Skip to content

Composing myself

I’ve been working — I really have — on Prelude (no fugue) No. 5, and I’m making progress.  My problem is finding the time.  You would think that since I have no evening commitments on the calendar, this week would have been a good time to dig in and figure out how to make it work.

Sadly, no.

By the time I get supper made, get supper eaten, and touch base with my lovely first wife, it is deep into the evening.  I am lucky to get even an hour of time in my study, and since it takes me 20 minutes to disentangle my brain from everything but what’s in front of it, that’s not a lot of time before my body is saying that it’s time to call it quits for another day.

I have made progress.  It was solid and was saying essentially what I wanted it to say, but last night I took a crowbar to it and broke it open, and suddenly it threatened to veer out of control — and that’s a good thing.  So now I’m faced with continuing that energy into the middle and end of the piece.  Will I have time to do that?

This weekend, of course, is given over to relaxing, although I may have time on Sunday to squeeze in a few notes.  Next week I have to revamp the GHP parent video, so there’s limited time there.  Plus it’s my lovely first wife’s birthday, which is always festive.

It makes me wonder whether I’m going to get a cello sonata written by October.

ATC: the next generation

The next round of Artist Trading Cards has been mailed to Craig and Terry.  Let the wild rumpus start.

Regrets of the dying

Today on Facebook, this link was flying around.  I went to read it, thinking it might be thought-provoking, and it was, even if not in the way most people might respond to it.

First of all, let me state that Ms. Ware is quite right in her observations.  I have no issue with her list nor her explications.  However, I wanted more from her list when I went there.  I have worked my whole life not to be one of the mass of men living lives of quiet desperation, and I think I have completely and successfully escaped Ms. Ware’s list.  Whatever else happens, I will not look back on my life with those regrets.

So if I expected more, what was it I hoped to find?  What will I feel compelled to tell my hospice worker?

I think my biggest regret at the moment is my laziness in getting my work done.  Notice that’s not the same as Keat’s “fears that I may cease to be / Before my pen has glean’d my teeming brain.”  I’m quite at rest with the idea that I may never get around to everything I might have done.  The Symphony may never be written, the Epic Lichtenbergian Portrait may never be completed, and I certainly am not on track to get grass to flourish in the labyrinth.  (At the advice of a Home Depot gardening employee, I have fertilized the bare dirt.)

My regret is that I will not have finished things I might have finished because I just didn’t take the time to get them done.  Why am I writing this instead of working on Piano Prelude (no fugue) No. 5?  As every good Lichtenbergian could tell you, I am writing this so that I don’t have to confront the Piano Prelude.  Or the cello sonata.  Or the Ayshire Fiddle Orchestra piece.  Or the color charts for my painting.  Or any of the exercises in Keys to Drawing.

(To assuage my future guilt, I just now went and added two notes to the prelude.  I can goof off another 48 hours now.)

Any regrets I might have had, i.e., based on who I was even five years ago, are invalid.  Those who have known me for a while might think I would have regrets about my organizational successes and failures: NCTC, GHP, Newnan Crossing, Lacuna/William Blake.  But no.  Those things come and go in any person’s life, and it’s just simple wisdom not to base your idea of a well-lived life on achievements — or not — in those arenas.

I will say that if I come to the end of my life and I’ve never seen/heard William Blake’s Inn performed, I will be disappointed, but that’s not a regret since I have no real control of whether that happens or not.

What else?  I’m not a deep thinker, so I may have to settle for this one regret.  I think it is a worthwhile one.  Let’s see if I can be worthy of it.

ATC: next round

I sent out Kevin’s ATC in the mail this morning, and since I got Mike’s this afternoon, I can send out the next ones tomorrow.  More about who our next artists are tomorrow perhaps.

Change your bookmarks

I have killed off my “real” website and moved the blog over there to be my public face.  Might as well.

The point is that you will need to change any bookmark you have to this blog to plain old http://dalelyles.com without the /blog part.

See you there!

The return of the ATC

The first victim artist has returned his Artist Trading Cards. The game is afoot.

Kevin was the first to get his back to me.  Mike is being all creative and important and reviewed in major websites out on the other coast, so he’s not gotten around to his yet.

