reflections on thinning a violin bridge

My least favorite part about cutting a violin bridge is after you make it the right height. The next step is to thin it down to the right thickness with the block plane. I always feel like it takes way more time than it should, and that the block plane only takes off tiny bits of wood at a time, and my fingers start to hurt because it's hard to hold it that way, and its very tedious. D told me, the way to not be so bored or frustrated is to think with each chip, "this tiny piece of wood is now gone from this bridge, and the bridge is lessened by that much. It's gone and now I don't have to worry about it any more. I only have to worry about the bits of wood that are still on there."

This day is now gone from this life. It sucked at the time, but the terribleness is now lessened by that much. It's gone and now I don't have to worry about it any more. I only have to worry about the days that are left.

loverly

you say it best when you say nothin at all

So, as a reincarnated blogger, and for the sake of my new readers, I should establish my personality as the writer and let the readers get to know me by introducing them to the things I love.

Let me introduce you to the current love of my life:
My job.
I figured since we've been spending so much time together, we should just move in together. It disagreed, so I still sleep at my place.. but I spend most of my waking hours over there.

Some things I love about my job..
This is my "desk."

While most peoples tools are a keyboard and moniter, here are mine:

 

I spend a lot of my time lately making things that look like the one on the left, look like the one on the right:

And my other main project is working with these babies:

     They started out completely bare, white wood. Think, a human with no skin. I have been applying a few coats of an oil varnish per week (one at a time), choosing the colors out of gold, red, and brown options, layering colors for different effects, trying to come up with four completely different violins, to see what works.

     These violins have, interestingly, turned out like birth order stereotypes. I started them each a few days apart from each other. The first one has about 14 coats of varnish on it currently, while the 4th only has about 7. The first one headed in a definite gold-brown direction. (My straight-A, Harvard-bound child) The second headed in a very different, but still deliberate, red-brown, direction. (is in a band and got a tattoo without me knowing, but still has a good head on her shoulders) The third we had a little more fun with, choosing colors at random to see how it turned out. The third was a little of a wild child, went in a quite pretty strawberry blonde direction, but came back around and turned down a similar direction to the first one. (we're still not sure how he turned out ok) And the fourth is completely different from the other three, dark brown-red, and we're going to experiment with antiquing. (well this is interesting, but still cool) And with each one, I corrected mistakes I made with earlier ones, and sometimes made new mistakes.

     My favorite part is the place I work while I varnish. The varnishing room has large windows facing north and east, because varnish works and dries best and properly in good light. The lovely part is when it snowed last weekend, it was like sitting and varnishing violins in a snowglobe.

There are other things I love about my job. The people I work with. The music we listen to. The banter, and the drama, and the joys, and the heartaches, and the support, and the advice, and the family type relationships we have. But I can't take pictures of those things.

taking the long way around

I'm going to start writing in here more often... I think this is a time of my life that should be documented. I am about to be traveling the world, and I shall keep you updated with  my new camera and this blog. I won't be posting cute recipes or being cutely in love or anything. I'm about to go on an adventure on my own that will last a little over a year, from the Caribbean to the Panama Canal, up to Alaska... and then to live the life of a monk in a small town in Minnesota. I intend to write a lot, and share some of the writing with the world.

Stay tuned!

Currently: waiting for my water heater to be fixed so I can take a shower.
Currently listening: Concierto de Aranjuez by Joaquín Rodrigo II-Adagio (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e3_sML4prLE)
Currently celebrating: the "one egg wonder", bitty frying pan the perfect size for one egg.

Currently encouraging you to check out: The Apache Relay (myspace.com/mfjrandtheapacherelay)

little john, tanto, watson, and george e. russel

When I was thirteen I wrote a novel, in which I was the main character. When you are young, you are, of course, always the main character of your story. As you get older, you realize other people play significant roles. But when you are thirteen, you are the heroine no matter what. In this novel, I became concertmaster of my orchestra (a goal for any young violinist in any sort of orchestra). Concertmaster is first chair, first violin, and it is the most respected position in the orchestra. If there is no conductor, the concertmaster leads. The concertmaster gets to walk on stage last in concerts, and they get their own applause. The concertmaster tunes the orchestra. The concertmaster always gets to shake the hand of the conductor after the concert, and also the hand of any soloist that might have performed. (On some occasions the soloist might get excessive amounts of flowers that they will generously pass along to the concertmaster)

The first chair of the second violin section is second best. To be Principal Second Violin is to submit to the Concertmaster is as a wife does to a husband (that is, not all the time :) ) and also to help decide bowings, and to lead the other half of the violins. Principal Second is not a glorious position, but it is a very important one, kind of like a janitor. People don’t usually pay attention to janitors, but oh, if that janitor is a bad janitor, people will notice. Such is the case with the Principal Second.

Within the last year and a half, I have realized what a good second violinist I am. I am very good at being second in command. I am very good at playing supporting roles to people. I am very good at taking charge, but I hate being the center of attention. These are all things I have realized about myself over the last year or so. Maybe I wouldn’t make a good heroine of this story, but I make a good sidekick.

