tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-62801722011-09-02T10:59:55.840-04:00AndanteAs I walk briskly through life with open eyes and mind, observing all, experiencing much, and embracing the excellent...odessanoreply@blogger.comBlogger2381100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6280172.post-1121573019844368452005-07-17T00:01:00.000-04:002005-07-17T00:03:39.846-04:00Pure and undefiled religion before God and the Father is this:To visit the fatherless and widows in their affliction,And to keep himself unspotted from the world.---James 1:27odessanoreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6280172.post-1121572840910474782005-07-16T23:55:00.000-04:002005-07-17T00:00:40.916-04:00No matter how many times it happens, I am never used to people knowing my name and multiple things about my life when I don't recall even seeing them before. "Oh, you're Odessa, aren't you? And you. . .(etc, etc,.)" I am left guilty as charged, with no clue who the person is.Is this what it's like to be a celebrity?Okay, or not.odessanoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6280172.post-1121386163100809892005-07-14T20:08:00.000-04:002005-07-14T20:09:23.106-04:00If you're eating a peanut butter sandwich, it means that you're lonely.If it sticks to the roof of your mouth, you're extra lonely.---Charlie Brownodessanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6280172.post-1121310826382618702005-07-13T23:05:00.000-04:002005-07-13T23:13:46.390-04:00It's a silly tug-a-war between me and myselfSensibility keeps my feet glued on the floorBut imagination is blowing a breeze through my mindLifting my face in a smileLike a little yellow balloon in a blue skyThat sails away to the unknown world of lost balloons.Though Logic and Reason confer responsibly together,Laughter and Humor are amusedTelling each other secrets that make Reason stop to odessanoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6280172.post-1121309480267790122005-07-13T22:49:00.000-04:002005-07-13T22:51:20.266-04:00Another childhood friend has just become a father for the first time.Congrats on your baby girl, Jonathon!odessanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6280172.post-1121309335393729042005-07-13T22:46:00.000-04:002005-07-13T22:48:55.393-04:00The old man kept motioning with his hands every time I walked past his table. Though he was in full possession of speech, he insisted on gesturing at me. I'm not sure if he didn't want to talk, or was just giving me a hard time, but how was I to know that his wildly waving arms meant he needed a napkin?odessanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6280172.post-1121309122209503672005-07-13T22:39:00.000-04:002005-07-13T22:45:22.216-04:00I admit to my blog being painfully silent as of late. Well, as of the last month. I can't say I have any particular reason for the silence. No tragedy, no depression, no vacation, no work-a-holic bouts (a.k.a last summer), and no stupendous happenings that have made me forget my blog. I think perhaps I've just come through a phase where writing to myself was more important than writing to the odessanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6280172.post-1118885961305146582005-06-15T21:36:00.000-04:002005-06-15T21:39:21.306-04:00In Christ alone my hope is foundHe is my light, my strength, my songThis Cornerstone, this solid groundFirm through the fiercest drought and stormWhat heights of love, what depths of peaceWhen fears are stilled, when strivings ceaseMy Comforter, my All in AllHere in the love of Christ I standodessanoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6280172.post-1118885734331083922005-06-15T21:30:00.000-04:002005-06-15T21:36:11.736-04:00Conversation concerning me between the journeyman I was working with and another construction worker:Worker: "Oh, is that your helper?Derrick: "Yep.""Wow. I need to find myself a helper like that."(Laughs) "You'll have to talk to your boss, then. She's my boss' daughter.""Really? Well, I'd rather look at her all day than have to look at you."odessanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6280172.post-1118695953775748632005-06-13T16:25:00.000-04:002005-06-13T16:52:33.780-04:00It is the malady of living in a small town for the majority of your life: there multitudes of people you know, but then there are the mobs who think they know you. The younger generation of small town-ers usually fall into two groups; the ones who love the town, marry young, and stay for the rest of their lives, and then there are those who can't wait to "...shake the dust of this crummy little odessanoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6280172.post-1118694343027065532005-06-13T16:24:00.000-04:002005-06-13T16:25:43.033-04:00"Do you ever feel like a black tuxedo, except that you're the pair of brown shoes?"---George Cobel, Johnny Carson Show, 1965.odessanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6280172.post-1118368938984312582005-06-09T21:35:00.000-04:002005-06-09T22:02:18.990-04:00Being a poor student and working my way through college has led me to employment that I would normally never consider otherwise. Though perhaps not the most glamorous, however, most of them have brought at least a good laugh or two. Today brought my next employment adventure on my journey to graduating with no loans. Those of you who know me definitely have my permission to laugh when you read odessanoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6280172.post-1117753743730975302005-06-02T18:38:00.000-04:002005-06-02T19:09:03.736-04:00My sister and I just spent a glorious weekend in Victoria, BC, celebrating our birthday. I know I've posted about this before, but for those of you who are new to my blog, I say 'our' birthday not because we're twins, but because my birthday is the day after hers. We like each other so much that it never made sense to have our birthdays