Yesterday was the Pi Beta Phi Founders' Day luncheon for the Tucson club. I was one of the organizers for this event and, as the resident geek, one of my tasks was to print the programs. I went to Office Whatever on Saturday evening and got nice marble-printed paper that I thought would look nice. I got up at 5:30 on Sunday morning to start the print job. The first side (150 copies) printed perfectly, but when I flipped the stack of sheets over to print the reverse, the printer jammed with each sheet. After an hour of trying, I gave up, got dressed, and headed to Kinko's. I walked in, saying I had a crisis, and 15 minutes walked out with 150 perfectly printed and folder programs.
Then I headed for Starbucks to get my Sunday morning smiles.
I was wearing my newest creation, a coral shibori-dyed, sashiko-quilted jacket embellished with silk-screening outside and in. I have somewhere between 40 and 80 hours of work in this jacket and I absolutely love it. As I approached the door of Starbucks, a diminutive (read: cute and petite) woman was talking on her phone and held the door for me. She stopped her conversation to say, "great jacket." I replied, "thanks, I made it." I placed my mocha and scone order and was standing in line waiting for the mocha to be prepared. The woman, now finished with her conversation, came over and asked me to tell her more about the jacket. She is also a fiber person, but not as avid as I. She described the ways she improved her wedding gown ten years ago, how she removed the paste pearls and embellished with freshwater pearls, and so on. After she got her coffee, she came and sat with me and we talked for another half an hour.
She is an R.N. but getting very active in the holistic community in Tucson. She's involved in publishing a directory of holistic activities and practitioners in Tucson, and she's an absolutely fascinating woman.
So this week my happy place gave me not only smiles but a new friend.
Oh, and the luncheon? It went off without a hitch. We had about 100 of the Arizona Alpha actives (members of the collegiate chapter) in attendance — the largest number of actives who have attended this event in my seven years in Tucson. We recognized five women who have reached 50 years of Pi Phi membership this year. The only sadness of the day was that one of the five, my friend Pat Davis, couldn't attend, as she is in hospice with ovarian cancer, not expected to last out the week. My heart goes out to her sister, Ginny Wolfe, and her husband, Baird Davis.
I live for the day we find a cure for cancer.
Monday, April 30, 2007
Saturday, April 28, 2007
Mourning the Loss of a Musical Giant
I was deeply saddened this week to hear of the death of Mstislav Rostropovich, our beloved Slava. Anyone who ever performed under his baton knew him as Slava. The delight in his eyes when we sang particularly well or provided phrasing just as he wanted gave those of us in the chorus such joy.
What I loved the most was seeing the hugs and kisses he gave to the soloists and to Bob Shafer, when Bob came out to be acknowledged for his preparation of the chorus. To describe Slava as effusive is understating the enthusiasm and absolute bone-deep love he brought to his music-making.
What fun to read his daughter's statement:
"He is a passionate man and he has a real lust for life, and his
marriage is stronger because of it," his daughter Olga said when
asked by the Internet Cello Society in 2003 about his love for the
five Fs - "fiddles, food, females, friends and fodka."
I'll share with you three articles, if you're interested in reading more about this genius of a musician.
ABC News International
Lambert Orkis's memories
Transcript of Tim Page's online chat, "Rostropovich Remembered"
What I loved the most was seeing the hugs and kisses he gave to the soloists and to Bob Shafer, when Bob came out to be acknowledged for his preparation of the chorus. To describe Slava as effusive is understating the enthusiasm and absolute bone-deep love he brought to his music-making.
What fun to read his daughter's statement:
"He is a passionate man and he has a real lust for life, and his
marriage is stronger because of it," his daughter Olga said when
asked by the Internet Cello Society in 2003 about his love for the
five Fs - "fiddles, food, females, friends and fodka."
I'll share with you three articles, if you're interested in reading more about this genius of a musician.
ABC News International
Lambert Orkis's memories
Transcript of Tim Page's online chat, "Rostropovich Remembered"
Spring in Tucson
I believe spring in Tucson means it still drops below 70 degrees at night, even though it rises into the 90s during the day.
I've seen this greenery outside my back door ever since I moved in and always wondered what it was. Now I know — it's an amaryllis. I just noticed the bloom yesterday, and send my thanks to Eileen and Jacki or whatever previous owner planted it. It's gorgeous!
I wish I could send you the fragrance of the star jasmine in the background. When I was growing up in Florida, these were called Confederate jasmine and I've always loved them. Maybe in Web 4.0 I'll be able to send you fragrances.
