Grand

I have the privilege of playing with a wonderful group of musicians here in Milwaukee in an orchestra called Festival City Symphony. Once upon a time they were the Milwaukee Civic Orchestra, but they changed the name to Festival City (which reflects the exciting number of festivals Milwaukee hosts annually) a couple of years before I moved here.

It's an orchestra comprised of people who take music seriously, and probably majored in it, but performance did not become their day job. There are a lot of music teachers and gig musicians and freelancers, but many who do any number of other jobs to pay the bills and still make the time for orchestra. Because if you grew up playing in an orchestra, it's hard to picture life without it.

Many musicians got a taste of life without it during the first year of the pandemic and it felt like missing a limb. Festival City canceled the end of its season in the spring of 2020, but started up again with many protocols in place in the fall. I ventured back into rehearsals and onto the stage earlier this year. It's been a relief and a challenge all at once.

The opening of this season, however, was remarkable. We are in a new exciting space.

Our concerts pre-pandemic were in the Pabst Theater. It's beautiful, and has my favorite chandelier. During the pandemic we shifted to a hall out at the Wilson Center, which was fine. (A bit of a haul out of the city, but fine.) However, for several years the Milwaukee Symphony Orchestra has been renovating an Art Deco movie theater in the heart of downtown called the Grand Warner. It has sat closed the entire time I've lived here, and I only heard stories from people about how beautiful it was inside. The MSO acquired the building and put a lot of effort and money into moving walls to create a real stage, and expanding the building with a modern addition to the side. The grand opening was supposed to be fall of 2020. They only just moved in recently.

One of the benefactors who donated money to the whole enterprise happens to be a former Festival City musician. He loves our orchestra and knows its worth to the community. He managed to carve out a deal that allows us to perform in that gorgeous building as well.

Wow.

Now, I'm a bit sad that the last time I performed in the Pabst, I didn't know it was the last time I was performing on that stage. The plan was always to move on to the new Bradley Symphony Center inside the Warner theater for this season, but with the previous season cut short and then the venue moved, we didn't finish at the Pabst the way we expected to.

However, what an incredible experience to play in a hall that is specifically designed for an orchestra. Not a space that is designed for a variety of events that an orchestra can also use. This new hall is conceived entirely around what a symphony orchestra needs and you feel it at every turn.

First of all, just from an anyone perspective, the whole building is stunningly beautiful. In centuries past, the grandest structures that money could buy in any town were usually places of worship. In modern and more secular times it seems to me that museums and concert halls are the new cathedrals where society places the greatest importance on design and beauty in order to cradle and showcase the achievements of which we are most proud. This new hall is no exception, and is one of those landmarks where you feel a tad smug that people outside of Milwaukee don't know what they're missing. The great things in our city don't tend to be for tourists, since nobody visits Milwaukee without a reason. There's something extra special about stepping inside a beautiful concert hall that is intended for us, the locals. I hope everyone in the city gets a chance to enjoy it and feel inspired there.

This is the point where I'm going to apologize for not having better pictures. (Go look at the pretty ones in that first link when you have time.) Most of what I had access to was from the stage or behind the scenes, and when I went out in the general areas to explore, I kept hearing staff on their modern walkie-talkies behind me sharing the information that, "The musicians are wandering." I was eventually gently herded backstage, but not before I poked my head onto the balcony to see what things looked like from that direction.

There are restored paintings on the walls of very white people doing very stylized rich people things which are both pretty and kind of funny.

I miss the chandelier from the Pabst, but it makes sense that in a theater originally designed for movies one wouldn't have made a lot of sense. But there is a lovely ceiling nonetheless, and a couple of elaborate light fixtures hanging off to the sides.

And I only got a glimpse of the lobby from above, but it was all just gorgeous.

And everywhere you look there are restored details to admire (like this one little piece of a bit of railing at the top of the stairs).

One of the other details I enjoyed was where they left evidence of the original outside walls. I noticed in the alley I walked through next to the building when I was trying to find the stage door, that there were old painted warnings on the brick admonishing people not to park below the fire escapes (which was amusing since there are no fire escapes on any of those walls now). Some of those same warnings are now inside the building! I love that they left that when they expanded beyond those walls.