separately when we could have twice as much fun together. I odessanoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6280172.post-1117081341035021702005-05-26T00:17:00.000-04:002005-05-26T00:22:21.040-04:00I ate Oreos with my sister on our bedroom floor tonight, making our teeth black, spilling telltale crumbs on the carpet, and glorying in the scrumptious invention of crispy chocolate and creamy white filling. What would life be like without Oreos? I must confess they make me happy, just by eating them. If you ever see me sad and want to help the situation, bring me Oreos. I am positive that they odessanoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6280172.post-1117080958317799462005-05-26T00:11:00.000-04:002005-05-26T00:17:16.486-04:00As much as I love and celebrate the free will that God gave us, there are times when I wish I could override someone's free will. Not to control them by any means, but maybe to save them from themselves for just a moment. Just a brief small moment so they wouldn't have to live thousands of painful moments that result from actions they make in hasty foolishness. But that is all a part of the odessanoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6280172.post-1116788789843779132005-05-22T14:40:00.000-04:002005-05-22T15:06:29.846-04:00Since I've been away this semester, my family has begun attending a new church. This morning was only my second Sunday morning, so I sat with my family I looked around the congregation for anyone I knew, or anyone my age that looked interesting. There were plenty of senior citizens, a good number of middle-aged couples with families, and a smattering of people in my age bracket. I was getting odessanoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6280172.post-1116719956824292702005-05-21T19:21:00.000-04:002005-05-21T19:59:16.830-04:00I felt like a little kid again, going to the library with my mom and younger siblings. My hometown library is almost like an old friend, being a steadfast presence in my life up until I left for college. After that, the library has become more of a professional taskmaster than a friend; stuffy silence that constantly tells me I ought to be studying and as focused as possible. But that's a thoughtodessanoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6280172.post-1116545512330145452005-05-19T19:23:00.000-04:002005-05-20T00:14:42.290-04:00Our dishwasher at work has suddenly waxed philosophical in the last two days. He keeps asking random philosophical questions as I'm running in and out of the dishroom. I never know what he's going to say next, or how in the world it connects to what we're doing at the moment. Maybe washing dishes is conducive to working out the questions of life. Who knows. Here are the four he asked me today:odessanoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6280172.post-1116374680620193082005-05-17T19:58:00.000-04:002005-05-17T20:13:27.153-04:00Today a customer had me ask our chef if our Bouillabaise was good. His response? "Tell him my whole family comes from France, and it comes from being a chef for 28 years. It had better be damn good."odessanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6280172.post-1116372607188690652005-05-17T19:25:00.000-04:002005-05-17T19:56:09.713-04:00I feel bad for people who's lives are perpetually interrupted by misfortunes that they can't help. It's hard enough for me to deal with the random time I do something ignorantly stupid. Like today, when I found out that yesterday I accidentally unplugged our FREEZER instead of the copy machine. My sister called me and I immediately got that sudden sinking feeling as you realize that nothing you odessanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6280172.post-1116295818741381732005-05-16T21:58:00.000-04:002005-05-16T22:10:18.746-04:00I found this scrap of writing and was slightly amused. It was from my second freshman semester in the middle of nowhere, Alberta, in a 60 below zero winter. It was cold, to say the least. The class I was in when this was written must have been pretty boring too. Bad combination.My classroom journeyInside I sitThis hard deskMy captorOther's faces surround meFeigning interestMy own appearsTo pay odessanoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6280172.post-1116295015424312382005-05-16T21:46:00.000-04:002005-05-16T21:56:55.430-04:00This afternoon as my younger sister watched 'The Fox and the Hound', Charisa and I sat down for a few minutes and went down the memory lane of Disney childhood movies. While watching, we realized something: how is it that we know in every Disney movie that ever gave an animal a character which animals are ugly, beautiful, handsome, etc.? How is is that when the young Todd comes on the screen we odessanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6280172.post-1116122346168175792005-05-14T21:56:00.000-04:002005-05-14T21:59:06.340-04:00I realize this may sound like boasting, but I must celebrate. Against all odds, I actually made an A in Music History! Hooray for me! Cheering, clapping, yelling, laughing, whistling. . .okay, okay. . .so maybe I'm just a little excited.odessanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6280172.post-1116122143483236042005-05-14T21:39:00.000-04:002005-05-14T21:55:43.486-04:00I think every college student who has a personal website all post something about being home again for the summer. I've already read a couple posts that my friends have written with variations on the theme. With a lack of something else to write about, I suppose I shall join them. I've now been home five days, and finding old things I love, new things I have to think about, and memories I wonder odessanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6280172.post-1115780215551751982005-05-10T22:55:00.000-04:002005-05-10T22:56:55.556-04:00I'm finally home. . .sigh. . .it feels good.More to follow shortly. There's