In the end, time may be just another trick of memory, that irascible beast.

I went to bed with a headache, I woke up with it this morning, now coffee and tylenol are hard at work combating it.

I replied to an e-mail is Spanish dredged up from what's left of high school in my brain to a five-year-old in Buenos Aires who has the same name as me.

The sun and the crisp air transport me back to Oberlin, those first few warm days when we'd walk in the Arb, write our chorales for theory sitting by the pond, skip practicing in order to eat ice-cream or read in Tappan square.

When it gets even warmer, I'm sure I'll remember that last summer, when every day was better than any she remembered, when the colors were brighter, the tastes more sumptuous, love more deeply felt than ever before. We cried then, said the things you think but never say, asked the questions you don't dare to ask, smiled at each other because we could, because we had secrets, because we were in love.

Best Day Ever!

Good food, good friends, good weather.

Except for getting up early for a 9:30am jury, today was perfect. Boston was warm and sunny today and I wore a dress and sandals to celebrate! Got my plane ticket for Taiwan and had lunch in Chinatown with friends. Spent the afternoon in the sun on the porch cutting and pasting and writing out music for my recital. Practiced (!!!). Cooked delicious coconut rice and Thai curry and even made Thai tea. L came over and we ate and talked about all sorts of things, it was great. Then T (Baroque violinist) came over and I got to feed her too! We all listened to the recording of us from Sunday while sipping scotch and then devoured a mango while listening to all the pieces we want to learn together. It was everything I could ever ask for. And now I get to curl up in my warm comfy bed with a cat or three and tomorrow I get to eat leftovers!

I am a very happy and content Zoe.

Aftermath

I seem to have survived last week and come crashing into this week, which I plan to conquer as well!

I had a very strange experience on Sunday. I am a veteran procrastinator and under-practicer, I rarely get pieces as polished as I wish they would be. However, I don't think I've ever played a real concert (with audience and everything) feeling vastly unprepared before. And yet, despite messing up tons of things I know I can play and not knowing what was coming next, I played extremely well on Leon's recital. It was bizarre. I missed shifts, I flubbed runs, I played the wrong strings, and yet, I was musical and created the beauty I hoped to create. And the audience heard it too. They congratulated me with real sincerity, they truly enjoyed it. It makes me both chagrined and elated. I never want to be that unprepared again for a concert and yet, maybe this marks a new era in my performing life, actually being able to express my ideas on an instrument effectively. I hope so.

J left for Texas at early-as-hell-o-clock this morning and she'll be gone a whole week! I'm not sure what I'll do with myself and the emptiness of our house. I hope to practice a lot but I'll try not to become a recluse. Come over for dinner! Watch a movie with me!

Opera

Well, the opera is finally over! Thanks to T for sitting through 2 hours of early music to support J and I! Did it go well? Yes, in the end it did. Ultimately, the music itself was so good that I think we were all able to get beyond the difficulties we had in rehearsing it and really enjoy ourselves. At least, I enjoyed myself (when I wasn't worrying about my d-string going flat or how hot it was under all those lights!). In the end, I'm proud of all the work I put into it and how it came out. I almost wish there had been a reviewer there because I will stand by my performance. It is rare that I feel good enough about a performance to allow it to truly reflect on my abilities and last night was one of those moments. Feel free to judge me by last night, I made mistakes, yes, but musically, I did what I wanted to do.

Of course, after going out for a drink with the cast and orchestra, I left my bag at the bar (but remembered my cello) and only realized it when we'd walked 20 minutes to the T-station. Kindly, J and a musicologist friend walked back with me to get it and then back to the T where we caught one of the last trains that night and took the final 57 bus home. It was past 1:30 when J and I finally arrived home, me weary and with very very unhappy feet from my performing shoes (I have blisters on the bottom of my feet! Ouch!). Despite this, we had lots of fun telling offensive jokes and making fun of musicology, random drunk students, and ourselves. I haven't laughed that hard and that much in a long time and I am in good spirits today because of it.

Alas, no Friday night for me, I've got rehearsals from 4-9:30. If you find yourself doing such things, have a drink for me!

