Sunday, October 31, 2010

Creepy By Design

And, my readers, since it's that time of year, I present to you a short list of six traditionally creepy creatures...and something I bet you didn't know about each one.


1. Crows and Ravens
Crows, Ravens, and other Corvids are the smartest birds on earth. Crows have been observed bending pieces of metal into fish hooks and fishing with them. They've also been seen placing hard-to-crack nuts in busy intersections during red lights and returning at the next red light to snatch up the nut after it's been run over by a car.

2. Spiders
If a spider is trapped without access to food, it can survive indefinitely, and even grow, by eating it's own silk, which is made up primarily of protein.

3. Rats
Rats are excellent mothers. You can leave the young of another rat, mouse, or almost any type of rodent with a recently pregnant rat and she'll clean, nurse, and defend them like her own.

4. Bats
Bats may be the reason  your favorite vacation spot is so popular. Back before vaccinations and Deep Woods Off!, people living in the Southern United States would travel northward during the summer to escape the swarms of mosquitoes that thrived in the humidity. Without realizing it, they often went to places with very high bat populations, which kept mosquitoes under control.

5. Snakes
The venom of the Copperhead snake is currently being researched for its cancer-fighting properties; used and prepared correctly, it attacks cancerous cells while leaving the surrounding tissue unharmed.

6. Wolves
The hierarchy of a wolf pack is more sophisticated than some forms of human government.

Thursday, October 28, 2010

Celebrity

I'm not usually timid.

My first day on the Crystal Darkness Committee, during which I shared a table with the head of the Department of Mental Health, the head of the Bureau of Narcotics, and a former DA, I called out the Superintendent of OKC Schools for trying to use tactics fit for grade and middle school students to get high school students interested in the project. From the committee members from whom I did not win friendship, I won respect, and from the two I did not even win respect, I at least won the begrudging acknowledgement that I did in fact know what I was talking about.

In PRSS training I told a cultural competency instructor that her facts were wrong.

I've got a little chip on my hip, a hereditary sass passed down from my Nanny that once earned me the nickname "General Sassy." (And I have the commercially embroidered ballcap to prove it.)

But joining a new Church? *shiver* I can honestly say I really hadn't interacted with many people outside of superficial pleasantries until this past weekend. I'm always afraid I'll slip up in this most important of aspects of my life. What if I genuflect on the wrong knee? Can you genuflect on the wrong knee? What if I do this wrong, or that wrong? What if my skirt is a 1/32nd of an inch too short? What if my veil doesn't cover enough? WHAT IF I DON'T STICK MY TONGUE OUT FAR ENOUGH AND THE HOST FALLS OFF?????????

Yeah, I probably grew a grey hair in anticipation of my first few Sundays.

But the morning after my first choir practice? That was completely different.

I don't really think I was being treated all that differently. Sure, a number of people I hadn't formally met came up to tell me how well I had done...when I really only sang a few of the propers...but other than that, I think it was entirely due to a shift in my own mind. On the one hand, I was in the choir. A real choir. Not a children's choir. I suddenly felt accepted, as if I belonged. As if I was welcome truly, and not just tolerated because everyone was far too nice to say anything to me.

More importantly, I felt useful. Allow me to transport you, via the magic of pan flute, to my childhood.

It's the summer after we've moved to the city. I've started attending a performing arts camp that a few of my friends from school went to. It was the first time I'd really done any singing outside of into a hairbrush or shampoo bottle.

I very quickly figured out that mine was NOT the voice of a princess.

I did try valiantly, but when your competition is a slender, curly-haired blonde with a spinto soprano like a nightingale...Yeah. Eventually I got to the point where I preferred the comedic side roles to the princesses, anyway, but I still could never find any kind of vocal role where I fit.

There was a brief moment in eighth grade where I was highly necessary, as the only girl in seventh or eighth grade who could hit a low E, when we did the Carol of the Bells for the Christmas program, but when high school arrived, it was more of the same.

Now? I came knocking on the door of a chapel with a choir recovering from a greatly reduced congregation, with a desire to build itself back up to polyphonic proportions, and only one alto. Many people's first or second questions upon meeting me, actually, were "Do you sing?" and "What's your range?" Every time I said alto it was like I had revealed myself capable of spinning straw into gold.

