I don’t have a good sense of rhythm. That’s why I’m a poor musician, that and nerves. On the other hand, Jacob and Ariel have rhythm. Jake’s teachers usually assign him all kinds of fast syncopated music because he has nimble fingers and an “internal metronome.” (For the uninitiated, metronome is a device that makes “beeps” or “ticks” according to the rhythm of the music.)
This internal time keeper is not a gift they inherited from me—I run the treadmill and have for years because I don’t have the coordination and rhythm for aerobics. (I also do the treadmill because I can read my favorite detective novel/thrillers while I exercise—unless they fall into the washing machine. But that’s another story.) During Ariel’s violin lesson today, I discovered that this internal metronome is a scourge. Ariel and Jacob rely on their sense of music and don’t count. Both she and Jacob admit they rarely count, they just “feel” the music or hear it in their head and match it.
But, this doesn’t work for Ariel anymore—the third movement of Mozart’s Concerto in G won’t allow it. Her instructor told her, “Ariel, Mozart is among some of the most difficult violin music there is. You are not counting—you must be absolutely precise. You are just playing the long notes (a long note being an eighth or sixteenth note) and thinking that’s about right, and then moving to the next note.” Ariel smiles politely. Her instructor continues, “I know you are doing this; I used to do this too. You cannot respond to tempo—rhythm is a river.” This metaphor is lost on me, though I suppose there is some kind of organic theme.
Of course, after the first page, the tempo alters to something very fast, which causes her no problems at all—I think it’s all 32nd and 64th notes (also called hemidemisemiquavers, or in French quadruple-croche) or worse. As the lesson proceeds, he lectures Ariel on bowing, emphases, stylistics, ad nauseum. After the lesson, I said, “Are you okay?” Ariel answered, “Oh, yes, wasn’t it a wonderful lesson—he doesn’t let me get away with anything. He’s such a good teacher!”
Monday, April 13, 2009
Friday, April 10, 2009
Eskimo Kisses
The boys came home the other day to discover that Jezebel had silver toenails. All three boys pitched a fit. They knew what had happened. Ariel had struck. She’s been talking about Jez, saying that she’s the ultimate Goth dog. She’s solid black with a spiked collar and a nasty growl. To complete the picture all she needed was silver nails and piercings. Of course, Ariel knows better than to pierce anything. Jez gets vey worried about pain; Cal even has to comfort her when it's time for a nail clipping.
We are currently (providentially?) out of nail polish remover so the boys are scrapping silver paint off the dog’s nails. But, it’s kind of ironic really. Jezebel puts on a great show with her vicious guttural growl, the hair that stands on end, and the big spiky teeth. It's even better when you see her watching birds through the window with her nostrils flared and her muscles quivering. You can almost hear her saying, “If it weren’t for the glass…”
But aside from birds (you can’t get beyond breeding), she’s an old softie. She loves just about any creature, especially hamsters. Clara and Sam spend the night in their cages on the dining room floor because they are too noisy. First thing in the morning after Jez eats, she checks on the hamsters. And the hamsters, who are obviously stupid animals, climb the bars of their cage to say “Hi” to Jez. They stick their noses out, and Jez rubs noses with them. Yep, that’s right—they give each other Eskimo kisses.
After that, Jez checks the floor. The hamsters throw the food they don’t like out of their cages and Jez eats it. She loves hamster food. It could be that they just have a deal going. A Lab-hamster shakedown along the lines of “Throw out your food, or I’ll eat you.” Could be. But Eskimo kisses are hard to fake.
We are currently (providentially?) out of nail polish remover so the boys are scrapping silver paint off the dog’s nails. But, it’s kind of ironic really. Jezebel puts on a great show with her vicious guttural growl, the hair that stands on end, and the big spiky teeth. It's even better when you see her watching birds through the window with her nostrils flared and her muscles quivering. You can almost hear her saying, “If it weren’t for the glass…”
But aside from birds (you can’t get beyond breeding), she’s an old softie. She loves just about any creature, especially hamsters. Clara and Sam spend the night in their cages on the dining room floor because they are too noisy. First thing in the morning after Jez eats, she checks on the hamsters. And the hamsters, who are obviously stupid animals, climb the bars of their cage to say “Hi” to Jez. They stick their noses out, and Jez rubs noses with them. Yep, that’s right—they give each other Eskimo kisses.
