Update on Miss Adie

I told you previously about my colleague's new daughter who was born at 30 weeks.

She is growing and prospering and thriving from lots of "kangaroo care". I had never heard of kangaroo care before, but am quite impressed by this practice.

Miss Adie ("ADD-ee") is now five weeks old and weighs in at a whopping four pounds, eight ounces. As soon as she can remember to breathe all the time, she'll be able to come home and spend time with her big sister. Her parents are hopeful this will occur within a couple of weeks.

Good job, Adie.

Six Months' Planning Window

It's April. That means in six months PianoLady (my college piano duet partner) and I will meet on Broadway for our annual NYC weekend. We chatted at length last night about potential shows to see this year. Oh, and aging. She turns 60 twenty days before I do. She has two children in college and one still in high school. I have grandchildren who are almost 9 and 7 and think they're teenagers (not that there's anything wrong with that)!

As I reminisced about previous years' trips and the shows we've seen, I wanted to listen to some wonderful music again, so loaded "The Light in the Piazza" soundtrack onto my iPhone. Oh, how luscious this music is. Adam Guettel—yet another incredibly talented Interlochen alum—did a brilliant job on this score.

And, for the first time since first hearing this lovely music in 2005, I have someone in my life. A someone about whom I can say, "You are good. You are good to me."

If you want to spend 99 cents on something quite wonderful, download "Say It Somehow" and listen. Or download any of the songs from "The Light in the Piazza." It's, simply, fabulous.

[Clara]
Why don't you trace it on my hand
Or make a song
Do anything

Say it somehow
I will understand
I know you

You are good

[Fabrizio]
The song inside you
This I know
It's like a melody
Like there you go just now

Say it somehow
Somehow you can show me

[Both]
Say it somehow
Anyway you can
You know me
You are good
Oh, you are good
You are good to me

I know this sound
Of touch me
I think I hear
The sound of love
Your arms around me

Ah

Shout and dance
With wings

[Clara]
Or say it silently

[Fabrizio]
Tell me things

I keep the musical score on my piano. Two weeks ago, Ridley was playing the piano and looked up at the book. She picked it up and read aloud, "The Light in the Pizza." I laughed 'til tears were streaming down my cheeks.

PianoLady and I are thinking maybe this is the year for the "West Side Story" revival.

What's your suggestion?
- - - - - - - - - -
P.S. PianoLady did some preliminary searching, and determined that the West Side Story run appears to be ending in September, before our October trip. More searching ahead.

Changing Plans

For most of 2009, I was feeling rather mopey about turning 60. I knew 60 was just around the corner, and I didn't want to get anywhere near that corner. So when I heard about the WYSU Enchanting Ireland tour, and especially when I realized my birthday would arrive while the tour was in Ireland, I signed up. I figured I was going to be alone for the rest of my life and I might as well just suck it up and enjoy the ride. I paid my deposit and bought a guidebook to Ireland.

In late September, my Tucson girlfriend, Gail, traveled to south central Ohio for her aunt's memorial service. Gail and I met for brunch on Sunday and spent delightful hours together. Gail is a former flight attendant, and when I told her about the trip to Ireland, she eagerly asked, "Would you like me to go with you?" We've traveled together before and are very compatible. I thought it was a great idea, and we began making our plans.

Then the new year arrived and my world turned upside-down when I met the Jazzman. As he and I became dearer and dearer to each other, I felt sad each time I thought of being away from him for two weeks—and especially over my 60th birthday—for the trip to Ireland. When he went to Florida in late March for a week of golf, the impending two-week absence became more real, and more dreaded. But Gail and I had made our plans, and I knew we would have a great time.

Then last Sunday Gail called and told me about a recent health issue that may require surgery and an extended recuperation. "Jan," she said gently, "I may have to cancel the trip." I felt incredibly-mixed emotions. Here was a dear friend undergoing an enormous health threat, and simultaneously here was a chance to get out of the trip so I could spend my birthday with my beau while not being untrue to my girlfriend. I could be a good, true and loyal friend and still get what I wanted.

So after a handful of phone calls over several days with Gail, and a handful of e-mails to the WYSU tour contact, I have cancelled my June trip to Ireland. I've sent Gail my best wishes and will continue to check in with her and follow up. She's suggested she might just fly up here on June 22nd so we can find an Irish pub and celebrate our lives. And I've asked the Jazzman if he'll take me out for my birthday.

