Bach in the Freezing Rain

One ought to listen to Bach's music in the cozy comfort of your home - an intimate setting with a small chamber ensemble, an overstuffed chair big enough to put your feet up, a warm beverage, tons of friends, and plenty of time to enjoy the delicately embroidered runs, the amazing richness of fugues, the unexpected harmonies.

But I had none of that. I found myself driving to the post office to mail a Christmas card to my darling granddaughters after dropping Drew off at the library so he could work on papers due tomorrow. The roads weren't too bad yet, the driving rain so cold it hit the windshield hard and skittered off leaving frozen ruts at the edge of the window.

The mailbox was coated in a thick layer of ice, and the sidewalks were treacherous. I popped the card in the slot and scooted quickly back to the warmth of the car just as the announcer introduced the Bach cantata "Nun Komm der Heiden Heiland" - a cantata I conducted when I was in Illinois for an Advent event and have become fond of.

Yes, I was fortunate to have worked with excellent musicians for the cantata - many students from the university, a bit of budget to pay them, good scores to work with, and a kind friend to consult when I was stuck about how to do something musically. I'm sure it was no big deal to them, but for me, the joy of conducting Bach - of standing right in front of the small string ensemble, the wash of sound - was pure amazement. I can't wait for another opportunity to do it again.

I briefly realized that to listen to the cantata meant sitting in the car with the motor running for a half hour or so (gas dollars went flying through my head), but I knew if I let the moment pass, I would not have the opportunity again for some time. So I pushed the seat as far back as it went, turned up the radio, and jumped in with both ears.

It was a bit eerie parked in an empty post office lot in the downpouring rain watching everything slowly freeze over, but my awareness of the surroundings lasted a brief moment. Almost as soon as the music began, the score floated before my eyes - yes, the opening so slow and filled with longing that you had to conduct every beat twice. I could nearly see the Gothic architecture of the sanctuary, the vast blue velvet curtains, the rose window. Even that faded as the music wrapped itself around my head, taking me along such intricate and pleasant paths, winding and twisting with yearning for the coming of the savior. Come NOW, savior of the nations! COME.
I lifted my voice with theirs, transcending time and place, praying the prayer of advent we still raise to God. Come with your peace and your joy. End the pain, the suffering, the sadness, the cruelty, the hunger and thirst, the wars. Come, Savior.

As the last strains faded and the announcer reiterated the name of the piece, I turned off the radio and sat a few more minutes, listening to the rain plaster everything, thankful to be warm and rested and blessed. I love Advent. I love Bach's music. I even love the rain.

The Advent Wreath

I didn't grow up with the tradition of the Advent wreath in my house. At church, yes. But not one in my home. We started doing it as a family after Michael died. I'm not sure quite why the boys wanted to bring this tradition to our dining room table, but who am I to discourage a desire to connect with things divine? So we began.

Over the years, we have changed the look of the wreath we use - now we find a fresh pine wreath with natural decorations - pinecones and berries and such - and one ribbon, usually red. I have both a silver circular four-candle holder and four separate glass candle holders and we seem to alternate which set we use. This year, it is the four separate glass holders and two pink and two purple tall tapers which we get from Wegmans. They are thick and a bit on the rustic side, speaking of things ancient and homespun. The tapers are bought every year, but the white pillar candle for the middle is the same candle I have been using practically since we started the tradition.

Sunday after church, we gather by the wreath, read a small devotional reflection about the candle we are lighting, then light however many candles the week calls for. Afterwards, we eat dinner and watch a movie while the candles quietly flicker on the coffee table or entertainment center top. This year, we set the wreath on the kitchen table where it takes up the whole back half of the table. I will have to pull out the drop down leaf to make room for eating there.

The pine smell of the fresh wreath lends a festive atmosphere to our whole apartment. The candles point us to the heavens and direct our thoughts to the One who made the season happen. The readings, while short and read hurriedly (after all, hungry boys are hungry!), seem to be meaningful to the boys, touching something deep inside. The differing lengths of the candles, showing for how many weeks each one had been lighted and waiting, emphasizes the intergenerational aspect of our family.

Its just a small gesture in the overall scheme of Christmas madness. But it marks time in a significant way, reminding us that we are still waiting for the final answer, and it may take some time to happen. I don't know if you do a family Advent wreath, but if not, I would encourage you to start. It might surprise you how deep the tradition runs.

Black Friday

I never shop on Black Friday. I hate crowds, rudeness, short tempers, and long lines. I can't imagine getting up at 4am to catch a bargain, especially the ones advertised on TV (get a $1289 ring for only $499!). I guess my modest $30 per person isn't in vogue this year. I keep asking the boys what they want for Christmas only to hear a list of hundred dollar items spieled off. "Nope," I shake my head. "Too expensive. Try again. I need a list of things I might actually afford."

In spite of my decision, I found myself sucked into the game. Drew had broken his glasses a few weeks back, and I had promised to get him a new pair on Black Friday. I figured there would be no competition, and I was right. The place was completely empty when we arrived. A few people wandered in after us, but we had no real wait time except for while they checked to see what our insurance would cover.

After the eye exam and his conversation to select the frames, we had an hour to kill while they assembled his new glasses. And I had a couple of coupons. So we meandered over to the craft store to see what we could find. Every year I select someone and send them little gifts that I think they will enjoy - do a 12 days of Christmas. I started the year my Mom was sick and having a hard time getting back to square one, the year after her Mother passed away. Mom is easy to shop for - I've known her all my life and her tastes haven't changed much.

She liked it! The next year I found someone who was down in the dumps and tried my hand at finding stuff to please someone I didn't know as well, but with whom I had worked enough to have some sense of what their interests and taste were like. A well received gesture once again. And I have kept it going every year. Its not hard to find someone struggling with life's difficulties. Its harder to decide which person to select.

This year, I decided to lighten up a bit and encourage my daughter-in-law via her girls, my darling granddaughters. This will be the first Christmas since her Mom passed away from cancer and I suspect it will not be easy. I had already done a 12 days for her previously, so I decided that sending cards every day from Dec 1 until Dec 24 would give them all something to look forward to, a small bright spot in otherwise long and tedious days.