So that's the kind of stuff everyone can get to enjoy. My perspective is generally more like this:

But here is a good place to start pointing out cool musician oriented details! First of all, the stage chairs are fancy. I don't know if they are smart, because we had to get a tutorial at the beginning of the rehearsal mostly to inform us that the two levers under the seat must only be ever pulled up. Apparently if you push down on them (and everything about them suggests you should push down on them) they will break. One lever adjusts the height of the seat, and the other the angle, but I was too scared to touch them and decided I was fine with whatever height and angle was there when I sat down. But they were very comfortable and excellent for orchestral playing,

The other thing is the stands. I wasn't sold on the chairs, but I want one of those stands.

It was solid, wide, and smooth (the most common type of stand has inexplicable bumps on it that sometimes interfere with marking a paper part with a pencil), and best of all had a lower shelf lined with a grippy material perfect for setting your bow in. (And considering there's an entire movement of the Tchaikovsky symphony we played that's all pizzicato, that shelf came in handy.)

That shelf is also perfect for pencils, rosin.... I love the shelf.

Only less than optimal thing was the height adjustment required you unscrew something first, but eh. You don't do it that often anyway.

The brass and woodwinds had their own sections on risers. And there are seats behind and on the sides above the orchestra that I assume are for singers.

But it's the stuff offstage that I think I appreciated most.

At the Pabst, the green room was under the stage. It was okay. There were some tables and chairs, a couch or two, inadequate bathroom facilities, a TV that was only on when players wanted to check a Packer game. There were dressing room spaces that some people used to unpack their instruments and store their cases and coats, but most of us found space to balance our things on random beams that were the structural supports behind the adjustable stage walls. There were a few tables on one end, and cellists tended to prop their cases along a wall, but not too close to the hot pipes. It was dark back there, and dirty. It wasn't really where we were supposed to store our things, but it was the most convenient place in terms of proximity to the stage.

The new building? Well, the green room is across the hall and on the same level and includes monitors of the stage.

Lots of light in this building, and lots of windows. And I noticed signs indicating practice rooms upstairs, so that must be nice. 

And in the wings around and behind the stage there was so much light and useful storage! Not to mention several mirrors, a couple of large monitors so you could see the stage, and lots of room to move.

Even the chains on the shelves had little plastic covers on them so you wouldn't snag yourself on anything. It was great to have an actual spot to set my case right off the stage.

 

There were cubbies for cellos on their side of the stage.

Also? Amazing security. That place was on top of everything (including "wandering musicians"), so I wasn't worried about leaving any of my stuff backstage. 

This concert was also the first event I've attended since the pandemic began that required proof of vaccination (or two negative tests within a few days), and nearly everyone was masked, so I was far more at ease in such a crowded setting than at anything similar in recent memory.

And aside from all the beauty and practical details? The hall sounds incredible. Which is truly the whole point. The sound engineers and acoustics people did an astonishing job. It's almost a little too good, in that you can hear everything on that stage and you become very self aware. I took my necklace off after the sound check, because the clicking sound it made as I put my instrument to my neck seemed like it might carry to the audience. Probably not? But it sure felt possible.

I'm pleased to report the concert itself went well. We played Dvorak's Carnival Overture, Bizet's Orchestral Suite from Carmen, and Tchaikovsky's Symphony Number 4. And I have to say, the sound of the brass reverberating in the hall in the rests following their big opening chords of the symphony was really something. It is a magical place to hear the power of live music.

If you're in the area and want to experience something grand, I highly recommend you get a ticket to whatever is happening there. (And Festival City Symphony concerts are free! Come join us! This season's schedule is here. William Grant Still, Aaron Copeland, Mendelssohn, Schubert... lots to like.)

Black Lives Matter

A week ago today, my daughter and I attended a protest march. I needed a few days to process the experience, and then I was too busy to write about it, but I'm making the time today. I want a record for myself of what it was like. Beyond that, I want to share for others who have not been to a Black Lives Matter event how it was from my perspective. I see too many people characterizing these marches as violent, and referring to protesters as thugs. I am not a thug. I didn't meet anyone I would describe as a thug last Sunday.