Normally, I think, I’m not going to post everyone’s.  If I did, then the next person to receive them wouldn’t get the nice surprise — assuming, as I do, of course, that all the victims artists are regular readers of this blog.  It also occurs to me that it might be nice to have something out of the reach of the ubiquitous web.  But just this once, I’ll show you what Kevin sent me:

The second is from a series Kevin took in the labyrinth one night.  He should probably post those on the Lichtenbergian site or even on Flickr or something, because they are very very nice.

Anyway, according to the rules, I will now send one of these along to the next victim artist (OK, I’ll stop doing that now) along with one of mine, probably one of the “R is for Reproduction” series.  Watch your mailbox.

In other news, those who follow the career of the curse on my music will be amused — and I daresay impressed — by this.  I think I’ve mentioned that my friend Stephen Czarkowski has asked me to write a cello sonata for his use in a series of concerts across the embassy circuit in D.C.  He shared that it might get reviewed by the Washington Times, since apparently they really like him for some reason right now.  Great, I thought, reviews by the crazy newspaper.  I needn’t have worried. I’m a little concerned about our relations on Embassy Row, however.

Five tails

Recently on Facebook I posted three “rules” for anyone wishing to discuss the “controversy” over the Park51 project, popularly but erroneously known as the World Trade Center Mosque.

The first and most basic rule was “It’s not a mosque.”  And it’s not.  It’s a community center, both a YMCA, if you will, and an interfaith study center.

The results were gratifying: many people cheered on my bluntness, while my right wing friends tied themselves into knots trying to continue their outrage.  Again and again I would reject their “but it’s a controversy!!!!1!” with “It’s not a mosque.”  Like moths to the flame, however, they could not stop themselves from arguing from the premise that someone was building a triumphalist mosque on sacred ground.  Sorry, it’s not a mosque.

“But why does even the liberal media call it a mosque?” they cried.  The short answer is that someone went into the monkey house (Pam Geller, I’m looking at you) and made a face, and now the monkeys are hooting and flinging poo.

However, before I used that metaphor, I referred us all to Lincoln’s little riddle: “How many legs does a dog have if you call its tail a leg?”  One of my right wing friends, who is not unread, wittily replied, “Five tails,” knowing that the correct answer is, “Four. Calling a tail a leg does not make it one.”

So now I have a really great shorthand for labeling that crowd’s specious and poo-flinging debate style: the “five tails crowd.”  Even when shown the stone cold facts, they will continue to shriek their misinterpretation, and in fact go even further afield in their outrage.  “If it’s not a mosque, why is everyone defending their First Amendment rights/???>?”

Honey, please.

Labyrinth, 8/15/10

I worked yesterday and today in the labyrinth.  I was extremely productive.

The neighbors finally had the pecan tree taken down.  Not taken away, mind you.  It’s still in large chunks right on the other side of the fence, plus the 20-foot stump along with this substantial hawser which has been abandoned by the tree people.  What happened?  Disaster in the business?  Non-payment? (but why leave the rope?)  My father-in-law has given me his chain saw, and once it’s out of the shop (where it’s getting a look-over), I may just start to work on a huge amount of firewood.

Which brings me to my major project of yesterday/today.  With the pecan tree down, I finally felt comfortable putting up the rest of the bamboo fencing.  Needless to say, the one remaining roll I had on hand was not enough to complete the job.  That’s fine.  I can order one more roll some time later.  It’s not as anyone is actually living in the house there, and any peeping toms about would have a job negotiating the huge tree bits littering the yard in the dark.

The fencing I did put up looks nice:

The gap is a  gate, and you’ll notice the old woodpile in a pile in front of that.  I had a whole new truckload delivered this past week, and so I had to move  it all.  I’ve decided to move the whole thing down to the fire pit level.