too much catching up to do right now.odessanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6280172.post-1115404515109843532005-05-06T14:31:00.000-04:002005-05-06T14:35:15.113-04:00I opened the cover and heard the crisp crack of the leather binding as it bend. I turned back the ivory page, wrote 'May, 2005 --- ', and smiled to mysef. Starting a new journal makes me happy, especially when they have leather binding and pictures of old Euorpean streets in them.Okay, so maybe that's a little dorky. But it's true.odessanoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6280172.post-1115149794263453132005-05-03T15:01:00.000-04:002005-05-03T15:49:54.266-04:00It's a strange feeling, this being completely finished with everything this semester. All papers are submitted, all juries are performed, all music is turned in, and all that is left is my locker of books that I have to haul home. And for the next five days what will I be doing? I don't know! It's a beautiful thought.After I accompanied my last jury (Ravel's Pavane) this afternoon, I went and hadodessanoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6280172.post-1115071260572432302005-05-02T17:54:00.000-04:002005-05-02T18:01:00.573-04:00Tomorrow it will all be over, officially. I accompany my last jury at 1:10 p.m. and then I am a free woman once again. La, what will life be like? Even now I feel a little strange with no classes and no homework. I sat in the library and chatted with some friends for two hours about absolutely nothing today. The wonderful thing about it was, I had nothing in the back of my mind telling me I odessanoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6280172.post-1114625672252176002005-04-27T14:03:00.000-04:002005-04-27T14:14:32.253-04:00Crazy things I find myself doing at the end of the semester:Having conversations about the techniques of making grilled cheese sandwiches withco-workers. And not just a short conversation, it moved into the techniques of other sandwich making. Sad.Going to McD's at 11 p.m. to get a Happy Meal so I can get the little kitten inside. The sad part is, I was really excited about it.Eating hamburgers odessanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6280172.post-1114204363452400192005-04-22T17:11:00.000-04:002005-04-22T17:13:02.120-04:00Congratulations to me. . .I competed in a regional vocal competition this afternoon and have advanced to the state level! As Mr. Deaton said, "Now we get to go on a field trip." Wish me luck!odessanoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6280172.post-1114108788127129202005-04-21T14:38:00.000-04:002005-04-21T14:39:48.126-04:00Grace come over me. . .odessanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6280172.post-1113955304178980892005-04-19T19:57:00.000-04:002005-04-19T20:01:44.176-04:00I've officially begun the countdown. . .7 days until juries10 days until finals20 days until I am home (sigh)odessanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6280172.post-1113954942628753932005-04-19T19:44:00.000-04:002005-04-19T19:55:42.630-04:00I spotted them as I rode through town on my way home the other night. They were wrapped in each others arms, tenderly kissing in the closed coffee shop. It was just a snapshot I saw - a brief glance through the window as I rode by, but as I turned the corner I smiled to myself and almost envied them in a way. There was really nothing about them very extraordinary. Neither of them were movie starsodessanoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6280172.post-1113856555681471042005-04-18T16:29:00.000-04:002005-04-18T17:26:10.136-04:00Conversation between a friend and I after playing our music for each other. . ."It just needs an end now.""I know, but I always have a hard time ending songs.""Really? I can always write the end and never the beginning."Laughing"We should get together and put our songs together. That way we might actually have a whole song.". . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .In retrospect, I realize how odessanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6280172.post-1113684409409867432005-04-16T16:45:00.000-04:002005-04-16T16:46:49.410-04:00We stood around the music library counter and discussed Brie, es cargo, calamari, Sante Fe, the secret lives of great American composers, tux vests with snow flakes on them, ensemble outfits, and the need to have at least one non-music major friend.It was a Saturday afternoon as a music major.odessanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6280172.post-1113683210073240212005-04-16T16:03:00.000-04:002005-04-16T16:26:50.073-04:00Last week my mom sent me a care package full of healthy things to get me through until the end of the semester. Most of it came from the huge health food store at home called 'Sunny Farms'. She sent vitamins, granola bars, energy bars, Emergen-C, figs, trail mix --- all the wonderful munchy healthy stuff you can put in your book bag and not feel bad about eating in the middle of the day.Since odessanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6280172.post-1113516182186237942005-04-14T17:48:00.000-04:002005-04-14T21:41:33.176-04:00Holding my heart betrays meplays chess with my thoughtsnot a harsh gamebut slow and mischievousmaking me think without knowingdream without hopingi try to ignore itmy eyes tightly closedbut the musicsweet music i lovedplays over and over in my mindlike a dripping faucetlike the buzzing flyhitting the window again and againmusic that remindsmusic that criesabout dreams that find mein rainy odessanoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6280172.post-1112990746705566762005-04-08T16:01:00.000-04:002005-04-08T16:05:46.706-04:00Pope John Paul II's funeral-mass was held today in St. Peter's Square, Rome.May he rest in peace.odessanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6280172.post-1112990404492162512005-04-08T15:55:00.000-04:002005-04-08T16:08:22.616-04:00He