The break that I got fixed several months ago seems to be showing signs of “wearing.” The strings are too far up from the neck, so it’s very hard to press adequately for a smooth sound. The “bridge” has already been lowered and probably wouldn’t have the strength to hold the strings in place if it was shaved even one-eighth of an inch. New strings can cost $300 and up to the thousands. However, when I played my teacher’s cello with its wonderful strings, the sound was multiplied time better.

So I’m on the phone trying to find out from the cello store what they’ve learned in the five days since I took my cello there to be examined. Yes, indeed, David tells me, the place where the neck was glued in place is starting to open again. He says he can even run his fingernail in the gap that has formed and that this stress is slowly weakening the fingerboard.

My cello is finished.

I don’t have enough money to repair it right now. And if I did, I’m afraid the case will break it again. And again.

So I’m in mourning. Tomorrow maybe something better will occur.

Joyce

After a year of classes or lessons, I should be ready to audition for a local orchestra, right? But before one can play orchestra music, I’ve learned, one has to know all the notes, where they are, and how to play them with other people. You have to have good finger position, good posture, and you can’t make those dreadful faces when you’re having a hard time keeping up. But most important, when you pull or push that bow across the strings, you have to evoke music! Like my teacher does.

From Suzuki to Mendelssohn

The last few weeks she’s been giving me a lot of drill pieces so I can become more familiar with the notes and more adept at reaching them when they appear in the music. But this week she pulled out a real musical piece, “On Wings of Song” by Mendelssohn. A beautiful tune in 6/8 rhythm, which can be so graceful and musical.

First two measures, easy. Then there’s an “A” note that is usually played on the top string, an open string. Just play the bow and you’ve got a perfect “A.” Except this one has a notation of “1″ next to the note. That means play it with the first finger. And that means jumping back to the second string and finding “A” there so I can play it with my “first” finger. Not hard to find, but how many times do I have to repeat that so it is smooth? More times then I have done so far.

Once in the piece I am asked to play, for one-eighth of a beat, the “E” note above the C note on the first string. That’s one measurement out of limits. In other words, if I want other words, I’m in the second position. So I gracefully skip a  finger, come down a note on my second finger, then play the next note my first finger and slide down the string to the next one.

The whole piece is only 37 measures long, and I will repeat those crossings over and over, I will. By Monday afternoon I’ll have that little piece tucked away. Tuesday just before my lesson I’ll bring out the cello for one last review before I astound my teacher with my mastery.

Grand finale

Then I get to my lesson. A little chit-chat, and it’s time. Two false starts before I get going and two or three stumbles reaching those second position notes. Twice it’s a dead stop, and I start up again from there and go on. Who knows what the quality of the bowing was? Then it’s over. I start breathing again.

My teacher says, “That’s wonderful!”

She probably means, “I didn’t think you’d make it to the last note!”

I’ll work on Mendelssohn another week. My 69-year-old brain and body is going to try once more to get it smooth and melodious.

I’d recommend it to anyone who needs to be challenged. The cello. It’s eloquent. It’s hearty. It’s horribly difficult. But it’s fun.

Joyce Griffith

My bro and I are trying again today to retrieve my  cello from the studio of Shirley Shiverick. Maybe it will be a sunny trip today.

It’s true that getting along without HealthWorks could be a disaster. I forgot to include my social security check  in my cashflow for the monh and it looked for all the world that I could barely barely scrape by, and that was without paying Uncle Sam any tax money. I won’t be able to pay the balance on my 2007  taxes ($2,500) for a while, but hey, I’m making progress!  

Leo, the  toy dog who has lived with Dave and Miriam as well as with owners Lia and Emily, is at home in Portland but not doing well at all.  Such a lively little dog. He used to prance and jump and then cuddle with just about anyone. Now he’s lost so much weight that his bones stick out. The vet says he has a bleeding ulcer, and with such a light weight  it could do him in.

