Thursday, May 9, 2013 will be a day I remember for better or for worse. No, it's not my wedding anniversary. It's the day I decided to act on one of the biggest imponderables in my life--whether or not to continue in a leadership position in the Boy Scouts of America.
I started in Cub Scouts in the late 1960's, and continued through Boy Scouts in the mid-1970's, when girls and sports captured my attention. My son is one merit badge and his Project away from making Eagle. He'd be the first on my side of the family and the fourth on my wife's side.
I'll put off writing the rest until after the vote tomorrow. You know which vote.
*--Tom Lehrer, Songs by Tom Lehrer, 1963.
Wednesday, May 22, 2013
Tuesday, May 7, 2013
How can I keep from singing?*
Just some quick catch-up, post-final project, from last weekend: We had 54 eighth graders become fully-confirmed members of the church at Noon Mass. Church was full--Christmas/Easter full--of families with young children. Many, MANY Hispanic families. I was amused to see a dad and mom seated a couple rows in front of Sarah and I with four young boys and a daughter--who I assume had a child being confirmed. The girl was an infant, and the boys were, well, being boys--gloriously wiggly, squirmy, full of mischief. I LOVED it.
Not only that, but--
There was an opening prayer in Spanish.
There was a hymn printed in the program (and sung!) in Spanish.
They're having Masses (for holy days of obligation) in Spanish.
I am grateful to have lived so long as to see this happen--and I am equally ashamed of the members of this parish that it took this long. I fought with the clergy on this since we moved here. The very well-ensconced didn't see the need (some still don't) There's a lot of stubbornness, hardness of heart, on this--but it could be that that's starting to change.
I have to believe God was pleased by what he saw at St. Francis of Assisi parish this weekend.
Indeed--how CAN I keep from singing?
Hallelujah!
*--Robert Lowry and Pauline T. (surname not known), 8/7/1868.
Not only that, but--
There was an opening prayer in Spanish.
There was a hymn printed in the program (and sung!) in Spanish.
They're having Masses (for holy days of obligation) in Spanish.
I am grateful to have lived so long as to see this happen--and I am equally ashamed of the members of this parish that it took this long. I fought with the clergy on this since we moved here. The very well-ensconced didn't see the need (some still don't) There's a lot of stubbornness, hardness of heart, on this--but it could be that that's starting to change.
I have to believe God was pleased by what he saw at St. Francis of Assisi parish this weekend.
Indeed--how CAN I keep from singing?
Hallelujah!
*--Robert Lowry and Pauline T. (surname not known), 8/7/1868.
Friday, May 3, 2013
My Back Pages*, chapter 2
In a recent e-mail I wrote to Dr. Steven Wolfinbarger, Western Michigan University's Professor of Trombone and a former teacher, I told him that it was apparent that I'd entered the "elder statesman" era of my musical career, as I felt I was being valued more for advice given than for notes played. In truth I'd known this day was coming for a while. With everything I'd been doing in library school--one more chapter to read, one more article to review, one more paper or project to complete--and everything the kids have been doing, and trying to spend more time with my wife, not to mention take care of my physical/medical needs, it's a wonder I was able to play gigs as long as I have.
But back to the advice part. The conductor of one of the orchestras with which I play asked for "a word" during break. I listen as he starts talking about concertos. Could it be? Am I finally going to get my turn? About 30 seconds in it becomes apparent that he's not talking about me, but rather the orchestra's annual young artist's competition.
Sigh.
So the upshot is that he's tired of the same old, same old (piano/violin/cello tend to dominate these things for a variety of reasons) and wants to change things up (and quite a bit). His idea is to have one division for "the usuals" and one for older students with brass and percussion alternating years with woodwinds, starting with brass in 2014. I told him I liked the idea, and when he asked for suggestions on required pieces for the competition, I jumped right in. After consulting with Dr. Wolfinbarger and others, and a double-check of the Texas UIL Prescribed Music List, I came up with the following list:
Tenor Trombone or Euphonium--
David--Concertino, Op. 4
Gregson--Concerto (beginning to rehearsal 17 or rehearsal 12 to the end)
Grondahl--Concert (two movements)
Guilmant--Morceau Symphonique
Larsson--Concertino Op. 45 #7 (two movements)
Bass Trombone or Tuba--
Gregson--Concerto (two movements)
Lebedev--Concerto #1 (a/k/a Concerto in One Movement)
Vaughan Williams--Concerto for Bass Tuba (first movement only)
Any brass players out there who know the literature as played by high schoolers and would like to comment, please do.
