In the previous blog, I wrote about a rather discouraging interaction with the slightly stoned and incompetent worker at Whittaker Music. Well, here is the complete antithesis to such melancholy drama - the World of Strings.
I found the store and entered through an old doorway into what might be a stringed heaven. Dana, my trusty sidekick, joined me as we walked past guitars and music books. A somewhat stringy haired young man made eye contact with me and asked, "What can I do for you?"
"I need a new string for my dulcimer," I replied as I lifted my case slightly.
"Ok, do you need a full set or just one string?" I held back the shimmering tears as I said, "I just need the bass string."
"Well, let's take a look. Do you have the old string?"
I tried to old back the growl as I said, "No, the first store I tried lost it."
"Ok," he was totally mellow too, but in a non-annoying and productive way. He looked at my manual and saw the range of diameters and said, "Yeah, 21, that will be fine." I followed him to the string drawers as he searched for my string. "This so much better than my last experience..." I proceeded to tell him about my last experience and he laughed a little. "Yeah, that store's gone downhill since they changed owners." He knew exactly what kind of loop I needed and said, "I don't have a 21 but I have a 22 and the difference won't be that noticeable."
He then restrung and tuned my dulcimer while I looked at dulcimer books and bought some ukulele books for my grandpa for his birthday. I walked into a room that was all string basses (I drooled for one, but I can't buy one until I have room for it).
Overall, the experience was joy-filled and so rewarding. I now am learning new ways to play my dulcimer (with awesome fingerings that the guy showed me) and better chords (I've been guessing this whole time). I will go back to World of Strings anytime I have any instrument issues (or when I want to drool over some uprights). Thanks, World of Strings, for putting my faith back in music stores and mellow musicians.
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Friday, January 23, 2009
The Congregational Meeting
I found this in my "edit" box and realized I had never published it! So even though it was written in January of 2009, I'm posting it now:
When people hear of a two hour meeting on a Friday night about the happenings and finances of a church, most don't think, "Oh, fun!" and mean it. But I also think that those people have not been to our church's congregational meetings. If you keep the right perspective and know what to look for, these meetings can be more entertaining than an episode of Gilmore Girls.
When people hear of a two hour meeting on a Friday night about the happenings and finances of a church, most don't think, "Oh, fun!" and mean it. But I also think that those people have not been to our church's congregational meetings. If you keep the right perspective and know what to look for, these meetings can be more entertaining than an episode of Gilmore Girls.
It begins with the arrival, as many things do. We all pull into the parking lot around 7:30 or 7:35 for the meeting and find our seats. I always like to sit next to a commentator. A commentator is a person (usually my dad or Uncle Dal or Uncle Dave) who will whisper jokes, comments, or sidebars during especially funny or boring moments. Tonight, I pulled up a chair next to Uncle Dal in a row inhabited by some of my other family members, ensuring plenty of running commentary.
Then we sing as a group. We sing a hymn and it ties us all together and reminds us of why we're there - to worship God in all things. We then pray to remind us again, that this is God's church and that all of our planning and preparing is nothing if God is not with us. I sometimes forget at work meetings that we don't start everything with prayer and it surprises me when our principal just up and starts talking during the meeting. And sometimes I bow my head in a Pavlovian response when we get to the end. Years of church training, I guess.
Then everyone talks about the reports of different committees and councils. This is where the love-fest begins. "Are their any questions about the youth ministry report?" "We love what they are doing!" That's it. That's how most discussions go. They are filled with thanks for what people have done and efforts made and how God has blessed us.
This evenings love-fest ended with Rev. Kellar (a retired pastor who fellowships with us) standing and speaking about how blessed we are as a congregation that we can meet peacefully, how our pastor is a peacemaker, how my dad, Mike, does an unusual ministry with the youth (that sentence drew snickers from our row...). How our music ministry and Diana Curtis are about worshipping God and not glorifying our abilities. How the instruments assist in worship rather than distract from it. Have you ever had your heart fill with love so that it is almost palpable? I get that way sometimes when I am with my church family and this was one of those moments. Rev. Kellar was praising God for our unified and blessed church and the blessed members were joining him. It was a good way to end the first half of the meeting.
The two halves are separated by the serving of pie in the kitchen. I get to help and I love seeing everyone and catching up. Maddie, who's 6, gets to tell me about how she plans on eating her pie from the inside out. Helen Hayden, who is one of the founding members of our church, selects a piece that she'll take home to save for later. We joke about how everyone is voted in unanimously to any position that we vote for. I whisper to my Uncle Tim, "I voted for you!" Which is true...Uncle Dal did too and added smiley faces and hearts to his ballot.