likened the Agnus Dei to eating an incredibly fine rich dessert. There isn't much of it, but it is so intense that you know any more would be too much. We're not singing like we would eat four scoops of bannana pudding. We're singing it like we're savouring the smallest sliver of cheesecake.I never thought I would relate choral singing to eating, but it works. Maybe that's because we're all odessanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6280172.post-1112900463594651012005-04-07T14:48:00.000-04:002005-04-07T19:58:55.426-04:00I feel redundant posting about my latest lessons with M. Wittenburg, but the time I sit in his office once a week always proves to be the most interesting or surprising half hour of my week. I brought Debussy's Des pas sur la neige to him this week, full of delayed and deliberate emotion. It is pensive, vague, haunting, always searching but never lost. As always, he stops me about halfway down odessanoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6280172.post-1112884044766533462005-04-07T10:16:00.000-04:002005-04-07T14:47:46.353-04:00It's officially that point in the semester where everything in me wants to stop, slack off, sleep in, not care, skip class, etc, etc. . . I don't normally complain and rant on this web site about my personal everyday stresses, but I can't help myself. Besides, when I write it out it helps me laugh at myself. I'm almost done, but still have mountains of stuff to finish. I don't want to think aboutodessanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6280172.post-1112729046298407292005-04-05T15:15:00.000-04:002005-04-05T15:24:06.296-04:00sleepsettles softly on curvesof my pensive body.sleepslowly, vaguelydeeply woos.sleepconquers wayward thoughtcaptures lost emotion.sleepwhispers midnight blue secretsforgotten in the morning.sleepsettles softly on curvesof my pensive body.odessanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6280172.post-1112390608917334312005-04-01T16:11:00.000-05:002005-04-01T16:23:28.916-05:00I ride past him most week day mornings on my way to school. He has just gotten to the car maintenence shop, sitting in the rusty metal chair that is outside the door. He waits for the first customer to drive up in their slightly dusty sedan, asking for a wash or detailing job.I glance as I ride past, and he gives me a nod from underneath his greasy baseball cap. Maybe he wonders what I study. odessanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6280172.post-1112389597187416472005-04-01T16:02:00.000-05:002005-04-01T16:06:37.186-05:00I walked into Music History this morning and was greeted by Dr. Thomas telling us to take out a sheet of paper and write an essay on specifics of Igor Stravinsky's life and works. We began freaking out, madly scratching out everything we could think of, which wasn't much. Suddenly he chuckled. April Fools! We actually just have to write our names on the top of our paper and hand it in. Free 100 odessanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6280172.post-1112300495921733762005-03-31T14:53:00.000-05:002005-03-31T15:21:35.926-05:00In my piano lesson today, I felt as if I had entirely and utterly butchered Bach's Preludium. My notes felt like a pile of mush, varied with oddly misplaced accents and staccatos. It began in one tempo, and by the end we had slowed to a crawl. Where it should be Allegro, it was Lento. Maybe. Playing four melodic lines at the same time with ties and slurs and detatched notes in different places odessanoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6280172.post-1112233735298137882005-03-30T20:40:00.000-05:002005-03-31T10:20:24.943-05:00My birthday has become such an odd thing since I have moved away to school. Unlike all my lucky friends whose birthdays are in the summer, and therefore are with their families, mine falls right before the insanity of finals. I celebrate it in random moments and ways in between the non-stop flow of classes, practicing, and accompanying. Last night I called my sister to say 'Happy Birthday', and odessanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6280172.post-1112198771148431872005-03-30T11:04:00.000-05:002005-03-30T11:06:11.150-05:00Happy Birthday to me!odessanoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6280172.post-1111695212886171802005-03-24T15:12:00.000-05:002005-03-24T15:19:39.190-05:00Unexpected joy. . .I had a paycheck waiting for me that I didn't know existed! Money can be a marvelous thing.odessanoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6280172.post-1111632962093693342005-03-23T21:20:00.000-05:002005-03-24T15:20:02.253-05:00SamI seem to have a rather odd thing with people named Sam. I realized this today as I was talking to a friend (whose name is Sam), about two other of my friends named Sam. Here at Lee I know four Sams. They are as different from each other as night and day, yet I seem to hit it off marvelously with all of them.I laughed this afternoon while talking to Sam about Sam and Sam, remembering that evenodessanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6280172.post-1111630801194050862005-03-23T21:02:00.000-05:002005-03-23T21:20:01.196-05:00Easter break begins after school is over tomorrow. That means that after break we only have five more weeks of running around like chickens with our heads cut off. I ran into two friends today that I had hung out with a lot last semester. They asked me where in the world I had been. My answer? The music building. During a theory study session the other night, we all agreed that we should have odessanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6280172.post-1111013345608634482005-03-16T17:45:00.000-05:002005-03-16T17:50:05.436-05:00Is being paid to accompany people really worth it? Sometimes I wonder, especially when they throw twenty pages of music at me and want to perform it in competition the next day.I want