It's About the Music

Christmas 1972- Barbara, Giz, Daniel, Gael and Bill

 I am, I guess, a music junkie.



I don't listen to radio music much and I can't tell you who the current artists are. But I have every Frank Sinatra song in my head. Peter, Paul and Mary live there as well--along with John Denver, The Righteous Brothers, the Weavers, the Beatles, Rolling Stones, Herman's Hermits, and a LOT of classical folk. There are a few off-beat jazz pieces in there just to mess things up.

(One of my favorites is called "Bitch with a Bad Attitude" Used it as my ringtone for years.)

 Yeah, it's stuck in my head.

I often sing show tunes to people on the phone instead of saying hello.

And I always call my brothers on their birthdays to sing "Happy Birthday" as horribly as is possible without laughing.


For my ninth birthday my father bought me a Chickering Spinet Piano. I loved singing so a piano made sense. It stayed in the living room where I would practice (occasionally).

It was a major part of the Living Room decor and it was gorgeous. The keys had a great touch and the sound was pretty amazing.

So it was surprising to my entire family (and me) that I couldn't make a piano "sing". As Charles (on MASH) said, "I can play the notes but I can't make the music sing." 

Off and on, over the years, I have had pianos of one kind or another. Good grief, I moved one to Sacramento when I went to law school!

But it has been awhile now. And I have missed having that instrument.

I might not be very good at it but it always brought me a measure of comfort.

It is about the music. It keeps me sane.

It says things through me that I can't express any other way.

It makes me laugh, it makes me cry, it makes me angry, and it makes me sad.

It is a language that speaks to my soul.

Every time, every song (even the ones I don't like!)

So every Christmas I get a little nostalgic for that rosewood Chickering piano.

All of that is to give some context to my crying in COSTCO today.

You see, they had one of those traveling shows at the entrance. You know the type. Some major product or other that you can't find in many places. Sometimes it is clothes, some times it is jewelry, some times it camaras.

Today I walked in to get some catfood and canned peaches and there it was......A Yamaha Clavanova Spinet. With a dark rosewood finish.

Now a Clavanova is technically not a piano. It is electronic. There is no sound board. But it has an 88 key keyboard with grand piano touch. It will play recorded music (from wav files) and it will record what you play (if you want). Oh, I wanted it. It was small enough to fit in our little country home and it sounded fabulous. (yeah, I played a few notes)

But I walked away. I couldn't afford it. Not right now. And besides, Melvin would kill me (figure of speech use of that phrase)

Now Mel had been asking me what I wanted for my birthday. And I didn't know.

But....

I called him. And, being considerate of his feelings, I shaped remark saying that I knew we couldn't afford it, BUT there was this Yamaha piano at COSTCO.

To my astonishment he asked how much it was. I told him and again let him know that I knew that we couldn't afford it.

His response?

"That's perfect. Get it."

He had been saving.

And that is why I was crying at COSTCO today. Big drippy tears.

The piano will be delivered on Sunday.

And We Sang!

Now I have been with the Vocal Arts Ensemble for nearly 8 years. You would think I would have a current photo of the group.

BUT NO!

The best I have is this one from a couple of years ago.

Pathetic...

But this weekend? This weekend this group was anything BUT pathetic.

We kinda took the roof of the place on a couple of pieces.

Two shows (Saturday Night and Sunday Afternoon) that were both sold out! Like you couldn't buy a ticket at the door!

That really energized us and we sang our socks off.

Sorry if you missed it but we have another coming up in the Spring.

Stay tuned for our next episode!

IT ISN'T THANKSGIVING YET!!!

I was raised with one strict, immutable rule.

It was not to be broken under any circumstances.

No one ever broke it so I don't know what the consequences of such contemptible behavior would have been. But the mere thought of the possible consequence placed fear in the heart of every child in the house.

The Christmas decorations DO NOT come out until AFTER Thanksgiving. No lights, no tree, no tinsel, no cloth elves, no ivy. NOTHING.

