May. 30, 2009 - Once More From the Top...
I write this with a heavy heart. I am not attacking public schools, or any type of education. I am simply tired of defending my right to raise my own children. I feel like a broken record, but it seems that this needs to be said one more time. Recently I was discussing the virtues/vices of homeschool funding and the strings that go along with that. I stated, as I have many times, that while the money we receive in this province is nice, it would be better to return to the province where there is no funding – and no strings.
When I started homeschooling we lived in such a province. We chose our curriculum, taught our children, and no one felt it was their duty to make sure we were doing our job. When we moved to this province it was difficult to get used to the idea of having to report to the government, not only what my plan was for each child each year, but also whether or not they had met the goals I had set out for them. I have learned to speak their language and put what I’m doing into a form they can understand, but I continue to choose my own curriculum and teach the children as I know is best for them. It is a livable situation, and I do enjoy the funding that allows me to spend a bit more on their education than I could in the province that neither gave funding nor required reporting. However, I would gladly give the funding up to regain my independence in this area.
The argument I was met with, yet again, was this: “Sure, you’re doing a good job with your children, but not everyone does as much as you do. They have to be accountable to someone…” (Somehow people always think this argument will be better received if they don’t attack me personally.) But my answer remains the same: Why? Why is it anyone’s place but the parents’ to see that the children are receiving an “acceptable” education? And who decides what is “acceptable?”
The truth is that over all homeschooled children score in the 80th percentile on standardized tests. That means that while the national average is 50%, the national homeschool average is 80%. Yet the prevailing thought is still that somebody needs to check up on homeschoolers. And it never occurs to anyone to check up on the public schools, which are apparently not educating children as well as homeschoolers are. This seems rather backwards to me.
Keep in mind that many children are homeschooled because of special needs. These children are counted in the statistics quoted above. Children who would otherwise flounder and probably fail in a public system routinely shine in the one-on-one setting where they are taught by the one who has more interest in his success than any other: Mum.
Furthermore, who is responsible for these children? When did it become the job of the state to raise children? Why does Joe Public believe that they have the right to tell anyone how to educate their children? It was suggested to me that some families might not teach their children in a way that would ensure their ability to enter university. Really? Do all high school graduates go to university? The last time I checked, the schools were deciding which of their enrollees would be educated in the “university-bound” track, and which would be given a vocational education. If the schools are given the right to make this decision without interference from the general public (not to mention the children’s own parents!) why is it so hard to let parents make this decision for (and usually with) their children without outside interference? There is obviously a gross double standard at play.
The Bible exhorts parents, yes, PARENTS, to train up a child in the way he should go. There is no directive for governments or public school boards to do the same. The bottom line here is that parents are responsible for raising their children, and this includes their education. Many choose to delegate the education of their children to an outside body (a school), while many, like myself, choose to oversee that education themselves. But regardless who is doing the teaching, the PARENTS are still responsible before God as to how their children are educated (among other things). Yes, responsible before God. Not before the Ministry of Education, nor before the mother-in-law, nor before a host of well-meaning friends and relatives. We, as parents, can take this responsibility seriously or we can choose to simply take the easy route. I know some parents send their children to school and very carefully oversee what they learn, so please do not leave comments that choosing public school is not necessarily the easy route. I have often said that it would be far more difficult to keep track of what my children learn in that setting than in the one I have chosen. However, many do simply send their children to school because that is the way education has always been. (Regardless of the fact that public education is a relatively recent invention, and one that was devised not to ensure academic achievement, but to ensure a generation that was loyal to the state and the state’s political and philosophical ideas.) Whatever the choice, it is the parents’ right and responsibility. It is not for me or anyone else to say that their decision is wrong. Nor is it my right to question them or make them accountable to me or to some governing body as to what choices they make regarding their children’s education. Nor is it anyone’s right to question mine.
In many areas there is debate among homeschoolers about the virtues and pitfalls of funding. Be assured: Money ALWAYS comes with strings. We are fortunate in this province to have considerable freedom to use the curricula of our choice and to report by way of observation rather than government testing. Some are not so fortunate. Do not be fooled into thinking that more money equals a better education. A parent educating her children on a shoe-string can still do a better job than the well-funded public schools. The funding may be attractive, but it is not worth the interference. These are our children and we need to stand for our rights as parents to raise them as we see fit. Not everyone will like our choices, but neither do we like the choices others make. But it is their choice. It is our choice. No, we do not need the government to “make sure” that every homeschooled child receives an education that will gain him entrance into university. The fact is that homeschooled children already receive an education that is superior to any a classroom can give. Furthermore, we are educating our own children, not the children of others. We are not the ones who need to be checked up on!
Voltaire fathered the idea that “While I detest what you say, I will defend, to the death, your right to say it.” In education, I may detest the choice you make for your children, but I will defend, to the death, your right to make it. When we cease defending our right to educate our children as we see fit, we begin to lose the right to raise our children as we see fit. No teacher or school board member loves my children as much as I do. No one knows them better than I do. No one can choose a course of education for them that will be as appropriate for them as I will.
I will leave you with one final thought. A thought that should stir every parent to question and consider carefully the course of education they have chosen for their children, as well as those they have entrusted with this task.
"A pupil is not above his teacher; but everyone, after he has been fully trained, will be like his teacher." (Luke 6:40)
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May. 4, 2009 - The Lowest of the Low
E-mail scams. We all receive them. Hopefully we all promptly and permanently delete them. They come pretending that they are our bank, pay pal, or the lawyer of some deceased, rich foreign relative we knew nothing about. All promise to pay big. All make us pay big. Most of us don’t fall for these cyber-liars, but obviously some do, or else the predators would stop for lack of prey.
I have a very low opinion of people who choose to prey on the innocence of others, spouting falsehoods, and taking them for everything they can get. But today I met the worst of the scammers. The lowest of the low. This scam preys specifically on THOSE WHO HAVE ALREADY BEEN SCAMMED.
The e-mail appeared to be from the United Nations. According to this e-mail the UN decided to repay the victims of scams a sum of up to $500,000US. I only needed to contact the Nigerian representative and he would send me my cheque.
I guess it makes sense. One who has fallen for one scam may be more likely to fall for another. But there is something terribly vile and ugly about preying on those who have already fallen victim to other scams. These foul predators are the lowest of the low. May they one day find the Truth and forever turn away from their master who is the father of lies.
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Apr. 29, 2009 - On the Face of a Child
When adults get excited about something, you can sometimes tell. You can tell because they talk about it or they’re just extra cheerful for awhile, or perhaps they even tell you, “Hey! I’m excited about this!” But rarely can you look at the face of an adult and know, without any extra input, that they are excited about something.
Not so with a child. Children wear their excitement inside and out. It bubbles out into every aspect of their life. They just can’t help letting it show! Just look on the face of a child and you will see the sparkle in her eyes, the grin on her face, her whole body fairly quivering with excitement! No words need be spoken.
Yet speak they do. My youngest two started soccer this week. They were both excited about it, but this excitement showed very differently in each. My 9 year old is much more mature. When we first signed them up she asked constantly if her coach had called yet. She was calendar-oriented. We told her he wouldn’t call until the last week of April, and she stopped asking and started watching the calendar. He called the Sunday of the last week of April. She was obviously excited, but said little. I actually wondered how excited she was because by contrast with her sister she didn’t seem to show her excitement much at all.
But that’s because her sister is my Emily. At 6 years old, everything is still exciting and new for her. She is the type of child who delights in all things, and most of all in making people laugh. I prophesy that she will never be able to keep a happy secret because it will bubble out of her in spite of her attempts to hide it. When I look into this child’s eyes I usually see some mischief brewing inside. With that twinkle I can tell that she is planning to do something or to say something…and in the event make everyone laugh. This week there was so much brewing inside her that she could not contain herself. Her eyes shone with an extra sparkle. Her grin was wider and showed all her missing and growing-in teeth. Her whole body fairly quivered with the excitement of it all!
On Tuesday she would have her very first soccer practice. It doesn’t take much for Emily to have the feeling that “life just doesn’t get any better than this!” And this was no exception. She spent Monday reminding me that tomorrow she would be playing soccer. At about 4:00 she announced that it was almost tomorrow and that made her very happy! At 6 she decided that she would go to bed early so she would get a good sleep because she was playing soccer the next day! On Tuesday she waited on pins and needles for it to be supper time because she would be playing soccer after supper!