I've seen this greenery outside my back door ever since I moved in and always wondered what it was. Now I know — it's an amaryllis. I just noticed the bloom yesterday, and send my thanks to Eileen and Jacki or whatever previous owner planted it. It's gorgeous!
I wish I could send you the fragrance of the star jasmine in the background. When I was growing up in Florida, these were called Confederate jasmine and I've always loved them. Maybe in Web 4.0 I'll be able to send you fragrances.
Friday, April 27, 2007
Timely E-mails
I received an e-mail from Williams-Sonoma today suggesting I enroll in a class at the local W-S store:
SUNDAY, MAY 6
Knife Skills
Kitchen cutlery is redefined by each generation of cooks. Knowing which knife to use, how to hold it, and the proper way to slice, dice and chop are some of the basics this class will cover.
How did they know I needed this class?
SUNDAY, MAY 6
Knife Skills
Kitchen cutlery is redefined by each generation of cooks. Knowing which knife to use, how to hold it, and the proper way to slice, dice and chop are some of the basics this class will cover.
How did they know I needed this class?
Doctor, Plumber, Indian Chief
I cut my thumb yesterday. I was cutting my post-lunch apple, and got a little too enthusiastic with the knife. Now I have a ½" slit in my thumb and Steri-Strips holding it together for a few days until it stays together on its own.
I sat holding it through our weekly team meeting until about an hour-and-a-half had passed from the stabbing and it was still bleeding. Then I pinged my boss and e-mailed my team to tell them I was leaving to go to Urgent Care. In my e-mail to the team, I said, "Stop laughing - I am NOT a cook. I do many things well, but food-related things are not included in that list!"
So I got to Urgent Care and sat for over an hour before the doctor came in. Never mind that there was only one other patient in the whole facility. Thank God for iPods and newly downloaded SciFi novels.
When the doctor came in, he looked, evaluated, and then reached up into the cupboard to get the supplies he needed. Watch out! His too-short, untucked polo shirt rose up and his sagging pants were revealed, hanging way too low on his butt. Honey, I don't even want to see cracks like that on my plumber, much less on my doctor!
One thing about my daddy, the doctor. Boy, did he dress. It was even mentioned at his memorial service — what a fabulous wardrobe he had and how well he wore those fine threads. He would never have gone into the office without a tie, much less in an untucked polo shirt. Hmmm, did he even own a polo shirt? I don't think so. I think he wore freshly laundered and pressed button-down collar shirts when he went fishing. And the now-common practice of doctors wearing scrubs in the office? Never! The only time Daddy wore scrubs was when he actually scrubbed in to surgery and wore hospital-provided scrubs. He did not own a pair of scrubs. (The more I read and reread this post as I'm editing it, I cannot remember ever seeing Daddy in a t-shirt. I only ever saw him in cotton shirts that buttoned down the front. Freshly-pressed cotton shirts.)
He and Mother built a new house shortly after they got me and moved in at the end of 1951, when I was 18 months old. The house was on two acres on the shore of Lake Maitland. My brothers shared a bedroom that was big enough for two double beds and lots of space besides. Picture a hotel room with two doubles, then increase that size by 50% — that was the size of my brothers' room. Both my brothers' room and my parents' room had walk-in closets, a concept I believe was fairly new in that era. At one end of Mother and Daddy's closet were built-in drawers, 30" or 36" wide, for Daddy's underwear, topped by about six shallow drawers for all Daddy's ties. When he first put on a tie at 6:00 a.m., he would fastidiously tie it in a Windsor or half-Windsor or whatever. Then when he would get home at 11:00 that night, he would loosen the tie and place it in the drawer still tied. The next time he chose to wear that tie, his morning routine went a little faster. He would only untie his ties when he sent them to the cleaner. Lazy? Nah. Expeditious.
Maybe this is a standard guy-thing to do, but I've had four husbands and seen the way a few other guys live, and I've never observed this practice elsewhere.
Back to scrubs and surgery. Southern Missionary College (now Southern Adventist University), where I spent my first miserable year of college, had a nursing program. The student nurses pursuing a B.S. degree would spend their junior year in Orlando at Florida Hospital. I had friends who went through the program and would tell me stories about my daddy. In fact, my high school boyfriend, Jim Seeley, now a doctor in Tennesee, got mad at me once because my daddy had told an off-color joke in the operating room when his sister was doing her rotation there.
<Sidebar On>
The sort of "off-color" joke that Daddy would tell while in surgery:
A guy's cat had three kittens. He named one Fluffy 'cause he was the fluffiest. He named the next one Sleepy 'cause he was the sleepiest. He named the last one Liberace 'cause he was the peeing-est (er, pianist — get it?).