I don't think I'm going to mind being an "elder statesman". Maybe it's my turn now. Cheers.
*--Bob Dylan, Another Side of Bob Dylan, 1964 (Columbia)
But back to the advice part. The conductor of one of the orchestras with which I play asked for "a word" during break. I listen as he starts talking about concertos. Could it be? Am I finally going to get my turn? About 30 seconds in it becomes apparent that he's not talking about me, but rather the orchestra's annual young artist's competition.
Sigh.
So the upshot is that he's tired of the same old, same old (piano/violin/cello tend to dominate these things for a variety of reasons) and wants to change things up (and quite a bit). His idea is to have one division for "the usuals" and one for older students with brass and percussion alternating years with woodwinds, starting with brass in 2014. I told him I liked the idea, and when he asked for suggestions on required pieces for the competition, I jumped right in. After consulting with Dr. Wolfinbarger and others, and a double-check of the Texas UIL Prescribed Music List, I came up with the following list:
Tenor Trombone or Euphonium--
David--Concertino, Op. 4
Gregson--Concerto (beginning to rehearsal 17 or rehearsal 12 to the end)
Grondahl--Concert (two movements)
Guilmant--Morceau Symphonique
Larsson--Concertino Op. 45 #7 (two movements)
Bass Trombone or Tuba--
Gregson--Concerto (two movements)
Lebedev--Concerto #1 (a/k/a Concerto in One Movement)
Vaughan Williams--Concerto for Bass Tuba (first movement only)
Any brass players out there who know the literature as played by high schoolers and would like to comment, please do.
I don't think I'm going to mind being an "elder statesman". Maybe it's my turn now. Cheers.
*--Bob Dylan, Another Side of Bob Dylan, 1964 (Columbia)
Wednesday, April 24, 2013
That's My Story and I'm Stickin' To It*
Side note before I begin: I've found, serendipitously, that one of the benefits of writing this blog and titling entries with popular and classical songs is re-discovering the story behind those songs.
As my children move in and out of youth sports and performing arts programs, I've noticed more than a few disturbing trends. Tell me if any of this sounds familiar:
Youth Coaches take the path of 1) least resistance or 2) what advances their children's best interests. I saw a husband and wife taking the job as coach of one of our church's CYO teams, but it soon became apparent that they were just running a practice team for their girls (starting pitcher and catcher), who competed on a "traveling squad".
I played on a summer league baseball team. I wanted to try out for first base, but the coach's son played first base for the two years I was on that team--and I never started, not even in the outfield. The last year I played they changed the rules so that not everyone had to get an at-bat or turn in the field, and I only played 3 of the 9 games that season.
Coaches don't teach defense (football or soccer) or fielding (baseball) or emphasize passing and footwork (soccer) and don't reward their players for unselfish play. I watched one game where one boy, every time he got the ball, kicked it solo for about 50 yards once he went out of bounds. I heard parents complain about the few coaches that do.
When it comes to Performing Arts, too many parents follow the lead of that dreadful witch Abby Lee and become "Dance Moms", becoming horrible, judgmental, petty, poor examples for their daughters. The dance teacher at our daughter's school (both of them take pointe) is under increasing heat to have a "competitive" dance team, and I'm afraid she's going to buckle.
Tips:
1) The program is there for all the kids that qualify, not just yours or the coach's.
2) While many trumpet the statement that "a parent is the child's first teacher", there are those who know how to communicate the skills of a particular sport to kids so that they can do it, too.They understand that kids don't get it the first or the tenth or the 120th time. They are firm with discipline and patient when the kid is doing his best to learn. If you're lucky, this person is your child's coach. Let them coach.