In each card, I wanted to tuck some little thing that would bring a smile to their faces - a few stickers, a piece of candy, a magnet etc. So we scoured the craft store for ideas and found quite a few things. It was fun! But then we got the bright idea to go to another store. Big mistake. We entered and exited and beat it back to the glasses place. I KNEW there was a reason I don't shop on Black Friday. Still, at least I got a head start on this year's project. Maybe the day wasn't totally black after all.

Thanksgiving Dinner

Drew was going to cook! Oh, boy. I had visions of leisurely lolling about while great smells emanated from the kitchen. After all, every one of my boys can cook, especially Mark. OK, so a turkey will be a new experience for Drew, but I can look over his shoulder and advise.

Mom always cooked the turkey in our house when I was growing up. She would rise at the crack of pre-dawn to stuff a huge 20+ pounder, and tuck it snugly into the oven while she proceeded to peel potatoes and squash, cut celery stalks, open jars of olives and pickles and cranberry sauce. It seemed so effortless.

Gram and Gramp would arrive around ten and the men and kids would sit in the living room chatting or watching the Macy's Parade on TV while the women bustled about the kitchen fussing over places settings and V-8 juice and oyster casserole. The sideboard was crammed full of nibbling foods - nuts, figs, dates, dried fruit, mints, grapes - enough to keep you going until the meal proper was ready.

That's the vision I had in my head when I awoke at 5:30am and thought about waking Drew to stuff the turkey. He would never go for getting up so early, and we did have a brown-in bag which reduces the cooking time, so I rolled over and shut my eyes, happy with thoughts of Thanksgivings past.

I briefly considered rousing Drew at 6, 6:30 and 7:30 and finally at 8:30am, I could wait no longer. After all, half the day was gone already. I opened his bedroom door and softly called his name. No response. I reached over and touched his shoulder. He grunted and pulled the covers over his head. I finally yelled for him to get up and exited the room, hoping he would actually be motivated enough to come to the kitchen and help. One way or the other, we had to get that bird in the oven!

I had pulled the mostly thawed turkey from the fridge and was cutting the package open when Drew stumbled into the kitchen. I handed him the stuffing package and told him to follow the directions. It took him awhile to figure out how to do it, but when it was done, he looked at me questioningly. "OK," I said, "Now scoop the stuffing into the turkey." Seemed reasonable to me.

His eyes opened wide and he almost dropped the pan of stuffing. "I am NOT putting my hand inside a turkey. No way." He was dead serious. "OK, then use the spoon to scoop it in." "NO!" Good grief, kid. I showed him how to poke the dressing into the hollow between the legs. He adamantly refused to do it, and furthermore announced that he was definitely NOT going to eat anything that had been inside a dead bird.

"Fine. You can make up more stuffing later. Right now I need you to get the potatoes going while I see if the parade has started." I looked around. Drew was gone, nowhere in sight. Drew? Drew? He was safely back in his bedroom with the covers pulled over his head. So much for Drew doing any cooking! I finished making the meal myself, stepping into the living room to catch bits of the parade. Somehow it wasn't quite the same as the Thanksgivings of my childhood. For one brief moment I thought perhaps I should have bought a few tangerines or figs, but the feeling passed since I can't eat tangerines and I don't really care for dried figs all that much.

When at last the meal was ready and the table all set with candles and flowers, it was all I could do to coax Drew out of his bedroom at noon. He pretty much wanted to sleep the day away and he wasn't particularly grateful for being dragged out of bed because his Mom had some silly idea about eating together.

Once we got over the grumpies and started talking, things got better, and by the time we got to the apple pie (compliments of Wegmans - I'm not enough of a pie fan to make them anymore), it was actually a pleasant experience. Drew did manage to choke down a bite of turkey-ized stuffing, though he left the rest on his plate untouched. It was an education, alright. Just not the one I thought we were doing.

Where Have All the Toys Gone?

I got off work at three - a bonus for the holidays! I work for a great place. Maybe I can get a jump on my Christmas shopping for the grandchildren. This year I have three! Ages 3 months, 1 year, and 2 and a half. It should be fun to buy some little kid toys.

I head for the toy section of Walmarts and wander up and down the aisles. I never had a girl, so guessing what might be appropriate for a young lady is a daunting task. Especially considering that I was such a tomboy and never a "frou-frou girlie-girl," as they say. There are rows of electronic gadgets, computerized learning tools, the latest action figures from unheard of movies that are all the rage.

I am seeking those wonderful activity toys - you know, the stacking blocks, the shape sorting barns, the imagination encouraging sets of wooden blocks and TinkerToys. I do not find these "old-fashioned" toys in Walmarts. I suspect I will need to go to a Toy Store. I head in that direction. But the toy store is so packed I can barely get through the doors. I exit as soon as I can push my way to the door.

I go online to look. Now I find puzzles, toy pianos, robots, astrology aids, ant farms, chemistry sets. I try another search for younger children and discover the Nursery Guide for Baby Toys. They suggest appropriate toys for the age and developmental stage of the child. This is helpful. I find that phones for the one year old to encourage speech and music instruments and tea sets for the two year old and play mats with bright colors and animals for the 3 month old are suggested.

Still, there is the matter of actually finding these sorts of things in a store somewhere. I remember that there used to be an excellent toy store in the Pittsford Canal area. That's where I bought the boy's wooden train sets and villages and other engaging toys. I look it up - out of business. There also used to be a toy store in the mall that sold cool kits for building things in what ever area your child had an interest - astronomy, chemistry, electrical engineering, etc. That's where I bought the Build a Robot sets and the marbles and ramps things for the boys. I look it up - gone.

I put it away for later, still needing to do a few last minute things for Thanksgiving and run a choir rehearsal. I will eventually find what I want (which really is to be able to play with my grandchildren, and in my absence, make sure their brains are being challenged and they are not just sitting in front of a TV). It just may take a little more digging than I realized.

