Sarah’s family is preparing for a beach visit. Preparing is often the greater part of time spent on an upcoming event. Eileen made pancakes this morning. Although yesterday was not painful it seems to have drained me physically.
I was imagining a cumbersome piece of rubber that would go round my torso but of course it was all cyber in creation. It took about an hour.
Mark called yesterday. He was just holding back from “bothering us.” I promised to call him more often.
It has really helped having Sarah around. She drove yesterday.
The group has left and it’s strangely quiet. I was not looking forward to their leaving but now I feel deflated.
I had a run in with Alice this morning. She was screaming in the kitchen and had been screaming all morning. I yelled at her a bit irrationally and she screamed even more. I talked to Sarah about it later and she said that it was hard to be rational when a little kid is screaming. I did not feel better about it. Later when they were leaving, Alice turned to me in her silky toddler voice and said “I’ll miss you granpa.”
This afternoon we are on our way to Grand Rapids for my first treatment. I’m expecting them to coat my torso with a rubberized surface and let it sit for about an hour and a half. This will prepare me for five subsequent radiation treatments to eradicate my five cancer spots. I am hopeful I am going to beat this.
I am wondering why Mark and Leigh keeping such a distance from me. I am hoping to see them in the next couple of weeks. I have been enjoying the weather.
I am enjoying having Sarah, Matthew, Lucy, and Alice around.
Sarah, Lucy, Alice, and Eileen are making a quick trip to the Farmers Market.
My daughter Elizabeth has been calling the Grand Rapids clinic where they will do the radiology. She is is trying to get us in for our first appointment at which they will make a mold for my body for the treatment. Lo and be hold, Eileen got through and they have scheduled me for this Wednesday.
I was telling Eileen how I was sort of dreading the whole ordeal but of course am very glad to speed it up. But these are the people who had me pee on myself at the last treatment. I was very unimpressed with that even though the only harm was done to my dignity.
I will call the therapy center tomorrow and cancel Wednesday’s sessions.
My daughter doesn’t have a working phone for her significant other to carry when she stays at the house. It only works on the internet.
It’s been a while since I’ve blogged. Libby my speech therapist is encouraging me to blog. I’m afraid this makes me reluctant to do so. (Hi Libby!) Eileen thinks this is my dead father’s influence. God knows he could be stubborn about stuff like that.
Sarah and her group are preparing to visit Elizabeth for the day. I’m relieved that I don’t have to go.
I am feeling better. I’m not doing my daily exercises but I am walking after each meal. I have not slipped into a retirement routine yet. My New York Times has started coming everyday. This is a pleasure for me. I’m looking forward to spending the day with Eileen.
I am definitely not functioning well. I accidently sent Cynthia’s gift card to her brother’s address. I am reading a bit more. I am reading the daily New York Times from start to finish. I started a new Le Guin Novel, Five Ways to Forgiveness.
I think Mark gave me a two box Library of America set by Ursula K. Le Guin. There is a wonderful quote from another of my favorite writers on it: “Genre cannot contain Ursula Le Guin: she is a genre in herself.” Zadie Smith
I’m almost done with Lipore’s The Secret History of Wonder Woman. I think I’m a bit disappointed in the extreme detail Lipore goes into about the people who invented Wonder Woman because she was more of a by product of their life styles and it takes Lipore forever to get to the actual comix.
I am reading my son-in-law Jeremy’s copy. I will see him soon, so I better finish this soon.
On the way home from the physical and speech therapist I had a phone call. It was from my dermatologist’s intern. I thought that was odd since Eileen is fielding all my medical calls. The guy was barely coherent. I had Eileen call him after we got home.
It turns out one of the spots on my neck was malignant. They will remove it next Tuesday.
Thank goodness for Eileen who seems to speak the lingo.
We just got back from adventures. Elizabeth came over and chauferred us which was nice. Then we went to the doctor. I like Dr. Batts. He talked us through all three of my cancer spots. They are all the same cancer I had before. He had a plan for attacking them: radiation. He was very hopeful that this had a good chance of eradicating the cancer entirely. We decided to celebrate with El Rancho on the way home.
Dr. Batts also was kind enough to recommend Covid booster shots to Eileen and me. He seemed very happy that I had a chance to beat this cancer. Now I have to go rest.
I woke up this morning and the rain was beating down. I got dressed and went outside. The rain was slowing down. I spotted two plastic bags and thought for a moment that the New York Times had delivered a paper.
What day was it? But it turned out to be Sunday.
Eileen bought me three new pairs of shoes. Yesterday I with Eileen’s help tried to walk around the block using one pair. That turned out to be a bad idea. I began shuffling my feet much to Eileen’s disgust. I decided to try my Keezix. I purchased them because they are so easy to slip on.
The shoes are much lighter. They felt great. So Eileen and I went for a walk even though the rain was pouring down. As usual I over did it. I suggested we walk to Eileen’s garden. My feet felt great but on the walk home I started hurting.
Mark called. We had a nice chat. I promised I would let everyone know if I also have stomach cancer.
I have been seeing the New York Times daily. Eileen has been picking it up in person at Reader’ s World. My friend and former choir member, Janet Bowermaster, dropped by for a visit and boy was that refreshing. Eileen arranged for her visit.
We are going through a heat spell. So it was a good to sit here in the AC and chat.
My therapists continue to encourage me to pick up blogging.
I finished the book of poetry that Rhonda gave me catalog of unabashed gratitude by ross gay before she stopped by. Thank you Rhonda, I like gay’s work but he’s a little gushy for me. It was great to see you and Isaak the other day!
Eileen was very incensed that I didn’t receive a paper yesterday. I didn’t pay close attention but she described it for me and left me the phone number to call today when it didn’t arrive today. I dutiful did so.
I had a nice unproductive chat with a NYT person. Still no paper. I am wondering if I am going to be able to get a daily NYT. I’ll keep you informed, dear reader.
Eileen worked in the garden. When she returned we took a shower together. Very pleasant. After chatting with her I discovered I had my weeks confused and I DONT have meetings tomorrow. I put some Couperin on the record player. I do love Couperin. Before that I played Couperin on the piano. And there’s something clear about listening to old records.
Playing keyboard is so different than mental health people seem to visualize as helpful, emphasis on enjoyment. Eileen is roasting veggies from her garden. Smells great.
Eileen walked down to her rented garden in sweltering heat and weeded yesterday before lunch. The last two days I have laid out some lunch for us. I think that helps Eileen. She has made a fuss over being served. I will try to make a habit of preparing lunch
I have been getting up and doing half my exercises before Eileen gets up.
My daily NYT begins delivery tomorrow or the next day. That will certainly brighten things up if I can get that going.
I have my last meeting with my speech therapist today. I think that’s the last of my meetings with therapists. It is amazing that my health care provides for meetings with these people. They have been more helpful than not. The worse part is sitting and waiting for them when they are late. But they have been helpful and taught me things.
My Dad hated hated his Father’s cancer, I gathered from listening to him talk to his small East Tennessee congregation. This is a memory so it has an unreliable element to it. I seem to remember more than one sermon about it but for some reason I think they were weeknight services with Dad running the overhead slide projector.
It’s an association more than anything.
I vaguely remember Ben (my grandfather) picking up sticks and moving nearer Paul. This may have been something I put together much later.
Lines of poems rattle around in my head as I process facing death. This one is from a poem by e e cummings called “Buffalo Bill.” I can’t find it in Poems 1923-1954. But it comes up quickly enough on a google search. I find that cummings lines have a beauty that fits my mood
I emailed my therapist and resigned therapy. I wanted to continue but my energy is so unpredictable. I switched my NYT subscription to everyday home delivery You were right Elizabeth. I look forward to that. Zingerman’s has a sale so I’m working on that plus I have to order some birthday gifts for upcoming birthdays.
I don’t think cancer kills you very quickly so there’s that.
Other than these morbid thoughts, I am feeling quite well. Eileen is bearing up quite well and is continuing to be an unsurprising source of strength. Speaking of strength, I am feeling stronger but am suspicious of mistaking mood for improvement.
When I told Eileen I wasn’t going with her to the Farmer’s Market, this morning she suggested I blog. I had already thought of that.
So Dr. Batts, my oncologist told me that the biopsy from my lung showed the same cancer that had showed up from my previous bout last time, I said ‘darn. It was clever of him to go looking for it.
Eileen and I will fight this cancer again. She pointed out that I beat this cancer once maybe we can do so again.
I am afraid that exercise is high on the prescribed activities.
On the other hand, I am feeling a bit more energy which I attribute to a recent increase in physical exercise.
I am having a fantasy of having the NYT delivered to the house but even with the cancer it feels indulgent. But I’m still pondering this move. We haven’t had much luck with Sundays only.
As you can imagine I am still reeling from the cancer news.
Thank you johnny, cindy, elizabeth and rhonda! It’s nice to know people are thinking of me!
Plus, there is a steady stream of helpers. Right now I’m waiting for Paul the physical therapist. After he comes, then Erin occupational therapist is coming. She has assigned me to make a meal in front of her today. I have decided to make grilled corn and avocados salad with feta dressing link
I’m thinking I should take out Mann’s Magic Mountain and do some reading in it since I am doing some serious convalascence. Medical workers assure me I willl recover from this stroke. I have been glum with regard to not dying from the next medical event. I was not very self aware during the stroke.
Michelle my physical therapist recommended journaling around my daily experience of this disease. Bethany recommended strategizing against forgetfulness. This has been very helpful. I got up this morning ready to do some walking. Eileen walked me to the corner which exhausted me.
Eileen called up my doctor and gave her lovely hell about not getting an update on my MRI of my leg for so long. It has been a month since this test. I think it probably made Eileen feel a little better to make this call. I am continuing to feel a tiny bit better every day.
Eileen had a call from a friend (Barb Vincensi) and went over to spend some time with her. Eileen is taking care of us invalids.
I have been thinking a lot about my dead parents. Elizabeth invited Eileen and I to their house for Mother’s Day. During the course of a few days I noticed that Elizabeth and Eileen were evaluating my socialization. Before the weekend was over both Elizabeth and Eileen seemed distraught. Elizabeth: ” You are no longer ‘you.” Later Eileen said that I had behaved like my Dad, insisting on driving home e.g.
I made an appointment to see Fuentes in hopes that she might help us evaluate all the weird parts of my behavior and line them up either to address or not worry so much about. Eileen and I tried to list everything that is bothering I including all symptoms like balance and so on. We had a nice talk. Fuentes helped us prioritize both her concerns and ours.
I think Eileen was reassured by this conversation. The fact that my right leg is bigger than my left alarmed Fuentes. So last night I was on a pad at Holland Hospital Radiology with a tech giving my right leg the treatment. So far that seems to have come out alright. At least the tech evaluating the results did not run screaming “blood clots!” from the room.
Also Doctor Fuentes referred me to a physical therapist and a neurologist. The neurologist is unsurprisingly unable to see me for a while but the physical therapist should be sooner.
What I had in mind was a discussion about how to proceed with all these issues at this time of my life which is what I seem to be getting.
This is disturbing as I am comparing all this stuff to my Mom and Dad who relied heavily on me to guide THEM through their evaluation and treatment.
Elizabeth and Eileen seemed to see me through the lens of the my Dad’s struggles with facing his own illness and death. I think I’m not quite as close to helplessness and demise as he was.
I am thinking a lot about this and still processing. I suppose when I need to I’ll come here and jot down a few thoughts to attempt to get myself clearer on my particular experience as I live through this. The best idea yet was making a list of stuff like the Dupuytren’s contraction, eczema, mild memory loss, hand tremors, brief hallucinations.
I think I am feeling better but it would be reassuring to have a plan. Passing blood in March hit me like a ton of bricks. Fuentes had me take antibiotics and that seemed to help but then I had to face a long recovery from whatever had happened. I believe this is what I am going through now.
I ceased exercising. I am very happy to talk to a physical therapist. I think that will be helpful.
Before signing off let me reassure you, dear reader, that my family is being kept on the page via social media and DMs.
I must say I didn’t realize how much added stress comes from the questions and anxiety (ANXIETY) and love of those around me. Makes sense.
Eileen is doing great otherwise. It’s like Fuentes said: “I always tell people don’t retire. Once you retire you gradually fall apart.” Nice timing. It would have been good to know.
I have been deciding on a daily basis to skip blogging. Instead I have been reading and listening to podcasts and talking to Eileen.
I have managed to finish a few books. In reverse order, I finished Seraph in the Suwanee by Zora Neal Thurston, Markings on the Earth by Karenne Wood, and Obit by Victoria Change.
The Thurston left me puzzled. I was confused at the beginning because the protagonists are white and it was the first of the several of Thurston’s works I had read that had white main characters. I thought this did not bode well as I started it.
Try as I might I could not see where Thurston was going. Most of the black people were people you could understand and might not mind knowing. The whites were more fully developed as characters and one could not always explain them to oneself. By the end I was confused. I don’t think that Seraph in the Suwanee is more a book about race than any other American book. I’m still pondering it.
Karenne Wood’s Markings on Earth was before that. Her poem Spider Dance hit me. The idea of male Spiders dying after mating keeps popping up on my radar lately.
and this one
First Light
by Karenne Wood
At this hour, who could discern where land ends or water, where creek becomes bay, bay becomes river and stretches across to a blue verge of Maryland, all the way black now, invisible.
Through July’s haze, the first light is a brushstroke of gray seeping in. Ducks totter up the beach, short bowlegged sailors. Over the water, duck blinds loom as improbable creatures who graze a pale field.
From the marina around the bend, two crabbers set out. Their diesel chugs reverberate as prows cut new waves. Mockingbirds swoop, flash their shoulders like women advertising summer dresses. Herons cast themselves down.
What matters? At the end, we become what we have loved, each thing that transfixed us in the rapture of its moment, its grace of its own making, ours the same. We grow around the land as it grew around us, and
dawn crosses over us, whether asleep in nests or berths or in the ground becoming life again. Here is the moment: here, among herons, ospreys, morning, river. I believe in this light: it is the light of the world.
Rhonda gave me this book for Christmas. I’m just finishing it. I was very tickled when there was a poem by Chang in the April 11 issue. I clipped it and stuck it in my copy of this book. She is quite good. Thanks, Rhonda!
Eileen went over to spend some time with a friend, Barb Vincenzi, today. It was supposed to be gardening moment to help her with her garden but it was too snowy. Eileen was the only one who could make it anyway. Barb is finishing up at teaching Nursing at Hope. She has all kinds of things wrong with her. Her daughter lives in Boston so aside from her ex Barb relies on friends to help her get through.
I didn’t make bread yet. We have left over baked goods from yesterday. As well as store bought. Maybe tomorrow.
I have been getting some reading in.
I had another momentary scare this morning. Lately I have been waking with a start only to look in the eyes of someone steadily watching me. This is disconcerting and only lasts a second and has happened to me maybe five times in the last six months. This morning’s apparition looked a bit like Jonathan Fegel. I always thoughts hallucinations moved more and lasted longer. Ah! Old Age.
I have had a blog post sitting unfinished on my laptop for four days. It’s nothing more than most of “The Nature of the Fun” by David Foster Wallace (pdf) which I typed in by hand. This essay is from Both Flesh and Not by him. I was talking to Sarah about my blog today and she said she had noticed that I hadn’t put up anything for a few days and I realized that the blog post which mostly a re-typing of “The Nature of the Fun” wasn’t going to cut it so I started over and linked in the essay for anyone that interested.
Rhonda seems to be rare person in my life who also likes David Foster Wallace. It is this lack of response that encourages me to write something else. But it is encouraging that someone I know has read and presumably likes Wallace.
It’s been a weird week. I just jumped in the car and went in search of some Easter chocolate. A local bakery was open for ten more minutes so I sped over there. But no chocolate. I bought some sweet goods, some gluten free. On the way home I noticed that Readers World was open. I stopped but managed not to buy anything. Then I came home even though I realized that Meijer was open and surely have some chocolate.
The chocolate urge is influenced by chatting with Sarah today. I am eating a small gluten free delicious cinnamon bun. And just for good measure drinking another cup of coffee. We will save some of these sweet goods for breakfast tomorrow.
I only have a few pages of Both Flesh and Not by David Foster Wallace left to go. I don’t think I want to write about it today except to say that Wallace is funny. I forgot about his wit which is considerable.
I am figuring out what it’s like to live with so many ghosts. Friends and family members pepper my daily life. Eileen is the only living, breathing person I spend any amount of time with. Fortunately I enjoy her company. The ghosts, meh. Spending so much time with the written page keeps my juices flowing nicely thank you.
I haven’t been playing much keyboard lately. I just laid out some Mendelssohn in hopes that I’ll at least play some of him today.
Getting through Holy Week seems to be more significant than I thought it would. It may be some sort of milestone in my retirement life. I don’t feel any differently towards the whole Christianity thing. It looms in my personality but mostly as a tool to understand my fucked up self or informs my thinking about stuff.
I noticed that my reading is largely poetry and depressing topics like the genocide of the indigenous and the greed that drove the belief that one human could own another. I have several novels going but don’t seem to be picking them up and reading them recently.
Today is Jefferson’s birthday. On the Writer’s Almanac, Keillor went on and on about all the cool stuff Jefferson was into. It was only as an aside that he mentioned he was a slave owner.
Thanks for checking back. I have been doing a lot of reading. I almost missed Palm Sunday but last Saturday I noticed it was almost Easter. This is my first Holy Week not working. It feels like it should be longer than that but it’s not.
I still am very glad to be retired and am even more glad I seem to have survived a kidney infection. I am still recovering I am sure. Having lost some weight has allowed me to be a bit more reckless in my eating. Yesterday morning I made banana bread. The day before I made some veggie chili and had nachos.
I have returned to Alex Ross’s Wagnerism. I am also reading volumes of poetry. I remain skeptical that many people actually read books. But I do. History of our nation continues to interest me. This includes the history of the indigenous people who originally lived here and the people we brought over from Africa.
Finally I have returned to David Foster Wallace. I own many volumes of his that I haven’t read. I have read all of his longer works except The Broom of the System. I think I backed off on his work after reading The Pale King. Both my brother’s distaste for his longer works and Foster’s troubling suicide sort of put me off for a while. But I decided to read a book of his essays, Both Flesh and Not. It’s a romp. I think I’ll write more about it after I finish the book.
I started very slowly back in exercising today. I did everything in my usual routine but starting out with a few repetitions of each exercise. Then I did an entire stretch routine. I can feel it already.
Wole Soyinka
I finished Chronicles from the Land of the Happiest People on Earth by Wole Soyinka. I am almost done with Brunner’s Stand on Zanzibar. These books are similar in that they are both surreal. But Soyinka takes place in the present and Brunner was written in 1968 and also takes place in the present. They’re points of view are diametric in some ways, Soyinka is a bit of a romp. Brunner presents a pretty grim picture with lots of outrageous humor.
Since I am reading all kinds of depressing books about African American history, native American history, Russian history, it’s good to be following these droll stories as well. And this doesn’t even cover all the poetry I am reading.
On the music front I am reading CPE Bach’s Essay on the True Art of Playing Keyboards. I feel like I know him pretty well by now having reading most of a book of his correspondence and a biography of him. I’m also reading Wagnerism by Alex Ross. This is kind of a disagreeable book even though it limits itself to the “ism” in the title. I don’t see how a book about Wagner would not be anything but disagreeable, but that’s me.
I’m still plugging away on Haimo’s Haydn.
So if you ever wonder what you’re going to do in retirement, this is what works for me.
I’m continuing to mess with my books. As of today I have a shelf and a half of books carefully organized. These are books I am reading or ones I want to keep aware of. I finished Austin Brown’s I’m Still Here today. It was an interesting read. In a way I feel like watching someone learn the hard lessons living in white America are always worth rehearsing. But her insistence on staying reconciled to her church heritage makes me squirm. That’s more about me than her I’m sure.
While I continue to get back to feeling normal, Eileen is experiencing back problems. She thinks it might be from sitting and knitting. She just took a hot shower and is going to do some exercising.
Eileen is outside raking leaves. I have been straightening my books as well as the usual reading and practicing. I keep playing around with how the books by my chair are organized.
Things are beginning to return to normal whatever that is. I have lost ten pounds easily and my BP is as low as I remember it being. I am going to resume exercising a little at a time. I am extremely grateful that it looks like I’m pulling out of this kidney infection.
I hope that’s what it was.
