On the Pipe Organ

      After ten years of piano lessons and over ten additional years of playing sporadically for myself and for church, I've recently begun practicing on my church's pipe organ.  So far, it's been an interesting experience and requires more concentration and research than I'd anticipated—and I still have a lot to learn.

Photo courtesy of commons.wikimedia.org--
I hope to get a photo of the organ I practice on soon, but this'll do for now.

      As a kid, I played around on the organ my Dad still owns—a relatively portable harmonium (reed organ) that has only one manual (keyboard), two pedals for pumping air through any open stops (sets of pipes), and no pedalboard (keyboard for the feet).  However, comparing a pump organ such as that to a true pipe organ is like comparing a pauper to a king.  Pipe organs boast two to five manuals, a pedalboard, shoes (foot pedals to get dynamics), a relatively wider variety of stops for each set of manuals and the pedalboard, and generally includes several pistons (buttons for preset stop combinations).  In addition, I need not pump the bellows myself (nor hire choirboys to do so, as needed in Bach's day); now an electric blower may be turned on to do the job.

      Already I'm throwing a lot of terminology at my poor readers, and I haven't even named the manuals or common stops!  But this gives the uninitiated a small feel for the complexity of the instrument.
     To proceed with my experiences with pipe organs--during high school, I had dabbled on my church organ in Topeka a couple times.  Yet, without proper instruction, I didn't really know how to use it, and learning it was a low priority, what with ballet and homework.  When I decided to start learning the organ more recently, our organist recommended I start by practicing hymns.  
      "Sure, I can do that," I thought.  I decided to spend time practicing after giving my weekly piano lesson; I'd be at the church anyway.  The first time I stayed late and turned the key to activate the blower, I found the organist's hymnbook has no pedal line and no notes about what stops to use.  The names of the stops also meant little to me.  What was I to do?  I played around a little, getting used to the sound of each stop (and feeling like a kid expecting a parent to come scold her for being too loud, especially when I played the Principal stops).  Then I went home to research. 

      I found a list of guidelines for stops to use for various types of hymns and music for other parts of a service.  I also looked up as many stop names as I could remember, wishing I'd thought to write them down.  I did so before the service on Sunday to allow me to look up the rest of the stops later, and found out from our organist that when a pedal line isn't written, we're to omit the bass line of the music in the left hand and instead play it with the feet.  Doing so, I found that next Tuesday, requires an unexpected amount of mental and physical coordination, even for a pianist and former dancer. When a pedal line is included (as on much of my organ books and the free sheet music I obtained from the internet), the musician has to read three lines of music; one for each hand and one for the feet.  I haven't decided yet which is more challenging.
      Each practice session has gradually improved my ability to play and also revealed new unanswered questions, requiring further research at home.  I generally love living in the Information Age, with information a click away.  Unfortunately, web searches for pipe organ tutorials weren't as fruitful as I'd hoped.  Sites I found either covered basics I already know, generalities that don't help, or specifics for a much more complicated organ than I have access to.  The most useful, best-organized site I've come across so far has been piercepipeorgans.com--which I truly wish I'd come across first.  I instead found most of the information that this site so helpfully contains scattered piecemeal in a dozen other sites amid less useful info.

My current unanswered questions are as follows:

• How can I compensate for stops (and manuals) that my organ doesn't have, but which a piece of music calls for?  (Is it possible or advisable to substitute certain stops, and if so, which ones?  Or would doing so compromise the quality and authenticity of historical music too much?  Could multiple manuals be compensated for using the pistons?)
• When a piece of organ music directs the musician to change between manuals, how do I know which staff/hand(s) the words refer to--is it always above or below the staff it applies to?  What does it mean when a piece of music repeats a direction to change to the same manual it's already on?

      Lately, frigid temperatures in the sanctuary have kept me from remaining to practice after piano lessons; I would feel guilty heating that large space just for one person for a couple hours.  Perhaps bringing a space heater might be in order... but that's a thought for 2015.

