Cultural Experience #5

Stephanie and I began our self-betterment exercises by attending cultural events a few years ago. I've mentioned this series of events before, (the last being the unfortunate ballet) but last night -- Thursday, February 28th -- we continued the series with a classical piano concert at Ball State, and added a very special person to our number.

Now, many of you may be turned off instantly when you hear the words "classical" and "piano" together with "concert". Do not judge too quickly.

The group we witnessed was actually introduced to me by my mother over the summer (kudos to Care Bear). She'd ripped out a short blurb on their new album that appeared in American Profile. I looked them up on YouTube, naturally, being a member of the Millennial Generation, and found some pretty phenomenal footage of the group The 5 Browns.


Flight of the Bumble Bee by Rimsky-Korsakov

I have tried several times in the past twenty-four hours to gather my thoughts into words and then into sentences to explain the draw that classical piano music has on my soul. I have always loved piano music; it seems like it's been a part of my life since I can remember--Thursday afternoons at Mrs. Wickline's farmhouse, listening to my siblings play, wondering when it would be my turn.

Like any art done well, piano music can fore go words and speak directly to the deepest, even hidden parts of the soul. These amazingly talented siblings -- The 5 Browns -- have the gift of this technical, yet exhilarating language. I never knew fingers and hands could move so quickly and accurately over these black and white keys. I have never witnessed the spiritually uplifting, all-encompassing nature of the pieces that they played. My heart actually quickened and rested with each rise and fall in the music. In spirit, I danced the tarantella when the brothers (Gregory and Ryan) created that dance from notes on a page (which, incidentally, they'd memorized years prior). I could see the moonlit scenes painted before my eyes as the three sisters played at one piano the most breath-taking rendition of Debussy's Clair de Lune. Their arms were entangled it seemed, over and under, woven like a beautiful tapestry of notes, of music, pouring forth from this single Steinway. And their final piece, Firebird by Stravinsky (see below)...I couldn't breathe. I couldn't rip my eyes away from the view of the piano before us, the reflection of hands and flashing fingers in the shiny blackness of the instrument itself, the one at which someone played during every song, even the solos (well chosen seats, Kyle). I could count the number of times I blinked during that seemingly interminable song on one hand. So enrapturcated was I by their performance, though mostly by the music created, that it left me wide-eyed and speechless for minutes.

The best description I have come up with as I've contemplated all day how to explain the experience is this: They have brought LIFE to a genre of music that some of my contemporaries would believe is dead.

As they prefaced their songs with tales of the history, the composers, and sometimes the lyrics of the pieces, their individual personalities and their great senses of humor shined through. Gregory had the best outfit of the night -- red corduroy pants, white button-down with the sleeves rolled up, and black vest, with black retro Converse hi-tops. Outstanding.

I will let you judge for yourself with a few glimpses included here of a couple of our favorite performances from last night. Enjoy them. Be blown away. It is a gift, and that five should come from the same family, truly unbelievable.


Firebird by Stravinsky

It's true, I don't like Star Wars. I'm totally not a fan.

When I was in high school, my brother Evan somehow convinced me that we should watch the Star Wars marathon on TNT. I was so bored that I couldn't sit through them all, but I did get glimpses of each whenever I passed through the family room and his completely engrossed self on the couch.

Last year, I visited a group of professional singles in the area for a movie night. Though they didn't disclose it until I arrived, the movie of the evening was one of the original Star Wars. All that I remember about it was a giant, slimy, sloth-like, dictator being with an army of weird-looking, animal-esque strange creatures. And Princess Leia chained to the nasty leader. We all brought desserts, which was, in my opinion, the best part of the whole event, and I leaned against a person-sized teddy bear (which belonged to our host, a middle-aged male science professor) on the hard floor for the duration of the film. Uncomfortable, at best.

I have not witnessed any of the newer Star Wars episodes, those with Natalie Portman, Ewan McGregor, and Hayden Christensen, even though I enjoy all of those actors.

The above statements and obvious underlying feelings about the series do not mean that I can't appreciate when somebody else loves the movie. Such as this little girl.

Do you still have them? ... the eyes of children, filled with wonder

I want to continue to experience wonder in my life.

I never want to grow callous to the vast silence of the night sky--the breath-taking speed of a falling star, the clouds that pass over and around the nightlight of creation.

I realized today that when I walk through a store passing my fingers over the array of colors and textures, I do this so I can feel, so I can remain in touch with the beauty around me. I notice the intricate details; I soak up the myriad sounds and sights around me in order to stay connected.

I don't want to lose the wonder, the appreciation of differences, variety, creativity.

I want paintings and words to continue to move me to tears. I want stories and films to grab my heart and shake me into awareness. I want to always notice.

I want to be inspired.

Irresistably adorable...yet dangerous

Even more dangerous, yea deadly

Do not be led astray by their cute stares and soft, wide noses. No, no, my friends. These creatures really want to eat you. And they will try, they will work together from separate cages in order to distract you and then BAM! try to pounce on you.





This lot did get their prey. One is already passed out from his share. I would not mess with them if I were you.

As I was cooking...

