Hi. A couple of cool things are happening in my life right now. I will tell you about them some other time, because right now I have an anecdote to share.
The cool things that are happening have added some short-term stress to my life--a welcome stress, but stress nonetheless--and short-term stress usually messes with my sleep patterns, (i.e., weird dreams, sleepless nights of planning, etc). Does anyone else spend all night fitfully trying to plan the next day in that neither-asleep-nor-awake fog? Does anyone beside me spend the entire night repeating over and over again the first couple of items of what turns out to be (the next day when you think back on it) an incomprehensible list? Anyone?
Usually, added stress will do that to me, but last night was different. Last night my brain woke me up to tell me a joke. Here's what it said,
"Joan Rivers is a plastic bag."
My brain's delivery was very dry, almost robotic, which made the joke quite funny to me. And, because it was my brain, I knew what the joke was getting at. My brain was saying that "Joan Rivers is an old bag that's had a lot of plastic surgery." I didn't know before this that my brain was an insult comic.
So, I guess my subconscious mind worked out this silly play on words, prepared its delivery, then woke me up to hit me with the punchline.
I've thought about that joke several times today, and each time the thought has caused me to giggle audibly. At one point I half snorted. Sometimes I think my brain knows me better than I know myself.
Thanks for the memories, brain, it was very thoughtful of you.
Thursday, September 22, 2011
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
The Best of The Shop.
Hey, look, this is my 80th posting! I think it's time for a clips episode!
Here are five of my reader's (i.e., my mom's) favorite postings from the first 80 posts.
Mimi Names the Baby
Ike Goes to Kindergarten
Kitty's Play by Play
Cubby/Corky is Lazy
Wickedness in the Bay Area
Honorable mentions:
The Sweeter Side of Politics
Totally Meta
Mimi's Party Plan
Father's Day Music for the Hearing Impaired
Enjoy!
Or don't, I don't care. You take care of you; I'll take care of me.
The End.
Here are five of my reader's (i.e., my mom's) favorite postings from the first 80 posts.
Mimi Names the Baby
Ike Goes to Kindergarten
Kitty's Play by Play
Cubby/Corky is Lazy
Wickedness in the Bay Area
Honorable mentions:
The Sweeter Side of Politics
Totally Meta
Mimi's Party Plan
Father's Day Music for the Hearing Impaired
Enjoy!
Or don't, I don't care. You take care of you; I'll take care of me.
The End.
Monday, August 29, 2011
Mazel Tov (A Blessing On Your Head)
A dad I know, I'm not going to say who exactly, gave each of his children father's blessings last night for the beginning of the school year. It's a Mormon tradition that goes back a generation or two. The dad says a special prayer for each kid before the school year starts. It's an amazing and, I think, fairly unique thing that Mormon families get to participate in.
Usually, the dad pulls a chair from the kitchen table and places it in the middle of the family room. The oldest child (or youngest, there is no set protocol, except it has to be a kitchen chair) then sits on the chair. The dad, resting his hands on the child's shoulders, tells the family something nice about the kid, then pretends not to remember his/her name.
When that's over, the dad puts his hands lightly on the child's head and says a special prayer. The prayer usually promises a few blessings, like the ability to stay on top of homework, a good relationship with the teacher, or the desire to be a good example to others.
The experience is always emotional for the dad, who is reminded of how incredible it is to have a child in his care. Dry eyes are rare for dads at the end of these things.
So, we--I mean a family I know--conducted beginning-of-school father's blessings last night. Ike, as the oldest, went first. The dad cried. Mimi, the next oldest went second. The dad cried again.
Next, it was Kitty's turn. She had just turned four and would be starting preschool. She came up and sat on the chair. The dad put his hands on her shoulders and said something about her. While he was saying things about her, the dad felt a familiar sensation on his hand. It was almost as if something were licking him.
Nah, he dismissed the notion. What would possibly be licking me here and now? Can't be.
Still, the sensation continued.
He looked down. Turns out something was licking his hand. It was Kitty, who. incidentally, is not an actual feline. Kitty was licking his hand like a Kitty would lick his hand if Kitty were a Kitty.
After some coaxing, the dad finally got Kitty to stop licking and prepare for her blessing.
