Painting the Big Apple purple!

We last we posted, the decision of the Kansas State Wildcats' bowl destination had not been made. Turns out that we were invited to the New Era Pinstripe Bowl in New York City, to be played within the friendly confines of Yankee Stadium on the afternoon of December 30.

We're going!! In ten short days, we will be in NYC hanging out with our purple homies. None of my family will be able to make the journey, but we've already heard from some friends who will be there. Plus it will give us a chance to do a preliminary exploration of New York, so that we can come back sometime when it is a little more affordable and stay a bit longer.

As mentioned in the previous post, there were some tough decisions to make regarding the financing of this trip. We've decided to dedicate this excursion to the late great Dr. Tony Jurich, a professor in the Marriage and Family Therapy department at K-State. I never took a class from Tony, but his presence loomed large in the School of Family Studies and Human Services. An avid Wildcat fan, Tony was an unmistakable presence at football and basketball games and enjoyed a lively repartee with the officials from his front row seats. After surviving complications from knee surgery, the loss of a kidney and a small stroke, Tony lost his life in October to a rogue wave off Cabo San Lucas. The loss has been profoundly felt throughout the academic community of which I will always be a part.

Oh, and Tony was a New York guy. He even played football at Fordham. So we're going!

Happy Advent!

Yes, I've been a horrendously bad blogger again, the new year of the Church has begun, so why not start in on those resolutions right now?

Along with waiting for the arrival of Baby Jesus, those of us here at the compound are waiting for the answer to a question over which we have no control whatsoever: To what bowl game will our precious Kansas State Wildcats be invited? This is not something that we have had to worry about for several years; it has been a down and rebuilding period for our team. Truthfully, our budget is rather thankful that we have not had this large expenditure for several years. And, just as truthfully, with half of the workforce only working part-time, it's not going to be easy to go this year.

But, on the other hand, we would not want to miss this. First of all, nothing is more fun than a bowl trip. Secondly, the Beloved Husband has never been on a K-State bowl trip. Thirdly, we need a little break from home. I've been to a couple of conferences this fall, but the BH has been stuck here in T-town since our beach adventure this summer. We need to get the boy out of the house for his own good.

So I'm going to fight some of my finest instincts as a financial planner and recommend that this client repurpose some long-term savings if necessary to enjoy this opportunity. There are a couple of things going on in the background that are not worthy of sharing at this time, but I will say that there were some minor health scares this fall which have me thinking of the value of time spent with friends and family with whom we share so much. Nothing really bad happened, but a couple of "Oooh, yeah, well, we'll keep an eye on that and take another look in six months" sorts of things that just make you think.

But in the meantime, it's Advent. One of my favorite things about the Advent season is the multi-media Advent calendar produced by Trinity Wall Street Church every year. I'm going to try to imbed a link in one of the sidebars of this blog. If I can't manage that, I'll go ahead and share it with you here: http://www.trinitywallstreet.org/news/features/2010-advent-calendar This year's theme is Love Revealed. Gosh, I hope you like it.

I heard it on the radio

It has been a couple of weeks since I heard this, but I can’t get the thoughts out of my mind.

Don’t believe everything you hear on the radio. Especially if you happen to hear some jerk named Neal Bortz, or something like that. For some reason I was tuned into the station he was broadcasting on as I drove home one night, and the more I listened, the angrier I got.

If the Bush 43 tax cuts are allowed to expire, this does not mean that every small business owner will have to donate another 5% of his or her income towards taxes. This is just plain flat out wrong, but you would never realize this if you listened to Mr. Bortz.

The 5% only applies to profits earned by small businesses in excess of $250,000. It does not apply to the salaries that small business owners pay to themselves, or to their employees. Those taxation levels will stay the same as they have been. It is only the incremental profits that will see the additional 5% tax level.

I swear, I was listening to this joker while I was trying to get out of the Birmingham airport parking lot and he just about had me convinced that every dollar I paid to my corner deli or dry cleaner was going to have 5 cents chopped off the top and sent to Washington.

Few things could be further from the truth. First of all, these changes are already codified in the tax laws, and have been since the tax cuts that precipitated this country’s economic decline were enacted in 2001. Secondly, the dollars you pay to your local merchant represent total revenues, not taxable profits. In between total revenues and taxable income stand the following: Cost of Goods Sold, Selling and Administrative Expenses, General Expenses, Interest Expense, Depreciation Expense, and a host of other costs involved in doing business. Unless, of course, the owner of your local corner deli or dry cleaner has an idiot for an accountant or is still organized as a sole proprietorship rather than an LLC or other entity, in which case he or she should either get a new accountant or pull his or her head out of his or her ass.

Look, folks, this country has hit upon some rather hard times. We all need to pull together to pull ourselves out of the mess. Let the tax cuts expire. It was a failed experiment. Maybe I’ll proselytize about the injustices of income inequality and some proposed solutions on another day, but please, stop listening to apocalyptic blowhards like this Bortz fellow now. He’s wrong, and he’s trying to mislead you.

Tinker tailor soldier priest?

Last Saturday we went to Hayneville, Alabama to commemorate the feast of Jonathan Myrick Daniels, a saint recognized by the Episcopal Church. He was a seminarian and civil rights activist who did just what Jesus talked about in John 15:13 by laying down his life to save another.

After being jailed in deplorable conditions for six days in what can best be described in a dungeon in Hayneville, in August Alabama heat with limited hygiene and poor food, Daniels and three others were released. They went to a nearby store to get cold drinks. Exact details vary, but the indisputable fact is that Jon Daniels took a gunshot blast to the chest after pushing a sixteen-year-old African-American girl named Ruby Sales out of the way. The offender managed to shoot a Catholic priest in the back before heading to the courthouse where he was eventually acquitted of the crimes.

About 300 of us gathered at the courthouse square in August Alabama heat that could have been much worse, and proceeded to the jail, to the store (now an insurance office) and back to the courthouse for Eucharist to honor Daniels and all of the martyrs of Alabama.

It was indescribable to kneel on the spot where another human being died, and the experience was magnified by the manner of his death. I’m overwhelmed by the sickness inside the mind of someone who could perpetrate such a crime, but realize that this is beyond my understanding. The killer continued to live in the community until his death. I wonder if he ever realized the futility of his sin.

The life of Jonathan Daniels, while briefer, was much more interesting. Born in Keene, New Hampshire, his father was a doctor and his family Congregationalist. Daniels attended the Virginia Military Institute and graduated valedictorian. (On a side note, my oldest nephew attended VMI for one year). He then began graduate school at Harvard in English literature, but after an Easter conversion experience, enrolled at the Episcopal Divinity School in Cambridge. He would have graduated in 1966, but took a leave of absence to work in the civil rights movement.

How does a young man go from a relatively privileged life in New England to a military institution in Virginia, where he was evidently very successful in his studies? How does someone who trained brilliantly as a soldier become a seminary student? And how does this person transfer these experiences and skills into revolution through peaceful civil disobedience? There is a dichotomy there that I do not quite understand, but it fills me with awe, respect and admiration.

While contemplating this, I wandered over to Padre Mickey’s website and saw what he posted on Jonathan Daniels and Maximilian Kolbe. I first learned about Kolbe when my dear cousin Ellen had a son named Max; I wanted to learn about his patron saint and discovered that there were choices. Maximilian Kolbe was a Polish priest who had at one time trained for the military, but chose to pursue the priesthood instead. He became a Franciscan and was active in the Franciscan movement in Japan before returning to Poland to open a monastery. Then, the Germans invaded. Kolbe sheltered refuges, including Jews, and ran a printing press. Eventually, he was arrested and sent to Auschwitz. While there, Kolbe literally gave his life for a fellow prisoner; he was murdered by the Nazis by injection of carbolic acid after being denied food and water for 10 days. Think about that. Jeez.

After my visit to Padre Mickey, and thinking about Daniels and Kolbe, my thoughts turned to another soldier and priest, Father Emil Kapaun. When I was a kid in Wichita, Kansas, the exclusive Catholic boy’s school in my part of town was a Jesuit preparatory school known as Kapaun. I remember when the Jesuits decided to pull out of Wichita (and that is how I recall the phrasing; as if the most revolutionary missionary movement in the history of the Roman Catholic Church had determined either that Wichita had been saved to the utmost possible degree, or that we were beyond salvation), Kapaun merged with the East Side girl’s Catholic school to become Kapaun-Mt.Carmel. In spite of their small size, they were able to recruit some real football talent and under the leadership of storied coach Ernie Kriewel, managed to kick a lot of public school ass in the 1970’s and 1980’s. But I digress. The point is that the name “Kapaun,” pronounced “kay’-pun” for those non-Wichitans who may be tuning in, became part of my childhood and youthful vernacular. It was the name of the Catholic school. They may have been good in football and golf, but their band sucked, they had no orchestra, and their musical productions were rather junior-high worthy. But what was behind this word Kapaun that rolled off my Wichita tongue as readily as “Nu-way” or “King’s X”?

It turns out that Emil Kapaun was born to Czech immigrant parents in Marion County, Kansas. He went to the local high school and then to seminary in St. Louis. He first became a chaplain when a WWII-only air base was established near his hometown. He became a full-time chaplain for the duration of the war, was discharged, went to graduate school, and then re-enlisted in 1949. He was sent to Korea when that conflict broke out in 1950, and was captured in November of that year, after being awarded the Bronze Star. He died six months later in a Chinese prison camp. He had pneumonia, gangrene and a variety of the other types of ailments one suffers under such conditions. Then his order opened a school named in his honor near his hometown and it is still a school today.

The Roman Catholic church has a long and involved process to make a person a saint. Father Kapaun has been proposed for sainthood and his life is being debated somewhere in the labyrinthine Vatican bureaucracy. We Episcopalians more or less just vote on saints during General Convention. If it were up to me, Emil Kapaun would be a saint in any church; he did what Jesus said to do. ‘Nuff said.

Still, I’m left with the soldier/server dichotomy.

These three stories are of men functioning under different circumstances and in different ways, but all in the 20^th century and with the same result. How many stories of men and women who have juxtaposed the two positions are lost to history? How many will there be in the future? How many more are active today?

Well, it's about time

OK, so I have neglected this thing for over two months. Oops! Not my intention. Things just got kind of busy with the end of the semester, the final squeak through to get my dissertation all done with the requisite i's dotted and t's crossed and s's properly curved and all of the other hoops I had to jump through. Then there was the round trip between Tuscaloosa and Manhattan, a side trip to Clay Center, my niece Madeline's graduation party, the denouement from graduation, the first summer as a faculty person and our anniversary trip to the beach. Not to mention that I am about to commence upon my 51st (blech, it hurts to type it) trip around the sun as an occupant of the 3rd rock.

So as Crash Davis once noted in the great movie "Bull Durham", we've been dealing with a lot of, um, stuff lately. Hopefully I will be able to make some sense of it all fairly soon. Long story short: it's going pretty well and it's up to me to keep it that way.

Peace, out.

To quote A Flock of Seatbelts

...or a Flock of Seagulls or whatever that band was called, today, I Ran.

It was the Mayor's Cup 5K in Tuscaloosa today. I had been training for nine weeks for this, and was running for our student FPA group's Relay for Life fundraiser for the American Cancer Society. My training went well until last week. That's when I figured out that the Couch-to-5K program assumes that you are running 10 minute miles. My little blazers top out at something just under 14 minutes, so I was training for a 30 minute run when I should have been preparing myself for a 40 minute effort. Oh, well. For some reason I just lost it last week after my Thursday 28 minute run. This week was a very lackluster effort, but I rationalized by calling it "tapering".

OK, so today's run. We got there early. So early, in fact, that there was time to go back to the house after we had picked up our registration packets to get my forgotten watch. Not-so-good omen #1. Then, just a few minutes before the race, during the pre-stretch warm-up phase, I managed to trip on a perfectly smooth sidewalk and take the skin off of a 5 square inch patch of skin on my right knee. Not-so-good omen #2. Bad words were said, grumpiness took root, but I was prepared to go through with it.

Race time. The nice husband gave me a kiss and we went off at our separate paces. I was going to try to run for 5 minute intervals and walk for one or two minutes in between those. It went well for a while. I managed the first mile in 13:15 or so. The second mile was a little rougher, but I got around the quad and back to the second mile mark right around 26:40. Then, it started to rain. At first, it wasn't so bad. I was running for five and walking for two. Then the rain picked up. Then it picked up some more. Then, I thought I heard God calling for Noah. I was now running for three and walking for two. Thankfully, most of the route was asphalt, so there were few concerns about slipping on the pavement, but by this time, I was not terribly concerned about further woundage; I just wanted to see my husband again.

So I kept plodding along. A woman in an orange t-shirt and I had been trading the lead as we each alternated between walking and running since the quad, so, as evidently running folk do, we entered into a silent understanding that we would finish this damn thing, and about the same time.

The route turned from University Boulevard onto Queen City for a two-block detour to make up the proper distance for a 5K. There were cops instructing people to not turn onto the route, but to proceed directly to the finish line, as downtown Tuscaloosa was under a severe thunderstorm watch at the time. Damn that. I'm finishing, and I'm getting my time so that when I run the next one of these effing things, I'll have a time to beat.

So it started raining even harder. In the most light-hearted moment of the race, one of the guys in our pack quoted Bushwood Country Club's immortal groundskeeper Carl Spackler, saying "The really heavy stuff won't be here for about an hour," which made me want to laugh, but I couldn't.

And eventually, I finished. Joe was there with some sports drinkie for me, and he had found a nice fireman with a packet of neosporin-ish stuff and some gauze for my poor knee. We hung out in the parking garage for part of the post-race party and then called it a morning and headed home. A quick stop at Rite-Aid for some first aid supplies and then back to the apartment and I was just about ready for bed. It was 9:35 am.

So, my race time? I'm not sure. I think it was more than 42 minutes, but less than 43. I had told Joe that my goal was to finish in less than 45 minutes, but secretly I was hoping for something much better. I'll admit that finishing that first minute in 13:15 got my hopes up a bit, but once the critters starting lining up two-by-two, I realigned them.

Joe did quite well and set a personal best for himself. He finished right about the time I got to the 2 mile mark, or, in other words, shortly before the skies opened up. And, as if that weren't enough, he got me home and on the way to dry, and then went to the treadmill to run the remaining 8 miles on his training schedule. He's pretty amazing, that nice husband of mine. Then he went to work for a few hours this afternoon, because he could get a little overtime. We like overtime.

I mentioned earlier that I had dedicated this 5K to Relay for Life. The student group I sponsor, the Capstone Financial Planning Association, has been working on this all semester. Due to the weather, the event was moved from the soccer fields to the Rec Center, which meant that several events had to be curtailed as well. Still, they did a fantastic job. We finished 3rd in all student groups in fundraising and had a good turnout of eight students and 2 boy/girlfriends to represent us. We had a tailgate tent, debuted our awesome banner and had cookies and brownies for sale. I was there at the start to see if they needed anything, which they did not. Joe and I went out for dinner to our favorite Mexican joint (yes, I had a margarita) and then stopped by to see the kids on our way home. They were pleased to find out that I really do have a husband, and once again proved that they are very self-sufficient and know how to manage an event.

So we got home about and learned that our cable is still out. So we've been sitting side by side on the couch and listening to the bluegrass show on the local public radio station and surfing and chatting and all of the silly things that we do with our evenings that make us so darned happy.

Not a bad day. I'm looking forward to sleeping and to church and Sunday School tomorrow. We were only away for one weekend, but it feels like it has been a month. I miss Canterbury and look forward to going to our spiritual home in the morning.

I Love ALABAMA

I think I’ve finally totally fallen for this place. If I can’t make it here, it is my own damned fault. The physical sensation hit when I came around the bend on Campus Drive towards the Publix on The Strip and saw Bryant-Denny Stadium out of my peripheral vision.

It’s been kind of an overwhelming week for the College of Human Environmental Sciences, of which I am a tiny cog of a large and extremely well-functioning machine. Two big things happened in our department: a faculty member lost a parent, which is not all that unusual and tragic in a group of our size and a population our age, but it was a very sad thing. The other thing was an unspeakable revelation about one of our students, one who is a particular favorite of mine.

It is the second thing that has really touched me. Not to diminish the first one at all; losing a parent is never easy, no matter what your age. We have pulled together, the faculty and our graduate students, to support our colleague and minimize the impact on others. It is the second incident that has profoundly touched me. The student in question is sharp and fun and enthusiastic. The thing that happened to him/her is something that many young people have had to deal with; I can think of times in my life when I narrowly escaped a similar crisis. However, in this instance, the scale of the event rather transcends the reality. But enough about that.

The sense of family enveloping this situation has overwhelmed me. It is like a huge defensive net has descended upon the involved parties and solidified to protect our student, our very real asset. Evidently, our academic family has exceeded expectations in ways that the student’s biological family has not met them. It started with the student combination of a need to protect himself/herself, and to protect the other students at the University and in the College. What an incredible showing of maturity. Then, resources were rallied, committed and executed to achieve all of the stated goals. It has been an amazing and impressive thing to see. The level of personal commitment and personal contact has been inspiring.

There will never be a place that I love so well as Kansas State University. However, I cannot imagine that the circumstances of this week would have been handled nearly as well in Manhattan as they were in Tuscaloosa. Judgments would have been made, resources would have been sequestered; the shared needs of the student and the college/school/university would not have been treated as such. There would have been denial of responsibility and assignment of blame rather than a consolidation of resources and an acceptance of a forward-thinking reality.

It begins with leadership. It is supplemented by tradition, but it is leadership that sets the tone for management and for the allocation of tangible and intangible resources. I thank God every day that He placed Joe and me within this community. I love the University of Alabama and the College of Human Environmental Sciences and Milla Boschung. I am so blessed in so many ways by my husband and the community we have found at Canterbury Chapel. I’ve got a big-assed cloud hanging over my head, but we are so close…..

I think there was a line in “Animal House” that went something like this: “THANK YOU, GOD!!”

That is pretty much how I feel right now.

Requiescat in pace, Aunt Jean

We're back from a three day whirlwind tour to Cassville, Missouri to pay final respects to my Aunt Jean, a truly remarkable woman. She was my dad's baby sister, the youngest of ten children born on a rock farm in the beautiful Ozarks just outside of Shell Knob, MO. She graduated from the University of Missouri and taught home economics for a few years before returning to Barry County where she married Uncle Emory and they gave the world cousins Russ and Stan.

Not only was she an educator (both in public schools and the First Baptist Church), but also a successful business woman who owned a printing company and published a newspaper. Her husband served six terms as a Senator in the Missouri state legislature, and Aunt Jean was still winning the legislative spouses' annual golf tournament well into her sixties. She survived cancer (55+years) and the loss of an adult child. She was an excellent seamstress and craftswoman, and the consummate homemaker. As my cousin-in-law Cindy observed, she lived her life by the Bible and the Home Economics handbook.

When I teach Maslow's hierarchy of needs to students, I use my Aunt Jean as the exemplar of a self-actualized human. In 1984, she and Uncle Emory were invited to attend President Reagan's second inauguration and all of the attendant festivities. In what I feel was the ultimate complement to this recognition of her husband's career and her support and partnership, my Aunt Jean made her own dress. And she looked spectacular. It was a Vogue pattern, I can't recall the designer, but I'm sure it was one of those tres difficile ones, and she made a special trip to Kansas City to scout Cy Rudnick's and Kaplan's for the perfect fabric and notions. I love telling that about her.

Aunt Jean was very ill for the last years of her life, but she was able to stay at home. Poor Uncle Emory, I know he will miss her terribly, but he seemed to be relieved that her suffering was done. My new resolution - an Easter resolution, is that done? - is to write him a letter once a month. He likes history and politics, I should be able to find some thought or observation to share with him.

Fiery Crosses

I found out on last week that this really nice lady in my Sunday School class once had a cross burned in her front yard.

My husband and I are very happy with the church that we have found in the city we moved to in August; a progressively minded Episcopal congregation that is just the right size for us and has terrific music. Most of all, this parish is blessed with an outstanding priest who is “about our age”, as they say, and inspires us. One of the things we enjoy most is the Sunday School class that takes place between the two weekly services every Sunday morning. There are usually between eight and twelve people there, as well as Father Marc. We have been going through the Catechism, but occasionally detour onto other subjects. Okay, so there is some sort of detour every Sunday; that is simply the nature of the group and the structure of the task at hand. Last Sunday, we talked a little bit about history.

Our church is part of the campus of the University of Alabama, in Tuscaloosa. We are located across the street (and share a parking lot on Sundays) with Foster Auditorium, the site of George Wallace’s famous Stand in the Schoolhouse Door, where he tried, unsuccessfully, to stop two black students from enrolling at the University.

During our time at Canterbury Chapel, people had mentioned that the church was very supportive of the Civil Rights Movement, and served as a staging area for protests on campus. On last Sunday morning, we learned that two crosses had been burned by the Ku Klux Klan on the front yard of our church. It served as a reminder that the violence and the fear inherent in such an act is a very real thing; something that neither of us can fully imagine nor appreciate. People around the table used phrases like “walking on eggshells” to describe their fears and feelings at the time.

But I was most shocked to learn that one of our “church ladies”, a sweet, grey-haired, grandmotherly type, a Daughter of the King and the foundress of the Flower Guild, had a cross burned in her front yard by the Klan as well. Why? She was a teacher. I’m not sure what or whom she taught or why that made her the Klan’s target, but I was overcome by a sense of awe and amazement.

Her name is Elizabeth. She was a teacher, and that’s why the Klan burned a cross in her front yard. Oy.

W3D3 of C25K is in the can

Yesterday I managed to successfully complete the third week of Cool Runnings’ Couch-to-5K training program. The goal of the program is to take a total couch potato (moi) and turn her into an active healthy person who can run a distance of 3.1 miles, or run for approximately 30 minutes. I’m getting support through a Facebook group and also by listening to podcasts that some guy put together to help get through the program.

My husband is a runner; I’ve tried to become a runner before but have always failed. Either work got in the way, or I got sick or managed to injure myself. This time, things are going well. I have been running on Mondays and Wednesdays after work and on Saturday mornings. This week could be a little different because it is Spring Break and I am also apparently fighting off a bit of a cold. So we’ll see how it goes. Right now, though, everything is fine.

The podcasts were made by a guy named Robert in Northern California who decided to do the C25K program shortly after his 43^rd birthday. He’s done a nice job of putting together this podcast that times out the various warm-up, jog, walk, and cool down interludes by each of the nine weeks it takes to make a runner (or jogger, or in my case, schlogger) out of a spud. I’m not crazy about the music, as it is kind of mindless techo-stuff that is mostly just rhythm track. I keep listening to the introduction for each piece and wondering when the song is going to start, but then the music changes enough to let me know that if there was a song, I missed it. So it’s not music that I would like to listen to on my own, but is it good for running? Yep, so it’s good enough for me.

Week Four starts tomorrow. I’ll be running three and five minute intervals with walking breaks in between them. Depending on the weather and time of day, I’ll either run along the Northport River Path (probably not its official name) or the Tuscaloosa River Path (which is just across the same river but down the road a piece) or on the indoor track at the Rec Center. My strategy is to not measure my running in terms of performance until my first race; I’m afraid that if I know what my pace is that I will get focused on that. I need to leave myself alone and just work the plan. I will be a runner one day!

Honourable Mentions

As much fun as it was to put together a list of great Canadian musicians, it hurts to have left so many off the list. The McGarrigle Sisters would have been at the top of any list of great Canadians for any occasion, but I posted a blog tribute to them last month in honor of Kate’s passing. Here are a few artists who make me wish the Olympics had gone on a little longer:

k.d. lang

Bachman-Turner Overdrive

Rush (for the husband)

Dan Hill

Jann Arden

Measha Breuggergosman

Robert Goulet

Rufus Wainwright

Michael Buble

Alanis Morrisette

Nelly Furtado

Bryan Adams

Paul Anka

The Band

Electric Light Orchestra

Loverboy

Buffy Sainte-Marie

Dan Akroyd – for his work with the Blues Brothers

Jane Siberry

Bryan Adams

Crash Test Dummies

Gordon Lightfoot

Bruce Cockburn

Leonard Cohen

Avril Lavigne

Daniel Lanois – producer

Oh, and if you are wondering where Celine Dion and Shania Twain are, don’t.

Anne Murray

Our final Olympic tribute to the great musicians of Canada honours the great Nova Scotian, Anne Murray. What is there to say? Her magical, velvety alto transcends age and genre. Not to mention that she seems like a really nice person, too. And a sports fan, and what’s not to like about that? She sang the national anthems at the first American League game played in Canada in 1977 when the Toronto Blue Jays played the Chicago White Sox at Exhibition Stadium. She has had ownership in hockey teams and is known as an 11-handicap golfer. She’s even had a postage stamp issued in her honour. How cool is that?

Perhaps the most uniquely Anne Murray song is “Could I Have This Dance” from “Urban Cowboy” and a personal favorite of President and Mrs. Obama. Few songs can highlight the depth and smoothness of her range. She is also well known for “Snowbird” and her cover of The Monkees’ “Daydream Believer”. However, one of my favorites is her cover of Kenny Loggins’ “Danny’s Song”, which is imbedded here. Oh, and there’s a Canadian connection: Loggins’ recording partner Jimmy Messina was also a member of Buffalo Springfield with previous honouree Neil Young. She has also recorded with Martina McBride, whose husband played Little League baseball with my older brother in Wichita, Kansas. It’s like of like playing Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon, but with Canada.

Not only was Anne Murray the last person to sing Maple Leaf Forever at the closing of the Maple Leaf Garden in Toronto, she was one of eight Canadians chosen to carry the Olympic flag during the opening ceremonies of the Vancouver Olympics. Again, how cool can you be? She’s the kind of person I would like to be when I grow up.

And a special bonus track, thanks to the beloved husband. It's Ms. Murray singing The Maple Leaf Forever during the final Maple Leafs game at Maple Leaf Gardens. Sadly, there is no accompanying video, but she does sound fabulous.

Neil Young, the anti-Skynyrd

As every good Alabama resident knows, Lynyrd Skynyrd's great rock anthem was in part inspired by Canadian Neil Young's perceived attack on Southern manhood. It turned out to be a rather symbiotic relationship. Oh, well. As much as I have come to love Skynyrd's tribute to the place where I live and work, there is no denying the greatness of Neil Young. From Toronto to Winnipeg and back to Toronto and then to the States, Young is known not only for his seminal music, but for numerous collaborations and breakups. Bachman-Turner Overdrive, Buffalo Springfield, Crosby, Stills[, /&] Nash [& Young], and Crazy Horse, among others have been stations in Young's development as an artist. This video comes from a 2000 CSN&Y reunion tour, although the song was initially recorded by Young as a solo effort in 1970 on the classic album After the Harvest. Take a listen.

Mrs. McManus

Our third Canadian pianist of note is Diana Krall. A native of Nanaimo, British Columbia, shares an important characteristic with her previously feted countrymen, that of singing along with her music. However, in her case, it is intentional. Not only is Ms. Krall a phenomenal jazz pianist, she is a remarkable and uniquely talented vocalist as well. Her deep, smoky contralto voice just screams “jazz” in the mellowest way possible. Well, here, have a listen.

Krall’s best known collaboration is that with her husband, the British genre-bending musician Declan McManus, better known as Elvis Costello. They’ve been married since 2003 and have twin sons, Dexter and Frank.

I love her Christmas album.

Oscar Peterson

One of the greatest jazz pianists of all time, Oscar Peterson was born in Montreal but lived most of his life in suburban Toronto. Like his fellow Canadian Glenn Gould, Peterson seems fond of humming and singing along with his work, but it does seem a trifle more apropos with Richard Rogers than with J.S. Bach. Peterson was a childhood prodigy who was classically trained by a Hungarian emigre who had studied under Franz Liszt. However, he eventually drifted into jazz, as did so many young musicians of the day.

Just to highlight the universality of jazz, the bassist in this recording is Neils-Henning Orsted Pedersen, who was Danish, and the drummer is an Englishman, Martin Drew. Peterson work a lot with trios, sometimes exchanging the drummer for a guitarist, and less frequently with quartets.

Oscar Peterson suffered a debilitating stroke in 1993, after years of failing health. He was offered the opportunity to serve as the Lieutenant-Governor of Ontario, but he declined. Peterson never completely recovered and died at his home in 2007.

Glenn Gould

Eccentric by any standard, Glenn Gould was also a genius by any standard. I remember seeing a movie several years ago called "Thirty-two Short Films about Glenn Gould" that attempted to explain Gould. Gould was considered a foremost interpreter of the works of Bach, and particularly the Goldberg Variations for piano. I must admit that I don't remember that much about the film, but it did pique my curiosity about Bach and Goldberg if nothing else.

Gould was very eccentric; he abhorred physical contact and hated to be touched. For this reason, some have theorized that he had an autism-spectrum disorder. It doesn't sound like a far-fetched idea to me. Another story about Gould that I recall is that he always wore a hat, gloves, coat and scarf when outdoors, no matter what the weather or the location. That would explain why he was arrested for vagrancy somewhere in Florida (Sarasota?) while sitting on a park bench in the afternoon before an evening concert.

Gould had some quirky playing habits. First, he liked to sit very low, not that there's anything wrong with that, as long as one gets the sound one wants. However, his habit of humming and singing along with his playing was the sort of things that drove other musicians nuts, not to mention recording engineers. Enjoy this look at a peculiar and outstanding talent.

Oh, and he's Canadian!

In honour of Canada, Part Deux

Yeah, so I spelled it wrong the first time. I only hope that all of my Canadian friends (this means you, Roudi. Well, and I guess Robert. And I suppose Donovan should be considered as well) will forgive me my insensitive American spelling. As much as an Anglophile that I am, you think I would have made the connection before now.

My next muscial tribute to our neighbors to the north is this entry by the Barenaked Ladies. I fear that they have broken up now, but they gave us many fine tunes including "One Week", "Brian Wilson" and a Christmas recording of "We Three Kings" and "God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen" with fellow Candian Sarah McLachlan. It's a rare treat, but worth looking for. And please note the correct placement of the comma.

I can't remember where or when I first heard this song. It was briefly associated with an ill-fated relationship, but I moved along from there and found that I still enjoy this tune very much. It's a fun little video, too. Enjoy!

In honor of Canada

For the duration of the Winter Olympics, I'll pay tribute to the host country every few days and post some of my favorite music written and performed by Canadians. I love Canada, really!

I've been haunted by this version of "Both Sides Now" since the opening ceremonies on Friday night. Joni Mitchell wrote this song in her early 20's and it was a very upbeat, pop kind of piece. This recording was made in 2000, when Ms. Mitchell was 57 years old. It's an amazing quality to find in a song - that it can evoke one set of emotions in one's inner 24 year old and yet others in this soulful and jazzy rendition from a mature woman. I love it. You go, Joni!

Better than Silence

If I am not going to fulfill my intent to blog, at least I can share some musical favorites. This is the best "serenity now" ever. It is music to soothe the savage beast whenever or wherever it strikes. I prefer this version to others because it is somewhat slower than many. The Dali slide show provides a nice frenetic contrast to the music.

Requiescat in Pace, Kate McGarrigle

Kate McGarrigle, a Canadian folksinger whose sister's lyrics inspired the title of this blog, was lost to cancer earlier this week. In addition to her own fine career (bilingual even) and work with her sister, she gave the music world two blessed and talented children, Rufus Wainwright and Martha Wainwright. Her legacy lives through her music, her children and her philanthropy in the form of a trust at Montreal's McGill University Health Center, where she had been treated for clear cell sarcoma since 2006.

Rest, Kate. Thank you for the beauty.

Guilty Pleasures Pt. 1 - Project Runway

I am not a fashion maven by any stretch of the imagination. My ideal shopping trip consists of logging onto the Land’s End website and finding something nice and comfy in the overstock section, and then buying three or four of it in different neutral colors. I’m a dullard, and I’ll only wear sensible shoes.

But Project Runway – oh, that’s different. For the uninitiated, PR is a reality TV show (a concept I have foresworn to abhor) where sixteen fashion designers are brought together to compete in a series of challenges. Someone (or some two) gets eliminated every week until only three are left standing. They get to go to New York and create a collection of clothing for a real live fashion show. The winner goes on to either fame and glory or obscurity, it depends.

Creativity is not my thing; my grade cards were full of A’s in everything but art and gym class as a kid. Maybe that’s why I get so blown away when other people are good at it. One of the impressive things about the Project Runway contestants is that they are from all over the place. Last year’s three finalists were from Akron, Ohio, Charleston, South Carolina and the third was a NYC type whose parents emigrated from Georgia – the country, not the state – when she was an infant. So, truly, this year’s winner could theoretically hail from Valeda, Kansas or Shell Knob, Missouri. I don’t think it is likely, but am enamored with the idea that it COULD happen.

The show doesn’t start for over an hour, but I’ve already got a favorite. His name is Anthony Williams and he’s a graduate of the University of Alabama. Not only that, but he was in the College where I teach, although, obviously, in Apparel Design, not Consumer Science. So it goes, but everyone around the College is pretty excited. The Dean even had a satellite dish installed so that there could be a watch party for the premiere. Cool!

I can’t talk about Project Runway without mentioning the fabulous Tim Gunn. The calm, cool and always collected Mr. Gunn is the guardian angel of and mentor to the designers. It’s difficult for me to describe my feelings about Tim Gunn. I sure could have used a Tim Gunn when I was writing my dissertation, that’s for sure. But I also like the idea that, maybe, someday, I can be somebody else’s Tim Gunn.

The Chimes rang out at Midnight

Last night, the University of Alabama won the NCAA National Championship Football title by beating the University of Texas in a game that was by turns frustrating, agonizing, exciting, boring, a little too exciting and, finally, euphoric. We watched at the home of a colleague with a bunch of people who know a whole lot more about Bama football than we do, and have a lot of passion for the stuff. It was a great time. Our contribution to the festivities was a crock pot full of Bevo (UT’s bovine mascot) y Queso dip, which was well received.

After five hours of hanging out with fun people and generally having a blast and feeling on top of the world, we couldn’t resist taking a detour through campus on our way home. Okay, so it was like way out of the way, but how often do you get to be in a college town when they’ve just won the national championship in anything, much less the sport for which they are rightfully the best known? There weren’t huge crowds or massive unruliness. No burning cars – the good people of Tuscaloosa, Alabama are far too genteel for that sort of thing. Just people running around, screaming, hugging, standing in line in 20 degree weather for championship t-shirts and creating experiences they will remember forever.

The highlight was hearing the Denny Chimes ring out the midnight hour as we waited in a line of traffic on University Boulevard. The University of Alabama campus is beautiful and the Quad area is one of the most picturesque I’ve seen. The Denny Chimes are housed in a campanile that was built as a memorial to those students who fought in World War I. The chimes ring out the day Westminster style and occasionally host carillon concerts. But early this morning, they rang in the first full day of Alabama’s reign as college football’s national champion. And we were there and it was thrilling and awesome.

Now back to work.

Kyrie Eleison

Tonight I sent in my first attempt at revising my dissertation. It's so hard to predict what will happen next; all I can do at this point is pray and hope I didn't screw too much of it up. It's been a long process and the long version narrative is forthcoming. For now, I'm just pleased to have reached the next milepost. All I can say right now is that my husband is a saint and my employer is incredibly understanding.

I celebrated by following my planned spiritual practice for the day. I've found a wonderful iTunes version of the Daily Office. Since today is Sunday there is only Evening Prayer and Night Prayer. Other days of the week offer an Invitatory Psalm, Daily Prayer and a Daytime Prayer as well as an Office of Readings. The days when I'll be able to listen to all of the podcasts will be few if any. However, if I can manage two or three a day, or even one, I will be pleased. It's a Roman Catholic production, so certain details are different (ok, it was way too Mary-centric for my tastes yesterday) but 1) it's a wonderful resource 2) the music is absolutely first rate and 3) how much easier could it be?

Tomorrow morning will be a challenge - I plan on getting up at the regular weekday time and putting in a full day at the office. We've been pretty lazy over the past couple of weeks about the whole morning routine thing (understatement) so it's going to be a rough start. But I'm rather looking forward to it. Morning Prayer!

Merry New Year!

Anybody else remember Eddie Murphy in "Trading Places"? Taking the train to Philly to bust Mortimer and Randolph on the orange juice thing.

It's a New Year and I'm going to experiment with expressing myself in this medium. Daily posting is not a likelihood, weekly is probably as good as it will get. It will be boring and serious sometimes, but hopefully light and informative others. It's supposed to be fun, right?

A little bit of introduction...I'm middle-aged, newly married, desperately trying to finish a PhD, and just as desperately trying to be good at my new job. I'm an assistant professor at a major state university in the South. All will be obvious enough in good time, but I'll start off by trying to be at least a little bit coy.

Items of importance:

1. My husband is the one true best thing in my life.

2. I'm a Christian of the Episcopal flavor.

3. Politically, I strive to be a radical moderate. This tends to keep me at odds with everybody, but makes it easier to live with myself.

Things I want to achieve this year, other than the usual personal relationship and career stuff:

1. Maintain a daily spiritual practice.

2. Be comfortable with my health. I'm not getting any younger, you know.

3. Make some new friends. Moving 900 miles and experiencing a couple of major life changes has left me feeling rather isolated (with the exception of #1 Item of Importance) and I'd like to change that.

Okay, that's enough for now.

Oh, and the title of the blog is from a song by the McGarrigle Sisters titled "You Tell Me That I'm Falling Down". Maybe someday I'll figure out how to link it here so that others may enjoy it too.