Acting Professional

I try to do this sometimes and usually fail. More often, it just happens without my knowing it. Last night, I played an opera. It was exhausting, mentally, physically (what circulation to my legs?), emotionally. Tonight, I do it again. There's a masochistic pleasure in putting oneself through such a thing to entertain and share music with others. It's satisfying and the exhaustion after validates how much effort you really put in. Saturday night, I play a recital. Sunday afternoon, I audition for a professional Baroque orchestra on cello and Sunday night, I play a huge concert on both six and seven-string gamba. I'm dealing with the details of going to Taiwan this summer to play concerts and give a masterclass. I just try to get through one day at a time and struggle to do everything I want to and maintain health and sanity. But on paper, here I am being a young professional musician. Very few people in the audience know I'm going to go home and bake cookies while dancing around to Klezmer or Celtic music in my pajamas and singing to the cats. Even fewer know what a struggle it is for me just to practice the instruments I love to play. And that's the rub, isn't it? Even the most elegant and "professional" among us are just people and those of us who are the least organized and competent can appear "professional" to those who don't know us.

The Joys (and Pains) of Consumerism

My roommate, J, and I decided to take yesterday afternoon off from life. After our oft-frustrating Monday class, we went on an MBTA adventure, making our way out to the Chestnut Hill Mall. After determining that the mall was way too upscale and expensive for our tastes, we climbed down a rocky slope (off-roading!) and made our way over to a Macy's where we found lots of things on sale. As usual, we spent most of our time perusing racks of dresses on sale, evaluating the cello-playing possibilities of them all.

Finding things to wear for performances as a cellist is difficult. I envy violinists and singers, the former having only to worry about collars getting in the way and the later entirely free to do anything as long as they look fabulous. The obvious problem with playing the cello is that it requires one's knees to be approximately 2 miles apart from each other. Thus are we ever on the lookout for very full skirts (we can be spotted in dressing rooms as the ones who find a chair to sit in to see if the skirt is wide enough). Additionally, as a Baroque cellist, the lack of endpin means I must be comfortable holding up the instrument with my legs. This is not as difficult as it appears (one gets used to it quickly) but particularly smooth and slippery fabrics make the cello less secure and often distract from the performance. Of course, beads and buttons and other ornaments are problematic because they could scratch the cello or rattle or buzz whilst I'm playing. As if this weren't enough, we must be very careful about straps as the movement of our bow-arm can lead them to fall off our shoulders. This happens to me a lot and at times I've had to resort to taping straps to the back of my shoulder to prevent this (most laughably, I did this with gaff tape at the Kennedy Center to prevent calamity during a performance available by live feed on the internet).

I haven't mentioned shoes yet! The height of them affects how high the cello sits (and thus your intonation) so they must be carefully chosen as well. I also like to test them for "tip-ability," whether they allow me to sit comfortably with my feet tipped at an angle (as I do when I play). Surprisingly, this varies a lot between heels and is impossible to predict. Some thin heels balance very well at an angle while some chunky ones do not.

Despite all these restrictions, I managed to find a lovely black dress that you can see if you come to my performance Wednesday or Thursday night. I'll only wear it one of the nights, so leave a comment to vote which night you want to see it!

Another Monday

Well, here we are again, back at the beginning of another busy week. I'm playing in an opera (concert version), a recorder recital and L's harpsichord recital (don't be deceived, I'm playing some really hard solo rep on it!). I've also decided to take an audition for Boston Baroque. I have very little time to prepare and I don't really expect to make their sub-list but I haven't played many auditions in my life (I hate them!) and it will be good practice for me. To pre-reward myself for all this, I've decided to take the afternoon off and go shopping. Silly as it is, having something new to wear to one of these events will motivate me to practice more.

I made rosemary focaccia and lasagne last night for a bunch of friends and L came over too. It was fun to watch people I love who don't know each other enjoy themselves together. I also got to play with construction paper and make posters for L's upcoming recital (for which T miraculously created an origami harpsichord!).

See you at the end of the madness!

On Cutting (and Pasting)

Sometimes playing early music consists of actually playing music, but very often it involves a lot of arts and crafts. This comes from one of the hypocrisies of the historical performance movement. We perform at historically approximate pitch, with historically informed techniques and off of facsimiles of manuscripts and historical editions, and yet we hold ourselves to very modern standards of performance.

Take intonation for example, I find it likely that standards for intonation were very different in the Baroque. In string playing, eighteenth-century musicians would not have had access to as reliable strings as we do, they couldn't control the temperature or humidity of their environments as well as we do, they didn't have electric tuners (or even tuning forks until 1711) as we do. There are treatises that complain about poor intonation which I read as proof that musicians were often out of tune. They may have wanted perfect intonation (as we aim for) but I doubt it was possible, especially in large ensembles.