3) The intention of youth sports is to train kids in the ways of sports, to teach them about life, and--this is where most youth sports programs get it wrong--give kids a vehicle and a properly supervised avenue to improve their skills. Same goes for performing and visual arts.
4) Winning is nice. Winning is good. Winning is preferable. But what are you learning when you win?
5) More importantly, how can you benefit from losing? If you're able to answer that question, before long you'll be able to answer the question in #3.
6) For those performing arts parents who turned up their nose and rolled their eyes at questions 3 and 4, re-read #2.
7) Initial struggles are essential to future success; positive success that comes to late-bloomers is all the more sweet. If your kid finally makes contact with the baseball after 20 at-bats, great! It was a shock to me too. I had a student 20 years ago that took all year just to play Hot Cross Buns--but we made it happen, and he was proud of himself.
8) Sometimes learning that you're not good at something you attempt can be serendipitous. My daughter tried flute and trumpet before she settled on mandolin. Happy as a clam with weekly lessons now.
9) Learn to listen to your kids. Observe your kids. Be honest with yourself. You may not have the next Joshua Bell or Yvgeny Kissgin or Midori.
10) If your child fits in with a particular group of people, embrace it (and them). Welcome them into your home. Get to know their parents. My youngest was having a difficult time at school. She got involved in theater and a local youth choir and has a new slew of friends (and so do we).
Onward and upward. Cheers.
*--Tony Haselden and Lee Roy Parnell, for Collin Raye's album Extremes, 1992.
As my children move in and out of youth sports and performing arts programs, I've noticed more than a few disturbing trends. Tell me if any of this sounds familiar:
Youth Coaches take the path of 1) least resistance or 2) what advances their children's best interests. I saw a husband and wife taking the job as coach of one of our church's CYO teams, but it soon became apparent that they were just running a practice team for their girls (starting pitcher and catcher), who competed on a "traveling squad".
I played on a summer league baseball team. I wanted to try out for first base, but the coach's son played first base for the two years I was on that team--and I never started, not even in the outfield. The last year I played they changed the rules so that not everyone had to get an at-bat or turn in the field, and I only played 3 of the 9 games that season.
Coaches don't teach defense (football or soccer) or fielding (baseball) or emphasize passing and footwork (soccer) and don't reward their players for unselfish play. I watched one game where one boy, every time he got the ball, kicked it solo for about 50 yards once he went out of bounds. I heard parents complain about the few coaches that do.
When it comes to Performing Arts, too many parents follow the lead of that dreadful witch Abby Lee and become "Dance Moms", becoming horrible, judgmental, petty, poor examples for their daughters. The dance teacher at our daughter's school (both of them take pointe) is under increasing heat to have a "competitive" dance team, and I'm afraid she's going to buckle.
Tips:
1) The program is there for all the kids that qualify, not just yours or the coach's.
2) While many trumpet the statement that "a parent is the child's first teacher", there are those who know how to communicate the skills of a particular sport to kids so that they can do it, too.They understand that kids don't get it the first or the tenth or the 120th time. They are firm with discipline and patient when the kid is doing his best to learn. If you're lucky, this person is your child's coach. Let them coach.
3) The intention of youth sports is to train kids in the ways of sports, to teach them about life, and--this is where most youth sports programs get it wrong--give kids a vehicle and a properly supervised avenue to improve their skills. Same goes for performing and visual arts.
4) Winning is nice. Winning is good. Winning is preferable. But what are you learning when you win?
5) More importantly, how can you benefit from losing? If you're able to answer that question, before long you'll be able to answer the question in #3.
6) For those performing arts parents who turned up their nose and rolled their eyes at questions 3 and 4, re-read #2.
7) Initial struggles are essential to future success; positive success that comes to late-bloomers is all the more sweet. If your kid finally makes contact with the baseball after 20 at-bats, great! It was a shock to me too. I had a student 20 years ago that took all year just to play Hot Cross Buns--but we made it happen, and he was proud of himself.
