Hurrah for viability!
Thank you, Jesus!
7.28.2005
7.26.2005
If I were...
Emily tagged me, so here goes....
If I could be a gardener...
...I would have lots of fruit trees. And I would have a big herb garden, so I could cook with fresh herbs all the time. And I'd plant so many flowers that there would be plenty left over to make the garden pretty even after I'd filled every corner of the house with cut flowers and given lots to my friends. I recently sat on someone's porch swing who had lots of big, fragrant mint plants by the porch... it was sublime. I would definitely plant tomatoes, but I'm not so sure about carrots. Carrots just sound like a lot of work---and the freshness of carrots just isn't nearly as exciting.
If I could be a chef...
...then I guess my husband would just have to be a gardener. Actually, we'd both be gardeners and chefs together. Cooking together is so much fun. Besides, I'd need somebody to keep me from getting too adventurous. (That cucumber smoothie surely would have been spectacular if I'd just put in a little less salt...)
If I could be a musician...
...I would be every bit as adventurous as if I were a chef! I would write lots of avant-garde music that pushed the envelope. But don't worry. It would still be pretty and joyous and hopeful and poignant and innocent. It would also be heartbreaking and tragic and bittersweet.... but things can only be really heartbreaking and tragic against the backdrop of our glorious hope. Basically I would write music for the 21st century that was firmly rooted in a Christian aesthetic.
If I could be an athlete...
...I wouldn't be constantly bumping into things, for one thing, and my apartment would be a lot cleaner. My sport would never be more than a hobby, but I think that the discipline would stand me in good stead in all areas of my life, making me a better citizen of the physical universe.
If I could be an architect...
...I would first have invested heavily in South American hardwood, because I despise both carpeting and the destruction of rainforests. By investing in South American tree farms, I would be providing good employment for local laborers and gorgeous floors for my homes... all in an environmentally friendly sort of way.
Okay... now I think I shall tag Sharon, and Becka, and Snugbug Snell.
Here are the "questions." Answer five of them, and tag three more friends. =) If I could be a scientist...If I could be a farmer...If I could be a musician...If I could be a doctor...If I could be a painter...If I could be a gardener...If I could be a missionary...If I could be a chef...If I could be an architect...If I could be a linguist...If I could be a psychologist...If I could be a librarian...If I could be an athlete...If I could be a lawyer...If I could be an inn-keeper...If I could be a professor...If I could be a writer...If I could be a llama-rider...If I could be a bonnie pirate...If I could be an astronaut...If I could be a world famous blogger...If I could be a justice on any one court in the world...If I could be married to any current famous political figure...
If I could be a gardener...
...I would have lots of fruit trees. And I would have a big herb garden, so I could cook with fresh herbs all the time. And I'd plant so many flowers that there would be plenty left over to make the garden pretty even after I'd filled every corner of the house with cut flowers and given lots to my friends. I recently sat on someone's porch swing who had lots of big, fragrant mint plants by the porch... it was sublime. I would definitely plant tomatoes, but I'm not so sure about carrots. Carrots just sound like a lot of work---and the freshness of carrots just isn't nearly as exciting.
If I could be a chef...
...then I guess my husband would just have to be a gardener. Actually, we'd both be gardeners and chefs together. Cooking together is so much fun. Besides, I'd need somebody to keep me from getting too adventurous. (That cucumber smoothie surely would have been spectacular if I'd just put in a little less salt...)
If I could be a musician...
...I would be every bit as adventurous as if I were a chef! I would write lots of avant-garde music that pushed the envelope. But don't worry. It would still be pretty and joyous and hopeful and poignant and innocent. It would also be heartbreaking and tragic and bittersweet.... but things can only be really heartbreaking and tragic against the backdrop of our glorious hope. Basically I would write music for the 21st century that was firmly rooted in a Christian aesthetic.
If I could be an athlete...
...I wouldn't be constantly bumping into things, for one thing, and my apartment would be a lot cleaner. My sport would never be more than a hobby, but I think that the discipline would stand me in good stead in all areas of my life, making me a better citizen of the physical universe.
If I could be an architect...
...I would first have invested heavily in South American hardwood, because I despise both carpeting and the destruction of rainforests. By investing in South American tree farms, I would be providing good employment for local laborers and gorgeous floors for my homes... all in an environmentally friendly sort of way.
Okay... now I think I shall tag Sharon, and Becka, and Snugbug Snell.