After that, Jez checks the floor. The hamsters throw the food they don’t like out of their cages and Jez eats it. She loves hamster food. It could be that they just have a deal going. A Lab-hamster shakedown along the lines of “Throw out your food, or I’ll eat you.” Could be. But Eskimo kisses are hard to fake.
Here’s a picture of Jez with Clara. I tried to get a photo of them rubbing noses, but I’m a slow cameraman. You’ll have to take my word for it.
And here's picture of Jez waiting for a snack of hamster chow. Be sure to check out the silver toenails.
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
Corrupter of Youth
I am one and one half chapters from finishing the end of another edit of my young adult manuscript, Screwing Up Time. Yep, that’s the title, at least until I change it. What can you expect from a person who names her sweet black Lab, Jezebel?
I’m supposed to be excited that I’m almost finished, but I’m not. Why? I could tell you that it’s because the market is terrible. This is true. I could say that it’s because selling a debut novel is like trying to sell Detroit car stocks to an out-of-work GM salesman. This is also true. I could say I’m sick and tired of editing…way true. (Unless you’re a literary agent who wants to sign my book—then, I’m eager to make any and all changes you’d like.)
No, the real reason I’m not excited is that I have a “project” waiting. I have to take 8 yards of fabric (uber-feminine material, tiny bronze and brown flowers on a white background, I prefer plaids) and turn it into a Regency gown. Ariel and I are part of a Jane Austen club, which is very fun. But I have to get my dress made before our spring picnic. And, of course, the dress is fully lined. Yuck! Thankfully, I bought the $15 pattern for 99 cents and the fabric for $1.50 a yard. I can pat myself on the back for shrewd savings. But now, I have to cut out the pattern and fabric. And sew it. In my spare time. It’s got scads of pieces and yards of trim. I should have started weeks ago, but I needed to finish editing first.
I could tell my JA group that I couldn’t finish the gown in time because I was editing SUT. But, women who live for Austen aren’t likely to forgive me for writing a book called Screwing Up Time. They might shout “corrupter of youth” and throw their fans and gloves at me. Not to mention petit fours. That would be okay. I like petit fours.
I’m supposed to be excited that I’m almost finished, but I’m not. Why? I could tell you that it’s because the market is terrible. This is true. I could say that it’s because selling a debut novel is like trying to sell Detroit car stocks to an out-of-work GM salesman. This is also true. I could say I’m sick and tired of editing…way true. (Unless you’re a literary agent who wants to sign my book—then, I’m eager to make any and all changes you’d like.)
No, the real reason I’m not excited is that I have a “project” waiting. I have to take 8 yards of fabric (uber-feminine material, tiny bronze and brown flowers on a white background, I prefer plaids) and turn it into a Regency gown. Ariel and I are part of a Jane Austen club, which is very fun. But I have to get my dress made before our spring picnic. And, of course, the dress is fully lined. Yuck! Thankfully, I bought the $15 pattern for 99 cents and the fabric for $1.50 a yard. I can pat myself on the back for shrewd savings. But now, I have to cut out the pattern and fabric. And sew it. In my spare time. It’s got scads of pieces and yards of trim. I should have started weeks ago, but I needed to finish editing first.
I could tell my JA group that I couldn’t finish the gown in time because I was editing SUT. But, women who live for Austen aren’t likely to forgive me for writing a book called Screwing Up Time. They might shout “corrupter of youth” and throw their fans and gloves at me. Not to mention petit fours. That would be okay. I like petit fours.
Here’s me with my yards of fabric. Maybe I could turn it into a toga—Austen at a costume ball…
Monday, April 6, 2009
2 Plus 2 Times 8
Peace, serenity and irenic calm have return chez Keller. Not really, but at least no one is sick anymore. And yes, Ariel and Matthew both think that it’s due to their militant efforts to keep the house free of germs.
Ariel was able to go to her Calculus 2 exam without a barf bag. Friday morning just before Luke and Ariel left, Calvin decided he’d help Ariel “warm up” for the exam.
Cal: Okay, Ariel, this will warm you up for the exam and give you the confidence you need. What’s 2 plus 2 times eight.
Ariel: Are the twos in parentheses?
Cal: Uh, sure.
Ariel: Then, the equation is 4 times eight. And 4 times 8 is 28.
Me (listening in and dumbstruck): Ahhhhhhh!
Ariel: What?
Me: 4 times 8 is not 28.
Ar: It’s not?
Me: No! It’s 32.
Ar: Oh, right. 4 times 7 is 28.