Decorating the Library Tree

Last year our Library was presented with a lovely snowflake and red-berry covered tall and thin tree for our Fireside Reading Room. Such a designer tree would have felt right at home in the swankiest retail shop in Rochester. Our staff were less than enthusiastic and dubbed it the "Anorexic Tree." Its leanness did not speak to their ideal of "home for the holidays Mom's cooking for the proverbial Cox's army and the table is groaning with goodness." Skinny and uncaring wrapped up the consensus. We were told that the tree had been permanently given to the Library and was ours from this point forward forever ad infinitum. Period.

The staff prayed for a miracle. This year, we got it. Sort of. Turns out that last year, even though we had been told to clearly label the tree box "LIBRARY," they had come and taken it away before we wrote our name on it. So when we requested facilities to bring us our tree, they dutifully brought us a box. I wound my way upstairs to unpack and set it up. Cheerful would not be the word I would use to describe the looks on staff faces.

I opened the box and began pulling out tree parts. It didn't look familiar. I found all sizes and shapes of green branches, but no center post. Can't put a tree together without a trunk. I called facilities and spent the entire morning trying to find their delivery person. When he finally showed up bringing a few other boxes along with the missing ornaments, he explained that the warehouse was just a mess of boxes, and since he didn't see anything labeled Library, he just brought us the first tree he came to.

THAT's when I realized we had a totally different tree! No skinny little cheerless fake thing, this. Here was a full branched gorgeous tree worthy of the season. It took quite some time to hook all the branches in place, matching the colored dots on branch and trunk, then string the white lights around and around.

Yes, it came out into the room, unlike last year's skinny tree which barely took up floor space, but we were more than willing to sacrifice a few feet of space to the merriment of a beautiful tree. THIS tree deserved real ornaments, not some interior decorator's idea of symmetrical and controlled balance. We each brought a few things from home to hang on our "family" tree, which we had placed where it could be enjoyed in tandem with the lighted fireplace (which we key on every morning).

The Fireside Reading Room overlooks the whole of campus, and our beautiful tree can be seen from just about everywhere, being how as the Library is on the highest elevation. I hope its twinkling lights and cheerful ornaments bring a sense of home and happiness to our students and visitors. I know for sure the staff are much happier!

Eastman Chorale

Once I sang with Eastman ensembles. Now I go to hear their concerts, always expecting something extraordinary. I am not disappointed. Dr. Weinert, who had tried to get me to come sing with the Eastman Rochester Choir again, was his usual competent self. I ended up sitting with the choir director from Roberts, both of us having come on our own. We compared notes about the various pieces and sighed in all the right places.

The program was demanding - not repertoire that community choirs could attempt. Pieces like:
William Walton - Cantico del sole
Thomas Jennefelt - O Domine
William H. Harris - Faire is the Heaven
Ildebrando Pizzetti - Messa di Requiem

Aside from not knowing the various languages well enough to immediately catch what is being sung, I wonder that audiences are interested in this music. Certainly Kilbourn Hall was far from filled, a sad waste of energy and breath. Still, this music needs to be kept alive, needs to challenge us to raise our standards as we remember what used to be everywhere the norm.

I can't help but wonder as well how many people are touched by this often religious repertoire. This idea of religious music performed in a concert hall and not in worship is a question I wrestle with - almost as much as I wrestle with the level of music in our worship services not being fit for the ears of a congregation much less a king.

The first time I heard a Bach Passion in a concert hall (for I surely never heard one in a church service) I was reduced to tears. How poignant and touching the truth set to fine music was to one uninitiated in the better musics, having been raised Presbyterian where the mindset is that the human voice was created by God and ought to be the principle means of praising God.

As surely as I was touched by the music, the singers and most of the audience was not moved in the least. I observed sleeping, restlessness, watch consulting and plain old boredom. I have no answers. But I am working on finding ways to wed excellent music to significant worship. I have a long ways to go.

I Still Can't Sing

I tried to sing a bit when the choir went through the morning hymns, but there wasn't enough voice. I could sing everything an octave lower, but I sound like a bull dog growling. I don't think the congregation will want to hear that. I asked my resident tenor to lead the hymns. He graciously agreed.


Our regular pianist was playing for this one last week before he leaves for China. His ministry music group Proclaim! is touring in his home country and will be gone for a month. He had tendered his resignation last August, and we have been looking for a new accompanist with little success. I have been amazed at the candidates who applied - what a variety of backgrounds and abilities! But we had yet to discover the right match for our services. So it was bitter sweet to have him back for one more service, knowing that it would be his last for some time. He will stay on as a sub only.

The search reminds me of how I ended up playing as a substitute for the services in my father's church when I was in high school. I had taken a few lessons on piano here and there, but was far from accomplished. Had I applied for a job I would have been laughed out the front doors and invited not to come back. But our long time organist passed away unexpectedly, and there was no time to find a substitute before the Sunday services. I got drafted. Not asked, told.

Being young, I was blissfully unaware of the reality of the situation. I was most comfortable on the piano, so the first Sunday I simply played everything from the front of the sanctuary where the grand piano stood. I don't recall what the choir did since they usually sat in the organ loft in the back of the sanctuary, but the next week, after some pointed comments, I found myself sitting at the organ console, too uneducated to know that I should not attempt translating piano on my own.

The instrument was an old tracker pipe organ complete with hand crank bellows. You could get some SOUND out of that baby! And I was happy to cut loose and steam ahead full bore. I bet that set the matrons of the church on their ear! Nonetheless, I was allowed to continue for some time since organists were hard to come by.

One Sunday, unbeknownst to me, the mayor of our fair little town decided to attend our services. There I was at the organ busy encouraging our parishioners to go deaf. The problem with playing l-o-u-d is that you can't hear anyone sing, not even the choir members sitting right next to the organ. After all, the pipes were squarely in front of my head.

I miscalculated which verse we were on and ended up playing an extra verse in its entirety before I realize that the congregation had finished singing awhile ago. Ah, me. The poor mayor never came back. No one said anything really. I mean, they were over a barrel. It was me or nothing. I suspect had my Father realized what was coming, he would have opted for nothing.

