More Flute Trio Drama
Because there’s nothing more exciting than flute trio drama.
Last night we had a gig at a local fundraising event. They were charging $30 a head for advance tickets and $40 at the door. That’s insane. It was for a good cause, but in this community and in this economy — $30 (or $40, depending on your timing) to nosh on lots of different food and hobnob with… whoever shows up? Yikes.
They put us indoors, which was helpful. And we got some compliments from people, which was very nice. One woman spent quite a bit of time sitting across from us and when she left she told us how much she’d enjoyed listening to us. It was much appreciated.
And now for the drama. I’ve mentioned before the disagreement I’ve had with one of our members, and how it’s affecting our playing together. She’s made a habit of insulting me during rehearsals, making cutting remarks about my playing, or tempo preferences, or unwillingness to lead. All of that going on in rehearsal is disturbing enough. Last night she took it to a new level. She made a nasty remark during the gig. There were people walking around and talking and no one heard her but us, but….
You know when something’s bugging you, maybe has been bugging you for awhile and for whatever reason you haven’t said much, if anything? Maybe you’ve decided it’s not worth the heartburn, or causing a problem larger than the one you’re trying to tolerate. And then something happens, somebody says something, and something you’ve been pondering in your subconscious for awhile just comes hurtling out of your mouth.
It was like that.
The discussion had to do with the tempo of a piece, I don’t even remember which one. We went through our set twice (people were wandering through, so except for the folks working the tables around us, nobody knew). In between we took a break and had something to eat. Bonus — we didn’t have to pay $30 or $40. During the first set our perfectionist started us out in that particular piece at a tempo way faster than we’d played it before. I had trouble keeping up, or at least playing accurately.
It should be noted here than I am the weakest player in the group. I’m aware of this. This doesn’t mean I’m terrible, but I’m not as strong a player as the other two. This fact is the basis for her insults — I’m not measuring up and she seems to think the solution is to continually rub my nose in it.
So, the second time through our pieces we got to that one and for some reason she felt compelled to ask us what tempo we should take it at. The other flutist, the one whose idea it was to put a flute group together in the first place, said she preferred a slower tempo. I agreed. The perfectionist snarked, “Well, I figured you would.”
There wasn’t even any thought behind it, I hadn’t intended to say anything. What popped out was, “I’m about done with the insults.”
She just stared at me. So did the other flutist. I said it again, directing it first to the perfectionist and then to the other woman. I told her, our founder, so to speak, that I was sorry, that I realized we had more gigs lined up, but that I really didn’t want to do this anymore. She just nodded; she looked shocked.
We continued to play, because you can’t just pull the plug in the middle of a gig unless the building is on fire, even if you’re not actually being paid to be there. A few pieces later the perfectionist apologized, with tears in her eyes.
Here’s the thing. Maybe she meant it, maybe she didn’t. Tears don’t affect me much. I suppose that makes me hard-hearted but I’ve encountered so many people (in the Air Force, specifically) who sat across a desk from me during a counseling session just weeping and apologizing for some failure on their part, and because I was familiar with them and their history I knew it was an act, I tend to assign that motivation to more weeping people than is probably appropriate.
That is to say, maybe she was sorry then. But I don’t doubt she’ll revert to type, and the next rehearsal we have together, next Friday, will include at least one snide comment about my abilities.
At which point I will let the other two know that if they can’t find someone to fill in for me I will play the gigs we have remaining, but after the gig on November 1st they’ll have to find someone else.
It’s not fun anymore. I love to play, I used to love playing with the perfectionist, but she’s been such a royal pain to deal with (the other flutist feels the same way — we’ve been talking) I just don’t want to play with her anymore. I’m tired of being sniped at, tired of being insulted, tired of being told I don’t measure up.
To heck with it. It’s not worth the heartburn.
*sigh*
Now, if the other flutist decided to reform the group without the perfectionist, that would be fine with me. But as I’ve stated before, the perfectionist and I are in the community band together and in a local women’s music club and it would just be frosty, forever.
What fun. Hosed either way.
Oh well. Not your problem.
Cheers, y’all.
Just Because Spellcheck Doesn’t Catch It Doesn’t Mean It’s Correct
I recently signed up for a daily inspirational message. I’ll leave the source out of this, as it’s irrelevant and there’s no need to embarrass anyone publicly — not that the source of the message has any idea this blog exists, or would care if they did.
The message today was that sometimes you have to “play in pain.” That it’s not difficult to give praises to God when things are going well for you, but it’s much harder to praise Him when you’re in the middle of a crisis, when things aren’t going well, might even be falling apart around you. All of that is true.