Me: (I shake my head in grief.)
Ar: It’s not like it matters. Multiplication isn’t real math—that’s what calculators are for.
Cal: Ariel, you are so never touching my checkbook. Do you realize that your husband will have to balance your checkbook?
Ar: Dad, most math people don’t worry about simple math. (Smiling excitedly) Do you know I can calculate how much work is done when someone raises a bucket from a well with a hole in it and the water drains out at such a rate that it’s empty when it reaches the top?
Me (I think: Who cares? We’d throw the bucket away.) But, I say: Have fun. I’ll pray the test goes well.
Ariel was able to go to her Calculus 2 exam without a barf bag. Friday morning just before Luke and Ariel left, Calvin decided he’d help Ariel “warm up” for the exam.
Cal: Okay, Ariel, this will warm you up for the exam and give you the confidence you need. What’s 2 plus 2 times eight.
Ariel: Are the twos in parentheses?
Cal: Uh, sure.
Ariel: Then, the equation is 4 times eight. And 4 times 8 is 28.
Me (listening in and dumbstruck): Ahhhhhhh!
Ariel: What?
Me: 4 times 8 is not 28.
Ar: It’s not?
Me: No! It’s 32.
Ar: Oh, right. 4 times 7 is 28.
Me: (I shake my head in grief.)
Ar: It’s not like it matters. Multiplication isn’t real math—that’s what calculators are for.
Cal: Ariel, you are so never touching my checkbook. Do you realize that your husband will have to balance your checkbook?
Ar: Dad, most math people don’t worry about simple math. (Smiling excitedly) Do you know I can calculate how much work is done when someone raises a bucket from a well with a hole in it and the water drains out at such a rate that it’s empty when it reaches the top?
Me (I think: Who cares? We’d throw the bucket away.) But, I say: Have fun. I’ll pray the test goes well.
Thursday, April 2, 2009
Insanity Chez Keller
Luke and Jacob have the stomach flu. And that’s sad for them—they curl up under blankets, eat saltines, and try to get to the toilet “on time.” You’d think that Luke and Jake would be my biggest hassle. They’re not. It’s Matt and Ariel. They are obsessed with not getting the flu.
Once the first puke happened, Ar and Matt grabbed my dust masks (I’m horribly allergic to dust) and slapped them over their noses and mouths. Then, Matt proceeded to clean the entire house, including books and the dust masks, with Lysol wipes. He’s a walking advertisement for virus-killing. He even covered his face with the wipes.
When Luke walked through the living room to get from the master bedroom to his bedroom, Ariel and Matt started screaming, and Matt attacked Luke with (you guessed it) Lysol wipes. Luke retaliated by breathing on the computer keys. It took Matt quite a while to clean each and every key.
Matt will no longer use the boys’ bathroom—he has to use ours. Ariel has told the boys to hold their breath when they walk through her room. (You have to go through Ariel’s room to get to the master bedroom.) She had banished them from the room earlier—they had to walk by way of the deck, but a nasty thunderstorm precluded her arrangements.
Matt has made plans to move a trundle from Ariel’s room into the living room so he doesn’t have to breathe the same air that Jacob does (they share a room).
Ariel’s excuse is that she has a Calculus 2 exam tomorrow. I don’t know why she’s so concerned—I’ve saved one of those airsickness bags. She can take it with her and puke her way through the test.
Matt says he just hates vomiting. Before I realized what he was doing, he ingested 2300 % of the recommended daily dose of vitamin C. Now I’m pushing fluids into him, too.
Yep. Insanity reigns chez Keller. Y’all pray for me.
Here are pictures.
Once the first puke happened, Ar and Matt grabbed my dust masks (I’m horribly allergic to dust) and slapped them over their noses and mouths. Then, Matt proceeded to clean the entire house, including books and the dust masks, with Lysol wipes. He’s a walking advertisement for virus-killing. He even covered his face with the wipes.
When Luke walked through the living room to get from the master bedroom to his bedroom, Ariel and Matt started screaming, and Matt attacked Luke with (you guessed it) Lysol wipes. Luke retaliated by breathing on the computer keys. It took Matt quite a while to clean each and every key.
Matt will no longer use the boys’ bathroom—he has to use ours. Ariel has told the boys to hold their breath when they walk through her room. (You have to go through Ariel’s room to get to the master bedroom.) She had banished them from the room earlier—they had to walk by way of the deck, but a nasty thunderstorm precluded her arrangements.