Eventually they found someone to play and I was quite happy to relinquish my duties to a more knowledgeable musician. Needless to say, when I encounter competent church accompanists as I have in so many of the choir director positions I have held, I totally appreciate their gifts. Here's hoping we find someone soon. I would hate to put this church through another season of torture waiting for the right musician.

My Voice Teacher's Recital

Shewan Hall was crammed. They set up more chairs - as many as they legally could - and people were still standing at the back of the hall. He is a popular singer. His resonant baritone rings with clarity and his selection of music is both fun and serious. It doesn't hurt that his co-performer is an excellent pianist and was performing some interesting repertoire as well.

I sat next to the RWC Men's Barbershop Quartet. I glanced around the room - so many familiar faces, such a close community. While we waited for the concert to begin, I wondered how he had time to prepare what with a full teaching load, gigging about, working on recording a CD, and having a family to care for. I wondered if he, like me, longed to just do the music he wanted to do and drop all the "pay the bills" work that must be done.

Suddenly the side doors opened and in came two gentlemen in tuxes, ready to offer us the music of so many composers. Mostly, it was sacred music, and mostly pieces I know and love. It was an hour of enjoyment and encouragement. If I work with this gentleman long enough, maybe, just maybe, I can learn to have that same brilliant spin in my tone that he always has. Every once in awhile I actually manage to produce it in a lesson.

He is a patient man, thank goodness. It takes the better part of twenty minutes for me to reach a place where I am ready to sing something. I sure hope I improve more quickly than I have managed to do so far. A whole semester and I have yet to sing more than a third of a piece, and I still don't have that right by a far shot!

Back to Work

I finally feel like I am back in full swing even though I am still coughing a bit. My ribs have stopped hurting from coughing so hard, my voice is its normal pitch, my energy is coming back. Once in awhile I still have some drainage but mostly I am better, thank God!

What a long haul it has been. I had to cut everything but the main essentials. Even though I did jot blog stuff down, I just couldn't manage to get it written up properly. How encouraging to hear from so many friends worried about my welfare. Thanks to you all! I'm sorry I caused concern. I promised Sissie I would never do that again, and I am reiterating that here. Even if I am too sick to write, I will post that I am sick and will write more later so as not to worry anyone.

Fortunately, the semester is in just the right place that we have neither a start up crunch or a last week crunch, so I can take my time about putting my office to rights once again. I think the siege has ended. It reminds me of Martin Luther when he encountered the Black Plague and insisted on nursing the sick and dying day and night. Of course, that was serious. This was just uncomfortable.

Thank you all again for your prayers and concern. I promise to be better about keeping things on track. Meanwhile, I am still trying to find time to get in to see the oncologist even though I have had no more episodes that were concerning me before the flu thing hit.

Christmas Radio Online

My brother Pete is an amazing artist and gifted person. This year he is broadcasting Christmas music on the internet! All day long. Commercial free. Check it out! And while you are there, check his blog and his website. I own one of his photographs and I love it. It hangs over the piano in my living room, reminding me of the Adirondacks and the good times I have spent hiking and being with friends and family there.
http://www.radiopinetree.org/
Enjoy.

Here's a little taste of hiking in the Adirondacks. When the boys were little, on a warm autumn Saturday, we decided to take a hike. Literally. We loaded up the station wagon with a water jug and a lunch, tied on comfy sneakers, and drove north along Route 87 looking for an easy trail to negotiate with three small boys. We decided on Buck Mountain.

We drove alongside a river sparkling in the autumn sun, and after an hour or so, saw the marker indicating the start of the trail. We pulled off the left of the highway down a small incline to an open area where several cars were parked. The boys jumped out of the car, excited, wanting to run ahead. I carried the sandwiches and water jug, tying my sweatshirt around my waist.

The day was pleasant, sunny with just a bit of chill in the air. We walked along the wide path cut between tall stands of every imaginable type of tree, chattering and crunching the fallen leaves beneath our feet. The first cool thing we encountered was a fallen tree bridging a small stream. What a hoot to walk across, arms out steadying your balance, bark grabbing at your soles. The boys liked it so much they ran back and crossed again.

We walked for about three hours, the scenery pretty much the same and yet interesting. Trees on both sides of the path, clear vision deep into the woods, lots of beautiful colored leaves, enticing sticks, paw and hoof prints, the occasional pile of animal scat. The boys collected leaves, acorn caps, stones - all the things boys love to keep. Sometimes they wandered off the path only to be called back with suggestions of wild bears lurking behind bushes.

One could imagine being in an ancient world, long before the advent of cars and planes, long before cities and factories and schools were common. Here in the pristine woods you felt a kinship with the pilgrims and the Indians of long ago, would not have been surprised to encounter a covered wagon or deerskin clad hunter. We had no fear, mind you. Only happiness at being in the great outdoors away from the normal stress and strain of life.

Suddenly we burst into a spacious clearing, a meadow with blue skies and butterflies. There was an outhouse, an open lean-to for those brave enough to camp overnight, a fireplace, and several picnic tables. Perfect! Just in time for lunch. The boys were not even remotely interested in eating. They ran about picking up "found objects" and chasing each other, whooping and yelling like wild Indians themselves.

After lunch and the needed rest for Mom, the boys wanted to push on and explore more of the tantalizing path leading deeper into the woods, but I, ever mindful of the limits of their rambunction, I cruelly insisted that we turn back and head for the car. They pouted and protested, but in the end, grudgingly turned around and headed back the way we had come, convinced that there was nothing of interest remaining for them to see, only the hard work of walking three more hours.

After twenty minutes or so, they forgot to be mad and got caught up in the adventure before them of exploring the path from a new perspective, finding toads and little flowers and berries they had overlooked earlier. I had been right about not going any farther. Almost an hour before we reached the car, I was carrying the youngest whose little legs had worn completely out, and coaxing the others that it was "just a little ways more."