Tuesday came and off she went with her dad to her very first soccer practice. She returned with a blue jersey that goes half way down to her knees, talking endlessly of how much fun she had, still smiling as wide as ever, eyes sparkling brightly. Seeing the excitement in her face makes all the busyness of the season worthwhile. Suppers are squished between Daddy getting home and the soccer practice. On some nights others in the family have places to be before soccer is over, which means someone driving and someone going to soccer, and it is taking quite a bit of organizing to make this happen. But for that look in her eye…it’s worth it.
Tonight is Kathleen’s first soccer practice. She remembers playing a couple of years ago, and she is excited. I can’t wait to see her in her soccer jersey and hear all about her team and coach and what they decided to name themselves…
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Apr. 20, 2009 - Spring Fever
I have Spring Fever. How do I know this? Let me describe yesterday afternoon....
It started with me deciding to walk home from church. The sun was warm, the sky was blue, and the temperature was warmer than it had been, so we were all fooled into thinking it was a beautiful day. Well, it was a beautiful day, just not as beautiful as it appeared.
So I walked home. To walk home I go right by the lake. It is a big lake. Big lakes tend to have wind blowing onto their shores. For some reason wind rips into my ears, causing pain. So I walked, trying to enjoy the lovely spring day, trying to ignore the pain in my ears. When I got home I was warm from walking, yet cold from the wind. The warmth from the walking fooled me into believing it was actually a warm day. My husband, with a completely different thermostat from mine, put shorts on to go onto the deck to barbeque. I put spring clothes on and joined him on the deck. I soon retreated into the house, cold from the wind. Soon after that I put warmer clothes on, including slippers to warm my cold toes. I sighed. It isn’t spring yet.
After lunch I had planned to do some scrapbooking. I even had a specific page in mind, which is often half the battle when first sitting down. Yet even with that, I stared at my computer and just didn’t “feel” like it. I was cold, so I went upstairs to warm up under the warm blanket on my bed. I didn’t feel like watching tv, and I didn’t feel like staying in that room, which is warm but somewhat dark. I returned to the main floor and decided to sit in the living room, which by now had the sun warming it through the bay window. I curled up in the recliner with my laptop and opened photoshop. I chose the photos for the page I’d planned to work on, and some papers, but when I tried to put a paper onto my background my computer told me I did not have enough room on my hard drive to do such a task.
I sighed again. No scrapbooking for me today, after all. I decided it was time to move some of my data onto our newly acquired Network Attached Storage (NAS) box. I started the task and set my laptop aside when I saw how long it was going to take! I guess I’ll read, I thought. But what?
I’m not in the middle of a novel, so I didn’t have a book to automatically go to. I looked at the shelf where I have my old novels. I like to read one of these during the summer holidays, but thought this might be a good time to start one. I looked at the titles. Nothing struck me. I looked at Winston Churchill’s book that I’ve been reading. No, I wasn’t really in the mood for that today. How about a humourous book that I started a few weeks ago? No…not that either.
How does one describe a mood like this where nothing quite seems to fit? I call it Spring Fever. I wanted to sit outside with a book, but it just wasn’t warm enough. And anyway, I really couldn’t seem to find a book that afternoon. I did finally pull a couple of references off my shelf that I had forgotten about. I spent an hour or two pouring through a book of Old Testament Charts. That was about where my brain was at. I couldn’t have concentrated on a plot, but charts – that I could handle! And they were very interesting. I have been reading about the earliest history had some questions in my mind about a few things, so I pulled a couple more reference books off the shelf and did some mini research. I had the added distraction of having to keep an eye on the girls who were outside playing with the neighbour boys.
Then my oldest daughter called – the cadets had returned from their weekend sports competition and she would be ready to be picked up in 20 minutes. I volunteered to make the trip to the base to pick her up. Volunteered to go out? How out of character for me! Yet it was something else, something different, something to distract me from my disquiet.
Sigh. Spring will come. Not this week, by looking at the forecast, but it will come. Of course, by then it will be time for summer…
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Apr. 14, 2009 - Bedtime Stories
I climbed up on the bed, ready to read a bedtime story. Instead, Emily said she would be reading the story tonight. “Which one should I read first?” She held up Go Dog, Go. “Sure!” I said. Then she held up In a People House. “Sure!” I said. Then she held up The King, the Mice and the Cheese. “Sure!” I said. She giggled. “Which one first?” she asked. “Whichever you want.” I said. She picked up Go Dog, Go.
She began to read, “Dog.” She turned the page. “Big dog. Little dog.” Another page. “Big dogs and little dogs. Black and white dogs.” She began to point at the spotted black and white dogs. “A black and white dog,” she said as she pointed to each one. “A black and white dog. A black and white dog…” “A black dog and a white dog,” I said as I pointed first to a black dog and then a white one.
“Hello!” Emily read in her best uppity female voice. “Hello!” She read in a deep boy-dog voice. “Do you like my hat? I do not.” She switched voices appropriately. I giggled.
“One little dog going in. Three big dogs going out.” She traced the maze with her finger.
“A red dog on a blue tree. A blue dog on a red tree. They should switch places.” I nodded. She has been saying this since the first time I read this book to her, some 6 years ago. “See, the red dog should be on the red tree,” she explained. “Would you just read the story?” I urged. She turned the page.
“Some big dogs and some little dogs going around in cars. This is a big dog…” she began to point out all the big dogs and then all the little dogs. “At this rate,” I suggested, “We won’t have time to read all three stories.” She quickly turned the page and began to read again.
This continued through the book. On the ferris wheel page she wondered if the dogs got dizzy as they shouted, “Go around again!” On the night page she pointed out the dog with the wide open eyes. “He didn’t sleep,” she said. “Maybe he had a nightmare,” I offered. “No.” She was certain.
By the time those dogs were on their way up the ladder to the tree, she had created a character for one of them. In her best dog voice she ad-libbed, “I wonder why we’re going up this tree…” When she turned the page she found that same dog on the tree, enjoying the big dog party and, in that same dog voice, said, “Oh yeah, it’s a dog party!”
She had slightly less commentary for the other two books, but each was just as enjoyable for me, the listener. As soon as she realized that In a People House was narrated almost entirely by a mouse, she switched to a high, squeaky voice. Except for lines like, “said the mouse,” which she read in a deeper, more narrator-like voice. When it came time for the king to rid his kingdom of the cheese-eating mice, she looked up at me and raised her eyebrows three times in quick succession, as if calling in the cats made him a very tricky king, indeed!
I was pleased to see her read words she has not yet encountered in her reader. Words like ceiling, elephant, and doughnuts. In addition to being entertained, I was also being impressed with how much her reading skills have improved over the past few months. Considering that she read her very first words last October – only 5 months ago – she has progressed rather well. She’s my “late” reader, late being a relative term. Her siblings could all read by age 5. But Emily, being the youngest, has not had my undivided attention as much as the others had. She has also had different priorities. She makes it her business to play and have fun and often to see that others are having fun too. She entertains us with her silly ways and bright outlook.
I sat on the big, comfy bed, with one arm around my new reader, a cup of tea in my other hand, sipping tea and listening to my baby read me bedtime stories. I thought, this is what it’s all about. This is why I do what I do. This is my reward. I sighed a happy sigh and listened as the mice chased those elephants right out of the kingdom... “He sure does like cheese!” Emily noted.
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Apr. 12, 2009 - Easter Sunday
Amazing love, how can it be, that you my King would die for me?
Amazing love, I know it’s true, and it’s my joy to honour You…
In all I do, I honour You.
As Easter approached last week I thought much about the importance of the weekend. It is the single more important holiday on the Christian calendar, yet we, even in the church, seem to make very little of it. We’re glad for the four-day weekend. We enjoy the secular tradition of chocolate. And we give lip service to the crucifixion and resurrection of our Lord. And we mean it. We really do. Or do we?
Christmas is the time when church and community alike pull out all the stops. Such pageantry is not seen at any other time of year. And we should celebrate! Christmas is the celebration of the birth of our King! It is good that we make so much of this special time of year.
But Christmas would mean nothing if it were not for Easter. Easter, or rather, what we have set that spring weekend aside to remember, is the very reason Christ came. It was the focus all along, and while many Christmas services make reference to the reason He was born, by the time Easter rolls around we seem to have forgotten that THIS is the very heart of Christianity. For without it we could not call ourselves Christians at all.
