Dull Simmer

That used to be my code name for a certain stringed instrument--but you
don't need a college degree to figure it out. I realized this and took
the code a step further--to rhyme and be "boring boiling". Now, I think
I'd call it a "Tedious Sauce". Why I wanted a code name for the
mountain dulcimer is another story in and of itself and one that no one
really needs to hear.

I am, of course, getting to the point, which is this--I am now the
proud owner of a lap dulcimer and am already making some genuine
messes! Okay, I'm only excited about the first part. The second is,
well, the necessary evil. It took me two whole years to get to the
point that my over-ecstatic grandmother coined as "wonderful" when
playing the tin whistle. Ask me about the Appalachian dulcimer when I'm
sixteen...

I am probably going to post some pictures of the many-named instrument
when I get settled again, but we've been visiting family before moving
in, so it's rather...shall we say...difficult. I'm NEVER around when
there's a long time with wi-fi and dial up is too slow and unreliable
with our darn internal modem going loopy. Oh, well. My uncle gave it to
me. It was his, but he didn't play it any more and figured it would get
used to death. My mother had asked him if he still had it. He said
yeah. I said, could I try it out, I'm going to get my own some day.
That gradually evolved to saying, "can we buy the dulcimer?" and then
it ended up being "Merry Christmas!", so that was it.

It came with three books, and it's a wonderful thing it did--because I
left the marvelous book by Aubrey Atwater at my other grandma's house
(I didn't think I would need it and I was worried about the back cover
falling off) and can't play a note without a book.. Also, one book,
while its songs are not really my type, has some useful hints, some fun
pictures and history, and the thing that resolved the one thing left
hanging in my mind. See, back when we were going to buy one from a
store, I had been thinking hourglass shaped, because that's what you
see on anything dulcimer. I loved the graceful lines and the four
little heart soundholes. I worried about what I might end up with on
the cheap side of things. Now, this dulcimer is pear-shaped--only not
as combersome-looking as a regular pear, more graceful--and I was kind
of like, well, all I want is "a dulcimer" and who cares about shape,
anyway? But I have my lovely heart-shaped holes, and I love the sound,
so by the end of last evening I had completely fallen in love...or so I
thought.

But my book said that the pear shape was actually a fish shape, and
that it was a Christian symbol*. I actually gasped, I think, and then I
told it to my family at least three different times--once to my
grandmother, once to my mother and once to my father. Grandma said,
"Ahhh," and Mum said, "COOL." and Daddy said, "O.k." Now I am certain.
Fish-shaped for me!

Hey, the soundholes could be symbols too, if you want to look at it
that way. Since the fish stands for Jesus, so can the hearts stand for
His love. Now, I like symbolism, but even so, I think it's a nice way
to look at things. Might as well go the whole way.

For those who don't like Christian symbolism for whatever reason or who
have doggedly read through this wondering where it would end--I can
already play and sing one song and make no blatant errors, but more
just stumbling along. I count that as being pretty good for the first
full day and second day of learning...don't you think?

Oh, and the song is "The Christ Child's Lullaby". It's simple, in
Mixolydian mode, and sounds good with drones. I'm not ready to try
major retuning because I want to get more settled before I start
breaking strings. A Christian Celtic band out of Chicago, the Crossing,
does this one. It's on their CD "The Court of a King".

I even have a Crossing sticker for my case! Majorly cool!

Better let you go now. Have a good one!

*If you've heard another story about the origins of dulcimer shapes, it
might be the right one. It could be that both are true. It's hard to
know with folk instruments and all that. Whatever it is, I'll never see
pear-shaped dulcimers the same way again.

Wild December

Hello, readers--I've been a bad girl not to write.
However, it's not as though I was just sitting
wondering what to do with the means of blogging right
before me, so don't judge me too hard.

Last night I was singing "Wild December", which I
learned off Atwater-Donnelly's beautiful CD, "When
Winter Calls", and my aunt told me it was really not
suitable for July. Some people, unlike me, prefer
songs in their season and no time else. So I promptly
took a walk down the block and came up with a summer
version of the lovely old round--which goes as
follows:

Balmy breezes, burning sun--
Summer surely has begun!
Fresh mowed lawns and flowers sweet
Gathered by the children in their wee bare feet

I write poetry a trifle better when I don't rhyme, but
even then--I'm no poet.

