Nostalgia

There's a beautiful clear sky this morning...waning crescent moon in between fast fading "stars" Saturn and Mars. It'll be a nice sunrise. Too bad the wind chill is -19.

It makes me miss Chicago. On a day like today I'd already have my layers on and would be speed walking down to the shore of Lake Michigan for a daily-sunrise photo session. 

It might've looked something like this...

Breakfast

This morning I shared my breakfast with a cockroach.

He gulped down a slice of apple, but hesitated before digging in to the oatmeal.

Maybe its because he had oatmeal for dinner last night...picky picky!

A couple days ago I had to clean his cage. I've discovered that cockroaches have a distinct and powerful odor to begin with, but after a couple days of living there were certain...substances...he'd left behind that magnified this odor. It would be nothing short of cruel to force any creature--no matter how disreputable--to live surrounded by his own waste. So I formulated what I thought would be a good plan and got down to business. Unfortunately, because of my own carelessness and a gross underestimation of his climbing abilities, my new buddy escaped during the cleaning process and managed to elude all initial attempts at recapture.

Even while he was safely contained I had struggled to quell my gut reactions of constant disgust. My thoughts when I was home were filled with images of scurrying critters invading every inch of private space. If I were eating dinner, I imagined each bite contained an insect. I feared there'd be cockroaches hiding in my shoes, underneath my sheets, crawling between sheets of paper before I picked them up. I'd approach the roach's cage cautiously--the hair on my arm bristling in anticipation of a sudden movement.

Knowing he was loose again made this feeling even worse. When I got into bed that night and finally turned out the light I was sure I'd wake up with him running up my arm, or worse, seeking refuge in my open mouth. And of course having him out and about made it that much more likely that he'd bring more friends back with him.

The next morning I pulled back the shower curtain and discovered him scuttling around the bottom of the tub. I knew it was him because he had the same broken antennae as before. Never in my wildest dreams did I ever imagine I could feel relief upon finding a giant roach in my shower, but this time I knew I had him for sure. I've so far seen this guy climbing smooth painted walls and the plastic sides of his little fish tank with no trouble, but amazingly he didn't seem to be able to get enough of a hold on the edges of the tub to scale them. With a lack of fear that surprised me (maybe I was still a little groggy from sleep) I herded him back into his container and closed the lid.

And there he remains.

I'm starting to feel a little less skittish around him, and (for better or worse I suppose) he's also become less inhibited with me (now I definitely can't let him loose again!). On the first day he'd freeze whenever I approached him--almost playing dead with his head tucked tight up underneath his shielded neck. Now he moves around slowly, inspecting or nibbling on the bits of food I leave, and feeling out his surroundings with surprisingly dextrous antennae. I wouldn't say I'm getting attached at all, but I do find it strangely interesting to watch him go about his business.

If I end up getting the teaching job in Atlanta I hear that roaches will likely remain a constant in my life. Maybe hanging out with this guy is good practice for the future.

Sigh...

Lower Partials

Last night I performed Handel's Te Deum with the Elmhurst Symphony and Apollo Chorus on a concert held at the University of Chicago's Rockefeller Chapel.

The church itself was beautiful. Not quite as colorful as Salt Lake's Cathedral of the Madeleine, or as gaudy as churches I'd seen in Europe, but ornate and lovely in a classic and understated sort of way. Rather than every square inch of available surface area being covered in murals, carvings, or mosaics, there was still a lot of bare gray stone to make the portions that were decorated stand out exquisitely.

I especially liked the finely gilt ceiling.

I had never heard of the Te Deum before this gig. Actually, Handel wrote two Te Deums. The one we played, subtitled the Dettingen, was commissioned by King George II to commemorate the British defeat of the French at the battle of Dettingen in 1743. Just like you'd expect from a triumphal victory celebration, the music is absolutely loaded with big bold trumpet fanfares, and I was surprised that this music hadn't yet come up in any of my previous trumpet studies.

As 3rd trumpet I spend the piece blaring away on big fat low notes in D Major...often doubling the timpani while the two higher trumpeters sing away on more melodic material. There's a practical reason the music is written this way, and (contrary to what you might think) it's not because Handel thought his 3rd trumpet player was not as talented as the other two. Back in Handel's day valves had not yet been invented and trumpeters were confined to play only notes in the natural harmonic series...

