Austria

 

I am finally getting around to posting about my trip to Austria with the Milwaukee Mandolin Orchestra back in May!  I shouldn't have waited so long, but I am enjoying reliving this trip again. It was great. And apologies now for lots of details that may not interest anyone but me, and this is long, but there are some pretty pictures here and there. 

Oh, and this post mentions a lot of nuns.

I went on this trip with my mom, like I did to Venice when the orchestra traveled last year. No masks this time, though. We had some in case it seemed necessary, but it never did. Which is good, because trying to sleep with a mask on a long plane flight is not fun.

We flew from Milwaukee to Chicago, where there was a lot of confusing shuffling around and a bus ride at O'Hare before we were on our plane to Vienna. (There was also a tense bit of time in Milwaukee on the tarmac where we waited for a part to be replaced on the plane, and I started to wonder if it would be quicker to drive to Chicago and not miss our connection, but it all worked out.)

Getting on the plane to Austria involved the flight crew telling us our bags had to be checked (so I recently bought a new bag that definitely conforms to European size requirements for future trips, because I really hate checking my bag), but I hold firm on not letting anyone check my instrument. I've repaired too many things that got damaged on flights to ever hand something like my mandola over.

The Austrian plane had the weirdest in-flight safety video yet. I wish I could have shown it to my kids, because they would appreciate the glitchy bits. This guy had a terrifying smile and was flying all alone. The only movie I remember watching was Tar, and didn't like it. (Happy to discuss why, just not in this post.)

Upon arriving in Vienna, we had to figure out a train to Graz. We ran into other MMO people making their own decisions about venturing into the city to eat first, etc., but I'm a nervous traveler when I don't speak the language and am unfamiliar with how things work, so I just really wanted to get us checked in to where we were going to sleep before we did much exploring. We found a train to Graz, on which it was hard to decide between dozing a bit, and simply admiring the view out the window.

Most of the orchestra (including us) was staying in a church space run by nuns, and it was an easy walk straight from the train station with one left turn. (Unless you were using whatever GPS map thing we were using, then there were many many turns that looped around and added several blocks before winding up within sight of where we started. Super fun on little sleep!)

I have to say, I loved my little nun room. My mom and I had single rooms next to each other on the third floor, our own showers, lovely view. There was a sheet/bedding situation that I never figured out, but we had wifi and breakfast included, so it was all good. The weird thing about the building in general was it was simultaneously the quietest and the loudest place I've ever stayed. We seldom ran into anyone on our floor, so there was no one else making any sound. But the ceilings were high and the surfaces hard, so everything echoed like you wouldn't believe. Putting my key in the lock seemed like it might wake all the neighbors. 

The place was in an interesting spot. There was a kindergarten across the street, and a creek/canal that ran behind the churchyard. 

But the grounds were all behind a plain wall that ran right up against the sidewalk, so opening the door to all the greenery was like a hidden surprise, with greenspace and flowers.

Entry door

Behind the entry door!

 

 

Evening view from inside the walls

The nuns were all very nice but didn't interact with us much. Our buffet breakfasts consisted of simple pastries, meats, cheeses, fruits, and cereal. There were place markers on the tables based on our room numbers that we routinely ignored so we could all sit together, and I wondered if that annoyed the nuns or if they even noticed.

One of the confusing things to me in the nun hotel was the art on the hallway walls along the stairs. Most if it was pretty scenes of the Austrian countryside, and charming cottages, and flowers, but then there was this, and I never figured out an explanation,

Our first day we just walked and tried to get a sense of where things were. Graz is not big. But then, Austria is not big. I think the population of the entire country is comparable with New York City. It is impressively clean. I only saw maybe three pieces of litter on the whole trip, and they were all in heavily tourist-filled areas of Vienna. Graz had some graffiti which all seemed political in nature, but otherwise was neat as a pin.

Things on our walk: This weird contraption that I think had something to do with water? I was mostly entertained by the fact that it had MKE lettered on the top.

There is an art museum/space/something that we never got into, but was certainly interesting to have squeezed in among much older buildings.

Art building on our first evening in Graz

 

 

 

 

 

 

Back of the art building on a sunny day

 

Bronze sculpture of crazy art building

In the river (Mur) was a building that had a cafe and a gathering space and some art installations. There was a walkway that connected it to either side of the river, so that was a fun way to cross.

 

 

 

One bridge over the river was covered with love locks.

There is a clock tower you can climb to, but we were content to admire it from below. Lots of beautiful architecture.

I

The trains are frequent and utterly quiet. It took practice to be aware of the bike paths and train tracks that were all densely integrated with the streets and the sidewalks. The sense of the city was busy but not fast.

 

 

Among the things that surprised me in Austria were the cigarette machines, and the amount of smoking in general. For a rather health conscious looking populace, it was a crazy amount of smoking! We saw kids smoking in the park and no one cared. I was also unprepared for how unnerving it felt to have nearly everyone be white. (Last time I was that conscious of such a crowd was at a Bruce Springsteen concert in Detroit in the 80s.)

We couldn't tell if this tree outside of the colorful school was some kind of palm tree, or simply trimmed to look that way.

We saw several buildings with sliding "shutters." I didn't think it was the most attractive thing, but it seemed practical.

That first night we eventually found food. We split a pretty good burger in an outdoor cafe that was near a lot of smokers. The menu looked similar to what you would find in Milwaukee, lots of beer, not a lot of vegetables.

The next morning, a very small group of us decided to rehearse a little outside by the canal under a tree. That was lovely. Although during a brief calamity I lost my pick in the grass, but that forced me to try some different kinds of picks I happened to have along, and discovered one I liked better anyway.

There was some interesting signage that amused me in Graz, including an odd elevator sign where they look like they are sinking (or they are just strangely short), and what I think is a meeting place? Except that I wish I'd gotten the larger context because it was in a weird spot where there was nowhere to stand. The walking dude who looks like he's in a hat and mittens. Lots of signs with matching backs and fronts where on one side things were fine, but forbidden on the other. And the guy who is dragging around a child who looks broken. (Plus he looks like he has a foot going either direction.)

