This past November was a magical one. November is like October, but more dead. In an enlivening way. There is more of the “autumn muskiness” in the air. The trees of November are more naked, their branches looking like gothic cathedral spires. The sun’s angle falls lower and lower, making afternoon/evening walks scrumptiously surreal.
Going on these walks gives way for monumentally deep thoughts – like how “gratitude” rhymes with “foody-food.” We Americans consider November as the month of Thanksgiving, and though I miss Halloween decorations, I’m happy to report that I saw some jack o’ lanterns turned around right in their spots on some porches with turkey feathers stabbed in them. I think Thanksgiving is a lovely holiday similar to Halloween in that it celebrates the sacred and the profane. Sacred – gratitude. Profane – testing the elasticity of one’s stomach.
But for me, November is also a continuation of Halloween. I call November “The Month of the Dead.” Where many countries do not think anything special of October 31st (I’m trying to change this), they DO think very important things of November 1st and November 2nd – All Saints’ Day and All Souls’ Day.
Pagan Samhain (pronounced SOW-in) was gradually morphed by the medieval Christian church into All Hallows – a day to remember the saints. This was in the 7th century, and later, in the 10th century, as Christians wished for a day to remember their own familial dead, All Souls’ Day was set forth officially. I’m so fascinated by all the cultural interpretations of these holidays (“holy days”). One of the most notable to me, perhaps because I’m from California, is Mexico’s Dia de los Muertos. Some year I will travel there to experience it firsthand. (And some year I will travel to Delaware for the annual “Punkin’ Chunkin’” contest and see the brilliant display of pumpkins flung thousands of feet across a field. Oh happy activity.)
When I lived in Vienna, Austria for a semester of college in the fall of 1995, I remember walking the streets on All Saints’ Day, noting the services at various churches and cathedrals. I did as the locals did, and rode a streetcar out to the cemetery to visit graves. The day is distinct in my memory … crisp, cool weather; droves and droves of people making their way out to the cemetery; the sun at such a pretty angle with a magical haziness in its beams, the day seemed photo-shopped to perfection.
I visited the grave of Herr Beethoven, among other great ones. But great or small, known or unknown, I just enjoy graves. What stories they tell of the bones who lie beneath them. I like noting the families, the religious beliefs carved into the stone, other symbols carved there, what life might have been like during the years they were alive, and so forth. The only thing I don’t like seeing is a little gravestone with the years something like “1912 – 1913.”
I do love seeing humor among gravestones. One family I am quite fond of resides in the Salt Lake cemetery. I’ve never met them in life, but I often stop on my bike ride by their plot, just to re-read their gravestone. It’s shared by the mother, father, and a baby son who only lived a day. Under the son’s date of birth and death, it reads – “His humor kept him young.”
Also in the Salt Lake cemetery, I once happened upon a gravestone whose occupant’s first name was Bror. Bror! I think that is so handsome. He was an immigrant from a Scandinavian country in the 1800’s. I often think about naming one of my future sons Bror. It rhymes with roar.
I just started Neil Gaiman’s new book last night – The Graveyard Book. I went to the Cathedral of the Madeleine for a children’s choir Christmas concert (which was enchanting … those perfectly pitched little voices with nary a bit of vibrato). I was in my seat an hour early, so Gaiman’s book kept me company. Delightful company. I’m only a bit more than one chapter in, and I find it a charming read! A boy who was raised by ghosts in a graveyard. Love it.
In other news, my motorcycle burn is healing very well but still makes me chuckle with happy memories of the Pacific Symphony’s Halloween Spooktacular. Yeah, who needs Maxim Eshkenazy’s autograph? I’ve been practically tattooed by him.
Next up in my recording endeavors … cat sounds. Oh yes. Cat sounds. I’ve already scored the cat parts right underneath the cello staff. Just as Christmas needs jingle bells, Halloween needs meows. I can’t wait to record this for you!
Sunday, December 7, 2008
Thursday, November 6, 2008
Conductors, Pipes, and the Sea ("C")
October was a mighty month. A surreal month. A beautiful month.