Black lives matter. Regardless of how anyone wants to view people or organizations associated with those three words, that phrase should not be controversial. Because it is true that black lives matter. Even when people choose to combat that concept by muddying the issue with phrases such as "All lives matter" and "Blue lives matter, " I will agree. All lives (and "blue" lives) do matter. That does not negate the fact that black lives matter. We should all be able to acknowledge that. (And not follow it with anything beginning with "But...")

I am humbled and dismayed by how much I do not know about the black experience in America and the world. Only in recent years with video recordings making certain actions clear and undeniable am I starting to comprehend how different my America has been from the one other people in my community know. I am angry about the history I was taught in school that excluded important details of slavery, events such as the Tulsa Race Massacre, not to mention anything truly instructive on Native Americans, or how the Chinese were exploited in the development of the West, more than a line or two about Japanese Interment Camps, among other things. My children are being taught better, but still not enough. We're doing our homework together.

I believe most people are decent at heart. We can be easily misguided by our own narrow experience. I think what we are witnessing at this moment is a collective realization of how much unfairness exists all around us that we unconsciously contribute to every day, and that we need to change. The marches are one way to demonstrate that we care.

I also believe the marches would be bigger if it weren't for the pandemic. I know my own reluctance to join the BLM crowds has been tied directly to the health risk involved at this time. My family is looking for other avenues to lend support, such as making signs or donating food.

But risks have to be weighed, and some things are too important to ignore.

When a friend who needs a wheelchair for going long distances asked for a volunteer to push her at a handicapped accessible march last week, I jumped at the chance. Since there would be vulnerable people visible in the march, I figured mask usage and social distancing concerns would be better adhered to than on average. My oldest daughter wanted to come, too.

We drove to the other side of town to pick up my friend, and managed to find a spot for my minivan not too far from the gathering in Veterans Park by the lake. There were two marches scheduled at that end of town: The accessible march, and a BLM/Pride march closer to the festival grounds. A third march led by athletes was meeting downtown, and the plan was at some point for all three to join together.

The event began just beyond the parking area near the kite store. We settled in on the ground facing a pickup truck where sign language interpreters were standing. There were several interpreters at the march, identified with bright vests and yellow pool noodles they could wave above people's heads to be found in a crowd. They, and the deaf marchers in attendance, wore masks with a clear section in front so their lips were visible.

Around 2:00, when enough people were assembled to begin, we were led in nine minutes of meditation. We were asked to either close our eyes or cast them to the ground, and then told to concentrate on our breathing. Then on our emotions. Then on our thoughts. Then back to the breath coming in and out of our bodies. I've participated in many acts of meditation. This was by far the most profound.

I appreciated all of the speakers, and according to my friend, this was the best opportunity she'd had at a recent march to actually hear people clearly. There was a man named Harvey who had been put in his wheelchair by gun violence. He was glad to be able to attend a march on a route designed to accommodate his needs. There was a single mom who choked up as she described the challenges she's faced raising two black sons in Milwaukee, one of whom has disabilities which compounds those challenges. There was Nuno Davis, a deaf woman who had come from Maryland just for this accessible march. She gave her impassioned speech in ASL while standing in the back of the pickup, and someone translated for us through a bullhorn. We all learned how to sign "Black Lives Matter" in ASL. Khalil Coleman and Rafael (Pancho) Mercado energized the crowd and explained hand signals for keeping us organized as a group. We were asked to remember to drink water, and to check on the people around us as we went.

Even as each of these speakers expressed frustrations with trying to function in this country as people of color, they were overwhelmingly positive. They celebrated the diversity of the crowd. They asked people to refrain from cursing. (There was about twenty seconds of "Fuck the police" about five hours in, which didn't catch on, but that was the only such chant I heard all day.) The general atmosphere was of support for one another, and a desire to be heard and make our city better by holding the police accountable.

The march was set up with the people in wheelchairs at the front so they could set the pace. There were about eight or so wheelchairs in a group of a few hundred people, so my friend and I were in a position to lead the march in a manner we weren't expecting. For my part, this was fine, because although I was in a good mask, I was not eager to be pressed in too close to so many people. It suited me fine to be spaced far apart and in front of the large crowd. Plus it was helpful in guiding my friend's chair to have a clear path and not be concerned about bumping into anyone. I did my best to keep my friend positioned in the second or third row when possible, because she really didn't want undue attention.