Meeting place? But in an awkward spot.

 

So much pretty architecture in Graz, along with odd things here and there.

These details floating above the windows were weird.

On that second day we enjoyed gelato! I had the Raffaello I think? It's a kind of fancy white chocolate with coconut we don't have here apparently.

And that night we wound up eating at an Italian restaurant somehow, mostly because we were hungry and tired of walking and it was there. It was good, but not what I was expecting to eat in Austria. It was a nice mother/daughter evening with another mother/daughter pair.

On to some mandolin things! We rehearsed the in a room at the end of the hall on the first floor of the nun house, both on the first night with those of us staying there, and the next day with everyone.

One of the pleasant surprises of this trip was there was rain predicted the whole week, but it really only rained during a couple of times we were scheduled to be indoors anyway. One of those times was during the first full rehearsal and the storm was impressive outside the windows! The downside to so much otherwise pleasant weather was that I packed all wrong.

Our mandola section from Venice was reunited!

The rehearsal later in the church space was interesting. We were performing with the Austrian mandolin orchestra that had invited us, and this was our first opportunity to play with them. The program was them performing a set, then inviting us to the stage to play three pieces they had selected for us to all play together, and then the second half was our set, and ending with their group joining us for the pieces we had selected for everyone to perform.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

After the rehearsal, it was late, and we needed to eat. The streets in Graz roll up really early, and I had a feeling by the time we walked home and dropped off my instrument, we wouldn't be able to find anything, and I was very hungry. So we found a restaurant down the street from the church that was still open and decided to simply eat there. And not long after, many other MMO people found the same spot! It was good. Not great. But we were hungry and it was food so it was fine. Good company goes a long way for any meal.

 

 

The next evening was our concert!

I packed up my gear, and a group of us walked from the nun hotel to the train stop and to the church.

We were able to run through the pieces with the Austrian group's conductor who wasn't available the day before. Very different from Rene's interpretations when he was conducting everything! That was fascinating for my mom to hear, since like most people it's hard to fathom how much difference different conductors make.

The contrasts made for a well-rounded show. The Austrians played music primarily from the Baroque era, like Vivaldi, and the pieces they had invited us to play with them included music from the movie The Third Man (which is set in Vienna) and a Japanese composition called My Homeland. (Mandolin orchestras have a long history in Japan, since Suzuki brought the idea for them from Italy as an accessible method for teaching classical orchestra music in schools.) After the intermission (where everyone left to purchase wine in the courtyard), we performed a set of American music mostly from the 1930s, and our group pieces were a challenging Mexican suite, and a Brazilian tune. The Austrian audience seemed delighted by all of it.

We were told by the Austrian group that after the concert there were reservations at a restaurant where we could all eat together. Sounded fun! Until we realized that it was the same place we'd eaten the night before, and that we did not actually have reservations, so the staff had to scramble to find room for everyone. I didn't want the same thing I'd gotten the night before, and I really wanted some crunchy vegetables, so I asked if the fried chicken strips on lettuce really came with just lettuce. They said just lettuce, and I asked if it were possible to add more vegetables. They said sure! I'm not sure what all the vegetables were that they tucked under the lettuce, but the best word to describe them was soggy.

We wandered home afterward in a small group through the deserted town, got some good rest, and thgen Mom and I wandered to a different section of Graz to admire more architecture before finally meeting up with everyone at the train station to head to Salzburg.

These crazy chimp/monkey lamps are little hard to see in this window, but they won the weirdness prize for us among all the things we saw for sale in Graz.

And I loved this little bike repair kit just available on a wall for people to use as needed.

Some architecture was better than others, but none of our walks were boring.

The view on the train ride to Salzburg was spectacular. Mountains, and picturesque little towns in valleys, and every yard was perfect and tidy, and the skies were blue with fluffy clouds. I have no pictures that come even close to capturing how lovely this 4 to 5 hour train trip was.

When we arrived in Salzburg we were met by some friends of one of our group who were so helpful and kind to us! They loaded their car with our things to make getting to where we were staying a lighter trip, and even gave my mom a ride so she didn't have to do extra walking.

Bikes. So many bikes!

The bulk of the group was staying in another nun hotel, but Mom and I were a short walk away at a hotel this time. This was my first encounter with an energy saving system of needing your key card in order to turn on lights in the bathroom and parts of the room at large. It took me a long time to figure this out, and I had to pee in the dark before I did.

This was the view from our window (which we could open!).

And this was our fancy "mood clock" setting on the TV in front of the bed. I'm not sure what mood it was supposed to be.

 And this was the floor to almost ceiling art. I'm not clear what mood this was supposed to be either.

This was the somewhat disorienting carpet in the hallways.

 

After settling in and getting our bearings, we met up with friends for lunch, which was some very good Italian food (my gnocchi was delicious) by a little fountain/water feature that was fun to watch children play in as we ate.

(Tonia took this picture)

 

Salzburg is beautiful.

In the afternoon, we met at the church hotel (where most people were staying) to hear Rene Izquierdo run through the set he was working on for a concert in Puerto Rico that immediately followed this trip to Austria. He was feeling pressure about the limited amount of time he had to work on that music, and he practiced during every spare moment, including all our train rides. It was quite a treat to get a small, private concert. (Pull up any recording of his you can find on YouTube and you won't be disappointed. Also, unsurprisingly, the performance in Puerto Rico went very well.)

 

The next morning (after a nice breakfast in the hotel) we rehearsed in the church hotel. The concert in Graz went well, but things can always be better, so we spent a good amount of time reviewing everything Rene thought could use improvement. (Which would be most things.) It was a fun rehearsal, even though the space was somewhat awkward for arranging ourselves because of columns in the middle of the room.

