cha till e gu bràth gu là na cruinne

Date:Saturday, 10/20/2007Time:1:16 AMMood Level:Depressed then ElevatedSeverity:Mild (no significant impairment)Anxiety:1=MildIrritability:1=MildHours Slept:6 hoursMedication:Lamictal/50 mg

So today kinda of sucked. It was pretty busy and hectic. Here’s the short verson.

Discovered my wallet missing
Played Double Reed Day Opening Concert
Searched frantically for wallet
Tore my apartment apart looking for wallet
Went a little crazy from the wallet search
Placed holds on credit cards
Heather found wallet!!
Double Reed Lunch – Sarah, Sip, Heather, & Missy with Glen (French horn) and Doug (Percussionist)
Got wallet from Heather
Went home to get English horn for Double Reed Day Chamber Class
Made English horn Reeds
Practiced for Double Reed Closing Concert
Played Double Reed Closing Concert
Cleaned apartment
Unload bed with Barb and Becca
Assembled bed with Barb and Becca
Out to dinner with Barb and Becca
Mahler Concert (where I was sitting backup to Heather)
Sipkje’s Birthday Party

That’s the short version. The morning was bad. I couldn’t deal with losing my wallet. What ended up happening is while hanging my recital posters around Mason, I put my wallet in Rob’s box hanging on his door. He found it the next morning after rehearsal and got it to Heather, who got it to me. I had seriuosly lost my mind a little, and the only person who really saw it was Sarah. She and I went to the Willy C for lunch instead of with the Double Reed campers. She also convinced me that I could do whatever the hell I wanted for the rest of the day. Which helped. And having some of the studio catch up with us was a lot of fun too. The tearing apart of the apartment meant that I was nowhere near ready to have a bed brought into the apartment. But my aunt and cousin were a little behind schedule and it was just the three of us, which was perfect. They took me to dinner and then I went to the concert.

There’s a line in Pretty Woman, where Richard Gere is talking to Julia Roberts about opera as they are about to see La Traviata. People’s reactions to opera the first time they see it is very dramatic. They either love it or they hate it. If they love it, they will always love it. If they don’t, they may learn to appreciate it, but it will never become part of their soul. I’ve always loved the line because its so true. I don’t love it. I appreciate it. But generally speaking, I don’t love it. I love symphonies. I love watching a huge symphony orchestra paint a scene with their movements and music. Beethoven, Brahms, Haydn, Mozart not as much, Berlioz, even Dvorak. I love their symphonies. Huge sounds coming from the stage. I don’t know what it is about it. I’ve always loved symphonies. They played Mahler #4. And actually, they played it really quite well. I was impressed. I had brought my knitting to do because I sometimes get a little bored with the whole not-playing-just-sit-and-listen thing. I didn’t want to take my eyes from the stage. I just wanted to sit and drink it in. I love the symphony.

After, I brought Heather back to her dorm. They believe she might have chronic fatigue symdrome. So the oboe studio has basically taken over her life. We help her get from place to place and rarely let her go by herself. She’s resisting a little, but I think a part of her is grateful. Its another reason why I love my studio. We may fight and bicker, but in the end we are all there for each other – to the end.

It was also Sip’s 21st birthday, so we brought her to the White Inn to be introduced to the World of Dustin. He was having a bad night, so Sarah and I ended up singing “I’m a Little Teapot” and “The Itsy Bitsy Spider” with hand motions for him to cheer him up. This was at his request and he did seem a little lighter after that. Sarah got drunk, I got happy and Sip enjoyed her drinks. We have a plan to get her really drunk after our recitals are over. So I’m looking forward to that.

Baboon and Rob are finally off to Toronto after a rocky start. He wasn’t ready after the concert and she got pissed. So she called me and decided to come to the White Inn. I called Rob and checked in with him. He now owes me dinner. Maybe Prada. I met her in the parking lot and calmed her down. She changed her clothes (between her car and mine) and ranted about Rob for a while. Before we went in, I said to her I didn’t want her bringing the drama up in the bar. Tonight was Sip’s birthday and I was NOT going to put up with anyone making it about them. To give her credit, Heather was good. She didn’t drink, and she let Sip enjoy her night.

Something I’m starting to notice with me and going to the White Inn, at least lately. Because I’m not there every night, when I do go, I want to get hammered. I want to drink until I’m nearly passing out. Which okay, I’m in college its allowed. But that’s not why I’m drinking. Sarah drinks to make the pain in her hands and arms go away. I drink to make the pain go away too. Which mostly works. But there will be a tomorrow. And tomorrow the pain comes back. The drugs are helping. Things will get better. But seriously, I want to spend all my time drunk right now. It just feels better. Or rather, I don’t feel. I can’t think and I don’t feel. Can’t I just be like that for like a day or two? Or three or four? As I’m sobering and writing and getting depressed, I’m going to go to bed on my new bed. Its soft.

This song doesn’t fit. But its what’s been playing on my iTunes for a while. I really like this version of it. A single bagpipe and vocal line weaving together like mist over the moor. The song was originally in Gaelic, but the version is in English. The last line of the chorus is the title in Gaelic. MacCrimmon are my clan’s hereditary pipers. The story goes that one of these pipers (in forever ago) had a preminition about his death and the death of many of the clan. He wrote the tune as the Chief rallied to the cause of Bonnie Prince Charlie in 1745/46. If you want to read a crazy yet true story, read about the Bonnie Prince. You’ll understand why the Scots hated the English. After he was killed in battle, legend says his sister wrote the words, though its highly debated. Its haunting and beautifully perfectly Scottish. I hear it and see those moors that I miss so. As much as I am a New Yorker and a Hudson Valley Girl, there is something in me that stirs when the pipes are playing. Something ancient and sacred. Something dark and deep within my blood calls to those lands, strange and foreign, yet home.

O’er Coolin’s peaks the night is creepin,
The banshee’s croon is round us sweepin;
Blue eyes in Duin are dim with weepin;
But him not will ne’ver return, MacCrimmon.

No more, no more, no more MacCrimmon;
In peace or in war is he returning;
Till dawns the sad day of doom and burning,
MacCrimmon is home no more returning.

The breeze of the bens is softly blowing;
The brooks in the glens are gently flowing;<BR>
Birds in high trees are sighin and moanin
But him not will never return, MacCrimmon

No more, no more, no more MacCrimmon;
In peace or in war is he returning;
Till dawns the great day of doom and burning,
MacCrimmon is home no more returning.

MacCrimmon’s Lament ~ Traditional sung by Heather Heywood