In the meantime I keep pondering the books I am reading. Many books of poetry on my current list as well as books about African American history and Native people’s history. It is interesting how these two overlap. Organizing the books laying around is an attempt to keep up with stuff. I now have way too many books to be reading at once. Consequently, I finished two today: The Snows of Venice by Ben Lerner and Andre Kluge and a new translation of Rilke’s Duino Elegies.
These are pretty tough going. The first one seems to be co-written in response to a book of poetry by Lerner, The Lichtenberg Figures, which I have read. Rilke’s always fun.
I’m hoping that by organizing my books a bit better I will get to them more often and finish some other books.
I have been concentrating on Chronicles from the Land of the Happiest People on Earth by Wole Soyinka. It’s one of several pieces of fiction I am trying to bring to a close.
I am feeling much better. My Doctor messaged me about my urine test and apparently that’s okay. I have been reading, practicing, and listening to podcasts, not a bad way to go. It’s kind of rainy today. I’d like to think that I’m over this kidney infection.
At any rate, it looks like more life for Jupe. I continue to be lucky. May this continue.
I am feeling much better. My urine test came out looking good. I am hopeful that Fuentes will not recommend me to a urologist.
So I have lost weight and my BP is down. I have been spending time at the piano as well as reading. I continue to take it easy. My energy is coming back.
Today Eileen drove me to the lab to pee in a cup. She waited in the car. When I returned she asked if I had my hearing aides. I sometimes drop them when I have a mask and glasses on. This means I have three things wrapping around my ears and sometimes one of my hearing aids slips off. I had to tell her that I only had my left hearing aid. So we scoured the area. I went back in and talked to the receptionist and back tracked my movements. Uh oh. Nothing. I left them my name and number but was not optimistic I was going to see my right hearing aid again.
I little bit ago I had a call from that receptionist. Someone had turned in my hearing aid.
I knew a Felician nun who always told me that God takes care of fools. This could be the theme of life.
I had an excellent session with Dr. Birky earlier. He is such a good therapist for me.
I won’t hear back from the lab or Dr. Fuentes for a while. I am still shaky and having chills. At this point it’s hard to distinguish between emotional exhaustion and physical symptoms. At any rate I am trying to take it easy.
This is helped by the books Eileen picked up for me from Readers World. Mendelssohn and Emily Dickinson are excellent companions as I rest and the two books I have are extremely readable and engaging.
I drop off pee tomorrow. I don’t know what I hope for except for more life. Fortunately I am not in pain, but I do fear that whatever is wrong with me might eventually kill me. I am shaky this morning. I am gradually returning to my former routine of getting up early. I had been sleeping in but for the last few days I find myself getting up earlier.
I even beat Elizabeth this morning. Sometimes when she and Alex visit she has coffee ready. I like that but she taught her last art class last night so won’t be visiting on a regular basis any more. I know that she didn’t want to continue doing this due to the suffocating Jesus stuff that permeates this area and her fellow teachers. I don’t blame her.
My reading has been teaching me how wide spread the influence of bad Calvinism has been in the history of the country much less this little corner of it. It’s bothersome in that I share Elizabeth’s distaste but it’s kind of cool because I do have an understanding of Christianity and it helps me understand the current crazy world I live in.
David seems furious with me for refusing his calls. For my part it reminds me of Friedman’s rope story. But who knows? We all do the best we can. I will reach out to him eventually but it will involve some discussion of his alcohol addiction which is something we have never talked about. Apparently he doesn’t talk about it with his estranged wife Cynthia either. This seems like it might be part of the denial of addiction but I’m admittedly in over my head.
Tomorrow is my scheduled session with my therapist. I guess we’ll have some shit to talk about, eh?
I don’t let my weakness stop my reading. I have a couple books waiting for me at Readers World. Eileen said she would go pick them up for me today but we’ll see. I could do it myself since I think I could muster the will and strength to do it. But Eileen doesn’t mind.
One new biography each on Felix and Fanny Mendelssohn by R. Larry Todd and a book of Emily Dickson’s poetry “As She Preserved them.” Cool.
It’s a good thing I misunderstood about today’s appointment with Oral Surgeon. I called yesterday to ask if I was supposed to fast for it and found out it was only a consultation. Whew. Eileen and I just got back from it and it looks like we can afford both the surgery and an implant.
I took my last antibiotic last night. But today has a been a stressful day. I was on the phone reassuring my daughter-in-law, Cynthia before lunch and have been receiving phone calls from my alcoholic son, David, who is negotiating my ex-wife’s end of life stuff. He calls and asks for advice and I try to “do no harm.” Consequently I am feeling fatigued physically and emotionally, but at least I didn’t have a tooth extraction today.
I really like my oral surgeon, Dr. Houle, she seems very competent and communicates well.
For some reason I have been spending time with Bach at the piano. 2 and three part inventions and suite movements.
I have found a new podcast, A History of Rock Music in 500 Songs.
I just stumbled across it and listened to the latest episode, “146 “Good Vibrations” by the Beach Boys.” I was charmed by the presenter, Andrew Hickey. I think it’s great that he started this podcast with a pretty thorough history of the the theramin. I skipped to episode 143 “Summer in the City” by The Lovin Spoonful. I learned that John Sebastian has the same name as his Dad and they both are, wait for it, classical harmonica virtuousi.
I did see John Sebastian the Lovin’ Spoonful live once. They opened for the Doors. John Sebastian came back on stage to play harmonic with them and was terrible as I remember it. I thought at the time that he got high between sets. I think that now too having heard some phenomenal stuff on this podcast.
Anyway I’m enjoying Hickey’s podcasts and have been learning a lot about music I like not to mention other stuff.
This evening I take my last antibiotic pill. I think they have definitely helped although my symptoms beyond the initial blood in the urine are kind of nebulous. I am feeling a bit stronger.
I am dreading tomorrow’s oral surgery. I finished filling in the pre op form today. What a stupid thing. I keep thinking the medical field will someday take advantage of the tech available and patients would have a centralized source of information about the health and treatment easily accessible by any health provider. Anyway that’s done.
I finished the book of poetry Rhonda gave me. It’s called imago, Dei and was written by Ellizabeth Johnston Ambrose. It wasn’t too bad. I admit that I understand books by broken Christians. Thanks, Rhonda!
Eileen comes home today. I missed her. She has been texting me and that has helped me keep up a bit with what she’s doing.
I woke up this morning with Lullaby of Birdland by George Shearing rattling around in my head. I immediately put in on my phone to listen to as I did my morning routine. I am feeling better I think. My morale has improved although I don’t like not having Eileen around.
Before too long Paper Moon recorded by Nat King Cole supplanted Birdland in my head so I put it on the phone.
I’m beginning to wonder if my illness is being replaced by sheer laziness.
Sarah and I connected and we had a two hour zoom chat. I hung up and David called to check in with me. He sounded a bit more coherent today.
I heard from Eileen that they were heading for Ann Arbor but that Mark wasn’t feeling well so he and Leigh were skipping the meal. I was hoping that Mark and Leigh, or at least Mark would opt for the opera as well as the meal.
I checked out videos from a previous run in New York and thought the music sounded pretty cool. You can hear it in this video.
I recently figured out that I am attracted to difficult books. Not just difficult ones, but they are a category in my chosen reading and have been for long enough that I should have put this together sooner. Today I had trouble laying my hands on Fugitive Poses by Gerald Vizenor.
Nowhere to be found. Eileen left a while ago to drive to Delton. She will spend a couple nights there and return on Monday. We both thought I should continue to lay low until I heal.
Shortly after she left I found Vizenor. Hurray! I think it and Playing Indian fit the the description of a difficult book. At least they are difficult for me.
I have heard from both my brother (Hi Mark) and son today. Mark was concerned about my fatigue. I guess I haven’t made it clear but everyday I continue to feel like I am recovering from something, I’m not sure what. David called out of the blue. He has been worrying about my ex-wife, his Mom, who apparently is in stage 4 pancreatic cancer. I told him I was ill as well. I can’t truly tell if he’s sober or not on the phone, but at least he’s not so drunk as to be unmistakably so.
A bit later Sarah texted me.
So you can see people are definitely thinking of me.
Eileen has been having trouble getting the gas tank open on the Subaru. So I got dressed today and we went out and messed with it. Problem quickly solved. She had mistaken the hood release for the gas tank release.
Well that’s the update from the sick one. Tune in tomorrow for another episode.
I hope I’m feeling better. It’s difficult to tell. I have a lot of body fatigue. In addition I don’t always have the concentration to read and that’s no fun. Just having Eileen around keeps my spirits up. I started Second Founding by Foner today. I don’t think I have read anything by him but any book about slavery and/or African American usually footnotes him. Second Founding seems to be a good place to start in reading him. It’s short. I will want to read more by him.
Despite feeling like crap I have been getting some reading in. Plus when I get too tired I listen to podcasts or the radio.
I am uneasy about whatever’s wrong with me. I hope I haven’t damaged my body too badly with my drinking. I don’t really know what’s going on. If my urine test comes out good next week, my doctor said she would drop it for a while. If not, it’s on to the urologist. I’m not looking forward to that but I would like to know what exactly is wrong with me. I haven’t exercised since peeing blood. I do plan to get back to it if I can.
I finished Playing Indian by Philip J. Deloria. My new copy came in the mail and I transferred my notes on stickies in the library copy to my personal copy. I will be processing this book for a while.
I am still feeling pretty weak. But I did manage to practice piano a bit as well as played three games of boggle with Eileen. We usually play four. But since feeling ill I have only had the energy to play two in row.
It is difficult to tell if my health is improving at all. I have resolved to baby myself in order to help any healing process going on. I am considering skipping the festivities planned for this weekend and letting Eileen drive over to Delton on Saturday night be herself and coming back on Monday.
After Elizabeth and Alex left, Eileen ran errands. She returned Playing Indian to the library. The Readers World had two of the books I requested sitting on the shelves. So she stopped by and picked those up. She picked up my eczema medicine at Meijer. She dropped off the tax info to the people who do our taxes. She came home a happy camper.
It makes me crazy to read articles about music. The orientation of the author and heck the whole dang business and subject seems so foreign to my own understanding of something I love very much. In the case of this article I have been checking out some the music the author talks about. So far nothing has grabbed me very much.
This was a magazine supplement that came with the Sunday NYT on March 13th. I looked it over today and listened to at least one musician mentioned in it. Same response.
Being ill is a lousy way to lose weight and keep your BP low. I’m still shaky today but might be feeling a tad more strong. I’m basically spending the entire day sitting in my chair. I made coffee when I got up. I had an apple while waiting for Eileen to get up. Then when she got up and I ate breakfast with her. We boggled which is our routine but I got fatigued after two games. Usually we ply four.
I sure hope the antibodies I am taking help fix whatever’s gone wrong with my body. As you might expect I haven’t had a martini since Saturday. If I can beat whatever’s wrong with me, giving up martinis is the least of my worries.
I think Eileen is feeling sorry for me because she asked me about the books I wanted to order from Readers World but didn’t. Hey I’ll take pity. I just ordered The Second Founding: How the Civil War and Reconstruction Remade the Constitution by Eric Foner.
and Mendelssohn: A Life in Music by R. Larry Todd
and Fanny Hensel: the Other Mendelssohn by R. Larry Todd
and Ways of Seeing by John Berger
and Emily Dickinson’s Poems: As She Preserved Them
and Webster’s 1828 American Dictionary of the English Language Paperback.
The Webster’s 1828 is the version that Dickinson owned and comes into play in research about her.
So here I am facing the grim reaper but getting to order books. Plus I don’t feel that bad, just shaky and low on energy. I’ve also stopped daily exercise. Pluses and negatives I guess.
We are planning a weekend trip to see Elizabeth and Fam. At this point, we (Eileen probably) will drive over to Delton on Saturday and spend the night. Go out to eat and see a show. Crash at Elizabeth’s and come back after that. It is possible I will have enough stamina for this. I guess I’ll take it as it comes. I do think I am feeling a little bit better but this might just me being over hopeful. Stay tuned for future adventures.
Went to the Doctor this morning. Eileen drove. I’m still kind of shaky both from whatever’s wrong with me from fasting. They tested my urine. There was scant blood in it but enough white cells that my Doctor ordered an anti-biotic treatment and asked me to come back after that and retest my urine. Then if she’s not happy she will refer me to a urologist. Blood in a man’s urine can indicate many things but the thing Fuentes stressed is that it’s not good and if we can we need to figure out what it is. If the urine is without blood cells at the next test she said we would drop it until my August check up. This is weirdly reassuring.
I do like having Eileen along on these visits. She comes along with me into the patient room and is very helpful.
I guess I didn’t need to fast for this morning’s office visit. Silly me.
I am madly trying to finish Playing Indian by Philip J. Deloria. The book is due to be returned to the library tomorrow. I have also ordered myself a paperback copy which is supposed to arrive this evening. I am finding it very helpful in figuring out stuff about native Americans especially from the point of view of how white Americans have treated and typed them.
After writing yesterday’s blog post I went back and re-read The Zoo Story by Edward Albee. I found the section about all of life can be a bit of narcissistic existence.
(Jerry : speaking to Peter who seems to be hypnotized)
It’s just … it’s just that … (Jerry is abnormally tense now) … it’s just that if you can’t deal with people, you have to make a start somewhere. WITH ANIMALS! (Much faster now, and like a conspirator) Don’t you see? A person has to have some way of dealing with SOMETHING. If not with people … if not with people… SOMETHING. With a bed, with a cockroach, with a mirror… no, that’s too hard, that’s one of the last steps. With a cockroach, with a … with a … with a carpet, a roll of toilet paper …no, not that either … that’s a mirror, too; always check bleeding.
So you can see I misremembered that actual line from the play. But I suspect that David and I talked about this scene as well as others and I remember our conversation more clearly than the line.
The piece is Franck’s Symphony in D minor. I remember studying this piece in under grad school. I liked it okay. But this article sent me back to the recording plus a study score I have. After listening to this I figured out that it’s no better than Gershwin’s Rhapsody in Blue. Both words have incessant repetition of small musical ideas.
Saturday I noticed that my urine looked a funny color. It was a deep burgundy. I thought about what I had recently eaten and couldn’t come up with anything that might cause it to look that way. I monitored it for the rest of the day. It reminded me of a quote by Edward Albee. I couldn’t find it on google, but I think it may come from his play, The Zoo Story. It was something about cautioning about pre occupation with self. The mirror is everywhere even in your toilet (check for blood). At the time I read it I wasn’t sure what he meant. Look for traces of blood on your toilet paper? I think I understand it better now.
I have Zoo Story sitting upstairs but I am feeling a bit weak (lazy?) and am not going up to look at it. It’s possible the quote is marked.
I wanted to make bread this morning but I’m too lazy (weak?).
I was talking to Dr Birky about narcissism on Friday at our session. Narcissism is something I think about. I have had a theory that it takes a strong ego to be a maker (musician, poet, writer). Birky suggested that the narcissist seeks people who will reinforce his own warped view of himself.
I’m still thinking on that one.
After a day of looking at my pee I sent my doctor a message through the useless, idiotic, app she and her employers provide. If my urine starts to look red again I am planning to go to a walk in clinic. If not I’ll wait and see what my doctor recommends.
My BP has been low the last two mornings and my weight dropped dramatically on Saturday. Eileen said she noticed that I have been eating less (?).
Having an imagination is no help when you’re sick. I can envision the course of this illness all the way to the funeral. Nice, eh?
In addition I have some pretty stark memories of my Dad’s dwindling physical and mental powers. I have an especially brutal (to me) recollection of finding him alone in a patient room at the hospital after we took him into ER with a concussive fall. He looked bewildered. Not only did he not know where he was, but he may not have know who he was.
Warm fuzzy thoughts. Stay tuned for future fun episodes.
Yesterday, Eileen and I went to the beach and then picked up take out from Margaritas. Then before PBS newshour we watched episodes of “The Reservation Dogs.”
So far I am enjoying it. I especially like the humor in it.
Today my daughter, Elizabeth, and grand daughter, Alex, will visit. That should be nice.
I know I said I would share poetry yesterday but I ended up not doing any blogging.
I am continuing to read Foster’s City Terrace: Field Manual. He does not disappoint. His poems are brutal and beautiful and seem to me to be carefully and exquisitely constructed. Unfortunately I can’t find anything of his to share online.
I think I may be beginning to feel like my self after changing my life so drastically from church musician to human being. It’s the compulsions that are the tricky part. A good deal of my life has been spent in my version of discipline, mostly around music. Now I don’t feel the need to be disciplined the way I did when I was leading a program and performing weekly. This has had the effect of me examining how I arrived at the point I am with music. One thing that has struck me is how no academic teacher has really mentored me.
Ray Ferguson was the closest I had to a mentor. Though Ray was very helpful giving me a leg up and getting me accepted to Wayne State University, I don’t think he ever lost his picture of me as a sort of primitive, as indeed I was. We had many brutal heart to heart talks for which I remain grateful and Ray seemed to enjoy. One of my mild regrets about his death is that I never was able to show him how much technique I gained the last decade or so on keyboard.
Anyway, I’m not practicing daily any more. Sometimes a day goes by and I don’t play music. It feels odd but right. This is a transitory time of my life. Some of this is diminishing physical capacity especially in my left hand due to the Dupuytren’s Contraction. But recently I have found when I do play piano my abilities are not quite as bad as I picture them. Octaves in my left hand are possible if only at a slower tempo. Playing slower has never bothered me before so I am able to continue to enjoy hands on with music I love.
At the same time my own aesthetic is becoming clearer to me. It’s an aesthetic that is broad in that I generally trust my own gut reaction now more than I have ever been able to in my life. But when I examine other musicians’ approach I find more and more people that seem to share a bit of this. Usually they are much finer musicians than I am but at the same time I am able to share a broader love of music with them even though my technique as a musician is not as honed.
Elizabeth Llewellyn
The BBC radio show called Inside Music has fascinated me in this respect. Musicians are called on to DJ an hour and half show and presumably choose the music. Their chat and choices fascinate me. Unfortunately these do not stay available online for long so I can’t just link them in and expect you dear reader to access them for very long.
Julie Fowlis
The first show I heard was hosted by Julie Fowlis and I immediately became excited because her choices and comments were so wonderful. Unfortunately, she turned out to be an exception in that way. I found that I was not only listening to the comments and the music of the musician but detecting their approach to their own musicianship. Usually there were annoying limits to the way they saw what they did as a musician and the music they were sharing. After listening to several of these shows I began to understand both the presenters and my own critiques of them.
I don’t expect BBC necessarily to find many people as passionate, adventurous, and honest as Fowlis. But I was heartened that Elizabeth Llewellyn recently exhibited a wider range in her choices which included Bernstein, Samuel Coleridge-Taylor, Mozart, and two songs which I would think of as pop music.
Quite the thing for stuffy old BBC. Cool. I didn’t go for all of Llewellyn’s choices but it felt like talking about tastes with a musician I respect. Very cool indeed.
Sorry to have neglected you recently. But obviously I am filling up my retirement with enough things to keep me busy. I muse on why I keep this blog going and I’m not sure what the reason is. I have been keeping an online presence for many years. I began with all the idealism that I would spark conversation and trade ideas with other people. Well that didn’t turn out to be the case. Then as my family spread itself around the world I saw it as a user friendly way for my family to see how I’m doing without having to actually deal with me.
Now I am mostly motivated to put down my ideas in words because that helps me. But I am working so many different areas right now that I don’t seem to have much time for this. I console myself that I am available if family or friends want to connect with me. But I continue to learn the lesson that “less is more” especially with the passion and intensity of what is circulating around in my pea brain.
The trick of being retired for me is to continually examine my behavior for compulsions left over from pre-retirement. This is not as easy as it sounds. It helps to live with Eileen.
So today is not so much about ideas as to let those of you who are kind enough to check this blog know that I’m still going to keep it up at this point.
I have been burrowing deep into my nonfiction reading. I am learning distressing stuff about America and the people who lived here before the colonial settlers. I am learning distressing stuff about how white people appropriated ceremonial dress and thoughts for their little civic rituals while at the same time spreading genocidal actions against natives. I am learning from native people resiliently living now in this moment and staying connected to a tradition I don’t know enough about. I am learning how vast the history of this side of the world is and how it has been distorted in the stories we tell ourselves about it.
Also continuing to read The 1619 Project and learning more about the hidden history of the connection and repression of people descended from slaves in our country.
In addition I have been learning more about recent history in Russia and following the rape of Ukraine in real time.