Tonight, my best friend was concertmaster, and I was principal second, and together we led the orchestra in a valiant journey of music. We took the rolling hills and deserts and trolls by storm! We were Joan and Arc, except we did not get burnt at the stake. We were Elizabeth 1 and Bloody Mary, this time joined in a sisterhood and friendship, conquering all obstacles. We were Anne Bonney and Mary Read, off to Zanzibar, to wherever the wind may take us.

Today, my thirteen-year-old dream came true, and I am exhausted.

teacher! see my pretty buttons!

at the beginning of my blog, i wrote "Lizza, your blog may be about the beginnings of adulthood, but my blog is still about surviving college... haha." But it has since evolved into the beginnings of adulthood despite my first impressions of my writings. I think I've grown a lot over the last year, and especially this summer - I became used to being a college graduate. I made my schedule. I worked full time. I slept and ate and looked like an adult, talked like an adult. (except for the brief times that I was in maryland- but even maryland wasnt bad) (thank you, Lizza, for getting married and helping mom and dad to not treat us like 13 year olds)

beginning of the semester. All these bright eyed, bushy tailed college freshmen. Was I really that young? My thoughts were sentimental and nostalgic, watching them take baby steps into independance. I briefly wished for those days back.

Then classes started. And my professors said the same things. The same. Old. Usual. Things. We. frickin. know. by. now.

And an old professor imitated the pubescent voice of a disorganized young college student "but professor, i lost the form." I watched this, thinking - "wow. what do you really think of kids my age?"

(Most) professors don't have high expectations of their students. And if they have any sort of expectations, they don't have respect.

Arnold Schoenburg, known for the New Viennese School of music (maybe best known for developing 12-tone theory), wrote a textbook, Theory of Harmony - but the preface is a lovely! article about teaching and comfort and... a lot of other things, but there was a quote that really stood out to me.

"But the teacher must have the courage to admit his own mistakes. He does not have to pose as infallible, as one who knows all and never errs; he must rather be tireless, constantly searching,perhaps sometimes finding. Why pose as a demigod? Why not be, rather, fully human?"

I love this. So many teachers, out of insecurity, don't admit when they're wrong, or even that they are capable. Perhaps they think if they admit mistakes, they get too chummy and too much on the level of the student, therefore losing the students respect.

So in my transition from student to teacher -

where is the balance? Where is the fine line that a teacher must stay on? I have a professor who has done it. But I can't see specifically what he does that makes him different, just that he is. different.

Later in that abovementioned preface, Schoenberg says "A teacher who does not exert himself, because he tells only 'what he knows', does not exert his pupils either. Action must start with the teacher himself; his unrest must infect the pupils. Then they will search as he does."

maybe that's the key.

youre like coming home

One more picture, a new addition to the apartment.

And unexpectedly, these two things (coffee table and mulled cider candle) really felt like the last puzzle piece to making my house a home. (and a good book doesnt hurt much either)

....wishing for christmastime, as always at this time of year.

i am weary, let me rest

when i was a little girl, it was general knowledge that my poppop was the strongest man in the world. (and daddy was the second strongest)

when the strongest man in the world cries, what else can you do but cry with him and wonder at the absolute fragility of our human life?

new, new, new

make new friends, but keep the old- one is silver, the other gold.

new dress.
new photos.
new computer.
new music.
theres a taco bell in the mall now.
new friends.
old friends.

Change, of course, is one of those inevitable things in life that people either roll with or fight against, but like a runaway train you just arent superman. Its gonna win either way.

Our culture likes new things. To distract us from the loss of old things, I guess. One of the weird things about this age is, you get to see things from your childhood slowly being chipped away from your soul. Like the wendys that is now a walgreens. I had a frosty at that wendy's right before my first kiss. Anne Arundel County doesnt care about my memories, though.

In our culture, we are toughened against feeling melancholy for the loss of old things. Whatever sentimentality we might feel is brief, and we are taught to slap a bandaid on it by replacing it with something new.

I'm copying some christmas music onto my computer. Hammered dulcimers always make me think of christmas. I really like christmas, because its one of the things right now that doesnt really change. Yeah, I mean Lizza's married now, but that wont change the fact that we'll still hide the stockings and eat coffee cake on christmas morning, and open the kentucky presents on christmas eve, and stay up way too late at the late christmas service, and always get teary eyed when we sing silent night by candlelight. its good for some things to not change.

Change is good, but tradition is good too. I've been reading Christy (i needed something for the plane trip to maryland) and the highlanders in the story didnt want change. But they had someone come in and compromise with them as far as what they needed to change for their own good, and what they could keep. They had a little more control. We, however, are slaves to the media.

sorry for the disjointedness of this post. I havent blogged in a while, and sometime soon I'll give you a tour of my "new" apartment (since i promised to months ago and didnt)

are you ready to pay years of dues before you get where you're going?

i hate that we're raised to expect instant gratification. it really, really, just comes back to kick us in the butt when real life hits.

shoulder the burden. let's go.