After the rehearsal we had the afternoon to ourselves, so we wandered with friends first to the interesting cemetery space on the church grounds behind the building, and then to the gardens and fountain that most people would recognize from The Sound of Music. (My mom had somehow in 80 years never seen The Sound of Music, so we watched it before we left on our trip. I think she was annoyed that I broke her perfect streak.)

 

Before we reached the gardens, we did stop for a basic lunch of soup, and we walked in some inefficient circles for a while, but everything was beautiful, and it didn't really matter where we walked.

After heading home to change, we tried to meet up with people who knew how to catch public transit to the concert location. But we were lucky enough to catch a ride in an Uber with a couple of players who decided to go that way, and that worked out very well.

Our concert was in the building that was used for the outside establishing shot of the home in The Sound of Music! The inside is nothing like anything from the film, but it was genuinely amusing to pull up in front of this place that was so recognizable. (This was in good keeping with our nun theme, seeing as the main character in that musical/film was a nun.)

We were a bit concerned about how everyone was supposed to crowd into the small room that was chosen for this performance, but in the end it all worked out somehow. Although the people in the first row of the audience were close enough for me to touch if I had wanted. Again, a very appreciative audience. And I think we played very well.

Our imported audience!

I love this picture so much.

Milwaukee mandolas in front, Austrian mandolas in back!

A successful concert! 

And we were assured this time by the Austrian group that afterward they had reservations at a restaurant back near where we were staying. Great! But then, no, it was a sports bar kind of place that served drinks fairly late, but the kitchen was about done for the night by the time we got there, and our choices were a white sausage, a red sausage, or the potato goulash. Lots of potato goulash all around! And someone gave me a pretzel they weren't going to eat. Not the kind of dining experience I was hoping for, but again, the company was great, so that helped carry the goulash. For most of us, this was the last big goodbye before we headed our separate ways on the journey home.

The next morning, after one more hotel breakfast, it was off to the train station and on to Vienna. We ran into a few people we knew at the train station headed that way as well.

My mom and I did not have reserved seats on the train, so we ended up having to sit apart. I got to spend the ride with this lovely person! She was originally from Sicily, and told me she missed the comforting glow at night of the volcano there, but enjoyed living in Austria and doing administrative work for various theaters. I had expected to nap the whole way to Vienna, but we found too much to talk about to want to rest. (She had a violin with her, so how could I not?)

Vienna is just stunning, and if I had it to plan again, I would have made sure to schedule a few days there with my mom so we could really do things. But as it was, we arrived at our airport hotel at an inconvenient time in the early afternoon where there was a lot of time to use, but not enough to really get anywhere to actually use it. With more time I would have figured out how to get us to the Palace where the museum is, but tickets were timed, and I just didn't feel competent at that point to get us there. I had done all the navigating and decision making, and by Vienna I was feeling burned out, because I'm not good at most of that when it's all in English, but I was not confident about any of it in German, Although, we did take a tram as far as a station where I felt we should get off, which is good, because it was headed off into some kind of suburb.

My rule of thumb when lost is to talk to a person with a dog. People walking dogs tend to know their way around because they have to walk a lot, and there is always an easy entry point of conversation by simply saying how much you like their dog. We found a guy with a cute little dog, told him generally where we wanted to go, and he gave us detailed directions that was convinced I would forget, but no! We did it! And I'm still very proud of us for managing to go into the train station and figure it out.

We wound up on the main drag where there was lots of activity, tourists, and shops. We also grabbed dinner at a Turkish restaurant which was probably our best meal of the trip. (Leaps and bounds above the potato goulash.) 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Only place I've ever been with multiple crystal stores of the same brand.

Crystal display

 

I like the little love couple crossing

We decided on tickets to the opera as our Vienna activity. We didn't care what, and it turned out what was playing was Dialogues des Carmelites (Dialogues of the Carmelites) by Poulenc. It's an opera about martyred nuns! So this trips was nuns all the way down. 

The opera house is almost too beautiful. And we bought our box seat tickets from some sketchy looking little table outside the theater that we were skeptical about, especially when I didn't have enough cash for two tickets, so he just settled for what I had. Which was fine, because it was not expensive, and I used up the last of my euros.

There were doors leading to the individual boxes, and a little coat area, and then the seats. And we figured out quickly why our seats were so cheap! We were the second row in, from which you couldn't see the stage. Luckily the family in front of us (a mother with two teenage children) said they didn't mind if we stood behind them occasionally to see what was happening. (Which turned out to be not much every time we checked.) And luckier still, they left after the first act and we got to have a real view for the rest of the show. Unfortunately the people in the box to our left were obnoxious. They were actively filming the whole thing and talking as if they were at home. At one point when I was tired of not being able to see around a woman who was leaning out on her elbows, I tapped her, and she at least looked chagrined about having blocked my line of sight. But overall, it was fine! We got to see an opera in Vienna! The singing was beautiful.

I loved the little pads they had available that would translate the libretto for you!

We struggled a little to get back to the hotel by the airport, mostly because it was late enough that the normal places I would ask for help were closed. Luckily there were enough people out and about willing to help guide us the right direction, but I was worried for a bit that my mom and I were going to end up sleeping in the train station if I couldn't figure out the schedule.

It worked out really well to be in a hotel right next to the airport the morning we departed, so I would definitely splurge for that again in the future. The plane ride back over the Atlantic included an open seat between us, which was nice for spreading out ourselves and our stuff.

The last really funny thing was that the tiny little plane we took on the last leg back to Milwaukee had the special first class people separated from us with a teeny curtain just over the tops of the seats! So fancy.

A great trip! I've been so lucky to get to travel with my mom. Fingers crossed she's free for wherever next year's mandolin adventure takes us.

Self-Imposed Deadlines

Stress is a strange thing. Being frustrated, anxious, worried. . . They are all states of mind that sometimes we can control and sometimes we can't. The ways in which thoughts or simple awareness can manifest into physical reactions is fascinating to me.