On Being a Novelist (Someday)

      I don't like strangers and friends knowing I'm writing a book.  (Ironic, right, since I'm posting this on the internet?  But please don't ask me for a summary.)  I don't mind my immediate family knowing my progress; they're my support group.  Yet, I feel uncomfortable when it comes up in conversation with others.  It's almost like a bragging point for those close to me (or at least a conversation topic for moments of silence), but I'm not comfortable sharing the tentative plot lines behind my projects; it sounds a little juvenile in summary, and not everyone cares for the particular genre I write in.  I likewise wince when others ask me what I've been up to today and I can only answer "writing."  "Writing what?" they inevitably ask, and there we go...
      My reticence is not true modesty but more like embarrassment.  It took me some time to think through the cause since I do rather like the general direction of my story (though I perpetually feel it needs improvement).  Fear of criticism is always part of revealing one's work, but in this case, it occurs to me that talking about the unfinished book feels rather like counting one's chickens before they hatch--like empty boasting, especially since I've yet to publish a book and I've been at my main project for over ten years--and stuck with an incomplete story of around 28 chapters for at least two.  Will I ever finish it?  I hope so.  When I do, then I'll be much happier to promote my work (or so I trust).  Do other writers feel this way?  Let me work in anonymity though I publish in (one can hope) renown.

On Rosewater

        Sometime after the first frost last year, I pocketed some ripe, bright red rose hips from some of the bushes at work and tried out an online recipe for rose hip tea, which is purported to be quite healthy and moderately tasty.
        It was vile.
        Admittedly, I generally prefer black tea over herbals, but even after adding honey, I had to pour the remains into the sink and didn't bother using the rest to attempt rose hip jam.  Still, the idea of roses as food still interests something in the romantic side of me, especially since our new house came with five rose bushes--two pink, two red, and one yellow.  In my search for a better-tasting recipe for rose hip tea, I discovered rosewater.
        I'd read about rosewater--it was discovered and commonly used in the middle ages and gets references in books set in that era, but I'd never known how to make it, nor what good it might be.  It's not as if it's a common product in modern groceries.
        Rosewater's uses are actually quite varied--applied directly for acne or tired eyes, or as an additive to skin creams, hair rinses, moisturizers, after-sun care, etc.  It's a light, short-lived fragrance, and a tablespoon or two can be added into drinks and foods such as mint tea, lemonade, rice pudding, milk, yogurt, butter cookies, fruit salads, and almond dishes.  (Sources include stylecraze.com and boisdejasmin.com).

        Distilling rosewater is actually quite simple.  I've made two batches so far, a couple weeks apart.  I first gathered as many fresh rose petals as possible, after tearing off parts that were bug-eaten or withered.  (I don't use pesticides other than a couple of ant traps on the ground and, apparently spiders.  I had a bad scare with a dime-sized arachnid hiding in one of my red roses!)  We'd had some frosts that limited the number of eligible blooms, so I couldn't gather quite the 2-3 quarts the recipe called for.  I ended up with four cups of petals, and even that much required between six to ten roses, which I was obliged to take from all five bushes.)

        These went into my largest canning pot, in the middle of which I placed a well-scrubbed stone since I didn't have the recommended brick.

        I added water to almost cover the petals, and placed a heat-safe bowl on top of the brick.  Then, after inverting the lid, I heated it up.

        Once the water boiled, I brought it down to a simmer and covered the lid with ice to create a home still; the steam condenses on the cold lid and slides down to the center where it drops into the bowl.  The petals lose their color after being boiled and turn the water brownish-pink.

        Every 20 minutes, one has to check the potency.  I discovered that it helps to have a large bowl on hand to dump the icewater--being careful not to let it drip into the bowl of rosewater.  Then, one takes a tablespoon or so out to taste.  The recipe says to repeat this until the bowl has between a pint and a quart of strong-smelling and -tasting rosewater.  However, with my limited amount of petals, I found that after the second 20 minutes, it was tasting a little diluted, so I stopped.  The result fit only into one small plastic container.

        I've since learned that other people make rosewater without the distillation process: They wash the petals and use distilled water for boiling, then steep the petals perhaps an hour or overnight. Then they strain the petals out and cool the water in the refrigerator it to make it last longer.
        By the sounds of it, the shelf life is shorter with the non-distilled method.  How much shorter, I've no idea; I have found no information on the shelf life of the method I used, but by smelling and tasting my batches, the older one is clearly less fragrant than the newer, though both taste similar.  My husband actually prefers the delicacy of the older one--however, another point to consider is that my first batch included a couple yellow blooms while I had none available for the second, and I've often felt that the yellow roses have a nicer scent.  Whether either batch will remain potent last long enough for them to make good Christmas gifts remain to be seen.  We'll have to wait and see, and in the meantime, I should have some rosehips to experiment with in a couple weeks!



