Why Music Matters

We had our first performance of Brundibár at 10:00 this morning. I was rehearsal pianist for the two casts of singers in their tweens and young teens over the past three months, and was very excited to play the piano part with the CityMusic Cleveland musicians. We are playing four matinees for school kids and five evening performances for the general public.

This morning's performance was reserved for the students at John Hay High School. And I mean the entire school. Several hundred teenagers filled the auditorium, talking, laughing, texting, playing with their iPods, etc. I could tell they were happy to get out of class for an hour. But I couldn't help wondering if their teachers had given them any of the background context for the opera. Would they get it? Would it engage them and draw them in? Would they even like it?

The cast and most of the orchestra pre-set ourselves at the back of the auditorium before the concert began. The idea was that we would process up to the stage after the first piece, seamlessly and without the distraction of the doors in the back letting in light from outside. The concert started with Max Bruch's Kol Nidre for cello and piano, played beautifully. Unfortunately for those of us in the back, there was a constant stream of kids entering and exiting the back of the auditorium as the security guard cluelessly let them in during the piece, light flooding in, letting the doors slam as they closed. Kids being kids, there was a lot of whispering, giggling, and shushing from the peanut gallery. There were slides projected onto a large screen during the performance, but apparently that wasn't enough to focus them. They clapped when they thought the piece was over, about a minute too soon. I know that most of them have rarely or never attended a classical concert, so they don't know the protocol as well as they might.

The sound of a train whistle filled the room. Huge, menacing-looking images of a black steam engine filled the screen. Spotlights illuminated the aisles. I got to lead a line. We were to walk--slowly--while a very few musicians played the 90-second overture. It's hard to walk slowly but fast enough so that everyone behind you can get to their place on stage before the overture is over.

Maybe it's because I was on stage, behind all of the other musicians, but I didn't hear any noise from the audience except when they laughed or clapped at the action on stage. At the very, very end, something special happened. Ela Weissburger, who played the Cat in all 55 of the original performances in Thereisenstadt, came up to the stage and talked to the kids for about 15 minutes about how this music helped her survive the horrors of living in a concentration camp. It gave everyone involved an escape from the cold, the hunger, the terror of being sent away to a place no one ever came back from. It gave them hope, a feeling of connectedness, and a hold on their sanity.

She is in her early 80s. Her voice isn't the loudest and she didn't have a microphone. But that room was absolutely silent. They got it.

Ten Years and Two Days Later

One spring day in 2002, Paul & I met up at The Diner on Clifton (in Lakewood) to introduce each other to our friends for the first time. We had been an item for all of three weeks. I had my camera with me just in case. It was a very fun evening, and our friends enjoyed meeting each other. One of his friends, Lisa, asked him how many months he'd been hiding me. "Umm..point-seven-five?" I said. She then proceeded, purely by accident, to take what is one of the best pictures of the two of us ever taken. Never mind that Paul had just taught two Aikido classes, I had had a long day (it was about 10:30 at night by then), and we both were exhausted. We looked radiant.

Then: April 8, 2002

Fast forward 10 years. We thought it would be fun to revisit the Diner tonight. We haven't been there for years. I don't know why--it's less than a half-hour drive away. We still have the clothes we wore that night (well, the tops anyway). We got there, took a corner booth, and asked our server if she would do us the favor of taking our picture. She was all too happy to. I dug through my backpack, only to realize that I had forgotten the camera at home. I was so disappointed!

She was so nice. She volunteered to take the picture on her phone and email it to me. Thank you, Mandy Drahos--you get our Outstanding Employee Award.

Now: April 10, 2012

This has been the best decade of my life so far.

Voiceless

Since I so rarely get sick, I'm not very good at it. I usually get two colds a year. My fall cold didn't seem too bad at first. My usual symptoms (sore throat, plugged-up ears, low fever, constantly hacking my brains out) were blessedly absent. I had a husky voice for a couple of days. It was kind of fun in a way sounding like I'd been out partying all night.

Last Saturday evening, Paul & I went to an Oberlin Alumni Potluck in Cleveland Heights. This was the second one I've been to, and I always enjoy the conversations with articulate, like-minded people. We had met a few of the people last time, including our hosts, who happened to live in the house next door to the house I had shared with 3 roommates over 20 years ago.

We met one 50-something woman in a beautiful bohemian-looking blouse who used to work at Delphic Books in Coventry. She introduced us to her companion, a man of about the same age. He was very pleasant, so when we got plates of food, we sat near him.

Well, he just started venting about illegal immigrants, lazy welfare moochers, etc. Now keep in mind that by now I had only about half my voice left, and the room was very loud. I really had to think about whatever I said, since I had to save my voice and I couldn't project. I could see his point of view, but it was really off-putting how sneering and contemptuous he was of other human beings. I made non-committal comments, but he wasn't interested in hearing my point of view.