There's a point, here, I promise

Well, we're now in the process of moving. I forgot to mention that we
kept our house when my mother took her teaching job, but we can't move
in until August, so right now we're staying with my grandmother.
Usually, we've been together for Christmas and Easter, but this year we
were not together for Easter. So, we're celebrating Easter today.

I was playing the piano today, playing through our synod's new hymnal,
the Lutheran Service Book. It's wonderful! Of course, my ideal hymnal
is a combo of about...um, let's see...well, four hymnals, two produced
by a synod other than the Missouri Synod. But that's my personal
preference, and Lutheran Service Book is the closest to that that I
believe could please a large group of people, specifically in our
synod. Good work! Well, I digress.

Anyway, I came running into the living room, having just stumbled my
way through "By All Your Saints in Warfare". If you could hear me, you
would groan and cover your ears, but I was able to struggle through,
and, let me tell you--I'm not a persevering person. If I managed to get
through without giving up, that's good. For those non-Lutherans and
non-pianists out there--our hymnals tend to bestow really hard
arrangements on these beautiful English folk tunes. "By All Your Saints
in Warfare" is one of those folk tunes. Either LSB is easier on the
poor accompaniest, or else I'm getting better. I hope it's the latter,
but I'm grateful if it's the former!

I told this in raptures to my mother, who with true motherly attention
looked up from the email and said, "Good. But it's 'Easter' today; you
should play some Easter hymns!"

I smiled and went back to the piano, where I began thunking out "Jesus
Christ is Ris'n Today", making some genuine messes of the Alleluias. I
went on playing through the Easter section and began wondering, was it
association or the spirit of the tunes that always makes Easter tunes
so happy? I pride myself on being able to think rationally when I want
to--so it must be association. And yet, I wonder if there's something
in the tunes?

In writing this I realize what it must be. For me, to read the words
that carry so much assurance--Jesus is alive, the strife is over, there
is hope--and to play tunes in any mode that are presented with the
words makes me happy. After I have read the words, the tune has
automatically received Easter joy for me.

I look forward to celebrating Easter with my grandmother and aunt and
the rest of my family--today, next spring, and, finally, the greatest
Easter of all with God all of God's people in Heaven. Forever. Because
of Easter.

Stars on the Water

I don't generally like to give out locations, but I'm in "Asia's World City"--Hong Kong --for a couple days. Yesterday was the tenth anniversary of the Change-over, when Britain gave Hong Kong to the People's Republic of China. Now it's an SAR, Special Administrative Region, and it has more freedoms than the rest of China. Despite this, it's crowded and rather hot. The humidity saps you. Thank God for air conditioning! It's everywhere.

I was simply going to write that I saw the fireworks over the harbor last night--I was on the Peak. We took the tram up with a friend and wiggled our way through crowds to find the best viewing spot. I stood in an outdoor pavilion, so to speak, with a circular doorway. I stood on one side of the doorway until the crowds thinned a bit. My feet hurt from bending them.

The fireworks were awesome. They were all colors, beautifully coordinated. Red and yellow, colors of luck and fortune, predominated. As the yellow ones shimmered, I remembered the Chinese flag, red with five glittering stars. Yellow stars for China, and all colors of fireworks blossoming for the flower of Hong Kong. It was beautiful.

I can see why there were crowds. Some sights, though, carry such feelings for only one person that they would be better watched from a lonely hillside...

It's Today

I just set up my posting options so I can post via email. Which is
about the only way I can do it for a month...or two...or maybe three.

We're leaving today at 9:10, but right now it's only almost six
o'clock, so I have two hours to pack up my carry-on, go to a couple
places on the campus once again, and eat breakfast. Our ride leaves at
seven fifty...

"Farewell, my friends, I'm bound for Canaan.
I'm traveling through the wilderness.
Your company has been delightful,
You who doth leave my mind distressed.
I go away behind to leave you--perhaps never to meet again!--
But, if we never have the pleasure,
I hope we'll meet on Canaan's land."

One of those shape note hymns that says it all--I thought it meant one
thing one day, and then another day I know what it means. And yet
another day...it's like any song, really. It means everything and yet
so little at the same time.

