A little bit about music, revised

When Soviet Russia invaded Afghanistan (1979) they brought with them their views of music and its purpose. Because Ahmad Toryalai Zahir, a very popular singer in Kabul, refused to make music that glorified the soviets, he was shot and killed. His death happened to be on June 14, 1979, his 33rd birthday, and on that same day his baby boy was born.

I said he was popular. His popularity was huge. He was idolized. After his death he was almost a god. The soviets tried to say that he had been in an automobile accident, but when his wife uncovered his face, she saw the bullet hole in his head. 

When The Taliban, an Islamic fundamentalist political movement with extreme views and violent tactics, came to power there in 1996 (and how these things actually happen, I do not know), they banned all music. I do not know if Afghan families secretly hummed in their own homes, but I doubt it. And music in the sense that we know it and are free to listen to here in America--and that is any kind we choose--was forbidden.  In public and in private.

These are stunning facts. But clearly it is recognized by those who want power that music has power to influence people.

I also know that the soviets, Stalin in particular, attacked and censored the music of Dmitri Shostakovich, and he was repeatedly criticized in Pravda, the official soviet newspaper. As long as they were in power, he suffered, and that includes financially.

Dmitry Kabalevsky, on the other hand, enjoyed Stalin's favor and flourished under that otherwise culturally stifling regime.

The difference? Kabalevsky had joined the Communist Party during WWII and later helped set up the Union of Soviet Composers in Moscow and remained one of its leading figures.

I am not sure why Shostakovich's music was considered subversive, except that he was considered subversive. I happen to like the music of both of them but think Shostakovich's is greater.

Happy Birthday Bach

Yesterday was Johann Sebastian Bach's birthday--21 March 1685. I was busy and gone all the day long, so today I am listening to some of the best music in the world, Bach's.

I know of people, and know people personally, who do not like Bach, his music, that is. They think it's boring. And I have heard people play it ploddingly, some who seem not to have the slightest idea of its greatness, its beauty and grace and imagination. Serious and deep where required. Light and fun in other pieces. But the truth is he is the greatest. Shall we hear his music in the next life? I hope.

I grew up hearing Bach--two and three part inventions, partitas, minuets--even played a few of the simplest ones myself. I sang in the University Chorale at BYU when we performed the gorgeous, moving chorus, "Here, Yet A While," from Bach's St Matthew Passion.

I have spent much of 2012, 2013, and some of this year listening to Bach's concerti, some for violin, harpsichord, most for piano or transcribed for piano.

He had many children. Three of them, his oldest sons, also known for their musical contributions to the world. Carl Philip Emmanuel, Wilhelm Friedemann, and Johann Christian. I like their music as well, although we do not hear it as much.

I love Bach. Give him a listen.

So much for Bar-S brand

I took a chance and bought bacon. Chancy, because everyone knows bacon is not good for a person. Chancy, because I didn't buy the stuff that costs $4.98 for 12 ounces. I bought the $3.49 for 12 ounces kind.

I knew better, I mean, you get what you pay for. But I thought $3.49 was plenty to pay.

I opened the box--the necessary first step once you get it home. Then I cut the heavy plastic package inside the box. Then I tried to pull a slice or two away for cooking. The least I could get was four slices, and they were all torn apart by the time I got them separated.

"Come on!" I said. "Could you people possibly slice this stuff any thinner?"  No one was listening, of course.

That's why I'm writing about it. I need an audience for this, because I have cooked the four pieces of bacon and they are now very small, still very thin, and I can hardly taste any bacon at all on my bacon and tomato sandwich.

And I'm not kidding. So if it takes two pieces of bacon before I can taste any bacon . . . you know where I'm going with this.

This kind of thing really gripes me.

Signs of the season

I hear the mourning doves today as I sit in my writing room.

The finches have gone silent for a while but are usually saying something. Their nest is close to my window here. I hope that noisy crow I heard last night didn't scare them away.

The sparrows are at it again, checking out their house on my upstairs deck, making it ready and livable.

Robins are building a nest at Lola's place down the road.