Now you might think that moving a woodpile is simple enough: pick up the wood, walk it over to the new place, and put it down.  Sadly, no.  First I had to design a woodpile.  I chose to go semi-industrial, with corrugated metal base and rebar sides:

Then I had to add some ropes and copper pipes to secure the top ends.  Finally I could tote all the wood over.  I also decided I wanted a tarp to keep the wood dry.  As fate would have it, I found a perfectly sized one, and it even had grommets every 24 inches around it.  Perfect:

And if I had thought of these things, they would not have existed.  But they do:

Zippers!  Isn’t that the coolest?  They tape down, then you unzip them and cut them.  I especially like how they have zipper pulls on both sides.  In case you’re trapped inside the woodpile.

Zippers installed!

And here’s my magnificent woodpile, sans tarp:

I think it’s gorgeous.  The rebar works even better than I thought in holding the wood in place, and I’m excited about the corrugated metal holding the wood off the ground.  I’m hoping it will help keep the ant/termite thing down.

And finally, the mise en scène:

It looks perfect, but alas, the grommets are too small to go over the rebar.  I shall have to go get some grommets at Michael’s and install them myself.  Later.

Holy crap!

I’ve just been coasting along these past few weeks, neither composing nor drawing/painting.  There have been all kinds of mitigating circumstances which I won’t go into here, but it’s been a very slack period.

Then this morning, I suddenly realized, holy crap, I have to write two more piano preludes to finish out the set — and I have a cello sonata of 12-15 minutes due by October.  Holy crap.

In other news, it has not escaped my notice that the two recipients of the Artist Trading Cards have not returned theirs to me.

Like your freedom?

I saw — yet again — one of those bumper stickers the gist of which is “Like your freedom?  Thank a veteran.”  These things drive me nuts.

Let me see if I can parse this whole thing.  First of all, I find the sentiment to be a snide bit of conservatism.  (Hold that thought.) The implication is that without our armed forces deployed in Iraq, we would soon find ourselves without freedom of the press; that unless we use our soldiers to invade and occupy somewhere, we will no longer be able to hold free elections.

Such thinking is of course incredibly bad thinking.  Our armed forces have not been engaged in any kind of conflict the outcome of which would have affected our system of government since 1865.  Everything since then has been wars of empire or wars of strategy.  Even the invasion of Afghanistan, which could be justified in terms of self defense, was not occasioned by any threat to our actual constitutional structure, nor would we have lost any of our rights had we decided not to tackle the project.  I will say nothing of Iraq.

I think it likely that the teabagger on the other side of that bumper would offer the rejoinder that, in our current two wars at least, we’re “fighting them over there so we don’t have to fight them over here.”  To which I would reply, that’s not freedom you’re worried about, sweetheart, it’s safety.  Those are two different things.  You know, the things Patrick Henry was quick to distinguish one from the other: “Give me liberty, or give me death.”

And even that kind of thinking is ludicrous, not to mention cowardly.  No one in their right mind suggests that any of the Islamic extremists are prepared to invade us.  What are the teabaggers thinking is going to happen, Baghdad Dawn?  I suggest those people check under their bed every night, and then sleep tight and leave the rest of us alone.

Yes, certainly, the extremists are constantly plotting to harm us.  No question.  But it’s also true that all such plots have been foiled by careful police work, not by armed incursions either “over there” or here.  And it’s also true that our military response to the problem has served as our enemies’ greatest recruitment tool.  So thanking a veteran for keeping us safe is offbase as well.

So does this mean I hate our military?  Of course not. The men and women who choose to serve in our armed forces are mostly people with a vision of service.  I respect that more than a teabagger would believe possible.

However, I distrust our military, and in that I don’t think I am alone.  It seems to me, from my reading of Max Farrand’s Annals of the Constitutional Convention, that most if not all of the founding fathers were of the same opinion.  And certainly our greatest general-Presidents believed as I do.  Can you imagine George Washington or Dwight Eisenhower suggesting that patriotism required us to, in effect, idolatrize our army?

Our founding fathers were clear on the subject: funding is to be restricted and controlled by the Legislative; the armies and navies are to be commanded by the Executive, a civilian.  There is no independent military, and this arrangement is the source of our liberty, not the use of firepower.  One only has to think of places such as Turkey, Pakistan, Chile, to realize that our liberty excludes our army from our freedoms.  And that is why we remain free.

Oh, and how am I so sure that it’s a conservative bumpersticker?

You’re welcome.