Lower down in the text of the message was this:
[God is] preparing streams in the dessert.
Oy, vey. “Streams in the desert”, actually. I don’t want streams in my dessert.
Yikes.
Have a fine day, y’all.
Navy Yard Shooter
So, any guesses on how long it’ll be before President Golfpants says anything like, “If I had a son, he’d look like Aaron Alexis”?
More Facebook Follies
Someone I know personally, whose gibberish-laden Facebook posts have inspired me to post about her before, also here, and here, has posted another gem.
Don’t down the students at USC about. Some leaving the game. At least they came when Somme people didn’t even come. I know my daughter n her friends. Grades is important n loaded with test this whole week. I’m not sure she stayed or left. But I love them all.
Maybe the “Somme people” didn’t come because flying all the way from France for a football game seemed a bit silly.
*sigh*
Worship Leader, Choir Stuff, Sunday Morning Slides
This morning the boss had me running the slides for the service. Not a difficult job, although somewhat stressful in the sense that I spend the entire service, plus a considerable amount of time beforehand praying Please God don’t let me mess this up, please God don’t let me mess this up, please God don’t let me mess this up.
The boss sang a solo this morning, the song was Learning to Be the Light. Wednesday evening, while we were going over the slides, he ran through it. And the software that runs the presentation crashed. Sort of disturbing — he thought at first the projector that displays on the back screen had died again, it does that when it’s warm in the sanctuary. And it is warm in the sanctuary in the summer; they don’t turn on the a/c unless it’s needed, on Sunday morning. We’re in South Carolina, so summer is toasty. Anyway, the software crashed and it took me a couple minutes to get it running again. He was sufficiently disturbed that he said he was going to make big poster cue cards and tape them to the front of the pews. I thought he was kidding.
He wasn’t.
You’ll notice in the second photo the word “its” is misspelled. There’s a superfluous apostrophe. You’ll notice if you click on the link to the video, it’s misspelled the same way in the lyrics there. He doesn’t have an excuse, though, he’s a college graduate with two bachelors degrees and a masters degree. Unless he slept through his English classes, he should know the difference between “it’s” and “its”.
We had a Skype communication this morning with a local family who are missionaries in Africa. They’ve been through some difficult stuff lately — illnesses, one child with a broken collarbone, and another child who was severely burned last weekend when a pot of boiling water fell over on him. I don’t know if it just fell or he pulled it over, but he has first- and second-degree burns on the lower part of his body. The dad Skyped to us this morning, and the child appears to be doing much better — bugging his dad during the Skype that he was hungry, then rolling around on his hospital bed behind dad. The congregation prayed for them while we had him on Skype, and they could use your prayers too, if you’re so inclined.
And now for something completely different. Well, not so much. Still griping. It’s a choir complaint. Or more accurately, commentary on a choir idiosyncrasy.
Here’s the thing. I make lots of copies of music for the choir. Not every week, but sometimes I end up cranking out quite a lot of paper (which has to be formatted properly for cutting down into a size that fits into the folders, then hole-punched — I’ve groused about this before). The woman I took the job over from, my boss’ wife, told me a good number of copies to have on hand was 55. I’ve since bumped it up to 60, for no reason except it gives me a bit more of a buffer and it’s a nice round number.
The music we sang at Shandon in August I ended up making 60 copies of. And we’ve passed out all the pieces, some of which I ran out of. This means there were 60 copies distributed.
We don’t have 60 choir members. There are more than 60 on the roll, but a lot of them never show up anymore. If you added up the folks that show up regularly, added the folks that show up semi-regularly, and then added the folks that show up occasionally, you still wouldn’t have 60. So, where did the 60 copies go?
It gets better. I have people coming up to me routinely telling me they don’t have a copy of whatever it is I’ve run out of. Sixty copies distributed, all gone, and this person (or these people, sometimes it’s more than one) didn’t get one.
Wha…..??? How is that even possible? Where did they go? So I’ll make 10 more, distribute them, run out… and someone will tell me they don’t have one.
Lather, rinse, repeat. Ad infinitum.
I’ll tell you where I think these copies go. I think people take them home, put them down somewhere, forget about them, come to choir rehearsal and realize they don’t have a copy of something we’re singing that night.
Grown people will drive you crazy. Seventy copies, or at the very least 60 copies, many of which are sitting in people’s houses gathering dust, forgotten. It’s paper — doesn’t make any noise, has no feet so it doesn’t wander off without assistance.
Oy, vey. I love these people, but honestly…. Sometimes they make me want to scream.
That’s all. I hope you had a great weekend. Cheers, y’all.