Spring is coming. Hooray!

Soon we'll be grumbling about our allergies: grasses and pollens in the air making for itchy eyes, sneezing, and all the rest. But Spring is what we've been wanting all winter.

So. Live with it.

A Long Time Ago

It was an innocent time, the late 1940s. Or so it seems as I look back. Certainly my sister and I were innocent little girls then, singing together here and there, with our mother playing for us and teaching us the principles of singing that would stay with us all our lives.

Back to the innocence.

One song we sang a lot was "Daddy's Sweetheart." I woke today with a line from it in my head and thought that's all I'd be able to remember. But--and isn't the brain a marvelous thing?--the entire song has come back to me. Here are the words. I'm sure you'll see why I say it was an innocent time. Can't see anyone singing such a song today.

Daddy's Sweetheart

Mary Jane told me this morning
Something that made me afraid.
She said I'd have to marry a man
Or be a cross old maid.

I'm so worried.
I don't know what to do.
For I've a secret.
I'll tell it to you.

I don't love any man but my daddy,
and he's already married, don't you see?
Oh, if Mommy hadn't married Daddy,
Daddy might have married me.

Often he calls me his sweetheart.
He loves me such a lot.
If mother hadn't snapped him up,
I might have caught him. Why not?

She might have chosen
someone else,
for everybody loves her,
but as for myself,

Nobody loves me but my daddy,
And he's already married, don't you see?
Oh, if Mommy hadn't married Daddy,
Daddy might have waited for me--

Oh, if Mommy hadn't married Daddy,
Daddy might have married me.

So, Lucile, if you read this, you can tell me if it's all here. For me it's part of wonderful memories. Didn't we love to sing!

Bug Stories, Chapter Next

A new lady bug has come into my kitchen. I know it's not the same one because it, this new one, has the tiny black spots on its back.

And I know very well what this one wants. It wants out. It crawls back and forth on the window, to the edge, up and down the edge. I feel sad for him/her.

You'd think I could help it get out. Just open the window. Right? Not so easy.

I do not know what it says about my house--that I have lady bugs in here. Whether it's a good thing or a not so good thing. To me it feels like a good thing.

And I'm not sure why this is what I choose to write about. But there you have it.

Bugged

No lady bugs today.

Today it was a centipede in my downstairs bathroom.  Where is a man when you need him?  Not here, obviously. So I did it.

I gathered up the centipede and flushed it down the toilet.  I hope.

A little lady bug story

There was a lady bug in my kitchen, right on the countertop. I didn't want to kill her, so I moved her, then let her go where she would. When she rested on the trash I let her down into the waste basket. Next day she was out and up on my countertop again.

Two days she spent in my kitchen, as well as I can tell, moving around on the sink and behind the cutting board, on the soap dispenser holder and the window sill. Somehow, she made me feel good. 

Today I have not seen her. I do not know what it means or where she has gone. I looked up some information on lady bugs, thinking her life must be short. 

But, no, they live two or three years--I was much surprised to know it--and they hibernate in winter. 

So why now has she come in? Or has she just now come out of hibernation somewhere in the cracks of my house? 

I wonder if she came to see if my narcissus plant in the kitchen window has aphids. Lady bugs eat aphids, you know.

I hope she is still alive, not like the dead lady bug I found up on my bathroom window sill this morning. Lady bugs often come into houses in winter, I learned, but they need moisture, and many houses here are dry from the furnace heat, and the lady bugs dehydrate and die, like the one upstairs. 

Of course, I do not know if my lady bug was a lady or a man.

Just sayin'

Is it that men are trying to look ugly?

Or is it that ugly men grow their hair and their beards long to draw attention away from their actual ugliness? Whichever it is, there are a lot of them.

If they're trying to look ugly, it's working. If they're trying to hide the ugliness, it's not working, because they are noticeable. 

I am sorry for how this reads, but, really, I saw some scraggly, dirty, ugly guys today at the mall. They're everywhere, actually.

Clean clothes might help.

This says nothing about women, nor did I intend it to.