Another example is the Baroque trumpet. During the early music revival when pioneers were first exploring valveless trumpets (which are limited in range to the natural harmonic series) they deemed them "impossible" to play well and added holes to improve the intonation. Even the best and most famous historical trumpet players today all have these holes because it's agreed that without them, too many "mistakes" occur for modern audiences (and conductors!) to accept.

This brings me to my current peeve in early music, the fable of unity and continuity throughout a larger work. I think this notion was probably born in the mid-19th century (does anyone actually know the history of this?) when "music-as-high-art" really got going. If you go to the symphony today you will be looked at derisively if you are so uncouth and unknowledgeable as to clap between movements. This wasn't always the case. People used to clap after every movement and if there was enough applause, the movement would be played again (remember, there were no recordings). This practice holds over in opera where people clap after arias despite the interruption of the plot.

Music in the Baroque was entertainment (and I don't mean this pejoratively at all!), whether it was music for dinner or dancing or for the stage, it was functional. We have copies of the scores people performed off of and there are page turns in the middle of movements (!) marked, "turn quickly." No one had page turners, they didn't line up four stands in a row so that they wouldn't have to pause to turn a page. So it seems to me that our modern aesthetic of continuity is behind the hours I spend cutting and pasting parts together for myself to eliminate or abbreviate all page turns.

I played a recital last week where I taped four or five sheets of paper to each side of a large piece of cardboard in order to avoid disrupting the flow of a cantata by shuffling my pages. I routinely turn pages while playing an open string (a good trick!) and toss them on the floor because I have no time to place them elsewhere. As a 20th-century being, I appreciate dramatic flow in a work, unencumbered by the often messy reality of playing it. But I don't think this was a priority in the Baroque. Surely they turned pages, surely they tuned between movements. In a rehearsal yesterday, I had to keep tuning between movements (in a rehearsal!) and the conductor asked me why I had to tune so much. I told him I had put on a new string (which was true) but I wanted to say, "Does it matter why? Would you rather I play out of tune? This is the reality of playing on temperamental gut strings during the lurching forward of Spring weather!" But if we want to appeal to a modern audience, we must perform up to modern standards and make compromises in our historical accuracy. At what point are we compromising too much? When do we lose sight of the point of what we do?

Monday Morning

I have emerged from the dark and gloomy cave that was last week! All concerts went well, especially J's, she was amazing.

I watched the movie "Out of Africa" last night. It's from the mid-80s but is set in first-world-war-era Kenya and based on the real writings of a Danish Baroness who lived there for a while. Aside from such minor annoyances as Meryl Streep's fake Danish accent and a slightly overwritten score, it's a very moving film. During their long courtship, Streep and Robert Redford's characters face angry lions and unreadable Masai and other classically "African" things but also recite poetry to each other and tell made up stories. In one touching scene, he washes her hair on a river bank while editing out the "boring parts" of a poem. Besides the beautiful photography and story, what really spoke to me was this wonderful juxtaposition of "culture" and a love of the wild in the same people. At one point, they play a record of Mozart for a group of curious baboons. Unlike the classic "in the wild" movies where the uptight and cultured colonialists are lampooned in contrast to the "street-smart" hero, these protagonists have it all. It was so refreshing.

Ourselves in Parallel Universes

Yesterday, while venturing out into the world to grab food between rehearsals, my roommate J, L (a harpsichordist), T (a Baroque violinist), and I got to talking about other professions we'd like to dabble in (gardening, massage therapy) and eventually posed ourselves the question: if you had to choose a career unrelated to music, what would it be?

L admitted to a deep passion for horticulture and a dream of being a landscape architect. T considered a life as a photographer. J surprised me saying that she'd enjoy a career in advertising and marketing. At the time, I claimed I'd probably go into something science-related. But thinking harder about it, that really isn't the right answer. Science was my back-up plan in case music didn't work out, another discipline I enjoy and am good at. But this is the hypothetical world we're talking about, a place where I can choose a career based on what I like unbound by such silly things as talent or practicality.

I think I would enjoy being involved in theater or film. No, I don't dream of being a movie star (although, who doesn't occasionally?). I might direct, or make costumes or sets, reinterpret great works, write new ones. Perhaps this latent desire to write is a forgotten gift from my parents. Because one cannot want to do what one's parents do, I never considered writing a possibility, never thought my love of words and books ran deeper than a childhood immersed in them. Maybe I could be a restorer of old books, a reader of dead languages. In the hypothetical it's never too late.