Update Dec 2014: Our rosehips didn't develop before the first frost hit, so we'll have to try next year.

On Infertility

For those who aren’t familiar with the exact definition, infertility is the inability to become pregnant after a year of trying.

One year.  

This definition implies that medical professionals and society expect a healthy couple to conceive with relative ease and celerity, and this does seems to be the case for 90% of the female population (womenshealth.gov).  Unfortunately, the other 10% of us have difficulty getting pregnant… including me.  

This can be a difficult topic to write about.  Even when feeling at peace about it, remembering and writing about previous emotions brings on the tears, and I find I have to stand and walk a bit to find my calm again.  It has likewise been hard to know quite how to pray about this situation and hard to know whether, and how, we should act on it.

Joel and I have had six lovely years of contraceptive-less marriage, and my periods continue to appear like clockwork.  We’re still young—just barely under 30.  I got a clean bill of health after my Pap, and Joel has a healthy sperm count.  We’re both a bit heavier than we ought to be, but not to the point of obesity.  We exercise fairly regularly and eat healthfully (well, I do—and I can sometimes convince him to do the same).  We don’t smoke or get drunk (I don’t drink at all).  I take the recommended vitamins, and we make the most of my fertile time when our schedules allow.  But each month brings another disappointment.

Thankfully, that’s all it’s been lately—a mild disappointment.  But about two years ago, I was an emotional mess.  My inability to conceive consumed my mind and left me feeling defective, even worthless, despite knowing in my head that my worth comes from Christ alone.  Grief over my barrenness was compounded by Joel’s disinterest—even relief to not have a child.  I knew we weren’t trying as hard as we could have (I didn’t want to press the issue with Joel’s attitude of “if it happens, I’ll be a dutiful father, but if not, great!”), yet without contraceptives, I thought we still had a good chance.  ...It didn’t happen.

After a few months of praying for Joel to want a child, and then praying for either a child or peace without one—and after a mildly embarrassing emotional breakdown in front of a sweet prayer warrior from our church who agreed to pray for us—God gave me the latter.  

I have greater peace of mind now, but that’s not to say I don’t still have good days and bad—days when I can easily look upon children and new mothers without a thought to myself, when I can consider my potentially childless future with stoicism or even contentment… and days when the same things send a dagger of grief through my heart, and I burst into tears at the thought of an infant I may never hold.  However, since then, the months have passed with only the occasional pre-menstrual tears and postmenstrual let-down, and I quickly regain my equilibrium and faith.  

Then, on our anniversary earlier this year, Joel’s gift was the announcement that he’s ready to really try to have a kid.  I actually cried with joy; Joel looked rather nonplussed.  In the half year since then, we’ve increased our efforts to conceive ...with the same result.  Infertility.

I’m rarely sure how to pray about our lack of a little one.  Of course I should always pray “Thy will be done,” and I continually pray for contentment in all circumstances.  But does that mean I shouldn’t also pray for a child?  I consider how “Isaac prayed to the Lord for his wife, because she was barren. And the Lord granted his prayer, and Rebekah his wife conceived” (Gen. 25:21).  They were childless twenty years and only received their twins by prayer.  Centuries later, Hannah prayed so fervently for a child that the priest Eli thought she was drunk, but God heard her distress, and after she promised to give her firstborn to serve the Lord, He gave her Samuel plus five other children (1 Sam 1-2).  

As one continues to read through scripture, one sees that from bold, specific prayers come curses and blessings, healing and deliverance—this from the petitions of ordinary people as well as prophets and kings.  However, we know we receive only what we ask in Jesus’ name—i.e. on His behalf, or according to His will—hence part of my dilemma.  Are children God’s will for us?  Isaac surely knew that God planned for him to have a child because descendants were part of God’s promise to his father Abraham.  But Hannah couldn’t have known the Lord’s will in her case, right?  How many others prayed for children and never received them?  Then again, our Lord prayed for his cup (his death) to pass him by.  He still had to face it, but apparently there was no harm in his asking.  But then again, we must ask and not doubt (Matt 21:22, James 1:6), and I don't know God's will enough to not doubt I'll receive children.