This meant that to get anything even approaching a melody you have to get up into a register where the partials were really close together...i.e...play really high! Handel's 3rd trumpet part is comprised of only 5 lowish notes in D Major, but it provides the harmonic and rhythmic foundation for the more florid doodlings taking place above. While 5 notes over and over might sound boring, it's actually pretty exhilarating...especially when the other two have long notes and I get to boom away with the timpani on awesome little rhythmic fanfares!

I took this shot while the orchestra and chorus were rehearsing the other piece on the program: Mozart's Requiem. Man, this church is HUGE! And amazingly the place was completely packed for the performance.

One unexpected, but pleasant, surprise was that the 2nd trumpet player on the gig was Brian Reichenbach, a guy I'd met during my summer at the Aspen Music Festival WAY BACK in 1999...that's nearly 13 years ago...sheesh!

Sigh

Today's sunrise was foggy and vague. It looked just about how I felt.

I didn't have a great night last night. A naive and unfortunate miscalculation on my part caused me to let down a lot of people whom I had intensely wanted to please. I went to bed trying to battle away feelings that I've never belonged in Chicago, and that because I have continued to struggle in my efforts to leave a positive impression of myself and my abilities with people I've encountered since coming here, there's no way I could ever hope to stay and make any sort of reasonable living.

I felt jinxed. I felt like there was some sort of tangible entity working to prevent me from representing myself well. I was too angry to cry and too embarrassed to relax and move on accepting that I'd just made a mistake...that everyone makes mistakes from time to time...and that the one I made last night is destined to eventually fade into the background just like everything else I worry too much about.

Some of these thoughts were still swimming around in my head when I made it to the lake shore this morning...though maybe their edge had been dulled a bit by a good night of sleep.

I think the lake is actually quite beautiful on days like today. I watched the water lap and fold over the top of a shallow sand bar feeling as blank and numb as the gray sky above...


I let my eyes relax and fade off into the indistinct distance...tried to find the horizon line as it faded in and out just beyond the realm of easy perception...listened for the sun's muted sheen reflected over the quiet waves...

...and marveled at finely-drawn patterns in the sand that danced and shimmered like an optical illusion...

Sigh...life goes on.

Surfers are insane

Today dawned clear and cold.

BRRRRRRRRRRRRRR...

As I walked to school, wind chills in the single digits made my limbs throb beneath layers of clothing, and waves of heavily slushed water rolled arduously to shore beneath the barely-warming light of the morning sun.

So imagine my shock and awe when I noticed these guys out in the water...

Don't see anything? Let me zoom in a bit for you...

That's right. There are a couple of surfers out in Lake Michigan in the middle of January trying to catch a slushy wave.

WOW!

That's all I can say.

Winter

Well, the halcyon days of warmth and sunshine we've been enjoying lately have come to a rather abrupt end. Last night 30 mph winds blew in 6 inches of powder prompting the city's emergency sirens to sound and snowplows to engage.


It's not so bad really...especially compared to last year's madness...and I was reminded this morning of how great an exercise it is to march through untrodden powder.

The sun has actually managed to make some brief appearances in between bands of lingering storm...

...casting an otherworldly silver-yellow glow over the lake.

Tradeoffs

Two consequences of getting a parking ticket last week:

On one hand, I had to take valuable time out of my busy morning schedule to head over to the Evanston Civic Center, pay the ticket, and buy (at full price, I might add...even though there are only a couple months left in 2011...jeeze!!!) a 2011 city sticker.

On the other, I had to drive to school today (to avoid getting another ticket) which had the happy consequence of allowing me to both sleep in AND make it to the lake shore in time to watch a lovely sunrise...

I really wish I could've avoided shelling out such a meaningless $120, but at least the collateral benefit to all the hassle and expense offered some momentary refreshment.

Saturday Sunrise

I went out to my car this morning and discovered a bright orange parking ticket protruding from the driver's-side door.

A neighbor walked by with his dog, "They gave you a parking ticket?" He said.

"Yeah," I replied, puzzled, "It says 'vehicle without Evanston parking permit', but I obviously have a current permit."

"Is it your license plate number? Maybe someone moved it over from another car as a prank."

"Nope...it's my number, but it's obviously a mistake...I can't figure out how they could have missed seeing my permit."

I figured out the problem a couple minutes later as I drove to school. When I got my new Illinois plates I didn't update that information with the Evanston parking authority.

ARGGGHH!!!

I'm going to at least try and beg for mercy.

I have proof of the license plate transition. It's an honest mistake...right?