I feel like I have something to offer back now. In return for all that this little chapel and its people have given me. I feel like I have something figured out for the first time in ages; what I believe. It feels more liberating and freeing than anything I've tried before under the pretext of "liberation" has felt.

And most of all, and I nearly wept when I came to realize this, I feel like I used to feel as a little child when I was in Church; enveloped by cloaks of red and of light blue. In the arms of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, and of the Blessed Mother.

And I'm so, so grateful to God that I have something useful to give back.

Sunday, October 24, 2010

Sacris Solemnis

It was my first day in the choir loft Sunday.

I had made a point over the past few weeks to try and absorb a few of the responses I knew were the same week after week, and as such I could jump into the Kyrie without rehearsing it. Fortunately for a newcomer like myself, even though the propers for the time of year are always the same tune, they have different words, and as such were rehearsed Saturday night.

We also rehearsed a little polyphony, but not enough for me to be able to pick up on it. This afforded me a rather special opportunity during the Offertory.

There I was, standing in the middle of a swirl of earth-shatteringly beautiful voices, male and female, building in harmony for so beautiful a purpose. My eyes wandered down over the railing, where the priest stood, censing the altar. The smoke billowed up in clouds around the crucifix, and immediately I was glad I wasn't singing.

If I had been, I'm pretty sure I would've choked on the note.

Surrounded by beauty and solemnity, simplicity and reverence, I had to fight the urge to weep. I shouldn't be so surprised. After all, it's human nature to be wrong. To be foolish. To forsake true beauty for something less.

But I just don't understand it.

I've been blessed to see the difference between a High and a Low Mass, and it's given me a whole new understanding of the Sacrifice. Mass can be done without music. It can be done without pomp, and circumstance. In truly desperate times, as in the case of Father Maximilian Kolbe, unleavened bread and a bit of wine will suffice. Everything else, everything that Catholics are always so maligned for, the so-called excesses, the Traditions, the necessities, they're all an expression of love.

From the craftsman who fashioned the gilt vessels, to the composers who wrote the sacred music, the priest who turned his back on the world to follow where God led him...it's all done out of love. Out of a deep, unquenchable desire to give God our very best, to surround Him with things worthy of Him.  Love and the greatest respect are what have driven generation after generation to pass down the priesthood, the prayers, the sacraments and the physical representations of them.

And in a space of time that amounted to no more than a blink on the pages of history, we were all too willing to give it all up.

I'm liable to go on a ten page tangent if I don't stop now, so I will. I've never been too good with endings.

I'm just at a loss to know why.

Wednesday, October 20, 2010

Want V. Need

Let's get something straight here. I don't need anything.

I have a house, a car, a family, and seriously in the event of disaster enough food to get us all by. Sure we might be eating box mashed potatoes and canned spinach for a while, but we'd still be eating.

However, there are a number of things that I really, really, REALLY want.

For instance, I'd like to be able to just up and buy my friends and family stuff they want but can't really justify spending money on. Like a birdseed pail, or a $500 sword, or a Mustang Shelby.

And then there are the things I'd like for myself. Right now the list is pretty long. And it wasn't too bad, but then J got this catalog in today and I suddenly realized that I really would like an ankle length hostess skirt and sash in Leatherneck or Cornish National tartan. And a brown bustle skirt to match my black one. And a cloche baker, and if I could find one, an oblong cloche baker...a potato ricer, an immersion blender, a copy of "Large Family Logistics," a nice pair of cufflinks, a pile of fabric, a new Rosary, everything Storey Publishing's ever put out, heirloom seeds, soil conditioners, two beehives, a beekeeping outfit that doesn't make me look like a man or a SciFi villain...and as long as we're on a tangent how about a couple dozen acres of well-drained land, zoned agricultural, with a natural spring?