Alternatively, I think I'd run a diner or a B&B, or maybe a bakery. I often joke about this, but I really love the slow pace of small town life, the people stopping in to chat and have coffee and a muffin, the familiarity of everyone in the community, the small scale, the allowance for whimsy. Maybe I'd have a vegetable garden out back I'd use as ingredients, maybe I'd use my space to host concerts and poetry readings, square dances and weddings. Or just invent new recipes that people would enjoy.

In the end, I am a people-person. I like to work with them, provide for them, teach them, learn from them. If I have people with whom to ponder silly things, debate serious things, create things both great and small, I will be happy.

If you had to pick a career unrelated to the one you're currently in or aiming for, what would you do?

Too Many Rehearsals!

I love my chosen profession. I even love rehearsals. But I don't love these long days of running from one rehearsal to the next with hardly time to eat and certainly no time to learn the music.

I don't like the way I'm playing, it's sloppy and not nearly as good as I know I can play. Also, I'm not prepared for any of my rehearsals, I don't have time to warm-up or to look at the music beforehand. I scramble my way through trying to hit all the notes and hardly bothering to be musical.

I like being busy, I am happier when I've got projects and deadlines. But this week is insanity. I left the house this morning at 10:30 and got home 12 hours later having done nothing but attend class, rehearse, and grab some food. Tomorrow involves only 5 hours of playing spread over 7 hours, although four of those hours will be spent being told what to do by someone I usually disagree with.

Lest I spend an entire post complaining, here are a few upcoming concerts (all free!) with my parenthetical commentary:

--Thursday, 6:30pm at First Church Cambridge: Sarah Bellott's Recital.
(she's a really good soprano and is singing a lot (a lot!) of wonderful French Baroque stuff, the music is great but hard for me and is exhausting)
--Friday, 7:30pm at Beacon Hill Friends' House: Janey's Recital.
(come see my brilliant and intrepid roommate tackle the hardest Bach cello suite on a five-string-baroque-cello-beast and win! she also will play a sonata and some cantata arias for which I play accompaniment)
--Sunday, 3:00pm at First Church Cambridge: Cambridge Concentus
(this is going to be an amazing concert, we're playing Brandenburg 2, the one with the crazy hard trumpet part, and another concerto grosso by a guy named Heinichen, both have hard but awesome cello parts that I will be rocking out to)

That's it (it!) for this week, tune in next week for more crazy Baroque adventures!

Last Week Summed Up OR Many Lists

Exciting things:
-My dad was in town for 16 hours Tue/Wed and I got to spend a little time with him and our artist friend, Katherine.
-I played consort music with my teacher and two other professional gamba players and a great singer.
-I got payed to play a church service with a couple of singer friends and some professionals and the music was unbelievably beautiful.
-Last night I saw some friends I haven't seen in a long time and even had a glass of wine.
-Today I made recital posters for J which involved both construction paper and cartoons from the New Yorker.
-I made cookies and gingerbread with pears.

Unexciting things:
-I failed to practice at all this week and am having to postpone my recital because I'm not going to be ready in time.
-I seem to have hurt my back.
-Though I managed to clean the rest of the house, my room is still horribly messy.
-Am not feeling particularly accomplished or motivated, desire to become a hermit currently outweighing desire to become a musician.
-Am getting old, bitter.

Highlights of the upcoming week:
-Too many rehearsals!
-Sarah's recital on Thursday night
-J's recital on Friday night (and following reception)
-Concentus concert on Sunday afternoon

Reasons to live:
-Friends
-Gingerbread
-Zelenka
-Hugs
-Hope

Singing

Listening to the recording of J's Spanish Renaissance concert, I was struck by how enormously nostalgic it made me. Not just because all five voices belong to friends whom, with the exception of J, I haven't seen in a long time, but because I miss singing. And it's more complicated than even that. I have recordings of lots of the music I love. I was subbing in a church choir in the fall but didn't enjoy it and have been turning down their offers. There is something primal (for lack of a better word) about singing. Rather than grappling with an instrument you ARE the instrument. And to lose yourself in the sound created by a group of people singing is the most wonderful experience imaginable. It is odd that this should be the case for me. I am a good instrumentalist and I enjoy playing in ensembles but that only approximates the joys of group singing. I am not a singer. I am under no delusions about my voice, it is not particularly beautiful, nor do I know how to wield it particularly well. I have no plans to change my life and attempt to become a singer but oh, how I miss it! The wash of harmony and the intertwining of individual lines. The feel of the words in your mouth, who cares what they mean! The physicality of the resonance and the connection to people who are experiencing the same ecstasy as you. It's intoxicating. Almost enough to start a choir of extremely musical non-singers to sing purely for pleasure! Maybe after I finish the millions of other projects I'm already working on. For now, I will listen to the Tallis Scholars with the yearning of an addict who can only watch others get high.

