Lift Up Your Hearts!

Ralph Vaughan Williams:   Fantasia on a Theme by Thomas Tallis
Mozart:   Concerto No. 1 for Flute in G Major, K. 313 (285c)
Dvorak:  Symphony No. 7 in D minor, op. 70

The Orlando Phil's own Colleen Blagov proves once again my thesis that we don't necessarily need big-name performers at big-name prices.  Perhaps I'm not as picky/knowledgeable with flute as with strings, but I say she did a lovely job on the Mozart concerto.

We don't see robins much at all here, but when we do, they are almost always in flocks.  Having grown up with the excitement of one or two robins heralding the arrival of spring, to see a couple of dozen robins suddenly descend on our yard is always a thrill.  If these robins are working their way north, I think they're a bit premature.  But they sure had fun eating the berries off our trees.

The pictures don't do the sight justice (a video would have been better), but you can see them a little better by clicking on the images.

  

This is SO typical of our wonderfully nerdy family that I had to share Jon's birthday cake here.

Having made my first New Year's resolution on January 8, it is fitting that I add my second today.

At first glance, resolving to rediscover feasting sounds about as painful as resolving to read more books, but bear with me a moment.

There's a lot of wisdom in the church liturgical year, with its fasts (e.g. Advent and Lent), its feasts (the grandest of which are, of course, Christmas and Easter), and its large swaths of so-called Ordinary Time.  For most of our modern, American society, however, it is Christmas Every Day.  To paraphrase one of my favorite lines from The Incredibles, If every day is special, no day is.  (More)

A night launch of the space shuttle is always worth waking up for, even if you have to do it two days in a row and put on a coat against the cold.

As usual, we watched the liftoff on television, then walked outside to catch the view as it rose above the horizon in the east.  We were able to see separation of the booster rockets clearly, with a little low-tech optical enhancement.  I gazed in wonder—and with no little sorrow to think that this is the last night launch, and nearly the last launch, period—until Endeavour slipped beneath the northeastern horizon, then returned inside to watch the shuttle's liberation from the external tank.  Here's the view from our front yard.  (Click to enlarge.)

It may not look like much with my little camera, but it's a thrill that never gets old. You can see much more at the NASA main site, and NASA television.

You'd think that being freed from the 9 - 5 routine, Mondays wouldn't bother me.  (What's with 9 - 5 anyway?  When I was employed I never worked that few hours in a day!)  And normally that's true.  This week was another story.

It began when the alarm went off at 4:30...a.m.  That's when I took Porter to the airport for a week out of town on business.  Still, that was only bad in hindsight; normally getting an early start imbues the day with productivity, and I was looking forward to digging right into my many awaiting projects.  I returned home, drove into the garage, walked through the door, entered my office, and turned on my computer.  Which promptly turned itself off.  Further attempts disclosed the unsettling warning, "Fan error." (More)

Sometimes the difference between a useless tool and a helpful one, or a good tool and a great one, is merely a matter of imagination.

I dislike decorative trinkets, and most especially if they must be dusted.  My mother-in-law, however, loved them, and we received many gifts that were more in line with her preferences than mine.  Thus I wasn't entirely pleased when she proudly presented me with a Charleston, South Carolina sweetgrass basket, beautiful as it was.  But inspiration hit, and instead of hanging it as a wall decoration, I put the basket on a desk in our entranceway.  Not only does it look lovely, but in an instant I solved my perennial "where are my keys?" problem!  Because the basket gets continual use, it never needs dusting, and its presence must have saved me, over the years, hours of searching time.  The right tool in the right place. (More)

Is there a word, in any language, for "my daughter's husband's cousin's husband"?  That's what Kevin Michael Johnson is, and I'm proud to claim the family relationship, however distant and awkwardly-phrased.  Kevin is an actor, living in New York City with his lovely singer-songwriter wife, Steph Shaw.  One of his recent triumphs was in the show Wild Black Yonder, which a number of members of our family (but, alas, not I) were privileged to see at "The Kate" in Old Saybrook, Connecticut.

Kevin's latest venture is The Raid, a documentary about the tremendously popular online game, World of Warcraft.  Everything I know about WOW I learned form the Foxtrot comic strip...at least until I watched Kevin's promotional video.  The embedded video below is from YouTube, but the link will take you to a video on the official, more informative site, where you can also get involved in the project if it excites you.  You can also check them out on Facebook.

Ah, a glass of red wine, bruschetta (made with homemade bread), and a Porter-made salad with spring greens, scallions, artichoke hearts, kalamata olives, and rosemary and sea salt focaccia sticks with sun-dried tomato spread, dressed with a dressing concocted from balsamic vinegar and a marvellous lemon-olive oil from Italy that was a gift from Stephan's parents.

A perfect accompaniment to Shakespeare.