9/11: A Tribute to Michael Beekman
Mike Beekman at work
Michael Beekman
From In Memoriam Online (the NY Times article from which this was taken is here):
Amidst the frenzy of the New York Stock Exchange, Michael Beekman, 39, was a rare figure of calm. His job was righting errors from the previous day’s trading. He might spend a work day with a trader or two, explaining how they had actually lost hundreds of thousands of dollars on trades they had thought were profitable. “A kill-the-messenger job,” said John Furman, a co-worker at LaBranche & Company.
But Mr. Beekman would walk across the trading floor without hurrying and speak in a low voice. “He would research something until he knew it completely,” said Mr. Furman. “He was very organized, with his little notes all lined up. When he presented the information, people knew he was right and so they never were angry with him.”
He lived a calm and orderly life in Staten Island, too, said Theodora, his wife. He spent most of his off-duty time with her and their two children — Michael, 10, and Theresa, 8. If he went golfing, he would take his son. Occasionally he would disappear for a while and and turn up at his sister-in-law’s house, playing with her toddlers.
There are photos and other tributes to Michael here.
CNN has a memorial for him here.
The Washington Post has a memorial for him here.
9/11: A Tribute to NY Police Officer Brian G. McDonnell
Brian G. McDonnell, Shield 6889, ESU-1
From September11victims.com (the link no longer works, sorry):
Michael Kearns, posted 11/19/2002 in a tribute:
I had the honor and the privilege to work with Brian as a member of the NYPD in the 110th precinct in the late 80’s. It was always comforting to know that when there was a problem and you called for back up, Brian was there ready to help in any way he could. He was a great cop and an even better person. I was shocked and saddened when I first saw his photo as one of the missing from that tragic day. You and your family will always be in my prayers. May God bless your soul.
Brian Wall (ret. nypd-esu), posted 2/18/2004:
I met Brian while teaching the NYPD-ESU specialized training school. Brian’s dream came true. He made it into ESU and worked hard in the school. Brian made the school more enjoyable with his big smile and great sense of humor. Brian was a team player and was the first to volunteer for any task. Upon graduation he was assigned to ESU – Truck # 1 in lower Manhattan. He was well liked there and was doing a great job. I don’t think Brian would have had it any other way. He knew the dangers, but wanted to be there anyway. The only cosolation [sic] I can think of is that Brian Died doing what he wanted most and that was be in ESU and helping his fellow man. God Bless Brian McDonnell.
From NYCPBA.org (that link no longer works either, sorry):
Police Officer Brian G. McDonnell, 38, was appointed to the NYPD on January 20, 1987, and began his career on patrol in Neighborhood Stabilization Unit 3. He took a brief leave of absence to join the police department in Tucson, Arizona, but was reappointed to the NYPD on October 16, 1990.
Prior to being assigned to ESU, he worked in the 106 and 110 Precincts, as well as the Narcotics Division and Patrol Borough Queens South Task force. Veteran of the United States Army, he served in the 82nd Airborne Division, and was also a graduate of the State University of New York at Farmingdale. His hobbies included power lifting, swimming, diving, cooking, bicycling, soccer, auto repair, and the martial arts.
He is survived by his wife Margaret; children Katie and Thomas: mother Ann; sister Alicia; and brothers Kevin and Robert.
Photo provided to NYPDAngels.com by Brian’s brother-in-law, Jorge.
From an article by Newsday.com staff writer Leonard Levitt (from NYCPBA.org):
The bells of St. Patrick’s Cathedral began to peal at precisely 10 a.m. Friday. Down Fifth Avenue — which was closed to traffic — appeared a procession of the motorcycles, two abreast, followed by a dozen Emergency Service trucks. Then came the muffled drum roll of the bagpipers. They stopped outside the church as the family of police officer Brian McDonnell arrived.
McDonnell, 38, who died in the World Trade Center attacks, was one of three officers memorialized Friday in services in the city and on Long Island.
Police officer Walter Weaver, like McDonnell, a member of the elite Emergency Service Unit, was remembered at the Holy Family Church in Hicksville, and Det. Claude Richards of the bomb squad was recalled at a service at St. Raphael’s Church in East Meadow. Saturday, police officer Paul Talty will be memorialized at St. Francis Church in Wantagh.
At St. Patrick’s Friday, the church in which McDonnell was married 12 years before, the Rev. Michael McHugh said people have asked, “Where was God that day?”
He answered, “God was in those brave men and women who ran in when others ran out.” Of McDonnell, McHugh said, “He was in the [New York] Post yesterday. He got Fifth Avenue closed down today. I think he’d love it.”