As he blessed her, he felt inspired to let Kitty know that now that she was four years old and while her two older siblings would be gone for most of the day she would have to help out more around the house. Specifically, she could help empty the dishwasher and make her bed.
Again, something weird happened to his hands. This time they were moving back and forth in a semi-circle. This motion was not being produced by the dad. Instead, Kitty was--shall we say--disagreeing with the notion that she might have to empty the dishwasher and make the bed. Her head moved back and forth in a very adamant signal that she would not be needing that particular blessing.
The dad couldn't help it. He laughed.
Usually, the dad pulls a chair from the kitchen table and places it in the middle of the family room. The oldest child (or youngest, there is no set protocol, except it has to be a kitchen chair) then sits on the chair. The dad, resting his hands on the child's shoulders, tells the family something nice about the kid, then pretends not to remember his/her name.
When that's over, the dad puts his hands lightly on the child's head and says a special prayer. The prayer usually promises a few blessings, like the ability to stay on top of homework, a good relationship with the teacher, or the desire to be a good example to others.
The experience is always emotional for the dad, who is reminded of how incredible it is to have a child in his care. Dry eyes are rare for dads at the end of these things.
So, we--I mean a family I know--conducted beginning-of-school father's blessings last night. Ike, as the oldest, went first. The dad cried. Mimi, the next oldest went second. The dad cried again.
Next, it was Kitty's turn. She had just turned four and would be starting preschool. She came up and sat on the chair. The dad put his hands on her shoulders and said something about her. While he was saying things about her, the dad felt a familiar sensation on his hand. It was almost as if something were licking him.
Nah, he dismissed the notion. What would possibly be licking me here and now? Can't be.
Still, the sensation continued.
He looked down. Turns out something was licking his hand. It was Kitty, who. incidentally, is not an actual feline. Kitty was licking his hand like a Kitty would lick his hand if Kitty were a Kitty.
After some coaxing, the dad finally got Kitty to stop licking and prepare for her blessing.
As he blessed her, he felt inspired to let Kitty know that now that she was four years old and while her two older siblings would be gone for most of the day she would have to help out more around the house. Specifically, she could help empty the dishwasher and make her bed.
Again, something weird happened to his hands. This time they were moving back and forth in a semi-circle. This motion was not being produced by the dad. Instead, Kitty was--shall we say--disagreeing with the notion that she might have to empty the dishwasher and make the bed. Her head moved back and forth in a very adamant signal that she would not be needing that particular blessing.
The dad couldn't help it. He laughed.
May the Fourth, Fifth, and Diminished Seventh Be With You.
We've had a new edition to the family. He's 6'4, black, was born in the 1960's, and sits in the living room all day. No it's not Michael Jordan.* No, it's not a life-sized cutout of Michael Jordan. No. Please. Stop thinking about Michael Jordan. His name is Obiwan Knabe. Knabe is pronounced Kin-ah-bee. Get it? Obiwan Kin-ah-bee? Like the Jedi? It's funny, right?
Now for the back story.
A while ago we decided that we needed another piano for the kids to practice on. Buffy uses our electronic Yamaha Piano to teach her voice students, and we imagined that as the kids begin to learn piano that they may need to practice while she's teaching. So we needed something for the kids to use. We thought, let's go see if we can find a little, used upright piano for them to practice on.
Incidentally, the Yamaha is a nice instrument for teaching voice, because you can record songs onto its hard drive and coach singers without having to simultaneously play. Its keys are weighted and it has the sound and feel of a piano. You can also plug it in to recording devices, and it has a lot of voices (i.e., other instruments) that can be used to simulate, um, other instruments. It never has to be tuned. We love it very much, but it's not a real piano, and it is not available while Buffy teaches.
So, about a month ago we started shopping for an used upright piano that we could get cheaply. We saw all kinds of uprights, but none of them spoke to us (because pianos don't speak).
In our search, we went to Daynes Music in SLC (about 70th South on State Street), because we know a guy there. The guy we know wasn't there the first time we went, so we looked around without him. Nothing jumped out at us (pianos don't jump). When our guy heard that we had been in, he called Lady Buffington and told her about this lovely Knabe piano that had just been acquired from USU's music department.