to look at them and laugh.Instead, I sit in the practice room for hours.odessanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6280172.post-1109967671616717822005-03-04T15:19:00.000-05:002005-03-04T15:21:11.616-05:00I am leaving on Spring Break tour in 45 minutes as Ladies of Lee accompanist. . .Hooray!!! We're touring Boston, Philly, D.C., and NYC. Needless to say, I'm a little excited. Now if only the bus would show up. . .odessanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6280172.post-1109702905115477202005-03-01T13:47:00.000-05:002005-03-01T13:48:25.116-05:00I wake up and look out the door to see. . .SNOW!!!????Happy March 1st, everyone!odessanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6280172.post-1109370416232572152005-02-25T17:14:00.000-05:002005-02-25T17:26:56.233-05:00I decided on a whim to be irresponsible and skip Theory 4 this morning. I knew exactly what the class was going to be on, and it was nothing I hadn't learned before. Besides, I didn't have any absences or skipped any classes until now, and when a classmate begged me to skip with her, I agreed. We weren't sure what we were going to do because we normally live in the music building, but we were odessanoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6280172.post-1109294093878282272005-02-24T20:01:00.000-05:002005-02-25T17:12:22.070-05:00Thursday, 2 p.m.I go into M. Wittenburg's office for my piano lesson. He was late as usual, flying in the door with his Styrofoam coke cup and white paper bag of fast-food lunch. He typed madly on his computer for a few minutes, and then seated himself in his wooden rocking chair beside the piano. He apologized that I had to use a chair today; his piano bench was being used by the opera odessanoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6280172.post-1109184712839191632005-02-23T13:41:00.000-05:002005-02-23T20:30:03.133-05:00At 11:24 p.m. I quietly slid my key into the lock and eased open my door. It had been a rather uneventfully long day. I had just attended a violin, cello, and piano concert which had lasted a hour and a half longer than expected. Although it was a good concert, it had gone over the edge, especially when the musicians came back out for an encore that no one wanted them to play. So after practicingodessanoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6280172.post-1109085951961981562005-02-22T10:08:00.000-05:002005-02-22T13:47:56.036-05:00Passion and Shopping CartsI went to Dorm Wars 2005 last night, despite being an off campus student now. My roommate and I decided to go support our ex-dorm, Cross Hall, in the competitions between dorms in eating, shopping cart races, and obstacle courses. The basket ball court was packed with students in all sorts of costumes, from StarWars to Ghetto Chicks to quasi-River Dancers. As the night odessanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6280172.post-1109021549999579172005-02-21T16:27:00.000-05:002005-02-21T16:34:02.840-05:00Excitement of the day...I was selected along with five other vocalists in my choir to sing the internal chorus part in our performance of Mascagni's Regina Coeli. When Dr. Green began assigning parts to the internal choir this afternoon, I know I sat there with the 'please-pick-me-I-really-want-to-do-this' look on my face, but really didn't expect it. After all, there are quite a few other odessanoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6280172.post-1109020835032115722005-02-21T16:12:00.000-05:002005-02-21T16:20:35.033-05:00I was reading through my archives and came upon a post that describes exactly how I feel right now.We are all feeling it: the effects of a slow and rainy Saturday and Sunday followed by a overcast Monday and Tuesday. It's the feeling that the weekend had never really begun, and that Monday had brought nothing new either. We're all in the pre-Spring Break doldrums. We need something new, even if odessanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6280172.post-1108945820006459842005-02-20T19:27:00.000-05:002005-02-20T19:30:20.006-05:00I had written an entire post complaining about the monotony of my job, but have just deleted it. After getting to the end, I decided that no one (including myself) needs to read or think about my boredom and self-pity. Strangely enough, I felt much better now that the post is deleted. Somehow selecting 'delete' and watching all the text disappear helps the problem.odessanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6280172.post-1108853950448830972005-02-19T17:22:00.000-05:002005-02-19T17:59:10.450-05:00Familiar FeelingsFriday night found me in the place where all bored, good college students go: Barnes and Noble. We go to Barnes and Noble not to get away from school life (because there are way too many other students that are there), or to actually shop (because what college student has more than $5 to spend?) but perhaps to assure ourselves that there are still books that don't have anything odessanoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6280172.post-1108746125054763532005-02-18T11:52:00.000-05:002005-02-18T17:26:55.773-05:00I very much dislike having to watch someone I care about make unwise choices and know that nothing I say will make them change their minds. Even worse is seeing them living out the consequences, later realizing that everything they tried to deny is still a part of them, but now they have to work around their indiscretions. Everything in me wants to help them, to tell them the better way. Forget odessanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6280172.post-1108734178160843572005-02-18T08:37:00.000-05:002005-02-18T08:43:21.856-05:00Hurrying to school on a bike. . .One hand holding breakfast.One stair railing sticking out into the sidewalk.One brief moment on the sidewalk.One skinned knee.One bagel on the ground.One amused bystander.After riding my bike to school for seven