Marching for a cause is a bit of a conundrum for introverts. We're not particularly inclined to be seen or heard. But that's the whole of our contribution when involved in a protest this way. In my friend's case, there is the added element of the wheelchair, which draws a peculiar kind of attention. I was of mixed mind about how she was being included in this march. On the one hand, there was a practical reason for her to be up front. The march was designed specifically around her sort of needs. But it was hard to get away from the idea of her being used as a prop. I know that made her uncomfortable. At the same time, she was there with a sign which she wanted people to see. (It read: "When George called for his Mama, all moms were summoned.") So why not be seen? If the wheelchair in this instance amplified her message, all the better? And the focus on the disabled caught the needed attention of the press. I don't know. It was awkward, but maybe for the best, and I haven't worked that bit out in my head yet. There is a fine line between tokenism and awareness sometimes. I think my friend handles it with grace. I don't know if I would do it as well.

We walked out of the park and south along Lincoln Memorial Drive. We took over one side of the boulevard, and cars lined up on the opposite side honked in support. The basic chants were mostly call and response: "I can't breathe, can you breathe?--I can't breathe." "Whose city?--Our city. Whose state?--Our state." "Don't arrest me!--Arrest the police." Along with repeated chants of "Black Lives Matter" or the sing-song "Ain't no power like the power of the people 'cause the power of the people don't stop."

We got as far as the intersection by the art museum before we stopped for a while. Apparently marching involves a lot more stopping and standing than I knew. We waited for the Pride march to join up with us, then the march from downtown.

That's when the food appeared. I had my own water, but volunteers all along the route were omnipresent with water bottles offered out of the trunks of cars and in wagons. There were boxes full of snacks, and whole bagged lunches. I took a bag marked PB&J, and shared my sandwich with my daughter. In the bag was also an apple, a granola bar, and fruit gummies. My friend said her son had been marching every day since the protests began (this was day ten) and that he'd been living off the snacks donated by volunteers.

The weather was perfect: Sunny, just cool enough to not be sticky. It was sort of fascinating to get to eat lunch in the sunshine near the entrance to a freeway in a place I normally only drive. Everyone was pleasant and generous.

We gathered in a circle at the intersection where someone set up speakers and a microphone. The interpreters were always in sight. The people in wheelchairs (at this, and every stop) were escorted to the front to make sure they had an unobstructed view. Organizers spoke, and kept the themes positive. To be honest, their words didn't stick with me as well as the presence of a four-year-old girl who got to lead the crowd in repeating "Black lives matter" over and over. It was done with the glee you'd expect of a child who doesn't tire of reruns. It was hard not to think about the world she's growing up in. I can't imagine anyone not wanting the best for her. I thought about how many of my own children's opportunities I tend to take for granted.

Eventually everyone reassembled into a procession again, wheelchairs at the front, followed by people with banners and everyone else. All along the route were people to cheer us on, offering water and handing out extra signs for anybody who wanted one. At that point the group was very large. I saw an estimate later on the news of thousands, but really don't know. Again, I was grateful for the excuse to be essentially out front and able to keep some distance between our trio and others.

We headed past City Hall and over to Red Arrow Park--a small skating rink where Dontre Hamilton was shot and killed by police in 2014. He was a man with mental illness who had been sleeping in the park. People ever since have placed small memorials to him there that are repeatedly swept away. I often play in the performing arts center across the street. There is never a time I see that park that I don't think of Dontre needlessly losing his life there.

There were speeches at the park, followed by another break for food. Some generous donor had provided a car with 60 pizzas, and children followed by women were invited to partake. That was maybe the only other thing in the day that didn't sit with me well, in addition to people in wheelchairs being made to feel a bit like props. There were a few times one of the organizers described men as the protectors of women, and sort of lumped women and children together as a weaker category. I know it was well-intentioned, and no harm was meant by it, but I think for a march that included a sizable LGBTQ+ section of the community, it was not particularly sensitive. I wondered how it would be possible to broach the topic with the speaker somehow, because I'm sure he wouldn't have wanted to alienate anyone present. But if I, as a cis-gendered hetero white woman found the "protectors of women and children" thing uncomfortable, I can only imagine how that sat with any queer or non-binary people in attendance.