Sunday Brunch

Maybe it's related to the satisfaction of being needed but there are few things I enjoy more than cooking for other people. Case in point, brunch this morning. Dancing around the kitchen to Irish music I stole from my mom (who would have been 57 today, happy birthday mom!) while alternately flipping pancakes and sipping coffee and knowing that people were going to come over and enjoy all the food I was making made me about as happy as I get. There's also something viscerally satisfying about pancakes. They sizzle when you ladle out the batter, bubble as they cook, and then you get to flip them. I have wonderful memories of cooking pancakes with my dad as a child and being allowed to flip them (I wasn't very good at it at first and often mangled them). Sometimes, we'd make pancakes in the shapes of letters so that I could arrange my pancakes on my plate to spell my name. Of course, it was difficult to decide what order to eat them in. One is tempted to go left to right across the plate as one would read and yet the first letter of your name is more meaningful than the others so one wants to leave it for the end. Today, I avoided such dilemmas by making your standard round pancakes. They were delicious, especially with the bananas sauteed in butter and rum. The silence of happy people eating food I made has filled me with joy. So if you ever want to cheer me up, bring me a vegetable and ask me to cook for you.

On Beets and Crocuses

Having returned from visiting Val who is managing to eat almost entirely organic food she cooks from scratch herself, I have vowed to put more effort and thought into what I eat. So on my way home from my lesson yesterday, I stopped at the little produce store and bought two beautiful bunches of beets. J had requested I make borscht for us a while back so I figured now was the time. Making it all the better, the beet greens (which fall on the crinkle-index somewhere between Chard and Collards) were still attached by their spindly red stalks. Walking home with them peeking out the top of the plastic bag, I felt strong, like Gary Larson's triumphant vegetarians returning from the hunt with their giant carrot. And while proudly carrying my beets I saw the first crocuses of the year (likewise triumphant in their gaudy yellows) it occurs to me that Spring is a good time for resolutions. No one can keep them in the doldrums of winter and so we conclude that we are not resolute enough and give up. So in the spirit of flowers and vegetables, I hereby muster my resolve to cook more food, to practice more music, to read more books, to take more risks, to write more letters, to be a better friend.

Welcome!

There seems to be an unwritten rule that new blogs must begin with a manifesto (of sorts). Why was I compelled to start a blog? Why do I think anyone will read it? I choose not to take a philosophical stance on this but rather a practical one: I have random thoughts that I want to write down and I enjoy reading other people's thoughts so it stands to reason that perhaps you might enjoy reading mine. Also, practically, it allows me to consolidate all my musing and complaining into one convenient location! To whet your appetite (or drive you away, as the case may be), here are some things I intend to write about. In addition to the customary entries about whatever I feel like, I will also write about books I read, movies I watch, concerts I attend and meals I cook. There will probably also be some nerdy things about early music.

Let's get started!

Over the weekend I read Atul Gawande's new book "Better" about performance in medicine and the quest to improve it. If you haven't read his first book ("Complications") I highly recommend it. He is a surgeon with an incredible talent for writing both emotionally and lucidly about medicine and the practical and ethical issues involved in its practice. At the end of "Better" he gives five suggestions for becoming a positive deviant (someone who's performance deviates in a positive way from others) in the field of medicine. Firstly, he says, ask questions (unscripted ones in the case of doctors). Secondly, don't complain. Thirdly, count something. Fourthly, write something. And fifthly, change. While these are all useful suggestions for people in the medical field, I am inspired to apply them to what I do musically and in general. I'm going to count the actual amount of time I spend playing music each day, practicing and rehearsing and on which instruments. I'm going to write things here. I am trying to live outside my boundaries a bit (I explained the musical Baroque to a Mormon missionary on the bus the other day and in doing so started a front-of-the-bus discussion of stylistic eras in music and art). I'm not sure I can stop complaining entirely, but I will strive for positivity in my endeavors!