USU had just become an all Steinway school so they got rid of all of their non-Stienway pianos. This Knabe was from the 60's--back when Knabe was the official piano of the Metropolitan opera. It had been in the office of one of the piano faculty for all 40 of its years. It had also been well maintained. We went back to Daynes, and we fell in love.
So, we bought a piano. A big one. He's 6' 4", which is the height of Michael Jordan* (of course, Obiwan never pushed off on Bryan Russell). He also has three legs, again comparable to Michael Jordan (that's why Jordan could jump so high, an invisible third leg). His, Obiwan's, tone is clear, deep, and lovely. His action is smooth and responsive--at least to my club-like playing hands. What imperfections he does have only add character.
Welcome to the family, Obiwan Knabe.
* Michael Jordan's listed playing height was 6'6"; however, several sources listed him in the 6'4" range, which is good enough for this 'blog.
Now for the back story.
A while ago we decided that we needed another piano for the kids to practice on. Buffy uses our electronic Yamaha Piano to teach her voice students, and we imagined that as the kids begin to learn piano that they may need to practice while she's teaching. So we needed something for the kids to use. We thought, let's go see if we can find a little, used upright piano for them to practice on.
Incidentally, the Yamaha is a nice instrument for teaching voice, because you can record songs onto its hard drive and coach singers without having to simultaneously play. Its keys are weighted and it has the sound and feel of a piano. You can also plug it in to recording devices, and it has a lot of voices (i.e., other instruments) that can be used to simulate, um, other instruments. It never has to be tuned. We love it very much, but it's not a real piano, and it is not available while Buffy teaches.
So, about a month ago we started shopping for an used upright piano that we could get cheaply. We saw all kinds of uprights, but none of them spoke to us (because pianos don't speak).
In our search, we went to Daynes Music in SLC (about 70th South on State Street), because we know a guy there. The guy we know wasn't there the first time we went, so we looked around without him. Nothing jumped out at us (pianos don't jump). When our guy heard that we had been in, he called Lady Buffington and told her about this lovely Knabe piano that had just been acquired from USU's music department.
USU had just become an all Steinway school so they got rid of all of their non-Stienway pianos. This Knabe was from the 60's--back when Knabe was the official piano of the Metropolitan opera. It had been in the office of one of the piano faculty for all 40 of its years. It had also been well maintained. We went back to Daynes, and we fell in love.
So, we bought a piano. A big one. He's 6' 4", which is the height of Michael Jordan* (of course, Obiwan never pushed off on Bryan Russell). He also has three legs, again comparable to Michael Jordan (that's why Jordan could jump so high, an invisible third leg). His, Obiwan's, tone is clear, deep, and lovely. His action is smooth and responsive--at least to my club-like playing hands. What imperfections he does have only add character.
Welcome to the family, Obiwan Knabe.
* Michael Jordan's listed playing height was 6'6"; however, several sources listed him in the 6'4" range, which is good enough for this 'blog.
Monday, August 8, 2011
Why Moms Know Best
Hi,
Today is my mother's 75th birthday, a mark worth commemorating. She is, after all, now a year older than Dad even though at one time she was six-and-a-half years younger than him.
I probably should give some background on what exactly we're commemorating: Mom, my mom, was born in a cabin in the woods at the turn of the century, the last century—19th to 20th—or maybe a decade or two before that. In any case it was when things were bitty and speckled. While in labor, Grandma churned butter and darned socks (darned socks to heck). The umbilical cord* was cut with an axe, and they all tossed around an inflated pig's bladder to celebrate her birth.
Later, as she grew, she got an inkling to get herself some coon-hunting dogs. So she saved her money in a jar until there was enough to buy one beautiful red fern plant. She also lived in a box car for a while. Everything that she interacted with while growing up was little, (e.g., cabins, houses, britches, princesses, two boys, two toys). If my recollections are accurate, she also solved several mysteries involving caves and stolen treasure.
Mom has a very honed and sophisticated vocabulary. The confines of the English language could never hold her. Shootibahooti, petey pot, henly penly, hoochi pacoochi or some other unique combination of vowels and consonants, fly off her tongue with similar flourish to a Shakespearean actor reciting Dr. Seuss. Her favorite curse word: shot put!