Brought to you by JG at Griffith Publishing

Today Dave and Miriam and I (that’s my bro and his wife and myself) took off for the town of Eagle to pick up my cello, which has been languishing in the shop of Shirley Shiverick for a few months. We had to go by way of Boise so I could get my check from the hospital, and I got to meet Karen Corneilison for the first time. Nice gal. She’s the one who gets my checks ready for me.

Well, when we got to Eagle we learned from the sign on the door that “Shirley’s Violins” is closed on Monday, and today was Monday. So we came home on Highway 52. It was a f un trip, although wet and gray. Still, the leaves are tinged with the touch of spring, and it feels good. Tomorrow won’t be quite as warm, we hear.

I was trying to figure out how I could possibly manage on so little money for the next 30 days, but when I  double checked my finances I found out I’d forgotten to project the arrival of my next social security check. How could I! Earthquakes or tornados aside, I just knew  my social security check would come. But I’d forgotten to load it into my cashflow. When I did, whoopee! I have lots of money. Well, at least enough to pay my bills and maybe even my income taxes.

Bring on the spring!

Brought to you by Griffith Publishing

I live in Caldwell, Idaho, by the way, which is in both one of the driest and one of the wettest states in the union. We zealously guard our treasure that spouts up from springs, falls from the sky, meanders through  farmland or, most valuable of all, melts from the annual snowfall. How we love winter snow! This year we don’t have enough so there’s probably another drought just around the corner.

I mentioned earlier my cello concert. I have so much to learn and practice. I could spend hours every day and make a little more progress. My cello, however, rolled off my couch onto a carpeted floor and plunk! broke in two. I found a gal who was referred to me as an excellent cello fixer and after I met her and  looked around at her shop in Eagle, I was sure of it. But she says three months anyway until she has it fixed. It’s been two months already.

Spent last week end in College Place. Got to be the “guest” at my aunt Orletta and uncle Don’s lovely place there. I  sleep there as well as I do in my own bed. If I wake up at night I’m never sure where I am until I sit up and look around.

I didn’t pay  my  cable tv bill properly, so the company came around and disconnected my service. I don’t remember that threat! Oh, well. I’ve now learned how to find TV and movies on my computer and don’t miss it that much. I also have a couple of high-fi radios, and the newspaper still comes to my house every day. I’m saving $43 a month by not having cable TV, and it will cost me about $159 or so to get it going again…So I  figured I’ll wait until the $43 I’m not spending each month catches up with the money they want from me to  set it up again, and we’ll see.  

Have a great life today and tomorrow.  If you love somebody, you are loved. If you help somebody, you are helped. If you smile, you are happy!

Joyce

Last night I presented my first cello concert, with an audience of two (my bro Dave and his wife Miriam). Remember, I’ve taken cello lessons only six months, and my plan is to continue for five years. So any progress is wonderful news. Here’s the programme I provided for the concert goers:

Sure enough. I was sprinkling some water in their direction, and I noticed a perfect bright red orb in my tomato patch. I picked it and am saving it for some time tomorrow. And there are dozens of little green “bubbles” all over my tomato plants. Looks like I’ll have more tomatoes than I’ve ever harvested.

I couldn’t see the incisions at all.Maybe I could have if I’d twisted my head 180 degrees.

Then he showed me full-color photos of his work. Each picture was round and crisp, six pictures per page. I watched and listened unknowingly as he showed me where the bone spurs were that he’d shaved out of existence and the muscle he’d reattached to the ligament—or was it the ligament he attached to the bone?—the arthritis repair work he’d done, and several other fix-up jobs.

Then came the really good news: No Restrictions!

Well, there was one. Don’t lift anything heavy with that arm for a few weeks. It could pull muscle down that would have to be re-attached.

Even better, Dr. Humphrey says he thinks that bowing the cello would be ideal exercise to restore full use of my shoulder!

The worst thing I could do, he said, would be to “rest” my shoulder too much and get it stuck. To avoid that, I need to move it and use it at every opportunity.