I remember the first time I needed stitches. I was in my mid-20s, and while carving something with a dull tool managed to stab it into the side of my left thumb. The doctor at the clinic we went to tied four neat little stitches into my skin, and I couldn't believe how much the whole thing turned my stomach. I told the doctor how weird it was that if I didn't know what was happening and couldn't see it, it would all be fine because the pain wasn't that terrible. It wasn't good, but it wasn't the worst thing I could imagine by a long shot. However, if I looked at my skin being stitched through like fabric, that was nauseating and made me a little dizzy. Wasn't that strange? How could that be? As the doctor finished up his last little knot, he said, "Only in the Western world are people surprised by the connection between the mind and the body." I don't know how true that is, but I've thought about it a lot since then.

We can try to forge a more practical attitude about that connection, but it doesn't always work. There was a stretch a few years ago where I had terrible migraines. It's easy to see now how much they were tied to upsetting events in my life. Certain thoughts and worries were literally hurting my head. The pain was so bad that at one point while writhing around on a couch at 3 a.m. it occurred to me that death, if it came right then, wouldn't be unwelcome because at least the pain would stop. When I couldn't stop the pain, I would try to accept it, and that helped somewhat. Fighting the pain made it worse. Simply letting it be what it was made it more bearable.

My life at the moment is [knock on expensive violin wood] really going quite well. This is the place where I could have barely dared hope for the pendulum to swing during those literally and figuratively painful times a few years back. I'm not taking it for granted, and I'm not foolish enough to believe such fortune will last, but I've enjoyed this year very much. I have the love and support of my husband, my kids are all headed in good directions right now, health and work are fine, I've gotten to travel and spend time with family and friends, and even have a trusty little dog at my side who reminds me to be in the moment. Life is good.

In fact, when I'm honest with myself, the biggest sources of stress currently going on for me are all self-imposed and a matter of choice. Which seems ridiculous, but hear me out, because I like to believe there is an upside, or at the very least an understandable explanation.

For the past couple of months I have had the joy of all three kids at home. My oldest has been home from college for the summer, and we've tried to cram as much into that limited time as possible. Which has meant putting my normal projects on hold. I have barely been in my home shop, so the instruments that were rolling along so nicely back in the spring have not progressed at all. And the novel I want to be getting out into the world sooner rather than later just sits and gathers virtual dust. I only recently started going back to rehearsals, because they were technically optional this summer, and I wanted as much time as possible with my kids.

So I have been operating like a person with no creative pursuits, and frankly, it's a much more relaxed kind of life. There is time to hang out and play games and binge watch things as a family when nothing I want to get done "needs" to get done. It's been fun. But it's also not really me. If I went on this way indefinitely, I'm not sure who I would be anymore. Because I'd no longer be a person who builds instruments or plays music or writes books.

All those creative endeavors, though, require deadlines that I invent for myself. Because none of them are things I "have" to do. Not really. There are people waiting for the instruments they commissioned, but completing them is still a matter of choice. If I woke up one day and realized building instruments is making my life worse rather than better, I can stop, even if it disappoints others. There is no one out there requiring me to write more books. There are plenty of other musicians to replace me if I up and quit playing viola and mandola.

Once my daughter leaves for college again in a few days, and the rest of us settle into a fall routine that has us interacting less often, I will get back into my shop, back to regular practicing, and back to editing my latest novel.

All of those things require self-imposed deadlines in order to make progress. Deadlines are stressful, even arbitrary ones.

One of the few self-imposed deadlines I've managed to keep up with over my summer of fun, is this blog. Barely. When I worked for (the now defunct parenting website) Babble, there was no explicit number of posts per month that I was contractually expected to write, but I aimed for about two a week. That seemed to match the rate most of the other personal bloggers on the site were doing, and it felt natural. Plus I was getting paid, so I certainly had to produce something regularly. 

Since moving to this blog, the only reason to write is if I feel like it. But one of the important reasons for me to maintain this blog, is that writing regularly is good for me as a writer. There are enough other things happening in my life that giving up the blog entirely would be very easy, and few would notice if it ceased to be. But I like the discipline that some manner of deadline requires. I like making myself create something in this space on some kind of schedule.

The self-imposed deadline I've given myself on this blog is at least one post a month. And I've managed to maintain that all these years. I've never skipped a month, which is a lot harder than it sounds.

I've been trying to put together a post about my trip to Austria since May. But that post is huge, and every time I work on it, I see the end of the month creeping up on the calendar, and have to switch gears merely to get something posted before the deadline. The number of partially started drafts in my Blogger folder is getting rather silly. But hey, at least I'm writing. That's the point. 

Since nobody makes demands about my being a writer other than me, I have to be some kind of task master to myself. Same with instrument making. Same with any creative project that is important to my identity and my soul. But I have to choose stress to do any of it. I have to convince myself it's necessary, and then put pressure on myself to actually make progress on any meaningful kind of schedule, or nothing happens. Nothing aside from watching more Star Trek and baking cookies, which is all a lot of fun, but not what I want to define me.

This month I also meant to finally write about my trip to Austria. But did you catch the date? And the time? I wonder how many of my readers actually notice the time stamp on the things I post, and realize how many of them bump up close to midnight on the last day of the month. The people in my house certainly notice. I had to pull myself away from my kids tonight, pausing the show we were watching saying, "I have to go write something!" And one of them said, "Wait, is it the last day of the month already?"

But hey, my streak remains unbroken. I have minutes to spare before I hit "publish." And I will take my manufactured stress in order to remain creative over the kind of stress inducing scenarios life sometimes likes to hand out. I just need to remind myself when I start to panic over either of them, that it helps to cut myself some slack, take a deep breath, and maybe walk the dog again.

And I need to remember that there are physical ramifications to being under stress, and that dwelling on certain thoughts can cause physical pain. There are too many things in life we can't control, to not appreciate the ones we can. When I have moments of, "Oh no! My blog!" I need to balance the tools I use to make things happen with my overall well being. 