The second half is laborious but fun as we watch Dave Gekler try to speed it up as much as possible and then talk about potential changes that could be made to the church - each of which I am horrified by. The night usually ends with the statement, "Not until Brenda gets married!" Tonight's was talking about changing the lights in the sanctuary. "We can get rid of those ugly chandelier things." I gasped in horror and my thought was, "But they've been up there forever! They were up there for my parents' wedding and both my aunts'. They need to be their for mine!" and Uncle Dave came to my rescue by saying, "Not until Brenda gets married!" and we all laugh.
I think I love them because we all love each other so much. I know that I am related to so many of the members there, but they all feel like family. We know each other by face and name. We express our love for each other and we share in our desire to serve God most faithfully. What a great way to spend a Friday night.
Sunday, January 18, 2009
Mellow Musicians Make Me Mad
I play the dulcimer. It's a beautiful wooden instrument with four strings. It's easy to play and is a great American instrument. No one knows what it is. Well, almost no one. My father attempted to build one for my mother and it ended up being a catalyst for their relationship. My mother purchased one for my father on their 25th wedding anniversary and I stole it. A month ago, I broke the bass string on this instrument. I was advised to go to a music store and buy a new string.
I preface this with one addition, I am well aware of the rarity of my instrument and that my restringing a dulcimer is probably something few people who work at a music store have done. And still, I am peeved.
I entered Whitaker's music store with my broken string and my manual that described the range of diameters of my bass string. The only person in the store was the clerk who strummed his guitar, playing no song in particular. He smiled politely as we entered and continued his strumming. I walked toward him with determination and said, "I would like to replace the string on my dulcimer. This is the broken string." He continued strumming and smiling vaguely to himself. I waited and he didn't respond so I continued, "The manual says it should be between, .014" and .021"." No response.
Finally, he put down his guitar and said, "Sure, a dulcimer, uh yeah." His sarcasm was dripping from his lips and I handed him my string. "Huh," he eloquently commented. "It could be like a guitar string, but does it have to have this loop thing at the end?" I agree that this is a valid question and one to which I did not have an answer. So I went back to the car and brought in my dulcimer. Before I continue, I feel the you cannot understand this experience if you are not reading his words in the proper tone. You must imagine every surfer/hippie that has ever been parodied and mix that with early twenties garage bander, then slow it down twenty fold. This is our guy.
"Oh, yeah, of course a dulcimer," he said as he took it from the case and screwed up his face in confusion. Yeah, I get that it's a strange instrument. Get me a string. "So what made you pick up this?" "It was a gift from my mother to my father and I stole it." "Stealing is good," he smiled as he tried to place the dulcimer on some sort of stand and as it slid off the stand, he removed it.
We spent the next 10 minutes with him trying to replace my string. If I interjected anything, he would get confused and need to start over. He paused once to help another customer and then returned with my broken string in his hand. He seemed to have forgotten what he was trying to do because he tried to restring it with my broken string. "Nope, that won't work. Oh, wait, what am I doing? That's your string you came in with." He then tossed my string over his shoulder and tried to attach a violin string. He unwound it and realized it was too small. "Maybe we could try a cello string?" He looked to me as if I was the one who knew what to do. I shrugged and did not hold much hope. He walked back toward his cabinet of strings, did not pull out any more and said, "I don't think I have any strings long enough. Did you try online?" "No," I replied, thinking I thought a music store might be a little more helpful that the internet.
I packed up my instrument and asked for my string back. "Uhh...huh, that's weird. Where did it go?"
"I saw you throw it over your shoulder."
He looked up in utter dazed astonishment, "I did? No."
"Yeah, remember you accidentally tried it back on my dulcimer and realized it was the wrong one and threw it over your shoulder."
"Really? That's weird." He then looked for it for another 5 minutes.
"That's ok. I'll just go."
"No, this is really ********. You like come in here all wanting help and stuff and not only can I not help you, I make it worse by losing your string. {expletive}"
"It's fine."
We left the store and my friends and I just started laughing. "Wow," I said, "that would have been the biggest waste of time, except I write a blog and that made that experience awesome."
I preface this with one addition, I am well aware of the rarity of my instrument and that my restringing a dulcimer is probably something few people who work at a music store have done. And still, I am peeved.