Here are the "questions." Answer five of them, and tag three more friends. =) If I could be a scientist...If I could be a farmer...If I could be a musician...If I could be a doctor...If I could be a painter...If I could be a gardener...If I could be a missionary...If I could be a chef...If I could be an architect...If I could be a linguist...If I could be a psychologist...If I could be a librarian...If I could be an athlete...If I could be a lawyer...If I could be an inn-keeper...If I could be a professor...If I could be a writer...If I could be a llama-rider...If I could be a bonnie pirate...If I could be an astronaut...If I could be a world famous blogger...If I could be a justice on any one court in the world...If I could be married to any current famous political figure...
7.25.2005
Centrifugal Force
Wheels are always good for spinning, and the stroller, lying folded up on its side, has been a source of great fun for some time. But the wuggies have found a new game, now, that is positively thrilling. They place a small object on the wheel, maybe a baby wipe, or one of their Little People, and spin the wheel. The object, of course, goes flying off, sending the boys into paroxysms of laughter.
I must say, the physical universe is a very exciting place!
I must say, the physical universe is a very exciting place!
7.24.2005
Attack of the Rabid Giraffe
It's lots of fun to splish and splash in the bathtub, but getting lathered up is, for some reason, a bit intimidating. So a few weeks ago, I had a brilliant idea. They love the Baby Einstein giraffe puppet that Aunt Karen got them last Christmas, and the label does say it's a "bath puppet".... Perhaps being lathered up by a friendly giraffe would be so much fun they would forget to be intimidated.
Alas, it did not occur to mommy that perhaps the giraffe might not seem quite so friendly if he was foaming at the mouth.
We still play with the giraffe at bathtime. But he is strictly for rinsing, now.
Alas, it did not occur to mommy that perhaps the giraffe might not seem quite so friendly if he was foaming at the mouth.
We still play with the giraffe at bathtime. But he is strictly for rinsing, now.
7.22.2005
Spam
This morning I was a bit taken aback by the shocking subject line of a bit of spam. No, it wasn't that kind of shocking subject line... quite repeatable...
"Elena, electric chair at little or no cost!"
Gulp.
Took me a second to figure out that they were selling motorized wheelchairs.
"Elena, electric chair at little or no cost!"
Gulp.
Took me a second to figure out that they were selling motorized wheelchairs.
7.21.2005
Soggy
Yesterday was a very wet day. This was most decisively confirmed around 10:30 pm, when I spilled a bottle of cold water all over my peacefully sleeping son. But really, it all started when Natebug spilled a big glass of instant breakfast all over himself and the clean laundry.
This meant Bathtime. Bathtime can be quite an... um... adventure with two toddlers, if you know what I mean. One time a few weeks ago, I got the boys all ready to hop in, and as we waited for the tub to fill, naked little Isaiah peed all over the floor, slipped in the resulting puddle, and hit his head. Like I said, it can be an adventure.
But this time I was smart. I filled the tub before undressing the boys. I tidied up the bathroom, cleaned out the tub, adjusted the water temperature, and left to get the boys ready while the tub filled. Like any good, conscientious mother, I of course carefully shut the bathroom door behind me lest a small person sneak in for an unsupervised dip.
Things took a bit longer than I expected --with toddlers they generally do!-- and by the time I went to see if the tub was full...
...let's just say that it was.
The boys had lots of fun wading, while the rubber ducky floated merrily on the floor. One cup at a time, I scooped the water off the floor into the toiled, and the wuggies gleefully joined in, sprinkling tiny fistfulls of water.
And that big pile of dirty laundry in the hallway got a good pre-soak.
This meant Bathtime. Bathtime can be quite an... um... adventure with two toddlers, if you know what I mean. One time a few weeks ago, I got the boys all ready to hop in, and as we waited for the tub to fill, naked little Isaiah peed all over the floor, slipped in the resulting puddle, and hit his head. Like I said, it can be an adventure.
But this time I was smart. I filled the tub before undressing the boys. I tidied up the bathroom, cleaned out the tub, adjusted the water temperature, and left to get the boys ready while the tub filled. Like any good, conscientious mother, I of course carefully shut the bathroom door behind me lest a small person sneak in for an unsupervised dip.
Things took a bit longer than I expected --with toddlers they generally do!-- and by the time I went to see if the tub was full...
...let's just say that it was.