Leaves and acorn caps and sticks fluttered to the ground and the hands tired of carrying extra weight. Pockets were full enough of treasure to suffice. At long last we reached the fallen tree bridge and just beyond, the car. Before we could pull onto the highway, three heads were nodding, sweet sleep the reward of their extended exercise. All in all, a wonderful day!

Hanging In There

Sorry to leave everyone hanging after the last post. I caught a nasty virus and have been laid low. I was just working the firm commitments - "can't get a sub" kinds of meetings and desk duties for awhile, then finally stayed home altogether last Friday. By Sunday I was having a hard time breathing, so I went to the ER (you can read about that little episode when I back post my writings - interesting experience to say the least).

You know I am not well when I skip conducting for service on Sundays, and I did just that. Man, this bug is relentless (plus of course my immune system is not what it used to be - working on that). I stayed home Monday and half of Tuesday, and today is my first full day back even though I am far from over the flu. I am better, but suspect that I still have about a week or two of lingering symptoms.

I have yet to address the little bleeding issue I last mentioned, but plan to do so as soon as I can manage to stop coughing up my lungs and sleep in a bed as opposed to sitting up all night. I did mention it while in the ER, and was told in no uncertain terms to call the oncologist as soon as I am better or if I should suddenly seen more red (I have had only one more small incident).

So my apologies again for the unintended melodramatics. Meanwhile, more tea, vitamin C, zinc, steroids (yup), chicken soup, juice, water, Ricola, vicks, etc. etc. Got it. Looking forward to Thanksgiving break - I should be well on the mend by then.

Half Day Regroup

Despite the prednisone and the ample time off (Friday AND Monday), I am still struggling with not feeling well. But I can't sit around doing nothing forever. So I decide to go back to the idea of working my commitments just until I am well enough to be back full tilt. My voice is still two octaves too low, but at least I have a voice. With the medicine, I seem to have energy, so time to get back to work.

I find 400 emails awaiting, a dozen voice mail messages, and a few items slipped under my door needing my attention. Fortunately, no one dies if the librarian takes some time before responding. One of the benes of this career path.

In the back of my mind, I think that if the morning goes well and I am not greatly affected, I will stay longer. But by the time my morning Circ Desk time is over, I am barely able to manage the 11 o'clock meeting before I collapse. I definitely need to rest up. I drive home and sit in the big blue chair, my feet up, sipping hot tea.

I think about the dishes that should be put away from the dishwasher before I can reload with the dirty ones that are stacked everywhere in the sink, on the counters, on the stove top, in the living room. I ignore them and shut my eyes, pretending that someone else will be coming to vacuum the rug and scrub the bathroom sink.

Half day is enough. Maybe tomorrow will be better.

Cluster Choir

Each year the choirs of the United Methodist churches on the west side of Rochester get together and present a concert. Each choir selects two pieces to sing, and the director who's turn it is to spearhead the event select three pieces for all the choirs to sing together en masse. Its a nice idea to share music, and they take an offering to benefit the local foodbank.

Last year I was the new kid on the block, and had a hard time connecting with the information. We ended up not being able to acquire one of the mass pieces, and didn't even see the music until the afternoon rehearsal. Fortunately, it was not too challenging.

This year my friend was the new kid on the block, having just taken a position in one of the churches, and she also sent out email queries since I still had not heard anything either. She had a bit more luck getting some information and fortunately copied me on the responses.

The evening is a wonderful exploration of styles, themes, and music new and familiar. Its quite impressive to hear the mass choir sing - some hundred voices all doing their best to sing to the glory of God. Even the colorful pastiche of robes was pleasant to observe.

Next year I get to be the director - yikes! I don't often get to conduct such a large choir, so I will be excited to select repertoire and have some fun hearing the wash of sound as we unite in praise. And hopefully I will NOT be sick next year. I better start praying now!

The ER

I felt like I couldn't take a breath - not that my lungs weren't working, but my throat was so clogged with phlegm that everytime I tried to take a breath, I sucked phlegm down my lungs and coughed and choked. I was a little scared that my breathing hole would close up altogether.

When I first woke up, I called the pastor and told her I was not going to make it to church - dereliction of duty! I hate this. I know the world will go on without me and I am not irreplaceable. They will manage. But today is the Cluster Choir. Its an annual event, very important. I have to find a way to be there for my choir. I finally admit what I have been refusing to think. I am going to have to get help. Figures its a weekend. But the breathing thing is just edgy enough that I decide to head for the Emergency Room. Maybe they have a critical care unit that offers non emergency care.

I instruct Kiel to drop me off and go on to church. I will call him when I am ready. I know the drill. This could take hours. It is 9 in the morning. Probably won't be out until the afternoon. I tell the pleasant woman at the desk that I am having trouble breathing - wrong thing to say I found out later. She tells me to take a seat and notifies the nurse. Ten minutes later they take me back - this is a good sign. I am shown to a curtained area and instructed to put on a hospital gown. That seemed a bit curious, but OK.

Next thing I know, a nurse comes in to hook me up to an EKG. "Wait," I rasp. "I have a cold. I can't breathe because my throat is clogged with phlegm. I can't cough it up and its settled right on my vocal cords." She looks at me with amusement and patiently explains that it is protocol. Anytime anyone says they are having trouble breathing, they are required to do an EKG to rule out heart issues. I protest, but it does no good. I get an EKG - normal. I could have told them that. I try to console myself with the idea that if ever I do have any heart issues, they will have a baseline against which to compare notes.

Next up? A chest x-ray! Once again, I insist that its not my lungs. It is my breathing hole in my throat that is clogged. I know my lungs are clear. The nurse obligingly listens and tells me that my whole right side sounds clogged. Protesting does no good. I get the chest x-ray. All clear. I could have told them that. Still, the doctor can't get past the idea that its my lungs. He insists on giving me a breathing treatment.

Again, I tell him its my THROAT - can you please look in my throat? I can't get a clean breath in without sucking phlegm into my lungs and choking on it. Its like trying to breath through water. He shakes his head and orders the breathing treatment. Fine. Maybe it will help. Does it help? No. It makes matters worse. I watch my pulse rate go through the roof, more than doubling. My heart is now pounding and I can feel my pulse in my ears.

