What I would really like to write here is a long, lengthy complaint about people who seem to be doing their best to ruin me.

This, however, won't bode well for me in the near future, so I will have to save this for my own personal journal.

In the meantime, here's a picture of a puppy.



Exactly how I feel, little buddy.

Hobbies

I used to have a ton of hobbies.

Then I started grad school.

When I got my degree from Northwestern, it was one of the proudest days of my life. I had, in my hands, a masters degree which I had worked insanely hard for. So hard for, it seems, that people would ask me what I liked to do for fun and I couldn't answer them.

Here are the hobbies I have taken up since graduating three years ago. It still seems like a limited list, and I still feel like I have only a tiny bit of contributing conversation when talking with my super smart friends, but here goes.

Cooking. I kind of didn't have a choice in getting interested in this matter. Celiac makes you necessarily interested in food, and I know more and more about it every day as I simply take note of how my body is reacting to the stuff I eat. However, it has been exciting to broaden my horizons. This morning for breakfast I had fresh figs dipped in honey flavored lactose-free yogurt. Delicious, and definitely not something I would have ever craved three years ago.

Knitting. This is something I pick up and put down continually, but thanks to a generous Christmas present from Hubby, I got a huge shove in a more ambitious direction. This year I managed to complete a pair of fingerless gloves and one sock. (The other one's coming along.) I even had enough confidence in my ability to knit a scarf for my mom for Christmas. She loved it, and I don't think she was feigning enthusiasm just because I'm her daughter.

Growing a patio garden. Difficult in Oregon, and the season is already just about over. I did manage three or four strawberries, a good dozen green beans, and one lemon cucumber this year, though. I have some tomatoes that are big and green, but I am not holding out hope for any of them turning red.

Geocaching. Best treasure hunting ever! I haven't been out looking in a while, and I have only found twelve in total, but I very much enjoy the chase.

Belly dancing. My brand new one, and NO, I am not ready to dance for anyone just yet. I have had two private lessons and many private moments at home moving around with my coin belt, just listening for the right jingles to happen.

What are your hobbies? Any suggestions to continue my quest to be more than a person who plays the violin?

I am a pretty lucky, pretty healthy girl. I'm in my 20's, have my diet under control, and my exercising habits are getting much better. I realize I have it much better off than many, many people.

But one day a month makes me long for the days when I no longer have a menstrual cycle. I will not miss the achiness, bloatiness, dizziness, and general pain that comes along with the Heavy Day. (I will also not miss the quasi-related migraines that sometimes happen a couple days before.)

That is all! I am looking forward to tomorrow.

Prop 8 has been overturned, and I am fairly confident that anyone that knows me or reads my blog semi regularly knows that I am not only relieved, I feel it was the right decision. I know there are several out there who agree, and several who disagree.

I am not here to make points on why I think the repeal was the morally just decision; I can save that for a whole other blog post. I have made an observation, however. Those people who are in favor of Prop 8 generally do not know or associate themselves with many gay people, either knowingly or by choice. Those who think Prop 8 was wrong generally do.

A long time ago, someone who I consider far more than a friend to me came out. It was the first time anyone had ever told me they were gay before. Not long before the admission, I had made the comment, "you can't persecute people for who they're attracted to... gay people just can't HELP it!"

I am terribly embarrassed by this comment now. I wasn't homophobic in the least, I was simply ignorant. Not being able to "help" something has far too negative of a connotation. It is something people say in reference to terrible diseases ("She has cancer and is throwing up because she can't help it") or apologies ("I am so sorry I ate the last of the chips, I just could't help myself!")

I made this comment not because I was anti-gay. I made it because I had never known a gay person. Later on this same friend had his heart broken, not because he fell in love with a man, but because he had the terrible misfortune of falling in love with a jerk. (Gay people: they're just like us!!) I have seen people formerly squeamish over his homosexuality come to accept the guy he's with now, as he has had the amazing perseverance to show them he is still the same person, and an even better version of himself for knowing fully who he is.

In my eyes, he is remarkable because he is my friend. But his journey is not rare, and his situation is not special. His love is beautiful, but far from unique. Not unique means unfair when treated as an exception.

And with a heavy sigh, that is all. Start the cutthroat debate as you will.

I ♥ TV.

The shows I'm currently trying to catch up on/watch right now:

Mad Men (sooo good.)
Hung
Project Runway
Grey's Anatomy (I've got about half of last season to watch mindlessly)
Louie
Psych (this season is only okay, but it's a cute show)

Also got a few recommended to me that I've never seen, but are on my wishlist:

Weeds
Dexter
It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Firefly

I hand it to you, interwebs. (I have a feeling Lisa, specifically, will have some ideas.) What am I missing?

Luxurious day. I woke up and shared a cup of coffee with my husband. Headed off to the gym, and treated myself to some sushi after doing some REALLY difficult ab work. Went grocery shopping, and threw barbeque chicken in the crockpot, letting the smell slowly permeate every corner of the apartment. Almost done cleaning the apartment, and I may have time to practice before dinner and rehearsal. I may even talk T into an episode of Mad Men before we hit the sack.

My schedule is slow until August 14th and I intend to enjoy every minute of it. Won't get two weeks like this again until next year.

A New Love

That would be Coos Bay, Oregon.

About ten years ago, Coos Bay was evidently the site of an awful oil spill... did a number on a thriving oyster industry, and was a terrible foreshadowing of what was to come in the Gulf of Mexico on a much larger scale. You wouldn't know this, however, driving in Coos Bay today.

It's a typical Oregon coast town. It's on the sleepy side, it's small, and it's got a temperature range I could live in year round. And this week it was the host of the Oregon Coast Music Festival.



(I'm in there somewhere.)

I had a rough start to my summer. My teaching job that I was super secure with ended on a sour note. I had a plethora of music festivals to fill my summer, but the nagging feeling of what I was going to do was always looming on my mind.

Shortly after my kiddos' last recital, I took off for Astoria. Then Salem. Then Eugene. Then a job interview. Then bed (I was sick all the way back in Salem.) Then Eugene again. Coos Bay was going to be a quick week sandwiched between finishing arranging music and performing that same music, and then I would wrap up my summer in Los Angeles.

The Oregon Coast Music Festival is peaceful, away from stress. You can commit all musical emotion to the performances while enjoying the serenity of the silences. And something happened that week: I got a little piece of myself back.

Musicians need to be prepared to perform at any moment, in any venue. This may sound dramatic, but it's not uncommon. If we have a concert booked until ten on a Saturday night and are offered a lucrative Sunday morning gig at a church, we're going to take it. It's what freelancers do. It may be Sibelius at night and Mozart in the morning - we can and do change masks that fast.

I'm beginning to find that if I'm not careful, and I don't give myself time to decompress and come out of the constantly changing roles, I can get lost in it all. And I won't even see it coming. OCMF was therapeutic. Rehearse in the morning, explore the town in the afternoon, relax at supper, perform in the evening. Rigorous schedule physically, but nothing compared to what I had already put myself through. (And what is yet to come.)

I did my best this week. I truly always do my best - I think this is the entire point of being a musician. But with a mental cleansing, I was really able to put my best foot forward. And I got stronger through the week. Looking back on it now, I think it was a subconscious push to get invited back next summer. And I hope I do, I really hope I do. The satisfaction was too great, the reward too gratifying.

I can face anything now. I got to remember who I was.