months, I crash for the first time and strangely feel like a seven-year-old again.odessanoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6280172.post-1108688110203206512005-02-17T19:29:00.000-05:002005-02-18T17:30:09.793-05:00Men and SandwichesGenerally speaking, I don't complain about men, especially on this site. Guys normally make more sense to me than girls do, even though I happen to be one (a girl, that is). The other night I had a conversation on this topic with a newly made acquaintance, in which he confessed that though he knew a lot about women, he didn't understand them. I feel exactly the same way. That odessanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6280172.post-1108588945523488812005-02-16T16:16:00.000-05:002005-02-16T16:22:25.530-05:00The following is the text to an aria I am singing this semester. It's from The Medium. I scared myself the first time I sang it.The sun has fallen and it lies in blood.The moon is weaving bandages of gold.Oh black swan, Where, oh, where has my lover gone?Torn and tattered is my bridal gownAnd my lamp is lost.With silver needles and with silver thread,The stars stitch a shroud for the dying sun.Ohodessanoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6280172.post-1108588604313213072005-02-16T16:08:00.000-05:002005-02-16T16:16:44.313-05:00Today. . .Bought two boxes of Girl Scout cookies for the first time.Realized I that I not only like the color orange, but I like eating orange things. And I drink out of an orange water bottle (There's something about orange).Sneeze in the middle of accompanying the choir.Sing O Canada to myself.Compare Beethoven's Waldstien Sonata with Chopin's Etude in A minor.Consider flirting, and decide odessanoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6280172.post-1108399869898281162005-02-14T11:50:00.000-05:002005-02-15T10:21:55.323-05:00One misty, moisty morning, When cloudy was the weather, I chanced to meet an old man Clothed all in leather. He began to compliment, And I began to grin, How do you do? And how do you do? And how do you do, again?I thought of this childhood poem while I rode my bike to school this morning in the misty moisty fog. It isn't the dry, light fluffy fog, or the thick pea soup fog; it's the soggy wet, odessanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6280172.post-1108398748428826542005-02-14T11:31:00.000-05:002005-02-14T11:32:28.430-05:00Glory to the heavens! I somehow miraculously got an A on my Music History exam. Don't ask me how...I have no idea how it happened.odessanoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6280172.post-1108082840821335602005-02-10T19:42:00.000-05:002005-02-10T19:47:20.820-05:00Strangely enough, on the same night that I wrote the post below, a friend of mine posted something incredibly similar on his website. Go check it out if you want to think more about the subject of 'finding your true love'.
www.xanga.com/salyros.
odessanoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6280172.post-1107986565810390322005-02-09T16:51:00.000-05:002005-02-09T21:37:21.340-05:00What is this obsession that people my age have with 'finding the love of your life'? Or not even the one of your life, even the love of this semester. It seems to be a sub-culture that surrounds our daily lives - who likes who, who is with who, who your who was, and who your who should be. Will God tell you who, or will you just find out who? If you believe in waiting for your who, how long will odessanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6280172.post-1107892151398899082005-02-08T14:40:00.000-05:002005-02-08T14:50:48.090-05:00Sometimes having voice for one's primary instrument is the most frustrating existance. Instrumentalists can practice for hours, working out passages and gaining muscle memory. The weather doesn't really affect them, sore throats don't affect them, talking too much doesn't affect them, going to a basketball game doesn't affect them. Yet, if one is a vocalist, a rainy day will change your voice odessanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6280172.post-1107875602739372912005-02-08T09:57:00.000-05:002005-02-08T10:14:55.293-05:00I cannot get Music History out of my head. When I try to practice sightsinging, read theory, or even sleep, symphonies, string quartets, concertos and facts keep running through my head.
Beethoven's 3rd Symphony...revolutionary...syncopations...early horn entrance...fugal material...originally dedicated to Napolean...2nd movement is a Funeral March for the heros in the French Revolution...odessanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6280172.post-1107791529648032442005-02-07T10:48:00.000-05:002005-02-08T09:56:45.606-05:00You think your act has worked
The mask you hide behind
Standing on your stage
Playing the Hollywood of life
The sadness in your voice
Comes from painted faces
Drowns out empty laughter
You'd have us all believe
You sit inside your room
Close the door and hide
Wishing you could write
The story to your life
But poety and prose
Will fade like yesterday
Fade into dusty pages
That will never turn
odessanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6280172.post-1107791280081801422005-02-07T10:28:00.000-05:002005-02-07T10:48:00.080-05:00"Better is the end of a thing than the beginning thereof: and the patient in spirit is better than the proud in spirit." Ecc. 7:8
I read this last night after a day of wishing that I was in another place in life. I could excuse my wishing with my first born syndrome of always wanting to push forward and lead the way, etc. I could excuse it with my perfectionist tendencies and how I constantly odessanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6280172.post-1107790052881195252005-02-07T10:24:00.000-05:002005-02-07T10:27:32.880-05:00It's 10:25 in the morning and my brain is fried. I'll be lucky if anything intelligent comes from it for the rest of the day.