I Love You

No, sorry. I wasn't going to post about my non-existent boyfriend (though I maintain that his name has to be Willie, because I love folk music so much). Instead, I am posting a post that is written to my home. The place I will leave sometime after nine in the morning tomorrow, June 30th. The home that has gone from strange, to ugly, to mine. You, of course, are invited on the ride.

I love you. I first came here and I thought you were strange. Sometimes in a good way, sometimes in a bad way. People were interested in me. That was mostly good. But my home was so empty, and the hills...well, the hills are another story.

I loved the hills, even when I fell in that soupy mud, even when I became footsore and weary. Hikes in my backyard--I was amazed! I had people who wanted to talk to me out of curiosity, and I had fun "climbing the mountain".

Oh, there was a time when I hated all of that. I wanted to be me again, not the strange person that I had become. I wanted to go home where it was green, not brown. I wanted to go home where everything was. What was worse, my new friend, a girl so much like me, was exulting in your brown ugliness.

And then I left. For a two-month visit "home". I loved every minute of it and wanted to stay. I turned my back on you, hated land. But I dutifully stepped on the plane bound towards you, turned on the Disney Movies, and waited for another year of hate.

I stepped off the plane to meet my friends, girls younger than I. Suddenly, I saw familiar hills, familiar places, and I knew that I was home again.

Chattering in the back of the truck, I saw a future opening up in front of me. Art lessons with my friend! Playtimes in the shadow of the mountain! Maybe I'd even see Sharon, the girl I had made friends with the last year.

My future was as glorious as expected for three months. Art lessons in the cozy schoolroom with Anna and a nice teacher. I found myself playing with her often when our sisters had karate. Sharon was there and a dearer friend than ever. The hills beamed.

Christmas came again, the happiest Christmas of my life. A friend of ours received a wondrous gift that year, and the happiness in my heart easily multiplied as the day grew happier and happier. I knew where home was then. I never wanted to leave you.

But, after Christmas, things went bad again. Anna moved away. Sharon disappeared. My other friend and I sort of lost touch. But you were there, a fluid, always changing, yet always the same place. I love you. I never wanted to leave.

Now, tomorrow, I will leave you, perhaps forever. The tears spring to my eyes as I say this. You're crying, too. I felt the rain on my face as I walked home today. I wish I could stay forever. Yet, as I say that I am loath to leave, my actions belie my words. Perhaps my tears are enough. I cannot cry on command.

Fare you well. I love you. I will come back if I can. Promise.

"'Farewell!' was the cry of my heart as I left him. Despair added, 'Farewell, for ever!'"--Jane Eyre, Vol. III. My favorite book. And it says it all.

I'm Glad

that being fourteen isn't being too old to start jumping and dancing, at least not in private.

My best friend here has been sick for quite some time and is only now recovering. She dropped out of school and it took us forever to find her. Now, however, we're getting together! She's been hiking with us once and over to visit twice. While it makes the pain of leaving even harder, I'm so happy for the here and now.

Anyway, today the phone rang, and I quickly stopped the music I was listening to and answered it. "Hello?" I waited for several seconds. No response. I hung up the phone and went back to what I was doing. One minute later: rrring!

I answered the phone with mild annoyance. "Hello?" No answer. I sighed. There wasn't even any background noise. I hung up, sat down, and...rrring!

"Hello?" I practically yelled, then realized, guiltily, too late, that there was sound. "Hello, can I speak to Lou?" (Lou is my mother's half-pseudonym on this blog)

"No, she's not here right now," I answered. I figured it was her student who was supposed to drop by sometime. I was about to say, "can I take a message?" when the voice grew more familiar. "Will you climb the mountain tomorrow?"

"Oh, yes," I said, suddenly realizing who it was. Sharon. I was so hoping. Now the rest of the phone problems made sense. Sharon's phone is sort of on the blink.

Of course, I may be wrong. After all, many of my mother's students, I'm ashamed to say, sound alike to me. But Sharon isn't my mother's student (although she sounds like one), and we have been good enough friends that I can distinguish her voice better. So I'm almost sure...

...ah, well. If all goes well (and for it to go well, there must be several circumstances just right, the first being that Sharon comes tomorrow), I'll see her twice before I leave...