But you know what? Compared to the way BLM marches seem to be portrayed on social media and in the news, these are exceedingly small quibbles. People always get points in my mind for their good intentions if they are doing the best with what they know. I only bring them up in order to highlight how overwhelmingly positive and inspiring everything was. If the only thing spoken that made me cringe was someone saying men have a duty to protect women and children, well, then I wish all the problems of the world could be so insignificant.

My daughter and I ate our pizza standing well apart from others so we could remove our masks with less worry. It felt good to sit in the park for a bit and rest our feet. I also had the opportunity to talk with a couple of women with signs listing black people tragically killed by police. We'd been chanting the name "George Floyd" of course, and sometimes "Breonna Taylor" (and then the call and response would turn to "Say their name--Which one?"), and I recognized several of the names on one woman's sign (Trayvon Martin, Sandra Bland, Tamir Rice, Michael Brown....). But I was shocked at how many names I did not know of local victims on the other woman's sign.

We reassembled after the break in the park to march over a bridge and toward the police station. That area was blocked off by dumpsters so we could not walk in front of that building. We stopped again so people could speak, then wound our way back toward the lake where we started. As we passed through the tunnel under the convention center, everyone was struck with the same urge as every little kid in that space to make a lot of noise and hear it echo. It was one of the only moments I took any video because I wanted to remember it. It was impressive. (I am not sharing it here, or any photos that protesters could be identified from, since I do not have their permission.)

During the downtown portion of our march we were joined by a few men carrying rifles. I am not comfortable around guns. However, in the wake of lock down protests where white men felt entitled to openly carry with impunity, I don't think there should be a double standard when it comes to black citizens. Anytime I see a Walmart I think of John Crawford who was killed in one in Ohio for carrying a BB gun that was for sale inside that store. These black men with their rifles were making a statement, and did not make me nervous. If anything, I was nervous for them.

As the sun was setting, we walked back along the road in front of the museum, and back into the park. I drove my friend home, and then on our way back to our side of town, my daughter and I were stuck in traffic in the dark watching the same march continue up by the university. It was amazing to watch the group we'd walked in front of for seven hours from the outside. I hadn't realized just how many cars had joined the procession at the rear. It was noisy and energetic.

The whole thing was a great experience. I am beyond glad I went. And it was a joy to see the kind of light the day brought to my daughter's eyes. She's been stuck at home so long, deprived of her end-of-high-school experience, apart from friends, and feeling helpless about these important issues we are all grappling with lately. She said it felt good to get up and do something, even if it wasn't much. We both agreed we felt better about our city having spent the day with so many people in our community who want things to change. It gave us hope.

So here is a big takeaway from this event for me: The positive is seldom reported. Not a big surprise, but in the context of our current state, it leaves the wrong impression of BLM protests. I talked to one woman at our march who said the one she was in the day before, they walked peacefully in a northern suburb for ten hours, and the only part that made the news was the lawyer who came out to spit on a young black man in the march. That moment was despicable, and deserved press, but I have a feeling if that hadn't happened, those hundreds of people out there to make a statement against racism would have been overlooked entirely. Our march got press because it had a couple of gimmicks: the wheelchairs, and the professional athletes. I wonder if it hadn't been for those things if it would have merited a mention at all.

There were no police in sight anywhere on our march, with the exception of a couple of cars at a distance helping redirect traffic. I don't believe unless there is a specific reason for police to be involved, they should be anywhere near these protests. The few marches in our area where there was trouble, protesters have reported that the police overreacted to situations they misinterpreted, and escalated the conflict. I believe them. I can't speak to the devastation to property in places like Minnesota, but I can say that any time we care more about property than we do about human lives and dignity and justice, we are putting our empathy in the wrong place. I love the store I run. It's an extension of myself, and I think I do good work for our community. If something were to happen to it, I would be understandably upset. But I don't think it is worth more than a human life.

I hope these marches are the beginning of a larger trend of learning and change. I hope at some point when they die down and fade away, that the momentum continues in other quiet but meaningful ways. In the meantime, our family will look for more contributions we can make to the Black Lives Matter message. This weekend both of my daughters joined an event where they participated in a protest using chalk on a sidewalk in a park near our home. We plan this week to make signs for others to carry. Someday soon we hope to be among the people handing out snacks that keep others marching.