Having waited at home for an expected delivery, it was late when I was finally free to take my accustomed walk.  By the time I was on the homeward stretch, but little of the lingering twilight illumined the trail.  What's more, I usually walk with my glasses off to rest my eyes, so when a small animal scooted across the trail in front of me I was not immediately certain of its identity.  I thought "cat," but when it turned around and came back, it moved more like a rabbit.  Except that rabbits don't move toward people; they scurry away.  I was sure it would be gone by the time I fumbled my glasses out of my belt pack, but it was still hopping around; definitely a rabbit:  small, and as cute as a rabbit can get—and in my mind, rabbits go rather far in that direction.

Then the game began. (More)

The good news is, there's a new orchestra in town:  The Orlando Baroque Orchestra.  Some area musicians observed Central Florida's lack of concerts featuring baroque music and stepped up to remedy the situation.  We attended the third area performance of their first concert.

The venue was a small church, and we sat in the third pew.  The experience of music in such an inimate setting is worlds different from that in a large concert hall, and to my mind significantly more enjoyable.  It is not as much fun as making music yourself in a group, but comes closer.  For this reason, I thoroughly enjoyed the concert, despite having numerous complaints, most of which had to do with disappointed expectations.  But when your experience of baroque orchestras is Boston's Handel and Haydn Society; of lutists is Paul O'Dette; of harpsichordists is Kristian Bezuidenhout; and of oboists is, well, a whole host of marvellous performers; it's difficult not to set yourself up for a fall. (More)

If you haven't received a call from us lately, it's not only because I don't like to use the telephone.

Shortly before Thanksgiving, our previously excellent phone service started giving us trouble.  Callers could hear us fine, but what we heard from them was distorted.  Back in the good ol' days of monopoly telephone service (black, rented phones and impossibly expensive long distance), if something went wrong, you knew who to blame, and they knew it, too.  Now I can call Switzerland for three cents a minute, but problems invite an endless circle of finger-pointing.  Especially when the problems are intermittent.  Before—possible points of failure = 1:  the telephone company.  After—possible points of failure = many:  the cable Internet provider, the VoIP provider, the VoiP phone, the modem, the router, or some combination.  (More)

Apparently Florida has been having its longest streak of cold weather ever, worse than that in the mid-1980s, which (along with predatory developers) killed off the Central Florida citrus industry.  I was unaware of the records being set, as we returned after the cold spell was well underway, having spent nearly a month in the Northeast, where we experienced single-digit temperatures, played hockey on a local pond, and shovelled 2.5 feet of snow.

The neighbor who picked me up at the bus stop had kindly warned me that it was cold, but with a long-sleeved turtleneck shirt, my warm Westtown sweatshirt, and a heavy coat (with hat, gloves, and scarf if necessary), I figured I was prepared for anything Florida had to offer.  And I was.  (More)

New Year's resolutions are, I guess, a secular version of Lent, though without Easter to look forward to.  I've never given much attention to this observance, but I like Lent, and I like new beginnings, so coming up with a few resolutions might be fun.

To those who know what a bookworm I am, resolving to read more books in 2010 will appear about as useful and as difficult as resolving to eat more chocolate or drink more tea.  However, despite being an unemployed "empty nester," I've discovered to my shock that I'm now reading fewer books than ever before.  I listen to audio books in the car as I run errands; I read blogs, articles, and news stories online;  I skim magazines.  I read books in five-minute gulps as I can throughout the day—on visits to the "reading room," while eating, while falling asleep at night.  But I hardly ever read, i.e. concentrate on a single book for an extended period of time, which is the only way to absorb a book of any substance.  I write much more than I used to, and I spend a whole lot of time researching, but to my shock it will apparently take a deliberate determination to once again be able to call myself a reader.

Adopting the management maxim, "What gets measured gets done," and stealing my sister-in-law's idea, I'm creating a page on which to document the books I read this year—see "Books Read" under Links/Personal, in the panel to the right.  If I also write about them, I'll include a link to the review as well.  And maybe a rating, if I'm feeling ambitious.

UPDATE:  The Second Edition of Phoebe's Quilt, corrected and expanded, is now available.

My sister-in-law found it in a trunk: an old, handmade quilt. Each block was inscribed with a name, often a city, and sometimes a Bible verse. The cities and many of the surnames were familiar, but no name was identifiable as that of someone in the family. Who were these people? Whose quilt was it, and when was it made? And how did it end up in Prudence's trunk?

Far be it from me to resist a genealogical puzzle, especially when it can be turned into a Christmas present:  I would use my genealogical resources to decipher the quilt, and turn my research into a book to put under the tree.  Little did I know how much of my life this little project would consume; I'm certain the quilt itself was completed in less time.

Did I say completed?  I doubt I've ever used that word in a genealogical context unless accompanied by "not" or "never."  But Christmas will come whether or not we are ready, and thus I was saved from my perfectionist tendencies.  The project is as done as it is going to get, barring a second edition. (More)