The last concert I’ve been to was the Gesualdo Six, a British a cappella group who performs vocal music from medieval to modern compositions. Mostly older.
The concert was held in McCray Auditorium, which is housed in an older building whose lobby looked like a courtyard. Very English Gothic, I’m told. Not a bad building for the Gesualdo Six.
The Gesualdo Six were fabulous. I have an eclectic taste in music, but one of the things I love is good harmony. I can’t play-by-play the concert like I was a music critic, but the soaring harmonies are what I will remember.
The concert I saw before the Gesualdo Six? The Hu, a Mongolian heavy metal band. Did I mention I have eclectic taste in music?
Today is supposed to be a stormy day, the kind of storm that comes with a side of three-inch hail and possibility of tornados. The worst of it is going to be north of us, I understand, but we are in an “enhanced” zone.
I hope the storm waits until we’re all home. This afternoon, I am at work for meetings, and I don’t want to deal with sitting in Colden Hall’s basement waiting for the all-clear. I’m CERT-trained, which means I can act in mass disasters to stabilize injuries and reduce the chaos. I hope to never use my training.
If I’m at home for the bad weather, my husband and I will go to the basement and wait for it to pass. The city has sirens, but we also have weather apps on our phones to alert us. The cats will follow us down. The basement is unfinished and cluttered, but there are chairs downstairs for us.
I hate tornado weather. I can handle severe thunderstorms, even though one took out our peach tree and a length of fence recently. I don’t like the destructive level of tornado weather. Towns get taken out by tornados, and I don’t want to be in the middle of one of them.
In my undergraduate years, my major was Foods in Business, a major designed to position people into the food industry. This was not what I ultimately did with my life, having discovered Family and Consumption Economics, and my life’s work, my junior year. But as an undergraduate, I wanted to work in a consumer affairs position, or even better, in a test kitchen.
I took a class my senior year called Food Science, where we spent the first half of the semester learning the chemical and physical properties of food, and the second half of the semester testing hypotheses about food. Mine was testing for substitutes for butter in baking poundcakes — margarine, butter flavored shortening, and regular shortening with butter buds flavoring. (Note: people preferred shortening over everything, including butter.) I fell in love with test kitchen work and, if it weren’t for the fact that I loved the thought of graduate school more, I might have gone into test kitchen work.
So, if I had a choice of any job to step into for a day, I would walk into a test kitchen. I think I remember the basics 40 years later — standardized recipes where one weighs all the ingredients on a scale (including a very sensitive one for small amounts like baking soda and seasoning), tasting rooms with good ventilation, white walls, and neutral lighting, testing of texture, crumb, and viscosity using simple and complicated testing. I think I can do it for a day with very little coaching.
I wrote 1200 words yesterday on the latest novel, which is more than I had been writing for a while. I still don’t know what I think of this novel — it seems like a lot of conversations right now. I don’t know if it has enough action yet. The good news is that the story is setting up future situations and complications as it should. I have to remind myself to just keep writing — I can edit later.
I have this theory that I write better when writing is distracting me from other things I need to do. Right now I have papers to grade, but suddenly I have this hankering to write. I’ve scheduled part of today to write and part to rest. Tomorrow I have a concert to go to in the afternoon; I may grade during the morning. Or Monday; Monday will be soon enough.
I will get through this semester. I will write this book.
The person I most admired has been dead for a number of years. He was my friend, surrogate father, and confessor. He got me through some of the most difficult years of my life. He was also the most interesting person I’ve ever met.
Les had a series of experiences that I could only dream of, and he would let them slip in conversation. “When I was in the Navy,” or “When I was in graduate school in Scotland,” or “When I was a pilot” … there were quite a few of these over the years. He was a combustion expert, and one of his sidelines was building controlled explosions in coal mines to burn off dangerous gases. He also studied religion on the side, and held a concert of his original compositions at age 80.