Mom always remembers people’s names by changing them to Charles or Wilson (pronounced Wiltsin) or Pinkerton. My particular nic-name was an interesting hybrid of the first few letters of my older brother's name joined in unholy matrimony to the last few letters of my name. Skicky. She never forgot it.
Mom is very considerate of others' feelings. By others I, of course, mean people--and inanimate objects. She is known to go out and rearrange drying laundry on the line, "because these shirts look like they want to be closer to each other (not a literal quote)." The spoons like to associate with other spoons while showering in the dishwasher. Same for the forks. And the knives. She isn't a segregationist, however, at least not with humans.
She had nine children. Nine! We were spread out over 21 years. Really, Mom and Dad had three separate families. Almost like they finished with the first four and said, "well that didn't work out as planned." So, they had the "two weeds in the middle" and that didn't work out either. So they said, "We'd really like to have an idyllic family unit, let's try it again." And when it didn't work out with the last three, they gave up.
Dad wore an icon on his face, a beautiful mustache (side note: is that how mustache is spelled? Like a description of what wearing a mustache feels like? "That must ache.") Anyway, Mom wears an icon too. Her icon is an amazing smile. That smile, and what it is attached to, is the first thing I remember loving—my mommy and her beauty.
Happy Birthday.
*I initially misspelled umbilical cord as umbilical chord. FYI the umbilical chord is the C7 chord because it is often confused with C-section. For example—
Musician Fellow: Play a C7 there.
Pregnant Musician Gal: Did you just recommend a C-section?
Today is my mother's 75th birthday, a mark worth commemorating. She is, after all, now a year older than Dad even though at one time she was six-and-a-half years younger than him.
I probably should give some background on what exactly we're commemorating: Mom, my mom, was born in a cabin in the woods at the turn of the century, the last century—19th to 20th—or maybe a decade or two before that. In any case it was when things were bitty and speckled. While in labor, Grandma churned butter and darned socks (darned socks to heck). The umbilical cord* was cut with an axe, and they all tossed around an inflated pig's bladder to celebrate her birth.
Later, as she grew, she got an inkling to get herself some coon-hunting dogs. So she saved her money in a jar until there was enough to buy one beautiful red fern plant. She also lived in a box car for a while. Everything that she interacted with while growing up was little, (e.g., cabins, houses, britches, princesses, two boys, two toys). If my recollections are accurate, she also solved several mysteries involving caves and stolen treasure.
Mom has a very honed and sophisticated vocabulary. The confines of the English language could never hold her. Shootibahooti, petey pot, henly penly, hoochi pacoochi or some other unique combination of vowels and consonants, fly off her tongue with similar flourish to a Shakespearean actor reciting Dr. Seuss. Her favorite curse word: shot put!
Mom always remembers people’s names by changing them to Charles or Wilson (pronounced Wiltsin) or Pinkerton. My particular nic-name was an interesting hybrid of the first few letters of my older brother's name joined in unholy matrimony to the last few letters of my name. Skicky. She never forgot it.
Mom is very considerate of others' feelings. By others I, of course, mean people--and inanimate objects. She is known to go out and rearrange drying laundry on the line, "because these shirts look like they want to be closer to each other (not a literal quote)." The spoons like to associate with other spoons while showering in the dishwasher. Same for the forks. And the knives. She isn't a segregationist, however, at least not with humans.
She had nine children. Nine! We were spread out over 21 years. Really, Mom and Dad had three separate families. Almost like they finished with the first four and said, "well that didn't work out as planned." So, they had the "two weeds in the middle" and that didn't work out either. So they said, "We'd really like to have an idyllic family unit, let's try it again." And when it didn't work out with the last three, they gave up.
Dad wore an icon on his face, a beautiful mustache (side note: is that how mustache is spelled? Like a description of what wearing a mustache feels like? "That must ache.") Anyway, Mom wears an icon too. Her icon is an amazing smile. That smile, and what it is attached to, is the first thing I remember loving—my mommy and her beauty.
Happy Birthday.
*I initially misspelled umbilical cord as umbilical chord. FYI the umbilical chord is the C7 chord because it is often confused with C-section. For example—
Musician Fellow: Play a C7 there.