I told Gail I firmly believe that things work out the way they're supposed to. So we're going to believe that, for her, that means that early diagnosis is the key and she'll have a long and happy life ahead.

Gettin' My Scheisse Together

We visited the Jazzman's mother on Saturday afternoon. She has a sweet little condo southeast of Columbus. The size of the unit is probably about 1100 square feet—about the size of the condo FOMC and I had in Sarasota when our boys were about two and four. But the woman has a walk-in closet, and it's immaculate. I covet her walk-in closet!

My large 1927 home has a small closet in each of the four bedrooms. To supplement that, I have a large antique armoire and a double dresser in my bedroom. And I have a hanging rack in the basement. And, yet, I have stuff everywhere. Clothes everywhere. I've started putting all my handcrafted [hand-dyed quilted silk] jackets in the closet in the grandkids' room. But that doesn't solve the problem. That's the closest I've come to sorting my wardrobe. There is no plan.

I start putting, for example, t-shirts in one drawer and sweaters in another. But then the drawer gets full, and both t-shirts and sweaters go into a third drawer. So when I want a specific t-shirt, as I did this morning, I simply cannot find it. I quickly riffle through three drawers, and am unable to find the shirt I'm looking for, so I totally change what I plan to wear that day.

A similar situation occurs in my sewing room. My very long workday dictates that I have minimal time for sewing. I sit down to work on a project, and I can't find something I need for a specific task. I start digging through drawers and boxes, then shelves and storage bins, and I cannot find the tool I seek. I waste half an hour looking for the tool and by the time I find it, my available time is exhausted.

My stuff expands to fill all available space. I am a space junkie. I need SpaceEaters Anonymous!

I've been working since the first of January to keep my house in an orderly fashion, such that if someone knocked on my door I would not be embarrassed to ask him or her into my home. I've kept that up for three months. I guess now it's time to apply that same concept to my closets.

I'm not sure where or how to start. I didn't develop this tendency overnight, and I'm probably not going to be able to solve the problem overnight. But it's got to stop. Got. To. Stop.

By documenting the problem in this space, maybe I'll give myself the kick in the butt that I need to start the process.

Now I'm committed to reporting in on my progress. Hold me to it, okay?

Trip Report: Easter with the Fam

The Jazzman and I drove to Columbus on Saturday afternoon to spend Easter with his family. His mother, two brothers and their wives, and one of his nieces (with two daughters) all live in the Columbus area. The [younger] second niece flew in from Minneapolis for the weekend.

We stopped at his brother's office, then grabbed a Reuben at the deli across the street. Next stop, Columbus Museum of Art to feast our eyes on some Chihuly: bowls inspired by Native American blankets and baskets, chandeliers, and Mille Fiore. I try to never pass up an opportunity to admire beautiful glass. Next we checked into the hotel, then headed down to Canal Winchester to visit with his mother, returning back to the brother's house in German Village so I could meet his sister-in-law and the younger niece. The other niece arrived in a few minutes with her boyfriend, and we grabbed a cab to the Short North for the gallery hop, drinks at one bar, dinner at a Greek restaurant, and a birthday party at another bar. By 10:00 I was exhausted and we bowed out of the party, grabbed a cab and settled into our hotel.

Sunday morning, his brother, sister-in-law and the younger niece walked over, and we walked down High Street to First Watch for breakfast. While they attended mass, we checked out of the hotel and headed to the Book Nook for some serious browsing. Soon church was over and the entire family, including the older niece's two daughters and her boyfriend's two daughters, assembled back at the house and drove to the Athletic Club for a way-too-much-food Easter brunch, including Easter bunny and chocolate fountain. Back to the house, where the little girls opened their Easter baskets, I played a few pieces on the piano, the Jazzman and I changed clothes, and we left to drive back to Ytown.

The Jazzman drove for the entire trip, giving me the gift of time to knit. It also gave us lots of uninterrupted time to talk about repairs and repurposing that need to be done around my old home. This is our second trip together, with the third coming up next weekend—a Cirque de Soleil performance in Cleveland and overnight with seven other couples. We've decided we enjoy traveling together and do it well.

I think the nicest thing I got out of the weekend was when one of the sisters-in-law said, "Welcome to the family." The iffiest was when one of the nieces said, "I hope Uncle Jazz keeps you until December so you can play Christmas carols for us to sing." I laughed.