It was weird that by his age, he hadn't yet learned that it's not the best idea to vent about politics with people you don't know--what made him think I agreed with him? Couldn't he see by my body language that I was trying to disengage from the conversation? He was absolutely clueless. Then he started dissing Ohio as a place to live. I said, "Well, I'm happy here and I chose to live here." You'd think he would get a hint.

When I mentioned an article I had read in the New York Times to support my thesis that if we got rid of illegal immigrants, Americans don't want to/don't have the physical stamina to work those migrant farm worker jobs he started dissing my NYT. That was it. I said, " I don't agree with you, and I'm ending this conversation," got up, and went to the other room.

I don't like to think of myself as someone who refuses to talk about politics with someone I don't agree with. I think it was his tone that got me. And his assumption that I would be on his side. Really, dude? At an Oberlin function in Cleveland Heights? I really wonder what Ms. Delphic Books sees in him.

I proceeded to talk for three more hours (with other people), which was a blast, but by the end of the evening, my voice was gone and I've been totally mute ever since. It gets me thinking about people who really don't have a voice. Maybe next time, I will take the risk to speak up when someone is speaking contemptuously of others. And I should be more mindful before opening my mouth, because sometimes I do the same thing.

May

Last night, Paul & I were invited to the Student Appreciation Party at our teacher's new (and much farther away) ballroom. One of our fellow students, May, is in her mid-90's. She has a private lesson once a week, and can move more easily than a lot of 60-year-olds we know. She has a whole wardrobe of ballroom dresses she made and designed herself. She has a nice little business making outfits for other ballroom dancers for their competitions.

We got to talking last night, and she said that lately she's been branching out. Apparently, her fame is spreading to other demographics. She's started designing outfits for pole dancers. We think this is kind of awesome.

Here's a snippet of conversation from last night.

Paul: So what are the pole-dancing costumes like?

May: Skimpy! And stretchy!

Paul: I guess the skirts have to be kind of short--otherwise, they'd just fly up in their faces when they're upside-down.

May: Yeah, they're about seven inches long.

If I live to be 96, I hope I turn out to be half as cool as she is.

What IS Reality?

Paul and I love this topic, and have a variation of this conversation at least once in any given week.

Unless I stop to think about it, I tend to assume that everybody else experiences reality exactly the same way I do. That plate I'm eating from sure seems to be a solid object, even though on the atomic level it's mostly empty space between atoms. If a friend and I each took out a pencil and paper to draw the plate, I think we would each come up with a similar picture. This leads me to believe (and assume) that s/he and I perceive the plate the same way. When we have a conversation "on the same wavelength," and we don't have to work hard to make each other understood, it feels like we must experience the world in a very similar way.

It's really hard to imagine the world from any frame of reference outside the filters of my bodily senses and life experiences. Without the brain's ability to organize raw sensory data into patterns, the world out there would just be a chaotic mess of random-seeming atoms. We wouldn't be able to make sense out of any of it.

Even if someone else shared my exact sensory perceptions (doubtful), s/he would still have a totally different history of life experiences. We would perceive the same sensory experience very differently.

This reminds me of a spirited debate in my Twentieth Century (music) Analysis class in my CIM days. Our prof asked the class the following question: If you encountered an isolated group of people who had never heard Western music before and played them a Beethoven symphony, would it sound like dissonant chaos to them? A minority of the class, including me, said it would. The other side argued with conviction that Beethoven was so universally accessible that of course they would understand it, and probably love it, upon hearing it for the first time, just like we would. We must have debated it for at least half an hour.

I still stand by my conviction. When I first heard Indian music, it sounded strange and out of tune to me because the intervals in their scale are much closer together than ours. I'm sure it doesn't sound that way to them!

Since every human is unique, it follows that there are approximately 7 billion different human realities out there. It's amazing that we get along as well as we do!

A Cautionary Tale for Those Who Keep a Messy Office (Like Me!)

I finally spent about an hour and a half going through the 16 months' worth of old mail, catalogs, rejects from the printer, schoolwork, check stubs, and various other detritus. For the first time in ages, I can see both the carpet and my desktop. It sure is nice! That's the good news.

I had weeks during the winter break from work and school that I could have done this. But of course I didn't. Why now? Well, it's funny you should ask. Earlier in the week, I extracted a few pieces of music from my vast pile of sheet music to play for this Sunday's church service, and, as usual, brought them upstairs to my office so I could copy the titles and composers into an e-mail so they could be listed in the Order of Service. At least, I thought I brought them upstairs.

The week got busy. My online class, Business Strategies, started. I added blizzards of syllabus and PowerPoint printouts to the ankle-deep mess on the floor. I accepted a job as rehearsal pianist for the Bedford High musical, Guys and Dolls. Must print out the rehearsal schedule, contact info, Google Map to the school, etc. There are tons of papers all over the place related to my Treasurer duties at the church--financial statements, board meeting paperwork, etc--in several separate piles. I suppose I ought to get to that and stop procrastinating, I thought.