8) Sometimes learning that you're not good at something you attempt can be serendipitous. My daughter tried flute and trumpet before she settled on mandolin. Happy as a clam with weekly lessons now.
9) Learn to listen to your kids. Observe your kids. Be honest with yourself. You may not have the next Joshua Bell or Yvgeny Kissgin or Midori.
10) If your child fits in with a particular group of people, embrace it (and them). Welcome them into your home. Get to know their parents. My youngest was having a difficult time at school. She got involved in theater and a local youth choir and has a new slew of friends (and so do we).
Onward and upward. Cheers.
*--Tony Haselden and Lee Roy Parnell, for Collin Raye's album Extremes, 1992.
Tuesday, April 9, 2013
Can a Leopard Change Its Spots?*
People who have known me a while know I love dogs--big dogs, little dogs, hot dogs, it doesn't matter. They also know that I can't stand the sight or thought of pit bulls and their naïve owners. "Oh, but my dog came from a GOOD kennel, he's friendly". Yeah, and Kim-Jong Un went to an elite school in Switzerland, does that make him a paragon of virtue? Hardly. I have met only one pit bull that was tolerable. That was a recent occurrence. I was picking up our cat from the vet one day and there was one in the waiting room--stocky and enthusiastic, a little like an interior lineman for the local high school football team. I kept a healthy distance anyway.
Recently, I heard that acquaintances of ours had trouble with their pit bulls--the "puppy" attacked the larger older dog, and that one of their children had been bitten trying to separate them. They got rid of the "puppy".
Sorry, folks, I have to say this:
It was patently stupid to bring those demon spawn into their home. Not that the people in the house deserved to be injured by their dogs, and they certainly didn't "have it coming", but...
I don't care what the breed association's official position is. I don't want to hear anecdotes from naïve owners of those bastards.
Some things never change. Some things are always stupid. Some things are always wrong.
Onward and Upward. Go Blue!
*--Railroad's Men, Railroad's Men Collection: A Bottle of Water, n.d.
Recently, I heard that acquaintances of ours had trouble with their pit bulls--the "puppy" attacked the larger older dog, and that one of their children had been bitten trying to separate them. They got rid of the "puppy".
Sorry, folks, I have to say this:
It was patently stupid to bring those demon spawn into their home. Not that the people in the house deserved to be injured by their dogs, and they certainly didn't "have it coming", but...
I don't care what the breed association's official position is. I don't want to hear anecdotes from naïve owners of those bastards.
Some things never change. Some things are always stupid. Some things are always wrong.
Onward and Upward. Go Blue!
*--Railroad's Men, Railroad's Men Collection: A Bottle of Water, n.d.
Tuesday, April 2, 2013
Little Lies*
Note to customer service personnel:
If you're going to lie about something you did or something you didn't do, and you get caught, beg forgiveness and make it right (notice I didn't say apologize--the weakness of apologies for neglectful behavior will be the subject of some future post). I went to the oral surgeon to get sutures removed, and knew I was in trouble when the first words out of the receptionist's mouth were, "You didn't get my message, did you?"
She allegedly called and left a message regarding rescheduling because the good doctor was in surgery. I didn't want to have to wait another hour or more, so I asked to reschedule.
She asked, "well, who's your dentist?".
I told her and she said, "Well, maybe they can do it sooner".
"Would you like me to call down?"
After not getting her "last message" (there wasn't one on either phone when I came home), I told her no, I'd just walk down and ask them myself--and walked out.
Long story short--my dentist's office did it, albeit not without a bit of pain and blood (both mine).
I then asked the receptionist (who bears more than a passing resemblance to the Snapple Lady) for the endodontist about scheduling an appointment for my implant, as it was my understanding that I was supposed to get this four weeks after the tooth was pulled. The assistant and the Snapple Lady stared at me blankly. Well, this is inspiring a real lack of confidence, I thought to myself. Then one of them says (and, like Dave Barry, I am not making this up),
"I think the oral surgeon (The office where I had the tooth pulled last week) is running a special this month".
Gloriosky.