And it gave me an honor that will make me smile for quite some time: playing the organ with the Pacific Symphony in their “Halloween Spooktacular” children/family concert at the Renée and Henry Segerstrom Concert Hall, Orange County Performing Arts Center.
This splendid hall just finished installing a 3.1 million-dollar pipe organ by C. B. Fisk Organ Builders – the William J. Gillespie Concert Organ. Four manuals, tracker action, 4,322 pipes arranged four stories high. It is a beautiful beast. My little paws had such a delightful adventure prancing across its keys.
The Spooktacular was a program with a little play and music excerpts. I played a music teacher who gives a lesson to a boy on Halloween. I somehow have a whole orchestra in my house to demonstrate different instruments to him and at times I am under the spell of “the Phantom of the Concert Organ” who “commands” me to play as the boy and the conductor try to break the “musical spell.”
It was also fun to teach the audience a little bit about the organ and demonstrate it’s incomparable range of pitches. I heard gasps as I played the 2-foot flute as high as it could go (almost like a dog whistle), and chuckles of disbelief as I played the rumbling 32-foot reeds in the pedal slowly down to low C.
Rehearsals were a kick. Sometimes I was smiling and laughing so hard that my cheek muscles ached. And guess what – I’ve been “branded” by a new friend.
As I parked my car at rehearsal and got out, Maxim Eshkenazy, the new assistant conductor of the Pacific Symphony, pulled up on his motorcycle. Now, something to know about me is that I am a puppy dog. I love car rides, bike rides, boat rides, train rides – they stir up my brain chemicals and make my tail wag. Maxim must have noted something like that when I eyed his bike, for he immediately asked if I wanted a ride.
Oh YES!!! I didn’t even take a second to put down my purse or car keys. I hopped on and … psssssssss … something felt very hot on my right leg. I forgot that exhaust pipes on motorcycles are burning hot. Maxim felt so badly, but really, my excitement didn’t give him enough time to warn me. Off we went anyway – oh it was so much fun. I don’t know why fun, little rides make me laugh my head off, but it sure pumped me up for rehearsal. What a brain high.
We teased him about being a “hot conductor.” He conducted two different sets of pipes this month. Ah, it was great to work with him and I feel I’ve made a lasting friend.
The Pacific Symphony was very gracious in letting me sell my CD after the two concerts. About 100 sold there and I hope they are making trick-or-treaters of all ages happy.
Another highlight of October was going for a stroll on a couple of evenings at Downtown Disney with my parents and getting a caramel apple at their confectionary shop. This shop also sells wonderfully huge cookies. Huge. Chewy. Full of love. These cookies – oh man – what a story each one is. The perfect balance of doughy and bake-y. For me, texture is half the pleasurable experience of a good cookie. And the caramel apples – it’s like biting into autumn. (Like the same caliber of when I lived in Vienna for a semester of college and I bit into a hot sausage I bought on the street – I bit into Vienna. I felt the history, art, music, architecture, and culture swirl around in my brain with that simple sausage. Silly? Profound? I don’t know.)
My catwoman costume (á la Michelle Pfeiffer) made it out this year for a pre-Halloween party. Thank you to my friend Jana Hill-Dyble for creating it – such a talented seamstress! Certain costumes really are extensions of our personality and it feels so right to wear them. Well, such it is with catwoman. It feels so right. Purryeah.
I became sick the day before Halloween, but my dear old boyfriend, Sam, invited me to go surfing with him on Halloween day and, fie on sickness, I went. (Sam teaches surfing lessons and brought me along!) It was a lovely way to spend Halloween, like costuming as a surfer chick. I only got up for a few seconds and did a lot of “knee surfing,” but I’ll conquer it yet. The clouds, sun, and water did some very pretty things. I think what I like most about surfing – at least at this point in my skills – is sitting out on the board, waiting for the waves. It is so beautiful right there, bobbing and floating (I was hoping the sharks wouldn’t consider it the reverse of “bobbing for apples”). I love the salty, fresh smell. I love how my lungs and brain feel as I take it all in.