Aside from concerns about the Lord’s will, I also wonder whether my motives for desiring children are good.  Though our culture no longer expects couples to get pregnant in the first year of marriage, enough of a undercurrent remains in the questions that people ask newlyweds to eventually make a childless wife feel she’s defective somehow—psychologically if she doesn’t want kids (yet or ever) and biologically if she wants them but can’t seem to have them. Considering this cultural pressure, do I wish for children selfishly, because it’s cultural expected, or out of an honest, natural, or godly desire for them?  Do I think a baby will make me feel more emotionally secure?  (What a joke that would be, considering some of the hurtful things children say!)  Still, I wonder if it’s my mind, biology, or spirit longing for kids.

Thinking along these lines, do I really want a child?  On the one hand, I consider all that work and stress and expense and disruption of raising a child, and I wonder if I really want to bring a child into a Fallen world where he or she will face untold heartbreak and hardship.  On the other hand, I consider all that love and joy and laughter and hope, and I consider how much I'd like to bring a child up in Christ’s footsteps, to be a light to the next generation.  My opinion just will not remain consistent.

Should Joel and I truly set our hearts on having a child, we then face the question of what to do if our infertility continues.  Is childlessness a sign we’re not living within God’s will properly or not praying properly?  But then, we live in a Fallen world, so infertility may be merely a symptom of that and not an indication of God’s disfavor; in addition, plenty of rebels against God have no difficulty getting pregnant, and Job and the apostles are examples showing it is not correct to equate temporal blessings with one’s spiritual status.  
Again, could childlessness mean God is preparing us to adopt or foster a child?  Should we seek professional help to conceive a child, knowing God has given doctors the wisdom and skill to help people such as us, or should we accept on faith that God knows best and go on as we have been?  Admittedly, without children, we have more disposable income to give to charities and more time to invest in building up the church.  Is our faith and handling of this undesirable situation meant to be an example to unbelievers?  Could God be preparing us for some some great upheaval in our lives that a child shouldn’t go through—whether an all-consuming ministry or death?  Does God have a specific plan or work in mind for us, or does it not matter where we live and what we do because He can make use of us regardless?

Am I overthinking this?  

Probably.

Infertility poses an endless cycle of currently unanswerable questions and difficult decisions.  I find that I've come full-circle, that I’ve known nearly from the beginning what I should do: I shall pray for both a baby and peace without one, and for the ability to hear and heed God’s direction when He gives it.  Then I’ll trust the Lord to bring us what He knows is best.

On Transformation

Upon a person’s conversion or rededication to Jesus, outsiders and even the convert himself might easily think, “well, now the hard work’s done!”  Certainly the hard work of salvation is done—and has been done for two thousand years.  And certainly accepting Jesus and receiving the Holy Spirit is glorious and fills our lives with inexpressible joy.  However, not only is it grossly untrue to presume our life path will now be swept clear of all difficulties and work (cf. scriptures), but that attitude can harm the faith of all concerned by setting up unreasonable expectations destined for disappointment.  The persecution of our Lord and the early Church reveal the truth that “in this world [we] will have trouble” (John 16:33).  This we could perhaps weather with inner peace.  However, conversion also begins the painful, chaotic transforming of our souls to resemble Christ’s, and many find this internal process far more challenging than external difficulties.

No matter how far we were from Christ before, beside the emotions of joy and relief, the experience of being born again may feel somewhat frightening, even traumatic—to die to ourselves and be emptied of what was once our very identity for the sake of starting a new life in which we follow Jesus and are identified with Him.  Everything changes: the values that define us, our cherished ideas about the world, our habits of thought and deed, our understanding of who and whose we are—and for our pains, we get our pride torn to shreds as we confess we are not as independent and inherently good as we like to think—that we do not belong to ourselves but must give up our right to ourselves to God.  Although this transformation continues our entire lives, it can be most traumatic when the Spirit first begins to make us His own.  

Everyone who belongs to God has experienced some form of this transformation, whether abrupt or gradual, soul-wrenching or merely pin-pricks.  We all likewise know the pain of “cognitive dissonance” between the World’s attractive ideas and our inherent sin nature, which we must uproot, and the perfect will of God, which He wishes to plant in us.  God must have his way with us, like a potter molding clay or a silversmith refining metal; the process hurts but is necessary for us to be conformed into the image of Christ.