Okay, in 1966 as a fledgling pianist, I thought the joke was great.
<Sidebar Off>
One other story about Daddy and his surgery routines. I think this story comes courtesy of my best friend Gail. When Daddy changed into his scrubs, he would put on the pair of shoes he had worn in medical school the first time he performed surgery. He would wear these as he scrubbed and walked into the operating room. Then he would walk up to the operating table, where a warm blanket had been placed on the floor. He would step out of his ancient shoes, and stand on the warm blanket while he worked. Some people may have thought that rather wierd. I find it charming.
Back to my thumb — here's the good news. I've realized today that one can type without using the left thumb. Woo hoo!
I sat holding it through our weekly team meeting until about an hour-and-a-half had passed from the stabbing and it was still bleeding. Then I pinged my boss and e-mailed my team to tell them I was leaving to go to Urgent Care. In my e-mail to the team, I said, "Stop laughing - I am NOT a cook. I do many things well, but food-related things are not included in that list!"
So I got to Urgent Care and sat for over an hour before the doctor came in. Never mind that there was only one other patient in the whole facility. Thank God for iPods and newly downloaded SciFi novels.
When the doctor came in, he looked, evaluated, and then reached up into the cupboard to get the supplies he needed. Watch out! His too-short, untucked polo shirt rose up and his sagging pants were revealed, hanging way too low on his butt. Honey, I don't even want to see cracks like that on my plumber, much less on my doctor!
One thing about my daddy, the doctor. Boy, did he dress. It was even mentioned at his memorial service — what a fabulous wardrobe he had and how well he wore those fine threads. He would never have gone into the office without a tie, much less in an untucked polo shirt. Hmmm, did he even own a polo shirt? I don't think so. I think he wore freshly laundered and pressed button-down collar shirts when he went fishing. And the now-common practice of doctors wearing scrubs in the office? Never! The only time Daddy wore scrubs was when he actually scrubbed in to surgery and wore hospital-provided scrubs. He did not own a pair of scrubs. (The more I read and reread this post as I'm editing it, I cannot remember ever seeing Daddy in a t-shirt. I only ever saw him in cotton shirts that buttoned down the front. Freshly-pressed cotton shirts.)
He and Mother built a new house shortly after they got me and moved in at the end of 1951, when I was 18 months old. The house was on two acres on the shore of Lake Maitland. My brothers shared a bedroom that was big enough for two double beds and lots of space besides. Picture a hotel room with two doubles, then increase that size by 50% — that was the size of my brothers' room. Both my brothers' room and my parents' room had walk-in closets, a concept I believe was fairly new in that era. At one end of Mother and Daddy's closet were built-in drawers, 30" or 36" wide, for Daddy's underwear, topped by about six shallow drawers for all Daddy's ties. When he first put on a tie at 6:00 a.m., he would fastidiously tie it in a Windsor or half-Windsor or whatever. Then when he would get home at 11:00 that night, he would loosen the tie and place it in the drawer still tied. The next time he chose to wear that tie, his morning routine went a little faster. He would only untie his ties when he sent them to the cleaner. Lazy? Nah. Expeditious.
Maybe this is a standard guy-thing to do, but I've had four husbands and seen the way a few other guys live, and I've never observed this practice elsewhere.
Back to scrubs and surgery. Southern Missionary College (now Southern Adventist University), where I spent my first miserable year of college, had a nursing program. The student nurses pursuing a B.S. degree would spend their junior year in Orlando at Florida Hospital. I had friends who went through the program and would tell me stories about my daddy. In fact, my high school boyfriend, Jim Seeley, now a doctor in Tennesee, got mad at me once because my daddy had told an off-color joke in the operating room when his sister was doing her rotation there.
<Sidebar On>
The sort of "off-color" joke that Daddy would tell while in surgery:
A guy's cat had three kittens. He named one Fluffy 'cause he was the fluffiest. He named the next one Sleepy 'cause he was the sleepiest. He named the last one Liberace 'cause he was the peeing-est (er, pianist — get it?).
Okay, in 1966 as a fledgling pianist, I thought the joke was great.
<Sidebar Off>
One other story about Daddy and his surgery routines. I think this story comes courtesy of my best friend Gail. When Daddy changed into his scrubs, he would put on the pair of shoes he had worn in medical school the first time he performed surgery. He would wear these as he scrubbed and walked into the operating room. Then he would walk up to the operating table, where a warm blanket had been placed on the floor. He would step out of his ancient shoes, and stand on the warm blanket while he worked. Some people may have thought that rather wierd. I find it charming.