After a "summer off" I'm taking stock of how much stress I need or don't need to choose even when times are good. I have a sense that by the time I figure it out, my life will be about done.

Thoughts About Barbie

Last night I went out with my kids to see Barbie. It's very good, I highly recommend it.

I have a lot of thoughts about Barbie in general, and some about the movie that contain spoilers, so if you plan to see it, I don't want to ruin any of the fun. Maybe read the first few paragraphs that are about me and not the movie, and come back and read this once you've seen the film and share your thoughts. If you don't plan to see Barbie, that's fine. Just don't jump to conclusions about what you think it is if you haven't watched the movie, because it's probably not what you would expect. I'm frankly stunned that this movie exists.

Many women like myself have had a complicated relationship with Barbie. That sounds silly on its surface since we're talking about a doll, but it isn't. And I've only in recent years come to terms with what my aversion to her might mean, namely internalized misogyny.

I did not have Barbies growing up. I preferred stuffed animals. I was never a girly girl, but I was never a Tom-boy either. I was just me, and I seldom felt like I fit in anywhere. I tended to avoid pink.

When I had kids, I didn't get them Barbies. I felt she presented an unrealistic body image for girls, and all the cutesy pink irritated me. I wanted my girls to be interesting and strong, and Barbie struck me as neither. I resented the gendered aisles of toys, and avoided the sea of pink that was all things Barbie and what someone thought my girls were supposed to like and be. I remember feeling a small crisis when I learned a relative who loved Barbies was planning on gifting some to my girls. I don't remember exactly how that played out, if I let my disapproval be known through family channels to avoid the issue or if we actually got the dolls. All I know is at some point we acquired at least one Barbie, which my kids mostly liked because she had a dog with puppies, and a horse. I wasn't happy about it, but I left it alone. I'm not the kind of parent who forbids things, but I tried to steer us clear of the pink aisle.

I did, at least, until I had my third child, who was assigned male at birth. I knew very early that she was at odds with the role she was expected to play by the world around us. She asked to go by a more feminine name when she was about two or three. She was smart and gentle. She liked pink.

There weren't any resources readily available for trans youth a dozen years ago. I tried to seek them out just in case that was the direction my child was eventually going to inform us we were going. All I could find were programs for teens and adults, and a society telling me my kid was going through a phase.

Now, honestly, when she eventually came out as trans as a teen, I was relieved for several reasons, not the least of which was that I figured she'd have less trouble in the world as a woman than as a gender non-conforming man. She's commonly been assumed to be a girl in public for most of her life, but in those moments where society forced her into the end of the binary where she wasn't comfortable, it was really painful.

Because boys are not supposed to like pink, and the world lets you know that.

And this got me rethinking Barbie, since pink and Barbie are deeply intertwined.

When I had girls that wanted pink, I tried to suggest lots of options. I certainly wouldn't deny them pink, and no one batted an eye if they were in pink. But when we had a "boy" who wanted pink? Well, suddenly defending pink became important. Because I realized that girls crossing over into boy things was acceptable or even praiseworthy, but for boys crossing into pink, that was questionable. I realized pink was viewed as contaminated. It was something boys were taught to have an aversion to.

Like I did.

So I asked myself what that was about, and I came face to face with Barbie.

Why did I roll my eyes at Barbie? What was so wrong with her? I had always told myself it was because she reduced women down to what they looked like, and I resented it.

And that's when I realized that's what I had been doing to Barbie. 

I was the one dismissing all the other things she was, from an astronaut to a doctor to an ice skater, etc. Because she was exaggeratedly pretty. If we're not supposed to judge people by their looks, that goes both ways. If she was pretty she couldn't also be a veterinarian? Or a reporter? What sort of misogynistic garbage was that?

There is a funny scene in the movie where Barbie in the real world spots a billboard for a beauty pageant that is an image of pretty women in row, and she assumes it's a picture of the Supreme Court. It's very funny, but why is it funny? What if we lived in a world where we didn't assume such women can't be the Supreme Court? Wouldn't that be a better world?

I see that billboard and think about how I have never worn a bikini. I don't have a body I'd be comfortable showing in that way, and I probably never will. But I wouldn't deny someone who looked like me the fun of wearing a bikini if they liked. There are people out there who would applaud an older and/or heavier woman being so bold, but then also a lot of those same people might resent younger more conventionally beautiful women for doing the same.

In the movie, Barbie doesn't even have a word for "self-conscious." What a concept.

So, the Barbie movie itself is visually amazing. The costume and set designers deserve award nominations. There are tons of movie references, including the opening tribute to 2001 A Space Odyssey which we enjoyed. The acting is great, the music is spot on.

Essentially, the movie shows Barbieland as a real place where a representation of each type of doll exists, living sort of like beings in Plato's perfect plane. The Barbies do everything and the Kens are accessories (who do "beach"). There is also Ken's buddy Allan, who doesn't really seem to fit in anywhere. (I love Allan.) When stereotypical Barbie starts to have thoughts of death and develops cellulite, she goes on a journey to the real world to find the person playing with her doll that is causing the problems. The Ken who loves her stows away in her car to join her on the trip, and winds up learning about the patriarchy, and takes it back with him to Barbieland before Barbie returns herself with the mother/daughter pair that had been playing with her doll. The Barbies have to outsmart the Kens in order to revert Kendom back to Barbieland. Barbie acknowledges that it was unfair for her to take Ken for granted, and suggests he find his own identity outside of his interest in her. And in the final scenes, the stereotypical Barbie decides to become real and return to the real world.

I don't have any nostalgia for these dolls, so I was surprised by how quickly the movie was able to establish a connection with me. The society they portrayed in Barbieland was innocent and appealing. My oldest daughter commented on how open and safe it was there in the beginning. It would be nice as a woman to be able to walk any streets that way without fear.