To be fair, I have a ridiculous amount of personal spending money. But with it comes responsibilities. For instance, usually if I want to cook something out of the ordinary I've got to pay for the ingredients myself. And I do buy my own gas. Other than that, occasional eating out, but that's it. However, in November and December I find myself needing to buy presents for people, and the number of people I have to buy for can sometimes be overwhelming. And then you have instances where you meet someone and you think "Oh, wow, I have the best Christmas gift idea for them," but it really would've been a lot easier if you had met them in, say, March and not August so that you could've had more time...Whoops, rambling again.

Anyway, the point is...we get really wrapped up in things we think we need. It's easy for me to think "I need more modest clothes." But do I really? Maybe I could do laundry more often, or get a few camisoles to wear under some things?

And I may think to myself that I need a cloche baker. But truly, out of all the things my oven tends to mess up, it does bread really, really well. Just a few weeks ago I tried out a brand new recipe for a part flour part cornmeal loaf that came out remarkable, crisp on the outside, delicate and moist in the inside, with no addition of steam on my part.

Food. Shelter. And someone to lean on, even if all we have to lean on is God. Our basic needs are so much less complicated then we're often led to believe.

Sunday, October 17, 2010

The Seven Degrees of Sharing

(This is sort of a cross between a serious and a fun post, because while it's a little soul-searching, it's pretty humorous as well.)

Every time I decide I'm going to share something I've created, be it visual, musical, or just something I've written, there's a seven-step process I go through before bringing myself to sharing it with anyone.

Step 1: Create said thing. Usually it's the first ten pages of a novel, or a book-jacket style blurb, though occasionally it is a Youtube video, and, on even rarer occasion, it is a song. For example, a while back I wrote a song on the guitar called "Too Good For Me" that I'm seriously considering trying to sell.

Step 2: I mention my creation, thinking that it will be ignored like most of my status updates. At this point I am usually proven wrong, as I was Friday, when Gwen commented on said status and asked if I'd play it for her. This brings me to

Step 3: Contemplation. It's at this point that I narrow my eyes and tilt my head at my computer screen to assess whether or not I'm really comfortable sharing what I view to be a poor attempt at creativity with someone whose opinion I value. Eventually my vanity wins, and I proceed to

Step 4: The Sure! I'll play you my song/read you my novel/hang my deepest inner thoughts up as target paper in the gun range of  your constructive criticism! stage. At this point I haven't really thought through what sharing actually entails. But it never fails, sometime later, like when I'm about to say my bedtime Rosary, it hits me.

Step 5: Abject Panic. This particular case hit me a little hard. I've only written one other song with the same amount of emotion as "Too Good for Me," and since it was written much, much farther in my past than TGFM, it doesn't feel as raw, or fresh, or scary to share. It also occurred to me last night that TGFM is ABOUT a MAN. That set of a fresh wave of AHHH!!!!! on top of my usual nerves.

Step 6: This is the stage where I decide something to the effect of, "Well, in the long run, it'll  probably be a lot less embarrassing to play the song for a gal pal than when Judgement comes and said MAN the song is ABOUT becomes aware that at the age of 19 I wrote a song about him." This is the, "Oh, why not?" stage where I jump in and despite the jitters, decide to share my work anyway. However, I often teeter between stages 4-6 until I at last reach

Step 7: Another human reads/hears/sees what I've made. Have not yet reached this stage. Bourbon's heard part of the song, but not the whole finished kit and kaboodle. It's high time to share, I suppose, so...Bourbon, Gwen, I'll be pulling my guitar out soon!

Friday, October 15, 2010

The Obligatory Introductory Post

Honestly I think the reason I've held off on starting this blog, even though I created it a month ago, is that I never know where to begin.

This isn't my first foray into the Blogosphere, but it's definitely the first I've ever brought to the attention of my Facebook gaggle. In the past, I've started at least, oh...probably ten, just because I like playing around with themes and the like. I've only had one, however, that I updated regularly.

Anyway, I'm beginning this one now, for several reasons.

Number one: I've got a lot going on in my life right now, and journaling is a good way to process.

Number two: Like all ladies with a penchant for performing, I love feedback. Plus, I have a good number of friends and relatives scattered around that I can't exactly share a private diary with.