I entered Whitaker's music store with my broken string and my manual that described the range of diameters of my bass string. The only person in the store was the clerk who strummed his guitar, playing no song in particular. He smiled politely as we entered and continued his strumming. I walked toward him with determination and said, "I would like to replace the string on my dulcimer. This is the broken string." He continued strumming and smiling vaguely to himself. I waited and he didn't respond so I continued, "The manual says it should be between, .014" and .021"." No response.
Finally, he put down his guitar and said, "Sure, a dulcimer, uh yeah." His sarcasm was dripping from his lips and I handed him my string. "Huh," he eloquently commented. "It could be like a guitar string, but does it have to have this loop thing at the end?" I agree that this is a valid question and one to which I did not have an answer. So I went back to the car and brought in my dulcimer. Before I continue, I feel the you cannot understand this experience if you are not reading his words in the proper tone. You must imagine every surfer/hippie that has ever been parodied and mix that with early twenties garage bander, then slow it down twenty fold. This is our guy.
"Oh, yeah, of course a dulcimer," he said as he took it from the case and screwed up his face in confusion. Yeah, I get that it's a strange instrument. Get me a string. "So what made you pick up this?" "It was a gift from my mother to my father and I stole it." "Stealing is good," he smiled as he tried to place the dulcimer on some sort of stand and as it slid off the stand, he removed it.
We spent the next 10 minutes with him trying to replace my string. If I interjected anything, he would get confused and need to start over. He paused once to help another customer and then returned with my broken string in his hand. He seemed to have forgotten what he was trying to do because he tried to restring it with my broken string. "Nope, that won't work. Oh, wait, what am I doing? That's your string you came in with." He then tossed my string over his shoulder and tried to attach a violin string. He unwound it and realized it was too small. "Maybe we could try a cello string?" He looked to me as if I was the one who knew what to do. I shrugged and did not hold much hope. He walked back toward his cabinet of strings, did not pull out any more and said, "I don't think I have any strings long enough. Did you try online?" "No," I replied, thinking I thought a music store might be a little more helpful that the internet.
I packed up my instrument and asked for my string back. "Uhh...huh, that's weird. Where did it go?"
"I saw you throw it over your shoulder."
He looked up in utter dazed astonishment, "I did? No."
"Yeah, remember you accidentally tried it back on my dulcimer and realized it was the wrong one and threw it over your shoulder."
"Really? That's weird." He then looked for it for another 5 minutes.
"That's ok. I'll just go."
"No, this is really ********. You like come in here all wanting help and stuff and not only can I not help you, I make it worse by losing your string. {expletive}"
"It's fine."
We left the store and my friends and I just started laughing. "Wow," I said, "that would have been the biggest waste of time, except I write a blog and that made that experience awesome."
Monday, January 12, 2009
What are some kids thinking?
At the end of third period today, I noticed a kid had writing on his hand. This kid hates school and often ditches to hang out with his older brother. He is a quiet and unassuming kid during class. He plays the "if I don't get noticed then I can skate by" philosophy. I waver about which battles to fight with him. Showing up every day was our first goal. So when he does show up, but doesn't have his homework, should I press him about that or just have him accept his zero quietly? I usually just make sure he does his class work and don't press the homework issue for fear that he will not show up again. I figure that it's better that he be at school and gain something from my class than not be there at all.
So I looked at his hand and saw three symbols: a swastika, an anarchy symbol, and a pentagram. I waited until the bell rang and I knelt by his desk.
Me: I noticed some symbols on your hand. Did you draw those?
Bob: No...yes...
Me: Why did you choose those symbols?
Bob: They're things that I like.
Me: Really? Do you know what anarchy is?
Bob: Yeah, they teach people to hack and stuff.
Me: Well, no, anarchy means that there are no rules and no order so basically the biggest and strongest win. It means that I can take your backpack and there's nothing you can do about it. It means I get to do anything I want to you if I'm stronger than you. What about the swastika, do you know what that is?
Bob: Yeah, it's the Nazi symbol.
Me: Do you know what the Nazi's believed?
Bob: They hated the Jews.
Me: Do you feel that way?
Bob: Not much.
Me: Do you realize that the Nazi's hated more than just the Jews? They hated every race that wasn't white. The Nazi's would have hated you. They murdered many people just because of their race or beliefs.
{At this point, "Bob" started to get up to go to his next class.}
Me: I want you to wash this off of your hand, because those symbols are evil. I'll call your next teacher and let her know that you'll be late.
