These arrived in the mail today, from Armandele. Armandele has a more colorful picture of them here. It’s an interesting project he has going – producing actual, physical blog um uh artifacts. My children are so proud of their dad for being famous, they stole all the buttons.

Thanks, Armand.

Party at wonderchicken’s.
Yes.

The cello lesson wasn’t what you’d call a rousing success, but it went well just now. I walked out of the “classroom” (previously a monk’s cell, I believe, in another incarnation back when the building was a monastery centuries ago, or maybe a warehouse) shoulders back, head held high. So what if the “A” string squeaks? It turns out to be a squeaky A-string: it’s not my fault.

Actually, it all went suspiciously well. I don’t want to jinx it, but… there was this transition between three different positions that had been giving me trouble. I relaxed and the trouble went away.

That’s been my problem all my life, not enough relaxation between positions.

There’s a little more light in the sky because I’m a few minutes late this morning. You heard me right: my schedule controls the sun.

The air is clear and cold and the trees are black against the purple sky. The field is muddy and there are no deer, unless they are mud-colored and standing very still. Later, taking my offramp, there is a flatbed truck in front of me with a load of pipe. Pipe in shiny zinc metal and brick-red plastic in every size available from about a half-inch up to six inches in diameter. Estimate the length of the truck’s bed, estimate how many potential tin whistles are stacked there on the bed. Tin whistles, low whistles, organs, calliopes.

I haven’t heard a calliope since I was a kid. Those old steam organs they used to play inside merry-go-rounds etc. Remember them? The first instrument I’d associate with Ray Bradbury, for reasons lost to me.

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It’s a sunny day. Sunny and cold. The rink isn’t as crowded as we’d expected. Mostly families. Families plus the Ice King. He’s about what, about fifty with soft features. Balding with grey hair. Dresses in black and grey. Skating around as though this were all he ever did. Hands clasped around his back. Skating his orbits forwards, then backwards. Unclasping his hands to do occasional dance moves.

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So I asked my cello teacher for a sad song because that’s what I was in the mood for and he was nice enough to look around for one and finally gave me “Twilight” by Gretchaninoff; on the same page is a happy song I’m also supposed to learn. Twilight is fairly slow, which means pay attention to your bowing. I had always thought articulation would be my problem, finding the right notes with my left hand on the neck of the instrument – you know, no frets or anything. But the human body turns out to be a stupendous thing and you eventually learn to hear the notes and that is not as great a problem as I had thought. Bowing is my nemesis right now. So this song will be good practice.

However, I’m still looking for an even sadder song. Something longer and really depressing, you know? That can be played on a cello, that is.