It's funny how well I can adapt, to a point, to navigating in a mess. I rarely spend more than a couple of minutes looking for a particular piece of paper before finding it. But then there comes that one time that the thing you're looking for, in this case, my music for Sunday, seems to have disappeared into a parallel universe. Couldn't find it before work this morning. Oh, well, I thought, I'll find it this afternoon.

But I couldn't. Really, I went through everything, even the paper recycling box. The horrible thought occurred to me: what if I had mistakenly dumped it into the recycling that I already took out and got rid of? I looked at the playlist I had e-mailed to the church office. Had I unintentionally memorized any of it from the last time I played it? How well could I fake it, if necessary? Most of it was fairly obscure ragtimes and fiddle tunes. How noticeable would it be if I had to make up large sections of it? Or would it be better to just pick something else and make an announcement? Not that anyone would notice the difference--or would they?

I didn't have any memory of putting it back in the tattered plastic library bag where I keep all of my xeroxed copied music, but I looked there, since I had now exhausted every other alternative. It wasn't in the top of the pile. But seven or eight pieces down, there it was. I heaved a great sigh of relief.

I guess the moral of the story is: Don't let the layer of papers become such a permanent part of your office floor that the cat walks on it and even naps on it because he thinks it's part of the floor.

A Shiver Up My Spine (Not the Good Kind)

Winter is making its second grand entrance in less than a week here along the Lake Erie shore. It's been snowing for at least 24 hours straight, with a nasty wind averaging at least 35 mph. The wind has a good side: it blows the snow off our driveway as fast as it can fall, so I haven't had to do any shoveling. However, the downside is that the wind chill factor is about -11 F. Though our house is fairly new and holds heat well, that wind just seemed to penetrate its icy fingers right through our walls earlier today.

Throughout the morning, as I was reviewing my notes for my Financial Management final, the room seemed to be getting colder and colder. I was already wearing my L. L. Bean fleece pj's, which are usually toasty enough to be more than adequate when I bump the heat up to 66, as I often do when I'm home during the day. But my hands were icy and I couldn't feel my toes even with socks on.

So I put on my heavy robe over the pj's and a second layer of socks before I took the exam. Gotta love those online classes on a day like this! After acing the exam (yes!) and farting around on my favorite websites for a while, I thought, hey, I'll do a cardio workout--that ought to warm me up. I opened the bedroom door to get my workout wear and was practically bowled over by the crypt-like draft blasting out of there. The thermometer said 52 degrees! It's always freezing in there during the winter, especially on windy days, but this was lower than I'd ever seen it.

I went downstairs to check the thermostat: 60 degrees. That's funny, I thought. It seems like the furnace isn't even on. I went down to the utility room, and sure enough, it was eerily quiet. My mind flashed back to a time in the summer when the air conditioning seemed to be malfunctioning, and wouldn't respond no matter what we did. It turned out that Mouchie the cat had bumped the master switch to the "off" position hours before. (I really wonder who thought it was a good idea to install it 2 feet above the floor level.)

Today, the switch was in its usual "up" position, but I thought, maybe turning it off and on will "reboot" the furnace. I did that, and, dramatically, the furnace roared to life, followed by the fan. I had fixed it! That's a little weird, but whatever. And then, exactly 15 minutes later, it stopped. All afternoon, I kept running down there to reboot it, which brought the house to an anemic 61 degrees. I had the gas fireplace on for about 7 hours, which at least kept the family room warm, but I knew something was seriously wrong. The bedroom was now down to a bone-chilling 45 degrees! How on earth were we going to sleep tonight?

When Paul got home, we looked up furnace troubleshooting tips online. We looked up the phone number of the heating and cooling company that does our maintenance in case we had to call them tomorrow. He went outside into the arctic blast with a flashlight to see if the outside vent was coated in ice or something--nope. It just kept getting colder and colder. We started retreating into ourselves like turtles. Well, I did, anyway.

Paul finally started checking the tubes that vented water from the humidifier, after jostling one around, water just started gushing from it, as if it had been pent up in a reservoir. It had been pinched near the bottom, leaving the water nowhere to go. After one false cycle, the furnace has been functioning normally for an hour and a half now. I think (hope) he solved the problem.

Here's what we think happened. Although Mouchie hadn't flipped the master switch this time, the chain of events that led up to this is still his fault. About 3 weeks ago, when I was eating my lunch at home, I heard a huge crashing noise, followed by the pinging of hundreds, perhaps thousands, of tiny pebble-like objects. Something was clearly amiss down in the utility room.