I see the community around me “honouring” Good Friday by going to holiday hours, but most businesses remain open. Not knowing the Christ we celebrate on this weekend, this is not surprising. But in the church we ought to set the example, showing the world that this is bigger than Christmas. It is the very hope within us. The celebration of Christ’s resurrection should be surpassed by none. As wonderful as His birth was, and as appropriate as it is to celebrate it, everyone is born. His death is well remembered as in it He paid the price for all of us so that we might live forever with Him. But when He rose from the dead, He did what none other before or after Him has done. He conquered death. His resurrection proves that He is the very God He said He was. It is by His resurrection that we can have life everlasting. It is because of this single event that we have hope. It is because of this event that we follow Him and call ourselves by His name: Christian. The celebration that we will share in when we meet in Glory is something we can at this time not even imagine. And that celebration will be because He lives. Why do we not now celebrate that He lives?
But as I thought about how we should give this day more attention, I wondered what difference does this make in my life?
That was a hard question.
There are things I do and don’t do that people might say define me as a Christian, but that’s really not what it’s about. I truly believe all that I wrote above. Do I live like I believe it? What should that look like?
This morning we sang the song quoted above and I clung to the last line: In all I do I honour You. That’s what it should look like. In all I do I must honour Him, the One who died and rose again so that I might have life. Amazing love. There is none like it. On Good Friday I am speechless because of all He suffered on my behalf. On Easter Sunday I am both speechless and full of praise because of what this means. How can it be that my King should die for me? Yet He did. Amazing love. May all I do honour You. Today on Easter Sunday, and every day.
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Apr. 8, 2009 - Celery Dance
There are days when I realize how unfortunate my children were to receive me for a mother. Thankfully, there are also days when I see that their fortune was not so bad after all…
My oldest came home with a new piece in band yesterday, called Gypsy Dance. Today she pulled it out to show me its crazy rhythm. She will be playing percussion on this piece, so she really needs to get this rhythm down pat. The time signature is one I don’t think I’ve ever seen before. It reads “6/8 + 2/4.” A bar of 8th notes would sound something like this:
DA da da DA da da DA da DA da
My daughter was playing all the 8th notes evenly, which is correct (each 8th note is exactly the same length), but I explained to her that she needed to put a slight accent on the first part of each beat so the band could clearly feel the rhythm.
We sang this rhythm over several times, drummed it on the table, and then did the same with other rhythms in the same piece. With the same basic rhythm, there are bars with 16th notes added in, and others with quarter notes tied to eighth notes, complicating things somewhat. But we drummed them out and I think she’s got it. It’s a quite a peppy rhythm, and I rather like it. You can almost see the gypsies dancing…
A little later this same daughter was sitting at the kitchen table working on her science while I was chopping veggies for tonight’s soup. My 6 year-old was standing on a stool beside the stove, reading Frog and Toad to me.
As I chopped celery, my daughter commented that she’s still got that rhythm in her head. I wasn’t surprised. Further, she said, it was driving her nuts that my knife was not chopping to that rhythm! (She is a lot more like her mother than either of us likes to admit…)
This is when I won the mother-of-the-year award. Ok, maybe that’s a little extreme, but surely this will make me mother-of-the-day. I began to chop my celery in the rhythm of Gypsy Dance. WHACK chop chop Whack chop chop Whack chop Whack chop… You could almost see the celery dance! “Much better,” she said. Well, I aim to please, especially if it will help my children with their school work or music.
However, since I want to keep my thumbs for a few more years, I decided not to attempt the section with 16th notes.
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Apr. 7, 2009 - Civilian in Blue
Warning - this blog is proof that I can pop off 2800 words without difficulty. This bodes well for me as I start studying again this summer!
~~~
The next morning came early, but with places to go and things to do I found it surprisingly easy to get out of bed. Breakfast was being laid out for us in a conference room in the hotel, so at 8:00 we headed downstairs. It was a bit early for me to eat, but with a parade ahead I knew I needed something in my stomach. I had tea and a croissant, which is the perfect breakfast for a day like this one. Unfortunately the hot water was not hot enough to steep the tea properly, but I survived that small inconvenience.
Then it was back up to the room to iron our uniforms and get ready. The bus would leave at 10. We learned at breakfast that we would have to check out before the parade, and would be given just a few rooms for all 160 of us to change in afterwards, our luggage being stored in a storage room during the parade. This was rather inconvenient. And that is all I’m going to say about that.
At 10 we were loaded onto the busses and driven to the location of the parade. There was some uncertainty as to whether or not the band would actually play. The current temperature was 5 degrees below freezing, and it was not promising to warm up before noon. Instruments tend not to work very well at such temperatures, never mind un-gloved fingers. For some time I thought this weekend would forever be known as the “un-gig.” The bandmaster’s decision was to try playing when we arrived and if the instruments would play, so would we.
Weeks ago when I heard about this gig I volunteered immediately, without thinking. It is an automatic reaction: Hear of gig = volunteer for gig. I do this because I love to play and seldom is there a gig I do not want to do. Occasionally there are, but these are short and require, at most, an hour or two to prepare and a few minutes to an hour to play, and I believe it’s only right to play all the gigs, pleasant and unpleasant, since this is our job. It’s a little thing called commitment, and I take it seriously. On the other hand, I am usually all for a weekend away with my trumpet player, making these road trips even more appealing. So it came as quite a shock to me a few weeks ago when I realized that I really did not want to do this gig. Friday morning was busy (and I do not do busy well), requiring us to leave at noon which meant that we would not have the evening to relax, other than over dinner. Saturday’s parade promised to be long and cold. And I do not do cold.
“I do not want to do this parade,” I had admitted to my trumpet player, much to the shock of both of us. “It’ll be ok,” he assured me. “It’s April, and it’s in a city to the south.” I was not convinced. And in the end, he was not right. When he announced that he would be skipping the lovely dinner to shop I was not impressed. “I’m not shopping with you,” I informed him. “I didn’t expect you to,” he replied. I pouted, but he could not be convinced. So I went to supper without him and enjoyed good food and the company of friends. Still, this was one of the very rare parades I did not want to do, and I felt as I have only very rarely felt before with regard to band gigs: I was looking forward to being home again after it was all over.
But with only one other clarinet committed to the gig, I could not pull out, and I guess deep down I didn’t really want to. Band gigs are always an experience, whether good or bad, and I am always glad I went. This parade was no exception.
So off we went to where the parade would begin. Many of us had dressed in layers. I myself wore long johns under my summer weight uniform – the only uniform we civilians have. I wore two extra layers, including one terrifically non-regulation long sleeved t-shirt under my short sleeve uniform shirt, and the long sleeved, though summer weight, uniform. Still I shivered during the “stand still” part of the parade. But I was grateful for those extra layers!
We arrived and played our instruments. They played. So after waiting as long as we could inside the foyer of a nearby building, we headed up the street a block to where we were to form up. We were to lead the parade to City Hall where our Wing would be granted Freedom of the City.
We moved around as much as we could, trying to warm up as much as possible. We were all jealous of the bass drummer, who gets to wear the wolf skin. He was undoubtedly the warmest one of all, and afterwards his comment that his toes were cold…and his fingers…was met with an unsympathetic chorus of “Awwww.”
The bandmaster suggested that we warm up by playing Rock Around the Clock. I don’t know if he meant that literally, or in the sense of warming up our instruments, but I didn’t care. It was good to play, and I’m afraid I moved to the rhythm more than I normally would in parade uniform. The parade hadn’t started yet, so I think it was ok to be tapping my foot and bopping to the beat just a little bit. It did help take the edge off the cold, however I still discovered that open-hole keys dig into frozen flesh.
The parade began at 11:00. We led the troops down the city street to the tune of Colonel Bogey, one of my favourite marches. I had opted for a plastic reed on this occasion, not knowing how much I could depend on a wood reed in such cold. If the wood reed dries out, the clarinet gives no sound. However, I am not used to plastic reeds (I rarely use them because I don’t like the buzzy tone they produce) so I find them to be less than predictable in any conditions. I tried it before and decided that it would be good enough for the purpose, and possibly more reliable on that day than wood. After all, what kind of tone can one hope for under such frigid conditions! Thankfully it served me well, playing all but the introduction to Colonel Bogey and a few notes of Air Force March Past, which could be the fault of the decreasing temperature in my fingers rather than the reed. It did, however, have a tendency to slide around on my mouthpiece between playing – perhaps it was knocked by my uniform as I balanced my clarinet in one arm so I could warm my hands – requiring me to push it down into place before each piece. By the third time this happened I started checking before we were called to attention so it would be ready!