As for my “Halloween Carols” project, I’m taking a bite at a time. I’m very fortunate to have a New York contact to some big publishing houses, so I hope I get a bite there. People have already asked if they can buy the sheet music, and so I hope that a good publishing company will see the ready demand and market for my idea.
I hope that all of you had a magical Halloween with lots of chocolate and candlelight!
And it gave me an honor that will make me smile for quite some time: playing the organ with the Pacific Symphony in their “Halloween Spooktacular” children/family concert at the Renée and Henry Segerstrom Concert Hall, Orange County Performing Arts Center.
This splendid hall just finished installing a 3.1 million-dollar pipe organ by C. B. Fisk Organ Builders – the William J. Gillespie Concert Organ. Four manuals, tracker action, 4,322 pipes arranged four stories high. It is a beautiful beast. My little paws had such a delightful adventure prancing across its keys.
The Spooktacular was a program with a little play and music excerpts. I played a music teacher who gives a lesson to a boy on Halloween. I somehow have a whole orchestra in my house to demonstrate different instruments to him and at times I am under the spell of “the Phantom of the Concert Organ” who “commands” me to play as the boy and the conductor try to break the “musical spell.”
It was also fun to teach the audience a little bit about the organ and demonstrate it’s incomparable range of pitches. I heard gasps as I played the 2-foot flute as high as it could go (almost like a dog whistle), and chuckles of disbelief as I played the rumbling 32-foot reeds in the pedal slowly down to low C.
Rehearsals were a kick. Sometimes I was smiling and laughing so hard that my cheek muscles ached. And guess what – I’ve been “branded” by a new friend.
As I parked my car at rehearsal and got out, Maxim Eshkenazy, the new assistant conductor of the Pacific Symphony, pulled up on his motorcycle. Now, something to know about me is that I am a puppy dog. I love car rides, bike rides, boat rides, train rides – they stir up my brain chemicals and make my tail wag. Maxim must have noted something like that when I eyed his bike, for he immediately asked if I wanted a ride.
Oh YES!!! I didn’t even take a second to put down my purse or car keys. I hopped on and … psssssssss … something felt very hot on my right leg. I forgot that exhaust pipes on motorcycles are burning hot. Maxim felt so badly, but really, my excitement didn’t give him enough time to warn me. Off we went anyway – oh it was so much fun. I don’t know why fun, little rides make me laugh my head off, but it sure pumped me up for rehearsal. What a brain high.
We teased him about being a “hot conductor.” He conducted two different sets of pipes this month. Ah, it was great to work with him and I feel I’ve made a lasting friend.
The Pacific Symphony was very gracious in letting me sell my CD after the two concerts. About 100 sold there and I hope they are making trick-or-treaters of all ages happy.
Another highlight of October was going for a stroll on a couple of evenings at Downtown Disney with my parents and getting a caramel apple at their confectionary shop. This shop also sells wonderfully huge cookies. Huge. Chewy. Full of love. These cookies – oh man – what a story each one is. The perfect balance of doughy and bake-y. For me, texture is half the pleasurable experience of a good cookie. And the caramel apples – it’s like biting into autumn. (Like the same caliber of when I lived in Vienna for a semester of college and I bit into a hot sausage I bought on the street – I bit into Vienna. I felt the history, art, music, architecture, and culture swirl around in my brain with that simple sausage. Silly? Profound? I don’t know.)
My catwoman costume (á la Michelle Pfeiffer) made it out this year for a pre-Halloween party. Thank you to my friend Jana Hill-Dyble for creating it – such a talented seamstress! Certain costumes really are extensions of our personality and it feels so right to wear them. Well, such it is with catwoman. It feels so right. Purryeah.