McDonnell’s wife, Maggie, spoke of her husband’s pride in his children, in his Irish heritage and in his career. She described how her husband became a police officer in 1987 after serving in the 82nd Airborne unit, then in 1990 moved to Tucson, Ariz., to join its police department. That July, she said, he returned, “realizing he had left his heart in New York City.”
After several attempts, she continued, he was accepted last year into the Emergency Service Unit.
“What we started together, I must finish alone,” she said. “What keeps me going is your love of life. Goodbye my love, the man of my dreams. … I am so very proud to call you my husband, my best friend.”
First Deputy Commissioner Joe Dunne then spoke to McDonnell’s two children: Katie, born in 1993; and Tommy, born five years later. “Your daddy was a New York City cop,” Dunne said, “and boy, was he proud of that fact.”
He then told how McDonnell had been on a foot post at Carnegie Hall when Beverly Sills arrived in a taxi and tried to cut through the line of ticket holders. McDonnell stopped her.
“But I’m Beverly Sills the opera star,” Dunne related she told McDonnell.
“Well, I’m Brian McDonnell the cop. So please stand behind the ropes.”
Photo provided to NYPDAngels.com by Brian’s brother-in-law, Jorge.
From NYPDAngels.com:
Brian McDonnell was a member of the Emergency Service Unit Truck 1, stationed on East 21st Street in Manhattan. He was last seen heading into the south tower. “Brian was a cop’s cop,” Mrs. McDonnell said. “When people get in trouble they call the police; when the police get in trouble they call Emergency Services.”
But more important to him than the job were his children, Katie, 8, and Thomas, 3. When his daughter was born, he was there in the delivery room holding his wife’s hand, gently weeping.
A former Army paratrooper, Officer McDonnell, 38, was never decorated in his 15-year career because he never wrote himself up for an commendation. “He wasn’t showy,” his wife said. “It wasn’t his nature. He just wanted to help people.”
Once, he saw a little girl waving to him and the mother pulled her in the window and scolded her: ” ‘Don’t wave to him, police are bad,’ ” Mrs. McDonnell recalled. “It crushed him.” (The New York Times 12/15/2001)
Police officer Brian McDonnell wanted to change the world, and he’d do anything to save a life. A member of New York City’s emergency service unit, his squad was among the first to respond to the World Trade Center disaster Tuesday.
“He thought about others before himself,” said Glenn Gering, a close friend who grew up with McDonnell, 38, in Wantagh. “He wanted to change the world,” Gering said.
The Emergency Service Unit is made up of about 350 men and women who risk their lives to save others. Fourteen members of the unit are unaccounted for.
McDonnell, who has been a police officer for more than 10 years and was a member of the armed forces before that, is a devoted husband and father of two, Gering said.
McDonnell was supposed to go to Gering’s house tomorrow for cake and coffee. “Unfortunately, because of our schedules, we didn’t get together as often as we would have liked,” Gering said.
“I hope all of America will never forget this horrific act of terror,” Gering said in a letter to Newsday, and more importantly, never forget my friend, Brian McDonnell, an American hero.” (New York Newsday Victim Database 9/15/2001)
Patch created by Dee Cook for the Cub Scout Pack 233 Memorial American Flag Quilt.
Patch from Barnum Woods Elementary School Quilt
Shiloh, Arthritis and a Cancer Scare
Shiloh’s been feeling poorly. I noticed last week she seemed to have lost a bit of weight and was acting like she was in pain. I mentioned it to Hubby. He insisted she was fine. Last Wednesday evening, though, I decided he was wrong. Took her in to see the vet Friday morning, they drew blood for tests. The vet’s biggest worry was her weight loss. She’s dropped 11 pounds in the past 6 months. Would be great if it was me, not good for her though. He said she seemed to have fluid in her abdomen (not bladder), but couldn’t feel any masses. And he said to call the next morning as he’d have some of the blood test results back.
Next morning the results were unhelpful. Everything was normal, except her liver enzymes which were a bit elevated. It wasn’t enough to indicate anything, though, so he said bring her in this morning for xrays. If they found masses, it would answer the question of what was wrong with her.
The xrays showed nothing. That is, nothing abnormal. No masses. Praise God. Her spine is fine, but he says there are indications of arthritis in her hips.
We have no idea how old she is. I found her and Seymour running down a local roadway about 7 or 8 years ago. She was fully grown then, so she’s an old dog.
The vet put her on antibiotics on Friday on the off chance it was a tick-borne disease, like Lyme disease. He didn’t test her for that, said the test is very expensive and wanted to see if the standard blood tests showed anything. She does seem to be doing better, though, since the antibiotics started. Also since I started hand-feeding her food soaked in water and mixed with NutriCal. She’s also on Deramaxx now, for pain. In four weeks he wants to do blood work again.