The only vaguely dark moment in this movie was when Barbie returns home to discover it's been taken over by Kens and she's not allowed in. There is never any doubt that Ken loves Barbie and would never harm her, so there is no real danger, but when he faces off with her in the doorway, it's an uncomfortable reminder of the implied threat that exists in encounters with men that most of us have to navigate on some level in our daily lives. The unfairness of it as Barbie stands there, kicked out of her home, realizing there is nothing she can do in that moment, is painful and a little frightening. That's not something I was expecting to feel at this movie.

The most surprising element of the Barbie movie to me was the depiction of the Mattel company. It was the most surreal aspect of the whole story, and I'm still puzzling parts of it out. Particularly toward the end where Will Ferrell as the head of the company, which is represented in the boardroom entirely by men, is genuinely unhappy about the commercial success of the Mojo Dojo Casa House (created by Ken and now flying off the shelves in the real world), because it's not about Barbie first. I suppose it's a glimpse of men who are on the side of women but are somewhat clueless on how to go about doing it right.

There's an unexpected scene where Barbie in the real world is sitting by an older lady, and Barbie says to her sincerely, "You're beautiful." I know in that moment my head immediately went to all the reactions I would have had if that had been said to me. I would have been surprised, maybe a little suspicious, pleased but dismissive, flattered but doubtful. Self-conscious would be in there. But no, the lady on the bench (who I believe is a renowned costume designer) responds that she knows! And Barbie looks genuinely pleased, because that's all she wants in the real world is for other women to be proud of who they are, and to know they are beautiful.

Some of the ways the Barbies related to one another in Barbieland reminded me of how we treat each other in my Women In Lutherie group. We have rules in our Zoom meetings about not apologizing, and not being self-deprecating. Those were awkward adjustments at first, because women are in such a habit of making ourselves smaller on every level. We're not supposed to take up space or be openly proud of our accomplishments because we're encouraged to believe being liked is more important than anything else. It's been really empowering to take those habits from the Zoom meetings and use them in the world, where we are allowed to have authority without apology, and to have the courage to share what we do. I recognized the same sense of self-worth reflected in the Barbies. It felt good, and as welcome as it was unexpected.

I found the end of Barbie moving. The idea of becoming "real" reminded me of one of my favorite books from childhood: The Velveteen Rabbit. In both stories, the idea of being real involves surviving and accepting pain, and being convinced that the sacrifice is worthwhile to experience deeper meaning to existence. The last line of the Barbie movie where she's ready to be seen by a gynecologist is laugh out loud funny, but also highlights that by becoming real she's signing up for pain on a monthly cycle as part of her transformation.

Many people have already written about America Ferrera's speech about the impossible standards women are held to by themselves and others, and it's definitely a highlight of the film. I teared up. But the line that hit me the hardest was about how our experience and perception of women is problematic, even with just a representation of one. 

That clarified for me the issue with Barbie that I've been wrestling with over the past decade. Barbie can be whatever you want her to be. I apparently wanted her to be a problem. I'm over that.

Barbie is unabashedly feminine. In a world where feminine is conflated with weaker, lesser, frivolous, and secondary to masculine needs, tastes and desires, that makes Barbie easy to disdain. Unless you don't buy into any of that, then Barbie looks fearless.

I've made peace with Barbie, because I'm finally making peace with myself. That's a lot to get from a very pink movie about a doll. I'm glad I saw it.

Dear Dad (2023)

Dear Dad,

So much to tell you about this year!

First, some general updates on the kids, which is the thing I most miss being able to talk to you about. 

I can't believe when you died they were only 13, 11, and 8. That was half Quinn's life ago at this point. There is such a world of difference between those ages, and 21, 19, and 16. I mean, could you have imagined Mona with a driver's license? She's still the only kid who has one, although Quinn is doing a good job in driver's ed and should have no trouble passing her test when she's ready. We need to bug Aden about finally taking her test again, even though she's not keen on driving. Mona seems to like it, and Quinn is getting more comfortable behind the wheel. 

Anyway, Aden loves her college, but she's been struggling. I think we missed catching that she likely had ADHD and anxiety issues when she was growing up, and now there are bigger complications with that at a college level. It's so hard to know sometimes what things are typical kid problems, and what things run deeper. All kids have bouts of laziness and bad time management, but how are you supposed to tell that from something parenting alone can't correct? We're working on some things with a therapist over summer to see if we can get her to a more confident place come fall. Aden is so talented and kind and lovely... It hurts to watch her not be able to do the things she wants to do. Regardless, she's managed to grow up quite a bit in her couple of years away at school. 

I'm glad Aden's home this summer. Although she's living in the downstairs nook, since Mona has kind of taken over their whole room. I know for Aden that home does not feel the same as it used to. That's such an odd transition, isn't it? When I visit Detroit, the house is still home, but there's really nothing there that's mine now. And yet, when I lie in the guest bed in my old space, I still recognize the patterns on the wooden door and the way the light shifts in the room. Somehow that's enough to feel like I belong.

Aden's been doing some nice print work. A lot of art schools have apparently abandoned print making, but not Stout. She does some adorable animation. The best news recently was that apparently one of the big video game design studios is now in Madison, which would be nicer for an eventual job than maybe all the way out in California. (At least for her mom.) She's hoping to spend time with friends up at the cottage before going back to school. Her new housing assignment will include a real kitchen and a private room, and she's looking forward to cooking again, and more privacy. She's playing a lot of a game called Tears of the Kingdom. She still has the bluest eyes you've ever seen.

Things for Mona have begun to turn in a good direction! She's been frustrated with her unfruitful job searches and was feeling stuck, but she's now on track to apprentice with the new tattoo shop opening across the street from the violin store soon. She had a great interview, they loved her work, and she's prepared to put in the hours and effort to learn those new skills. Mona will also be moving into the Airbnb space above the shop, so that will be a short commute. I think it's a good fit. She'll get to create art that's personal to people that they literally carry around with them everywhere, and make a good enough living to still pursue other avenues with her art as she likes. I'm excited for her.