As I came down the stairs, the overpowering smell of dry catfood overwhelmed me. Mouchie, hiding behind the couch in full freak-out mode, shot up the stairs as soon as he saw me. I had a few choice words upon entering the room. He had knocked over a newly-opened 15-pound bag of dry cat food from the top shelf. It weighed more than he did--don't ask me how he had the strength--and absolutely exploded upon impact dumping little pellets of cat food everywhere. And I mean everywhere. All over the top of the washing machine and dryer. behind them. Inside them, even though their doors weren't open. On top of (and in) the litter box. (Guess I should be thankful it had a cover over it.) In every dust-bunny- and cobweb-infested nook and cranny in the entire room. Including, of course, all of the nooks and crannies of the furnace and its myriad pipes and tubes.

I was on my hands and knees for at least a half and hour with the hand broom and dustpan getting it all. We had had ants before (who love dry cat food), so I made an effort to get every last kibble. It was like hunting for cockroaches; you see one, you know there are 10,000 more just out of plain sight. Honestly, that's what I was thinking when I pulled the flimsy little white pipes aside only to see at least 200+ kibbles way under there. I had to get them all! As you can imagine, I was kind of pissed at this point, and I took it out on those poor pipes, shoving their ends back in their little hole none too carefully.

Fast forward to today, the first day it was cold enough for the furnace to be on continuously for hours and hours at a time. The water from the humidifier just couldn't drain fast enough, and when its reservoir stayed full, it automatically shut off the furnace. Now that it can drain, problem solved. It sure is a relief that we (and our pipes!) won't freeze overnight, and that we are spared the ordeal of an emergency service call on a day that I'm sure plenty of others would be ahead of us in line.

Almost Busted

Last night on my way home from class, I stopped for gas at a very well-lighted Shell station right before the freeway entrance. Toodling along on I-71, listening to a mix CD, I noticed the traffic slowing as we approached the municipality of Linndale. Linndale is a tiny community, encompassing only a few hundred yards of the freeway, and is universally known as a notorious speed trap. The general impression is that nailing speeders is their primary means of municipal income. There is almost always a cop car lurking on the far left shoulder under the overpass, just waiting for the opportunity to score.

The speed limit on that part of the freeway is 60. I saw the cop car and checked my perfectly illuminated speedometer display. It read about 58 mph. All was well with the world. No one around me was speeding, either.

After passing the bridge, I glanced up at my rear-view mirror. I saw that the cop had started his flashing lights. I figured that this was a don't-mess-with-me display, not unlike that of a cobra flaring its hood or a dog baring its fangs, just to warn people to slow down. But then he started moving, with the lights. I wondered who he was after. Usually, they don't bother unless someone is going recklessly fast, weaving in and out, etc., and I didn't see anyone around me who wasn't on their best driving behavior.

Pretty soon, I saw the lights in the lane right behind me, and realized he was after me. I pulled over, having no idea what I'd done. My heart started pounding. What on earth did I do? The thought of a moving violation jacking our insurance rates through the roof gave me a sinking feeling. A young cop got out, came up to me, and asked for my driver's license and proof of insurance. And then asked me if I realized I had been driving without my lights on!

I had no idea. Obviously, I had turned them off when I stopped for gas and never remembered to turn them back on. The streetlights lit the road so brightly, I couldn't even tell the difference. He spent several minutes in the cop car, presumably writing me up. Ugh, what a stupid brain fart. And for that, I would probably have to pay a ticket (a day's pay or so) and then eventually an extra week's pay on next year's insurance premium. This suuucks!

After making me sweat for a few interminable minutes, he came back to my window to hand me back my documents. I said I couldn't believe I hadn't noticed about the lights. He asked, "You didn't notice that your dashboard display was dark?" I showed him that the dashboard is fully lit whether the lights are on or off, and I really had no idea. He then said, "Well, remember to drive with your lights on from now on."

Sweet--I got off with a warning, and no ticket! That hasn't happened to me for 15-20 years. I guess that means my feminine charms are still good enough to get me out of a jam. More likely, I reminded him of his mom. :-)

Night Out (the Having-A-Life Part of My Weekend)

Last night, Paul & I went to see Verb Ballets at the new Breen Center for the Performing Arts in Tremont, a whopping 12-minute drive from home. It's a beautiful facility for dance--just a few hundred seats, all with good sight-lines and an excellent sound system. Saw lots of people from the Cleveland area dance community. It was a one-night engagement, so everyone who wanted to come was there the same night. Highlights:

• The opener, "Cleveland Flats Symphony," had stunningly bright and sharp video images of architecture and scenery from the Cleveland flats projected on the backdrop. The dance seemed almost like an accompaniment to the video, the choreography echoing its images. One I liked: a dancer doing the backstroke across the stage as river paddle-boats floated by across the screen.
• "Reflections of...'" a new duet by the Greene/Medcalf Project (Terence Greene and Michael Medcalf, both of whom have taught classes I've played for over the years). Terence's choreography is to movement what melisma is to a melody. It was nice to talk to both of them after the show.
• After intermission, under the pretense that she had won a Verb t-shirt in a raffle, a young lady was called up to the stage where her sweetheart presented her with a red rose bouquet. He asked the audience to sing "Happy Birthday" to her, which we did, in the keys of D major and F# Major simultaneously ("Happy Birthday" arranged by Charles Ives). He then proposed to her on stage, much to the delight of the audience (lots of shrieking and standing ovations). Good thing she said yes!
• The final piece was "The Myth and The Madness of Edgar Allen Poe." Schubert and Bizet were mixed in with eerie, diabolical- and and dramatic-sounding music to accompany this narrative of Poe's descent into madness as all of his loved ones die before their time, one after another. Lots of black ravens carrying them off into the next world and dancing menacingly. It made me think about how nasty, brutish, and short life (and death) were back then, when most people died of acute diseases and infections around age 36.
• Afterwards, we went out for dinner at the Flying Fig (first time for us) with Brad and Elaine and Brad's mom, Grace, who we know from the CWRU Dance Department. Great food and great conversation--we talked a lot about the tension between science and religion in this country, and about the book about the changing nature of death that Paul and I read last month. Next thing we knew, it was after midnight and we were closing down the restaurant!

I've got four (count 'em) nights playing at Stages Restaurant this month, starting tonight, after a five-month hiatus. I'm a second-stringer there, and usually get called about once a month when one of the regular pianists gets another gig that pays more. One of them John Parkinson, is convalescing after having a heart attack and won't be up to it for a while. I wish him a full recovery. Meanwhile, I'll enjoy the windfall of extra paid work.

Of course, this also means my having-a-life nights will probably not take up a whole evening again for a while. After the gig tonight, we could have gone to a party, a wine tasting, or out dancing, but I'll be cracking the books for school until the wee hours instead.

This Is My Brain in The Zone

Today, one of my Facebook friends set up a group called "Tapping Our Creative Energies," with the aim of exploring and sharing our insights and experiences about being "in the zone" where creative inspirations happen. This is a great topic, as I've arranged my life so that I can have creative experiences every day. It's the only way I can consistently enter the Zone, where I can feel fully present in the moment for more than a couple of seconds at a time.

I posted this as the first discussion.

Ever since I can remember, I've always associated specific colors with pitches (A is red, D is green, etc.). It's not as vivid as it was when I was a child, but whenever I play a piece of music, I see in my mind's eye a combination of colors, shapes, images,and musical notation.

The colors are always coordinated with the tonality of what I'm playing, and the shade changes depending on the harmonic context. For example, D major is a bright, primary green, while D minor is is more pine or sage green, and a D in a diminished chord would be more olive. It's a sort of visual shorthand.

When I'm playing for a modern dance class, where I have to make up everything on the spot, sometimes I'll look at what color someone is wearing to help me pick a key. I'll see a shape or sculpture that reflects the meter(s), structure, or accents of the exercise--for example, if it's in 7, is it 2-2-3, 2-3-2, or 3-2-2? If it's the first one, I'll see two squares and a triangle--then all I have to do is "color in" the picture with notes, and not get bogged down in concentrating on each individual count.

These "little" patterns become parts of bigger structural elements. Say there are 9 7's. I'll maybe divide it up into 3 sets of 3 7's. Or the overall pattern might be 4+5. Whatever it is, that's what I'll use to phrase it.

I use this same process when playing things I did not make up. Memorizing just sort of happens automatically, unless I haven't spent much time on it.

If I didn't see these visuals, playing/composing music wouldn't be half as fun or interesting. How about you? Anybody else have sensory overlap experiences during the creative process?

Treasurer

My church has been soliciting the congregation to fill the position of Treasurer for several months now. This is the first time in my memory that no one on the Board of Trustees stepped up for it. Every week, there has been an (increasingly desperate) announcement that we need a volunteer for this position, that no experience is necessary, that Steve (our outgoing treasurer) will walk you through the first month or so.

I knew about this position back in June, when Steve's 2-year term was supposed to end. All summer I have been thinking about it. My first reaction was that it would be too much for me to take on, with two hard classes plus additional music work this fall.

But last week, I was talking to Paul about whether I should take on the volunteer tax clinic for a second year, which would entail taking the training class again (6 Saturdays in the fall, 4.5 hours per class) and doing people's taxes for 10 Saturdays (5 hours a day) in the spring. Would it really add that much to a resumé to say that I did it for two seasons instead of one? Or would it be better to get some experience with some bookkeeping-related work, since that's what I hope to do with this degree?

Internships are hard to come by in Cleveland, in this economy. Finding a part-time one that I can work into my strange schedule during the school year seemed well nigh impossible. As we were talking about it, I realized: here is a chance to get some experience that can work around my schedule! Here's a description of the Treasurer's responsibilities from the Beacon (monthly newsletter):

The Board is seeking a Member to fill the position of Treasurer. This is a 2-year position to begin as soon as possible.