I hope they think so...sigh...

Well, sunrise was awesome anyway...a reasonable distraction from my embarrassing (and costly) oversight...I guess...

Troubled Waters

Lake Michigan has been very short tempered this year...

Just a couple weeks ago I was amazed to hear about 15 foot waves out on the water, and then last night, along with 60 mph wind gusts, there was talk of swells up to 25 feet!

SHEESH!

I didn't even attempt a "sunrise" photo yesterday because as I walked to school the wind took control of my umbrella, flipped it inside out, and left me with a nasty cut on my pinky and a feeling of relief that both my eyeballs were still safe in their sockets! I hurried the rest of the way to Regenstein anxious to get undercover and out of the driving rain. It was miserable!

Anyway, I've got my recital dress rehearsal coming up in about an hour and I'm trying to keep myself distracted until I have to head back over to the music building. I realized a few days ago that I'd thoughtlessly scheduled the recital on homecoming weekend (which means parking's gonna suck for anyone showing up in person) AND right in the middle of midterms...which means that I (and probably everyone else involved) is feeling a bit overworked at the moment.

Speaking of which...I've got some reading to do out of the Oxford Handbook of Medical Ethnomusicology. Actually not a bad read. It's a collection of essays and papers that attempt to forge a new area of scholarly research that combines ethnographic and musical data with studies on health. There are articles on music prayer and healing, music therapy for sufferers of dementia, and "The Lakota Hoop Dance as Medicine for Social Healing." It's interesting stuff--relevant and provocative, though I have to admit that some of the ideas presented push ALL of my skeptic buttons. Our class discussion on tuesday should be...stimulating!

The Unanswered Question

I'll be the first to admit that since I've been living here in Evanston I haven't visited downtown Chicago nearly as much as I should have. One of the first bits of advice I received as a new grad student was to take full advantage of "our little metropolis" to the south, but always--as the demands of life and school begin to pile up--I find I'm frequently too busy or too exhausted to muster up the wherewithal to devote a full afternoon/evening to experiencing all that Chicago has to offer.

Last night I had to make an exception. The CSO put on a program of Ives and Strauss that I couldn't possibly miss, AND they were featuring one of NU's clarinet faculty performing a bass clarinet concerto. How often does the bass clarinet get a feature? Well...like...NEVER. It was a once in a lifetime experience I couldn't pass up.

Though many of my fellow brass geeks might be shocked to hear it, even with a big "warhorse" like Also Sprach Zarathustra on the program, I was still most excited to hear Ive's The Unanswered Question (a personal favorite I'd not seen live in at least 13 years) and Three Places in New England (an iconic work with which I was previously unfamiliar).

Except for an annoyingly disruptive couple one row in front of me who were laughing (mostly) silently but hysterically throughout The Unanswered Question, the performance was transcendent. The piece is performed by three "characters": a string section--representing "the silence of the Druids--who know, see, and hear nothing," a trumpeter who asks "the perennial question of existence," and a quartet of flutists who "seek the invisible answer, but abandon it in frustration, sot that ultimately the question is answered only by the silences." (I'm quoting from Wikipedia there) The strings began their etherial chorale so softly I felt that if I were to close my eyes I would no longer be able to hear them, and each time the invisible offstage trumpeter entered with a new statement of the "question" he used a different horn or mute, creating the impression of a single question being asked from a series of perspectives.

I hate to sound overly mystical here, but I've occasionally felt that there's a quality about Ives' music that seems to well from some eternal state of being in the universe and reach into the core of my soul like a magnet seeking its complimentary pole. I suppose it's not just Ives' music (though his offers an especially poignant example), works from a few composers, artists, dancers, and writers occasionally resonate within me in this manner. And it's the same quasi-religious feeling I get when I watch the sun rise, look out into the radiance of the milky way illuminating a dark sky, watch the form of a drawing take shape out of a blank piece of paper in front of me, or gaze upon the profile of my beloved in a moment of clarity and warmth.

I guess it's primarily a sense of timelessness I'm talking about here. Always was, and always will be. Permanence...

Ok...I guess that's enough gushy babble for one afternoon, and I should be getting back to writing my midterm soon anyway. As a parting gift, here are a couple interesting sights from the last day and a half.

First: the largest orb weaver I've ever seen in person...

And second: a Sunday morning sailing class going on just as beautiful autumn light begins to break through a cloudy morning...

