Hands

handformail
Originally uploaded by super rachel zana.

My favorite parts of newborn babies are their tiny hands. Surprisingly, Noah's hands actually weren't that small! Unlike his sister's hands, delicate, fragile and narrow, Noah's hands are thick. They are tiny, but sturdy, ready to grip on to whatever comes his way.

Noah Naps

blanketformail
Originally uploaded by super rachel zana.

For the most part, Noah naps peacefully, his sleep briefly interrupted by short bouts of chaotic screaming while his diaper is changed and slighly longer bouts of noisy slurping as he eats his way through the day.

Noah

noahblkwtformail
Originally uploaded by super rachel zana.

Noah Zachary Jan was born last Wednesday. He weighed 9 pounds, 9 ounces.

Persian Chicken

We celebrated Thanksgiving a bit early this season. Last Saturday our kitchen was busy all day long. I cooked sweet things (cranberry salad, raspberry rice pudding, dessert). My husband cooked not sweet things (turkey, mashed potatoes, green bean almondine). My sister-in-law chased after Sarah and made corn bake. We invited one of my huband's colleagues and her husband over to feast with us. Our guests were Iranian and brought Persian chicken and rice to contribute to our feast.
We visited. We laughed. It was grand.

I am admittedly terrible about trying new foods. And I was scared to try Persian chicken. I like food that is plain, without excessive spices, or basically any seasoning at all, to be exact. I usually don't like ethnic foods other than Scandanavian (minus the lutefisk). I don't like forcing myself to try foods I probably won't like. I hate things with onions and garlic. In summary, anything with a distinct, unusal taste, I probably won't eat, and I don't even want to smell it.

The Persian chicken was a pleasant surprise! Roasted whole, like a turkey, it was covered in a dark black sauce. I was leery. It was neither sour nor sweet, and not overly strong. In fact, it was actually very good! Instead of stuffing the inside of the bird, it had been filled with a special paste that was a bit stronger, but not overwhelming. The chicken did not smell. It did not give me indigestion. I was very proud of myself for taking a food risk that actually paid off, and was very relieved that I didn't have to pretend to be polite for the sake of our company, whom I really enjoyed. I could honestly exclaim that I enjoyed tasting the Persian chicken and mean it.

Dialog with my Daughter

In my seriously pregnant state I am curled up on the couch resting. My daughter bounces around on the blue carpet in our living room.

"I'm chasing sharks, Mama!"

"Oooh. Watch out. They probably have big teeth."

"Now a giant is coming to scare away all the sharks."

"Mmmnn."

"Now the giant is eating the sharks. He's very hungry."

"Mmmnn."

"Now the giant is starting a fire in the house! You're the house, Mama! You're on fire!"

"Oh dear. You'd better call the fire department."

"I am the fire department."

"Oh. Well are you going to put out the fire?"

"Here's my bucket! You're getting all wet, Mama! I'm squirting you with my hose!"

"Goodness. It is getting a bit soggy in here. Have you gotten the fire out yet, Firefighter Sarah?

"No."

A long period of silence ensues, in which my daughter peers over at me very seriously. She then climbs up on the couch, sits down on my curled up legs and states:

"I guess I'll just roast hotdogs, then."

True flexibility, at it's finest.

Melding Personalities

In honor of the three choir concerts I sang in this past weekend, I thought I would examine some of the personalities that seem to reoccur in many of the choirs, espcially community choirs, I have been involved in.

1. The Diva: Divas can probably be expected in a choir. After all, a choir is made up of singing people. But the Diva is especially interesting, or at least she believes she is. I say she, because almost always the Diva(s) in the choir is a female, usually a soprano who loves to hear her own voice, uses tons of vibrato, and hates to blend with other people in fear that she might not be heard. Divas often love to wear bright colors so they stand out, and are especially prone to wearing sequins. Frequently they cake their faces in make-up.

2. The Opinionated Church Lady: This lady may or may not attend church, but what she does have is an extraordinary flair for leadership. She likes to have her fingers behind the scenes of the choir, and has twelve million opinions about all affairs, related or nonrelated to the choir, which she has no fear of expressing at length to anyone within hearing distance. She usually has an important job, like choir librarian or the status of a charter member of the choir, and she likes to flaunt this position. Like the Diva, the Opinionated Church Lady likes to be noticed. While her clothes are typically not as bright, she is prone to wearing sequins. The Opinionated Church Lady is often very educated, intelligent, and talented, but a bit obnoxious until you just learn to ignore her when she isn't speaking of something important. (Of course, she thinks everything she speaks of is important).

3. The Quiet Mouse: There are often several of these in the alto section, and occasionally a few interdispersed in the soprano section who grieve that they were given higher voices instead of being accepted into the alto section where they would blend better in both personality and sound. Quiet mice like to knit. They like to have a copy of a classic novel next to their folder that they can grab and read when the conductor isn't working with them or there is a a social break, rather than having to talk to the people around them. The Quiet Mouse usually has brown hair in a plain style. She blends into the furniture, the walls, and the voices of those around her.