Are you still being transformed by God’s Spirit?  Or do you resist the hands of the Potter in favor of being conformed to this world?

On Cooking with Creamer

Taken from an Amazon.com item

During visits to the gas station as kids, my brother and I loved to sneak the free International Delight creamer cups from the coffee area.  We had our parents’ bemused permission, though they usually limited us to one creamer per kid.  Over time, we tried out each flavor, just drinking them straight.  French vanilla quickly became my favorite, and I chose that exclusively.  Of course, with maturity, I restrained myself more... which meant taking one only on “special occasions.”  This changed when I began drinking black tea: I started buying the large bottles of I.D. French vanilla creamer at the grocery, as well as gas-station-sized individual cups to keep at work since fridge space is limited.  
             Of course, I'll still sip French vanilla creamer straight from time to time—usually from a shot glass now—and I can't resist licking the residue in an individual cup after I pour the bulk of the creamer into my tea at work.  However, having all this creamer on hand, I have by experimentation devised several other methods of creamer consumption, some common and some relatively novel.  Behold:

1. Tea (as noted before) (35 calories for tea with one TBSP of creamer)

French vanilla best complements Tazo Organic Chai and unflavored black teas such as English Breakfast.  It tastes amazing in peach black tea, too, but sadly the brand I tried is apparently no longer producing it, and local stores only sell peach herbal (rather than black) tea.  I will note that Earl Gray and many herbals taste better with an unflavored creamer, if any, though French vanilla does alright in a pinch.  However, French vanilla does not at all suit the two teas I’ve tried that use yerba mate.

 

2. Cocoa (roughly 80 calories when made with water)

Fill a mug a little over halfway full of water or milk, and add roughly ¼ part French vanilla creamer.  (Take care to leave enough room in the mug for stirring in the cocoa powder.)  Heat till hot in the microwave, and stir in one heaping spoonful (exact amount to taste) of cocoa powder.  Variations: optionally sprinkle with cayenne pepper, with cinnamon and/or nutmeg and cloves, or a drop or two of peppermint extract.  Enjoy!

3. Fudge in a Mug (180 calories)  

One might alternately think of this like a thick fudge frosting.  Whatever it is, it’s delicious (assuming one likes chocolate).  In a mug, measure 4 TBSP powdered sugar, 2 TBSP cocoa powder, and 1 TBSP French vanilla creamer.  Stir till well-blended, heat 8 seconds in a microwave, and stir till smooth.  Enjoy!  

Note: if the fudge sits out or in the fridge a while and becomes dry and hard, add a little more creamer, reheat, and stir.  To make an 8x8 pan of fudge, change the TBSP measurements above to cups and repeat the heating/stirring as needed before pouring it into a pan to cool.  This variety of fudge will stay softer than most baked recipes even when cool, though it can become unpleasantly hard and brittle when dried out, so cover excess with plastic wrap.

4. Peanut Butter cream treat (2 TBSP peanut butter = around 300 calories)

This, with perhaps a side of salad or tea, serves as dinner sometimes when I’m too lazy to cook, or as a snack between meals.  With a spoon, scoop a large dollop of peanut butter into a mug (2-4 TBSP worth).  Add French vanilla creamer to taste (I use roughly equal parts PB and creamer), and stir till blended.  Note that stirring takes a little while—it’ll look like it won’t blend, then it’ll look chunky, but eventually it will become smooth.  

5. Icing/Frosting

For icing, eyeball a mixture of powdered sugar and a little French vanilla creamer.  Stir in more of one or the other till you have the desired consistency.  Optionally add peanut butter or cocoa powder or some other complementary flavor.  To thicken icing into frosting, add half as much butter or shortening (or a mixture of the two) as the sugar.  (Butter provides flavor, but shortening won’t slide off the side of a cake in warm weather.)