The blood work comes back. Some factor for clots is elevated. Now he is worried and wants to do a CAT scan with contrast. This time *I* shake my head. Allergic. Can't go there. He is thinking of admitting me. Oh, for crying out Pete. Can you please give me something to dry up all this phlegm in my swollen throat that won't counter my blood pressure medication? Ah, there is one option. Steroids. What??!! Are you sure that's the only option?

Given my medical history, that's his final answer. They inject my IV with the stuff and give me a prescription. I leave feeling shaky and wobbly and still not breathing well or able to speak above a whisper. Sometimes I feel like I speak a foreign language. I know they have to protect themselves against a lawsuit, but really!

I head home to change for cluster choir. It is now 5pm. I manage to get to the church and hook up with the choir and they "interpret" for me since I am still laryngitic. About two thirds of the way through the evening, my voice starts to clear up and I am definitely feeling less wobbly. I think the steroids are kicking in. Seems like a rather complex process to get over the flu! My advice? Don't get sick!

Koinonia's Out

My friend was disappointed. She had invited me to attend a Koinonia weekend, a get away for spiritual connection and renewal. I wanted to go, really. But I am so not over this flu. So I have to tell her I cannot go. She takes it well, though I can hear the disappointment in her voice. It would have been an especially good one by the sound of it. But her husband is sick also, and already on a prescription. There is no help for it. I will be spending another day sleeping in my chair and struggling to breathe without choking. Everything I had planned and looked forward to is passing me by. I hate being sick. At least this is just temporary and should pass soon. At least I sure hope so. Gosh darn it, enough is enough. Something better start working soon. I am running out of tricks.

Flagship Down

It just wasn't working. I tried to keep going, fulfilled those duties I was responsible for, went home when I didn't have anything scheduled. But I was not getting better. Or even staying the same. I was getting worse. Fearing a total collapse, I decided to just take a whole day off. An unheard of event, to be sure, if I am not seriously dying. And I have been seriously dying before, so I know there are times when you don't have a choice about working. But the better part of valor seemed to indicate a long day of sleeping and doing nothing but liquid intake.

I had no energy to address reading, writing, housework, talking to friends, or any of the myriad other things that zap your time and energy. I really am just sitting in the big blue recliner with a box of tissues and a trash bag handy, sipping hot tea and dozing. I feel like I am trying to breathe through an ocean. I can't clear my throat. My ribs ache from coughing so hard. Go away, you stupid bug. Leave me alone for crying out Pete. (I'm such a baby when I don't feel well!)

Cancel PrayerSong

Sigh. It is with a heavy heavy heart that I have to admit that I am not going to be well enough to sing tomorrow or Monday either. I have just enough voice to manage choir rehearsal this evening, and nothing more. Well I am still keeping desk hours and meetings at work, I am not strong enough to manage a full day even. With everything inside me protesting, I finally call the clinics and bow out.

Even more important than how I feel, I would never put a cancer patient at risk of catching anything - even were I further along I would have to carefully consider whether I am contagious. I know you can't isolate patients from the germs of the world, but you can stay away when you know you are battling something. And so I try to focus on the well being of those for whom we would have been singing, and let go of my disappointment. There will be other days, other songs.

Sigh. Sniffle. Cough, cough, cough.

No Y Either

I am heartbroken about not going to the YMCA and working out. I toyed with the idea of going to sit in the sauna, but I am too tired and too yucky feeling to go out. I still have no voice, and I ache all over. I have the evening shift at the reference desk, and I do plan to keep that commitment. So I stay home in the daytime and will go in at night for a few hours. I am not making much progress on getting stronger and I realize just how inadequate my immune system is when confronted with a bug. Others who have had this have kept the cough awhile, but otherwise only felt bad a day or so. It just reiterates the need for me to persevere at the Armstrong program. Meanwhile, I am still hopeful that I will somehow miraculously be well enough to sing on Friday. . .

Kurzweil meeting

Still not feeling well. Today I have laryngitis altogether. My throat isn't sore really, and I am not running a fever. I suck cough drops and throat lozenges and go to work only when I have desk duty or meetings. Today I have a meeting to talk about a software for our visually impaired students. How strange to call a blind person visually impaired! The idea is to make it easier for online readings to wend their way through the rendering process so the students don't have to wait so long to hear their assigned readings. Such a simple thing, but it took four people a number of weeks to just make one little change in process. That bureaucracy for you. My role? After listening to all parties (Learning Center, Technology, Reserves), I simply reiterated what I was hearing and suggested a new step - post for those students who need it in the already rendered software version. We do the waiting so they don't have to. And now, I am going home to sleep. I have class tonight, and my paper is not done (for the first time since I started classes) and I already told my professor that I was unwilling to hand in a two-thirds complete paper. He graciously gave an extension due to illness. Relief. Now if I can just get some rest. And some hot chicken soup.

No Voice Lesson for You!

Oh no. This tickle is now causing me to sing bass. A frog could do no better job of croaking than I am doing. Colds always go right to my vocal cords. Rats. I am supposed to have a voice lesson at 9:30. I send my professor an email explaining the situation. There is no way I can sing. I can barely speak. This better pass in a hurry. I have important cancer clinic concerts this coming weekend. I'm gonna lay low and pamper myself. Lots of juice and vitamin C and chicken soup and all those other cold remedies. Only thing I can't take is a decongestant because it messes up my blood pressure medicine. Rats, rats and phooey. I have avoided catching the "thing" that has been going around all semester. This is NOT the time to get it. Well, I'll just lie low and take it easy. Surely I will be better in a day or so.

PrayerSong Rehearsal

We have been practicing at Eastman School of Music on the third floor of the Main Building, thanks to one of our members who works at Eastman, a friend of mine from former days. She struggles to find time to work with us, but we still get to practice in a good space with a good piano. I am grateful!

