Beautiful Handiwork

When we were at my parents' home over New Years, I went through a large old family chest of drawers from the 1800s, filled with handmade sewn items from the 1800s and 1900s.  I brought just a few of the beautiful pieces home with me.  I have no idea what I might do with them, other than wash, dry, and iron them.  The handiwork is incredible, and if you've ever bought cheap craft store lace, you cannot image what old handmade lace might be like.  If you're ever at my house, I can show you these things in person.  Beauty abounds, although not necessarily in my photographs...

Detail of a handkerchief edge

Odds and ends of lace

The red is still brilliant.

A lace cuff

Dainty gloves

Lace handkerchief

The first of many detailed, folded handkerchiefs

A beautiful undergarment

Hem detail

Lace and ribbon detail

Bodice detail - front

Bodie detail - back

WWI Red Cross nurse's bag.  Such beautiful floral fabric, and still in bright colors!

Symphony for the City of the Dead

Over the weekend, I flew to Chicago to teach six group classes at a Sunday workshop.  It was great, and I loved my time with the students and other faculty.  Also, I went by myself, which is something I haven't done in years, and I had more than eight hours of flight time in two days.  This means I got to finish a book I started during February break last year and had put down. 

It is a hefty volume called Symphony for the City of the Dead, by M.T. Anderson.  I am personally acquainted with author Sundee Frazier (look up her books if you have late elementary or older kids!), and she is personally acquainted with the Anderson in question.  So that is one reason she gave me the book.  The other is that tells the story of composer Dmitri Shostakovich, whom Jared did a unit on with all our group class kids last winter. 

The writing was incredibly colorful and descriptive.  The research was extensive.  It was incredibly accessible to the layperson while being impeccably academic.  And the stories were shocking. 

I have read many accounts of brutality in the Third Reich, but this was the first time I had read stories which came out of Stalin's dictatorship.  There is so much I wish I could tell you, but I'm just going to leave you with a few tiny (horrible) nuggets, in the hopes that you'll want to pick up the book, too.  It is about music, but not so much that a non-musician would be put off.  It's really the story of accidental survival of one man's family in the face of every reason for them to have died.  I think that's the best I can say.

There was the bit about Stalin's deep admiration for how the U.S. government had wiped out and resettled the entire Native population in the 1800s.

There was the darling picture of a little blond girl sitting on the lap of an uncle figure.  The caption incongruously read: "In this domestic scene, the Man of Steel [Stalin] works in the background with documents spread out on the table before him, while his daughter Svetlana, snuggles on the lap of mass murder Lavrentii Beria, later Stalin's head of the secret police."

I read quote from writer Alexander Soszhenitsyn:

"Not to trust anybody was very typical of Josef Stalin.  All the years of his life did he trust one man only, and that was Adolf Hilter" --the twentieth century's most genocidal liar.

Then there was this depraved and very insightful quote from Hitler: 

"Any violence which does not spring from a spiritual base will be wavering and uncertain.  It lacks the stability which can only rest in a fanatical outlook."

I can't forget this bone-chilling passage about the last days of one of Shostakovich's poet friends and collaborators under Stalin's senseless and paranoid purges of society:

...Meyerhold had to be transferred to the Lubyanka prison hospital so he would not die before they were done with him.[...]

Under torture, Meyerhold confessed to being in the pay of both the French and Japanese.  he agreed that for years he had been the head of a group of conspirators who "coordinated all anti-Soviet elements in the field of the arts."  He was forced to name names.[...] 

The court tried Meyerhold in secret.  There was no defense lawyer.  No witnesses were allowed.  He was found guilty. 

The next day, he was taken down to the cellar.  There was a killing room there.  The floor was concrete and slanted so it could easily be hosed down.  He was met by an executioner in a leather butcher's apron.

And this haunting philosophical passage on what happened to human beings during the very long, very cold, very brutal, very deadly, and very hungry Siege of Leningrad:

[...]informants passed on updates about Leningrad's deteriorating morale and morality to the Germans.  The Nazis asked carefully about when precisely people stopped helping one another in the streets, and how many people were being arrested for cannibalism.[...] "A kind of polarization seemed to be taking place among people," said a historian who spent the war trapped in the city, burning classical encyclopedias for warmth.  Some people had chosen to "survive in any way possible at the expense of a relative, a friend -- anybody."  But there were many others who "acted honestly, according to their conscience, whatever the circumstances....Human feelings and qualities, love, marriage, family ties, parental feelings - were subjected to a stiff test."

And why am I recommending a book full of such horrible stories? 

Because they are true. 

They are the stories of real people who had real lives, truly created in the image of God. 

Because it leads me to deplore evil more and more, and to look to root it out, even from my own soul. 

Because it leads my heart to compassion for the people of the world.

Because it leads me to prayer.

Words to the Wise

The older I get, the more I admit to myself I really do prefer the 10 minute sermons of my childhood to the 40 minute sermons of my adulthood.  I don't think it's because I'm shallow.  It's just that when there are a lot of words I process them better visually in writing.  I can read ALL DAY.  I just can only comprehend so much aurally.  My husband is also a reader, but moreso, he is a good listener.  He can listen to lots of sermons and lectures and get everything that's said.  He listens to extra sermons online while he works out.  Also, I have the sense that worship might be done a variety of different ways, and communal prayers and singing, private Bible reading and prayer, communion with foot-washing are how I connect best.

However, there have been two of the longer style sermons I've heard lately in person that really struck me in a personal way.  One was the weekend of Thanksgiving.  The other was last weekend.  If you are a sermon listener (or even if you're not, like me), you might want to give these a listen when you have a chance.  It's not that I'm such a saint that I love hearing this stuff.  These were two that kicked me in the seat of the pants and reminded me I needed to change course.


Waging Peace
This is the full worship service.  You'll have to scroll to the sermon start time at 56:12.  The end is truly amazing!


Abide in the Word
Heads right to the sermon.

Here and There

Last weekend we had a 5-day trip.  Friday we drove to Oregon to leave Anne with her grandparents.  Jared and Lazarus and I flew to southern California on Saturday evening to teach a two-day workshop in Loma Linda Sunday and Monday.  While we were there we got to catch up with a bunch of lovely music people as well as Jared's aunt, uncle, and cousins, and the amazing Beth Yue and family!  Reversed the process to come home on Tuesday.  We will make up our Monday and Tuesday lessons in June.

Friday Anne and I started painting the front bedroom.  I accidentally missed Lazarus' doctors' appointment, because I thought it was next Friday.  Must reschedule...  Argh!!!

Saturday morning the kids were asleep when it was time to head out to play piano for their Sabbath school class, so Jared graciously drove down to Auburn and sightread the music in my place.  Once everyone was awake, it was 5 to 11:00, so we went to the neighborhood church where two of my students are members and I had been planning to visit *at some point*. 

Saturday night we had a 3 hour Dalcroze and pizza workshop for our intermediate and advanced students, and Jeffrey and Linda helped me with the kids and the rush hour Costco run.  (The pizza was 40 minutes late out of the oven.)  Jeff also fixed my phone, because it appears that one of my children uninstalled my app store app, so I couldn't download the tuner I wanted for my lessons, and also one of my texting apps had expired and I had no way to update it.

This morning we went over to meet a luthier I discovered online by accident who lives in our neighborhood.  He had mentioned on the phone he works at a couple of other shops besides at home.  And it turns out, he is the one who actually repaired Anne's cello disaster at the shop in Tacoma.  If we'd only known, we would have driven around the corner to have him fix it!!! 

Anne and I finished painting the front room, and when the paint gets to be sufficiently dry, we will have to clean up the absolute disaster that the house became in the wake of the painting project.  Room will be "online" for teaching tomorrow morning at 10:15.  It is a nice icicle blue instead of a green-grey-putty which didn't match anything we have.

This evening I have been working on chamber music scheduling for students to finish out the school year, trying to convince the copier to scan some W-9's we have to send off, and working out some details for L's and my 30-hour trip to Chicago to teach another workshop next weekend.

I can assure you we are not bored!

1942

As previously mentioned, our development was built in 1942-3 just up the hill from the current Boeing 737 Final Assembly plant.  At the beginning of World War II, however, that property was owned by the military, and was going to be used to build the Boeing PBB Sea Ranger flying boat, but they ended up building the B-29s there.  1119 of them, to be exact.  Our development was meant for housing workers and perhaps veterans. 

I have been walking the streets and alleys, peeling back the layers of time and remodels, to imagine what the neighborhood was like during the war. 

I think I have heard that the factory had a fake neighborhood build on the roof, complete with cars and trucks which were moved from day to day, to disguise it from Japanese spy planes.  That worked better, of course, in the days before GPS and the internet...

There were four models of houses in the development.  I have taken pictures of some samples for you which are very close to their original form factors.  Nearly every house in the neighborhood has been added onto, remodeled, or completely torn down and rebuilt, so it is hard to find samples which are completely original.

Model 1: The Two Bedroom (This is the kind we have.) 

Most of them had the front entrance on the side, although some had the original entrance on the front corner, sometimes with a little dip in to the floorplan.  Both of these have the original overhang, and the top one has the original porch, too.  They both have the original shape of window.  The lower one has the original chimney, too, although it has been roofed around differently.  You can see how the top of the walls around the attic tip in at a funny angle.  The lower house has quite a bit of extra square footage due to a full basement.  I'm going to say that around one out of five or ten houses in the neighborhood does have a useable basement.  Ours does not.  Both of these appear to have the original horizontal cedar siding.