I had also decided at the very last minute to use my own clarinet, having taken both it and the wing’s clarinet on the trip. This is significant because I can’t make a plastic reed work on the wing clarinet. However, I won’t use my own instrument if it’s raining or snowing because of the potential for damage, but it plays much better than the borrowed instrument, so I use my own if I at all can. Further, the lyre needed for parades doesn’t fit properly on the wing’s clarinet. It interferes with some of the keys making some notes unreliable. At that week’s practice I tried it out in anticipation of the parade and found the high G to be completely non-existent. So I was pleased that the forecast, though cold, was without a chance of precipitation and I was able to use my own clarinet. Now as long as I didn’t drop it from my frozen fingers I’d be fine…
A funny thing happened on the way to City Hall. As I marched along, merrily playing my part, I felt as if I had stepped – almost stumbled – into a hole. That’s odd, I thought. But I could not look to see what I had stepped in. That was ok, though, because in a few steps I stumbled back out of the hole as the sidewalk rose again. Thankfully no one fell as we blindly marched over this rough city terrain, though one of the trombone players first nearly lost her mouthpiece and then had it rammed into her lip by the jolt.
The sun made its timely appearance just as we rounded the corner onto the street where the ceremony would take place, and it felt good. Thankfully we made it to the end of the route without major mishap, where we marked time until the rest were in position. We then did a counter march and headed back up the street to what would be our position during the parade.
As we marched I noticed the ranks in front of me spread slightly apart. Fortunately we were not playing at this time, so we could actually see where we were going. The reason they had spread was to go around the 2IC (Second In Command) standing behind one of the flights. We were marching behind the parade, or rather between them and the sidewalk, and there was just barely room for our three ranks to pass. At one point we passed behind a flight as they backed up into position. I was pleasantly surprised that no one collided.
Upon reaching our parade position we halted and waited for our next command to play. It was cold. There was a wind coming from the left, ripping into my left ear. Wind in my ears causes pain, I am sure my trumpet player would explain this as a problem with not having anything inside to keep it out.
No matter how you look at it, and even with the sun now shining happily upon us, the temperature was still below freezing, it was windy, and it was cold. As we stood “easy” (we were allowed to move slightly) we rubbed our hands together or pulled them inside our sleeves to keep warm. Some of the brass players put their mouth pieces in their pocket to keep them warm. I have always wondered if a brass player plays his instrument below freezing if his lips would freeze to the metal mouthpiece, but I guess they have enough hot air to prevent that…
So what does one do when standing on parade, in the cold, waiting for the next command to play? Well, on this occasion I had taken my small camera in my pocket. We have very few photos of us playing, so I had taken some before the parade just for fun. So as I was standing in the cold I began to think…I was sure I could very discreetly get my hand into my pants’ pocket and pull out my camera. If I held it in my hand down at arm’s length and just randomly pointed it in every direction… I had no idea what kind of pictures I would get, but I did get pictures! This may be evidence of the adverse affects of cold on the brain. (Shhh…don’t tell the bandmaster that I took pictures while on parade!)
During the parade we played The Duke of York, The Maple Leaf Forever, General Salute and Oh
As we began to march off the parade, the rest of the troops supposedly following behind us, a police officer ran alongside us to the bandmaster, to whom he whispered something. The bandmaster then turned to face us and gave the signal to mark time (march on the spot). We learned later that the rest of the parade could not keep up with the superior pace of the band and had been left about a block and a half behind us! I suppose we were more anxious to get off the parade to warmer climes than we realized!
The parade caught up to the band and we continued our march down the city street to where the busses awaited us. The highlight of the morning was when, as we reached the end of the parade route, the bandmaster, telling us how good we had sounded, said, “You brought out the sun!” That made me smile.
While the band members stowed their instruments underneath, I went immediately onto the bus to take my clarinet apart. One of the advantages of the smaller instruments is that I can carry mine on the bus. Soon the other band members joined me and we waited in warmth for the rest of the parade to stow their weapons and join us for the trip home.
Meanwhile, one of the trombone players saw Willy the Wolf at the back of the bus and decided he might be willing to warm our poor frozen fingers. Three of us huddled underneath his fur to warm up.
We returned to the hotel where we were served lunch of very yummy sandwiches. The hot water was still not hot enough for tea, but the food was good. The drummer happened to be eating a banana, giving us opportunity to complete our humour of the night before. There is an establishment near the hotel called “The Drum and Monkey.” We had lots of fun coming up with alternate, but similar, names that would be appropriate for our drummer. When he began to eat his banana a saxophone player and I exclaimed, “The Drumming Monkey!” and each snapped pictures, which he graciously posed for.
After lunch we were off to change. Many of us decided not to bother with the room the hotel made available to us, instead changing in the main floor washrooms. Much to the shock of several of the females among us (thankfully not myself) many of the men decided to change in the storage room where we all had to retrieve our luggage.
Back in civvies we boarded the busses, we five again in our van, and headed north. A stop at one of my least favourite coffee shops supplied me with a much-needed hot cup of tea. My trumpet player drove much of the way home, but whether in the front or the back of the van we talked the whole way home. I love trips that afford no distractions and we often have our best conversations in moving vehicles. Having no children with us also helped facilitate our discussion. And for awhile the trombone player chatted with us as well, which added much enjoyment to the trip. We stopped for supper at
The trip was all I expected and more. It was colder than I anticipated. It was just as busy. But the company of good friends made the trip enjoyable, and the adversity we played through made the stories that much richer. The purpose of the parade was not lost on any of us as we lent music to this honourable occasion. It is always a privilege to march in our nation’s air force uniform. As a civilian this is meaningful for me as I have always supported our National Defence and am married to an officer of the Air Force. So often we take for granted that we live in freedom because of our dedicated group of military personnel, and playing in the band gives me the opportunity to support them in a tangible way. As I marched and as I played, even as my fingers reminded me of the bitter cold, I was glad I had come. The media describing the event said the city streets were awash with blue. On that day I was a civilian in blue, privileged to lend my support by being part of this significant event.
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Apr. 6, 2009 - Road Trip Ramblings
After waking at 6 with much on my mind, a busy morning of errands and nothing in my stomach, we piled into the van at 12:30 to head off on another road trip. Most of the band had left on the bus at 8 in the morning, but because of an appointment we had to leave after lunch. This turned out to be helpful for a few others who also couldn’t make the 8 am bus, and the five of us hit the road right on schedule. I am grateful right off the bat for kind travel mates who didn’t complain when we stopped almost immediately to pick up some subs for lunch. It was a weird day for me. The stress of the morning prevented me from eating, so by noon I was starving. I could have waited for lunch except that traveling on an empty stomach is generally bad news. I probably would not have actually thrown up, but I would have been miserably nauseous, so I was grateful for the sub before we left town.
Out on the road we went. My trumpet player and I sat in the rear of the 8 passenger van for the first leg. We chatted some, and I think we both napped a bit. On the second leg it was his turn to drive, so I sat up front with him, which I found much more pleasant. I hope the other trumpet player didn’t mind too much giving up her seat so I could sit next to my man.
It was a 6 hour trip, and our dinner reservation was for 7, so we made only a few very short stops on the way. At our last pit stop we were informed by our trumpet player that we had exactly 2 minutes…
We arrived at the destination city in good time and were at the restaurant at 7:10. The other band members whom we met there had just ordered their drinks. My trumpet player ditched me/us to go do some shopping he can’t do at home. His evening was sadly unsuccessful, whereas ours was not! We ate at an Indian restaurant and the food was delicious! I have never had real Indian food before (I don’t think the curried beef I make at home really qualifies as authentic…) so I was looking forward to this new culinary experience. I was not disappointed. While the food was not as spicy as I expected, it was very tasty. The chicken masala (which I am sure I have spelled wrong) was especially marvelous, as well as the papadums (again with the wrong spelling!) that were served before the meal. Most ordered an Indian dessert that was described as a dumpling in milk. I passed on that, since I’m really not crazy about anything in milk. I like milk in a glass, but don’t like milk on pudding or fruit or even ice cream on cake. However, when it was served the bandmaster, who is particularly fond of Indian food, was so overcome with the heaven that this dessert surely would be, that he insisted that I taste it. So I did take a spoonful and I had to admit that it was very tasty. The flavours were wonderful, but being a milky dumpling dessert I would not have enjoyed a full bowl. So I was glad to have been able to experience just a taste.
