A cheer for the red team, whom we beat, 12–8, sung to the tune of “Rudolph, the Red-nosed Reindeer”:
O, how the black team loves you,
And we’ll shout it out with glee:
Good game, Red Bull frisbee,
You’ll go down in history!
I should either discontinue fasting on days when I have choral society rehearsal or eat a light dinner despite my hunger. I arrive at rehearsal ready to sing and then peter out after twenty minutes.
Mommy, I love music more than chocolate chips, more than cookies, and more than princesses and beautiful ponies.
— Éa on hearing Vanhal’s Double Bass Concerto in E flat major on WPSU in the car with Carla
The most significant thing to occur in my life today besides continued (2 in a row!) lack of meltdown at singing lessons with Norman Spivey is the very pleasant date time I spent with Éa. All we did was sign her up for gymnastics classes on my computer and then dance and rock on the rocking chair together, mostly to Elvis’ debut album (because she learned yesterday to do the lip curl thing). But that’s all we needed to do. We genuinely enjoy one another.
Song of the day: “Blue Moon“ by Elvis Presley
Carla and I are both very happy today.
We’re in the groove, so to speak. I remained calm and focused the entire day at work. She enjoyed a lunch date at Panera with Éa during which she heard several other OCC moms complaining that they’re lonely and without close friends, which caused her to reflect that she is full of friends. I enjoyed a brisk walk in polar temperatures to and from lunch at Ethan’s house for forty-five minutes of conversation with the single friend of mine who is closest in outlook and makeup to me. Éa and I enjoyed me dancing with her in my arms during “25 or 6 to 4” and “Tusk.” Carla volunteered to clean up the sewage solids from the basement floor tomorrow morning.
About the worst thing you can say about today is that we finished up the coffee banana chocolate chip scones.
I could go on and on. O God, that we be very grateful.
Today was Salesforce migration day at DiamondBack. Lots of phone calls and IMs about what to do, at least an hour of screensharing with Jerry. Cuh-razy. But fun.
It also was a day when our wastewater line backed up to form a roughly 6’-diameter irregular puddle of in the basement, we suspect because the chemical “sponging” that S. Wimmer & Son gave our toilets—an act that should improve our quality of life by all but eliminating our frequent need to plunge the toilets (I broke the plunger today), along with embarrassment that comes with a toilet bowl hat has urine solids built up inside—probably loosened up a bunch of junk that got stuck in the trap just outside the house.
Carla and I got to poke around outside in search of the UAJA cleanout and our own trap, vent & cleanout. In 12°F weather on snow. Hence I thought Carla’s NPR find of ice music worth posting as well.
I’m tired. I didn’t enjoy learning Bach’s St. John Passion this evening at Choral Society rehearsal. I’ve been working hard on DiamondBack’s migration to Salesforce. I carry a slight dread of singing lessons. Why?
In brief, je me suis surmené. And I think my heart, having been dragged along for years now in my mind’s crusade for productivity, order, self-control, and a final end to absent-mindedness, is flagging. Or perhaps it has been flagging a long while before this, but I hadn’t enough self-awareness to notice.
God, Your word to me about how to handle the human heart from Scripture is, I think, another monument along this now 16-month-long, post-Fiddler journey into letting my heart come alive. Thank You. And please keep going.
We played a good bit of a modified version of the game above today in the Stilson house. But goshdarn if Sullivan couldn’t manage to let previous answers shape his subsequent questions.
Anyway, two important things today:
- I had my first singing lesson with Norman Spivey today.
- Ethan and I got together for the first of what I think will be a long, mutually beneficial series of weekly lunches.
In some sense, both of the above are a return to the past. But they’re different: I’m mature enough now to actually avoid melting down in a singing lesson even though Norman and I are working on very basic stuff like “vocal hygiene.” And Ethan and I are less naive about God and life.
We started dating the kids again. I took Éa to the Creamery, where we shared a vanilla cone. We then headed to Schlow Library for a storybooks, violins & pajamas event put on by four undergrads in the Downsborough Community Room.
(My five favorite ice cream flavors are currently Meyer Dairy Grape-Nut, Creamery Death by Chocolate, Turkey Hill All Natural Vanilla Bean, Meyer Black Raspberry, and Turkey Hill Mint Cookes ‘n Cream Frozen Yogurt.)
On a different, sadder subject, Rich Biever told me today in a reply to an email inquiry I sent him about his production of Les Misérables that he lost his job at the State Theatre and that LES MIS is therefore not happening.
It’s a disappointment to me, but a relief to Carla.
After the make-up concert for the snowed-out Choral Society Christmas concert, during the second half of which I had no high notes to speak of, Janet joined us for dinner at Harrison’s, where we continued our quest to eat at all the restaurants in College Township. All the food was tasty, but either the ambiance or the value leaves me wanting. I’m not sure which.