I became sick the day before Halloween, but my dear old boyfriend, Sam, invited me to go surfing with him on Halloween day and, fie on sickness, I went. (Sam teaches surfing lessons and brought me along!) It was a lovely way to spend Halloween, like costuming as a surfer chick. I only got up for a few seconds and did a lot of “knee surfing,” but I’ll conquer it yet. The clouds, sun, and water did some very pretty things. I think what I like most about surfing – at least at this point in my skills – is sitting out on the board, waiting for the waves. It is so beautiful right there, bobbing and floating (I was hoping the sharks wouldn’t consider it the reverse of “bobbing for apples”). I love the salty, fresh smell. I love how my lungs and brain feel as I take it all in.
As for my “Halloween Carols” project, I’m taking a bite at a time. I’m very fortunate to have a New York contact to some big publishing houses, so I hope I get a bite there. People have already asked if they can buy the sheet music, and so I hope that a good publishing company will see the ready demand and market for my idea.
I hope that all of you had a magical Halloween with lots of chocolate and candlelight!
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
Wholly Mole-y
A bit o’ happy news – I’m melanoma-free after my six-month check up last week. So I won’t be turning into a ghost any time soon. I want to tell everyone to GO GET YOUR MOLES CHECKED, so you don’t turn into ghosties either.
Yes, my dermatologist had no choice but to tear a chunk of flesh from my back last February. But he’s no Dr. Frankenstein; he and his assistants did a nice job of sewing me back up. Even still, my friend Linda (a.k.a. “Linner”) said that my back looks like Sally from “The Nightmare Before Christmas,” which is fine by me. Sally’s a hip little seamstress.
Speaking of Dr. Frankenstein, while I was recovering from this minor surgery, I watched “Young Frankenstein.” It didn’t occur to me ‘til halfway through what a funny thing my movie choice was. Ah yes, and the healing power of “PUUUUUUU’IIIINNNN ON DE RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIZZZZ.” If you don’t know what I’m talking about, go get this movie in your life. There’s something about a German-accented, ”Yessssss, YESSSS, HE VAS MY … BOYFRIEND!” that put my stitches in stitches.
And for Nightmare-Before-Christmas-Season coming along, I’m happy to say that I saw some leaves changing this morning whilst out on my run. I did a double take. At first I thought the leaves were just burnt and fried from the summer heat, but upon looking closer I saw a good number scattered on the ground with true color change. All hail the equinox approaching!
Fluffy leaves! Fluffy leaves!
Summer’s gone but it bereaves
Not a soul like Mol’ or me.
Death is pretty in a tree!
To lead up to the blesséd fall time, I’m taking my mom and two friends to see Nightwish in concert at the Wiltern in LA this Saturday. Sonata Arctica is opening for them – how lucky am I? Yes, I’m lucky that my mom likes metal, but I mean this concert!!! Nightwish … it’s like Lord-of-the-Rings-metal. It makes me feel like I’m riding a dragon into battle. Or at least riding into battle with a Hobbit on horse with me. And destroying a Ringwraith while saying, “I AM NO MAN!!!” Of all their fabulous CDs, my favorite is “Wishmaster.” Go feed your ears: www.nightwish.com
The strings for my song, “Flappy Bat,” are coming along nicely. I prepare them in MIDI on my Logic then dump them into Gaynor’s ProTools. I’m also in the middle of preparing strings for my witch song. I think you’ll like these babies. They’re preeeeeeetty little songs and they can’t wait to meet you.
Yes, my dermatologist had no choice but to tear a chunk of flesh from my back last February. But he’s no Dr. Frankenstein; he and his assistants did a nice job of sewing me back up. Even still, my friend Linda (a.k.a. “Linner”) said that my back looks like Sally from “The Nightmare Before Christmas,” which is fine by me. Sally’s a hip little seamstress.
Speaking of Dr. Frankenstein, while I was recovering from this minor surgery, I watched “Young Frankenstein.” It didn’t occur to me ‘til halfway through what a funny thing my movie choice was. Ah yes, and the healing power of “PUUUUUUU’IIIINNNN ON DE RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIZZZZ.” If you don’t know what I’m talking about, go get this movie in your life. There’s something about a German-accented, ”Yessssss, YESSSS, HE VAS MY … BOYFRIEND!” that put my stitches in stitches.