4. Bubblers: These sopranos and altos can't stop talking. Ever. The conductor conducts. They talk. The accompanist hammers out parts for the basses. They talk. Bubblers are amazingly cheerful creatures, often short, sometimes plump. They work hard and love to sing and have an uncanny ability to hear even though they never seem to be listening.

5. The Fashion Bugs: These members of the choir are usually young, but sometimes middle aged women. They sing well, and dress well. Usually thin, they have the ability to stand in four inch high heals on risers throughout a two hour concert without flinching. They are impeccably groomed and usually gravitate toward trendiness.

6. The Rambuctious Tenors: Almost all tenors fit into this catagory. Whether they are fourteen or fourty seven, tenors always seem to have an absurd sense of humor. They yell out jokes, often at the conductor's expense, and never seem to really get into a lot of trouble because they are tenors, and all tenors just act this way. They are adept at word puns. They disrupt the rehearsal constantly, but they get away with it because they are so funny. Tenors come in various shapes and sizes. When they pay attention, they have the potential to sound quite nice.

7. The Bass who Can't Find the Right Pitch: There is always one of these in every choir, sometimes two or three. They scramble around underneath the real note, searching for a pitch. Sometimes they have a monotone sound, and others worry that they may be tone deaf. They often don't know they aren't singing the right part, which befuddles everyone, including the conductor who tries to hint that they should not sing a particular song without hurting anyone's feelings (in the case of tyrannical conductors, they are sometimes taken out of the game by a ferocious musical expert who leaps across four rows of chairs, his face purple, ready to strangle the bass in question along with his neighbors on both sides.)

8. The Questioner: This person can be in any section, and there can be a number of them in any given choir. Often well educated in music, with a degree of their own, Questioners question the conductor. They want clarification. They want to point out mistakes the conductor might not be hearing. They want their particular interpretation of a phrase considered publically. Often helpful, they can delay rehearsals with their barrage of ideas and suggestions. Others waver between irritation at their constant interruptions and gratitude that someone is willing to speak up about the person two chairs down who isn't singing something correctly.

J.S. Bach

In the days that I practiced piano 2-4 hours daily, I never dreamed that one day I would simply not have time to sit at my instrument, or more accurately, that I wouldn't make time to practice for disciplined intervals. Alas, most days now, I fail to practice. Sometimes this is because I truly am too busy taking care of children, but more often than not, I just don't make myself do it. This is a sad situation, and over the past two weeks I have tried to ammend my disfunctional musical habits. While it may not be possible to sit at the piano for two consecutive hours until my feet fall asleep while pedaling like I used to, I can almost always squeeze a half an hour to an hour in each day if I make an effort.

In the last ten days or so I have made an effort to practice while I am waiting for students, or after I have finished teaching them for the day. I have rediscovered how much I enjoy Bach fugues. I had to wait until I was in college before I had the skills to play Bach fugues. They are very complex things, kind of like a mess of spaghetti with two or three different melodies happening at one time. When you put them all together they creative polyphonic harmony. Bach's mind and genius never fail to impress me. Few people can sit down and sight read a Bach fugue (there are amazing pianists that can, but I am certainly not one of them, nor are most people). Some people become frustrated with Bach because there is no instant gratification. To play Bach takes painstaking work, repeating the same page or half page over twenty or thirty times in a practice section and then moving on or repeating it some more until your fingers learn what to do. I always tell my students who are advancing in their music that there is a gap between the notes your eyes and brain can read when playing a difficult piece, and the motions your fingers can accurately make. You have to painstakingly teach your fingers what to do because they don't have very much intelligence on their own. After excessive repetition, however, they can fly over the keys, and you just have to keep track of where you are.

Right now I am reviewing my favorite fugue of all time from the Well Tempered Clavier Book 1: Number two in C minor, and I am learning a new fugue, number seven in E flat major. I like the combination of practicing one fugue that is comfortable to play and wading through another which takes extreme concentration because I do not know it yet.

Ulitimately, what I have discovered in the past few days is that I need to be practicing regularly, not only to keep up my musical skills and understand frustrations my students are having as well as reviewing practice techniques I should be teaching them, but mainly because practicing is good for my mental state of being. It keeps my brain in shape, but more importantly, through the repetition of practicing I have always found myself to be able to do the best thinking and organizing. It refreshes me and helps me put my life and thoughts in order. I once heard a poet speak who claimed that he was successful at writing because he played a Bach fugue each morning right after he got up, before he sat down to write. This makes great sense to me.

First Ponytail

ponytailformail
Originally uploaded by super rachel zana.

Sarah was born bald. She was completely bald until age two, when a few tufts of wispy white hair appeared on the back of her head. Little by little the rat's nest on her hair has gotten slighty thicker and longer. She has amazing hair, really, kind of a living sculpture that changes throughout the day. One moment it will be curling against her neck, and the next it will be sticking straight up out the back. Look again and there will be bunches spiking out at obscure angles. Sections of hair will congeal in blobs. Other parts are so fine that they just float away from her scalp, defying gravity. I never tire of watching her hair. For the first time today, courtesy of my visiting sister-in-law, Sarah wore her hair in a very small ponytail. She was thrilled, showing everyone she met all day, proclaiming repeatedly that she was big enough to have lots of hair.