Unexpected Party
Friday Evening Walk
Candlelight Concert
Heading Out for a Walk
The Boy and I headed out for a walk after dinner. We took the dog, we chatted about school, keyboards (as in computer keyboards -- a recent interest of the Boy's), district band tryouts (tomorrow evening), and random topics (as if that list weren't random enough). It was another of those "how many more times do we do this?" moments. The Girl didn't go with us because she had gone to her boyfriend's house to watch a movie with him.
Everyone's role slowly shifts.
Spending Our Time
I'm currently reading Alan Rusbridger's Play It Again : An Amateur Against the Impossible. It's about his attempt as an amateur pianist to tackle Chopin's Ballade No. 1 in G Minor -- one of the most impressively challenging pieces in the canon.
I've been quasi-obsessed with Chopin's Ballades for a long time, and while I'll grudgingly admit that No. 4 is the superior of the four, No. 1 will always be my favorite. And I love it for the reason all who play it love at and fear it: the terrifying coda, marked Presto con fuoco. For non-Italian speakers or people who never to music lessons to learn all those Italian terms:
- Presto: "very fast"
- Con fuoco: "with fire"
To say it's impressive is an understatement.
Those leaps the left hand has to make; those whatever-the-hell-they-are right hand furies starting at bar 216 (Garrick Ohlsson calls them "wiggles" -- if only); that double scale separated not by an octave but by a tenth at bar 255. How can anyone do that?
I took enough piano that I can follow the score and point to where the music is (in other words, I could turn the pages for someone playing this), and that means I know just enough about piano to realize how impossible this piece is. And yet people learn it all the time. "I played it when I was 17 and..." one person explained in a video. "It's devilishly tricky," a professional might say. No -- it's impossible. How anyone does it is beyond me.
Alan Rusbridger accomplished it (or least I'm assuming he did -- he wrote the book about the attempt) while serving as the editor of the Guardian, which, according to Rusbridger, was publishing around 200,000 words a day when he was working on the Ballade. He was working 60-80 hours a week, coordinating the WikiLeaks articles, getting 60-80 emails an hour by his own estimation, staying up until the wee-hours several nights a week -- and somehow he found the time to tackle this ridiculously challenging piece.
In short, Rusbridger's accomplishment leads us to wonder what we do with our own little spare bits of time here and there. To be able even to stumble through the Ballade would require the average amateur hours upon hours of practice. Where do we get those hours?
I spent some of my free time tonight reading Rusbridger's book, for example; I'm spending time now writing this. K has started tinkering on the piano, using L's old books. The Boy -- we have to pull him off Fortnight. The Girl -- reading, phone, movies, chatting/texting with friends. But the amount of time most of us in the West waste is astonishing. The only thing we can't get back, and we waste so much of it.
52
When I met K, I was 23. I barely spoke any Polish, had never tried kwaśnica, and had no idea she'd be by my side 29 years later when I turn 52. Twenty-nine more years and I'll be 81. The Girl will be 37; the Boy will be nearly 32.
When L was born, I was just a few weeks away from 34. I had no idea how quickly time would pass, that within a blink L would be a legal adult (that doesn't sound right, but shockingly, it is), and I would be in my fifties. Eighteen more years, and I'll be 70. The Girl will be 36, the Boy nearly 31.
When the Boy came along, I was 39 and honestly not giving much thought to turning 40. Now that's twelve years behind me. In twelve more years, I'll be 64. Will they still need me? Will they still feed me? L will be 30 at that point; the Boy, nearing 25.
If tonight was anything to go by, by the time I'm celebrating these birthdays, my bedtime will be eight -- it's not even ten, and I'm exhausted.
Soccer Sunday
Winter Walk
Snow 2025
Amounted to little more than a dusting.
Snow Tomorrow
In the South, we don't know what to do with snow. When it falls, everything comes to a halt. There are long lists of closures and delays on every local website -- first and foremost, schools. Our district posted this today ahead of snow that's suppose to start around noon tomorrow:
Greenville County Schools will have an eLearning day Friday, January 10. Schools and office buildings will be closed. All activities, including athletic events and field trips, are canceled on Friday and Saturday. The District’s ICE (Inclement Conditions Evaluation) Team evaluated the forecasts, and the decision was made based on the predictions and timing for snow and/or ice accumulation, which may result in unsafe road conditions, downed power lines, and loss of electrical services.
Because we are an approved eLearning district, this day will not have to be made up and instruction will be provided through Google Classroom. Students will complete eLearning assignments later if they are unable to participate due to power outages, lack of internet service, or other barriers. Once operations resume, school personnel will begin rescheduling events as appropriate. Please check local media, the district website, and the district’s social media for the latest information on school closings or delays.
I have mixed feelings about this: elearning days are seldom very productive because so many students, for whatever reasons, fail to log in and do the work. Teachers almost always give light work during that period because they know so few people will show up. Knowing this, a few more students decide not to show up.
But at least we'll be able to play in the snow. In theory.