Matt has made plans to move a trundle from Ariel’s room into the living room so he doesn’t have to breathe the same air that Jacob does (they share a room).
Ariel’s excuse is that she has a Calculus 2 exam tomorrow. I don’t know why she’s so concerned—I’ve saved one of those airsickness bags. She can take it with her and puke her way through the test.
Matt says he just hates vomiting. Before I realized what he was doing, he ingested 2300 % of the recommended daily dose of vitamin C. Now I’m pushing fluids into him, too.
Yep. Insanity reigns chez Keller. Y’all pray for me.
Here are pictures.
Blog Small Talk
I’ve been writing this blog since last November, and I had a first today. I got a comment from a stranger! That is so cool! Thanks, Jennifer Hudson Taylor.
It’s an odd experience to write about your personal life and not know who’s reading it. For example, sometimes I start telling a story and the person stops me and says, “Yes, I read about that on your blog.” Then there’s lag in the conversation. What am I supposed to say, “Oh, I’m glad you read it”—which I am. Or am I supposed to say, “Do you enjoy it?” Because what if they say, “No.”
Or what if they say, “I think you were really unfair when you referred to Microsoft as Imperialist Swine"? There’s nothing like that to kill a conversation.
There needs to be a blog equivalent of small talk. I’ve come up with some examples:
Blog equivalent of “guy car” talk.
So, that’s an interesting blog background you have. Did you get it from The Cutest Blog on the Block? (Though I think this would only work for girls, not too many guys want to talk about “cute blogs.”)
Blog equivalent of the “weather” talk.
Have you gotten a lot of hits lately? No. I heard it slows down around the holidays. Yeah, it was Flag Day last week.
Blog equivalent of “job” talk.
How do you like blogspot? I’ve got a friend who uses wordpress, she says it’s got a faster load time. (Of course, this could get ugly if the person points out that the reason your load time is so long is because you have way too many pictures of your homely dog posted. Yep, really ugly, really fast.)
Blog equivalent of “where were you born” talk.
How long have you been blogging? Oh, that long…and you still haven’t learned to how to use html code!
Hmm…maybe the lag in conversation is better. I can always change the subject by saying, “Did you catch the latest Obama speech?” or “Have you heard what the Archbishop of Canterbury said?”
It’s an odd experience to write about your personal life and not know who’s reading it. For example, sometimes I start telling a story and the person stops me and says, “Yes, I read about that on your blog.” Then there’s lag in the conversation. What am I supposed to say, “Oh, I’m glad you read it”—which I am. Or am I supposed to say, “Do you enjoy it?” Because what if they say, “No.”
Or what if they say, “I think you were really unfair when you referred to Microsoft as Imperialist Swine"? There’s nothing like that to kill a conversation.
There needs to be a blog equivalent of small talk. I’ve come up with some examples:
Blog equivalent of “guy car” talk.
So, that’s an interesting blog background you have. Did you get it from The Cutest Blog on the Block? (Though I think this would only work for girls, not too many guys want to talk about “cute blogs.”)
Blog equivalent of the “weather” talk.
Have you gotten a lot of hits lately? No. I heard it slows down around the holidays. Yeah, it was Flag Day last week.
Blog equivalent of “job” talk.
How do you like blogspot? I’ve got a friend who uses wordpress, she says it’s got a faster load time. (Of course, this could get ugly if the person points out that the reason your load time is so long is because you have way too many pictures of your homely dog posted. Yep, really ugly, really fast.)
Blog equivalent of “where were you born” talk.
How long have you been blogging? Oh, that long…and you still haven’t learned to how to use html code!
Hmm…maybe the lag in conversation is better. I can always change the subject by saying, “Did you catch the latest Obama speech?” or “Have you heard what the Archbishop of Canterbury said?”
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
NEH Grant!
I won a National Endowment for the Humanities grant! Really—it’s not an April Fool’s joke. I wish I could say that I won it for my writing. But I didn’t. Instead, it’s for teaching. I applied for a Picturing America grant. It’s an attempt by the NEH to encourage students to understand American art history and its implications to American history, sociology, culture, etc. The most awesome thing is that I received dozens of 4 foot by 2 foot museum quality laminated reproductions of American art. And it comes with a teacher’s manual detailing the history of the artist and his/her interactions with the culture. I hope to teach the class this summer. Can you tell I’m excited?!
Here's another photo.
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