The boys had lots of fun wading, while the rubber ducky floated merrily on the floor. One cup at a time, I scooped the water off the floor into the toiled, and the wuggies gleefully joined in, sprinkling tiny fistfulls of water.
And that big pile of dirty laundry in the hallway got a good pre-soak.
7.06.2005
Things I learned yesterday
1. Fountains are lots of fun to splash in.
2. So are toilets.
3. Diapers can absorb an astonishing quantity of water.
4. So can little sneakers and corderoy pants.
5. This last can be a bit disturbing to anyone who is unaware of 1.
6. Automatic doors are extremely bizarre, and just a little bit scary.
7. So are swinging gates.
8. On most elevators, there is only one button within wuggy-reach... the alarm button, of course.
9. Likewise, on most bulletin boards, there is only one announcement within reach. The one that will start the largest chain reaction when tugged upon.
10. Dancing on manhole covers is great fun.
12. Trees look like flowers when viewed from below.
2. So are toilets.
3. Diapers can absorb an astonishing quantity of water.
4. So can little sneakers and corderoy pants.
5. This last can be a bit disturbing to anyone who is unaware of 1.
6. Automatic doors are extremely bizarre, and just a little bit scary.
7. So are swinging gates.
8. On most elevators, there is only one button within wuggy-reach... the alarm button, of course.
9. Likewise, on most bulletin boards, there is only one announcement within reach. The one that will start the largest chain reaction when tugged upon.
10. Dancing on manhole covers is great fun.
12. Trees look like flowers when viewed from below.
7.05.2005
Let there be light!
The electrician cometh! After months of extension cords, our working outlet count is finally up from 2 to 7. Let us rejoice and be glad!
Moving from the ridiculous to the sublime, I've been musing about Biblical poetry in general, and Genesis 1 in particular. The other day I read the creation account in the New Living Translation, and was horrified to discover that the refrain "and there was evening, and there was morning, the first day" was replaced with "this all happened the first day." Certainly that's an accurate distillation of the bottom line, clearly and directly expressing the total factual content implied in the phrase. At cost, of course, of the rhythm and poetry.
Until I deeply explored the first few chapters of Genesis, the factual status of the account was deeply important to me. My faith cannot rest on a Book that is demonstrably false at the outset. If the first chapters fall, the rest of Scripture falls with it. "Liberals" may interperet it as mere poetry, but surely that's just an euphamism for nonsense... I saw theistic evolution as something along the same lines as a metaphorical interperetation of the resurrection.
But... then I actually experienced the poetry. Regardless of factual status, to call the Genesis account primarily poetic is most certainly not a euphamism. The deeper I delved into its richness, the less I was concerned with its literal accuracy. Genesis may or may not shed significant light on natural history, but in any case, that makes up a small portion of the meaning packed into those lines. The question of how God actually went about creating life began to seem a relatively trivial distraction from the more significant insights into the relationships between God, man, time, and nature.
It's so easy for people like me to busily distract ourselves with analyzing factual questions as a sort of protection against the life-shaping power of poetry. Ironic that this would be my tendency as a musician... perhaps it is because I'm particularly vulnerable... Discussions of what happened on what day, how long the days were, and how to account for the geologic record are relatively safe. Stimulating and pious, they don't require much change. At the end of the day, the Christian life remains the same no matter how God chose to create the universe. The poetry, on the other hand, is anything but safe. It penetrates deep into the human soul, demands that we conform to its rhythms and cadences... 'tis most uncomfortable to our fallen selves.
And we, too, who are His spiritual creation, remain formless and void until we hear His Word speak to our hearts "Let there be light!"
And there was evening, and there was morning, the first day.
Moving from the ridiculous to the sublime, I've been musing about Biblical poetry in general, and Genesis 1 in particular. The other day I read the creation account in the New Living Translation, and was horrified to discover that the refrain "and there was evening, and there was morning, the first day" was replaced with "this all happened the first day." Certainly that's an accurate distillation of the bottom line, clearly and directly expressing the total factual content implied in the phrase. At cost, of course, of the rhythm and poetry.
Until I deeply explored the first few chapters of Genesis, the factual status of the account was deeply important to me. My faith cannot rest on a Book that is demonstrably false at the outset. If the first chapters fall, the rest of Scripture falls with it. "Liberals" may interperet it as mere poetry, but surely that's just an euphamism for nonsense... I saw theistic evolution as something along the same lines as a metaphorical interperetation of the resurrection.