This is one last rehearsal before we sing on Friday upcoming, then the following Monday. Both at Wilmot in Rochester and Roswell in Buffalo. We have a good line up of fun songs - I simplified to two part music this year - its easier to learn and wrap newcomers into the mix. My boys tease me that I have a lot of songs about food. They accuse me of subconsciously craving eating. I respond by saying I refuse to sing mushy love stuff - sometimes people just don't want to hear sappy gooey love songs when they are alone and not feeling well.

Anyway, we were running the full program. And having a great time. Laughing, repeating a few parts where we slid through by the skin of our teeth and felt perhaps we should make it a bit more solid. Not that anyone will be out there keeping score, just that we want to do a good job. After all, the point is to encourage cancer patients, not set their teeth on edge!

Suddenly, a knock at the door. A student pokes her head in and tells us she has the room reserved. What time is it? Wow! We have gone 15 minutes over our usual time and we still have one last song to run. We decide to cut it and just repeat something we are comfortable with. Yes, that will work. Its gonna be good, I can tell. Provided this tickle in my throat goes away. I love rehearsals! I love singing for cancer patients. I am blessed to have such dedicated singers working with me. Life is good.

Catching Up

One little unplanned trip out of town really set me back in the assigned readings for my class. Today I read ALL day, and haven't quite broken even. Some of the print in these tomes is so small I end up seeing double after several hours of trying to squint my way through such texts.

Not that I don't find it fascinating. We are reading the Patristic Fathers writings, men and women who lived in A.D. 100s and 200s. Much of what they wrote is still very much applicable to current times and thinking. I wonder that they were so well learned back then. Their logic and reasoning is solid and well grounded. Perhaps we have not progressed as much as we think, computers and jetplanes aside.

While I recognize that the massive amounts of time I am dedicating to these readings takes away precious time I would like to be spending with my boys, my grandchildren, my friends, I also see that the time commitment is temporary. By this time next year I will be free and hopefully more centered in my faith if nothing else.

Still, its important to maintain the balance between the truly important stuff and the ancillary activities. So people will always come first, and studies last. Except on the occasional day like today when I sit at my desk or in my reading chair and immerse myself in first century theology and philosophy. Which I hope will impact and improve the people thing for me. I guess I just got tired of hearing the names of Augustine and Thomas Aquinas bandied about without really having a clue what they were about. I wanted to really hear what they have to say. Now I am getting to do that! Yeah! Blurred vision and all.

Emotional Intelligence

I hate dealing with problematic employees. Every work situation has at least one person who makes everybody crazy. They don't get it, aren't socially adept, have weird quirks, lash out at others and generally make everybody miserable. Everyone knows it but the person themselves. No one has any idea how to address it. Bosses let it ride because its such a difficult thing to prove, and after all, they have to make a living somewhere. If it becomes really intolerable, they finagle a way to get rid of the person who doesn't see it coming and spends the next ten years trying to recover in one way or another. I hate dealing with problem employees.

But in every job I have held, the situation arises. In various places and at various times, I have tried numerous approaches, and finally settled on absolute and immediate honesty. Which is not easy by any means. You find yourself saying the things everyone else has wanted to say but didn't. And you end up in arguments because the person has no idea what you are talking about and isn't convinced that you are trying to help them.

I'm not a counselor, a psychologist, a trained career expert or even a CEO. Just a person who is tired of putting up with people in the wrong jobs, trying their best to do something they are mostly unsuited for, and making everybody miserable. Today I was given a new key to use. Its called emotional intelligence. Many of these sorts of people never grew up emotionally. It is especially true of mental geniuses - they may excel at the brainiac stuff, but they stink at the social stuff. Employees prefer the socially ept to the mentally ept. Who knew?

All these years we thought straight A's and memorizing everything that might be asked on Jeopardy were the keys to success. Not so! Its a new area for me. I am learning to subtly assist these social outcasts in exercising their long atrophied emotional muscles - and am amazed at the results! Maybe there's something to this stuff. Not that its the end all, but at least the next time I encounter this sort of thing, I will have a new tool to try.

Meanwhile, I wonder who *I* am driving crazy??!!

Striped Sidewalk

Are my eyes deceiving me? I had parked my car in Lot D, the assigned library employee parking lot, and was wending my way up the sidewalk to the north of the copper sided building when suddenly I realized that the sidewalk was striped! What on earth??

I glanced around, and no one else was in sight, so I stopped to investigate. Leaning toward the ground, balancing my backpack, purse and keys, I took a closer look. How peculiar. Where the sun had been shining through the other buildings and the trees, the sidewalk had dried up and was a lovely white color. Where something had cast a shadow, be it tree or dorm, the sidewalk was still wet from the rain and looked dark gray. Somehow, the light dry strips and the dark wet strips alternated in a lovely zebra pattern that was quite amusing.

Here and there the scenery was tinged a soft brown where a maple helicopter had fluttered to the ground, stuck on the sidewalk, and bled in the rain, leaving behind the most odd shapes and blobs of rust. If only the whole thing had been in a gallery somewhere, it would have fetched a pretty penny. How remarkably blessed am I to be the sole observer of such galant art!

Try THAT for a spring in your step!

Indian Summer

What an amazing day! The temperature is a balmy 70, the sky is blue, the sun shining. Students are running around in shorts and tee shirts - after a season of snow! It makes you want to lie on the beach and relax. People are in good spirits despite the looming papers and the crunch of semester deadlines. I had purely hoped for such a day - one last chance to glory in the great outdoors.

Where does that name come from anyways? Did it mean that Indians were likely to be out and about on such glorious days? Perhaps one last chance at the swimming hole or to bag a deer before the bad weather set it. A tease of a day when you let your guard down, thinking that somehow summer has returned and winter will not come with its icy winds and banks of snow.

I know one thing, I refuse to spend the day inside. I have been saving a list of errands that need attending to - errands that will take me to other buildings. Oh, these are the sorts of things that have no particular deadline, just ideas jotted down to be followed up on "some day" - and today is someday!