So on Thanksgiving night or the day that we got home from Aunty Doo's house, all the cornucopias, waxed fruit, paper turkeys, color leaves, and anything that was orange, brown or gold was vanquished to their appropriate boxes.

In their place came boxes full of plastic ivy, wreaths, Santa Claus(es), spun glass, Nativity scenes, bright colored lights, ornaments, tinsel garlands, and tree things.

What an incredible collection of Christmas Kitsch as has never before or since existed.

It took the rest of the long weekend to get it all up.

It was so bright outside that I could find my way to my house on a dark, Tule fog night just by the glow!

So, every year that I have had my own home, I have judiciously followed the rule. Even in the years where I had to do all the work.

The house would be strewn with real pine wreaths covered in bows and beads and tinsel and flowers. Every flat surface would be covered in a themed cacophony of  kitsch. One table was all porcelain Santas in a field of snow. The next, elves in a musical tableau.  One a religious nightmare of tin and hay.

AND THE TREE!
Covered in ornaments of all shapes and sizes. Paper, glass, wood. Commercial, handmade, and heirlooms. Lights-some years large, some years small. Some years white, some years multicolored. Some years had strings of bubble lights or penguins, or chili peppers. Ever inch covered.

Then there was the year of the shaving cream........I would rather not talk about that one.

But always, ALWAYS after Thanksgiving.

Well, until yesterday.

I went into the "storage" area under our house. And I saw them. Four giant and three not so giant plastic tubs labeled "Christmas".

And I thought to myself, "Hmmm, I will need those on Friday. I can get them out today."

And then I opened one.

Because if I was going to give any of them to Goodwill (which I wanted to do because you can't put seven tubs of kitsch from a 2700 square foot house into a 1600 square foot house) then I should do so before Thanksgiving.

So I started to pull things out.

I tried to figure where they would go in the new house. What would fit and what wouldn't.

So I HAD to take some into the house to see for sure.

And then they had to have the cotton snow around them to see if they would look right.

And then.......

There it was.

Lighted ginger bread house

AND IT ISN'T EVEN THANKSGIVING YET!

    (P.S.--spouse comes into my office that night and says (very gruffly), "You have to call Mrs. Bread" and I say, "You mean Mrs. Beard?" And he says, "NO! Mrs. Bread. Ginger left the lights on again!" And he leaves.  Some one save me! ;-)  )

That Girl---Again

Today is Vicki's birthday. She is officially one year younger than me for the next month.

I have told our story before.

But today is SPECIAL so I thought I could share another story about her. After all, embarrassing her is the best present I could give, right? (==giggle==)

I know that this particular story took place when we were in our late 20's. My spouse was flying in a B-52 somewhere over VietNam (or Cambodia- but that is another story) so I was in Lindsay. I was living with my parents at the time. Vicki still lived there.

Vicki and I decided to go play tennis.  And we invited my mom to join us. We figured she would sit under the sycamore trees and watch. After all, we only had two tennis rackets. And it was rather warm that day (if my memory serves me-which occasionally it fails to do. Memory does take a vacation every now and then)

HAH!

When we got to the courts, mom wanted to play so Vicki and I ended up switching off to play her.

After about an hour or so, Vicki and I were sitting on a bench. Sweating. Breathing HARD. Tired.

Mom was jumping around on the other end of the court yelling, "What's the matter with you two? Let's play!"

Vicki looked at her, looked at me and said something to the effect that we were out of shape wimps. I don't remember the exact phrase.

I do remember Vicki's smile and my mother jumping around on the court. Racket in hand.

I do remember thinking that I had a perfect friend who would share my humiliation that day.

But then, she always had and she always will.

Happy Birthday, Vicki.

And Another One Passed THE TEST

Several years ago, a young man walked into my office and asked for a job.

He was attending the local law school (if you wanted to call it that) and wanted some practical experience.

Now I am the world's WORST interviewer. I have never been interviewed for a job and I have no idea how they are suppose to go.