I finished the proactive portion of my Christmas shopping today. All that remains is about seven tasks that are queued up in Remember the Milk. I mention this as the most significant portion of my day today because I’m still not completely comfortable with multi-step, very detail-oriented projects whose deliverable are people I. The discomfort is a lack of confidence that I have thought of everything and am making proper progress. It causes me to ponder over my project management systems instead of getting things done. And it leads to me idolizing and being selfish about my time.
Lord, as usual: Help!
In other news, we discovered last night that Zeppelin is on Spotify. I exclaimed to Carla that this news trumped the handbell concert as my high yesterday.
Éa and I enjoyed the above concert today very much. Plus, we got to see Jimmy Hutasoit, Jo Lash, Joyce Robinson, Dana Carlisle, and a Russell Bloom who heavy-handedly—literally, with lots of downward pressure applied on my left shoulder by his hand—tried again to recruit me to Pirates of Penzance.
While shopping for a Christmas gift for my mom, I found online lists of the best worship albums of the year. I felt convicted: Why have I not been more avid a seeker of music that is not only musically marvelous but thematically rich? Why have I not more frequently combined my favorite medium (music) with my favorite theme (God)?
Don, a fellow tenor at the Choral Society, shared with me this evening that last week at his usual post-rehearsal social hour at Texas Roadhouse, Russ Shelley, the music director of the Choral Society, gushed momentarily about the beauty and power of my voice.
Obviously, that’s a heady sort of thing to hear. It inspires me to pursue more opportunities to share my voice. But at first, at least, this inspiration feels akin to the addictive high that I imagine you get from using recreational drugs. That’s dangerous.
It’s good to sing for my own enjoyment (or Yours, God), and it’s good to sing to delight someone else. But it’s unhealthy to sing to elicit praise.
Father, as I get deeper into singing performance in State College, please protect me from the intoxicating effects of people’s praise.
Scott: Éa, would you mind if I put on some tunes?
Éa: Yeah.
Scott [to clarify]: Should I put on some tunes?
Éa: Yeah.
Scott: Any objections anyone?
Éa: Tunes! But don’t put on any objections!
Be it so resolved that I will not attempt to listen to music while at work except if I am doing very rote tasks.
“I was a lover before this war.”
— TV on the Radio, in a lyric that at the moment reminds me of my comment to Carla last night, “Who needs emotions? They’re so unreliable.”
Carla and I had our first Friday Night Music Night with Kid A in the bedroom this evening. She has these fascinating and often poignant movies that play in her head as she listens, as if each track were meant to be a soundtrack. It’s amazing, and it makes me want to practice the same as a way to increase my creativity.
For her, of course, it comes naturally. For me, methinks it will take self-discipline.
Having just listened to “Shepherd” by Anaïs Mitchell, I wonder: When did we come to the conclusion that sad endings are more artistic?
I finished listening through the Medieval portion of (one version of) the classical repertoire this afternoon. Main takeaway (drumroll, please): Eight hundred years ago is a long time ago.
For what it’s worth, though, students of Italian will probably enjoy Johannes Ciconia, and students of German will almost certainly enjoy the music of warrior-poet Oswald von Wolkenstein.
Here’s a link to a Spotify playlist of my favorite tracks: Faves: Medieval.
“Well, I think he can get a pretty intense look on his face when he’s playing something like this, but I don’t think he ever looks like a pirate getting an enema.”
— Scott describing Carla’s imitation of Itzhak Perlman playing the finale of Erich Korngold’s Violin Concerto in D. (Go ahead. Picture it.)
Sullivan (sheet music in hand): Mama, can you read this?
Carla: No, honey, it’s music. It’s not words.
Sullivan: Oh, well, can you sing it?
Carla: No, it’s piano music.
Sullivan: Well, WE have pirnano!
Carla: But I don’t know how to play the piano.
Sullivan: I know how to play the pirnano: You just press the keys! That’s how you do it!
[while listening to “Three Little Birds” by Bob Marley]
Sullivan: What are “every little things”?
Carla: Just everything. Everything’s gonna be alright.
Sullivan: God. ‘Cos he makes badness into…into…love-ness. He’s a nice guy.
as recorded by Carla:
Scott put on one of our favorite classical pieces, The Lark Ascending, this evening. I introduced Éa to it by telling her, “This is The Lark Ascending by, um…Van Williams I think?”
Then, without a hesitation, I asked Sully, who was diligently working on a puzzle on the floor, “Sully, who wrote this piece? It’s The Lark Ascending by ____…”?
He took a moment, still concentrating on his oversized puzzle, and then replied in his classic matter-of-fact manner, “Hmmm…Boathoven.”
He was wrong, but it was cute as heck… 🎵