This morning after my usual routine of exercising and making coffee for me and tea for Eileen when I sat down to read I found myself reaching for poetry. It’s afternoon and all I have read all day is poetry. It’s not exactly a palliative because I prefer most of my poetry to be disturbing but it helps me see how easy it is to be sucked into examining terrible stuff in our history.
This morning I especially enjoyed reading in Victoria Chang’s book of poems, Obit. My friend Rhonda gave it to me and I have read some in it. This morning it seemed to be exactly what I needed and enticed me to pick up other books of poetry sitting around that I read in occasionally including issues of my subscription of the magazine Poetry.
I have to reiterate here my gratitude for how my life is going and for friends like Rhonda who sent me a very encouraging text recently in which she said she knew I was moving in a different direction these days. Thank you, Rhonda! Life is good.
It seems like a good day to end with a poem.
Peripheral
BY HANNAH EMERSON Yes I prefer the peripheral because it limits the vision.
It does focus my attention. Direct looking just is too
much killing of the moment. Looking oblique littles
the moment into many helpful moments.
Moment moment moment moment keep in the moment. Source: Poetry (March 2022)
Eileen and I have spent the last couple of days staying calm but a bit frightened. Eileen had her regular mammogram on Monday. She came home unperturbed but a few hours later there was a call with the disconcerting news that she had to return the next day for another try. There was something odd in the first one that required another look and possibly an ultrasound.
Neither of us slept very well that night. But after the next appointment she came home to tell me that they had found a non malignant cyst. No action needed.
So while war rages in Ukraine, Eileen and I were very grateful that we had dodged that particular bullet. Eileen confessed to me later that what she had dreaded was not so much a cancer diagnosis but the eventual treatment which is often as bad if not worse than the disease.
I finished Gessen’s The Man Without a Face: The Unlikely Rise of Vladimir Putin a few minutes ago. I wanted to read it as quickly as possible during the Russian invasion of Ukraine. I am already of a fan of Gessen’s work and am planning next to read her book, The Future is History: How Totalitarianism Reclaimed Russia. It’s sitting on my shelves.
Eileen signed up for a online three day weaving workshop. I think it has helped distract her a bit.
The headline on this article did not blame the Biden Administration for this otherwise I probably wouldn’t have clicked on the link. I find it dumb to keep blaming the president for stuff. But this is a good article.
Playing Indian by Philip Deloria is a very disturbing history of white men dressing up as Indians and using fake Indian shit in their secret societies. I have always found secret societies like the Masons a bit weird. But this shit goes back further than I expected, if, indeed, I expected anything at all.
I was interested in this book because I was hoping it would give me some help thinking about appropriation. But the topic is much broader than that. But I do like Philip Deloria’s title. It puts the whole idea of white colonial settlers blundering into the Americas and then making many stupid stupid assumptions and acting on them until the stupidity persists to this day in the story white Americans tell themselves.
I had heard of the Tammany political maneuverings in U.S. History. I think I may have had a paperback that told the story of corruption in New York via Tammany Boss Tweed.
But this is the 19th century. Deloria doesn’t even mention this. He’s more interested in fraternal orders that sprang up using fake Indian type stuff to organize themselves.
It seems that Thomas Jefferson and John Hay belonged to one or were at least present at a public celebration of of these Masonic-like organizations. Which brings me to what I wanted to “share” with you today.
The ridicule of natives was unsurprisingly extended to African Americans.
” The New York Evening Post carried accounts of an ‘African Tammany celebration” in 1809, and the following year the Rhode Island American reported, ‘Last April Fool Day we light de council fire at de wigwam in my house. Well, dan we chuse officer. Toby we make him Gran Sachem. Cudjo we make him farrer in council; Yellow Sam he set up for Sagemalel be he no brack enough. Dem we chuse Whish-em-Stirky.’ The ‘celebrants’ then toasted ‘Broder Tomm Jefferson, de lass gran sachem of dis country.’ ‘Black Sal, his squaw,’ and ‘Our broders, de white Indians.’
What? Black Sal has got to be a reference to Sally Hemmings, Jefferson’s slave and concubine. Nothing in the footnotes about her. When the report was printed in the Rhode Isalnd American (1809) Jefferson still had some 16 or 17 years to live and was just finishing up his term as president.
I always pictured the Hemmings affair as something sort of swept under the public’s eye. But it doesn’t look like it. Wow.
As the time passes since I began retirement, I can see how I am transitioning to a more normal existence. I find myself studying Emily Dickinson, native Americans, and learning more about composers I love like CPE Bach and Haydn and musics I love like most folk music and a lot of other popular music. Having the option to pretty much do anything I want to with my time is fun. I keep examining my impulses and ignoring the ones that come from years of church work and even a bastardized orientation toward academic music.
And still rattling around in my head are ideas about music I still want to make up (compose). At this point I’m sort of thinking of continue to contemplate what I want to make up and probably then rehearse it and video tape it. This is probably the process that I will evolve. But no hurry!
I’m about half way through Gessen’s book on Putin and it does help me understand the horrific news.
This is one of those times in life when you know important stuff is happening (in Ukraine) and accurate information is hard to come by and things are moving quickly. My response has been to pick up my unread copy of The Man Without A Face: The Unlikely Rise of Vladimir Putin by Masha Gessen.
This book has been on my to read list for a while. Published in 2012 with an updated afterword by Gessen in 2014 I have always been curious what sort of a story Gessen would tell.
it’s odd to read this now because I was alive during the events Gessen attempts to chronicle. It is helping me understand the complex demise of the USSR. At the same time it casts light on living through history as we are now doing.
I have been getting a great deal of reading done. That’s the main reason I haven’t blogged lately.
Eileen and I had a fun chat with Sarah today. It last close to two hours. You might wonder what the heck we talk about but we never fail to find things to discuss even though Sarah inevitably apologizes each week for “babbling.”
From Wikipedia “Caliban and the Witch: Women, the Body and Primitive Accumulation is a 2004 book by Silvia Federici. It is among the most important works to explore gender and the family during the primitive accumulation of capital As part of the radical autonomist feminist Marxist tradition, the book offers a critical alternative to Marx’s theory of primitive accumulation.[ Federici argues that the witch hunts served to restructure family relations and the role of women in order to satisfy society’s needs during the rise of capitalism.
I picked up on this book from Roxanne Dunbar-Otyiz’s An Indigenous Peoples’ History of the United States.
I was delighted that in the first pages of Susan Howe’s 1985 Book, My Emily Dickinson, she refers to Emily Dickinson and Gertrude Stein as “two writers whose work refuses to conform to … Anglo-American literary traditions.” Yay! They are both obsessions of mine and I read on with relish (as Joyce says): “Emily Dickinson and Gertrude Stein are clearly among the most innovative precursors of modernist poetry and prose, yet to this day canonical criticism from Harold Bloom to Hugh Kenner persists in dropping their names and ignoring their work.”
Still on the first page of her book, Howe writes “Emily Dickinson and Gertrude Stein also conducted a skillful and ironic investigation of patriarchal authority over literary history.” And then a couple of sentences that struck me so that I copied them into my running journal: “Who polices questions of grammar, parts of speech, connection and connotation? Whose order is shut inside the structure of a sentence?” Whose indeed.
In a few minutes I put Howe aside to read some poetry by Dickinson.
I turned first to my library copy of Emily Dickinson’s Poems: As She Preserved Them edited by Cristanne Miller and read:
A sepal – petal – and a thorn upon a common summer’s morn – A flask of Dew – A Bee or tow – A Breeze – a caper in the trees – And I’m a Rose!
Miller ‘s footnote is illuminating: “RWF silently emends ED’s phrase ‘a caper’ to ‘a’caper,’ assuming it to be a verb.” RWF is R. W. Franklin and edited quite a bit of Dickinson. I don’t have his edition but my Thomas H. Johnson edition did not follow him in policing the grammar and parts of speech in that instance, but Johnson substitutes commas for the hyphens in the first line and does not indent the last. I know that mine above appears not indented but this is an instance of me not being able to get WordPress to do the layout I want.
It seems to be a quick instance of Howe’s patriarchal authority attempting to exert itself in the face of the skill, irony, and beauty of Emily Dickinson.
The most striking thing to me about using hearing aids are the return of the high frequencies. This means I hear more clicks and softer sounds that have been getting by me for years. It’s not particularly pleasant. But I am expecting that I will begin to notice all the extra sounds less as I get used to it.
I did manage to get my hearing aids hooked up to my phone via Bluetooth. I listened to C.P.E. this morning and it sounded pretty good.
We decided not to go sit by the beach today. We drove down to take a look. Besides the rain (which I like) it was cold. Yesterday would have been perfect. We got started pretty late and have been running behind all day. It’s about 4:30 PM and we just had lunch. Martini time soon!
I stopped by and picked up some holds from the library on our way for our little drive. When I got home two more books were waiting for me.
I have been looking forward to My Emily Dickinson by Susan Howe. This time even though it came from the bookstore that sent me the heavily marked up copy, the text was clean.
I was very interested in the book, Homo Poeticus: Essays and Interviews – by Danilo Kiš.
Even though Kiš died in 1989, he is fascinating. His is another title I picked up from Gerald Vizenor. Susan Sontag edited and wrote the introduction and preface. That’s worth the price of admission for me even though this is a library book.
Here are some cool ideas from it: “Nationalism is first and foremost paranoia, individual and collective paranoia. As collective paranoia it is the product of envy fear and primarily the result of a loss of individual consciousness … If an individual feels unable to ‘express himsel’ within th frame work of the social order either because it fails to encourage him as an individual—in other words, stands in the way of his self-fulfillment—and he feels obliged to seek fulfillment outside his identity or the prevailing social structures” then shit happens.
Oops that last part was me. More from Danilo Kiš:
“The nationalist is by definition an ignoramus. Thus, nationalism is the path of least resistance, the easy way out.”
“Nationalism is the ideology of banality. It is a totalitarian ideology.”
You get the idea.
Sontag says this about Danilo Kiš in her introduction: Danilo Kiš was “one of those writrs who are first of all readers, who prefer dawdling and grazing and blissing out in the Great Library and surrender to their vocation only when the urge to write becomes too unbearable.”
I think might slightly apply to someone like myself who is grappling with a new vocation that omits church.
Eileen and I picked up our new hearing aides today. It’s probably going to take some getting used to. Right now it’s like the treble is turned up on everything. Consequently, my piano sounds very tinny. Yuck.
The cool thing is that they are Blutooth. This means I can use them as buds, telephone as well as listening to podcasts and music. I haven’t hooked them up yet. I’m waiting until the highs cool down a bit which is what they are supposed to do.
They are adjustable by hand. When we return they’ll set us up with a phone app. In the mean time they look quite adjustable by hand.
They are not obvious looking at all. I’m finding them uncomfortable at first.
I think it’s pretty crazy that a definitive edition of Emily Dickinson’s poetry was so slow in forthcoming. Susan Howe has helped me understand the issues. Many of the editions and volumes available up until recently applied different and even whimsical standards to getting Dickinson’s poetry on a printed page, making what look like arbitrary decisions.
This may sound a bit extreme but I have been reading Emily Dickinson’s Poems: As She Preserved Them edited by Christiane Miller. When Dickinson was 28 years old she seems to have bound poems in small packets the scholars call fascicles. Miller’s edition seems to be most the annotated of these and other poems that Dickinson seemed to be preserving in one way or another from then on.
For example, the first sheet in Miller’s edition Miller and R. W. Franklin another editor divide into three smaller poems. Thomas H. Jackson retains the three as one poem.
Here’s Miller’s edition.
On the left is a picture of the page in the fascicle. On the right is Miller’s rendition of it. By the way, I love “In the name of the Bee–/And of the Butterfly—/ And of the Breeze—Amen!
In addition to this, Dickinson provided optional words and rewrite in some of these versions. These are usually ignored in many renditions. Howe is the one who turned me on to this. She says the best way to read Dickinson is in the facsimile editions.
This retails at $294 dollars on Amazon. Even Howe thinks this is too expensive for the average reader. But Miller’s edition is only $37.80 on Amazon. I have the library’s edition right now and have only begun examining it. Not exactly ready to own.
I’m almost done with Lyndall Gordon’s biography of the family. I quit reading it a while back because Dickinson died and there still quite a bit of book to go and I was mostly interested in her. Now, I’m interested in the whole preservation of her poems. The story is quite complicated. Dickson’s brother Austin was quite a loser. He screwed around on Susan his wife and did so with Mabel Todd, an ambitious (and admittedly brilliant) woman who had designs not only Austin but getting her hands on Dickinson’s work. This descends into a battle between Susan Dickinson and Mabel Todd.
Then Austin’s daughter by his marriage, Mattie, and the daughter of Mabel Todd, his lover, carry this spat well into the 20th century. It’s helpful to know this back story while trying to sort out Dickinson’s poetry beyond bastardizations in editions.
And it is such lovely and powerful poetry.
While I’m being intolerable I’d like to go on record how lucky and even a bit guilty I feel over how I am living my life now. My sense of well being is general. I am drilling down on understand the history of enslaved people in this country and the multitude of natives a mind boggling number of the latter and active and have fascinating stuff for me to learn.
The guilt is irrational. Never having to look back at church music is such a freeing thought. Sometimes despite that I get little twinges like when the notifications on my phone go off as they did this morning and I have a horrible little premonition that Grace is contacting me to fill in last minute. I don’t think they would ask this and I like to think I would instantly demur, but it’s a weird notion after five months of not working in church stuff.
In Playing Indian by Deloria, I learned about another practice of blackface besides it repugnant American practice. In England, to hunt game was a gentleman’s prerogative. Part of a poacher’s strategy was blacken his face so as to not be recognized. This eventually led to the Black Act of 1723. Deloria sees these people as figurative and probably literal ancestors of White settlers who disguised themselves as “Indians” for various acts including civil disobedience like the Boston Tea Party.
In the course of checking this stuff out online, I learned that the words “mask” and “masquerade” share a probably etymology: French mâchurer (Cotgrave, 1611) to daub, to black the face, Catalan mascara soot, black smear (end of 14th cent.), Portuguese mascarra stain, smut (16th cent.), mascarrar to daub, to smear (1813). (from the OED under the etymology of mascaret, n)
This meme was circulating on Facebook. I like the quote but wasn’t sure it was authentic. It’s actually in Gould’s wikipedia article complete with citation. Cool.
Today is the 22nd birthday of my oldest grandchild, Nicholas. I miss flying out and spending time with the California branch. He and I texted back and forth today.
More books in the mail yesterday.
My copy of Susan Howe’s Singularities reminded me that next time I need to check and make sure the book is unmarked. This book is marked up in places.
Since Howe likes to mix it up on the page, extra marks from previous readers make it more difficult to decipher. Sheesh. The other books were in much better condition.
Talking to my therapist today I realized that all my reading about Native Americans are interior preparation for my next compositional project. The copy of The Art of Tradition that came in the mail yesterday is pristine. One thing I like about this book and the research is that it was way ahead of its time. The authors understood Native American traditions and expressions as a work in progress. This went against the grain of anthropologists and their ilk. It was so contrary that though it was finished in 1955, it is only recently available. It seems to be much clearer and helpful to think about Natives as real people with a living practice not one stuck in some idealized and misunderstood past.
The antinomian controversy, 1636-1638: A documentary history edited by David Hall was in excellent condition although obviously an older book. The original flyleaf is pasted inside the front cover. It has a good explanation of this book:
“This volume brings together the core documents in the Antinomian Controversy, the theological-turned-political disputation of 1636-1638 that shook Puritan Massachusetts to its roots, led to the defeat of one governor an the election of another, affected the relations between England and New England for years, determined the shape of Puritanism for the next century, and established Anne Hutchinson’s popular reputation as a martyr in the cause of intellectual freedom.”
I have already read extensively in the library copy. I find the transcripts of Hutchinson’s trial are riveting. I can picture all these intimidating white leaders grilling Hutchinson. Her replies are a model of coherence and confidence.
Elizabeth brought a new book with her on Wednesday, Alice Neel: People Come First. I had never head of Neel but Elizabeth helped me understand her genius. Yesterday morning we talked about Elizabeth’s art class and Alice Neel. I love to chat about stuff like this.
The book was issued as a catalog to a show at the Met last year. The paintings in it are beautiful and startling.
This is a self portrait by Neel
Elizabeth brought the book to use with her class. Cool beans!
I continue to bounce around different styles of music. What I used to call classical music seems to have taken a huge step out of the spotlight. Major newspapers don’t necessarily have people on the beat of that kind of music so much any more. My guess is that for so long academic music dominated the music beats that now people like the NYT cultural critic, Wesley Morris, have only pop music on their horizon. This was the guy who wrote the music chapter of The 1619 Project: A New Origin Story (the book) and did the 1619 podcast episode on the same subject.
I read about half of his chapter before returning to reading straight through. I suspect that this collection of essays is very uneven.
Nikole Hannah-Jones with Henry Louis Gates, Jr.
Nichole Hannah Jones is who created the original project and then is credited as having “created” the book version. She is a Pulitzer prize winning journalist and teacher. But I found her essay which is the first one a weird blend of personal anecdote and sweeping assertions. I hasten to say that I am very supportive of the idea of broadening the historical discussion to include stuff that has been omitted by white historians. However I did notice that Jones’ footnotes in this essay were often to newspaper articles. Her citations disappointed me in that they did not point me to new sources to consider. But I will read the entire work eventually.
But to get back to the weirdness of thinking about music styles.
Jean Baudrillard’s Selectedd Writings came in the mail today. Though I picked up on Baudrillard from Gerald Vizenor’s Fugitive Poses, his (Baudrillard’s) ideas on commodification of society quickly made me think of my own weird love of commercial music AND other kinds of music. Part of my struggle with commercial music is that I believe that it’s primary purpose is probably to get itself consumed and this often is the basis of its design. This makes it sometimes feel dishonest to me and consequently not very attractive to me who loves music.
Maybe this is the inevitable bigotry of old age, but when I examine commercial music of my own past though I know that the musicians I admire like the Beatles and James Brown and on and on were definitely in it for the money the music does not feel fundamentally dishonest to me. I just use my own built-in bullshit gauge.
When I am considering music that is new to me, I can tell whether I like it or not. And that is the biggest question. Music I like seems to include music that is many different styles. I think sometimes that I fail to connect to music because I am most interested in how it sounds. But commercial music sometimes seems to be a sort of celebrity thing where what is being sold is a persona not necessarily a sound.
A couple of days ago I suggested that Eileen and I send flowers to ourselves this year. Usually I try to be sneaky about it but that is harder during Covid restrictions. She smiled and said that she had already ordered flowers for me but it could count for both us. They just came. Note the daisies. At our wedding we gathered wild daisies for the flowers. So we try to give them to each other when we can.
Another cold day in Michigan. I spoke to my son, David, who is living in California today. He said it was 80 degrees there. Life is rough. But I do like Michigan.
It’s hard to explain to people how good my life is right now. But I do enjoy it: reading and practicing. Each day is another gift of life if you don’t mind me being a little smarmy about it. But it is true. I enjoy living with Eileen. And I love reading and thinking.
I guess I don’t have much to say today. Red letter day, eh?
Eileen is handling our finances now. She has been just a little concerned that I might be spending money too fast. This is quite probable because before she asked me about I was paying little attention to how much money I was spending. I was enjoying buying things for people as well as spending money at the local bookstore.
But I am trying not to spend money so quickly. Today I asked her if I could buy some used books. That way I could them cheaper. That would be good. I couldn’t buy them from the local bookstore. That wouldn’t be as good. But I think I’m going to do that. At least as long as Eileen wants me to moderate my spending.
And I am quite spoiled. I know that if I was only able to read books that are already in the house I probably wouldn’t live long enough to run out of books.
But still I’m going to order some books if I can get them cheaply enough.
time passes
I just ordered 6 books used. Total bill: 89.17. I’m too lazy to figure out how much money I saved by buying used but 6 books for 90 bucks is considerably less than if I purchased them new. They are:
1. The Antinomian Controversy, 1636-1638: A Documentary Hall, David D., Ed. 2. Fugitive Poses : Native American Indian Scenes of Absence and Presence Author: Vizenor, Gerald Robert 3. Art of Tradition: Sacred Music, Dance, and Myth of Michigan’s Anishinaabe, 1946-1955 Author: Gertrude Kurath, Jane Ettawageshik, Michael D. McNally 4. My Emily Dickinson Author: Howe, Susan 5. Singularities (Wesleyan Poetry Series) Author: Howe, Susan 6. The Birth-mark: unsettling the wilderness in American literary history Author: Howe, Susan
I have already read two of the Howe books and am reading library copies of the first three. Of course, I double checked with Eileen before closing the deal and she gave her okay. I am truly spoiled.