The service was as exceptional as the food, and at the end of the meal our host brought out a tray of complimentary mango liqueurs. I had earlier during the meal been asked if I drink at all (since I declined a glass of wine) to which I replied that I do not. So the bandmaster kindly asked our host if the drink had alcohol in it, saying that I would want to know that, which I would though I had assumed it did. It may have surprised those at the table when, knowing that it was indeed an alcoholic drink, I did taste it. (Shhh…don’t tell my mother!) But taste it is all I did, and while I would be happy to explain why I do not drink, yet feel no guilt for having tasted this delicious cup of mango, this post will be way too long as it is, so all I will say is that it was very good (I love mango) but the alcohol does have a flavour that I don’t care for, so I was not tempted to drink the rest of the tiny glass and instead offered mine (less 3 sips) to the bandmaster in payment for my taste of his dessert.
When we were finished I phoned my trumpet player who was just finishing up his unsuccessful shopping excursion. He was soon there to pick us up and take us all to the hotel.
There had been a mix-up in the room reservations which resulted in some of us being given a beautiful king room. The first things I always check out is the view, and while a cityscape is not my favourite vista, given our location we did have a lovely view of the city lights, not to mention the living rooms of the people in the apartment just off to the right…
It was quite late when we arrived, so my trumpet player decided to go right to bed rather than going to the usual band gathering. I said that was just as well and I’d stay too. He said no, I shouldn’t stay just because he was staying. I said no, I’m tired too and really would be better off going right to bed. He insisted that I should go and I soon learned that the reason was that he had found a “game in an hour” that he wanted to watch before going to sleep. Hmmm. He knew that if I stayed I would whine if hockey was on…so I decided to give him the hour game and headed off to “Raphael’s” saying I’d be back in an hour. Because of the late hour, and because we had to be up in the morning for the parade, Raphael’s was small and short, but enjoyable. By 12:15 I was back in the room for a nice, comfortable sleep.
I see that this post is less than interesting, but I will post it anyway by way of thanking my travel mates for allowing the immediate lunch stop on Friday as well as generally being good company on the trip, the trumpet player for giving me the front seat while my own trumpet player drove, the bandmaster for the yummy taste of dessert and for looking out for me where the mango liqueur was concerned, and my trumpet player and the other clarinet player for driving all those long hours to get us to the city and home again. The trip was good, the meal fabulous, but the real fun didn’t start until the following day…
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Mar. 30, 2009 - I have no title for this entry
I seem to be writing about silly things these days. There are several more serious topics swirling around in my brain, but I haven’t had the wherewithal to write them down yet. And my life just seems so filled with silliness…
Have you ever had days when you wonder what an outsider would think should they walk in and witness the craziness that is your life? We seem to have more than our share.
Today there were several factors influencing the craziness. One is that the oldest is starting to feel better after being down with tonsillitis for almost a week. While I think it would almost be worth getting sick to have a few days to do nothing but rest, she is not one to enjoy even one day with nothing to do. Now that she is feeling better all her energy is coming out in random silliness. And she is not my silly child. My son is my silly child. And today he was in full form.
We sat at the dining room table doing a lesson in our literature/history program, which involves discussions which often lead down rabbit trails. We enjoy this time, and often have important talks that have sprung from the topic of the day. Sometimes, though, important is not a word I would use to describe what springs from the discussion…
I’m not sure how it began. I think I made mention of a comedian we all enjoy, and Matthew began making fish faces. He has a knack - a gift some might even say - for silly voices and silly faces.
At one point, in an “if you can’t lick ‘em, join ‘em” moment, I made a fish face. This sent my son into gales of laughter so intense they were silent. The face he made, however, was so amusing that sent
Ahem. Getting back on topic…It seemed like a losing battle. But I pressed on. And then I saw my son playing with his little sisters’ Barbie bracelets. They are just partial circles – just perfect for…well, of course Matthew discovered that they fit perfectly on his nose like a nose ring. The older sister and the younger sister began to tease him about wearing a Barbie bracelet. He insisted that it was a nose ring and he intended to leave it on until his father got home (wanting to shock his dad, knowing his dad would make him take it off and truly not wanting to wear it for any other reason than the shock factor).
It was all getting too hilarious, and too far off track. Still I begged the children to focus. I told them there would be no band on Wednesday if we had to make up for lost time because of all this nonsense. We’re far enough behind after a week of festival followed by a week of illness!
At this moment my youngest daughter came along and stood next to me. She and her sister had been cleaning up their bedroom and she came across a small bottle of bubbles. I thought it was empty. It was not. Suddenly there were bubbles floating... all around... the dining room... My son still had a Barbie bracelet on his nose. My middle daughter was trying to get her Barbie bracelet back. My oldest daughter was laughing at it all. Laughter overcame me, and I lost it.
I live in a mad house. There are days when I just want to throw my arms up in the air and say, “I quit!” How is a woman supposed to get any education into children who…oh never mind. I love teaching my children and wouldn’t trade this life for any other. But some days…
In an effort to compose myself I went to the kitchen to refill my tea cup. When I returned
On days like this that doesn’t seem too far from the truth.
As a post script to this entry, the kids sent me so far over the edge that when I later read my nephew’s Face Book note about his hoodie rescue mission it was all I could take. The hilarity was compounded by a friend telling me that since I’d lost my mind I wouldn’t be able to worry about it so I should enjoy it. They tell me I laughed for 15 minutes straight. I question the integrity of their timing. But a good belly laugh I did have. I need a nap.
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Mar. 27, 2009 - Confessions of a CPP
My name is Heather and I am a Compulsive Planning Person, otherwise known as a Compulsive Planner. This has become painfully clear to me as I have sat in recent days, pouring over travel books and websites in anticipation of my 25th anniversary trip, a trip which is yet four years away. Yes, I said four. Granted, I have wanted to travel all my life and this is the first real trip I will ever take, other than a tag-along trip to
Just when this affliction began its insidious infection of my person is difficult to pinpoint. Perhaps it started when I was a child, when, on New Year’s Day, I watched my parents haul out the road maps to plan our summer holidays. New Year’s Day IS the appropriate time to plan summer holidays, after all. Whether influenced by or simply inherited from my mother, I can not say, but I am grateful that she shares this infliction with me, thereby giving me someone to talk to when I plan ridiculously early. She even shares my excitement about the trip and what’s more, she understands that planning is no less enjoyable or important when all plans must change at the last minute.
But perhaps Compulsive Planning is not all bad. As a generally disorganized person, unlike my ultra-organized mother, planning helps keep me on track. And for the most part my compulsion makes planning a very pleasant task. I have always enjoyed planning holidays, which has resulted in us actually taking some. And for the past 9 or 10 years I have relished the dog days of summer, when, under the heat of the sun, I have spread text books and planning pages out on the lawn chaise planning the children’s up-coming school year. Enjoying the planning process has made these necessary tasks much easier.
So I ask you, when I have a compulsion to plan and enjoy it almost as much as the fulfillment of the plans themselves, why is it that the one task that must be planned week after week is so distasteful to me? That task, one known to mothers and wives everywhere and one my mother ironically shares my distaste for, is meal planning.
Every Thursday I must plan the following week’s meals and from that put a grocery list together so that my family can continue to eat good meals each night. Or at least good meals some nights, but they do eat every night. It is a task that takes anywhere from an hour to an entire morning or longer. It is a task that I loathe and begin to dread even on Monday – a full 4 days before it must be completed. I beg my family for meal suggestions to make the task a little easier. The children always have willing answers at the ready: Grilled cheese, hot dogs, and spaghetti are their usual choices. Hardly much to enrich my meal plan. My husband is even less helpful, his standard suggestion being, “Something yummy.” Sigh. So the task is left to me. But I do it willingly because I know that it makes each afternoon easier when I can simply look at my list and know what to prepare for that night’s meal. Daily decisions are time wasters when they can be made all at once on a weekly basis.
So I guess I should be grateful for my compulsion to plan. Even the one planning job I dislike is easier because I am a natural planner. Many of them are simply delightful! All of them make life easier or more enjoyable for having planned.
