Saturday morning I spent about an hour writing a post that was particularly engaging for me. Right before I hit the publish button, I proudly beckoned my husband to come read it. As he was finishing, we heard the phone ring.
Uh-oh. We looked at each other. This is a dreadful sound to hear when you have dial-up.
Panicked, I quickly took my mouse and hovered over the save button in a useless attempt to recover. I very clearly heard my DH say to me, “Copy it and paste it into a new file” but did I listen? For my own headstrong reasons, I hit the save button anyway.
So…that is why you are now reading this little mundane piece instead. Rats.
…for those moms who are coveting those deep kitchen storage drawers that are just perfect for pots and pans, you might think again:
Suppose your 7 y/o son, being very self-sufficient, pours himself a big glass of milk on the counter above your drawers. Now suppose that one of the drawers just happens to be left slightly open. Your son spills the glass of milk and the milk spills into the open drawer. Your son, again, being very self-sufficient, cleans up the milk, but neglects the inside of the drawer. Hours later, you start to cook dinner, reach inside your super handy drawer for a pot and… YUCK!
Now suppose, just a week or two later, your son eagerly pours himself a big glass of eggnog in the same spot…
I often fantasize that one day I will play both the clarinet and the cello. I’m already 35, so I’m not sure that my chances are any good of getting beyond Level 1A of either, but oh, how I really, really wish I could play them.
I learned to play the piano in third grade and I was actually pretty decent, but not what you’d call a born musician. I loved to “escape” to the piano after school, and I progressed rather rapidly due to my excellent teacher. But something happened in 6th grade, namely hormones and shallowness, that suddenly made me embarrassed to be caught playing the piano when friends called. I convinced my mom that I needed to quit for awhile but I would take it up again later. Yeah, right.
I found myself wanting to play again in college and sought out the free piano rooms, but without a teacher or music, I just played the same two memorized pieces over and over. You can only imagine how long that lasted.
We now own a piano (I will have to tell you how that came about in another post) and I will sit down and play when I get the chance. I bought a few beginning adult books and easy classics books and have been working my way through them, but I think I really need a teacher to help me progress beyond the stage I left playing in my youth. I have also found, that, while I like playing the piano, it is the haunting sound of the clarinet (think Mozart, not marching band) and the pensive and moving cello that really stir me.
Some of my friends are real musicians, and from being around them I know that I do not fall into that category. (“O.K. guys, this time around we’ll just change the measure to E minor…Ready?”) It makes me wonder why I still have the desire to learn to play more instruments. It wouldn’t come easy to me. I guess it is just that I want to be a musician. I would love to have my hands create the soulful sounds that cause such a range of emotions in me. I know that I probably need to learn to be content with just listening to my Yo-Yo Ma CD and appreciating music.
Okay, here is my weekly question for you: Is there anyone else out there harboring a secret desire to play an instrument? Those of you that do play an instrument, do you get to play it enough? What is it like to be a real musician? Do you think anyone beyond their 20’s can learn a new instrument? Let me know what you think!
Tonight, around the advent wreath…
Mom: So, can you remember the names of the advent candles?
Son: The Nina, the Pinta, and the Santa Maria?
…wet sleeves are the worst! How do you stand it all winter long?
It’s actually been cold here for about a week, and I am finding myself dreading washing my hands, or doing the dishes for fear of the blasted wet sleeves. The worst of it is, the durn things never seem to dry in the cold. My old house is draughty enough, without, b-r-r-r, that constant clamminess clinging to my wrists.
I know, I know. I can hear you now telling me to try rolling my sleeves up, but then, well…it’s cold with my sleeves up!
Don’t get me wrong, I love the cold weather for a change, but I am sure am glad that in a few days we might have a day or two in the 80’s. I’ll be certain and go outside and hang all of my wet shirts on the line.
UPDATE: I tried my own advice, pushed up my sleeves, but that still doesn’t work, especially when washing dishes. The water trickled backwards and still found its way to wet my sleeves. Then, when I least expected it, my pushed up sleeve slipped and down into the water it went. Bah humbug…grumble, grumble…
Last year after Christmas, my mother, knowing her absent-minded daughter a little too well, bought me the greatest Christmas gadget ever invented. It is a sensor that you stick in your Christmas tree stand. When the water level falls too low, a special snowman ornament (attached by a wire to the sensor) blinks with strobe-like majesty.
No more crispy trees!
The sensor is called the Water Me Now Christmas Tree Water Monitor. The number on the package is 1-800-645-3867.
UPDATE: Ok, so maybe it’s NOT the greatest Christmas gadget ever. Three days after we set it up, the ornament won’t stop blinking, even though it’s sitting in a FULL stand of water.
…are back at home in the nest. It feels good. My mom and dad schooled my oldest daughter for a week and a half before Thanksgiving, only to take my 4 y/o back with them after Thanksgiving for another week and a half. I know they had a great time. There is nothing like making gingerbread cookies with Grandma and eating ice cream with Grandpa (every day at 3 o’clock, thank you very much).
I think my son enjoyed the shifted balance of feminine power in the house, although we girls still tipped the scale. Poor little guy. He’ll make a great husband someday, although he doesn’t know that yet.
But I’m glad we’re all together again. I won’t feel like I left someone behind at WalMart anymore. Yet it’s more than that.
When I’m out with all four, I get the “You sure got your hands full” comment all of the time. If it has been a particularly trying day, I’d almost have to agree. But when my hands were a little less full for three weeks, my heart was too.