Needless to say, I have just come from my back to back Music History and Theory 4 exams. Theory 4 took me 15 minutes...I wish I had had the last 35 minutes to tack onto my Music History exam time. I think I was prepared, and I want to say I got a B...but we'll see. At odessanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6280172.post-1107485345600333312005-02-03T21:44:00.000-05:002005-02-03T21:49:05.600-05:00I told him that when guys tell me such things, I take their word for it, no questions asked. He laughed and said that if he had known that, he wouldn't have gotten married and instead waited for me to come. It was my turn to laugh. What does one say when a 50-something year old man says that? I told him that would have been a pretty big gamble, considering all the things he would have missed out odessanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6280172.post-1107485006661090922005-02-03T21:17:00.000-05:002005-02-05T12:22:49.113-05:00I had my second formal piano lesson with my new teacher today. I feel extraordinarily privileged to have him as my teacher. He is a real life child prodigy, can sight read anything you put in front of him, and can transpose and play full orchestra scores on the piano by just looking at it. When I listen to him play, all I think is "......wow.....".
I came to him today with a Chopin waltz, odessanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6280172.post-1107483431243308102005-02-03T21:14:00.000-05:002005-02-03T21:17:11.243-05:00My appeal worked. Our dreaded Music History exam is on Monday. When Dr. Thomas made the announcement in class yesterday, we all cheered - perhaps even considered that he was the most blessed man on the face of the earth at that moment.
Consequently, my life this weekend will consist of Haydn, Mozart, Beethoven, and various sundry other composers that I never heard of.
odessanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6280172.post-1107286855893323402005-02-01T14:30:00.000-05:002005-02-01T14:40:55.893-05:00I decided to be brave this morning and represent my fellow students in Music History that are all tearing their hair out because we have our first exam on Friday. First exams are usually stressful, but on top of it all, it's Music History. And it's the day after Convocation. And the Music Library is closed every night this week after the service. And we have 70 pages of text, 16 pages of notes, odessanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6280172.post-1107286114567495032005-02-01T14:26:00.000-05:002005-02-01T14:30:26.463-05:00The one day there was national news about not traveling to Atlanta, I did. After almost dying a couple times, and passing by jack-knifed semi's and cars that had gone off the road, I realized that maybe I should watch the news a little more.
odessanoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6280172.post-1106839640939462332005-01-27T10:16:00.000-05:002005-01-27T20:17:01.890-05:00There are times when I wonder what in the world I could have done to make someone respond to me in the way that they do. Though I may try to be understanding, unassuming, and accepting, that is sometimes never enough. My concern and interest and normal everyday friendliness is met with indifference and distance.
I try not to take this like a slap in the face, but it nevertheless leaves me a odessanoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6280172.post-1106838865616495342005-01-27T10:09:00.000-05:002005-01-27T10:14:25.616-05:00I practiced a song with a friend last night for choir. It makes absolutely no sense, yet I can't get the nonsensical syllables out of my head. Help!
Ji bu li
Jinga janga
Hello, hello marion
High up a non carry on
Fly up a ma carry on
Where, oh where, oh did you go?
Jinga lye a yumba mya
Jinga lye ah jing
odessanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6280172.post-1106764159928583172005-01-26T13:19:00.000-05:002005-01-26T13:29:19.926-05:00A delightful chinook has blown through Cleveland the past two days. It gives me that frolicking-skip-on-the-sidewalk-blow-bubbles-and-hoola-hoop-feeling. I'm trying to convince myself that it is not as warm as it seems - it's just relatively warm compared to the last week of 12-18 degree days. This weather makes me feel nothing like going to class, carrying books, studying, going to work, etc, odessanoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6280172.post-1106605639412215462005-01-24T17:24:00.000-05:002005-01-24T17:27:19.413-05:00I have a good feeling about this week. I'm not sure why, or what has caused it, but I have a odd feeling of expectancy. For who, what, or when I do not know. All shall be revealed in due time...
odessanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6280172.post-1106605463572061522005-01-24T17:22:00.000-05:002005-01-24T17:24:23.573-05:00I always feel strange when I get to school in the morning and I see someone I know who is dressed the same way I am. Does that mean we both have good taste at the same time, or that we have bad taste altogether?
odessanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6280172.post-1106591585458547302005-01-24T13:27:00.000-05:002005-01-24T13:33:05.456-05:00I have a dreadful urge today to pick a flower. Not a flower out of a garden, or out of a stand or cooler, but one of those lovely innocent flowers that grow alongside the road and in fields and woods. The flowers to which no one knows the name; the ones that are just "those little blue flowers", or "the white ones that kind of look like daisies".
I want to pick a flower and twirl it between my odessanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6280172.post-1106524834271784112005-01-23T18:55:00.000-05:002005-01-23T19:00:34.273-05:00I decided to take a chance tonight and see a girl band that is here on campus tonight. I should have realized that there was no chances to be taken. After waiting for 20 minutes for the concert to start, three girls came out in outfits that looked so painfully and purposefully mismatched that all I could think about was a fourteen year old gone crazy at Forever 21.