It’s not as easy to retire as you might think. I’m coming up on six months since I retired. I am easing into being more and more my true self. I monitor myself for compulsions. Since I can basically do most of what I want to do, I notice closely when I feel that I “should” be something. Most of these compulsions are left over from my previous un-retired life. Most of them do not apply to who I am now.
I would probably listen more closely to the old compulsion to continue to improve my musical skills. But I know that my skills of executing music are ebbing a bit in the face of my hands shrinking. So I haven’t done much technique practice since retiring. Unless I can get my hands fixed (which is something Eileen keeps saying I should look into again), it seems weird to throw myself deeply into maintaining and improving my basic music skills.
The freedom that I was hoping for has been very gradual in coming. At the same time I think I am rapidly changing my understanding of myself. In a good way. I have been interested in growing and changing, but this change is very fundamental.
First of all, rabbit holes are available. By rabbit hole I mean the ability to follow distractions and curiosities in a way that is difficult when trying to do all the stuff I think I needed to do when I had a job.
And now I can follow multiple rabbit holes. In the back of mind a composition is rattling around. Probably more than one. But in the foreground is seeking a better understanding of the country where I live. When I was working it felt justified to read books about music and church stuff. Now I feel justified in basically reading whatever I want to. Right now this includes Fugitive Poses by Gerald Vizenor. But he’s only one of several books I am reading about native Americans.
This reading is contributing to my thinking about using traditions like native American and African American and Appalachian in my composition. I am rapidly coming to an understanding of what it means to appropriate traditions. Vizenor has taught me that my understanding of the “other” in my country has more to do with the dominant cultural understanding than any clear picture of people who are coming from these points of view.
This is helpful to me and has been so in many ways.
In addition I have been thinking a lot about my extended family of origin and how I fit in to it. Vizenor, Stein and others (especially poets) have helped me see myself a little more clearly and to take responsibility for my self in as many ways as possible.
I usually wonder how I fit in to the story of my family. I wonder this because so many times in my life I haven’t seem to do so. Since I’m not unhappy with who I am at this point, it’s helpful to consider that much if not of all of my disconnectedness has more to do with how others both within and without of my family system have attempted to define me, often as “other.” This kind of defining has come more from people around me than myself since I see myself so differently.
Our internet was down for a bit yesterday. It’s discouraging how dependent one gets on the stupid thing. I called the Comcast robot in charge. She offered to text me when it came back which she did. I was reduced to taking out books to look up stuff instead of lazily googling. I was able to find my look ups in real books. Think of that.
Eileen and I watched Alex while Elizabeth taught her art class. I guess it’s sort of a painting class right now. Their model has religion. He was talking about God to the class causing a few eye rolls (according to Elspeth). He was born in England to Jamaican parents. Apparently not as obnoxious as some religious types.
Alex seemed to have remembered that she needs to ask me early in the visit (before martini time) to go to the upstairs music room. This is the room which now houses the harpsichord, the congas, and the marimba. There are other instruments laying around as well including several recorders, banjo, and guitars. Alex does not like to be up there by herself other wise she would have pretty much free rein. I don’t blame her for not wanting to be alone sometimes at this stage of her life. Her life has been quite an adventure so far and must be a bit disconcerting at times. She is a bright little thing.
So upstairs we went. I’m not sure quite what her attraction is other than the novelty of the musical instruments. She quickly tires of playing the marimba. Yesterday I put the congas on the stand which allows them a nice ring. I play too of course. I have been playing a movement of a Bach violin unaccompanied sonata on the marimba for her the last couple of times we were in the room together. Also Spanish Eyes keeps bubbling up from old memory. And we do some improvising. She seemed to get that the congas make a better sound on the rack than on the floor.
Before long we were back downstairs and I played some kids songs on the piano always checking in to see if she recognized stuff like “If I only had a brain.” She knew most of my repertoire and we all did some singing. Eileen and Alex did some dancing but dancing is hard to do when one is playing the piano.
Eileen and Alex began some elaborate pretend stuff. This may have been before the singing. But I was able to pass Alex on to Eileen and do some reading which is not always easy when Alex is in the house. It helps to put my ear phones on.
I do like it when Elizabeth and Alex spend the night and I can have some time with Elizabeth in the morning before they go home. There was a lot of processing Bob Daum’s funeral, some verbal (Elizabeth) and some nonverbal (Alex). It’s a complex family system with three families from Bob’s three widows. Only his current widow was at the funeral but Diane the first wife was around afterwards to help identify people in the pictures they shared with each other. Apparently they told each other all the stories about Bob some of which are not particularly flattering. I even witnessed some of these events when I met him at Jeremy’s graduation from Washington U with his J.D.
I have been spending quite a bit of time with Brahms late solo piano works. These are gems and my hands haven’t completely quite functioning so I can sort of play them. It’s ironic to lose facility at this stage of the game since my keyboard skills only really improved in the last couple of decades. I haven’t been working on technique at all. My playing is largely for my own satisfaction. I will have to confront if I have enough skill to play with people if I get that urge. It has occurred to me that my skills are quite diminished and may not exactly be up to some fun chamber music like stuff. I’ll have to write some easy stuff if I get the urge.
Bob’s last wife Susan had a daughter, Shannon Vavra, before she married Bob. Vavra is a professional journalist and did some hustling to get Bob’s obit in the Tribune. In fact, she wrote an obit but the Tribune insisted on rewriting it. Jeremy thought they probably made it a little worse which is believable when you read it.
Eileen and I watched the Zoom funeral. Shannon stood next to Susan as she gave her eulogy.
I have been finding my reading more and more absorbing. Gerald Vizenor and Gertrude Stein are charming me. I have added them to my other daily readings. This takes up quite a bit of time each day. Time spent in pleasure and learning. From Stein I am learning to rethink families. In The Making of Americans she slowly but surely documents how individuals are in families and how traits and behavior move through individuals. These traits and behavior are embedded in a never ending dance of emphasis or fading. It has helped me thinking about my family.
Vizenor has also helped me in this way. I am beginning to understand that the “other” is a creation of the dominant group of people. It is easy to see in natives. As the colonizers pushed people from their land and redefined them as “noble savages” at best and non humans to be exterminated at worst, it’s easy to see that this about the colonizers themselves. Part of the insights of Vizenor is that natives who remain connected to themselves as natives end up easier understood in terms of a post modern understanding of what has happened and is happening in America from the point of view of the “other.”
So much of the history of America is about refashioning the stories to fit the dominant discourse.
Vizenor quotes Hayden White (Tropics of Discourse). White “argues … that ‘in general there has been a reluctance to consider historical narratives as what they most manifestly are: verbal fictions, the contents of which are as much invented as found and the forms of which have more in common with their counterparts in literature than they have with those in sciences.’
Verbal fictions. A good name for much historical thinking and writing.
As I begin to see indians as a creation of the people who conquered them, it’s easy to see African Americans in a similar way. After all the caricature of the Minstrel Show was invented by white people. The racialization of the people who were brought here and enslaved is something done to them, not by them.
This is a simple insight but it fits into my own attempt to understand my own connection to the “other.”
If I have been misunderstood in my life as a bit of a misfit or a one of kind weirdo this is something that was done to me not by me. Of course I exacerbate this little dance partly out of survival but admittedly out of mild narcissism.
Scapegoats are created by communities for a reason.
If I think about how white nationalism is returning to America it helps to think of people creating “others” to despise and revile and repress for the needs of themselves and a dominant culture.
My own position as misfit is a mild thing compared to the terrible things that are done to the “other.”
As Vizenor and Stein help me understand my life I continue to examine my ongoing role in my extended family.
Of course this also reinforces my sense of well being and gratefulness at how my life has proceeded and is proceeding now in retirement.
On a crankier note, I am having trouble getting through Nico Muhly’s BBC Inside the Musicshow. Muhly is a young composer I have paid some attention to as a church musician. His choices for his show have been putting me off as has his own comments about the music. Click above and listen for yourself if you’re curious. I found Julie Fowlis’s show (no longer available) representative of someone who obviously loved music. I learned stuff from her. Muhly show seems to be about his paltry ambitions to connect with stuff and disguises his own preferences. At least that’s what I got out of it.
Granted I’m not getting more tolerant of this sort of thing in my old age.
I have been playing piano a bit less. I hope it’s not as a result of the continually gradual worsening of my dupuytren’s contracture. It’s not getting better but I wasn’t expecting it to. Today I did play some Haydn. Yesterday I played from the Fitzwillian Virginal Book. Before that I played Brahms.
I have been spending a lot of time with Gerald Vizenor. I am being drawn into the maelstrom of his ideas and stories. The ideas are complex and connect a set of his own word coinage and usage to the semiotic and philosophical ideas of people like Foucault and Derrida—-to mention only a couple…. he also references Nabakov, Nietzsche, Che Guevara, Thomas Jefferson, and Jerzy Kosinksi. It’s going to be a while until I wrap my head around his thoughts. But until I do here’s another of his stories.
Before I type it here you need to know that Clement in this story is Clement William Vizenor, Vizernor’s father.
As far as the use of lowercase and italicized indian, here’s one of Vizenor’s comments: “The simulation of the indian, lowercase and italics, is an ironic name in Fugitive Poses. The Indian with an initial capital is a commemoration of an absence—evermore that double absence of simulations by names and stories. My first use of the italicized indian as a simulation was in The Everlasting Sky. The natives in that book were the oshski anishinaabe, or the new people
[here Vizenor footnotes his own book: The Everlasting Sky: New Voices of the People Named the Chippewa (New York: Crowell-Collier, 1972) he goes on with this explanation in the footnote: “Before you begin listening to the oshki anishinaabe speaking in this book, please write down a short definition of the word indian,” he wrote in the introduction, “Your brief organization of thoughts about the word indian will help you understand the problems of identity among tribal people who are burdened with names invented by the dominant society.”]
Then he finishes off his remarks about the word indian: “Since then, natives are the presences, and indians are simulations, a derivative noun that manes an absence, in my narratives.”
Whew!
Here’s the story.
“Clement, his brothers, and other natives in urban areas were indians by simulation, transethnic by separation, but native in the stories of their survivance. One contractor refusted to hire my father and uncles as house painters because they were indians; the contractor reasoned that indians never lived in houses, and therefore would not know how to paint one. Consequently, my father, uncles, and other natives had to present themselves to subsequent contractors as some other emigrant; at last my father and uncles were hired to paint houses as Italians.”
All quotes from Gerald Vizenor’s Fugitive Poses.
Vizenor quotes from such a wide range of authors that I thought should try to get copies of a couple of books to help me understand what Vizenor was getting at. The first was Homo poeticus : essays and interviews by Danilo Kiš.
This was in the MelCat catalog which means I could interlibrary loan it which I did.
The second book was Jean Baudrillard : selected writings edited and introduced by MarkPoster
This was in the MelCat Catalog but was not available for interlibrary loans. It was only 20 bucks on Amazon so I just ordered the damn thing. I made a note where he quoted from these and the page numbers he indicated. I hope this helps me understand this stuff better.
I said yesterday I was feeling overwhelmed with all the books I’m trying read. So of course I logged off and pulled out The Making of Americans by Gertrude Stein and started reading it for the umpteenth time.
It wasn’t just because it was her birthday yesterday. I have been thinking of getting back to this book for a while. I continue to grapple with the insane history of America. I know that I have a fierce connection to being American that comes to me largely through my own life and the arts and learning about the terrible things that are part of our heritage. So Stein is a logical choice. She lived in Paris by like so many expats intensified her own relationship to her country. I have been curious where she takes this story. Maybe this time I’ll stick with the book longer.
Eileen had a Zoom breakfast with her group of women who all sang in the alto section of the Grace choir when I was the director. They have continued to seek each other out for conversation even though they are not all part of the choir now. For that matter, Eileen reports that the choir has not been rehearsing. I try not to pay attention to what is happening at Grace so I don’t really know what the deal is. But I think this kind of connection is excellent and I told Eileen today I am jealous of this kind of connection since I haven’t been able to establish much of this while living in Holland Michigan.
It’s not all me. I have reached out many times trying to establish friendships or connections and have been rebuffed or fizzled out time and time again. This does not include Rhonda, Jordan, or my piano trio people. But I am amused to mull over attempts that I have made that have come to naught. I do wonder if this is connected to my own strong demands on people I have relationships with. Or is it another case of not quite looking and acting the part and once again being under estimated or even misunderstood? I am lucky to have someone as strong as Eileen to be a companion. I know it’s not always easy for her.
I exercised while Eileen was on the Zoom call. We had breakfast before the call. Today is also when we try to connect with Sarah in England so we did that as well. It was a lot of time for Eileen to be in front screens talking with people but I think she enjoys it all.
I am trying to finish Timon of Athens by Shakespeare so I can move on to Coriolanus. I noticed recently that T. S. Eliot wrote a poem entitled Coriolan (his spelling) and wanted to read the play before checking out his poem which I have already read at least once but don’t recall. Also his essay, “Hamlet and his problems” beckons. Apparently he declares Coriolanus superior to Hamlet. Who knows.
It was six degrees when I got up this morning. But no snow accumulation. When I went out to put up the flag and get the newspaper the air was so cold it hurt a little bit to inhale. I recognize that feeling. Living in Michigan most of my life I have been exposed to some extreme weather. When I was courting Eileen I did quite a bit of fishing including ice fishing. You can stay pretty warm outside despite extreme cold. You have to wear layers including long underwear and you must at all costs stay dry. If you do that it’s surprising how well one can stay relatively warm outdoors.
Of course I haven’t been ice fishing in a long time. But I am finding myself very appreciate of the little bit of outdoors around my house. I have been following how our milk weed plants refuse to die in the winter and manage to stay beautiful in snow with wispy seeds dangling but not detaching. I watch birds at our bird feeder and notice their sounds when I am outside. The air was clear and the sky deeply blue this morning when I was out.
One of the first things Eileen said this morning was how lucky we are to have a warm house. Soon after that she pointed out that since Alex’s Grandpa Bob died on Tuesday I am now the last living grandpa in our extended family. Nice.
Today was my biweekly appointment with Dr. Birky. I came out of the appointment feeling good. Birky usually leaves me in that space. Poor guy. Today when he asked me what was going on in my life he got an earful of Gerald Vizenor and Susan Howe. I finished two books by Howe yesterday: Concordance and The Birth-Mark. The next book by Howe I want to read is My Emily Dickinson.
But I’m feeling a bit overwhelmed right now with all the books I have going. It’s not the time to even interlibrary loan My Emily Dickinson. But it’s definitely in my future.
This afternoon Eileen and I watched Bob Daum’s funeral via Zoom. Wow. Zoom takes an already awful experience like a funeral and makes it ten times worse. The sound was terrible. The “prelude” seemed to be some kind of a device stuck in front of a terribly microphone. It was distorted beyond any semblance of coherence. Apparently Daum was fond of classical music. I didn’t know that but I didn’t have much contact with him. At the end of the ceremony they played a recording of a Beethoven piano sonata. Again awful sound.
It reminded me that I am pleased to be estranged from all things church. The service was at a funeral home. It was decorated in a sort of sixties miniature church architecture. Eileen’s goal was to see Elizabeth and Alex if they were there. She missed them when they were briefly on camera. She went back and replayed the video of the occasion to see Elizabeth.
At first I wasn’t going to watch but it seemed sort of disrespectful to not do so. Jeremy seemed the most collected of all the family members talking. I know he is used to speaking under duress (and often in another language). He handled himself very well in my opinion. That is, what I could understand of what he is saying despite the bad audio.
I have been reading my way through Joy Harjo’s collection, When the Light of the World was Subdued, Our Songs Came Through: A Norton Anthology of Native Nations Poetry. This morning when I grabbed it to read a poem I noticed in the bio, the poet, Kimberly M. Blaisser, had written a book on Vizenor entitled Gerald Vizenor: Writing in the Oral Tradition.
I felt a little satisfactory chills and appreciation of another incident of serendipity in my life and made a note of the title for future checking out.
Here are a couple of quotes by Vizenor for today:
“[A] sense of self is a creation, an aesthetic presence; the self is not an essence, or an immanence, but the mien of stories.”
I really like that. He added this quote himself: “The self is a narrative construed ‘not as a prelinguistic given that merely employs language, much as we might employ a tool, but rather as a product of language.’ “
The quote is credited to Anthony Paul Kerby in his 1991 book Narrative and Subjectivety.
Elizabeth and Alex left this morning. They are driving back to Delton to grab some stuff and coming to Grand Rapids and catching a plane around 4 PM. They will land at the Reagan Airport in D.C. where Elizabeth has already booked a room and a car. Jeremy will join them there. Jeremy’s Dad died Tuesday after a long debilitating illness. Jeremy’s brother Michael was there when he died. The rest of the family has quickly gathered there. Jeremy flew over on Wednesday. This has been long expected but it doesn’t make it any easier for everyone.
Eileen and I went to the hearing aid people on Wednesday. We have very good insurance and if we go through the right people (TruHearing) we can both get a set of hearing aids for about $1400 each. They list at about $5k. They should arrive in about a week and then we will go get fitted. Ah, old age!
I had a nice chat with Elizabeth over coffee before she left this morning. She was up last night booking all the stuff for today. I admire her energy and fortitude. I do enjoy those little moments when I can sit and listen to her. It’s not as easy as it sounds since Alex like most seven year olds takes up most of the oxygen in the house when she is here.
I am enjoying getting into Gerald Vizenor’s work. I am carefully rereading the introduction to Fugitive Poses. As I was telling Elizabeth this morning that since Vizenor is in his eighties, I am processing a lifetime of astute and astounding Native American perspective and a parallel and related path of journalism and scholarship.
I was tickled to see that I already had a book by him in my library.
The Heirs of Columbus looks to be a fun read. Wikipedia tells me it’s one of fourteen novels he has published. I hope I continue to feel so enthusiastic about this man and his work. That’s a lot of novels plus his other works that will provide me a lot of enjoyment.
While thumbing through The Heirs of Columbus I recognized a story he told at the lecture. Here’s how he told it in his novel.
“The Anishinaabe … remember that Naanabozho, the compassionate tribal trickster who created the earth, had a brother was a stone: a bear stone, a human stone, a shaman stone, a stone, a stone, a stone.
“Naanabozho was the first human born in the world, and the second born, his brother, was a stone. The trickster[Naanabozho] created the new earth with wet sand. He stood on his toes as high as he could imagine, but the water rose closer to his nose and mouth. He would dream without a mouth or a nose, but he would never leave the world to the evil gambler and his dark water. The demons in the water caused him to defecate, and with pleasure, but his shit would not leave; several turds floated near his mouth and nose.
“Naanabozho was at the highest point on the earth and could not move, so he invented meditation with trickster stories and liberated his mind over his own excrement. The trickster created this New World with the sand a muskrat held in her paws.” from The Heirs of Columbus by Gerald Vizenor
Again I’m in the position of wanting to write quickly so that I can spend time reading. It looks like Gerald Vizenor is my flavor of the month. He is amazing. I find it difficult to say exactly why since his ideas are so wide ranging. In the introduction to Fugitive Poses he draws on time as a visiting professor at Tianjin University. While there he taught The Red Pony and Being There. He ran into some censorship problems since the only way for him to get his students access to books was to have a few pages photocopied to be read each day in class. This allowed the censors to monitor every word he was having them read. The photocopier “broke down” around page 90 in Being There due to some explicit sexual description.
Two pages later he describes provoking a censorious reaction in Elaine Kim, chair of The Comparative Ethnic Studies Department at the University of California, Berkeley. Shadow Distance: A Gerald Vizenor Reader was featured in a locked glass cabinet where faculty and their recent publications were displayed.
Kim ordered the removal of the book cover because, “I feel an obligation to the women of this department who are always subjected to sexual harassment in the media. I to am sick of naked ladies—and men too, for that matter–in the media.”
Here is Vizenor’s description of the above cover: “The cover of Shadow Distance is a color reproduction of an original painting by German artist Dirk Görtler. The expressionistic montage of totemic and trickster scenes from Bearheart [a novel by Vizeno], on the right, a portrait of the author an a Conoco truck stop sign in front of a bear. An androgynous nude trickster figure faces the bear, the omega letter is painted on the back of the trickster. The word muralts, a neologism, mounted on the truck stop sign over the head of the trickster, and omega, the end, are ironic, not erotic.”
There’s more by Vizenor but he did not include a picture of the book as I have.