Because black lives matter. Obviously.

Plague Break

This is how my daughter has been referring to this unexpected and peculiar time off: Plague Break. It's like Spring Break (which according to our calendar is still approaching) combined with a pandemic. Strange times.

Our family is beyond lucky. As of this moment, the corona virus has not seemed to have touched us, or anyone we know personally. I expect that to change as the year drags forward, but today? Today we are healthy. Today we are fine.

Our state went on official lock down on Wednesday morning, March 25th. There was a flurry of activity in my store right before then, since many people don't view violins and instrument repairs as non-essential. One person even drove up from Chicago to have me set up her soundpost, since Illinois was on lock down already and no shop down there could help her.

Before this week, we'd been by appointment only at the violin store as soon as the public school closures were issued. The protocols we instituted involved lots of hand washing (for both us and our customers), social distancing, and anything people handled and didn't take with them got put into quarantine for several days. It was an odd way to work.

Since the lock down, no one is allowed inside my store. They can leave things on the doorstep that I can bring in after they've backed away. I have been able to deliver certain items. I recently left a violin bow on a porch and found the payment for it in the mailbox. I appreciate more than I can say that I have customers that think to call me first, rather than spend their money online.

Interestingly, we had more rental instruments go out in the past week than come back. People have time to play. I've been carefully asking each person who does return an instrument why they are doing it, because I don't want anyone to feel they can't play violin simply because we're in a peculiar time of financial strain. I would find a way for them to hang onto it for a while, rather than take a violin away from a child at this moment. But so far everyone has assured me their child lost interest, nothing more.

I've been at my store each day, primarily to wait for packages that were already in transit before the lock down order. I've been sharpening tools for work that isn't there. It's very odd to be caught up on repairs.

Very soon I will shift to being completely at home, the way my husband and children have been. I'll join the full-time quarantine, where at least we have each other and there are hugs and a well-enough stocked pantry. (On my last visit to the grocery store at the beginning of the week, I discovered the losing pasta type is Mafalda. Apparently people will take everything else before they will take Mafalda. Who knew?)

What I find really striking so far about this momentous shift we've all been asked to make in our lives, is how quickly so much of it has sunk in. It's only been about two weeks since school was canceled and social distancing rules were explained to all of us. Now when I see images in movies or online of crowds of people smashed shoulder to shoulder anywhere I feel something akin to panic. I'm conscious about how I wash my hands in a way I didn't used to be. Every time someone touches their own face I feel a small alarm go off in my brain.

I'm surprised by how exhausting all of this has turned out to be. And how hard it is to be motivated to do the kinds of projects I usually want to do. Seems like a perfect opportunity to write, or organize things, or get some real work done in my home shop. But I haven't really done any of that yet.

Part of it is that in some way, too much time can be a burden. I've often found that when trying to get somewhere on time, that too much time makes me as late as too little. And in terms of projects, I'm reminded of the saying, "If you want something done, give it to a busy person." People often ask how I have time for all the things I do, and the truth is you grab moments when you can get them and use them to the fullest. But if tomorrow is just as empty as today, there's no hurry. So I keep putting things off because I can.

Another part of it is stress and grief. Those things make you tired. I tried to explain that to my oldest the other night when she was getting depressed and wasn't sure why. I told her it's because this looks like a vacation of sorts, but it isn't. It's a crisis. And even though in our own home things are about the same, having choices taken away never feels right. And she has legitimate things to grieve over. She left school believing she'd go back the following Monday. Instead, without any goodbyes, she's simply done. Not exactly the way we imagine finishing our senior year. She's trying to make decisions about college under unusual circumstances. She misses her friends.

The stories about people this pandemic has impacted directly are scary. There's no getting around that no matter how many cookies we bake. The fact that there is no end date is stressful. All of it makes us want to sleep in and tune it out a little longer.

As much as we've had to give up at this time, I am impressed by how many good things we had, if that makes sense. Most of us tend to focus on the negative side of being too busy. When all of it grinds to a halt, we can appreciate anew what we liked about all of those activities.