The biggest adjustment to her moving out may be less of not having her around (since I'm sure she'll still come to the house and hang out from time to time), but more of the bird being gone! I can't picture that corner of the dining room without Keiko. He's so loud! And present. And lately he's been hanging out in a tinier cage next to the TV so as we watch things, he watches us. (And tells us that he's an adorable Keiko bird.) You never got to meet Keiko, but you'd have liked him. I wonder if seeing him would have reminded you of stories of your own birds that maybe you hadn't told us before.

Mona's sewing some beautiful things lately. Things far more intricate and professional looking than I ever came up with. We got her a really nice straight stitch machine. Apparently the better the machine, the fewer things it does, and this one does straight stitching really fast and well. I think what sold her on it was the extra arm that you can use to lift the sewing foot with either your elbow or your knee, so you can keep your hands on your work by the needle to spin it, etc. Saves Mona a ton of time. She's got an Etsy shop, and she works diligently to fill orders. You'd be as proud as I am of how hard she works. I'm already looking forward to updating you next year on how it all goes.

Quinn is good! She is SO relaxed and happy compared to a year ago. Remember how reserved she was, even back at 8? Like, not so much shy (which she is), but like she had her guard up a little all the time. Now that she is able to be herself in the world, she still spends a lot of time in her room and she'll never be an extrovert, but she moves differently, with a grace that wasn't there before. It's like she can breathe. I love it.

It's a scary time for trans-people right now, particularly kids, but so far Quinn's had nothing but support. I have friends in states that aren't so lucky. I'm grateful for her school and her doctor, and that even the people at the social security office who helped get her gender marker changed were happy to help.

She's doing well in all her classes (particularly Spanish), she continues with piano in a sluggish way but insists she doesn't want to quit, and she wishes she weren't so tall but otherwise is just quietly being Quinn. She's in charge of having dinner on the table at 6:00 when I get home from work four nights a week (which she does with the aid of a Hello Fresh box).

My favorite thing with Quinn is that during the school year, I get to straighten her hair every Sunday night. She has lovely waves in her hair, so of course she wants them gone. I miss the physical contact you have with smaller children that evaporates when you have teens. Getting to put on a movie and play with Quinn's hair for about 90 minutes while we watch something together is something I look forward to each week.

Speaking of missing smaller children, we got ourselves a baby-sized dog! I needed her. I really craved having something to scoop up who was excited to see me in a way that doesn't happen when your children are bigger. Ian was a holdout on the idea of a new dog after Chipper died, and periodically I'd ask him if I could start looking, and he wasn't ready. But then Quinn said she wanted a dog, and of course Ian relented. Now we have our little Chihuahua-rat terrier mix, Domino. You would love her. Everyone loves Domino. And this dog would have happily let you pet her all you wanted. Mona and I even flew with her to New York where we stayed with Arno and Deepanjana, and by the end of the trip she was doing the subways like a local dog. I got some nice pictures of her by the Nick Cave mosaics in one of the stations. (You'd have liked those, along with the Chuck Close ones.)

Arno and Deepanjana are doing the best I've ever seen them. Their lives are more than I can adequately describe, but they are thriving. And Ellora got into her dream school! She loves Berkeley, and is currently doing work in Madagascar. The newly expanded apartment is honestly the nicest place in New York as far as I'm concerned. Crazy that after Ellora moved away that they finally have extra space and a second bathroom.

Barrett and Dosha are doing great, too. Barrett's soon-to-be-published book is so good! It's filled with Mom's drawings, and he even found a way to include a picture of my viola. I don't know if that's the instrument I would have wanted to represent me in a published book, but that instrument has cochineal in the varnish which is what he needed. (I just remind myself that people interested in cultural entomology are not going to be scrutinizing my lutherie skills the way violin makers would, so it will be fine. But that's the viola I made for myself when Ian was deployed, and the only time I had to carve was after midnight and between newborn feedings so its claim to fame is that it exists at all.)

Rivyn is amazing. It just hit me that he's the age now that Quinn was when you died. That's kind of mind boggling. That little baby you got to hold briefly in those last few days at home has grown up to be imaginative and funny and is such a delight. He cycles among several interests and is better read at this point than most of the adults I know. I wonder how much of Barrett you'd see in him and what elements would be completely new.

Ian is well, but he's still adjusting to the passing of his mom. It's been a year. He's still undecided about what to do with the house out in Portland. I get it. After grandma died, I realized I couldn't drive by her old house without feeling a lot of pain. There's something deeply awful about being severed from a place that was once a close part of you and your story. I don't know if once Ian lets go of his childhood home if that's the last we'll see of it. I don't know if when someday we have to let the house in Pleasant Ridge go if I'll ever see it again, or if that whole neighborhood will just be gone from my life. It's a jarring, unpleasant thought. I don't know if there's a way for Ian to resolve any of that in his situation that doesn't hurt, so in the meantime it just gets postponed. Grief is hard. Grief is persistent. 

Mom's done a lot of traveling this year. She spent a few weeks in India and had an incredibly nice time, then she and I got to travel to Austria! What an amazing trip. She got to hear my mandolin orchestra perform in Graz, and in Salzburg. I made her watch The Sound of Music before we left because we were in some of the places that appeared in the movie. Somehow Mom had gotten to this point in life and not seen it before. I feel like you must have watched that movie, right? I saw it as a kid, so someone must have been there. (I guess this goes on the list of questions that it's too late to ask.) Mom's amazing. Her work is more beautiful than ever, she's busy. She misses you, of course, but is doing okay. Still the best cook ever. Every time she serves us a meal I think about asking you in that book of questions what your favorite food was, and you wrote "anything Karen makes."

I'm doing okay. I'm frustrated (as usual) with my lack of progress on book stuff, but will make time soon (I hope) to sort it out. The store is really busy, and I need to make time to work on the commissioned instruments on my bench. My health is fine, which I don't take for granted, and we have what we need.