She’s one of our escape artists, loves to run the neighborhood. Hopefully this will be the end of her fence-climbing days. Now that we’ve installed a 6-foot privacy fence, invisible fence with shock collar, and a hot wire around the yard attached near the top of the 6-foot privacy fence. Not kidding. She also chewed her way through two of the privacy fence panels. There’s a 4-foot chain link fence on the other side, so she still couldn’t get out, but… really, Shiloh? Hubby had to put chicken wire over the holes. We’ll need to replace the panels eventually. *sigh*
Ended up dropping about $400 on her in the past few days. Yes, she’s worth it. But ouch.
Oh, and get this. She has a BB in her hip. Someone shot her. It hasn’t been since we’ve had her, we’d have noticed an injury after her trips abroad (over the fence, out the front door knocking me sideways in the process, etc.). Probably happened before I found her. The vet said it’s not uncommon to find dogs carting BB’s around. What kind of jerk shoots somebody’s dog? Or worse, his own?
Cheers, y’all.
Laser Surgery
I forgot to mention this. Who cares? Nobody here but me. Oh, well.
Anyway. About 10 days ago I went into the eye surgeon’s office to get a laser procedure done. When he did my cataract surgery he said there was a cloudy membrane attached to the lens that would need the procedure. I don’t understand how that works — if the cloudy membrane was attached to the lens I was born with, and the lens I was born with was obliterated and replaced with an artificial lens, shouldn’t the cloudy membrane have gone with it?
I’m not an eye doctor, so I guess I just don’t get how it works.
The procedure was done in his office here, so I didn’t have to drive in to Columbia again. There were a few missteps — seems he had a few people out of the office for one reason or another so they were short handed. The first thing that should have been done when I finally got to the back to be seen — this is the office where you can die of old age before they get to you — was to have the eye (the right one, this visit) dilated. They ended up doing it after they sat me down in the chair for the procedure and he noticed my eye hadn’t been dilated. So in with the drops and back out to the waiting room for me, what joy.
They put me back in the chair after not quite an hour, and the tech stood next to me holding the back of my head so I wouldn’t move. It was weird. You see a green light, you hear the crack of the laser firing, and you feel it zap your eye. In fact it feels like it goes all the way to the back of your head, which is physically impossible. Didn’t hurt. What was seriously unpleasant was the extremely bright light shining into your eye so the surgeon can see what he’s doing. That was painful. He kept asking me to open my eye wider. My eye didn’t want to open wider, it wanted to close. It wanted to close real bad.
It didn’t take long, and the left one is scheduled for the 16th. Not looking forward to it, particularly, but at least it’ll be the last procedure and we can press on. I do notice some difference in vision clarity, which is a fine thing. No aftereffects, either, once the eye got undilated.
Tricare wouldn’t pay for it, by the way. The cloudiness wasn’t quite bad enough yet. Would have been later. So I paid out of pocket. And will pay out of pocket for the left eye, too.
Medical technology is pretty spiffy. Can’t wait to see the impact of Obamacare on that, too.
Flute Trio in Church
The flute trio played at my church service this morning. I think it went okay. For the prelude we played Invitation to Praise God by Berlioz, and for the offertory we played The Prayer. There were a few bobbles and in my case a train wreck which I was able to recover from (thank you, God, for the mercy). We got lots of very nice comments from people, which we appreciated. I do hope people were able to see God’s glory through our music — that is, after all, the idea.
There’s been a shift in attitude from the flutist I was having an argument with (post here, if you’re interested). She’s snapped at me a few times, including once during our last practice session and again this morning when we were playing for the worship leader (my boss) and the sound guys so they could get things tweaked properly for the recording. There are a few possible explanations.
1) She’s decided I’m not such a great musician and wants me to quit the trio. This isn’t likely, given our history and the number of years we played together, but it is possible.
2) My anger at her is leaching over into the way I talk to her, even if I’m unaware of it, and she’s reacting to my hostility. This is more likely than the first scenario and also well inside the realm of possibility.
3) Her perfectionism is skewing her sense of perspective. Also possible. Not as likely as the second reason, but more likely than the first.
I hope it won’t affect our continuing to play together. We’ve got gigs lined up, one in 11 days and another in about 3 weeks. We’re working on music, meeting at her house on Fridays (we haven’t met at the other flutist’s home in months, I don’t know why — and we can’t meet at my house, as it’s too full of animals and unfit for human habitation). I love playing, it’s great having other musicians to play with, and I don’t want to lose this. It’s just becoming less and less fun.
*sigh*
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