I took Pawpaw and Baba Scat to radiation today. Well, Pawpaw Scat was having a radiation treatment. Baba Scat believes it is her bound duty to drag her tired self around with us. We all know not to argue, so we don't and after only three days, she is already getting too tired for things like manners and tact toward even perfect strangers. Usually they benefit more from manners than we do.
For whatever reason, they have decided the only reasonable place to eat is the hospital cafeteria (two enthusiastic thumbs down except for the gummy bears which are exquisite). The hospital cafeteria at lunch time is interesting because most of the tables are round or long and seat six or more and if there are only three of you, you end up sitting with people you don't know. Fostering community interaction or some such rot, perhaps. I think this secretly horrifies Baba and we try to insulate her from "the others" by sitting her between us and keeping the conversation between us as much as possible but I foiled that by commenting on someone else's back pack. Yes, yes I did. To be sure, the pack was a Swiss Army pack identical to mine with no distinguishing marks (like mine) and a white iPhone in the cell phone pouch (like mine). I did almost feel the compunction to pick up said pack and walk away. I continued conversing with the owner of said pack, Ira. Ira was a nice man waiting for his physical therapy appointment. After a brief chat, I finished my lunch and we got up to leave. Very minor interaction amongst humans.
We were still within reach (and definitely earshot) of Ira when Baba shouted, "Scat, I think he's in love!" Just dig a hole and bury me. She's gonna ride that horse into her grave.
Reminds me of when we had a 60th birthday party for her and she started every conversation with "Oh my God, how fat you are!!!"
After an eternity of waiting and driving about in circles, I had finally collected everyone from the far reaches of Spring proper and we were once again lake-bound. Baba decided to teach Squib how to play white-car-black-car. It went something like this.
Pawpaw: I see one black car!
Baba: One white car. One for us!
Squib: We have one!
Baba: Two, three, four...
Pawpaw: Two, three...
Squib: Pawpaw is losing.
Baba: Yes, he is.
Pawpaw: Four! We're tied!!!
Squib: Tied to what?
(he doesn't even know he's so funny)
And it went spiraling downhill from there...
Pawpaw is the only human alive who with play "tell me what else I did yesterday" with Squib. Yes, that's the name of the game and the rules all in one. Squib says, "tell me what I did yesterday!" You tell him one thing. He says, "tell me what else I did yesterday!" You tell him another thing (of course, you might be guessing or being obscure--like using breathing or respirating as an answer). He repeats ad nauseum as long as you humor him. Pawpaw has the heart of a 4-yr-old and thinks this game is fun and funny. They played this game for 45 minutes straight. Thankfully, we pulled into the Post Office about the time I was going to call the game in the interest of sanity.
Meanwhile, after leaving the house at 5:30am, Buddy and Mimi Scat made it to Palladium hospital for some outpatient surgery only to have their van overheat on the way home. Buddy had to half-carry/half-drag a still slightly-shnockered Mimi into a Whataburger and get her "situated" while he tried to fix the vehicle in the parking lot. No joy. The cooling fans would not come on. Soooo....they let it cool down and made a run for the freeway. What a pleasant trip.
So, in short, every day this week we have taken a trip to radiation treatment and a car to the shop. E. Gads.
Dollars. Dollars. Dollars. Dollars. Dollars.
Dollars that we just don't have.
Bramble Scat
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
Musings on Opera and God
I never gave much thought to Opera until you came along. I always knew Wagner was, well, very Wagner because of the crushing and oppressive nature of his music. Tristan and Isolde was familiar to me from the ballet. Valkure for other reasons (forgive the limitations of my English iPhone keyboard in appropriately marking German language). I still love Wagner, though, for his great passion. But of other opera I know virtually nothing and am a cultural misfit while you, at the almost age of eight are becoming a conoseur. Yet another thing you shall have to teach me.
Of classical music, though, I know a bit and only a bit and would offer to you here my favorites:
1. Rachmaninov's Rhapsodie Espagnole (Oh, do forgive the spelling. Especially if this is really Ravel. I shall have to dig through that file box of cassettes only a hoarder would keep just to find out).
2. Holst's The Planet's (Jupiter is my fave with Mars a close second).
3. Rimsky-korsakoff's The Firebird
4. Peter and the Wolf by Tchaichovsky (and, yes, there is a Sting version that's worth a listen).
5. The Sleeping Beauty
6. Rachmaninov's 3rd piano concerto
7. Pachelbel's Canon in D
8. Debussy's Clair de Lune
9. Bach's Inventions (especially the one they used for the Apple commercial whose number I forget)
10.Danse Macabre
11. The Peer Gynt Suites
12. Gershwin's American in Paris and Rhapsody in Blue (Not quite classical, but near enough).
13. Theme For The Common Man
14. The 1812 Overture
15. Mussorgsky's Pictures at an Exhibition
16. The Hungarian Rhapsody (lots of rhapsodies)!
And that is about it for a first list. Hours of good music there. I don't wonder that in lacking your own form of expression for so long, you find music stimulating. I imagine you find it relaxing and communicative as well--like a voice you want some day to possess. I see it in your enthusiasm for directing. The motion of your body conveys pent-up energy and expression.