I close with a treat for your eyes: Chihuly Mille Fiore currently on display at the Columbus Museum of Art.

Enjoyable Reading: Happens Every Day

The Professor e-mailed me the other day with another book selection. This man and I only dated for about six weeks, but we'll be friends forever. He has a sixth sense for the songs and books that interest me and is quick to send me suggestions. This one hit the mark, totally!

The book is Isabel Gillies' "Happens Every Day," a memoir of the life and death of her marriage. Much of the action takes place in Oberlin, Ohio, a sweet small college town where it seems nothing could go wrong. Or quite this wrong. The book opens with Gillies' husband hanging dozens of family pictures in the bathroom, which immediately got me thinking about the downstairs powder room in my house and how I could give it some character.

I tend to lose myself in books. I love reading books and watching movies that are set in places I know. Tyler and I visited Oberlin when he was college-shopping but, as I remember, he felt it would be Interlochen South and wanted to break out of that mode. Plus Youngstown wanted him badly and made him an offer I couldn't refuse. But I digress.

I've dated plenty of men who, I joke, had "Scoundrel" tattooed on their foreheads. Gillies' former husband, Josiah, is just such a man, a man with no ethics or moral fiber. The Professor, in giving me his take on the book, referred to him as a "world class narcissistic coward." Powerful words.

I'm about halfway through "Happens Every Day," and loving every word Gillies has written. I hope she will write more, as I like her style and feel it is similar to my [blog-]writing style.

As I was doing a Google search to find out more about her, I noticed that her book was listed on NPR's Fresh Air's Top Ten Books. I will definitely have to explore that list some more, if all those books are of this caliber.


What are you reading?

Knock, Knock

Happy April Fool's Day

I am particularly partial to jokes with a musical twist. I'll share several with you today.

The first is particularly sophomoric. My daddy would tell it in the operating room, and I remember my high school boyfriend's sister complaining after hearing it when she was a student nurse making her circulation through my daddy's operating room.

There was this guy who got three kittens. He named the first "Fluffy" because he was the fluffiest. He named the second "Sleepy" because he was the sleepiest. And he named the third "Liberace" because he was the pianist. (Peeingest—get it?")

That joke never failed to make me laugh. I guess that tells you how rigidly we were raised in the South if someone found that to be a risqué joke!

I learned my next favorite musical joke when I was about 18, and it remains on my top five list of told and retold jokes.

Knock, Knock.
Who's there?
Sam and Janet.
Sam and Janet who?
Sam and Janet Evening (sung to the tune of "Some Enchanted Evening")

Love that joke!!

There's another one about Roy Rogers, wearing his fabulous, expensive new cowboy boots, hopping on Trigger and riding out through the desert where a puma runs up and grabs his new boots off his feet and runs off. Roy continues riding through the desert trying to find the puma so he can get his boots back. The punch line is "Pardon ie, Roy, is that the cat that chewed your new shoes?", sung to the tune of Chattanooga Choo Choo. The musical aspect tickles me, but there's also the length of the joke. It's one of those you can just drag on and on by throwing in more and more details, thus making the punch line completely unexpected.

There's another my DC singer ex-IBMer friend Rob likes to tell about C, E-flat, and G walking into a bar. The bartender looks at them and says, "I'm sorry, we don't serve minors." That joke can also be extended with more musical twists by changing the names of the notes who walk in. Major, minor, augmented, diminished. Love it!

The book I'm reading, and not really enjoying, gave me one more musical joke.

A guy is alone for Christmas, so he goes to a diner to treat himself to a little Christmas breakfast. He orders the Eggs Benedict. A little while later, the waiter brings his meal in a hubcap. He looks at it and says, "Hey man, what's with the hubcap?" And the waiter replies, "There's no plate like chrome for the Hollandaise."

Get it? "There's no place like home for the holidays."

Okay, I guess you gotta be a musician with a sick sense of humor to enjoy these.

Ridley, almost seven years old, said se was going to play an April Fool's joke on her daddy by telling him it was a day off from work. I told her that wouldn't work for someone who worked for himself. I don't think she got it. Ah, the innocence of youth.

And now that I've told you the joke from the book I'm reading, I can finally delete it from my iPhone without finishing it. The luxury of age is not having to slog through a book just because you bought it!

Feel free to comment back here with your favorite joke. Or just enjoy the silliness going on all around you today.

(Thanks to Rob for e-mailing me the corrections to today's post.)