But... then I actually experienced the poetry. Regardless of factual status, to call the Genesis account primarily poetic is most certainly not a euphamism. The deeper I delved into its richness, the less I was concerned with its literal accuracy. Genesis may or may not shed significant light on natural history, but in any case, that makes up a small portion of the meaning packed into those lines. The question of how God actually went about creating life began to seem a relatively trivial distraction from the more significant insights into the relationships between God, man, time, and nature.
It's so easy for people like me to busily distract ourselves with analyzing factual questions as a sort of protection against the life-shaping power of poetry. Ironic that this would be my tendency as a musician... perhaps it is because I'm particularly vulnerable... Discussions of what happened on what day, how long the days were, and how to account for the geologic record are relatively safe. Stimulating and pious, they don't require much change. At the end of the day, the Christian life remains the same no matter how God chose to create the universe. The poetry, on the other hand, is anything but safe. It penetrates deep into the human soul, demands that we conform to its rhythms and cadences... 'tis most uncomfortable to our fallen selves.
And we, too, who are His spiritual creation, remain formless and void until we hear His Word speak to our hearts "Let there be light!"
And there was evening, and there was morning, the first day.
7.04.2005
6.21.2005
Bananas!
Andy and I were sitting on the couch catching up on the day, and I asked him to toss me a banana. Sweet husband that he is, he got up and fetched me said banana. Then he broke the top of the peel for me. That was thoughtful, I suppose, but when he actually started to peel it, I thought that was going a bit too far. Then he broke off a bite-sized piece and handed it to me...
Sigh. I used to make fun of couples who called one another "Ma" and "Pa." Now if I approach Andy while he's busy with bedtime snacks, the moment I open my mouth, I find it full of yogurt.
Sigh. I used to make fun of couples who called one another "Ma" and "Pa." Now if I approach Andy while he's busy with bedtime snacks, the moment I open my mouth, I find it full of yogurt.
6.19.2005
Sing-alongs
We were just listening to Andy's new Michael Card CD, and very much enjoying it...
But then on one song, there was an entirely superfluous line of backup vocals... entirely superfluous, and rather off-key.
Then I discovered that it was just Isaiah humming along. Come to think of it, it was pretty impressive after all!
But then on one song, there was an entirely superfluous line of backup vocals... entirely superfluous, and rather off-key.
Then I discovered that it was just Isaiah humming along. Come to think of it, it was pretty impressive after all!
Musings on the Eucharist
Andy is at Mass right now, and I wish that I could be there, too. Alas, the wuggies are sniffly, so instead of actually partaking of the Lord's Supper, I'm jotting down the musings that have been brewing over the last week or so.
I don't remember the circumstances... something trivial must have gone awry... in any case, a humiliating awareness of my inadequacy seized my consciousness. I dug my nails into my flesh, bracing myself, as it were, as gruesome and all-too-familiar images of self mutilation flooded over me. I reasoned with myself that I was grossly over-reacting. My little embarrassment was really insignificant, and not entirely my fault, anyway. Certainly nothing to justify the ghastly judgments I was envisioning.
And yet... all was not utterly trivial. All my failings loomed over me in a great tangled jumble. The most prominent were absurd in their insignificance, but hiding behind them were pride, jealousy, bitterness, laziness, and self-absorption.
Nevertheless, my self-hatred was quite unneccessary, since the things I was really upset about didn't even matter much at all.
I was condemned by the very triviality of my offenses. I was more concerned over minor embarrassment than real sin. There was no way out.
Strange... those moments when we see in startling clarity the truth of words oft repeated and long believed. From toddlerhood I knew that the cross was the answer to the abstract theological necessity that my blood be shed. Suddenly I clearly saw it as the answer to the very immediate psychological necessity of my destruction. I need no other argument, I need no other plea. Indeed, I have none.
And so I eat of His broken flesh, drink of the life-blood poured out for the sins of many, and live, utterly justified, in undeserved wholeness.
Thanks be to God!
I don't remember the circumstances... something trivial must have gone awry... in any case, a humiliating awareness of my inadequacy seized my consciousness. I dug my nails into my flesh, bracing myself, as it were, as gruesome and all-too-familiar images of self mutilation flooded over me. I reasoned with myself that I was grossly over-reacting. My little embarrassment was really insignificant, and not entirely my fault, anyway. Certainly nothing to justify the ghastly judgments I was envisioning.
