"The job of the B is to make the C sad" OR . . . How does music do that! OR . . .How dramatic eyebrows can improve your performance.

I'm sure you've enjoyed the brilliance of TED presentations before. This is the first one I've seen that attempts to explain why classical music is for everyone.

You won't believe what this man can do with his eyebrows!

http://www.hulu.com/watch/219250/tedtalks-benjamin-zander-on-music-and-passion#continuous_play=on

"I walked out of Auschwitz and into life with a vow . . . 

I will never say anything that can not stand as the last thing I ever say."

About that Orva . . .

We're hoping to have this blog up and running this week, so you can see the real post then, but to put everyone at ease, here's my blurb about Orva.

Orva: That sleek figure you see there is no accident, this lady is our health and beauty expert. She’s a true vegan and does hot yoga (Bikram) faithfully. She can help you identify the carcinogens in your life and is the person you want if you’re doing battle with an insurance company or trying to make difficult medical decisions—she’s an expert questioner.  She wins for most grandchildren: 26.

my bad

Nice blogging snafu.  If you saw that post about my book club—that was meant for the new blog we’re trying to start. My finger slipped just as I clicked, and instead of clicking to SAVE, I clicked to PUBLISH. And, since Live Writer is so very efficient—all synced up to to the showerwall—it loaded to the wrong blog (here).

You might have thought I would have the brains to quickly delete it, but Iwhen I looked at my blog, it wasn’t there.

Refresh. Still not there. A cyber mystery. I had no idea, it would post with the date of my FIRST DRAFT—way back in August.

It was an ugly draft, and as soon as I posted, I noticed that somehow in all my cutting and pasting, Orva’s little blurb got deleted. The irony is, the only people who saw this dumb post are the people who have the showerwall loaded into their google reader—basically, David’s family—the only readers (of my 15) who would even know to look for Orva.

Orva, you’ll be glad to know, you had many people come to your defense. No chance you’ll be forgotten, not even on a temporary bad draft posted to the wrong blog!

There’s longevity for you.

Thanks, everyone, for caring. It’s fun to hear from you.

Resenting the Hero

UPDATE: David informs me that my review is lean on real info about the book,  for example . . . "Why would I want to read it." So, here's a bone for those of you who like more of a teaser. (In purple to match the ridiculous cover. Don't worry, no spoilers.)

In this world of extremes, the population is constantly threatened by violent atmospheric events (earthquakes, floods, tsunamis). A few gifted people "Sources" are able to channel their mental resources to dispel these events, but left undefended, they die in the process without protection from a "Shield"--another gifted person capable of reaching into the Source to regulate heartrate, shield the mind, and whatever else is necessary to help the Source survive channeling.

The story begins as novice Shield (and smart girl) Dunleavy Mallorough is waiting for her pairing ceremony--where Sources and Shields are brought together for the first time to see who, if any, will "bond." Bonding is instantaneous, spontaneous and permanent. Source and Shield will be connected for life and when one dies, so does the other.

Lee (Dunleavy)has read up on the Source candidates and is appalled when she bonds with overly beautiful Source Shintaro Karish, widely known for his pretty face, excessive philandering, and general debaucheries. But, he's a mighty fine Source: the only one who can sense an event before it arrives, which gets them immediately stationed in the largest and most difficult, weather-torn city on the planet--High Scape. So begins a rocky friendship. 

If this channeling and bonding business sounds weird, it's only because I'm not Moira Moore. It's all very convincing, and our new heroes are flung into an impossible setting where more experienced pairs have failed.
For all it's adventure, the story is also very sociological. The pairing situation creates some unusual dynamics, and injustices surface like they do in any culture. It's a very real world.

One more thing: I am VINDICATED in my LOW opinion of the title and cover, by this hilarious review at Angieville. (I'm not just being picky.)

Now, as we were . . . 

________________________________________

I just finished this fun book. 

NOTE:  This is the all-time WORST cover I've ever seen, mostly based on its total irrelevance: nowhere in the story does anyone polish a man's boots. The characters look like idiots, and that bubble cloud makes it look like some kind of Sweet Valley tween drivel--very misleading. This is not a romance. It's also not for young YA (sorry, Lizzy). It's got some heavy themes, though nothing graphic. 

As long as I'm complaining, it's a poor title as well.  I imagine Ms Moore had some fine words for her publisher.