And for Nightmare-Before-Christmas-Season coming along, I’m happy to say that I saw some leaves changing this morning whilst out on my run. I did a double take. At first I thought the leaves were just burnt and fried from the summer heat, but upon looking closer I saw a good number scattered on the ground with true color change. All hail the equinox approaching!
Fluffy leaves! Fluffy leaves!
Summer’s gone but it bereaves
Not a soul like Mol’ or me.
Death is pretty in a tree!
To lead up to the blesséd fall time, I’m taking my mom and two friends to see Nightwish in concert at the Wiltern in LA this Saturday. Sonata Arctica is opening for them – how lucky am I? Yes, I’m lucky that my mom likes metal, but I mean this concert!!! Nightwish … it’s like Lord-of-the-Rings-metal. It makes me feel like I’m riding a dragon into battle. Or at least riding into battle with a Hobbit on horse with me. And destroying a Ringwraith while saying, “I AM NO MAN!!!” Of all their fabulous CDs, my favorite is “Wishmaster.” Go feed your ears: www.nightwish.com
The strings for my song, “Flappy Bat,” are coming along nicely. I prepare them in MIDI on my Logic then dump them into Gaynor’s ProTools. I’m also in the middle of preparing strings for my witch song. I think you’ll like these babies. They’re preeeeeeetty little songs and they can’t wait to meet you.
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
My Dead Boyfriend
No, I didn’t lose him. I never knew him. But I know his music, and that’s why I call him “My Dead Boyfriend.”
Today is the deathday of Ralph Vaughan Williams. The 50th anniversary of his death. Happy Deathday to you, Ralph! He was born October 12, 1872 and died August 26, 1958. I was born 100 years too late. He was a kind, fine English gentleman and couldn’t stand when anyone pronounced his name “Ralllllllph.” It’s pronounced “Rafe” like “safe.”
If not an amorous relationship, I think we would have at least been very good friends. In fact, when it’s my turn to be a ghost, I intend to seek his friendship and thank him for his music. Ghost of Ralph. Ghost of Kristen.
But I must say, even in life, I usually don’t seek out musician boyfriends. I want to eat. No, no, no – just kidding. But I do find I’m rather intrigued by men who are expert in what I am not. I am not a competitive person and do not welcome any potential for competition in a relationship. I believe a true gentleman would want his woman to shine and be thrilled at her brilliance, just as a true lady would intend for her man.
And on the subject of amorous thinking, Halloween used to be about romance, believe it or not. Traditions have trickled down over the centuries from the British Isles, crossing the sea to early America – from Druid priests foretelling the future on the eve of Samhain (“summer’s end”), to Scottish and Irish young adults making predictions about their future loves. Druids cast cats into the fire; their posterity played divining games and rituals with cabbages, nuts, apples, wet “sarks” (petticoats), “luggies” (bowls) and so forth.
I’m OK with cabbage stalks and nuts, but not dead cats. (I never tell my cat, Molly, about this part of Halloween, although she could do her fair share of mice entrail-reading.) Halloween greeting cards from earlier last century had these prediction symbols on them and scenes of courting. Many showed a girl sitting in front of a mirror at midnight (sometimes cutting or eating an apple) and an apparition of her future love appearing behind her shoulder. Personally, I think it a shame that these charming historical symbols are mostly lost in our modern Halloween celebrations. Let’s bring it back! Go give someone a love note and a cabbage when October rolls around.
My love note to Ghost of Ralph is in my dedication of “Ghost of John – Dead Composers Version” to him and Johann (Sebastian Bach), my two favorite dead composers. (Johann I don’t claim as a dead boyfriend – he’s too out of my league.) Were I in England, I would place a copy of the score and maybe a cabbage at Ralph’s grave in Westminster Abbey – if they’d let me. Or maybe a little nut. Two little nuts, from the old tradition of “nutcrack night.” That wouldn’t be as ostentatious.