6. French Vanilla Pumpkin Pie

I’ll mention this, though I fear I can’t give you the exact recipe since I can’t recall exactly how I made it.  Perhaps I’d needed a substitute for vanilla or evaporated milk, or simply wanted to experiment with adding French vanilla creamer.  Whatever we did, we liked it.  :)

7. French Vanilla Milk

Many nights, Joel and I will indulge in “milk-caps,” sometimes with plain milk, but other times with a dash (or more) of creamer to make it dessert-like.  I find this variation superior, though generally comparable, to the aspartame- and vanilla-sweetened milk my little brother and I liked to drink as kids.  

8. French Vanilla Ice Cream

French vanilla creamer could substitute for part of a traditional ice cream recipe in a crank-operated device.  However, I also discovered how to make a simple, personal-sized version, though I can’t recommend this treat as much as others since it requires so much time to prepare.  However, if you crave ice cream but not a trip to the store, here’s what you can do: Fill a mug with your desired mixture of milk and creamer.  Stick it in the freezer for about ten to fifteen minutes, then stir.  Return it to the freezer and set a timer so you can stir it every five minutes for perhaps a half hour until you achieve the desired consistency.  To create chocolate ice cream, first heat the milk and creamer and mix in a spoonful of cocoa powder (it mixes in best when it’s warm).  Let it cool, and then commence the freezer/stirring procedure.

       9. French vanilla creamer as Pancake Syrup

Who needs maple syrup, corn syrup, or honey on their pancakes?  Instead, try soaking them in French vanilla creamer.  This combo is especially tasty when using a Belgian pancake mix.  For a little more stick-to-itiveness (or stick-to-your-ribs-ness), make the peanut butter cream treat above and slather that on your pancakes!

     10. Strawberries and Cream
Instead of dipping your strawberries and shortcake in raw sugar, whipped cream, and the like, try coating them in French vanilla creamer—or if you like your cream thicker, sweeten some heavy whipping cream with French vanilla creamer instead of sugar and vanilla before turning on the mixer.

Tell me about your own creamer-inspired recipes in the comments below!

On an E

English needs to add a new word to its dictionaries.

Yes, I know, English surely could use several new words, each designed to convey in one word a concept that currently requires a whole sentence—or a little-known foreign expression—to communicate.  However, I have only one such concept on my mind at present: that wordless, high-pitched noise of delight or exaltation best resembling the sound of the letter E.  One hears it emerge primarily from females who are in a state of excitement.  Por ejemplo…

My best friend whom I’ve not seen in years arrives at my door?  Eeeee!  I just bought the sequel to my favorite book and sit poised to read it?  Eeeee!  I just wrapped my hands around a mug of hot tea and took a sip of vanilla-y-chai bliss?  Eeeee!  I just got off work and get to stay home the rest of the day?  Eeeee!  I see a kitten acting adorably at the animal shelter?  Aww!  I get to keep said kitten?  Eeeee!

For a visual example of this phenomenon, enjoy these panels from a page of Girl Genius (see the full page at girlgeniusonline.com):

Of course, “eeee” already appears in writing—mainly on casual message boards and Facebook posts from what I’ve seen.  When uttered aloud—or when written in a clearly enthusiastic context, such as in the comments under a much-anticipated online announcement—this sound needs no explanation; one can hear the excitement in the speaker’s tone or due to the context.  Unfortunately, the sound is trickier to communicate in prose.  Even in dialog, the sound may require careful word choices or even extra words of clarification lest a reader first assume a character to be shrieking in fright.   (As an example of how not to write an "eeee" of excitement, "Nina opened her mailbox.  'Eeee!' she exclaimed.")

This conundrum is especially felt in narration—when referring to the sound rather than actually having a character utter it.  What does one call this sound?  For example, say one wishes to write something such as “I watched the kitten snuggle the teddy bear and felt like ‘eeee’ing.”  Awk-ward!  Consider also “A long, high-pitched yet silent ‘eeeeeee!’ of joy filled my mind”?  Five words could be eliminated from that bulky sentence if we had a proper word for the sound: “A silent [word] filled my mind.”

If you haven’t guessed the word I have in mind, one might now reasonably ask what this new word should be. 