BUT, don't let all that dissuade you.  This is a great story. I read about the series on my favorite YA book blog: http://angieville.blogspot.com.  Interest piqued, I got it from the library, thought I'd read a few pages before sleep--ha! 

I read deep into the night until the book hit my face and finished it the next night. It's a very compelling story, and her writing style is quick and immediate. She covers all the background you need in just a few pages and the story is off and running.

I started to write a long description of the setting and characters, but I realized part of the fun is discovering this unusual world and this pair of characters. For setting, think 18th century Europe or maybe more like 19th century America (roughly!) but on a different planet. That's all I'll say.

I was a little disturbed by too many allusions to sexual forays, even homosexual flirtations--not my fare for YA--but we never see anything overt or explicit. And that ends in the first half.

Still, she's an excellent storyteller. I couldn't put it down. Very interesting social constructs drive this unusual culture. It made me think about our own world. 

I've vowed not to start the next book until my work is done for the week. I can see from other reviews that they're all productivity killers. 

Enjoy! 

A Cup of "Perfect Peach" Tea

This is a lovely tea--very fragrant. Everyone in my house THINKS she wants a taste, but I'm alone for actually liking it.

Here's some of tonight's commentary from Alice (3):

Al:  Mom, can I taste your tea?

me: Sure.

Al:  Mmm. It tastes like gum--like CHEWED gum. 

me: Really? 

Al:  Do YOU think it tastes like chewed gum?

me: I don't know. I've never tasted chewed gum. 

Al:  Hm. It tastes like chewed gum. 

She sort of has a point, but how does she know the taste of chewed gum?

(btw: she looked exactly like Jenni Mella--including facial expressions and shoulder shrugs--as we had this conversation. Amazing!)

"Mom, is Dad a nerd?"

Here's a fun conversation I had tonight with Eden (6) : 

eden: Mom, is Dad a nerd? 

me: Yes. Dad likes to be a nerd.

eden: How do you get to be a nerd?

me: You just study hard, you get good at math, and then you're a nerd.

eden: I mean, does someone have to say that you're a nerd--like the mayor or someone like that?

me: No, you just declare yourself a nerd.

I'm not good at math, but I like to think that my closet love of the original Star Trek gives me some rights to nerdhood.

Catch an old episode here.


Live long and prosper!

Cooking with My Grandmothers

My microwave died a couple of weeks ago. Quite suddenly. No heaving out its last breath for a few days. One minute it worked; the next minute, I needed a new one.

But, I was sick--really sick--and these things take a bit of research. It needs to fit a very specific, small hole in the cupboards. It took a while before I even felt like looking, then another while to decide which one to buy.

In the meantime, I got to ask myself, "How on earth do I melt the butter for popcorn? Are you kidding me--a saucepan? Frozen edamame beans that Alice insists on daily--no! Another pan! . . . I need a quick roux (flour mixed in melted butter) to add to the potato soup? Another pan just to mix the roux?!

It was seriously irritating. I ignored all leftovers.

Then one afternoon, I really wanted to reheat some mashed potatoes, and it dawned on me that my grandmothers knew how to manage leftovers without a microwave. I asked, "How did Grandma Nonie reheat mashed potatoes?" And, then, without ceremony or any visible indicator, my kitchen transformed into a holy intersection between heaven and earth:

"So simple. Just put a little milk in the pan, get it hot, add the potatoes, and stir really fast before it burns."

It worked perfectly. "Wow, thanks, Grandma. What about the gravy? Dinner rolls? Bacon is so messy! What do I do with these extra dirty pans?"

"So, easy! Just a little extra scrubbing or soak it while you clean up." 

So fun to hang out in the kitchen with my grandmothers this week. Whether my DNA retains their memories, or my grandmothers are actually more available than I thought, it was a party with the grandmas every night in my kitchen.

My new microwave arrived today. It's stainless steel and very sleek. Works great.

Not as fun as hanging with my grandmas. I'm going miss them. 

Happy New Year!

You may have noticed, I haven't been a stellar blogger this year. My resolution for 2011 is to post once a month! I'm really shooting for once a week but don't want to risk overpromising. So here's my first post and New Year wish to you: 

 Hope springs eternal! Here's to looking forward in 2011.

Who gets sick in the summer? OR . . . happy birthday, Sarah. . .

. . . from my flu bed. Enjoy the swimming.