And then they began singing.
odessanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6280172.post-1106352322558383862005-01-21T18:40:00.000-05:002005-01-21T19:05:22.556-05:00There are rare and beautiful moments when you encounter someone that makes you desire to become more passionate about life. It is not because they themselves are perfect, superior, or infinitely wise. No, it is rather the opposite - that they are imperfect, completely human with flaws and struggles. Yet, in this they believe that it is possible to change, and that life is beautiful even with the odessanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6280172.post-1106274735896376712005-01-20T21:22:00.000-05:002005-01-20T21:32:15.896-05:00This afternoon the music department and students listened to a lecture recital by Dr. Brendel, who is a candidate for a recently opened faculty position. Among his program he sang a few of the Seven Sonnets of Michelangelo by Benjamin Britten. The translations are beautiful.
XXX
I see sweet light with your eyes
Which I cannot see with my blind ones
I carry a weight with your feet
Which I cannot odessanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6280172.post-1106274138218000712005-01-20T21:19:00.000-05:002005-01-20T21:22:18.216-05:00I've never felt more like a nerd than tonight as I sit in the music library studying music history while the rest of the campus is at the basketball game and tap night.
La, my life is not my own. I have sold it to the music program and the future does not hold any promise of getting it back. Yet for some odd reason I am blissfully happy in it.
odessanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6280172.post-1106188641030148362005-01-19T21:32:00.000-05:002005-01-19T21:37:21.030-05:00The war between the wants and shoulds of life never seems to cease. Is there a time in which they will someday become allies instead of enemies?
odessanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6280172.post-1106171711067773342005-01-19T16:12:00.000-05:002005-01-19T21:31:55.790-05:00As I sort my thoughts out about this semester (even though I am only one week into it), I find I am contemplating people much more than before. I am so aware of the moments in life that pass by so quickly. They are like the telephone poles that whiz by on the freeway too fast to count, but still mark the distance. The markers all seem to contain opportunities with people; opportunities that they odessanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6280172.post-1106095791121620412005-01-18T19:37:00.000-05:002005-01-18T21:46:16.440-05:00Whenever I begin a new semester I find myself thinking about and questioning everything I thought I had settled the semester before. The people I come back to are different. The person I come back as is different. And I wonder, am I really older and wiser this time? Have I learned anything beneficial at all? What am I really learning as I go through the daily routine of class and rehearsal with odessanoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6280172.post-1106094998486856032005-01-18T19:33:00.000-05:002005-01-18T19:36:38.486-05:00Sometimes I wonder if this blog is worth reading. Do people really read it? And what do they think? And would anyone know if I never posted anything again? Perhaps they do not read this because I have been such a sporadic blogger. Then again, I think that one of the biggest reasons for the existance of this blog is just for me. And part of me doesn't care if lots of people read it or not. But it odessanoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6280172.post-1106094519250708862005-01-18T19:17:00.000-05:002005-01-18T21:47:13.970-05:00She held the elevator for me in the dark and dreary basement below the dining hall. I had never seen her before, but we smiled at each other as I slipped in the closing doors. She was obviously coming into work, still wearing her jeans, and tennis shoes, and green DKNY sweater that was the same color as the head of lettuce I was holding. I realized at that moment that I only feel odd in my chef'sodessanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6280172.post-1106093843884942052005-01-18T19:12:00.000-05:002005-01-18T19:17:23.883-05:00I saw him looking up at her
and what she was doing
the way the eyes of saints are painted
when they are looking up at God
when He is doing something remarkable,
something that identifies Him as God.
---excerpt from 'Love' by Billy Collins
odessanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6280172.post-1106093514104390632005-01-18T19:08:00.000-05:002005-01-18T19:11:54.103-05:00I just read my most recent posts after now being back at school for one week. I got the feeling from them that my brain was definitely not engaged in the thoughtful or profound. I think somewhere between finals and break, all intelligent material flew out the window. But now I'm back at school. Hopefully there are more interesting if not intelligent posts on the way.
odessanoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6280172.post-1105060853067056532005-01-06T20:19:00.000-05:002005-01-06T20:20:53.066-05:00This one is the best I've heard so far. And I really believe it right now.
"Guys are like blenders: you know you need one but you don't know why."
odessanoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6280172.post-1105056392589603702005-01-06T19:01:00.000-05:002005-01-06T19:06:32.590-05:00Clock
The clock is a strange individual
with a round face
but no eyes or nose
and no body,
but has two hands.
The hands are not attatched
to arms or even shoulders,
but are stuck to the face
with no eyes or nose
and no body.
Minute hand is larger
than Hour hand,
and neither have fingers,
but somehow still point
to the numbers that
go around endlessly.
The fingerless hands that
confuse odessanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6280172.post-1101953588584256152004-12-01T21:12:00.000-05:002004-12-01T21:13:08.583-05:00And hello finals. Ugh.
odessanoreply@blogger.com0