Humor me as I first rule out existing dictionary words.  “Squeal” may come closest to describing the sound, but the word puts me in mind of a shrill, piggy noise, not necessarily made in delight.  My thesaurus offers several unsatisfactory alternatives, among them cry, moan, and wail (which have such sad connotations), scream (which implies fear or anger), yell or holler (as in “hey, you!”), yelp and squeak (noises too short for an “eeee”), howl (we’re not imitating a wolf!), squawk (nor a chicken), and finally shriek and screech (it’s nothing so discordant).   Certainly, one might refer to the instance when one might make the noise as “geeking out” or “a fangirl/fanboy moment,” but those terms alone don’t necessarily mean the individual made the sound; one can geek out in other ways, as well.

Clearly these won’t do.  Thus, I submit that English dictionaries should accept the word “squee” (with optional extra E’s when uttered).  This onomatopoeia sounds much cuter than “squeal” and expresses the speaker’s sense of delight more accurately than “squeal”’s synonyms.  If that’s not argument enough, it’s already in popular use!  It acts at various times as an exclamation, a noun, and a verb.

• The amusing photo website I Can Has Cheezburger has a “Daily Squee” …um, category?  Subsite?  Page?  Thingy.
• Kaja Folgio from Girl Genius & Agatha H. fame wrote on her latest blog post about the Seattle Steamposium’s voluntary decision to create a Girl Genius cosplay category for their costume contest, after which she wrote,

Excuse me while I squee a bit…

Squeeee!

Okay. I’m good.

• Tvtropes.org has a page defining “squee” as a sound made by fangirls, and the site postulates that it’s a portmandeau of “squeal” and “glee.”  (Reasonable.)  It also includes examples of instances of the sound in games, comics, online, etc. (warning—not all of them appear to be clean).
• Squee! (with the exclamation mark) is the name of a two-woman company designed to assist budding entrepreneurs. 

Plenty more examples may be found on DeviantArt, blogs, and social media sites.  Wikionary even has a definition of it!

            Get with the times, Dictionary.com (and your varied sources, too)!

Interesting Note: I’ve also found in researching this that “Squee” is the name or nickname of several people, real and fictional.

On Loving Nature

Something about the natural world turns practical people into poets.  I marvel when others speak lofty praises about the mountains, gush about the ocean, and babble about rivers.  Is there something I’m missing?  Does my brain not fully translate the input from my eyes?

People tell me pictures and films aren’t the same as The Real Thing.  Certainly one doesn’t get the sounds and smells and feel of the place, or the full panorama and color quality.  Yet to my eyes, the Grand Canyon looks exactly like the pictures.  The experience of being there added nothing but a few photographs of my grumpy expression.  

Rivers tend to be muddy and dull, or else furious and noisy.  Their primary interest for me lies in the changes in sandbars over time and the wildlife and trees on its banks.  

Rocky mountainsides, and those sparsely forested or covered in pines, are frankly rather ugly—in an interesting way, at times, but still not much to look at.  

Hawaii was lovely, and visiting was an experience I’ll never forget, but aside from certain pre-planned events, it made sense to me to enjoy the experience from the lanai overlooking the beach; I preferred to read a book rather than sightsee, considering it was a vacation and that is the sort of activity I found most restful.  

As for the ocean, it’s just is the ocean—not unlike a gigantic lake with extra waves and inhabitants.  Its existence is a matter of fact to me, not something I naturally marvel at.  My eyes aren’t drawn irresistibly toward it; it holds no allure for me as others claim it does for them.  But then, I don’t care much for water sports, either, and I prefer mammals and wood over fish and coral.  (Who doesn’t like dolphins and whales?  But they’re nowhere near as cuddly and gorgeous as cats, domestic or otherwise.)

I think I do appreciate nature, and I’ve tried my hand at nature poems many times over. Unlike the proponents of "grand vistas" such as mountains and oceans, however, my eyes favor rolling grasslands beneath an immense sky, faintly-trodden paths in a deciduous forest, brooks and small waterfalls, and a well-tended garden.  I’ve written before about the comforting sound of rain, the textures and colors of the clouds, the ever-changing majesty of trees, the pristine beauty of a snowy landscape.  These things have more to engage the eye and appreciation, more inherent beauty.  Perhaps familiarity makes these things more precious to me, just as it makes mountains and oceans more inspiring to others.  Or perhaps it’s just a matter of taste.

Similar nature posts:

On Winter, On an Evening Sky, On a Summer Afternoon’s Walk, On Clouds, or On Art vs. Science, On Trees, On Various Thoughts on a Watery Day, On a Serene Summer Rain