My favorite works of Vaughan Williams are:
- Five Variants on Dives and Lazarus
- Variations on a Theme by Thomas Tallis
- Oboe Concerto
- The Lark Ascending
Sublime, surreal, profound, achingly lovely.
So today I’m in the middle of entering and perfecting the MIDI strings for “Flappy Bat” – one of the Halloween Carols due to come out on the full-length CD and sheet music book next year. It’s a special day with Ralph’s ghost haunting his fans and girlfriends. Maybe if I eat an apple in front of the mirror at midnight …
*********************************************************************
For either Ralph or Halloween, here are some books I like very much …
Paul Holmes, The Illustrated Lives of Great Composers: Vaughan Williams, Omnibus Press, 1997.
Lesley Pratt Bannatyne, Halloween: An American Holiday, An American History, Facts on File, 1990/ Pelican Publishing, 1998.
Jack Santino, The Hallowed Eve: Dimensions of Culture in a Calendar Festival in Northern Ireland, The University Press of Kentucky, 1998.
Lisa Morton, The Halloween Encyclopedia, McFarland and Company, 2003.
Today is the deathday of Ralph Vaughan Williams. The 50th anniversary of his death. Happy Deathday to you, Ralph! He was born October 12, 1872 and died August 26, 1958. I was born 100 years too late. He was a kind, fine English gentleman and couldn’t stand when anyone pronounced his name “Ralllllllph.” It’s pronounced “Rafe” like “safe.”
If not an amorous relationship, I think we would have at least been very good friends. In fact, when it’s my turn to be a ghost, I intend to seek his friendship and thank him for his music. Ghost of Ralph. Ghost of Kristen.
But I must say, even in life, I usually don’t seek out musician boyfriends. I want to eat. No, no, no – just kidding. But I do find I’m rather intrigued by men who are expert in what I am not. I am not a competitive person and do not welcome any potential for competition in a relationship. I believe a true gentleman would want his woman to shine and be thrilled at her brilliance, just as a true lady would intend for her man.
And on the subject of amorous thinking, Halloween used to be about romance, believe it or not. Traditions have trickled down over the centuries from the British Isles, crossing the sea to early America – from Druid priests foretelling the future on the eve of Samhain (“summer’s end”), to Scottish and Irish young adults making predictions about their future loves. Druids cast cats into the fire; their posterity played divining games and rituals with cabbages, nuts, apples, wet “sarks” (petticoats), “luggies” (bowls) and so forth.
I’m OK with cabbage stalks and nuts, but not dead cats. (I never tell my cat, Molly, about this part of Halloween, although she could do her fair share of mice entrail-reading.) Halloween greeting cards from earlier last century had these prediction symbols on them and scenes of courting. Many showed a girl sitting in front of a mirror at midnight (sometimes cutting or eating an apple) and an apparition of her future love appearing behind her shoulder. Personally, I think it a shame that these charming historical symbols are mostly lost in our modern Halloween celebrations. Let’s bring it back! Go give someone a love note and a cabbage when October rolls around.
My love note to Ghost of Ralph is in my dedication of “Ghost of John – Dead Composers Version” to him and Johann (Sebastian Bach), my two favorite dead composers. (Johann I don’t claim as a dead boyfriend – he’s too out of my league.) Were I in England, I would place a copy of the score and maybe a cabbage at Ralph’s grave in Westminster Abbey – if they’d let me. Or maybe a little nut. Two little nuts, from the old tradition of “nutcrack night.” That wouldn’t be as ostentatious.
My favorite works of Vaughan Williams are:
- Five Variants on Dives and Lazarus
- Variations on a Theme by Thomas Tallis
- Oboe Concerto
- The Lark Ascending
Sublime, surreal, profound, achingly lovely.