Pregnant Musician Gal: Did you just recommend a C-section?
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
Don't forget your morning prayers
Several years ago I heard this little audio clip where a local traffic reporter ends her morning traffic report in an unusual way. I ran into it again this morning and it is still funny (I honestly can't stop giggling). Listen by clicking here. If you can't get the audio to work, a transcript follows:
"Thanks Bill...and several issues to pass along...the major roadways beginning to clear out nicely...southbound I-15 looking better from 33rd South all the way out to the 44th South. Heading into Davis County you'll still run into some slowing in the Bountiful area, for the most part people are moving pretty well...and, we're grateful for this wonderful day and we humbly say these things in the name of Thy Son, Jesus Christ, amen."
The woman is obviously very tired and somewhere in the middle of her report slips into that dream-like prayer state that we're all familiar with. You know, the one where it's all vain repetition. But, here are three things that I love about this:
First, that she uses we. She is praying in behalf of all of FM100's listeners. Isn't that comforting? I think all of our traffic reporters should be required to pray for the driving public.
Second, She is grateful for this wonderful day. The day is obviously just started and already it's wonderful, and for that she is truly grateful.
And third, she says these things humbly. I am guessing that if she didn't mean it then, she did within a couple of seconds. When she realized what she had just done. Nothing like doing something hilarious to really help remind you that it's not all about you.
Added bonus NOTE: I just noticed another thing about this. The reporter says that "southbound I-15 [is] looking better from 33rd South all the way out to the 44th South," which sounds good, but if you're familiar with that section of the freeway, you know that she's talking about maybe a quarter of a mile of road here. She's obviously already fallen asleep by this point and is just phoning in the report from that sleepy, happy place.
I love it.
"Thanks Bill...and several issues to pass along...the major roadways beginning to clear out nicely...southbound I-15 looking better from 33rd South all the way out to the 44th South. Heading into Davis County you'll still run into some slowing in the Bountiful area, for the most part people are moving pretty well...and, we're grateful for this wonderful day and we humbly say these things in the name of Thy Son, Jesus Christ, amen."
The woman is obviously very tired and somewhere in the middle of her report slips into that dream-like prayer state that we're all familiar with. You know, the one where it's all vain repetition. But, here are three things that I love about this:
First, that she uses we. She is praying in behalf of all of FM100's listeners. Isn't that comforting? I think all of our traffic reporters should be required to pray for the driving public.
Second, She is grateful for this wonderful day. The day is obviously just started and already it's wonderful, and for that she is truly grateful.
And third, she says these things humbly. I am guessing that if she didn't mean it then, she did within a couple of seconds. When she realized what she had just done. Nothing like doing something hilarious to really help remind you that it's not all about you.
Added bonus NOTE: I just noticed another thing about this. The reporter says that "southbound I-15 [is] looking better from 33rd South all the way out to the 44th South," which sounds good, but if you're familiar with that section of the freeway, you know that she's talking about maybe a quarter of a mile of road here. She's obviously already fallen asleep by this point and is just phoning in the report from that sleepy, happy place.
I love it.
Thursday, July 14, 2011
Ten Years? Feels More Like a Decade.
Buffy and I have been husband and wife for ten years now. That's a decent amount of time to be tied to someone that you weren't originally related to. A few things have changed since June 19, 2001 (our wedding day). A sampling follows:
(1) Buffy's hair is not as curly as it used to be,
(2) there are four children with genetic ties to us,
(3) I have a number of gray hairs on my head, and
(4) there are about twenty pounds of me and an inch or two of forehead that Buffy is not officially married to.
I asked Buffy to marry me on the 28th of February in 2001. We had gone to dinner that night and back to BYU Campus to walk around. We wandered into the Madsen Recital Hall, the space where we rehearsed with our choir, BYU Singers. It's more-or-less where we had met.
There, a friend of mine had pulled out one of the nine-foot grand pianos and placed it in the center of the Madsen stage. She had also, at my request, set up a number of small tables and stools with various items on them. Each of the items held some symbolic meaning. I brought Buffy on to the stage and sat at the piano. I played the song that I had written for her (you can listen to the song by clicking on "She Has A Smile" on the little widgit thingy on the upper right-hand side of this page). After the song, I got down on one knee, presented a ring, and asked her if she'd marry me. She said that she'd be honored. Then we looked at each of the items placed around the stage and talked about what they meant.