I wrote a note to our counselor so she can talk with him more. Later that afternoon I saw another two kids: one with a new haircut and a drawing on his arm and the other was his friend.
Friend: Doesn't he look like Hitler with his new haircut?
Me: No, he looks like a rockstar!
Haircut kid: Yeah, I have half of a Nazi symbol on my arm.
Me: Is that half of a swastika?
HC kid: No, no. It's a lightning bolt, see. {It was a lightning bolt}
Me: Good!
Friend: Nazi's are cool.
Me: Excuse me! Do you know what they stand for?
Friend: They hated the Jews.
Me: Not just the Jews, but a lot of other groups of people too.
Friend: They're still cool.
Me: (not very successfully holding back my angry glare) They murdered 12 million people and would have murdered even more if they were not stopped. {the lecture continued for a while}
So no more swastikas, ok?
Friend: I get it, they're not cool.
The kids are reading Anne Frank right now and I think that they see the Nazi's as some kind of video game bad guys. The reality of the situation doesn't seem to hit them. I want to take all of my kids to the Simon Wiesenthal or something so they can have an idea of what fear, pain, evil, sin, and truly vile actions the Nazi's were responsible for. I wish these kids would see outside of themselves and look to the struggles of others with empathy and concern and a desire to act in such a way as to make genocide and hate be defeated. I know that it is ignorance and not a true passion for the Nazi's that make my kids delight in such shocking symbols, but if they could see for themselves what those symbol really mean, I think that they would have a clearer perspective and perhaps a greater purpose in their own lives. Well, there's my soapbox. I will now stop preaching to the choir.
So I looked at his hand and saw three symbols: a swastika, an anarchy symbol, and a pentagram. I waited until the bell rang and I knelt by his desk.
Me: I noticed some symbols on your hand. Did you draw those?
Bob: No...yes...
Me: Why did you choose those symbols?
Bob: They're things that I like.
Me: Really? Do you know what anarchy is?
Bob: Yeah, they teach people to hack and stuff.
Me: Well, no, anarchy means that there are no rules and no order so basically the biggest and strongest win. It means that I can take your backpack and there's nothing you can do about it. It means I get to do anything I want to you if I'm stronger than you. What about the swastika, do you know what that is?
Bob: Yeah, it's the Nazi symbol.
Me: Do you know what the Nazi's believed?
Bob: They hated the Jews.
Me: Do you feel that way?
Bob: Not much.
Me: Do you realize that the Nazi's hated more than just the Jews? They hated every race that wasn't white. The Nazi's would have hated you. They murdered many people just because of their race or beliefs.
{At this point, "Bob" started to get up to go to his next class.}
Me: I want you to wash this off of your hand, because those symbols are evil. I'll call your next teacher and let her know that you'll be late.
I wrote a note to our counselor so she can talk with him more. Later that afternoon I saw another two kids: one with a new haircut and a drawing on his arm and the other was his friend.
Friend: Doesn't he look like Hitler with his new haircut?
Me: No, he looks like a rockstar!
Haircut kid: Yeah, I have half of a Nazi symbol on my arm.
Me: Is that half of a swastika?
HC kid: No, no. It's a lightning bolt, see. {It was a lightning bolt}
Me: Good!
Friend: Nazi's are cool.
Me: Excuse me! Do you know what they stand for?
Friend: They hated the Jews.
Me: Not just the Jews, but a lot of other groups of people too.
Friend: They're still cool.
Me: (not very successfully holding back my angry glare) They murdered 12 million people and would have murdered even more if they were not stopped. {the lecture continued for a while}
So no more swastikas, ok?
Friend: I get it, they're not cool.
The kids are reading Anne Frank right now and I think that they see the Nazi's as some kind of video game bad guys. The reality of the situation doesn't seem to hit them. I want to take all of my kids to the Simon Wiesenthal or something so they can have an idea of what fear, pain, evil, sin, and truly vile actions the Nazi's were responsible for. I wish these kids would see outside of themselves and look to the struggles of others with empathy and concern and a desire to act in such a way as to make genocide and hate be defeated. I know that it is ignorance and not a true passion for the Nazi's that make my kids delight in such shocking symbols, but if they could see for themselves what those symbol really mean, I think that they would have a clearer perspective and perhaps a greater purpose in their own lives. Well, there's my soapbox. I will now stop preaching to the choir.
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