So, dear Husband Who Does Not Understand, don’t shake your head at your wife’s crazy 3-year-in-advance planning for our anniversary trip. (Yes, I said 3 years in advance because wouldn’t everyone, even a non-planner, start planning a trip of this sort at least one year in advance?) Be grateful that she has this compul…uh…skill that helps our home life run smoothly. And be glad that this trip which you will only have to take once will be enjoyed by your wife for a full 4 years! (And probably many more afterwards as I scrapbook the photos and show them over and over again to all our unfortunate friends…)
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Mar. 25, 2009 - An Odd Day
Generally my life is pretty run-of-the-mill. Most days are much the same, and while I truly love my life, it’s not a life that one would call interesting or exciting. But occasionally one has a day that is different, not hum-drum; a day that makes one thankful that most days are pretty run-of-the-mill…
I wasn’t even downstairs when my eldest daughter came looking for a thermometer. She’d been complaining of a sore throat for a few days, but it had been mild and she seemed to feel fine otherwise. Her fever was mild (98) but enough that I could see this would not be a routine day.
The next unusual thing that happened was when I went to check on my laundry. I had set the timer so it would be finished at 6:30 am – early enough so there would be water for those needing to shower in the morning. But the load was not done. Instead, flashing on the display was the error message, “F70.” I reached for the manual to see what this meant, only to find that there were descriptions for F21, F22, and F23, but no F70. Instead, I found an entry for “any other code” which said to cancel the cycle and try again. I did so, and hoped it would work fine this time. Thankfully, it did.
Then we started school. We always start with our Bible lesson, followed by the history read aloud. This is my favourite part of the day. We divide the Bible reading among the children, and I read the history lesson. Today my eldest did not want to read because her throat was too sore, but my youngest did want to read because she is thoroughly enjoying her newfound (and ever increasing!) reading skills. We were reading the book of Titus, which is three chapters of 15 or 16 verses each. This divides easily among three children, but I normally give Emily a shorter portion. Today, however, she insisted on reading a full portion – a whole chapter. So with my help, she did. She is really improving and the Bible reading is a good exercise for her.
When she finished, the other two read their chapters, after which I asked the questions. In answering they often read the relevant portion. My son, of course, used a funny voice. It sounded at first like Gollum, then like Elmo, and then like some sort of combination. I asked him who it was supposed to be and he replied that it was a “funny voice.” Meanwhile, my croaky daughter was using a small white board to communicate instead of talking.
In his Gollum/Elmo voice, Matthew read, “Similarly, encourage the young men to be self-controlled. In everything set them an example by doing what is good. In your teaching show integrity, seriousness and soundness of speech…”
I saw
We all laughed. There is no question in our minds why the Paul exhorted Titus to teach the young men seriousness!
The fourth unusual thing was perhaps the most bizarre. After our first hour I usually have breakfast. I put two pieces of bread in the toaster. When they popped I noticed a black spot on the side of one. Thinking it to be a whole grain I flipped it from my toast only to see LEGS on the under side of it! ACK! This was more than a little disconcerting to a woman who believes insects to be the scourge of nature! (shudder)
Shortly after discarding my toast and putting two new slices into the toaster, my littlest girl came into the kitchen, asking for help getting dressed. She held out her hands to me to show me that she had some spots on them. Spots. All over the palms of her hands. I checked her over and found she had some on other parts of her body, but her hands were the worst. All I could think of was chicken pox, but they didn’t itch. It was a mystery.
The two sickies stayed home while Kathleen & I took Matthew to band. When we got home I decided to take the other two to the hospital to confirm what they each had. After a relatively reasonable wait we saw the doctor who diagnosed Victoria with tonsillitis and Emily with the Coxsackie virus, which is another name for Hand, Foot & Mouth (not to be confused with Hoof & Mouth disease, which is completely different).
A strange day, indeed. And now the children have all gone to bed and my husband is watching a hockey game (Senators vs somebody). I think I will relax in my cozy bed and do some digital scrapbooking.
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Mar. 21, 2009 - A Memorable Musical Adventure
As I wrote of our recent road trip I became rather long-winded. So for those with little time I will summarize it thusly:
1. Last minute band trip to an army base. 17 marches, most of them new. 4 practices and lots of practicing at home and on the van (silently).
2. Bus broke down (fortunately BEFORE it picked us up!) so we drove in 2 vans.
3. Officer’s Mess was very small. Therefore we played in the hallway! It felt like playing on a train, except with servers passing through the band periodically.
4. We clarinets did double duty as recon personnel, giving up-to-the-minute intel as to the progress of the dinner for those who couldn’t see into the dining room.
5. We were fed – the full meal! Soup, salad, main course and dessert! So yummy!
6. All the practicing paid off as we pulled off all 17 marches with reasonable precision.
7. Barracks were lovely and comfy. We had a great time after the gig relaxing and laughing at stories from band days of yore.
8. Breakfast at 0730 and back on the road to arrive home by noon.
9. It was the craziest mess dinner I’ve ever played at, but also one of the most enjoyable.
And now the long version, mostly for my own benefit because when I’m old and forgetful I will want to remember these things. It was quite a memorable weekend.
It was memorable first because we didn’t have long to plan for it. There was to be a mess dinner at a nearby army base (by “nearby” I mean a base that is a three-hour drive from ours) and their usual music couldn’t make it. So they called us. The short notice was not a big deal for us, it just meant my daughter had to switch her shift so we would be home in time to drive her to work.
It was memorable secondly because, being an army mess dinner, we would be required to play marches we are not familiar with. Because of the training nature of this base there were many regiments and branches of service represented at the dinner, which resulted in us playing a total of 17 marches – about three times the number we normally play at a dinner! It was later noted that we played more marches after dinner than music during dinner!
Because these were largely new to us, we met at noon every day this week for about half an hour to run through them. Some of us took our march books home to properly learn the more difficult pieces. All my other practicing took a back seat as I played a few of these marches over and over and over… Some of them still play themselves over and over in my head, having forever embedded themselves in my brain.
Now it’s time for a confession. I do not much care for the march portion of these dinners. While many of the marches are great tunes in their complete form, most of them are shortened considerably for the ceremonial purposes of a mess dinner. And though some of them we play frequently enough to be familiar with them, many of them we play rarely so that each time I am basically (and often literally) sight reading. The second clarinet book is not too difficult for this, but the first book resides largely in the uppermost register, a register that is both more difficult and less familiar than the other two. It means that while playing I have to concentrate on just playing the right notes in the right time and since the marches are all fairly quick, there is no time to think about playing well with good tone, etc. I try to add articulation as I am able, but on some of them if I can just get the correct notes I’m doing well. This week I did manage to learn all but one of the 17 marches. One was particularly difficult, but I mastered it! Ok, not quite mastered, but I learned it well enough to keep up and didn’t miss many of the notes. One other was not as difficult, but had one line that was odd and I had a hard time convincing my fingers to follow the notes on the page.
Now back to the memorable weekend. It began on Friday at 2 as we gathered in the band room to wait for our bus, and were informed forthwith that said bus had broken down and would not be available for our transport. After some arranging between the bandmaster and the transport unit, we were delivered 2 vans for our trip. The van I rode in turned out to be the sleeper van. So no conversation ensued, but I did enjoy the quiet respite from an incredibly hectic week.
In spite of the rocky start, we arrived at our destination on time and were met by our gracious host at the army base. We first unloaded the vans and learned that we could not completely set up because we would be playing in the hall – a hallway that the diners would be walking through before dinner. In the hall? Yes, in the hall. It was a lovely mess, but quite diminutive, and there was no room for us in the dining room. To complicate things, the guests would congregate initially in the bar – at the other end of the hallway – and at the start of the dinner they would navigate the hall, around the drum set that was as out of the way as we could make it, to the dining room. It was at this point that I realized this would be a memorable weekend, one that we would talk of to our children and grandchildren… Playing with a band in a hallway was a first for me!
With the gear unloaded and tucked as close to the walls as possible, we left for our rooms. We were to stay in barracks, which my trumpet player and experienced barrack-stayer suggested to me might have only single beds…and might be segregated. We fully expected to have our own rooms, that is one for him and a separate one for me, and were prepared that bunking together may not be possible. I suggested that it would be just like when we were dating! (No, I’m not normally one to make the best of any situation, but once in awhile I come through.) However, we were pleasantly surprised to find that while we were given our own separate rooms - and not only that, but they were in different buildings! – the rooms were not segregated, and each had a queen sized bed. To make things even more pleasant, the rooms were as nice as any hotel room I have stayed in – and a far cry nicer than many!