So today I’m in the middle of entering and perfecting the MIDI strings for “Flappy Bat” – one of the Halloween Carols due to come out on the full-length CD and sheet music book next year. It’s a special day with Ralph’s ghost haunting his fans and girlfriends. Maybe if I eat an apple in front of the mirror at midnight …
*********************************************************************
For either Ralph or Halloween, here are some books I like very much …
Paul Holmes, The Illustrated Lives of Great Composers: Vaughan Williams, Omnibus Press, 1997.
Lesley Pratt Bannatyne, Halloween: An American Holiday, An American History, Facts on File, 1990/ Pelican Publishing, 1998.
Jack Santino, The Hallowed Eve: Dimensions of Culture in a Calendar Festival in Northern Ireland, The University Press of Kentucky, 1998.
Lisa Morton, The Halloween Encyclopedia, McFarland and Company, 2003.
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
The Lore of Mountain Bike Gore
My bicycle – Bianca, She-Goblin of Might – and I had quite an adventure this past Saturday. Well, misadventure, really.
She’s been my trusty mountain bike since 1997 (beautiful autumn-orange-and-black-colored) and we’ve never taken a tumble … until a little wasp decided to fly down my shirt as I flew down the canyon on Saturday.
Now, I imagine how confusing it was for the wasp – a nice buzz through the air one minute, wall of flesh in its face the next. But you would think it would immediately seek fresh air. No, it decided to snuggle under my left breast. And chomp.
“YEEEOOWWWCH!” was all I could think. I wish I had had the presence of mind to deal with the bite, squeeze my breaks, stop, and fish the little sucker out. But no. “YEEEOOWWWCH!” took over my brain and I tried to get that wasp out of my shirt – the shirt which was speeding at several miles-an-hour downhill.
It was surprising how quickly the road moved closer to me. But I’m sure that road was amused at the alternate smacks of Kristen, Bianca, Kristen, Bianca, and so forth until we thumped to a stop with Bianca on top of me. Poor Bianca broke her neck. Luckily I did not. But I easily snapped Bianca’s neck back into place and re-adjusted her seat. My seat, however, wasn’t looking forward to 20 more minutes downhill.
Here’s something I like when one gets involved in a sport – other sportsmen look after you. Immediately a woman stopped on her bike and made sure I was OK before she continued. Though quite shaky, I forced a laugh about a wasp biting my breast. Her partner came right after her and said he had just been stung in the rear. Why do these wasps go for the tender parts? Wait, that’s a silly question. I go for prime rib when presented with my choice of cow.
Anyway, a mere 15 seconds before this wasp’s kiss sent me into a passionate embrace of the pavement, a squirrel had crossed right in front of me. I missed it literally by about 5 inches. My friend Britney later quipped, “Well, for most people, a black cat crossing their path is bad luck …”
Yes, for me, that squirrel was an omen of gore. Black cats are rather good luck to me, because my sweet black kitty, Molly, stayed right by my bathtub as I later soaked the gravel out of my body. She is my comfort, my inspiring “Mews,” as I call her.
As for the gore, those who know me know that I do not like the horror and guts that some people associate with Halloween. I rather prefer the Old World/mystical elements of the season. But for those who would like a dose of gore from me, this story is all you’ll get … unless I get run over by a truck or some squirrels attack me when I’m out running.
So here’s your gore – lively bits of road rash and deep scrapes all over my arms and torso, with three little chunks of skin taken out of my left hand (the hand still works great, thank goodness!). Nice, rainbowy bruises on my right leg and pretty burgundy cuts on my knee. A gash on my right hip bone that resembles something hazy from the solar system.
The real gore, though, appears an inch below my right elbow. All I can say is … it was a HOLE on Saturday. A grotto. A mushy, dark mess with long shreds of skin dangling from it. A thick stream of blood had run down my arm and dried there. As I gritted my teeth and held this ghastly wound under the force of running water filling the tub, a fair amount of gravel came out. Blasted stowaways.