But I asked a few questions (finding out that he was attending that dreadful place) and he seemed nice and was obviously VERY smart.

I didn't really need anyone except to do gofor work or to help out the kid at the front desk.

So, I did what any good boss would do. I asked the kid to talk to him. She had done lots of interviewing of prospects at her old job and she has a knack for picking the right people.

As they are talking right outside my open door, she told him that she had an English degree and where she was going to law school. Then she says, "What do you do with a BA in English?". And the dear young man begins to sign the opening song to the Broadway play "Avenue Q". The song is "What do you do with a BA in English"!

I almost fell out of my chair laughing. I got up and walked over to them, pointed at him and said, "You're hired!"

The young man was Angelo.

He spent about 6 months with us (before I ran out of funds to pay him) and he became a family friend.

He and the kid took the First Year Law School Exam together and both aced it.

Then he realized that he wanted to go into Patent Law and he needed serious law school credentials to get there. He quit the local school and applied to Santa Clara School of Law.

It drove him nuts and made him really work but he made it through and graduated last May. He took the Bar Exam this summer.

And today he got the notice.

Angelo is a lawyer.

It is his day but I feel so proud of him. I feel like a parent to him. And my heart explodes at the thought that he made his dreams come true.

Today is your day, Angelo.

Thanks for letting me be a part of your life.

Friends

I had a very, shall we say, "protected" childhood. I was born and raised in the same town, in the same house, with the same neighbors and friends until I left for college. I always knew who was who in the social structure around me.

So when I went to college with my best friend, I was flummoxed by people who didn't act or react like all the people that I had ever known. I didn't adapt well to new stuff. Somewhere in my brain it was suppose to stay the same no matter where I was.

And when I tried to get people to act like I thought they should act (in my little world) I was stunned that they didn't. 

Self-centered? Yeah.

Naive? You betcha!

Frightening? Oh, yeah.

But I learned, eventually, that I was not the center of the earth (I am still a little off-center) and that all those other people had stories to tell and places that had molded them.

And through it all, I had a friend.

Someone who was always there when I needed a voice or a shoulder or a "talking to ".

She still calls me "Gizzy" and she still laughs with me.

She remembers how I acted that horrible first year in college because she was there and was the bright and shining light that kept me attached to the ground.

Today, I called her. Just to say "hi" and to tell her what my latest blood tests had revealed. Nothing serious but a call to lose the weight and get my big keester off the chair.

I have never laughed so hard about dieting.

If there is one thing that marks our relationship, it is laughter. My mother (and hers) would always have to tell us to knock it off and go to sleep when we stayed at each other's house.

My husband will tell you that if I am on the phone and giggling I am talking to Vicki.

So today, as usual, she was there for me and, well, I just wanted to thank her.

Vicki, I love you!

Goodbye, again

Mohawk and LadyBug with Danny at Pismo Beach

One year ago today, I came home from work and Melvin and I had to make a decision. LadyBug could no longer lift her head, even to greet me. And Mohawk had lost the use of his back limbs.

I called the vet in Arroyo Grande and their whole crew stayed until we could get there.

And we said goodbye.

I miss them. And Zelda misses them, too.

When they were little, we would take them to a local school yard and throw a tennis ball for them. They would race to get it and bring it back. We would throw that dirty, smelly thing until they just lay down and quit.

We had learned not to take them to dog parks. The danger of ill trained dogs and untrained owners was more than we would let them face.

We had them trained at the All American Dog Kennel. The first command they learned was "Wait". They never forgot that word. Or the word "Food". They NEVER jumped on anyone.

If they got out of the backyard, we would go after them only to find them resting on the front door step. Waiting for food, of course.

They sat in my chair with me at night. They slept on our bed. They terrorized the cats.

They were never apart after we let them claim our life.

They were our kids, our pets, our friends.

They have been gone for one year.

I hope doggie heaven is full of tennis balls and they are never tired.