After changing and getting my hair up, uniform style, we met the van out front and were taken back to the mess to warm up. Only we discovered that there was nowhere to warm up where we would not be heard by those who had already gathered for the dinner. So we figured out how we would set up in the 10 foot-wide hallway, and then stood out of the way.
At this point, with nothing to do but wait, I decided to go over the one troubling line of that march that was still eluding me. I had been singing it over silently in the van on the way down, but now I could also practice the fingering, also without sound. The march books were piled by the wall, so I found the march to make sure I was remembering it right. It is quite remarkable how beneficial practicing without any sound can be!
When it was time to play “Roast Beef of Old England” (band members may now groan in unison at the thought of the repeated strains of this piece) we set our stands up in the lounge and played, standing up, facing the doorway to the hall. Since they were moving through the hallway, we could not set up there just yet. Now we’re playing…now we’re not…now we’re playing! And yes, we finally played Roast Beef but with far fewer repeats than usual.
Once they were all safely tucked away in the dining room, we brought out chairs and set up in the hallway. It couldn’t have been more than ten feet across. We sat facing the doorway of the dining room, we two clarinets in front with two trumpets behind, the saxophones behind the trumpets and the drums brought up the rear. The trombone and the bandmaster, playing the French horn, sat against the opposite wall, facing us so there would be room for the servers to walk between us. This arrangement put the trombone and the bandmaster around a bit of a corner, so they could not see into the dining room. So the capable clarinet players doubled as recon, giving up-to-the-minute intel regarding the status of the meal.
Never before have I played in a hallway. And never before have I played in a band with servers walking through the band! Equally memorable was how much those attending the meal appreciated our music. At these dinners we provide background music, occasionally eliciting some applause for a particular piece here and there. But on this evening our music was obviously enjoyed.
When the main course was served we took our usual break. Normally we are not fed dinner at these affairs, but on this occasion we were. It was especially nice to be given dinner since we hadn’t had time to eat between our arrival and the start of the dinner, but we did not expect anything more than the main course. To our surprise and delight, we were served first soup, then salad, and then the main course of roast lamb and a wonderful mix of turnip, carrots & cabbage! Following that they brought us dessert – a delicious strawberry cheese cake! A memorable meal, indeed!
After dinner comes the marches. This dinner was memorable for me because I nailed those marches! Well, ok, I didn’t nail them, but I played them better than I generally do, especially when I have the first book because this book is primarily in the third register… But I did well on this night, proving the old adage that though practice may not make perfect, it certainly makes a whole lot better! The one march that gave me so much consternation did trip me up in exactly the bar I knew it would. But because of the extensive non-playing practice I had done earlier that day, that was the only bar I really messed up. The rest was…well, passable. Unfortunately my trumpet player (whose part is very similar to mine when he plays first, which he did on half of these) also messed up the same bar of the same march. I told him afterwards that he had a lot of nerve messing up the same piece that I messed up! We really need to coordinate that better next time so at least one of us is carrying every march!
Once we were finished the marches, had received our hosts’ gracious thanks, and had packed up all our gear, we headed back to the barracks where we changed and then met, as is our custom, in one of the rooms. There we were regaled with stories from band trips past, which are always humourously entertaining and make me wonder all over again why it took us so long to join the band in the first place!
After a short and somewhat restless night (through no fault of our most comfortable bed) we met for breakfast at 7:30 and headed out of town at 9, to arrive home right on schedule at noon. As this road trip came to a close, one more memorable excursion passed into the band folder portion of my memory.
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Mar. 17, 2009 - An Irish Bow Tie
He got me. Sometimes my son comes out with something that catches me off guard and has me on the floor with laughter.
This morning his band is playing in the festival. He asked if he could wear my bow tie. (I have one on loan from a band gig I did where we all wore bow ties.) I said yes.
A few minutes later he came downstairs fixing the tie and told me I should kiss it…because they say “it’s nice, you know, to kiss your bow…” And of course he said it in a perfect Irish accent.
Yes it’s a groaner, but I admit I cracked up. This is a line from one of our favourite Christmas songs:
It’s nice, you know, to kiss your beau
while cuddlin’ under the mistletoe.
It’s Christmas in Kilarney, with all of the folks at home!
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Mar. 15, 2009 - Commemorating
Commemorate: [from Latin con-memorare, to call to mind] to join in recalling the memory of; to do honour to
How does one “commemorate” a day when the memories are not such that one wants to celebrate? I face this every year on March 15. Every year I have written something on my blog to remember my son, Isaac. This year I feel I have little to say, partly because I have said it all before, and partly because I did not have time this year to sit and contemplate his short life.
Yet the day, I feel, should not pass unnoticed. I never want his birthday to pass as just a regular day. I want it to somehow be set apart, if only for my husband and I. Normally that means a quite evening at home wherein we remember him. No celebration, no special event. Just remembering. It has been 10 years since his still birth, so it somehow seems even more significant this year.
Ten years. So much has happened in the last decade. Over the years the pain of Isaac’s death has lessened, but his memory has not. It is tempting to think of who he would be, what he would be doing at this age, etc. But all I really know about him is that he had blue eyes, and that his short life touched me deeply. I remember him every day, but I commemorate on his birthday all that his life means to me.
Through him I have experienced the truth of Matthew 5:4, “Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.” What a privilege to have known the arms of God surrounding me, comforting me in my sorrow!
Through the turbulence I knew the “peace of God, which surpasses all understanding.” (Philippians 4:7) I proved Psalm 46, which says, “God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. Therefore we will not fear, though the earth should change, and though the mountains slip into the heart of the sea; though its waters roar and foam, though the mountains quake at its swelling pride.”
Through the healing and the years since, I have seen in my own life that God was faithful when He said, “For I know the plans that I have for you, plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans for a hope and a future.” (Jeremiah 29:11)
Once again, as they do every year on March 15, daffodils adorn my living room, a cheerful reminder of this hope. One day we will meet the son we have never known. One day I will receive the hug I have been longing for these ten years. Meanwhile, every time I look into the faces of my other four children, I am reminded of God’s great blessing on my life. He is good!
“He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted…to comfort all who mourn…giving them a garland instead of ashes, the oil of gladness instead of mourning, the mantle of praise instead of a spirit of fainting. So they will be called oaks of righteousness, the planting of the Lord, that He may be glorified.” (Isaiah 61:1-3)
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Mar. 10, 2009 - The Dragon, the Beep, and the Truck that Would Not Go
Beep! Moan…moan. Beep! Moan….
In my dream we were demolishing houses by manually pushing down the walls. Then someone was doing rolls on a timpani. Finally I awoke.
Beep! My husband’s cell phone was alerting us to its low battery status. I didn’t care. I wanted to get back to sleep.
Moan…moan…. What was that? The low grumbly moaning was painting pictures in my sleepy imagination of a dragon coming across the lake to devour our town one house at a time.
Moan…beep! This was too much. And I had to go to the bathroom.
Braving the cold night air, I got up and headed to the ensuite, taking the offensive cell phone with me. It was louder than ever on the hard surface of the bathroom counter. I wrapped it in a hand towel and climbed back into bed.
Moan…moan…BEEP! The moaning continued; the towel did nothing to muffle the beeping of the phone. It finally occurred to my sleepy brain that I could turn off the phone! I braved the cold once more to do this. As I did my husband asked what the moaning was. “Is that Matthew snoring?” he wondered. I know our son can saw some pretty loud logs, but this seemed to be outside. Nevertheless, I decided it was worth checking out. I would have done almost anything at that point to stop the noises so I could get back to sleep!
I crept into the hallway to my son’s bedroom door. I stood silent and listened. Moan… No, it wasn’t louder here. But just in case it would help, I closed his door anyway. And I closed my bedroom door on my way back in.
MOAN…it was louder here than in the hallway. It seemed louder than before. Is the dragon getting closer? Has it reached the beach?
Finally my husband could stand it no longer. He got up to investigate. He left the room and returned a few minutes later, going to the window and looking out momentarily. Then he came back to bed. “What is it?” I asked. “I think it’s a grater clearing the parking lot at the hospital,” he hypothesized. The hospital is about 2 blocks from our house. “I wonder if anyone over there is getting any sleep,” I thought aloud.