Two pages later Vizenor sent me scrambling to get my Modern Library Thomas Jefferson as he delves in some detail in Jefferson’s odd contradictory writings both about Native Americans and Blacks.
I’m only on page twenty of this book and my head is reeling.
Vizenor combines an amazing erudition with the perspective of the trickster and he calls them: “storiers.”
Just for fun I have linked the lecture I listened to this morning to begin with a couple stories he tells during the Q and A.
It’s a rainy afternoon in Holland, Michigan. They say snow is on its way but we’ll have to wait and see. I am almost to Act V of Timon of Athens by Shakespeare. I don’t think I’ve read it before. Timon has crashed and burned, being a rich citizen who gave too much of his money to friends and ends up digging in the dirt, destitute and scorned by all who exploited him and took his largess. At least that’s where he is at the end of Act IV.
If I understand correctly, this play was never performed in Shakespeare’s time. And many critics I consult seem to think it’s one of his weaker plays. But I am liking it. I guess I identify a little bit with Timon. Mostly he’s wonderfully bitter. I like that.
That’s our guy, Timon.
I just checked and his name is pronounced TAI-mon. I have been wondering exactly how to say it. I did TAI-mon some of the time, but not confidently.
I did get in the car and drive to the library to return some books and pick up Fugitive Poses: Native American Indian Scenes of Absence and Presence by Vizenor. Vizenor is an Anishinabe critic and novelist. “The Anishinaabeg are a group of culturally related indigenous peoples present in the Great Lakes region of Canada and the United States” according to Wikipedia. Anishinaabeg is the plural form. The authors of The Art of Tradition: Sacred Music, Dance & Myth of Michigan’s Anishinaabe, 1946-1955 have used this term as an umbrella for the Ojibwe, Odawa, and Potawatomi people living in the Michigan lower peninsula. But Wikipedia says it covers more than these three.
The inscriptions for the Vizenor book are interesting. The first one is a quote from Kafka’s “The Wish to Be a Red Indian.”
“If one were only an Indian, instantly alert, and on a racing horse, leaning against the wind, kept on quivering jerkily over the quivering ground, until one shed one’s spurs, for there needed no spurs, threw away the reins, for there needed no reins, and hardly saw that the land before one was smoothly shorn heath when horse’s neck and head would be already gone.” Kafka
I think that might be the entire piece. Kafka has done a lot of little pieces like this.
There are several of these at the beginning of the book. Besides Kafka they are drawn from The Trouble with Being Born by E. M. Cioran, The Little Book of Unsuspected Subversion by Edmond Jabès, In Bluebeard’s Castle by George Steiner, The Work of Fire by Maurice Blanchot, The Agony of Flies by Elias Canetti, and The Names by N. Scott Momaday. It’s quite a list.
I’m wanting to go read about Timon of Athens and read some of Vizenor before my evening martini. In the meantime here’s one more of the lovely quotes at the beginning of Vizenor’s book.
“In general, the writer seems to be subjected to a state of inactivity because he is the master of the imaginary, and those who follow him into the realm of the imaginary lose sight of the problems of their true lives. But the danger he represents is much more serious. The truth is that he ruins action, not because he deals with what is unreal but because he makes all of reality available to us. Unreality begins with the whole.” The Work of Fire by Maurice Blanchot.
I signed up for a free three month trial today for Amazon Music. I have not been very happy with Spotify. I have many complaints not the least of which is the amount information they routinely do not provide for recordings. When Neil Young and Joni Mitchell took a stand against Josh Rogan and withdrew their entire collection it gave me pause. They are actually two that I do listen to quite a bit on Spotify. Usually Amazon Music only offers a month free trial but they have upped and it’s hard not to guess that it’s because of the Spotify controversy.
What I would love is a good classical music service. This morning after I signed on for the three month trial I was in the mood to listen to Brahms. Poof. Easy peasy. Then I checked Young and Mitchell recordings. Sooprise. Sooprise. There they were.
Yesterday I skipped blogging. I got up late and went right to work making bread. I did a Shipt order and spent the rest of the day goofing off.
I noticed recently that I have been letting my unread copies of the Sunday New York Times Book Review accumulate. I decided to fix that by going through them and clipping reviews that interest me and that recommend books I might want to look at. This takes time which is probably part of why I have gotten behind.
I find the differences between printed papers I look at and online access significant. We get the Holland Sentinel daily and the New York Times on Sundays. I tend to read both of them online instead of in person. Eileen reads the Sentinel over breakfast. I read the online version then as well. We compare notes and find many differences. Mostly in terms of what the paper presents on its front page and the order and coherence of presentation of the online app.
Yesterday Jamel Bouie had an article in the Opinion Section. I wanted to read it since he is someone I follow and pay attention to what they have to say. However the headline in the paper didn’t draw me in. Is Slavery An Evil Beyond Measure? it proclaimed on the front page of the section. Well sure it is. The subtitle clarified a bit but I didn’t look closely at it: “Data science is unlocking new insights about the U.S. system, but there is a danger in trying to quantify suffering.” This does a better job describing the contents of the article but it didn’t register in my pea brain.
I turned to the article and read the first paragraph which quoted a grisly description of what it was like to travel in a ship bring people to the Americas to be sold as slaves. Nope, I thought and turned Viet Thanh Nguyen’s article, “A Disturbing Book Changed My Life.” Nguyen is someone whose fiction I have read and admired so I was already sold when I saw his name on an essay as the author.
Nguyen’s essay did not disappoint. He has a great mind and I like his prose.
But again there was a discrepancy between Nguyen’s headline in the printed paper and what’s online.
Also when I bookmarked the page there was a third variation.
Nguyen’s headlines “A Disturbing Book Changed My Life.” printed version “My Young Mind Was Disturbed by a Book. It Changed My Life.” the title online Opinion | What the Battle Over Banning Books Is Really About – The New York Times this is what my bookmarking service, Diigo.com, automatically saw as the title for the article.
Weird.
But in Bouie’s case, the title that came up in my NYT app interested me more than the print and I decided to read the article which ended up being quite good.
Bouie’s headlines: “Is Slavery An Evil Beyond Measure? Data science is unlocking new insights about the U.S. system, but there is a danger in trying to quantify suffering.” print version “We Still Can’t See American Slavery for What It Was” title online Opinion | We Still Can’t See American Slavery for What It Was – The New York Times bookmarked title.
There’s Nothing Quite as Distressing as This Piece The pianist Paul Lewis picks his favorite page of Brahms’s late solos, a work of “abject anguish.”
This is the article that made me think I wanted to listen to some Brahms this morning. I haven’t finished it yet but I just checked the Amazon music app and the recordings in this article are available on it. By the way, the Amazon Music app is expanded beyond what comes automatically with Amazon Prime. It usually costs 7.99 a month. This is cheaper than what I pay for Spotify Premium (9.99)
Since a genius like Fanny Hensel spent her entire musical life in the shadows, it inspires me that living in the shadows musically, like I guess I do, is just fine and a worthy way to aspire to be a composer and musician.
I might as well mention my unhappiness with the music episode of the 1619 podcast here. When I first began listening to the presenter, Wesley Morris, narrate his ideas, I was discouraged that it was so anecdotal and a bit vapid. He describes spending some time a friend putting together a meal. They listened to a Pandora playlist the name of which I can’t make out. It consisted of Doobie Brothers, Seals and Croft. Morris was born in 1975 and seemed to relate to the music (as did I). Then he begins thinking about Black influence on the music he was listening to. This somehow leads him to a truncated discussion of the white invention of Minstrel Music but eventually sees Motown as a crowning achievement of Black music.
First I fact checked Morris a bit in my copy of Eileen Southern’s The Music of Black Americans (Third edition), and satisfying myself that he had indeed simplified the story tremendously (How else could you do so in a silly podcast?). Then I decided it would be only fair if I checked out his chapter in 1619 Project (the book). I learned that he can write good sentences which is no mean feat in my book. The music chapter begins much better then the podcast episode with him seeing a temporal connection between Birmingham Sunday (the senseless 1963 bombing of Street Baptist Church in Birmingham that killed young Addie Mae Collins, Cynthia Wesley, Carole Robertson, and Denise McNair) and the Motown music on the charts at the time.
This was more coherent.
Later I learned that Morris is a staff writer for the NYT magazine and critic at large for the NYT. He is the only person to be awarded the Pulitzer Prize for Criticism. And he has done so twice. It is confusing that he was asked to do the music section of this book and part of my frustration is the exclusive understanding of music as primarily popular culture and not art. I’m still reading his essay. I am expecting it to be better than the silly podcast he did.
And more importantly Adam Hochschild in his November 2021 review of the book version of the 1619 project helped me put the music comments in the larger perspective of what the book and the project accomplish. Which is quite a lot.
I am 100 per cent supportive and interested in learning the retelling and correcting of the history America’s slavery and subsequent white racism. And I have to grant that the 1619 Project had bigger fish to fry than my own love of music. Hochshild makes a very friendly, supportive, and clear-eyed critique and argues convincingly that the book and project ended up flawed but still very important. But he didn’t mention music.
So there’s that.
But I promised to mention how Virginia Woolf is helping me thinking about composing as well many other things. In my Thursday blog, I described how R. Larry Todd, the author of Fanny Hensel: the Other Mendelssohn, mentioned an essay by Woolf. His mention sent me up my stairs to see if the essay was in any of the books by Woolf I own. It wasn’t, but I did find a 1929 essay she published in Life and Letters a literary review of which I own a tattered copy.
The title of her essay is “Dr. Burney’s Evening Party.” I read it and was reminded how often Dr. Burney is cited in the biography of C. P. E. Bach I am reading. Burney was a fan of C.P.E and spent time with him. Woolf’s essay is not about C.P.E. but still it continued to expose me to how I can very modestly identify with people (women specifically) who are shunted to the side in our histories and stories. In this case, young Fanny Burney daughter of the doctor and a prolific diaries and essayist as was Burney himself. The difference is that he got all the limelight and recognition.
But this is not near as important as the inspiration I receive from the continual music of Woolf’s sentences. Here are the ones in this essay I quite like.
“But there was, one vaguely feels, something a little obtuse about Dr. Burney. The eager, kind, busy man, with his head full of music and his desk stuffed with notes, lacked discrimination.”
“To his [Burney’s] innocent mind, music was the universal specific. If there was going to be any difficulty music would solve it.
There were others but these are the only two I marked.
Susan Howe continues to inspire. Here’s a quote of her remarks in an interview regarding how she makes poetry. It rang true in my mind and reminded me of what it’s like to compose music.
“You open yourself up and let language enter, let it lead you somewhere. I never start with an intention for the subject of a poem. I sit quietly at my desk and let various things—memories, fragments, bits, pieces, scraps, sounds—let them all work into something.” Susan Howe, The Birth-Mark
I keep thinking about a composition. At this point I am thinking of a three movement suite of sorts. Probably for Marimba/Congas, Violin, Cello, and possible Keyboard. More importantly in my mind I would like to have each of these three movements connect to a particular American expression: I. Native Americans II. African Americans (Spirituals?), and III. Appalachian Americans. At this point I am not thinking of using actual pieces from these traditions. I’m more interested in honoring these traditions that I admire and see as constituent aspects of American music.
It has occurred to me that the three movements should be medium fast, slow, and quick. I am dithering about how to approach this. This kept me awake early this morning. Each movement could feature an instrument such as Marimba/Congas on the first movement, Cello on the second, and Violin on the last. I am thinking of using the Violin in a bit of a fiddle manner.
One idea I am kicking around is to write a good melody and use it thematically in each movement. I haven’t decided to never use pre-existing melodies in my compositions. But it seems that this time I want to see if I could do this without directly using material in each tradition.
My relationship to making up music has been an odd lifetime obsession. The first time I went to college I majored in Music Composition. This was at Ohio Weslyan U in Delaware. By that time I had already written tons of music. But I knew I wanted more skills to help me. But I also remember doubting how helpful college would be to me for what I had in mind. Life intervened. I ended up quitting college and playing in a friend’s bar band for money.
I was still interested in making up music (composing). I continued to do so. In retrospect I can see that I detached myself from ways of learning that might have set me more clearly in one direction or another. I never studied composition formally again. I brushed up against more formal study when I was attending Wayne State where I finally got my bachelor’s degree. But the composition guy was definitely not interested in having me for a student even though I continued to compose and perform music at Wayne State while I was there.
Back when I was in the bar band, a friend told me of an opening for a keyboard player in a fancy Detroit hotel. He said that if I was at all interested in a Jazz career I should take this rare opportunity and go for it. I understood from his explanation that when big name Jazz musicians came to Detroit this was where they would often stay and sometimes came to the venue so that any musician playing there might have a chance to go forward in that career.
This amuses me to no end in retrospect since I know that I barely had the chops to do straight Jazz at that point even if I had been interested which I was not. After I left Delaware, and was playing in bar bands and running a used book store I continued to develop as a keyboard player but not under a teacher. This development has continued my entire life. After quitting bar bands and closing the bookstore, Ray Ferguson at Wayne State helped me the most, but I still see myself as mostly self taught.
To this day I understand myself as a peculiar kind of musician. Music has been my first love and I continue to need a daily dose to this day. In addition music via church music helped me and Eileen earn enough money to raise our family and now be happily retired.
Making up music and poetry and prose are very natural acts for me even if they don’t quite fit into easily understood descriptions. The action of making music, “musicking” if you will, ends up being the important part of my life long understanding of music.
This omits self-promotion and specialized understandings of just what music is.
Susan Howe in her book Birth-Mark, describes a larger understanding of poetic and archived texts that corresponds in my mind to Christopher Small’s enlarged understanding of music. She writes: “… presenting … texts as events rather than objects, as processes rather than products, [convert] the reader from passive consumer into active participant in the genesis of the poem while at the same time calling attention to the fundamentally historical character of both the reader’s and writer’s activity.”
Howe is working toward an active action of reading in which the reader is part of the evolving process. This reminds of how it feels to sit at my piano and play. The result is a “process rather than” a product.
Next time: how Virginia Woolf and Fanny Hensel are helping me process this.
Elizabeth and Alex spent the night last evening. Elizabeth had her first art class and it sounds like it went well to me. One of the things I like about when Elizabeth visits like that is that I tend to get up and have coffee with her. This means good conversation first thing in the morning if she is amenable. Also I don’t have to face exercising and stretching right away upon arising.
I picked up a couple books on hold at the library today. Fanny Hensel: The Other Mendelssohn (2010) by R. Larry Todd is probably a book I am going to want to own. Hensel (as Todd refers to her to distinguish her from her brother whom he calls Mendelsohn) has continued to intrigue me. I only own the Dover edition of her piano music which is all Lieds for the piano. I want to get more music by her but Eileen and I have decided I should hold back on purchases for awhile so I’m not very quick to buy things as I was.
A quick glance at her page on IMSLP reveals quite a few titles that are available there so I’m not that limited.
In Todd’s introduction to his book, he mentions an essay by Virginia Woolf that interests me. It’s called Three Guineas (link to the 132 page pdf of it). It was written after Woolf’s A Room of One’s Own. He observes that Hensel is an example of what Woolf called “women who were denied their own creative space—of how in effect, history erased their voices, their identities.” Todd also says that Hensel is now “widely regarded as the most significant female composer of the nineteen century.” Cool. She definitely has chops, both as a composer and virtuosic pianist.
Jeffery Rosen, the author of the above article, continues to provoke my amazement and admiration. His organization, National Constitution Center, which is funded by Congress, continues to be a platform for excellent conversations from scholars and others. Rosen’s moderation of conflicting understandings of his guests is a wonder to behold.
Another snowy day in western Michigan. It is beautiful. My beloved milkweed plants continue to persist despite all the snow we have been having. They are in bad shape to be sure but they are still poking out of the snow. The birds and the squirrels have been fluttering around the bird feeder that we replenish from time to time. I actually did a little snow shoveling today to prepare for Elizabeth and Alex to arrive as well as the Shipt person.
Elizabeth is teaching her first art class today. She seems pretty into it. Alex is okay with hanging around at our house while she does so. They haven’t decided if they are spending the night or driving back to Delton this evening. I know both Elizabeth and Alex would probably prefer to be at their own home this evening but we’ll see what happens. I have cleared the bed in my study where I am sitting so that they can sleep in here tonight if they wish.
I continue to play and study Schubert’s Bb Piano sonata. I added some Bartok today. I have been pondering what music I am going to write. So far, still looking out the window.
Sarah now has Covid as well as Lucy. Still no dire symptoms. It seems to be sweeping the little area in England where they are living. Many kids have it. Eileen was pointing out that if Sarah and company lived here in the U.S. they would probably not be diagnosed since they don’t have many symptoms and tests are more rare. Eileen has ordered tests for us but they don’t arrive until the end of January.
I begged off digging out and going down to the beach today. We are pretty snowed in. The paper either wasn’t delivered or was swept away by the little plow that plows the sidewalks.
With Eileen’s help I enrolled in an extended dental service with my insurance today. This is timely since I am up for some pretty major dental work in March. My dentist thinks I should have a tooth removed because the area around it is mildly infected. Hard to argue with that but what a pain. Not literally a pain, since I have had this infection for a few years and no pain to speaking of. I also haven’t had the filling that fell out replaced yet and they found another cavity besides that at my last visit. I am scheduled for both of these to be fixed in March at my dentist.
I don’t see why it’s taking so long. Eileen decided she should have her teeth cleaned. She called yesterday and they scheduled her for yesterday afternoon. She walked over in the snow. It was beautiful yesterday. We put out more bird seed recently and we are being deluged with birds (and squirrels).
Today seems to be a Schubert day for me. I was listening to another BBC Inside Music program this morning. The musician who was moderating this time was the violinist, Tessa Lark.
Tessa Lark
I have never heard of her. Her choices were interesting. She hails from Kentucky and plays a bit of fiddle as well as has pretty spectacular classical credentials. She like so many including myself seems interested in integrated all kinds of music into her styles. She played a recording she made with of the movements from David Chase’s Appalachian Suite. These were written with her in mind. They are composed for solo violin and choir. I wasn’t too impressed with it. A pretty typical choral piece but with violin accompaniment.
First of all Chase titled it “This Old Hammer.” It’s really the African American song, “John Henry.” I understand that they were going for an Appalachian kind of deal but why not acknowledge the real background of this tune? I don’t mean to sound too negative about this composition. The best part was an improv that Lark introduced the movement with. She said the Chase “let her” improvise a beginning for each of his movements.
I think this is the recording she played on her Inside Music show complete with her improvised beginning.
I still prefer this version.
She played a recording of Schnabel playing the first movement to Schubert’s Piano Sonata in Bb. I have been listening to recordings of this movement over and over today. I do love it. I also began playing through it before Eileen got up this morning. I don’t usually play piano before she gets up but she has told me more than once that it’s not a bad way to start her day. She reaffirmed that this morning.
I decided to look a bit more closely at this movement. The first thing I do is number the measures. I also pulled out Charles Rosen book on Sonata Form. He refers to this movement twice in the book. I love the music and have played it over and over. My left hand continues to lose the ability to stretch well. But I so far I can still play through music I love. I have found myself leaving out superfluous notes occasionally and doing a lot of quick little rolls to play all the notes with the left hand that are written.
What I like about this movement is how beautifully Schubert seamlessly moves his ingenious melodies from key to key. As I play through the piece I usually just enjoy it, but today I started wondering about its form. Rosen says that it is a tour de force of handling a three key area exposition in a sonata allegro form. This part of the piece moves from Bb to Gb major back to Bb and then to F# minor.
It sounds so clinical to describe it like that since it really is beautiful. Notice that the two secondary key areas have an enharmonic relationship. That means that Gb is really F# on the keyboard. But once again one barely notices that when you are drawn into the beauty of the piece. Lark describes listening to this piece when she was in college. She said the wisdom of it belies the youth of the composer. Schubert only lived to be 31 years old. Google says that Lark herself is only 23 years old. She must have started studying at schools young she has a bachelors and a masters from the New England Conservatory of music plus holds an Artist Diploma (whatever that is) from Julliard.
Here she is tearing up a little bit of bluegrass. Yikes, she can certainly play.
I think she is playing Leadbelly’s Cotton Fields. Again, why not give a little credit?
My mood of doom and gloom was gone this morning for no discernible reason. I did have frustrating dreams about church and choir. Again there was no obvious reason for this. I was distressed to see that Lucy my grand daughter in England has come down with Covid. We chatted with the English group today and they all seemed in pretty high spirits and Lucy was suffering from no ill effects due to Covid. But this, of course, means they will have to alter their behavior for a while. It is likely they will all get before they’re done. Sarah and Matthew are both vaccinated. They are monitoring Alice for any signs of Covid which is complicated by the fact that she has a terrible cold.