The Treasurer tasks include:

• Receiving and processing donations, pledges, offering and other income
• Working with the Bookkeeper to compile monthly reports
• Attend Board meeting to present monthly reports
• Maintain Account of Finances
• Submit Fiscal Year End Report
• Pledge Receipts Reporting to Individual Members

This work is done with the assistance of the Society’s Bookkeeper and Office Administrator. Steve Doell the previous Treasurer will work with the new Treasurer to provide guidance and assistance during the first month to help the volunteer to become familiar with the tasks and duties of the position.

It's almost like the universe was saving this opportunity for me to take on, as no one else has expressed any interest in it for the past 3 months.

The Living End (Reflections)

I just devoured a book called The Living End, by Guy Brown. It was a well-written account of how the circumstances of death have changed drastically in the past 100 or so years. In the old days, something like 40% of humanity never made it to their 5th birthday. Life expectancy was still low even for those who made it past 5--they were most likely to die in their 30s or 40s from acute causes like infectious disease, famine, violence, complications from childbirth, etc.

Nowadays, in an age of good sanitation and antibiotics, people live a lot longer but tend to die of chronic conditions like heart disease, cancer, respiratory disease, and dementia, often after at least a decade of poor health. Even fatal heart attacks have become less common (when you think about it, that would be a good way to go--it's quick). Now, instead, people live with congestive heart failure, or a fragile, jerry-rigged heart, kept going by technology and drugs.

The first third or so of the book, as you might imagine, was a bit of a downer. There is no evidence, he says, that a good diet, exercise, supplements, etc. slow down our aging rate at all. Yeah, you'll be healthier, but a 65-year-old in 2010 is just as physically aged as a 65-year-old in 1510. So all of this increase in life expectancy isn't front-loaded onto youth; it just adds years onto the end, when you're less functional.

The cool part of the book was the discussion about how death has changed from a "digital" (1 you're fully alive, 0 you're fully dead, with no gray in-between) to an "analog" event (more like a dimmer switch). From the book:

The digital theory of death is dying. We can no longer think of ourselves as suddenly going from being fully alive (1) to fully dead (0). In the same way we have accepted that we do not jump from being non-existent (0) to fully alive (1) at birth. Becoming a full human being is a process. We grow into it over a period of years and decades, but then we grow out of it. That does not mean that aging is growing up in reverse. They are obviously completely different processes: an extremely old person is not the same mentally or physically as a new-born baby. But growing up and growing old could be thought of as growing into and growing out of life. This would give us an analogue theory of life and death: there is a continuum between life and death. Life is not all-or-nothing, there are degrees of life; at some times in our life we are more alive than at other times. We’d all agree that at some times of the day (or night) we are more alive than others. But to assert that some people are more alive than others is a political bombshell. However, whether we like or not, the future reality where the majority of us die demented or cognitively impaired will force new concepts of life and death upon us.

Later in the book, he applies this analog theory to the concept of self. Our cells, organs, etc. are constantly dying off and being regenerated over a lifetime, like a wave that is made up of different water molecules as it advances. In our culture, we've always thought of the "self" as a kind of unchanging spiritual essence that stays constant throughout life and survives in eternity in some sort of afterlife. His theory suggests that the self is just as fluid and ever-changing as the body or the degree of being alive.

All of the memories of every experience we've ever had affects the chemistry of our brains, wiring them differently for each individual. Neurons die or get pruned constantly--there's no way we could remember everything that's ever happened to us. The very act of calling up a memory changes the neural pathway where it's stored. The life experiences/memories that make you unique are therefore constantly changing--it's just usually so gradual you don't notice it.

Are you really the same self at 80 as you were as a baby? This makes sense to me, but seeing it spelled out like that made me sort of uncomfortable. The "self" is such a big deal in our culture. Paul has read the book too, and we're trying to figure out what actually constitutes the "self."

Back After 2 Years!

During this last few days before school starts again, I just read everything I've ever posted on this blog. It was very entertaining, and reminded me of some of the things going on in my life that I would have forgotten otherwise. Haven't posted here in forever. Tried to sign in here a couple of nights ago and found myself locked out, but somehow managed to get in today.

I've been using Facebook since May 2008 for connecting and keeping up with friends and family. It has many advantages--I'm more likely to post something when it has to be under 450 characters or so--but once it scrolls off the page, it eventually disappears. Now that I know I can include anything I post here as a link there, I may use this to post things going on here that are longer than a status update.