I marvel at the fact that one trapped such as you has not reached this age trapped, closed in and/or bitter in some way about all those things you could never state clearly. My greatest hope in life us three-fold. First, that music has given you a means of expressing your true desires, statements, and feeling. Second, that none of your needs were unmet or stifled. And third, that God has worked it si that your temperament, development, and activities keep up with one another si that you have outlets for the desires of your heart.
Music (singing for me) seems to fill in many gaps in my soul and my life. It brings me closer to Gid when I praise Him. It keeps me humble when he speaks to me during worship and reminds me whose I am. And then there are so many groanings that are too deep for words. I have merely to show them to Him, share my music with Him and he repairs. He is Jehova Rapha--the God who heal by sewing us together one stitch at a time. That's more or less the exact translation. It implies a meticulous but very deliberate repair of all that is broken or bruised.
I believe your music will be able to do that for you. I will provide a unique avenue of communication--a proprietary language if sorts--through which the Lord will grow, heal, and protect you far beyond anything even Poppa or myself could offer. No matter what, we are just not that good. Far too human to be in charge of healing another human totally. But to have a God that does that, how absolutely good is that?
I follow the blog of a young couple who works for Youth With A Mission. They pray in advance for the places they wil go and are currently on an isolated island off the Ivory Coast that is a Muslim nation. With no advance team, prayer wa all the had. When they arrived, they were shocked to find out how many of the people they are meeting who have had and are continuing to have dreams in which a man, "Isa," reveals himself to them. ISA continues to speak to them and has revealed himself as Jesus Christ. No Bible, no pastor, no teachings, no TV, and no positive influence. In fact, just the opposite.
So, who am I to think He will not reveal Himself to you exactly as fits your needs? Pretty darn silly of me to even worry about it. I love you, little boy! How much more so your Creator, my Father in heaven? Same goes for your brother.
My Love to You, Beanstalk!
Love, Momma
Of classical music, though, I know a bit and only a bit and would offer to you here my favorites:
1. Rachmaninov's Rhapsodie Espagnole (Oh, do forgive the spelling. Especially if this is really Ravel. I shall have to dig through that file box of cassettes only a hoarder would keep just to find out).
2. Holst's The Planet's (Jupiter is my fave with Mars a close second).
3. Rimsky-korsakoff's The Firebird
4. Peter and the Wolf by Tchaichovsky (and, yes, there is a Sting version that's worth a listen).
5. The Sleeping Beauty
6. Rachmaninov's 3rd piano concerto
7. Pachelbel's Canon in D
8. Debussy's Clair de Lune
9. Bach's Inventions (especially the one they used for the Apple commercial whose number I forget)
10.Danse Macabre
11. The Peer Gynt Suites
12. Gershwin's American in Paris and Rhapsody in Blue (Not quite classical, but near enough).
13. Theme For The Common Man
14. The 1812 Overture
15. Mussorgsky's Pictures at an Exhibition
16. The Hungarian Rhapsody (lots of rhapsodies)!
And that is about it for a first list. Hours of good music there. I don't wonder that in lacking your own form of expression for so long, you find music stimulating. I imagine you find it relaxing and communicative as well--like a voice you want some day to possess. I see it in your enthusiasm for directing. The motion of your body conveys pent-up energy and expression.
I marvel at the fact that one trapped such as you has not reached this age trapped, closed in and/or bitter in some way about all those things you could never state clearly. My greatest hope in life us three-fold. First, that music has given you a means of expressing your true desires, statements, and feeling. Second, that none of your needs were unmet or stifled. And third, that God has worked it si that your temperament, development, and activities keep up with one another si that you have outlets for the desires of your heart.
Music (singing for me) seems to fill in many gaps in my soul and my life. It brings me closer to Gid when I praise Him. It keeps me humble when he speaks to me during worship and reminds me whose I am. And then there are so many groanings that are too deep for words. I have merely to show them to Him, share my music with Him and he repairs. He is Jehova Rapha--the God who heal by sewing us together one stitch at a time. That's more or less the exact translation. It implies a meticulous but very deliberate repair of all that is broken or bruised.
I believe your music will be able to do that for you. I will provide a unique avenue of communication--a proprietary language if sorts--through which the Lord will grow, heal, and protect you far beyond anything even Poppa or myself could offer. No matter what, we are just not that good. Far too human to be in charge of healing another human totally. But to have a God that does that, how absolutely good is that?
I follow the blog of a young couple who works for Youth With A Mission. They pray in advance for the places they wil go and are currently on an isolated island off the Ivory Coast that is a Muslim nation. With no advance team, prayer wa all the had. When they arrived, they were shocked to find out how many of the people they are meeting who have had and are continuing to have dreams in which a man, "Isa," reveals himself to them. ISA continues to speak to them and has revealed himself as Jesus Christ. No Bible, no pastor, no teachings, no TV, and no positive influence. In fact, just the opposite.
So, who am I to think He will not reveal Himself to you exactly as fits your needs? Pretty darn silly of me to even worry about it. I love you, little boy! How much more so your Creator, my Father in heaven? Same goes for your brother.
My Love to You, Beanstalk!
Love, Momma
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