And yet... all was not utterly trivial. All my failings loomed over me in a great tangled jumble. The most prominent were absurd in their insignificance, but hiding behind them were pride, jealousy, bitterness, laziness, and self-absorption.
Nevertheless, my self-hatred was quite unneccessary, since the things I was really upset about didn't even matter much at all.
I was condemned by the very triviality of my offenses. I was more concerned over minor embarrassment than real sin. There was no way out.
Strange... those moments when we see in startling clarity the truth of words oft repeated and long believed. From toddlerhood I knew that the cross was the answer to the abstract theological necessity that my blood be shed. Suddenly I clearly saw it as the answer to the very immediate psychological necessity of my destruction. I need no other argument, I need no other plea. Indeed, I have none.
And so I eat of His broken flesh, drink of the life-blood poured out for the sins of many, and live, utterly justified, in undeserved wholeness.
Thanks be to God!
6.18.2005
For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction...
Meepo has discovered that it is great fun to get a rise out of Dadders by climbing up on the table by the door and putting pennies in his mouth. Dadders makes such funny faces. It is great fun.
Oh yes.
Oh yes.
Flowers!
Isaiah picked a flower and brought it to me!
Meanwhile, Nathan will point to flowers saying "Fffff!"
Meanwhile, Nathan will point to flowers saying "Fffff!"
6.17.2005
In the driver's seat
For some time I've been convinced that one of the keys to a happy marriage is simply knowing what to do together, and what not to do together. For us, this means that we should be sure to carve out lots of time for great discussions, keep each other posted our respective mathematical and musical pursuits, and cook together. It also means that we should never go grocery shopping together, as we have been known to argue ferociously over the various brands of peanut butter. Above all, I should never, ever drive when Andy is in the car.
Driving has never been a tremendous strength of mine, since I haven't done a whole lot of it. But as long as I stick to familiar routes, I'm reasonably safe and competent... unless Andy is in the car. It will start out with a little shifting error. Andy will comment that I stayed in first a little too long. I'll get flustered, and immediately shift into fourth. Things snowball from there, and as we argue, I miss our turn. By the time we finally reach our destination, we are quite at each other's throats.
Yes, having Nener drive is a bad thing to do together.
But it really is quite hampering to have only one of us comfortable navigating the LA freeway system. Even more, Andy pointed out, it was hampering to always have him in the driver's seat, metaphorically speaking. Andy's a take-charge sort or person by nature, and I'm more laid back. If there's a decision to be made, and nobody seems to be making it, Andy will quickly step in and fill the void. I, on the other hand, am incapable of making any decision whatsoever without first ascertaining that I couldn't possibly be stepping on the toes of anyone's imaginary monkey. Which generally means that Andy ends up running the family since nobody else is, while I dutifully stay out of the way, anxious lest I disturb his inscrutible master plan.
So we decided that whenever we get in the car together, I should get in the driver's seat by default... and Andy is not allowed to make any comments. Easier said than done. Old habits die hard. Transmissions, on the other hand, die quickly, so we modified the rules to allow for one shifting comment per trip. That one comment is generally used up within a block or two, and the rest of the trip is spent in playful banter as Andy struggles valiantly to keep quiet.
One of Andy's students, upon amusedly observing our interactions while riding with us the other day, commented how nice it would be if his parents could get along as we did.
We've come a long way, baby.
So... wanna go shopping for peanut butter tonight?
Or not.
Driving has never been a tremendous strength of mine, since I haven't done a whole lot of it. But as long as I stick to familiar routes, I'm reasonably safe and competent... unless Andy is in the car. It will start out with a little shifting error. Andy will comment that I stayed in first a little too long. I'll get flustered, and immediately shift into fourth. Things snowball from there, and as we argue, I miss our turn. By the time we finally reach our destination, we are quite at each other's throats.
Yes, having Nener drive is a bad thing to do together.
But it really is quite hampering to have only one of us comfortable navigating the LA freeway system. Even more, Andy pointed out, it was hampering to always have him in the driver's seat, metaphorically speaking. Andy's a take-charge sort or person by nature, and I'm more laid back. If there's a decision to be made, and nobody seems to be making it, Andy will quickly step in and fill the void. I, on the other hand, am incapable of making any decision whatsoever without first ascertaining that I couldn't possibly be stepping on the toes of anyone's imaginary monkey. Which generally means that Andy ends up running the family since nobody else is, while I dutifully stay out of the way, anxious lest I disturb his inscrutible master plan.