Because talk about cancel culture! Watching one thing after another go down like dominoes was rather shocking. Two concerts I was supposed to play were called off. My book signing is indefinitely postponed. I doubt my daughter will have a public graduation. My husband, after 21 years of service, was supposed to have his Army retirement ceremony next weekend, but instead, he just stops going to drill with no real recognition. Almost without exception, everything getting canceled was something we were looking forward to. It's sort of astonishing to be forced to step away from it all and realize how good we had it.

Currently the only thing keeping us tethered to the day of the week is the fact that my son has remote piano lessons on Mondays. That's it. Bedtimes don't matter, mealtimes don't matter.... All my kids are teenagers so the schedule has gotten very loose. The funniest part of Quinn's piano lessons is that he broke his wrist in two places on a ski trip right before the school closures. His left arm is in a cast, which means to play his assignments, I am now his left hand. I'm a viola player, so I don't read bass clef, and looking at chords is confusing. I gave his teacher a good laugh at least, last lesson. I will do better next time! And since I'm not taking Quinn anywhere near a hospital until the pandemic is under control, who knows how long he'll be stuck in that cast? I could become better at bass clef than I ever planned to.

I am enjoying reading more. I normally don't have a schedule that allows me to finish a book in a single day, and now I do. I'm reading to the kids as they gather to do projects some evenings at the dining room table. Mona has been sewing some beautiful things. Aden is drawing more. I've made a new friend on social media whom I think of as my "plague buddy," and we can tell each other stories that people in our own homes have already heard too many times. It will be nice to meet him in real life when the world goes back to normal.

I do wonder what normal will look like, though. I imagine a year from now it will look more like what we remember from just a few weeks ago. But the rest of this year I think will be strange and complicated. This is not something that will simply end in a couple of weeks and everything springs back to life as if we flipped a switch. There will be ripple effects, and I expect to feel them for a while.

Yesterday would have been my dad's 91st birthday. I took a walk by the lake for an hour and called one of my brothers, and then my mom. We agreed that Dad would have weathered quarantine just fine. He would have happily clipped articles at his desk and looked forward to whatever Mom made for dinner. We wonder if he would have noticed the plague break much at all, aside from the newspaper articles suddenly being entirely about covid-19. I feel bad my mom doesn't have his company right now as she's stuck by herself at home.

I loved my walk by the lake. I'm going to take advantage of so much time laid suddenly at my feet and try to do that every day that I can. This afternoon my family came out to walk a little with me. Even the dog who (because he is the world's weirdest dog and doesn't want to go for walks) enjoyed it for a little bit. The lake provides perspective you don't get anywhere else. It's always beautiful, always different. It makes our own concerns seem smaller and fleeting.

If we do this together we can be proud of how we looked out for one another at an uncertain time. Take care of each other and try to see the good. There's always good if you look.

I hope you all stay healthy.

Escape the Room

This past weekend we decided to try Escape the Room.  It was really fun.

Escape the Room is a game where you are in a room filled with puzzles and locks and have one hour to figure how to get out.  We managed to escape (with lots of hints from the Clue-Master) with over three minutes to spare!

I'm not going to give anything away because it would be a lot less fun for anyone who wants to try it to know much in advance, but I will mention a few general things, and some that were unique to our experience.

Halloween 2016

I do like living in a neighborhood that has fun with Halloween.  Tons of people out for trick-or-treat, the Pumpkin Pavilion event, and I don't think anyplace in the country has anything as cool as Zombie Hill.  They outdid themselves this year:

Toys of Yesteryear

There is a lot to write about lately, but very little time.  I want to tell you about the kitchen renovation, the annoyance of living without a kitchen in a house with five people, how we started Halloween costumes early, school, cool things we've seen, thoughts on life and the world....  But in the small window for blogging I have available this morning I'm going with Tinker Toys.

Happy Halloween 2015!

 Halloween was on Halloween here in Milwaukee!  It's a Christmas miracle!