I'm not buying a quart of paint, a pound of #8 bright nails, and having two keys cut at the local mom and pop hardware/general store. These are what's left of my 53-year old teeth, for Christ's sake, and I expect better service than that from those expensively educated, impeccably dressed, dental professionals (I'm gritting what's left of my teeth as I pronounce that word, because I'm not certain I believe it).
Note to oral surgeon's receptionist: When I returned home, there WAS no message on either my land line or my cell phone. If I can't trust you with a simple cancellation, I'm sure as heck not going to trust your boss to work on my mouth. My livelihood depends on it. SHAPE UP!!!
*--Christine McVie and Eddie Quintela for Fleetwood Mac, Tango in the Night, 1987.
If you're going to lie about something you did or something you didn't do, and you get caught, beg forgiveness and make it right (notice I didn't say apologize--the weakness of apologies for neglectful behavior will be the subject of some future post). I went to the oral surgeon to get sutures removed, and knew I was in trouble when the first words out of the receptionist's mouth were, "You didn't get my message, did you?"
She allegedly called and left a message regarding rescheduling because the good doctor was in surgery. I didn't want to have to wait another hour or more, so I asked to reschedule.
She asked, "well, who's your dentist?".
I told her and she said, "Well, maybe they can do it sooner".
"Would you like me to call down?"
After not getting her "last message" (there wasn't one on either phone when I came home), I told her no, I'd just walk down and ask them myself--and walked out.
Long story short--my dentist's office did it, albeit not without a bit of pain and blood (both mine).
I then asked the receptionist (who bears more than a passing resemblance to the Snapple Lady) for the endodontist about scheduling an appointment for my implant, as it was my understanding that I was supposed to get this four weeks after the tooth was pulled. The assistant and the Snapple Lady stared at me blankly. Well, this is inspiring a real lack of confidence, I thought to myself. Then one of them says (and, like Dave Barry, I am not making this up),
"I think the oral surgeon (The office where I had the tooth pulled last week) is running a special this month".
Gloriosky.
I'm not buying a quart of paint, a pound of #8 bright nails, and having two keys cut at the local mom and pop hardware/general store. These are what's left of my 53-year old teeth, for Christ's sake, and I expect better service than that from those expensively educated, impeccably dressed, dental professionals (I'm gritting what's left of my teeth as I pronounce that word, because I'm not certain I believe it).
Note to oral surgeon's receptionist: When I returned home, there WAS no message on either my land line or my cell phone. If I can't trust you with a simple cancellation, I'm sure as heck not going to trust your boss to work on my mouth. My livelihood depends on it. SHAPE UP!!!
*--Christine McVie and Eddie Quintela for Fleetwood Mac, Tango in the Night, 1987.
Sunday, March 31, 2013
Good Friday*
I should be ashamed of myself, I suppose.
I attended Easter Vigil with my family and sat up front, as is our custom. I'm a cantor, but because I'm generally working Easter Sunday, I don't get scheduled to serve. I was not prepared for what I saw and heard. Up stepped someone who doesn't serve more than once or twice a year for regular Masses but is first-call for all the weddings and funerals at our parish. She started to sing the opening sequence, an extended piece that is supposed to set the tone and in part explain what the service is about. I'm not trying to be catty, but her diction (to be kind) was fuzzy. To make matters worse, my back was seizing up and I was in somewhat less than intense pain. I was NOT in the mood to sit through two hours of ritual.
But this wasn't all about me, as the priest gently reminded us in his homily. Rather, it was about the three young men, all from one family (!!) who were being confirmed that night, joining the Catholic Church. We even had the honor of being present for the baptism of one of them. Reason for celebration? I should think so.
It's days like this that I think about people who aren't here, and how my hope lies in seeing them in heaven again some day. My father would have been 86 on Tuesday, and I am taking a class in Bibliography of the Sciences, Technology, and Medicine this term, not only for the reference information but in his honor. Dad was an industrial chemist, working for what became Pfizer more recently. All the stories I heard from friends and co-workers were about loyalty and integrity--and I don't need to tell you those are qualities sorely lacking in people from all walks of life.