I actually sent David and the peeps down to his sister’s tonight for Sarah’s 15th birthday, so I could lay in bed, moaning.

Nancy informed me that missing your daughter’s birthday party is inappropriate behavior for a mother, but the swimming was planned yesterday, and I can’t exactly waltz in with my flu. So, here’s my attempt to make it up.

[btw: chances of my children reading this are, exactly, zero. That would be the equivalent of volunteering for a lecture.]

So, here’s my girl.

I like this picture, because you can see that there’s a lot more going on than her pretty face. This girl is complicated. Her fourth grade teacher tipped us off to this complexity during our first parent-teacher conference: “All these kids are 4th graders, and then there’s Sarah over there bantering with this dry wit that no other 4th grader even gets.” Then he raved about her artwork and advanced essay writing.

Do I sound like her mother, or what?!

David and I left that conference soaring like the parenting gods had smiled down on us and hoping that we hadn’t used up all our good-kid-tickets. (Those conferences don’t always go so well.)

This is exactly the look she had once when I was ranting about something and slipped out a “dadgummit.”  She held that look without cracking a smile and asked, “Is ‘dadgummit’ a compound word?”  (That was 5th grade.)

Which brings me to another interesting tidbit about her . . . She never dominates a conversation but can strangely control the direction it takes—unusual diplomacy for a 15 year old.  She’s obscenely helpful with the little girls and is the only one in the family who can do hair. (Heaven help us when she leaves for college.)

This pict shows her more playful side. She has these amazing eyebrows that can dance around independent of one another and everything else. Eat your heart out, Sherlock Holmes.

So there you have it: happy birthday, Sarah. I can’t believe you’re 15, and I can’t believe you’re only 15!

You’re amazing, and we love you.

Love,
Mom & Dad

How the stoner in Mr. Dant's class shamed the Mormons

I just remembered something that happened in my sophomore English class. It was an honors class, so there were a bunch of smart kids. We were a pretty homogeneous-looking group, wearing a lot of retro-preppy 80s clothes. (This thrilled my parents to no end.)

The class was, I'd guess, half Mormon. One kid there (maybe there were others) didn't fit; he wore a black concert T-shirt everyday: AC/DC, Iron Maiden, Bon Jovi, maybe KISS. Very un-retro-preppy.
He also had long hair—very definitely NOT retro-preppy. Boys didn't have long hair in the 80s unless they were stoned. He didn't comment much, but Mr. Dant must have seen potential there, because occasionally he'd call on him directly, and Concert T would reply with something very snarky and we'd all go, "Whoa, he's smart for a stoner."

But, that's all background. Here's the real story: We were discussing I don't know what, when the conversation turned to religion. Mr. Dant asked: "Why do people go to church?" The Mormons perked up, smelling a "missionary moment."

Mr. Dant called on one of us. I can't remember who, but the answer was, roughly: "We go to church to learn about God and the scriptures."

Mr. Dant looked confused, "Nope."

Small panic. That was my answer. What was the question?

He asked another student who gave a variation on the same answer, "To learn what God wants us to do," then someone else, " . . . to learn what we have to do to get back into heaven." We kept going like this.

Mr. Dant kept shaking his head saying, "No, no, no!" and laughing. I was wracking my brains. What could he possibly be looking for? Then, he called on Concert T who didn’t hesitate: "To worship God," he said.

Oh.

Yeah. Right. That's it. Why didn't we think of that?

I swear I could read Mr. Dant's mind: What a bunch of sorry Mormon kids who don't even know why they go to church! Now I'm wondering if my kids would say anything different. I’m also wondering if I really know what it means to worship. I confess, I only use that term when I'm describing an unhealthy romantic relationship.

[I’m stretching for a working definition here. Can anyone help?

How about: to express love and adoration, acknowledging the perfection and wisdom of the worshipped, with a commitment to follow absolutely. That’s a little frightening, isn’t it?]

Even now, church is a lot of corralling my offspring, doing my duty, still trying to learn, and refilling my own cup—not so much worship.

I do worship, but I think it mostly happens in odd settings, like driving on the freeway or folding laundry when my mind has time to wander, uninterrupted. Sometimes it wanders into gratitude which leads me to worship. Only sometimes.

I don’t worship enough. I wish I could remember Concert T’s name. I’d like to ask him about his worship. I should have asked him when I had the chance. 

Does anyone have a picture of Mr. Dant or Concert T?