Last night I made Mom's potato soup. This is, currently, my favorite soup, as my previous favorite (black bean) was ruined perhaps forever during a failed attempt by me to make it in January. Thus, potato has moved up from the #2 favorite slot, to #1.

It's probably about the easiest thing to make ever. So I can't really pretend to have accomplished anything fantastic with its successful making, unless of course you count the food turning out at all. Which I do since the dismal failure of soup #1 and the subsequent stench of soup that pervaded my home and very existence for at least a week following said attempt.

As I was grating a carrot to put it into the concoction, and I must admit I've never used my grater before, I ended up grating the knuckle of my middle finger. I injured myself doing the most basic cooking skill ever. This morning, it's all swollen and gross.

I'm such a klutz.

It's been an entire week...I know

My problem is not material, I have plenty to write about. My problem is finding time. In the past week, I have been home long enough each evening or day to sleep or pack or eat or burn some CDs for my road trip or wish I had more time to clean.

I had things going on Thursday and Friday nights, all day Saturday, church on Sunday morning and then packing for my very brief trip to the Deep South, which encompassed a great deal of Sunday and all of Monday. I woke up Tuesday, drove home and went to work until 10pm. Today was a regular 8-5 day, with working out directly after work. This gives me, generally, 7-midnight for "Lana time".

I can't finish books (I'm in the middle of 4 or 5, with four more sitting around waiting to be started). I can't finish my January and February filing. I can't find time to clean, to cook, to sit around and relax. I'm moving from the moment my snooze rings for the third time until I crash into bed around midnight every night.

I keep looking ahead, wondering when my rest will come. And I think I'm going to have to pencil it in. Seriously. That's ridiculous.

Today as I rummaged around my pantry for something sweet, I found the box of chocolates that Emily gave me for Christmas. Yep, it's still here. How is that possible? I grabbed one and popped it in my mouth, only to stop mid-chew.

The taste was familiar, yet distant. I bit down again, scanning through my memory for what this related to. Something good. Something I enjoy...or did, at one time.
Got it! Peanut Butter. I was eating peanut butter.

Now, as I've sworn off of this stuff for good reason (something to do with internal all-consuming itching, external swelling and redness, and more recently, pains in my chest), it's been at least a year since I've tasted this, my favorite food.

But I couldn't stop. It was that good. I ate it.
Thirty minutes later, I sit here itching. And hoping my allergy or intolerance or whatever it is, allows me to keep working.

Little tastes of heaven. Someday I will eat peanut butter to my heart's content. *sigh
Oh, for that day.

All credit goes to Liz

She's the one who showed this to me.

As of yesterday, I'm pretty sure my life has been irrevocably changed. I don't know what that means, and I don't know where I'm going, what ride I'm on, or who's necessarily in charge (if anyone could be).

All I know is that I like it. This adventure.

I'm in.

Playing catch up

Starting January first, my life began spinning out of control. I cannot explain all of the things that have been going on, but I will say that I've reconnected with several friends I haven't seen in forever (Kate, Leslie), I've had more fun and ended up more random places (skiing in Michigan, vacationing in Florida) in one month than is typical for a January.

But the insanity doesn't end. Every weekend from now until who knows when, I'm sure to be busy, to be driving somewhere. Not that I'm complaining, oh, because I'm most assuredly not. I'm just saying...

I haven't gotten much sleep. I've lost 5 lbs in a week. I can't concentrate at work or at home, and it's starting to throw me completely off kilter. I have an important job situation coming up here in a week, and I need to be at my brightest and most impressive. However, I can't find the motivation to make the necessary preparations. I just don't care about this anymore.

Today I am the most tired I've been in weeks. But I'm on my way home to see Aaron, my military friend, who's on leave. Feels like I haven't seen him in a year and I don't know when I'll get another chance. Tonight's it. I'm going.

Despite my best intentions, I am really not sure if I can make it back to my area for church tomorrow. I really want to, I love this church and being a part of it has changed my life, my perspective, in a number of ways. But, as I'm nearly falling asleep as I type this, I'm not positive I'll be able to drive three hours tonight and spend quality time with my Aaron. (sigh)

I feel like I need three whole days to recover my stabilization, my sleep patterns, and my scheduled life.

But the truth is, I wouldn't change my present situation for anything.
Figure that one out.

I hate this part of my life...

Sunday's High temperature where I live: 3
will feel like -4 with the windchill

___________________________________________________

Sunday's High temperature in Phoenix, where my sister lives: 75


Why, God, why must I endure this frigidity?

Word of the Day for Feb. 6th

Generally not for the faint of heart or easily offended, Urban Dictionary is one of the most interesting collaborative social-networking-esque dictionaries of our time.

I enjoyed the Word of the Day on Feb. 6th:

disneyfication
verb

1. The act of taming the world to make it all safe, clean, and completely similar to a theme park.

2. To remove the sharp edges and darkness that is life.

On music and life...

Sometimes, when you hear a particularly beautiful song, you have to stop and reevaluate your life.

Because the song is so beautiful and so true that you identify with it -- and you almost wonder for a moment if the singer knows you, or if you're someone other than who you thought you were.

You become the musician, and the musician becomes you.

(comment by a friend)