So we decided that whenever we get in the car together, I should get in the driver's seat by default... and Andy is not allowed to make any comments. Easier said than done. Old habits die hard. Transmissions, on the other hand, die quickly, so we modified the rules to allow for one shifting comment per trip. That one comment is generally used up within a block or two, and the rest of the trip is spent in playful banter as Andy struggles valiantly to keep quiet.
One of Andy's students, upon amusedly observing our interactions while riding with us the other day, commented how nice it would be if his parents could get along as we did.
We've come a long way, baby.
So... wanna go shopping for peanut butter tonight?
Or not.
6.16.2005
Rage
Sing, goddess, the rage of September's mother Elena.
Yesterday, under the influence of pregnancy hormones, I flew into quite a rage over absurdities with our apartment complex. Isaiah stared, enthralled, as I stormed about the living room, shouting my indignation and searching for harmless items to destroy. Then, gleefully, he began to join in, flapping his arms wildly, and shouting.
It may have been a pretty good impression, but the huge grin somewhat ruined the effect... and softened my rage.
=)
Yesterday, under the influence of pregnancy hormones, I flew into quite a rage over absurdities with our apartment complex. Isaiah stared, enthralled, as I stormed about the living room, shouting my indignation and searching for harmless items to destroy. Then, gleefully, he began to join in, flapping his arms wildly, and shouting.
It may have been a pretty good impression, but the huge grin somewhat ruined the effect... and softened my rage.
=)
6.13.2005
Hello again!
Long time, no see!
After months of silence, I'm emerging once again into the world of blogging. Hopefully.
We still don't have a computer (I'm at Biola right now) but our apartment is now officially in condition to support a computer.
Amazing how complicated that can be. You cannot have a computer until you have a place to put said computer. This place should not be in close proximity to a heater. It also should not be in close proximity to toddlers. Yes, we learned both of these lessons the hard way.
The first criterion is not terribly difficult to meet, once you realize the need to take it into consideration, since heater vents generally tend to stay in the same place. Of course, as we discovered last night, this principle does not necessarily apply to the grates covering them, due to the migratory nature of toddlers... but that is another tale for another day. The point is that the the migratory nature of toddlers also serves to make the second criterion for computer placement rather more complicated. Anything that can be climbed upon will be climbed upon....
But now we have a nice, enclosed hutch, and soon we will have a computer to go in it.
AFTER we get some toddler locks!
After months of silence, I'm emerging once again into the world of blogging. Hopefully.
We still don't have a computer (I'm at Biola right now) but our apartment is now officially in condition to support a computer.
Amazing how complicated that can be. You cannot have a computer until you have a place to put said computer. This place should not be in close proximity to a heater. It also should not be in close proximity to toddlers. Yes, we learned both of these lessons the hard way.
The first criterion is not terribly difficult to meet, once you realize the need to take it into consideration, since heater vents generally tend to stay in the same place. Of course, as we discovered last night, this principle does not necessarily apply to the grates covering them, due to the migratory nature of toddlers... but that is another tale for another day. The point is that the the migratory nature of toddlers also serves to make the second criterion for computer placement rather more complicated. Anything that can be climbed upon will be climbed upon....
But now we have a nice, enclosed hutch, and soon we will have a computer to go in it.
AFTER we get some toddler locks!
5.13.2005
A new career.
For Isaiah that is. He is now a computer programmer. Unfortunately, he is not very good at it yet, despite being more experienced than I would like him to be.
This is why I haven't posted in a while.
This is why I haven't posted in a while.
4.20.2005
A soul at rest
Today I've been working on a new piece. It's atonal (surprise, surprise!), and strangely enough, falls very naturally into a strict 7/4 meter. This is the first time I've worked with an irregular meter, and I'm falling in love with the fluid forward motion it gives to the piece. Come to think of it, this is also the first time I haven't struggled with the rhythm. It simply flowed out smoothly. For the first time, I actually have a legible first draft.
More significantly, though, this is the first time that a piece of mine has not been expressive of tremendous pathos. It's simply tranquil and a little bit playful. The sort of thing that I always found impossible to even play without infusing it with all sorts of extraneous emotions.
Thank you Jesus, for your peace.
More significantly, though, this is the first time that a piece of mine has not been expressive of tremendous pathos. It's simply tranquil and a little bit playful. The sort of thing that I always found impossible to even play without infusing it with all sorts of extraneous emotions.
Thank you Jesus, for your peace.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
