woo hoo!

Well, I walked over two months ago, but I 1) wanted to wait until I turned in my last paper, and 2) seem to have placed my little camera in a safe place, so you're just now getting my official grad-e-ation pics. These are courtesy of Auntie Marki.







I'm not gonna lie - I love that Music degrees result in pink graduation hoods!

an official announcement

My new homepage.

an answer

When I tell people that I study music, I get various reactions. Most seem as if they want to pat me on the head, and say, "Oh honey, that's so sweet!" I usually just smile, and, well, smile. And try not to bare my teeth.

But, occasionally there are people who really do get it.

I'd like to post part of an interview by one of my favorite authors of her interview with another author:

Why do you write?

Sometimes I wonder that myself--especially when the writing part isn't going well. Like today, for instance! But generally speaking I write because writing makes me feel more alive, more connected to the world. When I'm writing I pay more attention to what's happening around me--and when that happens I am struck over and over again I am by the awful beauty of life.

Amen!

If it isn't writing, perhaps it is music. Or reading. Grammar. (I'm sure there are some out there!)

For all of us to survive, we must find something in this world that makes us "feel more alive, more connected to the world." For truly, this life is too short to be spent miserably, trudging along. There is a fine balance to act out, but, "...if their works were good in this life, and the desires of their heart were good, that they should also, at the last day, be restored unto that which is good. And if their works are evil they shall be restored unto them for evil." (Alma 41:3-4) We don't magically know what will create these feelings of beauty in our lives when we die. Today is the day.

This idealistic mood of mine may be caused by falling asleep to Jeremy Irons intone The Alchemist or from the biography of C.S. Lewis that I'm reading (more on this later) but I very strongly believe that we truly are happiest when we are 'searching for our personal treasure,' or 'Joy' or Sehnsucht When we are realizing our divine potential. For we are Pilgrims, nay, Strangers here on this Earth. We are here for but a short time, to learn and to grow, and to be happy - the true and lasting happiness.

Last random thought. Sorry, still a bit philosophical. Just blame it on the books I've been reading lately.

Not too long ago I was reading and realized in the earlier quoted chapter, the "Wickedness never was happiness" has another side to it. You can only be one, or the other. If we are unhappy, there is something that is off: it does not have to be anything major. Ofttimes it is not. Most often, it is because we are being cruel to ourselves, or selling ourselves short. And please don't misinterpret or use the cheap definition of happiness. To find out what I mean, look here and you will find some interesting similarities in the causes of happiness.

I always knew the answers, or what the teacher wanted to hear, in my younger years. In Sunday School, I soon grew tired of knowing the correct answer and began answering every question with the answer of Happy. It was a bit of a joke at the time, but now, I don't think I was too far off.

aaa! (not aah, but almost aack!)

Well, I spoke Spanish on the phone today. I haven't done that for, well, probably since the good ol' days in Florida. Thankfully the speaker's accent was very clear, and he didn't mind my use of Spanglish. phew.

I honestly haven't used Spanish much since Florida; I can't even use the excuse of not having anyone to talk to. I do occasionally talk in my bad Cuban accent just to weird people out, though. That's always fun, because even people who know Spanish don't always recognize which language I am speaking. Or, it is to recreate a favorite time passer of speaking Spanish with a Southern accent: oh the things one does!

I used to have no fear, nor embarrassment (two similar, yet different emotions) in speaking a different language. Most times it was pure joy to see the confusion on people's faces that I, definitely of no hispanic origin, was able to speak somewhat understandably in their own tongue.

Perhaps because the need is gone, the ever ready to creep in fear and embarrassment attacked. Maybe I felt that if I continued to use the spanish, I would never really transition back into being a normal human being (sin plaquita) again. (Side note: I looked up 'plaque' in the bilingual dictionary, and was worried for a brief moment that I had been saying blood platelet for a year and a half! Why didn't anyone tell me.... But, I wasn't. phew.) We've all been there: sitting there with the returned missionary, trying not to get annoyed when they get together in masses, hablando their mission language - for those who are not included in the exchange, it can become a tiny bit tiresome; I never fully understood why that happened. I can now, but for the benefit to those on the outside, I tried to limit my flirtations with my latin lover.

I even waited till I was a graduate student to take a class. This, by the way, was a bad idea. The class was good, but it was my first semester in graduate school and I took it concurrently with a baroque music class. Spanish grammar, and baroque music - one or both are bound to suffer, and, in this instance, well, they both suffered.

I really need to find a happy balance. I truly do love the language of my ancestors (I am 1/8 Mexican you know!) and wouldn't be very happy to loose the little fluency that I acquired, but for some reason I don't think that random people in Macey's truly are impressed by you wanting to talk to them 'because we speak the same language.' Seriously.

Even to this day, when I need to pray with real intent I tend to revert to Spanish. Even with my limited vocabulary, it is, well, easier. I still have to remind myself that locations of scriptures on the page are different in the different translations.

I know I am not alone in this dilemma. And I know this is not a problem limited to returned missionaries - I happened to stumble upon the problem of bilingualism through preaching the gospel. Let me rephrase, the problem is not being bilingual. The problem is, how to live in the world, but not of the world. How do I improve upon my skills, without being obnoxious. I decided I should just move to Spain. Problem solved. But in the meantime, any suggestions? I know many of you are successful bilingual-ites and would love to for you to share your pearls of wisdom.

definition: 2

Merge: hurry up and pass as many cars as possible before the lane ends.

definition

Repentance: not that we've done something wrong, but that we want to be better.

muumuu

I've decided that this definition should include a picture of the choir. That's all.

(Don't blame me. It was funnier in my head, and at 2:38am, that could be most anything!)

i've been pretending: follow up

Because of requests from the last post, I will be participating in next weeks Music and the Spoken Word, Sunday, 29 Jun 2008.

There will be no eyelid messages, sorry.

i've been pretending

Last month I pretended that I stopped going to church. For those of you who would worry, don't. It was all a pretense, and not a very good one at that.

I'd recently been relieved of a position of some responsibility, which left me free to participate with an orchestra in SLC, and early morning broadcasts with a famous group of singers. The problem was that the broadcasts were 9:30-10:00 am, and my ward (geographically formed congregation) met at 10:00 am - with the two locations being approximately an hour apart. The first week, or so, I didn't attend any worship service, but then my Auntie informed me that their Sacrament Meeting met at 10:50. And since she lived a mere fifteen minutes from downtown, that was what I did.

Sundays were great. I'd wake up in time to leave by 6:30 (at least, that was my intention) to arrive in SLC by a little before 8 am. We'd ) would rehearse, and then do a complete run through for timing. Often the tempo of a song had to be slightly adjusted to fit the half hour time slot.

Then, at 9 am, the organ would begin playing, and the Voice would begin. It was quite an experience to be in the Tabernacle, with that organ. I'd had the opportunity to play there before: All-State Orchestra, and a joint U/BYU concert, but never with the Tabernacle Choir.

The best came for the Mother's Broadcast. I normally don't approve of camera time, because, well, that means you are being beamed into (insert number here) homes! I know no one really notices those things, but when you leave your house close to 6:30 am, you tend to feel not quite presentable.

So, Mother's Day there was an English Horn part which I was able to play, and since it was a solo line, a camera man comes and points the camera at you - it actually ended up being a duet, but I hadn't heard the clarinet. We weren't quite together (my fault, especially since I didn't realize the doubling), but since the camera markings were already done, I got to play.

Normally I would grimace, as mentioned, but it was Mother's Day, and my mum lives far away, but is able to watch the broadcast; it was like I got to say HI. I even thought of wearing a pin that said Happy Mother's Day, or writing it on my eyelids, or something, but I refrained. (Sorry dad, I'm not scheduled for this weekend... Happy Father's Day!!)

I've learned a lot, and have gained a lot of experience. And it was a safe learning atmosphere, as well, for which I am grateful.

What is his name? Fuzzy Wuzzy

How long have you been together? Since Christmas 1990.

How long did you date? We never have

How old his he? almost 18, but for his kind, I'd say that's at least 36 years. We've been through a lot together: Hurricanes, un-decapitation surgery, etc. etc.

Who eats more? Definitely me.

Who said I love you first? Me in words, him by actions. He's always been there for me.

Who is taller? I by a good five feet or so.

Who can sing better? Me, but not by much.

Who is smarter? He really hasn't gone to much school, but I do think he is much wiser.

Who does the laundry? Me. He only has one article of clothing, anyway, so there are no fights.

Who pays the bills? Me.

Who sleeps on the right side? I do, and he generally gets the middle. There are occasional nights where we snuggle.

Who makes the bed? I do.

Who cooks dinner? Neither of us. We usually eat out.

Who drives? Me. He enjoys the scenery too much when he does get out.

Who is more stubborn? Most definitely him. He hardly leaves our room anymore.

Who kissed whom first? I did. He was a little shy out of the box.

Who asked whom out first? n/a - remember, we didn't date.

Who proposed? No marriage, either. I'd say it's friends with benefits.

Who has more friends? That's a hard one. We do have some mutual friends....

Who is more sensitive? Him. He's always been willing to listen, to be that shoulder to cry on.

Who has more siblings? As far as I know, I do. He doesn't like to talk about the past.

Who wears the pants in the family? He doesn't wear pants, and I wear both pants and skirts, so its a toss up.