Unfortunately for the city-wide trick-or-treaters it rained here all day, but for our neighborhood's nighttime trick-or-treat it was merely cold and a bit damp.  I was surprised at just how many people came to our door this year considering how unpleasant it was out, but we went through many hundreds of pieces of candy like we usually do.  Lots of Ninja Turtles this year, along with many Batmen, Supermen, and Star Wars characters (the best of which was a dad dressed as Luke Skywalker with a baby in a Yoda hat strapped to his back).  My favorites were a dad dressed as a cockroach, a little boy in a homemade tiger shark outfit, and a small child in a beautiful macaw costume.  Oh, and a little girl in a homemade robot costume who said "Beep Boop!" for thank you

I got pictures of the kids in their costumes before they went to the Halloween dance at their school the day before while the weather was nice.  I love how much they love to dress up!  

Oh, and also these things happened...

So, the part of this blog that is a record for myself of things my family does kind of got understandably sideswiped this summer (and into the start of fall).  The death of my father and what that means going forward is still something I am processing, but regardless, our lives have continued on in busy and interesting fashion, and I need to jot some of it down before I forget it ever happened.

This is essentially "How I Spent My Summer Vacation" without the sad parts and with many photos.  Here we go:

I did post about our trip to the cottage already.  Ian and the kids (including my niece) got to return there for a week in August as well.  I love that the cottage is a summer tradition for our family.

Early in the summer I finally got the appropriate archery equipment for the girls to share.  There are several public ranges in the park system in Milwaukee, and sometimes we'll picnic there when we go out to shoot.

Quinn's still too small to handle the bow yet, so he acts as a human quiver and also retrieves arrows.  The girls are improving quickly and we've been having a lot of fun.  Next summer I plan to get a third bow so they don't have to take turns.

Summer means trips to Leon's Frozen Custard.  (Or, at least, more seasonally appropriate trips to Leon's.)  Aden has discovered the joy of the banana split.

Book of Mormon

We went to see The Book of Mormon here in Milwaukee this weekend!  The original plan (when we bought the tickets half a year ago) was to go with my brother and his wife, but that was before their baby made different plans for them.  So we decided to take our daughters instead.

Thankful: Past, Present, and Future

Thanksgiving this year at our house wound up being about a two week event with lots of comings and goings.

[Try to follow along if you like!:  Ian left for New York for a week starting back on Quinn's birthday to watch our niece while my brother, Arno, and his wife had to be in other time zones, and he didn't get back until two days before Thanksgiving.  My parents arrived a week before Thanksgiving, and my brother, Barrett, came out by bus from LaCrosse for a day around then to visit with all of us before heading back to teach a few more classes and returning with his wife, Dosha, (and their dog) the night before the big feast.  Arno and his daughter, Ellora, arrived the day before Thanksgiving.]

All in all we ended up with six guests (plus dog guest) staying in the house and it was great.

I think it was the first time I've been with my parents and both my brothers at a Thanksgiving table in over 20 years.  After we all left for college it just wasn't worth the effort and expense to gather at the end of November when there was a longer break with even more relatives to see a month later.  Having everyone together this year was a rare and wonderful treat.

Dinner itself was delicious and fun.  My mom made some excellent dishes for the vegetarians among us, my husband cooked the turkey, I made pumpkin pie, Mona made the place markers, Barrett got creative with the napkins, and Arno made the potatoes into a nice Devil's Tower.

Bike Trip to the Fabric Store

It seemed like a good idea.  It really did.

But before I get into that story I feel the need to share some pictures of leaves because this Fall has been particularly beautiful.  (These are from right outside my front door and from the park nearby.  Don't let anyone ever tell you Milwaukee's not beautiful.)

Zombie Hill! (And Other Halloween Fun)

Bay View does a lot of Halloween decorations in October, but hands down the best display every year is Zombie Hill on Kinnickinnic near my kids' school.  (And I never get tired of the word "Kinnickinnic.")

How awesome is that?  The first few zombies appear on the hill on the first of the month, then more, and sometimes they get moved around (usually closer and closer to the sidewalk as the month progresses).

Halloween Costumes 2014!

Trick-or-Treat is tonight in our neighborhood, which at least does nighttime Trick-or-Treat.  There will be Trick-or-Treat in the rest of Milwaukee in the daytime on Sunday.  I have no idea if anything Halloween related is happening anywhere on Halloween.

But I got all the costumes done!  Check out my kids as a pigeon, a snowy owl, and a tapejara: