On a Tapestry of Sound

Despite the chill I feel at my desk, the heater roars, ineffectually, but steadily—mere white noise that I generally endeavor to ignore.  In quiet, thoughtful moments, it returns to my awareness, and in an odd twist of perception, it seems as if someone were playing with its volume as my attention meanders to and away from it.  Reflecting on that noise, I expand my awareness, considering the other oft-ignored stimuli in my ears—the tapestry of sound hanging in the background while I work.

By Luis Lima89989, via Wikimedia Commons

I hear my own keyboard clacking faintly as my fingers slide here and there, pressing keys.  Farther afield, in various unseen corners of the large space in which I sit, chairs momentarily creak or roll.  Someone taps papers together.

To my right, a printer revs up with a whirr, and I hear it churning out documents, each page landing with a gentle tick.  Moments after it finishes, some unidentifiable machine in the coffee shop’s corner starts grinding away.  Before my muscles can start to ache with tension against the unpleasantness, the clamor stops, replaced after a while by the musical clinking of glasses being jostled together.

A soft creak emerges on my left as a student opens the nearer door leading to the vestibule, followed moments later by a louder “swoom,” like a great inhalation, as another student broaches the door on the far end of the same area.  My opposite ear hears a metallic click and snick, then a more generic thunk as some sneaky person uses the stapler at the front desk and sets it down, then departs with nary a tramp of a foot or a swish of clothing.

Through this mesh of sounds occasionally comes the scrape of shoes passing over the carpet by the doors, as well as the tapping—near and distant—of footsteps on waxed tile, varied with the intermittent squeak of tennis shoes or the slide of a foot—a susurrus like someone practicing soft-shoe. These are joined in some cases by the jingling of keys with each step, by the hum of a briefcase or bookbag rolling on wheels, or by the high-pitched “cling” of something metal striking the barricade around the atrium overlooking the library.  

A regular, percussive rhythm enters the room, joined shortly by a set of footsteps and the harsh, staticy jangle of indistinct music pouring from poorly insulated earbuds.  I give the student a minute to settle in, a chance for him to do the considerate thing and drop the volume.  Under the “music,” I listen to his steps, the roll of a chair, the plunky-creak of him sitting.  Moments later, the metallic beats fade away, leaving only the usual ambient sounds.

A woosh accompanies a small group of people who slowly tap their way into the room, one voice chattering above the rest as a student ambassador guides the prospective student’s family around the building.  Above the ambassador’s voice, and above the sharp, steady ripping of paper from a notebook, the familiar tones of an instructor carries from the far corner of the room where she conducts her class. Elsewhere, someone’s foot drums a quick rhythm, then stops just as suddenly as it began.

After the tour group passes, quiet voices continue to murmur here and there.  A laugh rises momentarily like birdsong above the forest.  For a moment, all fades to unexpected silence…

Then, a pair of coughs.  The symphony of sound resumes: The sibilant slide of a coat sloughed off of shoulders.  The quiet thump of a book set on a counter.  A ringtone, sharply cut off.  Approaching treads followed by the grinding of the pencil sharpener just yards away.  A high-pitched thrum, signaling that someone has activated the automatic door.  It admits quick, clicking footsteps and the faint whizzing of a bookcase wheeled along behind.

All the various sounds weave together, creating a tapestry of space and activity almost as clear as sight.  And through it all, though I still sometimes tune it out, the heater’s fan roars on like the din of a distant waterfall.

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 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 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 a Few New Haiku (and Senryu)

Summer means weeding. (Ugh.) And mosquitoes. (Triple ugh.) I tried to use haiku to capture this "ugh-ness":

gardening—

mosquitoes in the coolness

or heatstroke at noon

~~~

(I thought of changing this next one, but realized I liked the play on morning / mourning.)

How unfortunate!

Mosquitoes also like

morning gardens.

Recently, I stayed up past 2 am (whoops) to read a new book. I didn't finish, but burning eyes and droopy eyelids finally convinced me it was time to stop (for a few hours, anyway). That incident inspired the following two senryu:

Reading—

time suspends itself

in ambush

~~~

A new book—

such a late hour, but

only the cat snores. (And it's such a funny snore, too!)



As I was reading, one of those teeny green grasshoppery things spent some time hopping between my blanket, wall, and lamp cover. (...One quick Google search later—the creature is a leafhopper, from the family Cicadellidae.   The one I saw looks most similar to the subfamilies(?) Iassine, Empoasca, or Balclutha.) The little fellow became the mental trigger—though clearly not the subject—of the next poem: 

Drawn to the flame and

blind to the open window—

Tragically unsaved.


I wrote this next one in honor of a friend of mine. By God's grace, she turned away from substance abuse to serve Christ, and one of the turning points happened when God sent a downpour on her birthday. Ever since, she's prayed for rain on that day and looks forward to it more than any other gift. She's gotten it each year. :) I made several attempts to convey her story in haiku form, and I like this the best—in part because of the multiple meanings of "clean" (literal, idiomatic, and spiritual).

Another year clean—

she praises the Lord
for her birthday rain.