I miss calling you on Mondays. I miss curling up with you to try and help with your crossword puzzles. (I know I was never any help, but occasionally there was a Star Trek clue that made me feel useful.)

Hey, I'm not crying this year as I type this. Is that some kind of progress? I don't know. It's probably good that I can think of you in a similar way to how I think of people who are still here, and not focus almost solely on your being gone. But I really really miss you. What I wouldn't give for one more hug from my dad this Father's Day. You gave great hugs.

I love you, Dad.

Kory

A Few Thoughts This Mother's Day

When I was a child, Mother's Day didn't appear complicated.

Teachers gave us assignments that would provide us with handmade gifts to take home that weekend. Those teachers instructing us to make cute little paper flower projects and tracings of our hands seemed to assume that everyone had both a mom and a dad at home. I wasn't aware of any kids from divorced homes when I was small. Back then in our tiny Detroit suburb there were no visible variations on what a family was expected to be--with the exception of single mothers, who by the 80s I noticed were generally considered lacking at best, and the source of all of society's ills at worst.

I'm sure whatever cards or acknowledgments my brothers and I made for our mom on Mother's Day were woefully inadequate. How could they not be? My mom was (and is) amazing, and I don't understand looking back at how she did everything she did. I really don't. I'm a pale imitation of her on my best day when it comes to mothering, and there are never enough words to convey what we've been given by having her as our mom.

But time and age cast us in new roles, and a range of different families have finally become visible. For a variety of reasons, Mother's Day is no longer uncomplicated.

Let's start with loss. My husband's mother died a year ago. He tried to call her last Mother's Day and she didn't answer. He figured out a day or so later that she had passed away at home in her bed. He has no one to call today. I don't know how to help him with that, other than to hug him and hope he's okay. 

For the mothers I know who have lost children... I can't imagine they brush this day off as another greeting card holiday. I can't dwell on that thought very long without coming undone.

I know people who have dysfunctional mothers. That's a whole different struggle, and a loss in its own way.

Then there are the welcome variations that change the shape of Mother's Day when it comes to those school projects. I didn't know any gay couples with children when I was growing up. I'm glad my children can't say the same, because we know some lovely families with two moms, or two dads, and they are wonderful role models for my kids as well a their own. I'm mystified by people who fear their children knowing such families exist, because whatever harm they're concerned about is only in their minds. 

I know people whose lives were enriched by being part of a blended family. I don't know how single moms manage, and they deserve support and respect. I think every Mother's Day about families coping with separations like we lived through when Ian was deployed.

The composition of a family isn't as important as compassion, support and love. That's the difference between a family that's good and one that isn't, not anything to do with race, religion, or gender.

So I do not take for granted on this particular Mother's Day, that I was able to give my mom a call, and that all three of my children happen to be home. They brought me breakfast in bed, got Indian food for dinner, and picked me flowers. I loved all of it.

I will admit, I kind of miss the assigned school projects. I loved all the little ceramic dishes and bead bracelets and heart necklaces. But the finest idea any of the teachers ever had in my children's elementary school was the one who had my youngest write me a letter on pretty stationery.

A few years ago, things were so fraught between me and one of my kids that I gave up on Mother's Day. I didn't see the point if I was failing at my role so badly. I declared it "just a day" and told everyone not to worry about it. The baby of the family ignored that. She brought me breakfast in bed, and when I asked why, she said it "felt important." And she gave me her school assignment letter which listed all the things I do that matter, and she ended it with, "I love you. We all do." Which to this day makes me cry because I needed it so much in that moment.

Now we are in a different moment. Mother's Day is back to being a sweet excuse to defer to me all day for decisions about what to eat and do on a quiet Sunday at home. It's peaceful again. But not ordinary. And richer for the ubderstanding of how complicated it could be.

Peeps 2023

It was a good Peeps season!

As usual, it started with general brain storming to see what we could come up with for the annual show of Peep art at the Racine Art Museum. Mona, having won last year for her spectacular Peepzilla (which even made it into People Magazine), decided to not focus on what might win, but what would be the most fun to make. I landed on the idea of "The Picture of Dorian Peep" because it made me laugh. And Quinn envisioned a jar full of Peeps.

Turns out the concept that Mona found most intriguing was a Peep Jack-a-lope. She created her "Peepalope" out of recycled plastic bags and bottles, paper, tape, glue, paint, and of course Peeps (look at the antlers).

It didn't get any awards, but it was much admired, and I think is one of the most interesting pieces Mona's made in a while.

I was originally only going to do a painting for "The Picture of Dorian Peep" but then I decided it would be funnier as a sculpture with the young and perfect Dorian Peep standing nearby. (If you don't know the literary reference, Google: The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde.) I sawed him out of a piece of basswood, painted him, and dressed him up. The painting is on basic canvas board, but I added a bunch of art gel to it for a thick paint texture. It was fun to paint something that was supposed to look bad. The frame was made of Peeps on mat board that I spray painted gold. I was amused to find the eyes on those Peeps came out very shiny! I think the Peep frame mimicked a fancy carved-wood gilded frame pretty well. I stuck all the parts in place with Plasti-tac on top of a wooden tray.

 

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I'm pleased with how it came out! The judges liked it too, and I got an honorable mention.

Quinn simply wanted to cram Peeps into a jar. I think it took about ten minutes total, and in the art museum's virtual tour of the exhibit, they used her piece as an example of how artistic creation doesn't have to be complicated. After throwing lots of ideas for titles around during various car rides, Quinn settled on "Jarmaggedon." It makes me laugh.

The museum show in Racine was great! Some inventive and well-made entries this year. The Peeple's Choice award was given to the clever toy store display. The longer you looked at that one, the more details you found to delight in.

Once we picked up our pieces after the show ended, we put them in the violin store window. It's been funny to watch Domino join the display when she's up there looking for other dogs.

We're already thinking ahead to 2024! (Personally, I'm curious about the sequel to Jarmageddon.)