A Beautiful Day

I'm sure you've all noticed by now that my blog about Lake Michigan's exceptionally high waves has been corroborated by many other sources. And if you somehow missed the video of bikers/walkers getting slammed by those waves, you must check it out here.

Today however, the wind had died down to little more than a chilly breeze, the sun was back out in full force, and lake water lapped placidly against the shore as if its previous ferocity had been nothing but a bad dream...

It was a good day for picnicking on sweet nectar...

...contemplating the prospects of picnicking on something a bit less...well, sweet...

...working the kinks out of your feathers...

...or just basking in the sunshine. This young cormorant stood with wings outstretched for a couple relaxing minutes just soaking up the rays...

Unfortunately, I had too much on my plate to enjoy any such extended reveries and spent most of my time doing research for my ethnomusicology midterm. I'm studying the life and work of Mantle Hood, one of the 20th century's pioneers in the field. One highlight today was watching a video he made documenting the "talking drums," or Atumpan, of Ghana. I checked it out on vhs (how utterly primitive!) and watched it at a little private viewing station in the Mitchell Multi-media Center. Despite all the work, I feel lucky to have access to the treasure trove of information available at the NU library. I'll definitely miss it when I graduate.

October

Current temp: 47...not including the substantial wind chill.

What am I whining for? In a couple months we could very well have wind chills of 4o below! Ugh. I have to keep telling myself, "It's ok...just think about all the pretty ice...you LOVE the ice...right?"

Foxy

It was just another typically gorgeous Lake Michigan sunrise...

Or so I thought...

Now, I've certainly heard stories about the coyote population in Chicago, and in fact, they act as sort of unofficial city employees by patrolling parks and green areas for pests like voles and rats, but sighting a wild fox roaming the city (even if it is just suburban Evanston) is a rare treat.

Mind Games

What could be better than a large enclosed space where everyone is free to run, chase, and sniff their neighbors butts unassailed? A large enclosed space where you can do all that...and THEN jump into the water! Welcome to Dog Beach: the urban canine's paradise. I love walking past this place and watching the antics of dogs as they frolic in the waves, run along the sand dripping wet, and then walk right up to their owners and exuberantly shake themselves dry...or rather: redistribute the moisture from their sloppy hides to the clothes of their humans.

This morning the place was crowded, but my attention was drawn to one couple in particular who were evidently having some communication issues. Ms. Owner was standing in front of her happy-go-lucky companion holding a tennis ball in one of those fluorescent launchers that can extend the range of each throw to olympic proportions. Fido was prancing around in front of her with that "gimmie the ball! gimmie the ball!" look plastered all over his face. Ms. Owner stood by unperturbed and pointed commandingly to the south--indicating that she planned to fling the ball far down the beach and parallel to the water line. Assuming Fido had received and processed that message she wound up and threw! Upon seeing that beloved of all movements: the release of energy that unequivocally means the object of play has been released into the universe, Fido bounded away from his owner...and gleefully jumped straight into the water following a path precisely perpendicular to where the ball had been thrown.

Ms. Owner cocked a hip and looked on with exasperation as Fido realized he'd missed the ball and paddled back to shore.

My step-dad Rod believes that dogs communicate with each other telepathically and that they try to do the same with their humans. You know what I mean. Like those times the family's sitting down for a meal and Rusty walks politely up to someone, cocks his head, and with a tiny flick of his little pink tongue sits back on his haunches to beg. According to Rod he's attempting to place this thought in the head of his human: "Hey lady...I ain't e't in days...please gimmie just a little somethin' would ya?"

So on the beach this morning one of three things could've happened to create the drama I witnessed:

1. Ms. Owner had assumed she'd read Fido's message clearly and simply as: "gimmie the ball! gimmie the ball!" but had instead missed the full intent of his communication which was rather: "gimmie the ball in the water! I wanna get wet!"

2. Ms. Owner had indeed understood that Fido wanted to jump in the water again, but was determined to make him follow her instructions rather than his own inclinations. Though she physically gestured her intent properly, she neglected the necessary telepathic reinforcement of the idea--causing her well meaning Fido to misread orders.

3. Fido knew exactly what Ms. Owner was asking of him, but thought to himself, "Why in the world would you EVER not want to throw the ball into the water? I mean, that's way more fun than just chasing it on the sand?" So Fido then decided he'd remind Ms. Owner of the only reasonable direction for a ball to go when it's thrown from Dog Beach...what could be more obvious?

Let's hope this pair eventually reaches an understanding.