And, number three: The handful of truly good friends and confidants I have in the general area are getting tired of my ramblings, which are often a lot like clicking from page to page on Wikipedia. This is both an outlet for my thoughts and an exercise in self-mastery, and I hope it will help me become better able to formulate my thoughts.

At this point, I'm keeping personal identification to a minimum. I've never been afraid of the Big Scary Internet, and the people who may lurk on it. But I do believe in being prudent, and as such, until I get comfortable in these waters, I will be going by L and Miss L, and I'm likely to refer to people by their initials. That being said, if you have a pseudonym you'd like to go by, feel free to let me know. :) I'll probably eventually create a "Directory" post of sorts, denoting where everyone fits in the widespread web that is my  extended family.

Hmm, introduction, introduction...ah, yes. A brief autobiography, slightly more detailed than my "About Me"

Mom spent her childhood travelling around, and Dad was always a country boy, even though they met in the city. Eventually they moved out to where he had been raised, where the extended family ventures ran the gamut from beef cattle and hogs to angora goats to alfalfa hay. By the time I was four years old a combination of things led to the end of the marriage and the beginning of a number years where it was just Mom and myself in the house. During this time I remained very close to my Dad and his mom, my Nanny, and we saw each other more than once a week. I also made some long journeys to visit Mimi and Pops, Mom's parents, and my pretty substantial number of aunts, uncles, cousins, second cousins, great aunts and uncles, and people several times removed. We've all had crazy adventures of our own and I love them all.

Mom remarried when I was seven, and after a few rocky years, Mom, J and I managed to form a cohesive and loving family unit. I feel so, so blessed that instead of just two amazing, loving, supportive and quirky parents, I've got three! Not to paint an illusion of perfection; there are always rapids in the river. But life's not about everything being easy...

We moved to Oklahoma City in the middle of my fourth grade year, and frankly I'm only just now getting a handle on how much that shook me up. But so much good has come out of it, and I've met so many amazing people. I feel I've got the best of both worlds, growing up in the country and the city, and coming from long lines of fascinating, loving, tough-as-nails ancestors.

Right now I'm going to college, and my day to day world is filled with recopying notes, studying for tests, trying to fit in everyone I care about, and riding the waves of my thrice-a-week Unofficial Lunch Club (consisting of my best friend, alias Bourbon Bordeaux, and a mysterious individual known only as Hat Guy), which needs a snazzier name and sometimes has trouble reaching a smooth consensus, or even agreeing to disagree.

As for the Marie Antoinette references? I've always really identified her. On the surface, who wouldn't want to be Queen? Beautiful gowns, fabulous food, and everything done for you before you even anticipate it. Several years ago when the Sofia Coppola movie came out, I made a point to pick up Antonia Fraser's biography of the queen before every single one in town was emblazoned with Kirsten Dunst's face. I found a truly easy to relate to person, essentially just a girl trapped by her high birth in a situation she had to make the best of, and with duties she was bound to. As time went on, she longed for simplicity, and so had her village, "Le Hameau de la Reine," built for her and her closest friends.

And while they would dress up as shepherdesses and feed lambs, milking cows with porcelain "buckets" and staying in rich mansions designed to look like cottages, it wasn't all about excess and escapism. Those who worked at and kept Le Hameau were poor and destitute families given another shot at life. Neither Louis nor Marie wanted their children to grow up with no idea what the real world outside Versailles was like; they would, so they thought, rule all of France someday, after all. Research in agriculture was conducted, and French craftsmen were supported. If I were a Queen, I would definitely want a similar project.

And with my plans to revamp our garden, keep bees, and purchase a couple of Heritage/endangered geese in the suburbs of a big city, I kind of like to think I'm building my own little Hameau.

Now, on to the mechanics. I'm going to try to update it twice a week, once with something serious on the weekend, and once with something fun during the week. This may or may not pan out. But, I spend too much time online as it is, and if I'm going to be online, I might as well do something that at least seems productive, right? So this is this week's Serious Post. Hehe.

Oh, I almost forgot. Three members of my family that I haven't introduced yet...Teddy Bear the Havanese, Baron the German Shepherd, and Tigger the enormous tabby cat. They find their way into most of the pictures I take around here, so I'll point them out as they make appearances.

~L