It’s been a long time since I’ve written My Wife Says I’m Complicated. My schedule hasn’t allowed it until now. I’ll start with a grab bag. Go!
Me not writing isn’t totally about time, though; it’s about mood. If you are a regular reader, you know that I have Bipolar Affective Disorder. The last time I wrote a lot, my mood wasn’t totally level. I was a teency bit manic. When that happens, look out! I will write up a storm. Ideas come quick and plentiful. I might write as many as three or four posts in a day. I’m funnier, edgier, impulsive, more emotional, and pushing the bounds of appropriateness. All of these makes really interesting blogging, at least I think it does. After my most recent medication adjustment, my mood leveled out and some of that went away. I’m calm, thoughtful, even-tempered, and generally lacking in creativity. That’s why this post is so hard for me. I’m too damn normal!
Avant Garde MRI
I’ve been having shoulder problems for the last couple of years, and it’s made it painful to swim. Swimming is my primary exercise. After putting it off for a couple of years, I finally went in to see an orthopedist who sent me to get an arthrogram MRI. I’d never had an MRI and I was EXTREMELY anxious about it. They offered a sedative, but I didn’t want anything in my body that could intoxicate me, so I decided to tough it out. Before sliding me into the machine, they asked me if I wanted any music. I said that I would like classical music and that they could find it on 90.1. I knew that was a risk. Many people think that all classical music is beautiful chamber music that is relaxing. But I should know better. What I was hoping for was some Bach or Dvorak or Mendelssohn. But what I got was the music of someone being tortured and murdered and buried. Now don’t get me wrong. I like modern classical music. I like the dissonance and erratic rhythm and atonality. But it was the last thing I wanted while being stuffed and confined in a big metal box being banged on with what I could only imagine were the pick axes of angry, subterranean dwarves.
Ugh!!! I can’t write about this without getting people into trouble. Let’s just say that I never thought I’d personally have to stand up for the Civil Rights Act of 1964. I stood my ground and justice prevailed. End of story? I’d be happy to share the saga offline. You’ll be shocked.
As fall approaches, I’ve begun teaching my choir this year’s Christmas cantata. This year, to save money, I didn’t buy a new cantata. I took bits of the last six cantatas and built a super cantata. SUPER CANTATA. I scribbled down an outline of the Christmas story from various Gospels on a sheet of paper and spent several days filling it in with the pieces of the previous cantatas to tell the whole story. This required choosing pieces which work together cohesively with varying tempos, keys, styles and with a compelling musical and story arc. None of the cantatas by themselves tell as complete a story, so this is something unique. We’re calling it “God With Us” and it will be performed December 17th at Goodrich Memorial United Methodist Church. It’s a funny thing to think so much about Christmas while it’s still August, but choir directors around the world are doing just that.
One of the wonderful parts of life in our new house is having a wonderful back porch with a garden and lots of stuff for birds. There’s a regular seed bird feeder and a water fountain and a hummingbird feeder.
I really enjoy sitting out on the porch listening to an audio book, sipping a La Croix, and watching the birds come to our garden. I’ve seen a goldfinch, a dove, and may other birds I cannot name, but the most frequent visitors are the hummingbirds. As far as I can tell there are three hummingbirds who visit. One of them does its best to keep the other two away, but they always find a way to sneak in a few sips. And these birds are constantly dipping their long narrow beaks into the little plastic flowers where the sugar water pools.
It’s constant! These birds will suck that feeder dry into just a few days. Now, I’ve never fed hummingbirds before, but how can that be good for them?! It’s nothing but sugar water! So I did what any grown adult would do when they’re worried about something that they know nothing about; I grumbled to my wife.
“Honey, did you feed the hummingbirds?” she would say, pleasantly.
“Well, I guess I will, but I’m pretty sure they’re going to get diabetes,” I would grumble.
Etc. until she said something like “I’m getting sick of your grumbling. Just look it up.”
So I looked it up. Sugar water is essentially the same as the nectar they live off of in the wild. It doesn’t hurt them. So I refilled and went back to watching them on the porch. Greedy, little buggers.
Ok, well that’s a good start to my return to blogging. I’m sure I’ll come up with something interesting to share soon enough.