Instead of efficiently going from one place to the next, I wisely go to the first building, taking my time about walking, thinking out loud in my head as I breathe deeply of sunshine and blue skies. Mission accomplished, I head back to the library, check in, pick up the next task and head out a few minutes later in the opposite direction. In true Tom Sawyer fashion, I take my sweet time, chat with colleagues I encounter on the way, take a side trip to check out a few things, and afterwards, head back to the library.

Inside again, I do my daily walk through, dawdling by the windows, watching summer play. Then I find another reason to walk campus again. I am sure if anyone had been paying attention, they would have thought me forgetful, having to make so many trips outside when normally I only go out once a day at most. But everyone was too busy enjoying the great day and being happy themselves.

Truth be told, I got more done today of a "blue sky" nature than one could hope for in a month. It was quite productive - and catching people in great moods really furthered my progress. Yes, this is one Indian who isn't asleep at the switch. I may not have made any hay, but I sure enjoyed ticking things off my "some day" list. Hope your day was as wonderful.

Voting

This is the first year I have voted in Gates, and the first year I went with one of my sons to vote. Even though I suspect we may have cancelled each other out, I was very pleased and proud to go with Kiel to the polls.

We drove up to St Jude's, wondering if we were in the right place. Why is it that just because people have been doing something in the same place for years that they assume everyone knows the drill? It wasn't until we got close to the door that I finally saw the Polling Place sign. We parked and headed inside.

We stepped into the room and gave our names at the table inside the door. The ladies scratched their heads, searching for our names. I explained that we had moved in the summer and that I had gotten a form in the mail. They still couldn't find us. A gentleman stepped over to the table and asked us where we lived.

Turns out there were five or six different districts in the huge room, and we were at the wrong table. They directed us to the far side of the room. A new wrinkle for me, and I have been voting for years! Once we got to the right table, we zipped in and out in a matter of minutes. I had been a bit peeved that I couldn't get to the polls before I had to be at work, but Drew missed the bus and I was delayed.

I was half a day without an "I Voted" sticker - it felt downright unpatriotic. I mentioned it to the lady at the table while Kiel voted. She told me that the lines in the early morning had been very long - out the doors and down the sidewalk long. If I had come in the morning, I would have had to wait for at least 45 minutes if not longer. And they were expecting the traffic to pick up within the next twenty minutes as people got out of work.

So we hit just at the right time. It was good to see so many people out voting. Its probably the best turnout I have ever seen. Hurrah! Maybe Americans have finally figured out how important it is to vote. Well, we shall see. But at least I did my part. The rest is up to the good Lord.

My book is out!

Hey! Check this out!

http://www.amazon.com/Reflections-Ramblings-Diary-Cancer-Survivor/dp/1440444722/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1228093432&sr=8-1

My oldest son pulled together the first year of my blog postings and I am now a published author! Imagine that. I have had so many people encourage me to publish my writing that I went ahead with it. While I am not sure why anyone would want to read my rantings and ravings, I am happy to oblige those who have asked.

So feel free to order or pass the link on to friends who might be interested. Mostly though, I hope others who are battling cancer might find some small measure of comfort in these pages, perhaps identify with some of the little battles cancer patients deal with. So if you know someone with cancer, and feel so inclined, please send them a copy. And let me know if you get anything out of it.

Thanks.

Seven Eleven

Our worship service usually begins with a choral call to worship sung by the adult choir. The music is an invitation to enter into worship, to invite the presence of God, to help us focus on eternal matters.

This week, we were blessed to have the Roberts Wesleyan College Men's Barbershop Quartet. They call themselves Seven-Eleven. Why? Because they all started college in 2007 and will all graduate in 2011! So 7/11. Before the service began, they tried out the sanctuary to see how the space works. Then they warmed up properly in one of the Sunday School rooms. The place was abuzz with excitement.

They were decked out in bright red jackets with gold buttons - several of which went awol in the hallway right before service. One of the ladies in the choir scurried around and found a small sewing kit and worked her magic in making them jump back on the jackets and stay there.

What a joy to hear songs like "I'll Fly Away" and other gospel style music. I asked them to sing in as many places in the service as I could manage to wedge them. It added such a wonderful touch to the theme of passionate praise, one of our topics in the series pastor is teaching on. I'm working on convincing them that they should join the choir since three of them attend the church on a semi regular basis. Nothing like augmenting the ranks now and again. But of course, their lives are hectic and crammed with all the things college students love doing.

But its a definite booking for next year! And the next. I sure hope they get a few freshmen to take over after they graduate! I could get used to this tradition.

That Can't Be Good

Blood. Its never a good sign. Especially coming from parts of the body where it ought not to come. I mean, that's how this whole thing got started! Really, its just a small dot - nothing to be concerned about. Question is, why? Did I do something to trigger it? Eat something inappropriate? I have been experimenting with eating more of the healthier foods, and so far it has gone well. Is the exercise making things raw?

I worry that the amazing internal reconstruction job my surgeon miraculously performed only a few short years ago will suddenly come unhinged and without a moment's notice I could end up with a permanent stoma! The very thought makes me shudder. No way. Hold on to your wild imagination. No need to go down such a drastic road.

Still, I have been here before. And the first spot got my attention. This second one is concerning. If I see any more, I will be calling the doctor and trying not to panic. Repetition of this initial symptom is a difficult one to deal with.

At this point, I am merely lying low, pulling back from experimenting with fiber foods, not going to the Y for a couple of days, easing up.

And I am preparing for the "just in case" scenario. Just in case I end up in the hospital for some reason, I want to make sure that the emergency drawer has some cash in it, that my toenails are clipped and my legs are shaved, that the cupboards have some modicum of food in them, that the car gastank is full, that the bills are paid up, that Kiel knows where the important paperwork is and that its all up to date, that my phone is charged, that I have a small bag packed with essentials, that life will proceed smoothly without me should it need to for a few days. You know, the basics.

Darnit - a green light followed by a caution light. Well, maybe I am just making a fuss over nothing. Maybe the pain in my side is just gas and I am imagining things. Still, it never hurts to be ready.