Here's what's up in my life right now:

• School: 3 years down, 1 year left to go for my Associates in Accounting. Only 3 classes left,at least 2 of which will be very hard. I've kept up a 4.0 GPA all this time. Lots of nights at the computer until 2:30 a.m., spending 12+ hours per week on each 4 credit-hour class. Other than school breaks, I've had many months with virtually no life at all. It's nice to see the light at the end of the tunnel!
• Work: still at CWRU, Windsong, and the UU Society. This summer, I started working for Cleveland City Dance. I really enjoy the atmosphere there. I'm just so happy to be back at a ballet school again. I'll be back there after Labor Day, maybe as much as 3 days/week, depending on enrollment. That's as much as I had the year before last at Gladisa's, before I lost that job.
• Home: Paul and I just celebrated our 7th wedding anniversary. I never know what we're going to talk about at the dinner table, just that it will be interesting. Last night, we talked about the mole measurement in chemistry, the history of the periodical table, stupid right-wing beliefs, and Eastern vs. Western ideas of the nature of the self.
• My gradual slide into lax eating behavior over the past 1-1/2 years. I got so sick of anal-retentively logging all of my food and activity. Thank God for Lycra in all my clothes is all I'm going to say. Ugh, though. I look a little "round" in recent photos. I'm gonna have to lose this and get back on the wagon, but I'm not quite ready to do what it takes. I think I've gained back about 15 pounds (not that I would know for sure, not having stepped on a scale for weeks).

Well, I'm off to a meeting at the UU to plan the choir schedule and discuss other choir-related concerns before rehearsals start up again this Sunday. I have really enjoyed the summer break from choir. I am kind of burned-out, as I come for the rehearsals on a volunteer basis, which doesn't feel optional. I have feedback I want to share about time management of rehearsals, picking of music that's appropriate for the limited skill level of the choir, etc. I don't want to sound like I'm just bitching and complaining, so I'll have to think of a constructive way to frame it.

Mouchie's New Bedtime Ritual

Some of you may recall a really annoying habit of Mouchie's I posted about in the spring. For a while, I had an evening routine of piling 3 cardboard boxes in front of the front door to keep him from peeing there overnight/before breakfast. As the weather got hotter and he became less active, I stopped putting the boxes down, and for about 3 blissful weeks he didn't do it. But then he started again. And then he did it on the floor next to the boxes. Evidently, it's not just a springtime habit any more. We have come to the realization that the only solution is to keep him out of the space all night, every night, no matter what.

I felt bad the first night I shut him up in the laundry room. Everything he needs is in there--dry food, water, kitty carrier/bed, litterbox (and only bare floor), but I felt like I was shutting him in prison for the night. He wasn't too happy at first and tried to bolt for the door. But now that this has been the new routine for a month, he is very accepting of it. And it certainly has solved the problem. As a bonus, overnight yack attacks are confined to the bare floor, making clean-up much easier. Although once he barfed on top of the washing machine, necessitating both horizontal and vertical clean-up, but it was still easier than carpet.

A part of me still feels bad having to restrict his freedom. I had a dream once that I put him inside an empty plastic milk jug which I then put into the refrigerator. I spent the rest of the dream worrying that he couldn't breathe, and that I wouldn't be able to get him out through that narrow little opening.

Grown-Up Clothes

For all these years, I've gotten away with these three looks for every job I've ever had:

• Weekend/Casual
• Church/Wedding
• Concert/Evening Wear

Never in my life have I ever had occasion to wear a suit. I had a special audition yesterday where none of the above looks would cut it, so Wednesday I went to the Ann Taylor store and bought this outfit, minus the scarf. I even got the slacks hemmed 1-1/2 inches so they would be the perfect length. I certainly wasn't overdressed, and now I can think of all kinds of occasions I could wear this.

Ace

What a great feeling. For my second big math test, I took two days to study. I finished it in an hour and 10 minutes and got 100%!!

We have a project for class in the form of a short play, a murder mystery. The point is to use a formula and logarithms to figure out whodunit. It's not due until the 24th, but I (fortunately) started it on Monday. After 4 hours, my brain hurt. I know I did something wrong because when I plugged in the known times and cooling dead body temperatures that were given to us, it didn't add up with the formula I came up with. So I knew it wouldn't be right to derive the unknown time. My dreams that night were about frustration and failing to get it (not fun).

I was able to get a hint from Mike (my prof) in class, not enough to give me the answer but at least enough to know where I started going wrong. Tonight, in only an hour, I solved it!! (This equation is nothing like anything in the book, so required some thinking outside the box and some trial and error.) Boy, that sure does feel good.

MAAATH!

You know how sometimes a funny comic sticks in your mind for years? This one cracked us up when we first saw it in the Funny Times:


We started saying, "Darwin!" "E=MC squared!" "Chaos Theory!" and other assorted silliness, leering at each other at the dinner table, etc. Paul's favorite reference to this comic is, "Maaaath!"

Since June 10, I have been devoting a lot of time to my college algebra homework. The summer session crams 16 weeks worth of material into an 8-week period. That means for a 4-credit-hour class, I need to devote16 or more hours a week to homework and study time, as opposed to 8.

During the 4-week break between school sessions, did I spend any time whatsoever reviewing basic algebra concepts? Had I done any reviewing besides last year's 10 days devoted to improving my score on the math assessment test? Of course not! No one else in the class has gone 27 years since Algebra 2. I was a little overwhelmed by the pace at first, and had no idea where to start when the class was given an example problem to work out. Couldn't remember how to factor a polynomial to save my life. Uh-oh, I thought. Will it even be possible for me to get an A in this class?

