Lemonade from Lemons

So, I woke up today feeling achy and rather self pitying. Then, I prayed, got out of bed, and thought--I should write a book. Of course, this blog is my poor attempt at starting a book from personal matters--all of which are too self pitying and not stirring enough. So, perhaps I will begin using this blog as an accountability site for the music book (I hope no copyright laws will follow).

Obviously, my formating is quite different from this website--and my images do not copy. But, maybe I'll keep it this way regardless.

Lesson 1: Solfege, Intervals, and Kodaly

What is an Interval?

In Math: an interval is a set of real numbers accounting for the space between that set of numbers. E.g. intervals between 1 and 2 are all the points in between 1 and 2.

In Music: An interval is the distance between two points of sound.

The term “scale” comes from the Latin word, Scala meaning Ladder, because the pitches go up and down like the steps of a ladder.

Western music has intervals of .5, or half steps, and 1.0, or whole steps. In other parts of the world like India, the Middle East, Aftrica, etc. intervals can be found in the .25 or quarter tones. We are only investigating Western music for orchestral purposes.

Implementing Kodaly hand signs is a tangible way for students to learn and remember Solfege. It is often used in schools due to the tactile and kinesthetic memory function.

There are different spellings for Solfege, but as long as vowel sounds are consistent variances are acceptable.

Doh Doh: Perfect Unison Doh^ Doh to Doh^

Ti to Doh^: m2

Ray Doh to Ray: M2

Mi Doh to Mi: M 3; Ray to Me: M2

Fah Doh to Fah: P4; Mi to Fah: m2 Fi Doh to Fi: A4

Soh Doh to Soh: P5; Fah to Soh: M2 Si Doh to Si: m5

Lah Doh to Lah: M6; Soh to La: M2

Ti Doh to Ti: M7; La to Ti: M2 TaDoh to Ta: m7

I'm NOT Sorry

Why is it that some people are prone to such self consciousness that they feel a compulsion to take responsibility for things which they do not own? Such is the case for myself. Waters stir, rivers roar, children grow, and I apologize.

Are you feeling blue? Are my concepts too difficult? Do I call too often? Are my struggles too much for you?

Today, I called my endocrine doctor because of some issues that I have been having. And of course, after I called, I thought, "Should I have called? Was it necessary? Was it reasonable? Was it bothersome?" But, when dysautonomics are concerned, all manner of havoc happens on frequent bases--and, I did in fact need to call.

This morning after about 5 am, I dreamed a wonderful dream. It started out as a familiar real-life situation. I was on a cold concrete floor feeling very ill. Bill, my one-and-only man, was next to me holding me. The feeling of fear and uncertainty hung over me as I waited. I just waited there on the floor. Then, in came my doctor. He was calm and reassuring. "Everything will be alright, Anne. Hold on. I'll help you find the answer. We'll find it together. Just hang on. Everything is fine." ...then I woke up.

What I lack in life is the reassurance that everything will be fine. Because, it won't be. Bad things happen over and over--especially when I anticipate the best of results. That is just a part of life.

What is my comfort? In life and death, I am my Lord's, bought, body and soul. He has claimed me and I am His. I look forward to the next life. A moment of joy or happiness should be viewed as a moment of eternity stolen into the present. I don't deserve to have such rare jewels. I think I would be far happier if I always anticipated the worst and then found that some good things happen occasionally. For some, life is one bliss after another. For others, it is a raging torrent of struggle, one after another, often of different textures. But, it is no less the life that one was meant to have.

Sometimes, beauty lies in the bluest sky of a summer evening. But sometimes, beauty lies in the deepest gray and the fiercest furry of lightening. Both are beautiful though dichotic in nature.

If I am the lightening, or the deepest gray--I cannot envy the blue, nor can I be sorry that I am not the blue. I simply am not.

I am not sorry. If this is life, this is what it is. Doesn't it feel good to say, "I'm not sorry?" It resonates because it is true. We need to stop taking responsibility for things which we do not own and only for things that we do.

Ben Franklin jested that most people died at the age of 25 even though their obituaries read 75. What constitutes death? It is a question worth considering. Is it where the soul leaves the body and the spirit rests in the next dimension?
There are two types of existentialists, generally speaking. There is the atheist and the theist. Of course there are many different subsets. But, basically, existentialism is how one gets along and makes sense of the world around him either before himself "alone" in the universe and in this world with other humans, or before God. Both find a systematic method fopr deriving moral and ontological truths. The theistic existentialist would say that humans are made in the image of God. All existence therefore is subject to the interaction upon that relationship. "Existence precedes essence" as D. Anthony Storm put it. What sets a human apart from a bear, is that he is made in the image of God, while the bear, though a masterfully created being is not in the likeness and image of God. Because of this likeness, his essence cannot change. And, because his existence precedes his essence, he cannot lose it--unless he ceases to exist--and in theistic-existencial terms, he cannot ever cease to exist--only change from one dimension to the next.
And so, on to the subject of death. It is of great relevance to me, not because I know of my certain death. Indeed, I might surprise us all and outlive a great many people. But, rather, my illness makes me keenly aware of life's frailty and my dispensibility. Last night, while in bed beginning to sleep, I gasped. Thinking maybe I was just sorely tired, I rested again. A second time it happened. So, I took my vitals (as they are often abnormal). My heart rate was 42 and my chest was so heavy; I am young and can tolerate a great deal more than this--but it felt very uncomfortable--especially for being so tired.
I sat up to catch a better breath, but it didn't help. No position could change how fast or slow my heart went. Only the week before, I was on the verge of passing out for many days straight. Even after 4 IVs, my blood pressure could not rise to normal limits. While driving home from Christmas with family, I began passing out in the car--about 3 hours from any hospital. God spared me from going unconscious and we managed to get back home and have the care of a wonderful physician here in town. Still, it left me shaken and very aware of life's fragility.
Many people think that it would be best to die in their sleep. I, however, disagree. I think of all the people I wish to see in the morning--and to all the people I would not be able to say goodbye if I were to die in my sleep. I don't wish to go too soon.
My kids. I would miss them, and my dearest husband the most. How does one live without regret when everyday is faced with reluctant acceptance of the things which she cannot change? I wish I played with my kids almost all of my waking time. But, like most mothers, my time is spent caring for them and the things that pertain to living rather than themselves--their own little minds. Of course I hold them, play games with them occasionally, cook and clean (what seems like constantly), tend to their attitudes and inquiries. But, I often lack physical strength or the mental stamina to play extensively with them. How can I offer them a life of memories apart from illness? That they would remember me not only as a caring mother, but as a mother that was most often with them in their little worlds? And so, at the wee hours of the night, when I am ill and wondering how the next day will come about--hoping that it will--I worry about leaving them too soon. Does that mean that I am not really living right now? Ontologically speaking, the nature of being is more than doing. But, this is precisely the diliemma in which I fall. I find myself insipidly doing rather than being. How does one exist apart from doing? Ergo I fear my essence lost--even though I know that philosophically this cannot happen.