Back to my thumb — here's the good news. I've realized today that one can type without using the left thumb. Woo hoo!
Thursday, April 26, 2007
Go Figure!
When Mr. Match and I were seriously involved, about the July-September time frame last year, I became pixel pals with his daughter. Jennifer is 25 and pursuing a second bachelor's degree, this time at University of Georgia in Athens. Her first degree is from Univ. of Central Florida - yet another small coincidence in these interconnected lives.
She and I became cyberfriends as we share a lot of interests in common, primarily fabric dyeing. She said to me several times that she and her mom hoped Mr. Match would grow up with the dissolution of his last relationship. Jenn has let her dad know how much she likes me, over all the other women in his life.
She had e-mailed me a couple of weeks ago to let me know she'll be visiting Tucson in mid-May to see her dad and run up to visit the architecture school at ASU. She asked if we could have lunch or coffee or something and I quickly responded in the affirmative. She will bring a friend with her, as Jenn has vision problems and cannot drive. The friend will drive to Tempe for the school visit and for whatever sightseeing they do in Tucson.
When Mr. Match was over the other night, he expressed concern over hosting two grad students in his one-bedroom, one-bath apartment. He's not crazy about sharing his bathroom with anyone. He also said his ex-fiancé had offered to host them, but he was reticent about that and didn't know how comfortable Jenn would be in that situation. So I told him I have a guest room with two twin beds and they would be welcome to stay with me and have their own bath. He expressed interest and I told him I'd make the offer to Jenn. So the next morning I sent a quick Facebook message off to her, and within minutes heard back that they'd love to stay with me.
I just find this all very interesting, all the old concerned-parties who are surfacing.
The other fun, strange thing was what he called me when he was over the other night. He called me "Crewser." He's never done that before. How did he intuit that my closest friends in high school called me Crewser, and three weeks ago at the reunion it resurfaced. I've never told him that!
Odd. My life is odd.
She and I became cyberfriends as we share a lot of interests in common, primarily fabric dyeing. She said to me several times that she and her mom hoped Mr. Match would grow up with the dissolution of his last relationship. Jenn has let her dad know how much she likes me, over all the other women in his life.
She had e-mailed me a couple of weeks ago to let me know she'll be visiting Tucson in mid-May to see her dad and run up to visit the architecture school at ASU. She asked if we could have lunch or coffee or something and I quickly responded in the affirmative. She will bring a friend with her, as Jenn has vision problems and cannot drive. The friend will drive to Tempe for the school visit and for whatever sightseeing they do in Tucson.
When Mr. Match was over the other night, he expressed concern over hosting two grad students in his one-bedroom, one-bath apartment. He's not crazy about sharing his bathroom with anyone. He also said his ex-fiancé had offered to host them, but he was reticent about that and didn't know how comfortable Jenn would be in that situation. So I told him I have a guest room with two twin beds and they would be welcome to stay with me and have their own bath. He expressed interest and I told him I'd make the offer to Jenn. So the next morning I sent a quick Facebook message off to her, and within minutes heard back that they'd love to stay with me.
I just find this all very interesting, all the old concerned-parties who are surfacing.
The other fun, strange thing was what he called me when he was over the other night. He called me "Crewser." He's never done that before. How did he intuit that my closest friends in high school called me Crewser, and three weeks ago at the reunion it resurfaced. I've never told him that!
Odd. My life is odd.
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
Wait! Let me get you a broom.
Well, I was shocked to receive a phone call on my way home last night. My phone doesn't ring these days. I use it to call my mother every morning and the babies every Sunday. Anyway, Mr. Match called. We chatted for a moment while I was driving and he said he'd call later. I didn't hold my breath. He called later! Asked my schedule for the next week or so, then suggested he come over for a drink after he ran a load of laundry. Oh, and apologized for standing me up a month ago. Yes, he could have made that phone call a month ago, but it is what it is.
He came over, I shook a martini, and it was a wonderful, old-shoe-comfortable evening, as it always is with him. As he left, he said he wants to see more of me.
I'll welcome it if it happens, but I'm not holding my breath.
(Do ya get the broom reference? He sweeps me off my feet!)
He came over, I shook a martini, and it was a wonderful, old-shoe-comfortable evening, as it always is with him. As he left, he said he wants to see more of me.
I'll welcome it if it happens, but I'm not holding my breath.
(Do ya get the broom reference? He sweeps me off my feet!)
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