Model 2: The Three Bedroom

Quite similar to the two bedrooms, with the same sort of variations.  Both of these also have the original trim around the front door.  It appears that most or all of the 2- and 3-bedrooms originally had this stylized vine thing growing by the entrance.  The lower house has cedar shake siding, which I think may be original on a number of houses, too.

Model 3: The Duplex (One Bedroom on Each Side)

On average these are the closest to their original state, since they have mostly been rentals, and mostly haven't had massive redos.  The upper duplex actually has original windows as well as both original chimneys.  They both sport the longer overhangs that the duplexes generally have.

Model 4: The Hill Houses

These generally have a barn-style siding, and they are built on the hillside with the tall side facing out.  It is hard to find any of these which haven't had any additions.  Almost all of them have at the very least a carport.  A large number of them also have basements.  You can see the window size alterations on the lower house, which is typical of probably 50% or more of the houses in the neighborhood.

Here is one more three-bedroom for your enjoyment.  I photographed it, because it has an original front door, although the hardware has been swapped out...

Some of the remodels are quite lovely.  Some are NOT.  Many of the houses are in quite good condition.  Many are not.  I have been enjoying my time as a neighborhood archaeologist...

Exploring

I heard a quote on the radio the other day that I LOVED, so I looked it up, wrote it out, and taped it to the back door.

Det finns inget dåligt väder, bara dåliga kläder.

It is a Swedish proverb, and it means there is no bad weather, only bad clothing. Good encouragement for me to get outside for some exercise and fresh air.  And exploring!  I am having so much fun finding out what is in our new neighborhood.  Today I found an entrance to the May Creek Park/trail system which straddles Renton and Newcastle just 1.5 miles from home:

We went hiking in a different part of it yesterday, which followed the tracks of the no-longer extant Seattle-Walla Walla railroad.  Neat history along the walk, and nice natural setting.

We have neighborhood architecture spanning the last 100 years all packed together, and I am partial to the older houses.  Four adorable houses I spotted for the first time today:

Note the original paneled wood door with the old black doorknob and the leaded glass side windows

Tradition

When I was growing up, when we lost a tooth, my dad would put in a phone call to the Tooth Fairy (aka "TTF").  We'd leave our tooth in an envelope under our pillow, and in the morning we would find another envelope with some quarters in it, but much better, a story.  No one was in the least bit fooled into thinking the Tooth Fairy was real or was anyone other than my dad, despite his protests to the contrary.  He is a great story teller with a sense of humor perfectly suited to young children.  And also, his handwriting gave him away.

My eldest lost her first two teeth during the month of December.  The very first popped out at home while she was taking a bite out of a snack.  It promptly fell on the floor and we could not locate it.  The second removal involved a more complicated process at my parent's house.  My mom caught the whole process on video with her phone.  Emily had been teasing Anne every twenty minutes or so about tying a string to her tooth and letting her auntie yank it out.  At some point one afternoon I was called in, and it appeared that Anne was a willing subject to this experiment, sitting on the couch with a large metal bowl in her lap to catch the extract.  Between Emily and my dad they tried various knots with the string, but it was too thick, and the tooth too tiny, to stay connected.  Eventually my dad lasso'd the wonky tooth with dental floss and it popped out almost before he tried to yank.  Anne breathed a sigh of relief and decided she could eat again.  She had been too worried about the tooth coming out in her food.

We decided to forgo the quarters in the next generation of the family tradition, but I did order up some stories from the TTF.  The first one is reprinted here for your enjoyment, and without permission.  All lawsuits and charges of plagiarism should be directed to the editor of this blog.  The Tooth Fairy is not responsible.

Hello little human person, The report that your first baby tooth jumped out of your mouth is big news that has traveled all around the world. Sadly, I was late in hearing about it because I like to take long naps in the winter. Thinking about naps, I remember that when I was five years old I took a nap that lasted for an entire year. You see I started my TTF duties at that age, and back then there were still dinosaurs who lived in some of the houses on my street. I still can’t figure out how those dinos could fit through the front doors of their house, but somehow, they did. I need to draw you a picture of them trying to fit in the front door. Maybe you could draw that for me. Anyway, in my job as a TTF, when the dinos or anyone (and I mean any person or any creature, including mosquitos and cats), lost a tooth, I would have to go into their houses and leave a letter and pick up the tooth, then carry the tooth home and put the tooth in my toybox. Can you imagine how busy I stay? And my toybox is pretty full. I may need a larger one soon. Let me tell you that dino teeth are big and heavy. Dino teeth are each as big as a small car. And one day when I was five, eight dinos in my neighborhood all had a tooth jump out of their mouths. Carrying those 8 enormous teeth home made me so tired (and a little crabby) so that when I finally went to sleep, I slept for an entire year. Signed, the TTF