It is frightening to think that I could have had it so much worse, and I know that I am fortunate indeed. My skeleton is intact, including my teeth. I’m also lucky that my friend, Christine, is an ER doctor who hooked me up with a numb shot, scrub, irrigation, and a stitch. She was so compassionate as we laughed at what she called my “little hamburger arm.”
So I’ll be a bit of a hamburger zombie for the next week or so. And now that I think and laugh about it, my stiff walk and hobbling limp really lend to the role. It makes me think of Gene Wilder and Marty Feldman in “Young Frankenstein” …
“Walk this way. No, this way.”
She’s been my trusty mountain bike since 1997 (beautiful autumn-orange-and-black-colored) and we’ve never taken a tumble … until a little wasp decided to fly down my shirt as I flew down the canyon on Saturday.
Now, I imagine how confusing it was for the wasp – a nice buzz through the air one minute, wall of flesh in its face the next. But you would think it would immediately seek fresh air. No, it decided to snuggle under my left breast. And chomp.
“YEEEOOWWWCH!” was all I could think. I wish I had had the presence of mind to deal with the bite, squeeze my breaks, stop, and fish the little sucker out. But no. “YEEEOOWWWCH!” took over my brain and I tried to get that wasp out of my shirt – the shirt which was speeding at several miles-an-hour downhill.
It was surprising how quickly the road moved closer to me. But I’m sure that road was amused at the alternate smacks of Kristen, Bianca, Kristen, Bianca, and so forth until we thumped to a stop with Bianca on top of me. Poor Bianca broke her neck. Luckily I did not. But I easily snapped Bianca’s neck back into place and re-adjusted her seat. My seat, however, wasn’t looking forward to 20 more minutes downhill.
Here’s something I like when one gets involved in a sport – other sportsmen look after you. Immediately a woman stopped on her bike and made sure I was OK before she continued. Though quite shaky, I forced a laugh about a wasp biting my breast. Her partner came right after her and said he had just been stung in the rear. Why do these wasps go for the tender parts? Wait, that’s a silly question. I go for prime rib when presented with my choice of cow.
Anyway, a mere 15 seconds before this wasp’s kiss sent me into a passionate embrace of the pavement, a squirrel had crossed right in front of me. I missed it literally by about 5 inches. My friend Britney later quipped, “Well, for most people, a black cat crossing their path is bad luck …”
Yes, for me, that squirrel was an omen of gore. Black cats are rather good luck to me, because my sweet black kitty, Molly, stayed right by my bathtub as I later soaked the gravel out of my body. She is my comfort, my inspiring “Mews,” as I call her.
As for the gore, those who know me know that I do not like the horror and guts that some people associate with Halloween. I rather prefer the Old World/mystical elements of the season. But for those who would like a dose of gore from me, this story is all you’ll get … unless I get run over by a truck or some squirrels attack me when I’m out running.
So here’s your gore – lively bits of road rash and deep scrapes all over my arms and torso, with three little chunks of skin taken out of my left hand (the hand still works great, thank goodness!). Nice, rainbowy bruises on my right leg and pretty burgundy cuts on my knee. A gash on my right hip bone that resembles something hazy from the solar system.
The real gore, though, appears an inch below my right elbow. All I can say is … it was a HOLE on Saturday. A grotto. A mushy, dark mess with long shreds of skin dangling from it. A thick stream of blood had run down my arm and dried there. As I gritted my teeth and held this ghastly wound under the force of running water filling the tub, a fair amount of gravel came out. Blasted stowaways.
It is frightening to think that I could have had it so much worse, and I know that I am fortunate indeed. My skeleton is intact, including my teeth. I’m also lucky that my friend, Christine, is an ER doctor who hooked me up with a numb shot, scrub, irrigation, and a stitch. She was so compassionate as we laughed at what she called my “little hamburger arm.”
So I’ll be a bit of a hamburger zombie for the next week or so. And now that I think and laugh about it, my stiff walk and hobbling limp really lend to the role. It makes me think of Gene Wilder and Marty Feldman in “Young Frankenstein” …
“Walk this way. No, this way.”
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