C. P. E. Bach
I was reading the letters of C. P. E. Bach this morning. He referred to himself as “soft-hearted” when discussing his choice not to set a poem about the death of his adult son to music. This struck me as a better way for me to talk about my own over sensitive nature. I’m just “soft-hearted.” “Soft-headed” is more like it.
It snowed last night. This morning seemed like a good morning to snuggle and read. I read some more of Arvilla Smith’s diary. She and her husband eventually end up in the Holland area and work with local Indians.
Both of them kept diaries. I’m up to Arvilla’s 1838 entries. At this point, I think they are living in a place called Gull Creek not far from Kalamazoo. Arvilla’s husband, George (or Mr. S as she refers to him throughout her diaries) does not begin his diary until the year of 1838 and then very sparsely. I am planning to cross refer more now that I have reached that point in Arvilla’s dairy.
Reading diaries and letters of people is very like spending time with them. It is a comforting thing to do on such a cold and snowy day for sure.
When I was a teenager, I’m not exactly sure how old, I attended a National Youth Convention of the Church of God in Chicago. At this convention I learned the shocking fact that the denomination of my Mother and Father and Grand Parents was in fact half Black. If I had a been a Black teenager this probably would not have come as a surprise. But it certainly was to me. I don’t remember much except shock and anger at not being told this before. It may have been after this when I began sporadically showing up at Black Church of God communities in Flint where my Dad was a minister.
My main memory of this was doing so with a young woman who was mortified when I accepted an invitation to sing in the choir that Sunday. At least this is the memory I have. I’m pretty sure I didn’t invent it.
This memory occurred to me today as I was reading The 1619 Project. The past several years I have learned a lot about American history. Specifically the history of American racism. It has been a slow burn of anger and frustration as I filled in some of the holes in my understanding of America.
I remind myself that I don’t have to continue to identify with Christianity now that I’m not making my money doing music for its worship. Having said that, I notice that I continue to connect with the stories very actively, reading both Thomas Mann’s Joseph series and Moses, Man of the Mountain by Zora Neale Thurston. I like the stories and I like Mann and Thurston.
My battle fatigue with the turmoil in my country continues. I haven’t given up hope and I try to pay attention to how things are unfolding. Nevertheless, when I combine paying attention with learning how time and time again, white Americans have done terrible things to African Americans, Native Americans, and other groups it can be painful. However, I do want to have the information both current and historic.
But for some reason it has left me a bit shaken. Maybe this partly because I am so over sensitive temperamentally. But I do think that a lot of it is a logical reaction to the madness of now.
Music continues to help me. As well as reading both fiction and nonfiction daily.
I have discovered Sibelius’s third symphony thanks to Keval Shah’s Inside Music episode. So far, I am finding it rewarding to listen to a musician’s choice of music he or she likes and why. Shah played the second movement of Sibelius’s third symphony and I liked it and started listening to the whole symphony.
I left a bunch of Sibelius organ music at Grace because I never managed to like it. This may be one case where approaching a composer through music I can play on the piano or organ might not be quite the ticket. Most composers I love left me music to play on the keyboard. This kind of one on one with music is very much how Bach approached much of his keyboard music. Much Bach was written specifically to be played for the edification of the keyboard player as well as listeners but primarily for that wonderful moment of contact with the player and the music and the composer in a intimate beautiful connection of enjoyment.
So music does help. Today I have played some Beethoven and Haydn. My hands continue to worsen but not so much that I can’t eke out the music. I am sometimes reminded of a scene from Hesse’s Magister Ludi. It’s toward the end of the story. The music master who has taught and guided Joseph Knecht sits by himself at the piano and plunks out a Bach two part invention with only two fingers.
So this kind of hope keeps me going. That, and continually being grateful for being so lucky.
Despite it being a Birky day (he’s my shrink), I am struggling with a bit of a low morale today. I attribute it largely to watching and thinking about what’s happening in my country. That the voting rights bills that went down this week bummed out me terribly. I like everyone else didn’t expect them to pass. But still depressing
Then when Clarence Thomas held out against the SCOTUS ruling allowing access to archival stuff about the Jan 6 went down. Dang. This exposes the underlying corruption of Ginnie Thomas’s actions and positions. See Is Ginni Thomas a Threat to the Supreme Court by Jane Mayer, New Yorker January 21, 2022. Sheesh.
I talked to Birky about all this. The upshot was he copied the names of two books I recommended: The Cruelty is the Point by Adam Serwer and the 1619 Project. You know you’re in trouble when your therapist is looking to you for updates and readings about the morass of idiocy happening in our country.
But I did listen to a good podcast from the American Constitution Center this morning. MLK, the Declaration, and the Constitution | The National Constitution Center The inimitable Jeffrey Rosen joins William Allen, emeritus dean and professor of political philosophy at Michigan State University and Hasan Kwame Jeffries, associate professor of history at The Ohio State University, where he teaches courses on the civil rights and Black Power movements.
The three of them picked out six or seven of Martin Luther King’s speeches to discuss. At the end of the podcast Rosen suggests that listeners read all the speeches they discussed. Although he promised to link them in in the description section of their podcast, some of the links are to purchases and not to the speeches themselves. I made a list.
Martin Luther King speeches and articles
An Experiment in Love, 1958 Pilgrimage to NonViolence 1960 Letter from the Birmingham Jail 1963 I have a dream 1963 Our God is marching on 1965 Beyond Vietnam (1967) Where do we go from here? (1967)
I was listening to the Inside Music BBC show from Jan 8. The presenter Keval Shah played an aria from the opera, Adriano in Siria by Vincenzo Legrenzio Ciampi. I was interested in learning more and could only recall the title. I looked it up on Wikipedia to discover there are over 60 operas based with this title. Who knew? Never heard of it.
Remember placebo and nocebo (the opposite) effects are real. If you take a placebo and get well, you get well, eh? Conversely by drawing attention to the fact that many reactions attributed to the vaccine are not caused by the vaccine does not mean people are not actually having them, just that they are not caused by the vaccine.
I skipped blogging yesterday. We have been trying not spend money but Eileen said it would be okay if I went to Readers World and spent a bit. I thought I had ordered How Do You Live? by Genzaburo Yoshino but apparently I had only asked to see it.
It’s a 1937 Young Adult novel from Japan that has only recently been translated. I bought it and also The 1619 Project
Gah-Baed-Jhagwah-Buk: The Way it Happened, A Visual Culture History of the Little Traverse Bay Bands of Odawa by James M. McClurken was waiting for pick up at the library.
I sat down and looked at all the pictures in it when I got home. I’m glad that I have read a bit in The Art of Tradition by Getrude Karath and Jane and Fred Ettawageshik. Eileen noticed that in the McClurken book the white people are called Americans. The book suffers from lack of awareness of the dilemmas in connecting to this part of our heritage. The perspective in The Art of Tradition is necessarily limited but not as bad as the picture book. There are pictures of Fred in McClurken and his son, Frank, and grandfather, Jo. And many of the pictures are credited as provided by Fred Ettawageshik.
I have been pondering getting back to composing for a while. I’m still in the “look out the window” stage of this sort of thing. But reading about Michigan tribal history is helping me think about how to connect to the spirit of American Native Indians, Sorrow Songs, and Appalachian folk songs.
I have put in a request for an interlibrary loan of Philip J. Deloria’s Playing Indian. Michael D. McNally footnoted this book in his introduction as editor of The Art of Tradition. McNally was describing how the writers of the 1955 book became actively engaged in the course of learning and documenting Anishinaabe lore. “They [Kurath and the Ettewageshiks] were at work when the ‘Naming Ceremony at Harbor Springs, hitherto sponsored by an all-Indian organization, came under the support and direction of the Michigan Indian Foundation, a group of non-Native doctors, lawyers, and men of affairs from Detroit who summered in the region and took a hobbyist interest in Indian culture and artifacts. In 1953, under the foundation’s direction, and much of the program was undertaken by white performers, the dancing even ‘taken over by a group of Detroit white boy scouts, the Heyoka Wacipi.’ ”
The last quote was footnoted to Deloria’s book above. I am hoping it will have some philosophy and observations about appropriation of someone else’s tradition.
So I am enjoying learning more about the stories, dances, and music of Native Americans and the Anishinaabe specifically, but I am increasing uncomfortable with directly using material in my own composing. I am thinking that I will probably look hard at using specific material of Sorrow Songs and Appalachian folk songs as well. It would seem that it would be easy to be inspired by this stuff without actually stealing it. Although, I did use Sorrow Songs in the my composition, BLM. Something to think about.
Lastly, we had a visit from Eric Payne today. Eileen was hoping he would help us fix our leaking flat roof and rail and then repair the water damage that it has caused in our kitchen. Unfortunately he recommended the Sharpe Construction company which has done work for us in the past. Eileen was not happy with the disconnect between what the salesman told us we were buying and what ended up being done. But Sharpe seems to be the only company for the job so I am taking over communications with them to allow Eileen not to go stark raving mad. Their rep is coming tomorrow.
I have books that I have ordered waiting for me both at the library and the Readers World. I am delaying going out into the cold since I am madly trying to read in books I already have from the library. I am continuing to enjoy The Art of Tradition: Sacred Music, Dance & Myth of Michigan’s Anishinaabe, 1946-1955. As I learn more and more about this tradition I have increasing reservations about using melodies from it. It feels like appropriation if not very carefully. I am more likely to simply write some music but not use melodies lifted from this book. It has many melodies, dances, and songs. I love the attitude this book exposes: the humor in the tradition and the genius of people who adapt their ideas and traditions into a changing context. Humans are amazing animals that is for certain.
I love the idea that Anishinaabe do not have a clearly distinct idea of sacred and profane.
I am also continuing to read Lives like Loaded Guns: Emily Dickinson and Her Family’s Feuds by Gordon. As proceed into the story of what happened after Emily Dickinson’s death I can see that the main character of this book is her scattered poems and manuscripts which were divided up as a direct result of feuds in subsequent generations. It is the manuscripts that hold my attention especially since the editing of them is still underway.
Another good article in the Atlantic by Adam Serwer.
“If you read the legal language in the Occupational Safety and Health Act… you might think that the Biden administration’s vaccine mandate stood a good chance of surviving the Supreme Court’s review.
But if you watched Fox News at all over the past year, you would have guessed that it was doomed.”
Eileen and I have spent most of the day messing with her computer. She was struggling with it last night when I went to bed. It’s moving very sloooooow. I got up this morning and worked on it a bit. Last night it took Eileen 45 minutes to get it to boot up. I had the same thing this morning. It kept doing updates. But slowly. Very slowly.
I finally got AVG antivirus installed on it. I discovered that my paid subscription extends to 9 more devises besides my computer. I quickly added Eileen. Or I should say I slowly added Eileen. Then I ran it. This took several tries but finally did get it to run but was surprised when it didn’t find any malware. When I went to bed last night Eileen was convinced she had malware. But no.
Then we proceeded to take off applications and programs. I think that’s what Eileen is still working on right now. It’s an old computer but it has been so slow for several days so that it’s basically unusable. I of course keep urging Eileen to replace it. But now it’s a bit of a challenge.
Despite the computer snafu I did get some reading in this morning. I wisely did some reading before tackling the computer. Eileen didn’t get to bed until late. So she slept in a bit. We skipped the lovely daughter in England Saturday connection. We are dragging today but I think we are determined to beat Eileen’s little laptop (and/or replace the dang thing).
I noticed the headlines describing the fact that the filibuster rule of the Senate will probably not be changed and thus that voting reform is less likely to take place at the federal level. I find this very discouraging. It feels like I am witnessing the erosion of democracy in the U.S.
I also noticed this: Florida Democrats ask Merrick Garland to intervene on state election proposals. But I am so discouraged to watch the Republican party sew up a one party system along the lines of southern Democrats after Reconstruction. I ascribe it to the Republican lock step that began with Newt Gingrich. The Republicans are better at staying on message and following party dictates. Obviously the Democrats don’t do this and while I admire the fact that Democrats are more tolerant, I am unhappy with Senators Sinema and Manchin blocking the change of filibuster rules to allow for federal protection of voting rights.
This all bums out despite the fact that I am enjoying my reading a great deal right now. I watched another Susan Howe presentation this morning on YouTube. She sent me back to a book I stopped reading: Lives Like Loaded Guns: Emily Dickinson and Her Family’s Feuds by Lyndall Gordon. I stopped reading this book after Emily Dickinson dies in it. Now I realize the remaining story of the fights between the Dickinson family and the Todd family are still reverberating in an environment of restoring access to Emily Dickinson’s many letters and manuscripts. So I read another chapter in it this morning. I remember picking it up because I have found Gordon’s work quite good in the past. Now I am motivated to learn more about Dickinson especially on the various versions of her poems and writings.
This is all a bit glum so I want to embed this wonderful video of some amazing musicians.
I’m convinced that if I had a hundred years left to live, I wouldn’t be able to read all the books I wanted, play and study all the music I want to, and I wouldn’t run out of things that make me curious and want to learn more about.
This is an amazingly good thing for me and I am grateful.
Today is another of one of those serendipity type days. I listened to a wonderful lecture/poetry reading by Susan Howe this morning. It was given in April of 2019. Howe is 81 at the time. Now 84, I would still love to hear her lecture and/or read her poetry. This presentation at the Harvard Divinity School is entitled “Concordance: An Evening with Susan Howe.” Concordance is the title of a recent book of poetry she has written. She reads from some of it on the lecture but doesn’t make clear when she is doing so. This is very typical of her. She mixes poetry, scholarship, and insights in everything I’ve seen her do, including her books.
I’ve checked out her Concordance from the library.
Before this morning I had only glanced through it and noted that it’s mostly tiny pieces cut out of pre-existing published material presumably concordances.
A page from Susan Howe’s Concordance
After listening to her bring up Charles Ives and thinking more about Emerson and other people and ideas she brings up, I decided this morning to read from the beginning of Concordance.
My head is whirring from all the associations she alludes to and evokes in my own head. In the lecture she reads The Snowstorm by Ralph Waldo Emerson. This would be worth the price of admission for me, but she points out that Emily Dickinson copied four words from the ninth line because she admired them so much.
The words “Tumultuous privacy of storm” in Emily Dickson’s handwriting.
Howe says she also loves the ending line: “The frolic architecture of the snow.”
She also says how working with a composer recently led her to Charles Ives. She describes Ives as a “romantic modern” and then claims to be one herself. She relates to Ives propensity for quotation and again confesses that most of her work is quotation.
She also quotes some beautiful lines from Emerson’s Divinity School Address. Before doing so, she quotes Daniel Webster’s definition of “meteor.” (about 8:27 into her lecture…)
Susan Howe:”I’m just taking that word meteor and I’m going to read it aloud from Noah Webster so you can see what I mean.
Meteor (noun)– sublime, lofty– in a general sense, a body that flies or floats in the air. And in this sense, it includes clouds, rain, hail, snow, et cetera. But in a restricted sense in which it is commonly understood. Two– a fiery or luminous body or appearance flying or floating in the atmosphere, or in a more elevated region. We give this name to the brilliant globes or masses of matter which are occasionally seen moving rapidly through our atmosphere, and which throw off with loud explosions fragments that reach the earth, and are called falling stones. We call that by the same name, those fireballs which are usually denominated falling stars or shooting stars– also the lights which appear over moist grounds and graveyards called ignis fatui, and meteor-like flame lawless through the sky (Pope), figuratively, anything that transiently dazzles or strikes with wonder.
I mean, It’s like a poem in itself.” (transcript of her lecture can be found here)
Then she points out how Emerson uses the word meteor: ” a snowstorm was falling around us. The snowstorm was real– the preacher merely spectral, and the eye felt the sad contrast in looking at him out of the window behind him into the beautiful meteor of the snow.” This is from the Divinity School Lecture.
So Howe, Webster, Ives, Dickinson, and on and on. Cool beans for old Jupe.
I am all excited about two new books. I picked them up from the library today on my way to my dentist appointment. My old dentist has totally retired and my new dentist, Dr. Morin, has completely refurbished the office. They were very careful about Covid precautions so that’s encouraging. The bad news is that I have an ongoing infection which requires the removal of one of the few remaining teeth I use to chew.
Bah. But they scheduled me another appointment to work on my missing filling and another cavity they found. I’m also booked in the local oral surgeon for an extraction in March. Oh boy.
I am very excited about The Art of Tradition: Sacred Music, Dance & Myth of Michigan’s Anishinaabe, 1946-1955. This is exactly the sort of information I have been looking for. The Anishinaabe is the umbrella name for the three indigenous tribes from the Great Lakes Area: Ojibwe (alternatively Ojibwa, Chippewa), Odawa (alternatively Ottawa), and Potawatomi. This book is a publication of the 1959 research of three people including the mother and father of the man who wrote the introduction. It seems to have a good balance of scholarship and good humor. Example: when talking about what sounds like an awful practice of a sort of hodge podge celebration/pageant of Longfellow’s Hiawatha with actual Native Americans, the editor observes: “[W]hile well-heeled tourists admire the romantic wedding of Hiawatha with the chaste maiden Minnehaha, the performers (Native people from Michigan at the time) were smuggling in under the cover of their language the following song:
I wouldn’t sleep if there was something I could drink I wouldn’t sleep if there was something I could drink I wouldn’t sleep if there was something I could drink I wouldn’t sleep if I had someone to sleep with“
I think that’s cool. The book includes music and songs. I am very glad to find this resource published in 2009 and look forward to it leading me to other sources of information about people who lived here before the white people came, both French and Dutch.
The other book is The Antinomian Controversy, 1636-1638: A Documentary History edited by David D. Hall. My interest in this book grows out of reading Susan Howe’s The Birth-Mark. Much of Howe’s stuff is about this very controversy. Glancing over the table of contents I see names and ideas I recognize from reading Howe. Cool.
Wikipedia says this about Antinomianism: “Antinomianism (Ancient Greek: ἀντί, “against” and νόμος, “law”) is any view which rejects laws or legalism and argues against moral, religious or social norms (Latin: mores), or is at least considered to do so. The term has both religious and secular meanings.” It goes on to say that Martin Luther coined the word but that its meaning includes many other ideas such as Gnosticism and Manichaeism. The book is specific to a story about Mrs. Anne Hutchinson being tried for Antinomianism and kicked out of a Massachusetts colony. I don’t think I will necessarily read the whole thing but it should help me understand Howe’s ideas better.
Musically I have been doing a lot of Bach preludes and fugues from the Well Tempered Clavier and a ton of Couperin.
I would like to share this wonderful performance I listened to on YouTube last night. Perfect martini music.
The sax player, Scott Hamilton, is amazing. Listen to how the superb Èlia Bastida on violin picks up on the musical ideas in his improv. Cool, cool, cool.
Eileen and I decided not to go out in the cold today and sit by the beach. I wasn’t looking forward to getting the car going again today. It feels like a good day to sit inside and look out on the freezing cold. This is probably not going to last too long, but it is reminiscent of how winters used to be in Michigan. I am very content to sit inside and read which is not all that different at what I do when we go sit by the lake.
One big difference for me today is that I won’t make the usual picnic lunch. I enjoy doing this, but if we’re home we will just do what we usually do and fix our own meal. Since I am a vegetarian and Eileen a carnivore we usually end up making different food for ourselves otherwise we might share more often. We do usually sit together at the kitchen table for breakfast and lunch and then play Boggle afterwards.
Following up on petty complaints from yesterday, I had more success with completing the information for the screen protector warranty today. But not after exhausting myself first. Some of this is probably just being old. I called the phone store early this morning and left a message. I asked them to call me back especially if they knew they couldn’t come up with the receipt number I needed
I know you will be shocked but they didn’t return my call. After breakfast with Eileen, I gathered what little wits are left me and prepared to get in the car and drive to the place we bought my phone. Eileen quietly offered to accompany me but I let her off the hook.
There was not much snow on the car but it was very, very cold when I went out to get it going. We have this piece of plastic that was designed to cover the windshield so that if it snows it’s easy to get your windshield clear of snow. I peeled this off. It was stuck to the windshield and there was all kinds of ice on the windshield as well. The car started up quickly (thank god).
I had cleared off much of the ice and snow at the base of the windshield wipers, but apparently that was not enough because they did not move when I turned them on. Oh no. I hope I haven’t broken the windshield wiper motor, I thought to myself.