The other person I thought of when I visited her home church again today. I had a three-service gig at Wayne (PA) Presbyterian Church, and as one of the assistant pastors shares her last name, I was hoping she might have come home for a visit. Last I knew she was on active duty as a Navy musician, leading the jazz band at Great Lakes Naval Training Center. It would be perhaps a little awkward, since we haven't seen each other since the weekend of my brother's wedding in 1988. But still, I have fond memories of playing in WMU Symphony Band and in a brass ensemble working with composer John Rutter. For years I sent her birthday and Christmas cards, using a picture of Mr. Rutter in one of his more exuberant, insistent moments (I'm being kind) and adding an appropriate caption. God, I wish I'd saved that picture. Anyone out there with a copy? It's from the Holland (MI) Sentinel, late March or early April 1986. He's rehearsing a choir at the Hope College Recital Hall. Ann Greenhow, if you're out there, contact me, if only to say hello and tell me how you're doing. Every time someone asks me to remember the troops, I think of you, Dave Haglund (US Marine Band), Darryl Buning (US Army Band), Roger Oyster (US Marine Band), Greg Wirt (Coast Guard Band), Nancy Vogt (US Air Force Band), and everyone else who's performed in service of the USA. Thanks.
He is risen.
Cheers!
*--Gustav Holst, from Choruses (6) for Male Chorus and Strings, opus 53 #2, H. 148, 1931.
I attended Easter Vigil with my family and sat up front, as is our custom. I'm a cantor, but because I'm generally working Easter Sunday, I don't get scheduled to serve. I was not prepared for what I saw and heard. Up stepped someone who doesn't serve more than once or twice a year for regular Masses but is first-call for all the weddings and funerals at our parish. She started to sing the opening sequence, an extended piece that is supposed to set the tone and in part explain what the service is about. I'm not trying to be catty, but her diction (to be kind) was fuzzy. To make matters worse, my back was seizing up and I was in somewhat less than intense pain. I was NOT in the mood to sit through two hours of ritual.
But this wasn't all about me, as the priest gently reminded us in his homily. Rather, it was about the three young men, all from one family (!!) who were being confirmed that night, joining the Catholic Church. We even had the honor of being present for the baptism of one of them. Reason for celebration? I should think so.
It's days like this that I think about people who aren't here, and how my hope lies in seeing them in heaven again some day. My father would have been 86 on Tuesday, and I am taking a class in Bibliography of the Sciences, Technology, and Medicine this term, not only for the reference information but in his honor. Dad was an industrial chemist, working for what became Pfizer more recently. All the stories I heard from friends and co-workers were about loyalty and integrity--and I don't need to tell you those are qualities sorely lacking in people from all walks of life.
The other person I thought of when I visited her home church again today. I had a three-service gig at Wayne (PA) Presbyterian Church, and as one of the assistant pastors shares her last name, I was hoping she might have come home for a visit. Last I knew she was on active duty as a Navy musician, leading the jazz band at Great Lakes Naval Training Center. It would be perhaps a little awkward, since we haven't seen each other since the weekend of my brother's wedding in 1988. But still, I have fond memories of playing in WMU Symphony Band and in a brass ensemble working with composer John Rutter. For years I sent her birthday and Christmas cards, using a picture of Mr. Rutter in one of his more exuberant, insistent moments (I'm being kind) and adding an appropriate caption. God, I wish I'd saved that picture. Anyone out there with a copy? It's from the Holland (MI) Sentinel, late March or early April 1986. He's rehearsing a choir at the Hope College Recital Hall. Ann Greenhow, if you're out there, contact me, if only to say hello and tell me how you're doing. Every time someone asks me to remember the troops, I think of you, Dave Haglund (US Marine Band), Darryl Buning (US Army Band), Roger Oyster (US Marine Band), Greg Wirt (Coast Guard Band), Nancy Vogt (US Air Force Band), and everyone else who's performed in service of the USA. Thanks.
He is risen.
Cheers!
*--Gustav Holst, from Choruses (6) for Male Chorus and Strings, opus 53 #2, H. 148, 1931.
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