Bread. On one of the tables was two loaves of bread, unsliced. This symbolized my promise to provide for her.
A couple of bricks represented our home, together.
A Hoppy Taw, which is a marker one uses to play hopscotch (we had played hopscotch a number of times on dates), symbolized the fun we would have together.
A copy of The Book of Mormon symbolized our commitment to God and our religion.
A children's book, I don't remember the title, symbolized the children we hoped to bring into the world together.
I think there were a couple of other things, like candles and flowers (maybe candy, a live chicken, a loaded gun, a fruit roll up, shoe laces, and mismatched socks--I'm just kidding, I can't help myself. I just love random lists.).
I probably should report on how we're doing on the symbolic things that I promised to provide:
Bread. Check. We're not rich, but we have enough and are comfortable.
Bricks. Check. After moving six times in six years (ouch) often just after the birth of a baby, we have been in our current home for four years, we like it. Although we do plan to make one more move before staying put forever.
Hoppy Taw. Check. We have fun. We also get bored and grumpy and sad and lonely and happy and giddy and stupid and smart and everything else that all committed and happy families do.
Book of Mormon. Check. We are active in our ward and love God and the gospel very much.
Children's book. Check. There are four little people running around that look and act a lot like Buffy and me.
I can honestly say that Buffy's answer of "yes" to my proposal has had a profound effect on my life. In fact, I can't imagine my life without her. I think I'll go ahead and re-up for the next ten years.
(1) Buffy's hair is not as curly as it used to be,
(2) there are four children with genetic ties to us,
(3) I have a number of gray hairs on my head, and
(4) there are about twenty pounds of me and an inch or two of forehead that Buffy is not officially married to.
I asked Buffy to marry me on the 28th of February in 2001. We had gone to dinner that night and back to BYU Campus to walk around. We wandered into the Madsen Recital Hall, the space where we rehearsed with our choir, BYU Singers. It's more-or-less where we had met.
There, a friend of mine had pulled out one of the nine-foot grand pianos and placed it in the center of the Madsen stage. She had also, at my request, set up a number of small tables and stools with various items on them. Each of the items held some symbolic meaning. I brought Buffy on to the stage and sat at the piano. I played the song that I had written for her (you can listen to the song by clicking on "She Has A Smile" on the little widgit thingy on the upper right-hand side of this page). After the song, I got down on one knee, presented a ring, and asked her if she'd marry me. She said that she'd be honored. Then we looked at each of the items placed around the stage and talked about what they meant.
Bread. On one of the tables was two loaves of bread, unsliced. This symbolized my promise to provide for her.
A couple of bricks represented our home, together.
A Hoppy Taw, which is a marker one uses to play hopscotch (we had played hopscotch a number of times on dates), symbolized the fun we would have together.
A copy of The Book of Mormon symbolized our commitment to God and our religion.
A children's book, I don't remember the title, symbolized the children we hoped to bring into the world together.
I think there were a couple of other things, like candles and flowers (maybe candy, a live chicken, a loaded gun, a fruit roll up, shoe laces, and mismatched socks--I'm just kidding, I can't help myself. I just love random lists.).
I probably should report on how we're doing on the symbolic things that I promised to provide:
Bread. Check. We're not rich, but we have enough and are comfortable.
Bricks. Check. After moving six times in six years (ouch) often just after the birth of a baby, we have been in our current home for four years, we like it. Although we do plan to make one more move before staying put forever.
Hoppy Taw. Check. We have fun. We also get bored and grumpy and sad and lonely and happy and giddy and stupid and smart and everything else that all committed and happy families do.
Book of Mormon. Check. We are active in our ward and love God and the gospel very much.
Children's book. Check. There are four little people running around that look and act a lot like Buffy and me.
I can honestly say that Buffy's answer of "yes" to my proposal has had a profound effect on my life. In fact, I can't imagine my life without her. I think I'll go ahead and re-up for the next ten years.
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