I came back in the house and left the heat going full blast in the car. I called the phone place again. I was flabbergasted when someone answered. The first thing I said to them was THANK YOU FOR ANSWERING THE PHONE. After I described my problem, the person on the phone told me they would email me the number I needed.
What?
Can it be that easy?
I returned to working with the silly app the company had made me install in order to qualify for their warranty. This was hilariously cumbersome. The app asked for all kind of information including two obscure numbers from my phone. Also it wanted me to take a picture in the mirror with my phone of the screen using their silly app. These things are never as easy as they sound, eh? (Move the phone closer. Move the phone further away. Tilt your phone.) But I managed to get that done and find the silly numbers and put hem in the phone.
The app also asked me to photograph my receipt as well as enter the number on it. I didn’t have that receipt. That was the whole dang problem. But I took a picture of the email the phone store guy sent me. He only sent me the number that I wanted not a picture of the receipt. That probably won’t work if I have a claim but it satisfied the robot in the app.
I finished the process of registering my phone for a warranty on the screen protector. It told me near the end that the warranty would only cover up $300 damage so I guess I need to break my screen when my phone is almost paid for.
Meanwhile the car was still warming up. I went out and tried the windshield wipers. The one on my right budged a slight bit. This encouraged me that I hadn’t broken my windshield wiper motor. But I decided to wait a half hour of blasting the heat in the car to try again.
This ended up working. So my car isn’t broken and my phone screen protector warranty is registered.
The upshot is that this wore me out. Apparently 70 year old Jupe only has enough energy and emotional stamina to do that much in a day. Good grief.
Oh. I forgot that yesterday I was flossing and managed to dislodge a filling. I have an appointment on Wednesday for a cleaning and an assessment of the damage. This is my first dentist appointment since Covid hit the fan.
In other news, I am continuing to read Groves about Fanny Mendelssohn (more properly Fanny Hensel her married name). It turns out she wrote quite a bit of music and there is a lot of it that can be purchased. I looked on IMSLP of course but there wasn’t too much more there than I already have. But I checked online for purchase of new scores and discovered there is a ton of music that I could purchase. Now I have to wait until Eileen gives me the go ahead to spend some money. Then I will probably buy some more Fanny Hensel.
I have been playing what I have. She has a lovely Lieder for piano in B minor that I have been playing way under tempo. Today Eileen mentioned that she thought that even though it was under tempo it was nice. It reminded her of gently bubbling water.
My public!
I do like the piece a great deal. Even (especially?) under tempo.
I constantly complain that Republicans are not quizzed about their ideas about the election and Jan 6 to my TV. Nice to see my bitching (some of it) in print.
I had a very busy day yesterday. It didn’t help that I got up a bit later than usual. Eileen had made an appointment for some friends to stop buy and pick up all the leftover stuff from Edison: baby food, cat litter, and sundry items. They came by about 10:30. We did the usual zoom meeting with Sarah. After lunch I set out to register my stupid phone with the makers of the screen protector. Apparently they guarantee its efficacy and will refund the cost of the entire phone if the phone shatters.
I’m not sure if I have that guarantee correct but what I do know is that I promised Eileen I would take care of this. First, of course, you have download their damn little app (grrrr!). Then after I entered the 16 digit thingamabob on the little card that came with the phone they wanted the receipt number of the purchase. Of bloody course they do!
This is how I spent my afternoon yesterday: looking and looking for a receipt. I promised Eileen I would contact the place where we purchased both the phone and the screen protector tomorrow in hopes they can tell me the receipt number of our purchase. Hah! At least I put that off for a day so I could have a bit more normal day today.
Fanny Mendelssohn has been on my mind. I requested several books regarding her from the library today. I am planning on eventually purchase one or more of these books but would like to see them in person. Plus I promised Eileen that I would slow down on non-essential purchase until she determines they are okay with her budget. She did allow me to donate money to National Constitution Center. Here’s a link if you’re interested.
I loved this quote about Fanny Mendelssohn in the Groves online dictionary: “Upon seeing her first-born daughter, Lea Mendelssohn remarked that Fanny was born with ‘Bach fugal fingers’ as reported by the new father in a letter to his mother-in-law Bella Salomon, … thus immediately placing the infant in a rich context of music, erudition, and strong female leaders in the Itzig-Salomon family.”
I have to admit that Covid news, Supreme Court news, and Democracy news are all getting me down. Sheesh. Thank goodness for music, poetry, and beauty. I’m reminded of a cartoon by the late, great Vaughan Bode.
The lizard and one of Bode’s nubile females are falling to what looks like certain death. The lizard proposes that they should make love before they hit the ground. The female points out that he doesn’t have any genitals (although he seems to in the pic above). He replies that maybe they could squeeze this or that while they fall.
Beauty in the face of madness and end times is like squeezing this or that before we crash.
Mark Keller from Portland, Oregon writes on Jan. 8
Sadly, this Supreme Court wants to legislate, rather than apply the law.
The dumbfounding anti-vax comments from Alito and vax-hesitant interjections from others show that the Court’s conservative core eagerly bring personal, anti-science, pro-conservative Christian biases and agendas to their deliberations.
And what of the laws, the constitution and precedent? This not-so-Supreme Court chooses to hunt and peck for a word here and a phrase there to bolster their narrow viewpoints, rather than treat them has coherent, guiding documents and traditions
I told my therapist, Dr. Birky, today that I resisted making a list for stuff to talk to him about since we have not met for four weeks. I resisted because talking to him is not so much a report of what has passed in my life as talking about my own self in the moment. a holiday four weeks hiatus is a long time for staying connected with a mental health care provider.
I did notice that when I talked to him about something that wasn’t all that happy his next question was about playing music with my extended family. When I talked to him about that I told him it was probably one of the high points of the holidays for me. He must have made a mental note to use that to stop me from focusing on the negative too much. Clever man.
Yesterday I played through three of Fanny Mendelssohn’s Vier Lieder für das Pianoforte, Op. 2. I was surprised at how lovely I found them. I have played through them before but my attraction for them was different this time and more profound.
I chose to embed the recording above after listening to a live recording on YouTube. The live recording, although recorded and performed well, didn’t attract me. In fact, I wondered why I thought the piece was so beautiful. Then I found the recording above of Irene Barbuceanu. I think it was partly the tempo but all the simpatico of Irene Barbuceanu’s beautiful interpretation that helped me remember how much I like this piece
.
We had a heavy snowfall yesterday. Eileen and I got into it so that I could take her for her MRI at Holland Hospital. The hospital is not very far from here but we drove. Eileen broke out her snow blower today and did part of the drive. I dragged the Christmas tree to the block through the snow. Today was snow day for all local schools, plus the library didn’t open until noon due to weather.
I continue to read poetry every day. These two poems from the current Poetry magazines grabbed me.
After chatting with Dawn on the phone yesterday I had several dreams last night which included a marimba. In one of them I was preparing to play a Bach two part invention with another instrument. This is funny because one of the first pieces I played on my marimba was the Two Part Invention by Bach. I played one of the lines on my marimba and I think that my friend Dave Barber played the other on flute. I also recall that we performed this at my Dad’s church in Flint. But who knows?
In one of the other dreams I was playing marimba with other musicians. But it seems that we were all standing on a flimsy balcony like situation which was threatening to collapse and was moving in a dangerous way.
I realized today that my dupuytren’s contracture would not affect my marimba playing since one holds mallets when playing. I am planning on practicing marimba as well as think more seriously about composing music using it and other instruments. This composing was also part of my dreams and thoughts last night. Sheesh!
I forgot to mention that Dr. Doug Strong reached out to me on Facebook recently. His brother, Dave, died last year. The three of us lived on the same street in Flint Michigan. They were both a bit older than me. Dave played trumpet and Doug played reeds. Dave went on to be a shop steward in Flint like his Dad I believe. Doug went to U of M and studied premed. He also played in U of M orchestras or bands or something.
I had surmised that David had died. Like so many things on Facebook it wasn’t quite clear and I only figured it out well after his death so I didn’t sent flowers, otherwise I probably would have. Doug informed me that Dave indeed died of Covid. I thought maybe he had since he and his wife attended a fundamentalist church. Dave continued to do music all his life. After I figured out he died I did a playlist of tunes that made me think of them. They were mostly Tijuana Brass but I remember Dave doing an arrangement of the Rolling Stones song, Paint It Black, while it was still being played on the radio.
My current Shakespeare play I am reading is Timon of Athens. This morning I did a search of podcasts and found one about this play. The person narrating it played a section of rehearsal from a current Royal Shakespeare production of it. Then he played some recording of rehearsal. As I listened I realized that the role of Timon was being played by a woman.
Cool beans.
I noticed I had a significantly higher number of hits on my blog yesterday. It went from 12 hits on Tuesday to 39 yesterday. I didn’t check further about where the hits were coming from. When I have an unusual number of hits I figure that something triggered search engines to send more people than usual to my blog.
I am blogging earlier in the day today. It’s about noon. Eileen has an MRI this evening. They are checking her right inner ear for a benign tumor that might just possibly explain the differential between hearing loss in her left and right ear. This is a long chance but Eileen and her doctor decided together that it was worth finding out.
Yesterday, while Eileen and I were sitting at the beach in the midst of all the snow, my daughter-in-law, Cynthia, called me from California. I was very surprised since she hasn’t called me since she called to tell me that she found one of the books I had sent to my granddaughter Catherine to be inappropriate. She was vague in that call, but I had the impression that it may have been the main character’s picture on the cover. The main character is a black woman. But who knows? There is no reason to think this book was inappropriate for my granddaughter, but of course I told her that I had no intention of getting between her and her kids and to just go ahead and get rid of it.
Watching her from afar on Facebook I had the impression that she and I were moving in different directions politically as well. So I was very relieved to get a call from her. and want desperately to stay connected to her and her kids. We had a nice chat. She put me on speaker phone. Not my fondest experience usually, but this time I was glad to connect with anyone who was around. I got to speak with grand daughters, Catherine and Savannah. We said we should do a video call through Facebook Messenger sometime through Facebook. I hope we do that. This is the way we usually talk to Sarah in England.
Today is a snowy day in Holland. The wind is blowing as well. I dressed up warmly, scraped the snow off the car and the front steps, then went and got gas. I also stopped at the library to drop off a couple of books that were due and pick up another one.
The book I had waiting for me was Old Wing Mission: Cultural Interchange as Chronicled by George and Willa Smith in their work with Chief Wakazoo’s Ottawa Band on the West Michigan Frontier edited by Swierenga and Van Appledorn. I have checked this book out before and plan to eventually probably own it. I’m trying to slow down on book purchases for myself for a while, but I was interested to look at Arvilla Powers Smith’s diary which is in this book.
Arvilla Almira Powers Smith (1808-1895)
Susan Howe in her book The Birth-Mark has alerted me to look more closely at what women have to say about history since their points of view and understandings were often ignored and/or simply erased. Howe gathers information about Emily Dickinson and Ann Hutchinson as well as others. You recognize Dickinson but maybe not Hutchinson. She is an interesting case of being run out of a New England community because of her radial religious beliefs which are referred to as Antinomian. Antinomian is a specific Christian understanding which is often thought of in that context as being heretical. However its use in this context is different. I’m taking it to mean that Hutchinson thought that one did earn one’s salvation but through what Christians sometimes call “grace.” Since American Puritans linked up behavior to spirituality this was a serious breach of their understandings leading them to banish Hutchinson.
Left is Anne Hutchinson “…a Puritan spiritual advisor, religious reformer, and an important participant in the Antinomian Controversy which shook the infant Massachusetts Bay Colony from 1636 to 1638.” (Wikipedia)
My friend Dawn called me on the phone today. It was so pleasant to hear from her. She was checking to see if I had done any composing lately and if I had the piano part to Clara Schumann’s piano trio. I assured her that I was still brewing up something for us musically and I did, indeed, have that piano part and she was welcome to drop by and retrieve it. I think she and my replacement, Stephen Rumler are thinking of doing some playing together. I certainly hope so.
I have been vaguely thinking of writing something that she, Amy, Rhonda, and I could do together. I’m not sure what this would be exactly but I would choose to play another instrument besides keyboard so that Rhonda could cover keyboards. I could play marimba, banjo, congas, or guitar. Or maybe I would switch off during the piece from one instrument to another.
In the past I have preferred not to blab about my projects until they are a little more developed. Sometimes discussing them can sort of short circuit them somehow. But I hope that won’t be true of this project. The whole idea is to do something that I could do with the three people locally I would want to work with. But we’ll see.
Moore is a writer I admire. She reviews Couples Therapy: a documentary series directed by Josh Kriegman, Kim Roberts, Eli B. Despres, and Elyse Steinberg and Scenes from a Marriage: a miniseries written and directed by Hagai Levi and cowritten by Amy Herzog
I forgot to mention yesterday that during my visit to my brother and his wife how grateful I was to be included in some Jenkins family music. Emily on mandolin, Leigh on Violin, Mark on piano and me on guitar. I enjoyed playing with this crew very much.
I am also grateful for the three musical friends I have here in Holland. I mention this because I complain so much in this place about being under estimated or just plain ignored by musicians in Western Michigan. Since I have retired this is not that big a deal for me. But as I think about moving forward with music I remember that Rhonda Edgington, Dawn Van Ark and Amy Hertel have all been very good about making music with me. Instead of bemoaning my lack of colleagues I want to reach out to those who have chosen to connect with me. I’m not sure how this is going to happen or when but it is a logical step.
Also during my time away, Holly Anderson, a member of Grace Episcopal Church, emailed me and let me know about some kittens who were available. She did this because she was aware of my loss of Edison (which I am still grieving about and whom I still miss daily). I let her know that Eileen and I had decided to not to get another pet.
Holly had also previously sent me a very gracious thank you for my music at Grace after I retired. She had told me this many times in person as well. When my retirement was announced she was not happy. She said she would still see me at church, right? I had to gently disabuse of this notion. She is one of my favorite listeners there and is an amazing person. Ever since getting the thank you from her in the mail I have been pondering how to communicate to her how essential listeners are to the whole process of music.
So I emailed her back a lengthy response to her email about the kittens. I told her about Christopher Small’s idea that music is a verb and includes all working parts from listeners to people who set up chairs to performers and on and on. I also mentioned that music is one of the essential parts of being a human. She responded in a few days how she thought this idea was cool and that she remembered a dream she was the one making the music. I like this a lot.
I continue to admire Julie Fowlis’ recent Inside Music program on the BBC. I can’t believe she produces a two hour program of this quality weekly. I listened to the whole thing this morning while making coffee and bread and cleaning the kitchen and exercising. It has inspired me to follow up on most of the music she has on her play list.
I also find her description of her education and relationship to other musicians in Scotland inspiring. It has helped me understand how my education has not always been as helpful as it could have been. This has probably assisted me as an autodidact as it has continually thrown me on my own resources. And of course this is largely the place I am now as well. A good place, actually.
This is one of the pieces on Fowlis play list that I liked. She said that she uses this music for a gentle morning wake up and that she loves the music by Horner but has never seen the movie. Cool.
I have been neglecting my blog. I have been too busy with holiday fun. Eileen and I spent a few days with Mark and Leigh at their home. We were joined by Ben, Emily, and Jeremy. This visit helped me remember how much I enjoy conversation with people I love. Hell, probably with any people. We drove home yesterday and arrived just before a snow storm.
I took this picture to show Sarah the snow outside today.
While it was good to visit with people, returning to my house now provides a new, unique pleasure of returning to the comfort of the books surrounding me especially those in my study.
Eileen and I are understandably weary today. I stayed up very late every one of the three nights we were visiting. We did get a chance to chat with Sarah today. We usually do so on Saturdays but we were busy traveling home. The English branch of the Jenkins fam have been partying like mad over there. Celebrating and re-celebrating Alice’s second birthday. Here’s what we looked like (Alice put the star on me on their screen).
I have plenty of new books to read. I love visiting Mark and his library. I left my copy Bloom’s Shakespeare: The Invention of the Human and Don Quixote at home and read in Mark’s copies. I also read in his Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson.
Mark gave a very cool book on Dante written by one of his favorite teachers.
Right up my alley.
I cooked in Mark’s kitchen which is amazing. It’s fun to work in it. I was able to get a little playing on Leigh’s fabulous piano.
I enjoyed chatting with my niece, Emily, and her husband, Jeremy, and my nephew, Ben. Tony, Ben’s husband, was under the weather, so we missed seeing him.
Eileen and I are laying around today. Life is good.
“They said they said. They said they said when they said men. Men many men many how many many many many men men men said many here.” Gertrude Stein, Patriarchal Poetry, quoted by Susan Howe in The Birth-Mark
“In the 19th century, other Europeans and their descendants would arrive, this time to stay. Men who had already domesticated plants and animals and who upon arriving in what is now called Tierra del Fuego found hunter-gatherers who had lived there for more than 10,000 years. That indigenous group would become to known as Selk’nam. The encounter between hunter-gatherers and the colonizer farmers led to a defacto death penalty for the Selk’nam. A tragedy that is still the order of the day. Considered extinct in the history books and laws written by the victors, yet the survivors claim to be alive. And now they fight for recognition.”
I had to send two C. P. E. Bach books back to the libraries that sent them to me via interlibrary loan. Before leaving to do so I did another request for each one and will soon have them again in my greedy little hands. I finished reading Anthony and Cleopatra by Shakespeare this morning. Great stuff! I also started reading Stand On Zanzibar by John Brunner. I was chatting with Jeremy about this author the other day. I was surprised that I didn’t have any books by him in my library. But now I do. I had to go look up the year in which Burgess published Clockwork Orange. The syntax in the books are related. Burgess mixes up Russian and English to come up with pidgin language Alex and his cronies use. Brunner coins words that mix up English and Corporate language. Burgess (1962) turns out to predate Brunner (1968). Both men are writing under the spell of Joyce.
We had a good Christmas. Jeremy, Elizabeth, and Alex came for Christmas eve and left the next day. I enjoy having them around. I even did a bit of cooking even though Eileen and I swore we were going to make easy eating with salads and cheeses from Meijer.
Creamed Greens Potpie
The above picture is of the New York Times recipe for Creamed Greens Potpie. It uses store bought puff pastry. I modified it and used a Spanakopita filling of Spinach and Feta cheese. I thought it was great but Eileen said it was too garlicky and tasted too much of spinach.
We are descending (with permission) on my poor brother and his wife in a few days. Now that Edison has gone to his reward (died), we are freer to leave the house. We are all severely vaccinated so it should be relatively safe.
I’m planning to use the remaining puff pastry in some kind of Cheese Pinwheel thingo. Something along these lines bur probably not quite as fancy.
I also promised Mark I would bring fresh baked bread. We will take whatever is left from Christmas meals as well.
I have been enjoying the hell out of Susan Howe’s The Birth-Mark.
Susan Howe, American poet, scholar, essayist and critic, b. 1937
It’s a unique blend of scholarship and poetry and what not. The title comes from a short story by Nathaniel Hawthorne of the same name. My edition does not have a hyphen in it. But thinking about the different versions of published works is very much what Howe is about.
She is also into marginalia. As she writes her prose she will point out what Melville wrote in the margins of his copy of a Hawthorne work. Since she is into marginalia she is attuned to the silencing of great women writers like Emily Dickinson. I am digging all the American crap. The whole discussion is something I resonate with.
Here are some cool quotes from Howe’s book.
“The enthusiast … is a solitary who lives in a world of his own peopling.” Coleridge quoted in Howe
In describing archived presentation of original documents, Howe quotes Richard Sieburth’s introduction to his translation of Hymns and Fragments by Friedrich Hölderlin: “[P]resenting Hölderlin’s texts as events rather than objects, as processes rather than products, [converts] the reader from passive consumer into active participant in the genesis of the poem, while at the same time calling attention to the fundamentally historical character of both the reader’s and the writer’s activity.”
I dig that sort of stuff. This relates a bit to the way I see music as a verb about group process.
Eileen recognized it as the name of a bird but in her book The Birth-mark, that I started today, Susan Howe uses the word in reference to John Cotton, the historian Cotton Mather’s maternal grandfather calling him a “library cormorant.” The OED gives a second figurative meaning of cormorant as “An insatiably greedy or rapacious person. Also with qualification, as money-cormorant.” Howe says that John Cotton was one of the “vivid” lives in the “Lives of Sixty Famous Divines,” in Cotton Mather’s Magnalia Christi Americana.