By the end of the first week I was hitting the books for several hours a day most days. My math mind is officially back in shape now. When I'm working out a problem, time has no meaning. I occasionally look up at the clock in the middle of my homework, surprised to see that 2 hours have passed when it feels like 15 minutes. Paul will leave to teach his class, saying, "I see you're doing MAAATH!" and I'll still be at it when he comes home.

I have to stop no later than 11:30 pm though. Otherwise my brain is still racing and I can't calm down and go to sleep until after 2 am. My dreams have been full of graphs and functions and numbers. That means it's sinking in.

I spent about 7 hours studying for the first test (last Thursday). It really took that long. There is just so much information, like a foreign language I'm not quite fluent in. We had 2 hours to take the test, and I finished in an hour and 20 minutes. I felt pretty good about it. Today we got the tests back, and I got a 96 on it!

I sure like MAAATH a lot more than English Composition.

Finally!

Yesterday afternoon we finally were able to bring our new car home, as the check came on Friday. It's been 18 years since I've financed a car, and boy, how things have changed. It took us over two hours to apply for credit, get our credit checked, fill out paperwork, and swim through a mind-boggling array of extra options related to extended warranties, maintenance plans and various anti-theft coverage. Suffering from information overload, we said we would need to take a couple of days to talk it over as far as the extra stuff. I've always heard that extended warranty coverage is a ripoff, and I want the chance to do some online research so we can decide if it's a good use of money. We already own half of the car outright. Not as good as buying it with cash, but we think it's important to leave something in the savings account.

The car is beautiful. Paul let me be the one to drive it the 4 miles home, while he followed in the old car. It's so brand-spanking new, the odometer was still in the single digits. I drove like a little old lady, gently and carefully. Originally I had planned to drive it to my restaurant gig in North Royalton, where I was subbing for someone, but I hadn't added it to the insurance policy yet, and I just felt like it was tempting fate to drive it on the freeway in the pouring rain when I'm still learning my way around it. (I did have time to add it today, so we're free and clear to drive it now.)

We sure are a couple of cautious old farts. "So what's the first thing you did with your new car?"

"Well, we drove it home and then left it in the garage for 2 days." Well, better boring than sorry.

Car Purchase in Progress

We did get a chance to test drive the Fit last Tuesday evening. The dealer had one base model in stock in Tidewater Blue (our first color choice). It has a tiny, but zippy engine, and has the feel of a high-quality entry level vehicle, comparable to a new Civic but a little less low-riding. The only thing we don't like so much is the small view through the rear window. Compared to what we're used to, it's like looking through the small end of a telescope. Because of this, the blind spots are slightly bigger. Everything else about it is so much just what we want that we are willing live with that and rely a bit more on turning our heads and using the side mirrors.

They have installed the options we've asked for, a keyless entry system and a cargo cover for the back. The car is all ready to go. We're just waiting for the check from our investment savings account to be processed, which we will use as our down payment. Since this involved selling some securities, it's not exactly instant access to our money. (I sent the authorization form last Thursday morning and the check couldn't be processed until today.) Patience, patience. We are so fortunate that our schedules allow us to share my Civic without much inconvenience in the meantime.

Baby's First Bifocals

Lately I've noticed my reading focus is stating to waver. Last year, it only happened when wearing contacts (not glasses), but now it happens with the glasses, too. Last June, I had a little bifocal added to my prescription, but I didn't buy new glasses and let it slide another year. I knew it would just keep getting worse for a while anyway.

So last week I had my annual eye exam and sprung for the bifocals this time. It's the mildest prescription available (+100, sort of a training bra for bifocals), but I still decided on the progressive lenses. I don't want a stark line in the middle of my lenses. Not only is it ugly and granny-looking, but it makes it a lot harder to see! Add in anti-glare surface, anti-scratch coating, etc. and they set me back quite a bit, even with the 30% AAA discount.

Not to mention the frames. I tried on at least 10 frames. Didn't have a clue how they looked on me since I couldn't see, so the salesperson took pictures of me wearing them so I could at least have some idea how they look. Of course, the one I liked the best was the first one I tried on and the most expensive. Oh well, still cheaper than 2 years' worth of contacts. Here's a picture of my frames:

I had to wait 8 days (not exactly glasses in an hour--I think those days, like those of filing the 1040-EZ tax form, are now behind me forever). I just got them yesterday. It is much easier to read and do homework. The computer and reading music at the piano will take a little getting used to, since that's an intermediate distance. I can see clearly at all distances now (yay!) but to do so, now I have to tilt my head up and down until I'm looking through the appropriate part of the lenses. They're not that different, but it is noticeable. There is some distortion at the outer edges, so if I want to see something clearly to the side, I must turn my head. I have a little bit of a headache and it feels like I'm looking at the world underwater through a thick scuba mask.