This all began some time after 4 am. The last time I looked at my watch it was 5:15 am. Eventually the grater finished its clearing and we were able to get back to sleep. When I awoke at 7 it was to hear the radio announcer inform the town that it was -39 outside and foggy. Now it was my turn to moan. Many busses weren’t running. My children are home educated, but they take a band class at a local high school and today was a band day. I listened, hoping to hear that their classes would be canceled, but they were not.
I dressed in warm cozy sweat pants and sleepily came down the stairs. I did not want to go out. I asked the children if they would miss band today. They were willing…but hesitatingly since the festival is next week. Ok, I decided self-sacrificially, we’ll bundle up and head out at 10:30.
At 10:30 we piled into the truck, bundled up in our winter woolies. I turned the key. The sound the truck made would rival any dragon! I tried again. Still no ignition. I stated the obvious: “It won’t start.” My oldest daughter insisted, “Keep trying.” I tried a third time and this time it ignited. “See!” my daughter proudly proclaimed. Then the engine died. I tried a couple more time to ignite the engine, but to no avail. “Ok, kids, it looks like we’re staying home today!”
No one was disappointed. Even the oldest who had insisted she must be at band today, was smiling with the rest of us as we re-entered the house and removed our winter gear.
It is a cold day outside, but here in our home, we are cozy and warm. And we are thankful for a very old truck that would not go!
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Mar. 10, 2009 - Solar System Model or Fun with the Sun!
I will refrain from commenting on the nasty -39 weather we awoke to this morning, other than being very grateful to our old truck which would not start, thereby making us stay home today, and turn instead to the girls’ science project.
A few years ago the older two did a model of the solar system, which hung across the main floor of our house. Parts of it were a bit in the way, and have since fallen or been pulled down. But since the two little girls are starting astronomy this week, we are reviving the old model, and adding their own touches as well.
On Monday I drew a large circle onto poster board and the girls painted it a realistic orange & yellow. I know in one of these pictures it looks a little like a pizza, but trust me, it really does look quite realistic!
The four inner planets were still hanging from the original model, although their strings had become quite entangled over the past few years. It didn’t help that my oldest daughter had hung a craft star from the strings, essentially tying some of the strings together! However, balancing on the edge of the love seat, with this same oldest daughter making comments and threatening to pinch my calves from the seat below, I was able to separate, first Mercury, then Mars, all without falling on top of her. Earth & Venus were loathe to part with each other, but with much careful untangling, and after taking my glasses off to get a closer look, I was finally able to separate them.
I labeled one of the photos for the less astronomically inclined. Please ignore the shadows of the planets on the sun, which would not actually be there in real life. Mind you, the labels wouldn’t be there either!
For the incurably curious and others who might want to try this project, I will include the measurements. The model IS to scale, though I had to use two different scales. If I used the same scale for both size and distance either the smaller planets would have been too small to see, or I would have had to string them from here to the city 300 km away!
So here are the sizes, materials, and distances. I do not remember the scale, but if you look up the actual sizes and distances of the planets you can do the math yourself. Since I did the math several years ago I opted to just use my old numbers rather than doing it again. J
Sun – 87 cm
Mercury - 0.3 cm – 18 cm from the sun
Venus - 0.7 cm – 33.5 cm from sun
Earth - 0.8 cm (– 46.5 cm from sun
Mars - 0.4 cm – 71 cm from sun
Astroid Belt
Jupiter - 9 cm – 242 cm from sun
Saturn - 7.5 cm – 445.5 cm from sun
Uranus – 3 cm – 892 cm from sun
Neptune – 3 cm – 1397.5 cm from sun
Pluto - 0.15 cm – 1836.5 cm from sun
Mercury is a peppercorn. Venus & Earth are peewee marbles (one yellow and one blue). Mars is a tiny playdough ball, dried & dipped in red paint. Jupiter was a rubber ball with the stripes & spot cut from paper and taped on. Saturn was Styrofoam with card stock rings. Uranus & Neptune I can’t remember what we used, so we’ll have to see if we can find something at WalMart for these. Pluto was a knot tied in the string. I don’t think we did anything for the Astroid Belt last time, but perhaps we’ll do something this time, though I’m not sure what. Maybe a strip of paper with dots on it. Or maybe we’ll just “know” it’s there. ;-) Pluto never was hung last time because it has to go in a tree in our front yard and it was too cold and snowy to put it out there! It is cold and snowy now, too, but spring should be on its way so we will try to remember to hang poor Pluto out in the front yard when it warms up and the snow melts.
And while it is too far away to hang a model, we worked out where the nearest star would be in our model. The nearest star to earth is Alpha Centauri, which is 24.6 trillion miles (or 4.2 light years) away. On our scale, that is 123 km from home. (There is a small town near that mark that gives the children a general feel for the distance.)
If you do a model with your children, please post a link to your photos. I would love to see other solar system models!
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Mar. 9, 2009 - Tick Tock
Last week my daughter turned 9. All she wanted for her birthday was a digital watch. She had an analog a few years ago, but that one died, and since she can now tell time perfectly we decided to give her the digital watch she wanted for her birthday.
Digital watches are not what they were when I got my first one. Now they all have fancy modes and settings, including…a timer.
So we have spent the last half week being timed. Every time I turn around someone is being told exactly (to the millisecond) how long it took them to do the last thing they did. Including this morning in school.
We always start with Bible reading. This morning our reading was Philippians 3 and 4. The six-year-old has not done much reading yet, since she is only beginning to read, but I want to start getting her to read more because I have a theory that reading the Bible is what enabled my older three to read so well so early. Of course I help with this reading as needed. And of course she takes considerably longer than the other children do with their portion.
When she finished it was the nine-year-old’s turn. Kathleen began to read. Rather, she began a reading sprint. Kathleen is an excellent reader, so after a few stumbles the oldest told her if she would slow down she would miss fewer words. I agreed. “Yes, we don’t need to hurry even though we’ve taken a bit longer this morning.” I was immediately informed exactly HOW long we had taken thus far.
The older two children giggled. “Yes, Kathleen would know,” the oldest observed.
After her 11 verses it was Matthew’s turn. He happened to have chapter 4 verse 8: “Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admiral…”
“Admiral?” I questioned him. “Are you sure we are supposed to think on the heads of the navy fleets?” (My husband and I had just watched “Final Countdown” last night, so the navy was on my mind.)
“Well,” said my son, never one to pass up a challenge, “if he’s a good and noble admiral.”
He continued to explain his case until I stopped him, saying we needed to get back to the reading.
“Yes,” said Kathleen, “It’s been 1 minute and 42 seconds already.”
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Mar. 5, 2009 - A Leaf and a Red-Head
I picked up the history book and noticed that my bookmark was in the wrong place. As I flipped through looking for the next chapter to read to the children my 6 year old decided to help me out. “We read about a leaf and a red-head,” she said.
I paused momentarily and then laughed. “You mean Lief the Lucky and Eric the Red,” I said. Eric the Red was, indeed, a red-head. It’s nice to know she is not only listening to these fascinating stories, but remembering them too, even if it does sound more like autumn in
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Feb. 25, 2009 - Beware of Super Mouse!
Like all boys, my son enjoys the adventures of several super heroes. In fact, he enjoys these characters so much he has invented his own super hero: Slyme Gye. I do not know what super powers Slyme Gye possesses, unless it’s the power to gross his mother out. Oh, wait. That’s not a super power, but a natural power possessed by all young boys…
I have never been a fan of super heroes. Since I was a little girl, not a little boy, I was more interested in the adventures of the Bobbsey Twins and later, Nancy Drew. Super heroes were, in a word, dumb.
However, if I “had” to be a super hero there is one super power I would like to have. In the movie “The Aristocats” there is a scene wherein Rocheforte is trying to pick a padlock on a trunk to free the cats, in the midst of mass confusion and noise all around him as the alley cats and horse fight off the evil butler. As you can imagine, picking a lock under those circumstances would be rather stressful, and all but impossible. So, in frustration, Rocheforte, a small but clever mouse, shouts at the top of his lungs, “QUIET!” and instantly every creature in the barn is not only silent, but freezes in mid-action. This frozen moment lasts just long enough for Rocheforte to hear the lock and successfully open it, at which instant the action and mayhem resume.
That’s the super power I want. I want the world around me to freeze in utter silence the moment I yell “QUIET!” until I am able to finish my thought, the sentence I’m reading, or the conversation I’m trying to have on the phone or with my husband or one of my children. Yes, this is the super power for me! Just call me Super Mouse!
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