Les gave me a lot of advice over the years. Everything from grad school advice to life advice. I was going through considerable trauma and bad breakups in the time I knew him, so I know I did a certain amount of crying over the phone. Never did Les judge me.
He always held that, if I found the right person to have a relationship with, I would heal. It was scary, but he was correct. He knew I would marry Richard when I had barely met him, and he was (as always) right. I never got him that bottle of Talisker (Scotch) I owed him for that bet.
He died at 95, which is fitting for someone whose life was that full. His memorial service was filled with all the people whose lives he’d touched over the years. We had lost touch with each other, but we reunited for him. It was a fitting send-off.
This school year (do you call it that when it’s teaching college?) went by very fast. There’s a pile of grading standing between me and the end of the year. Some of it I will get done this weekend; the rest during the week while I am giving final exams. I will get through grading, and then on to the summer.
I think I will have 10 interns this summer. That’s not a lot of interns, but it will keep me busy. I will have time to rest and write in between internship supervision. I already have prepped my classes for fall while bored in my office, so I’m ahead of the game.
I need this break. It has been an intense school year.
On work issues, what gives me direction is what needs to be done. There is a cycle of grading, classes to be taught, topics to cover, research to be done, etc. That determines the direction of my work.
With leisure time, several things influence the sense of direction. One big thing is goals. I have small goals and Big Audacious Goals. I have not had a Big Audacious Goal in a while, which is part of why writing has been so hard. Another is my energy level — if I have little energy, my sense of direction points toward rest above anything. Finally, there’s a tug between established routine and emergent wants — do I go to Starbucks to write or start working in the garden?
I wish I could say some divine force gives me direction. I don’t know if I believe in God, although lately I have been praying. I pray that I get done the things I need to get done. But it still doesn’t help me get to the garden tasks.
It’s that time of the semester. The last week before finals, and I have two major assignments coming in on Friday. And two essay exams the week after. And then summer and internships.
Summer and internships are a lot easier, because my time is more my own. I have paperwork, grading, and internship visits, but I have more freedom to schedule them. And I have time on my own.
My first time camping was in college. I had gone with a friend of mine to Illinois Yearly Meeting (an annual meeting of Friends, or Quakers). Lodging at the Meetinghouse was primitive, rustic two-person dorm rooms. My friend Joan and I decided we would camp in the camping space across the road from the Meetinghouse.
Joan and I put up the tent (not a fancy one like we have nowadays) and we spent the day in activities. The tent was still standing by bedtime, which was a good sign. When we settled in, with our belongings tucked around us, it was a crowded time in the tent and we were tired. Not too tired to notice that my head lay on a tree root.
It stormed all night. Illinois thunderstorms are particularly resonant, so I couldn’t sleep very well. I finally fell asleep after the storm quit. Scant hours later, I woke at dawn, and noticed my air mattress was … floating.
“Joan?”
“Mrrph.” Joan was not a morning person.
“Joan? I think the tent flooded.”
Joan jumped up, and we assessed the state of the tent. Yes, it had flooded at one end, as had the entire campground. We were surrounded by dismayed people noticing that they, too, had taken water in their tents.
Joan and I did the only thing we could — we busted up laughing. We sorted out our clothing (mostly dry) and hung our tent and sleeping bags in the tree to dry. Needless to say, we slept in the dorms that night.
That was my first time camping. The fact that I’ve camped more than once is a testimony to my perseverence. Or my short memory. One of those two.
I feel most productive in the mornings. I wake up at 5 in the morning, sit in bed reading for 20 minutes, then get up for the day. Then I eat breakfast, write this blog during coffee, and by seven-thirty am ready for the workday.
My mind is at its sharpest from seven till about 2 PM. By then, I’m not what I’d call productive. I get most of my work done in the morning, and teach classes in the early afternoon. By three PM I’m ready to take a nap, although I’m not done until 5. My productivity is just not very productive in the late afternoon.
In the evening, I rest. I go to bed by eight, because I’m a morning person.
Words Like Me 