Magnalia Christi Americana
Not only was John Cotton a “library cormorant” but “Mr. Cotton was indeed a most universal scholar, and a living system of the liberal arts, and a walking library…. Twelve hours in a day he commonly studied, and would call that a scholar’s day; resolving to wear out with using than with rusting.” (from the Magnalia as quoted by Howe)
I like the idea of wearing out from use rather than rust. I think this is something I aspire to as well and reminds me of Eileen and her Mom.
Later Howe refers to Nathaniel Hawthorne as a “library cormorant.” I think this is a useful word for me since I and so m any others I know are library cormorants.
I picked up on Howe because she gave a joint reading with Ben Lerner which is on YouTube. I was just curious about her work. She’s a bit older than Lerner (b. 1937). I’m not sure what the book is about yet but decided I was interested because it deals with Emily Dickinson, Emerson, and others.
I’m on the road to recovery from being phished thanks especially the expertise of my daughter, Sarah, and brother, Mark. I upgraded my Internet Security software and ran some diagnostics. I changed a few passwords and will be working on that more. Eileen and I both have some work to do on securing our devices. Now we have motivation!
Eileen is working on her Mom’s famous cinnamon rolls today. They look great so far. I have volunteered to eat any failures if she is not satisfied and starts over.
Rhonda just stopped by with a Christmas gift. I was not only able to give her her Christmas gift but these days I can give a whirlwind tour of my study, my music room, and Eileen’s loom room. As Eileen just remarked, we are getting somewhere!
I made one last trip to Readers World before Christmas Day today. I did some research on some books for Eileen and me and then went and picked out some stuff. Eileen always finds it difficult to choose something to give me. Usually if we’re alone for Christmas we don’t really do much, but since we will be celebrating here on Christmas day and have lots of presents for Elizabeth, Jeremy and Alex it seems that Santa should bring both Eileen and me stuff. So I did the Santa thing for both of us today. I think I was pretty successful.
Eileen also is making chili today, one pot vegetarian and one pot carnivore. The house is smelling excellent!
Before I say anything about what happened to me I want to reassure you that everything’s okay now.
Eileen and I were sitting in the parking lot at the library waiting for our books on hold to be brought to us when I noticed an odd text message. Ten minutes earlier it had said that someone had just charged an AQUAGLIDE Recoil Trampoline on my “card.” If not me I should click on this phone number.
I did so. The person answering told me that someone had hacked my Amazon account and applied for an Amazon credit card and charged stuff on it. I’m sitting in the car. I told him I needed to drive home and see what was going on. He said okay but not to hang up.
When I got home I could see I had received an email with the sub, “amazon.com, action needed: Password change attempt.” Note the little “a.” I didn’t notice this until later when Eileen did. I clicked on a link to change my password all the while talking to the con man on the phone. He gave me a new temp password which weirdly worked. I told him I couldn’t see any recent activity on my account. But he told me that the hackers are so clever that they would hide the notifications.
He asked if there was an Amazon store nearby probably knowing full well that there wasn’t one. I probably got it wrong but I thought he wanted me to go to an Amazon store inside a nearby Wal-Mart and talk to Amazon security people. I was supposed to stay on the phone and let him know when I was in the parking lot. He was adamant that I should not get out of the car.
When we were in the parking lot, I began to tell him the whole thing felt like a scam. After he told me that they had deposited $2,000 to my credit card and I was use that to buy four Amazon cards at Wal-Mart, I told him there was no way I was going to that.
He blustered (“Amazon is a reputable company worth millions!). He threatened (“You can hang up, sir, and take the next step into court”). He suggested I didn’t trust him because of his Indian accent. Finally I told him I was going to hang up.
I was worried about the Amazon account. But we went to our bank to make sure our account had not been hacked.
The banker was very, very helpful. After ascertaining that we hadn’t actually purchased gift cards, he checked out account and there was no evidence of it being hacked at the bank. He told us we were probably okay. In fact, he was relieved at how we had stopped following the man on the phone’s advice and came to the bank. He taught me that if fraud was actually being investigated there would be no sense of urgency. He said this kind of phishing is a big business in countries like India where there are office building full of people running these scams.
Oh, I thought. That makes sense.
I came home and successfully accessed my Amazon account (I hadn’t closed the window after logging in the the password from the bogus Amazon people. I instantly was able to change the password. So probably no harm done
Eileen’s credit card was in reality hacked recently. Our banker told us that once we had been hacked we would probably be targeted again since hackers to sell any information they get.
So it was a learning experience. I have been phished once before. I received an email from Rev Jen. Just like today’s hackers, the hacker had replicated Jen’s real email but put in an extra period. I didn’t notice the difference of the lower case A. But Eileen did.
Sheesh. I am feeling like a little old man who is a bit of an easy target. But I am incredibly relieved. On the drive to the bank I was fantasizing about getting a job so we would have money to live if we had been cleaned out.
So Eileen and I decided not to do date-day today. Instead we’re hanging around the house and tending to things that are on our minds for Christmas. At least Eileen is.
This year’s Christmas tree decorated as usual by Beautiful Eileen.
She decorated the tree last night after I went to bed. Then after breakfast, she wrapped presents while I messed with my books. I have been organizing them in the study. Today, I also organized and cleaned up the books on the south wall which are mostly music books, African American related books, church books, and general folk music. I pulled a stack of churchy stuff I know I will not want again. I’m thinking of dropping it off at Grace Episcopal church sometime next year.
Cleaned and dusted most of the shelves on this wall today.
Eileen is thinking of making her Mom’s famous cinnamon rolls for Christmas. She found the recipe today, but back in 2012, we made videos of Dorothy showing her and Sarah how it’s done. I searched my exterior hard drive, Drop box, and YouTube but couldn’t find them. I put out a call on WhatsApp to Sarah and the rest of the fam. Sarah didn’t know exactly where she had them but thought she did. Elizabeth located a link in an old email. That was helpful.
YouTube is a bit cumbersome sometimes for me. Even though I had searched my videos these recording didn’t come up. It took some poking around until I located them on my YouTube channel. The difficulty was that they were private videos. Lord knows how to work with them, but somehow I managed to make a playlist and Eileen watched them on the Roku screen.
Eileen just finished and said that it was very helpful despite the fact that she was recalling how to do it correctly. Watching these videos helped her be sure she knew what she was doing. These are great Cinnamon Rolls and it will be a treat for Christmas.
I held my breath when I plugged in my ancient exterior hard drive. When we were moving the living room bookshelves to the study I managed to drop it on the floor. Ever since then I have worried that I lost information. It wouldn’t have been the end of the world but there are many Finale files which are my only access to some of my compositions.
I have never worried about saving my work for posterity. However, I was hoping those files were intact. I have thought of recomposing some of my stuff and giving some pieces some new piano accompaniment carefully written out. Having to reconstruct an old song from scratch is not as attractive as messing with one from old files. So I was relieved to see that I hadn’t destroyed this old exterior hard drive.
It looks like today was a good day to skip the drive to the beach.
I was pretty impressed with how adroitly my new phone had saved information from the old one. It even managed to restore my current milkweed wall paper. I love the way the milk weeds looked in our yard as they opened up and slowly distributed those feathery seeds.
This is an picture from summer.
This is one of several I took earlier this year. I do love the way they look!
There was fire in two of my dreams last night. In the first one, I was in a family’s basement. I discovered my little brother playing with matches. It was not Mark but some generic brother. I fussed at him, “Are you insane?” I told him he needed to go tell Mom while I proceeded to try to put out the flame.
The second fire dream took place in a church loosely based on First Presbyterian Detroit. I was at the organ. I don’t think the service had started yet. There was a soprano from Grace Episcopal preparing to sing a solo based on Ralph Vaughan Williams organ piece Rhosymedre. I was fumbling around looking for my music so I could accompany her. In my fumbling I moved a switch. This seemed to be a significant event because as I continued to look for the music and orient myself to the large organ, I noticed smoke coming from the pipes. Smoke was pouring into the room. There were shutters on either side of the huge pipe case. We shut them. Then we or somebody decided to evacuate everyone while we tried to put out the fire. I remember feeling relieved and thinking, “Now I don’t have to play the service.”
Back in real life, I broke my phone over the weekend. I left it sitting precariously on the kitchen table on some bunched up tablecloth. I had bunched it up because the coffee carafe turned out to be wet on the bottom and I was trying to dry the tablecloth out. I hadn’t noticed that the phone was perched in such a way as when I took a few steps to move out of the room the phone fell on the floor with a slam.
It was already cracked but when I picked it up it the screen had cracked further and formed a tree like pattern over the top of the screen.
The phone still worked but I decided it probably wasn’t a good idea to use since for some reason I didn’t have a screen protector on it and the glass seemed to be gradually shedding fine glass dust.
So today Eileen and I went and upgraded the silly thing.
I am starting to understand Ben Lerner’s poetry better. It helps me to listen to him read his poems. I did this this morning with this recording from 2019 while I exercised. Since I understand them better I find myself liking them more. I finished his essay, “The Hatred of Poetry,” this morning.
Eileen brought the Christmas tree in and I held it while she secured the stand. She is definitely in Energizer Bunny mode lately. I on the other hand continue to enjoy relaxing, reading, and practicing. I’m also messing with books constantly as I sort them into the new shelves. I find that a pretty pleasant task.
I am enjoying not having to do church so much especially at this time of year that I think I might be feeling slightly guilty about it.
Ben Lerner seems to be a project of mine. I don’t always understand his poetry and am working on doing so better. The above book is a beautiful book I have been reading despite not always understanding.
The book itself is a work of art and is a pleasure to hold in your hands.
Lerner and Kluge and their team have put a lot of thought into presentation in this book. So far the best approach has been to read straight through instead of trying to understand every little reference and allusion. Explanations are part of the text throughout.
Apparently when Lerner published The Lichtenberg Figures, he thought of sending a copy to Kluge since he admired his film work and felt that Kluge might connect with his poems. He decided it was a bit much to reach out to someone he didn’t know to share his work. But in the meantime, someone gave Kluge a copy of the book in a German translation. Kluge was so taken with it that he wrote 16 reactions (stories he calls them) and these apparently ended up being printed not only in The Snows of Venice but also in The Paris Review.
Alexander Kluge on the left, Ben Lerner on the right
There is a video on YouTube of them presenting stuff to what seems to be a German audience. They both read from The Snows of Venice, but Lerner doesn’t speak German and Kluge keeps telling him he tell him (Lerner) what he (Kluge) said in the lengthy German comments.
I figured all this out but most of this information is in The Snows of Venice.
Angelus Novus (1920) by Paul Klee
Angels play a big role in the prose of Kluge. Kluge brings two prints for Lerner to look at. Their conversation is one of several transcribed conversations in the book. Lerner recognizes them. The title of this one is translated in the book as “The Angel of History.” But I think is probably more accurate to say “New Angel.”
Kluge says this about it: “This angel is in despair. This is a gaze from the end of the 1930s, fixed upon the abyss of mass fascist movements and a history that has revealed its entrails.”
Lerner tells Kluge in the book the story of Rebecca Quaytman who was an artist doing some research. Quaytman travels from America where she lives to Tel Aviv to see the picture in person. Lerner: “As part of her research, Rebecca went and looked at the drawing in person and she noticed immediately that around the edge there was evidence of an intaglio print. It turns out that Klee’s ‘Angel of History’ is mounted on a print of none other than Martin Luther. Only Rebecca noted this secret hiding in plain sight. It’s a remarkable secret for a number of reasons. That the ‘Angel of History,’ so long a symbol of left Jewish messianism is mounted on top of Luther.” Lerner points out that “only a person who is physically present can see the traces of the engraving of Luther’s cape” in the margins.
At this point in the book, Quaytman takes over and there are four works reproduced in which she references Paul Klee’s painting.
Here are a couple.
הקק, Chapter 29 (2015) by R. H. Quaytman. Encaustic, silkscreen ink, gesson on wood.
I think the Hebrew means “The Cock.”
Digital illustration made for The Snows of Venice by Rebecca Quaytman
This second image is my favorite.
I have more rabbit holes to share but I think this is enough for today.
This morning I was playing softly on my electronic piano (with the harpsichord sound) in order not to disturb Eileen. I decided it would be fun to play from the Anna Magdalene Bach Notebook. I have a dog-eared copy I have had for many years. This collection is so-called because one copy exists in her handwriting.
Anna Magdalena Bach’s copy of the Notebook 1722 only in her handwriting
It was not unusually for musicians to have hand written copies of music they wanted to have around. In fact, these kinds of copies were much more common than music that had been made on a printing press.
Copy made in 1725, handwriting is ascribed to multiple members of the Bach household including C.P.E. Bach
The music in the notebook is not only pieces by J. S. Bach but also other composers including Francois Couperin, C. P. E. Bach, and Georg Bohm. So I think of it as sort of the family record collection.
Everyone in the house was a musician. Anna was a professional singer in the court of Anhalt-Cöthen where Bach served as court musician. I speculate that he may have hired her. At any rate they became a couple after Bach’s first wife died.
Since I have been studying the life and work of Bach’s son, C.P.E. Bach, I imagine what it would have been like in this musical house.
This morning I played several pieces from the Notebook. Then it occurred to me to compare some of them to the J.S. Bach versions from which I usually play them. I discovered that in the E minor partita there were a differing number of measures in the same piece in the two sources.
When Eileen got up, I told her I had spent time down the rabbit hole this morning. This is sort of how I think about the luxury of being retired. Rabbit holes are now something I can get lost in. This was a perfect example.
When I analyze a piece of music, I usually add measure numbers if they are not printed already. This is how I discovered that these two version differed. Anna’s Notebook version has 105 measures in it. The printed version from the first volume of Bach’s published music (Clavierübung volume I) had 108 measures. As I examined the two side by side, I figured out that at one point Bach had added a two measure group and then just before the end he added another measure. All throughout the two there were many slight differences.
I’m assuming that the family record collection version came first and that Bach changed it slightly (improving it, no doubt in his mind) when he prepared for the printed version.
The next step down the rabbit hole is to speculate why he did so.
On a more mundane note, Eileen and I went out and got our Christmas tree. I used to try to delay the purchase of a tree until very close to Christmas. It seemed weird to encourage church people to wait and celebrate Christmas on the actual date and at the same time at home to join in the cultural consumer insanity of extending Christmas back into the season of Advent and even before to Thanksgiving and Halloween.
Even before retiring I was loosening up on this. After retiring I can understand more clearly what I expect from holidays. I like them and like celebrating them. But this year we didn’t get a tree as early as we have been doing. This is more from laziness I think than intention.
So, we had a bit of a difficulty finding a tree to buy today. But we did find one so we’re set with that. I’m expecting the Elizabeth branch of the Jenkins clan to celebrate with us on Christmas Day. So that will be nice.
I finished Ozeki’s The Book of Form and Emptiness last night waiting for Eileen to get back from Kalamazoo. It is an excellent book but I was slightly disappointed in the “happy ending.” It felt a little clunky and was in contrast to how the rest of the book drew me in.
My daughter Elizabeth and her family has given me these wonderful Trust Fall Quarterly Book Club memberships. I save them for when I’m looking for something to read. The books have so far invariably been good. I do like the fact that I am receiving a book in the mail that someone else has recommended.
These are the last two boxes I have received in the mail.
In each box is a signed copy of a book they recommend and a clever related side line item. Usually there are some interesting information on an enclosed sheet. As a bonus in the last book I received (the one on the left pictured above) there was a galley proof of Wole Oyinka’s Chronicles from the Land of the Happiest People on Earth
This is a perfect choice for me. Apparently the extra book was a random choice from 2021 fiction titles. Galley proofs are not for resale. But they can be given away.
Last night after finishing The Book of Form and Emptiness, I decided to dip into Chronicles from the Land of the Happiest People on Earth.
I recognize Soyinka, but more as a playwright and poet. I noticed a volume of his poetry in my library but haven’t checked for a play yet. But I liked that his bio says that he was “twice jailed in Nigeria for his criticism of the Nigerian government, and he destroyed his U.S. Green Card in 2016 when Donald Trump was elected president of the United States.” Sounds like my kind of guy.
So far it is a romp and I am enjoying it immensely.
In addition I am reading Anthony and Cleopatra by Shakespeare for the first time. I read essays on this play by Harold Bloom and Emma Smith. I reached for Bloom and Smith about a third of the way through the play because I didn’t quite understand why some of the action was taking place. These authors helped me understand much that I was missing including the fact that Cleopatra (played by a man) bemoans the prospect of her story being told in a reenactment of humiliation: “I shall see/ Some squeaking Cleopatra boy my greatness/ I’the posture of a whore.” V.ii.219,220.
That’s cool. And probably a weird moment when acted in the Globe theatre.
Anyway, Cleopatra is better understood in terms of modern celebrity and posturing of same. Excellent stuff as usual from the hand of the master.
I got up this morning and made bread. Eileen and I had some for both breakfast and lunch. It makes the house smell great.
I broke down and put up on Facebooger an entry about Edison’s death. Eileen pointed out that many of the people who have had contact with him might need to be notified. It seemed the easiest way though I found the idea of parading my grief a bit distasteful. I had many, many supportive comments and over a hundred “likes.” Social media is such a weird environment.
Eileen has left to spend the day with our friend, Barb Phillips, in Kalamazoo. She is sure to enjoy that. I love living with her but a day alone is usually a good thing for me if they don’t come too often.
I’m still processing Edison’s death. I find myself listening for his meow. The routine for me to is to get up and feed him first thing. Then I spent the rest of the day trying to keep an ear out for his meow since he has been living in a confined area in the basement. There is some relief mixed with grief. In this case, the relief is not having to factor in his care if we leave town.
I chatted with Stephen Rumler yesterday when I went to pick up my congas. Then last night I had church dreams about people who have not been in my dreams for a while. Sheesh.
I loaned Elizabeth my nylon string guitar and a bunch of songbooks yesterday. It was good to see her and Alex. I think my stock with Alex rose a bit after we spent time playing with the marimba and the harpsichord. She also favored us with a dance as she sang her song of nonsense syllables. This was quite charming to me. When they were leaving she hugged and kissed me twice. This is new behavior.
I admit I am blogging to get it out of the way so I can leisurely read and practice for the rest of the day. I have been having some thoughts about composing again but so far haven’t succumbed. This morning I listened to some of the albums recommended on the All Songs Considered podcast.
l liked these people. I stopped listening to the podcast to put on music of 2021 they were recommending. I was surprised to enjoy it. Cool.
Just as we expected, Edison did not live through the night. Eileen thought he had stopped breathing last night but I thought I could detect a shallow breath the last time I visited him before going to bed. Eileen and I toasted him last night. He was an amazing cat and a great companion. I will miss him sorely.
I contacted Elizabeth and asked how to proceed today since Alex and she were coming over. She told me to go ahead and take Edison’s body to the vet (our normal procedures for our animals when they die).
So this morning after breakfast Eileen and I took him to the vet. I put him on a clean blanket in a box. I explained to him that we did the best we could taking care of him. Hey, I know he was dead but I talk to dead beings all the time. I think he had a good life.
Alex was sad according to Elizabeth. She did ask me what we did with Edison. I explained and it seemed to be satisfactory for her.
Alex was pumped to see all my new music toys.
I took over thank you cards to the staff members of Grace who moved my harpsichord for me. While I was there I chatted up Stephen Rumler, the new music guy. I was able to use a Bob Goldthwaite joke on him (“I didn’t lose my job. I know where it is. You’re just doing it now.”)
I loaded my congas into the Subaru and brought them home. Even better, I located scores that I thought I had brought home. Stuff by Frescobaldi and the Gabriellis. I was so very happy to find these scores. I have playing Frescobaldi off IMSLP which is a bit more frustrating than you might think.
After lunch, Elizabeth went off to her meeting and Alex and I went up to the music room. She probably told twenty times that she was really enjoying herself messing with the instruments. I do like to show people stuff like this.
Eileen had fun re-assembling some of the parts of the harpsichord yesterday.
My harpsichord is largely out of adjustment and many notes don’t work yet. But Alex got the demo and played.
I cannot believe I almost left my congas at Grace and didn’t keep them.
She also liked my congas. But the real hit was the marimba. I love having a kid tell me how much she likes something to which I can sincerely and wholeheartedly respond, me too!
The marimba is old and clunky but actually works a bit better than the harpsichord does right now. And of course it sounds like a marimba which is great!
Another day of highs and lows.
Alex and Elizabeth return home to Jeremy this evening.
Eileen has spent a lot of time reading to Alex today. I think having to watch her for Elizabeth was therapeutic for both of us.