So I will. Gladly. I’ll even mow the lawn one of these days.

Justice is a Lady

When the notice arrived that I’d been selected for jury duty, I was almost pleased. I’d been voting for half a century and I’d been a licensed driver even longer. They don’t call people 70 years old and up in this state, so it was probably my last chance. My last chance for what? To fill a patriotic duty. To play my part in assuring that justice was done. To judge a case on the evidence.

Twenty-two days into the month I was finally summoned to appear at the courthouse. Today was the day for the two-mile drive down 12th Avenue to the courthouse building attached to the county jail. I wore my sling as I’m supposed to do for a few weeks after shoulder surgery on July 13, but also thinking maybe it would come in handy later on.

We met at 8:30 a.m., in the “Jury Assembly Room” in Room 334 of the courthouse. We were an amiable group of about 26 Idaho folks in a room just big enough to accommodate all of us. Brian the Baliff welcomed us and told us to help ourselves to the coffee. I didn’t know anyone there, but they looked just like the Idaho people I did know, and I felt comfortable.We were ordered to turn our cell phones off, to be respectful, and not to feel bad if we weren’t chosen.

After watching a twelve-minute video describing the jury system in Idaho, Brian the Bailiff escorted us to the courtroom on second floor where the trial would take place. With a flurry he announced the arrival of “Judge James J. Morfitt!” It must be a standing joke because he’d already told us that the judge for our trial was James A. Schiller, and when the judge swept into the courtroom he was laughing and said, “I’m not Judge Morfitt!” Later I learned that Judge Morfitt was presiding in a trial down the hallway.

We were all sworn in, and the judge told us it would be a criminal case, a motorcycle DUI.

They only needed six jurors for this trial, so they called up six of us by number only, no names were to be used. Then they asked the “panel” of six a series of 20 or so questions, half by the prosecuting attorney and half by the defense attorney. The rest of us were ordered to pay attention and remember our answers because we might be hearing the questions a little later.

Sure enough. After all six had been questioned at some length, the attorneys began calling up other  prospective jurors and asking them questions. Not all of us were called up, but I was one of the last of about ten or twelve who was asked to take a seat stage center and answer questions.

The judge was still grinning. “I’m intrigued by that sling you’re wearing,” he said. “What is that about?” He probably thought I was wearing it for sympathy, which might have been a good idea.

I said, “I’m recovering from shoulder surgery a week and a half ago, but I’m fine.”

“You’re not in pain?”

“No pain at all. I’m only wearing the sling to keep from being injured if someone hugs me.”

The judge raised his right arm. “There will be no hugging in the courtroom,” he ordered.

The state’s attorney was curious about my work as a consultant. When I told him I edited books and produced two newsletters for Saint Alphonsus, he wanted to know if I ever dealt with alcohol.

“Yes,” I said. “One of the newsletters deals with health issues in the workplace.”

“And what do you write about?”

“Alcohol is a poison,” I said, “but it’s one of the oldest substances known to man. I would never support making alcohol illegal because it just won’t work.” That was fun, so I kept going. “Alcohol is not digested like other foods and drinks,” I said. “It is absorbed directly into the bloodstream.”

“Do you believe it changes all people’s behavior immediately?”

“To some extent.”

My testimony ended, and I went back to the front row. Another prospective juror was questioned, and three persons on the panel of six were dismissed from service. Three other numbers were read aloud. People with those numbers took their places in the empty seats in the panel, and the rest of us were given a pleasant thanks for our service by the judge.

It’s over. I resented the manipulative tone of the defense attorney as he tried to weasel support for the man accused of DUI from prospective jurors.

“Do you believe that different people respond differently to alcohol?”
“Do you realize that it is legal to drink and drive in Idaho?”
“Do you believe that a police officer will ever lie or distort the truth?”
“Do you believe that the tools used to measure alcohol in the body must be calibrated properly and that this calibration must be proved for a DUI charge to be sustained?”

And so on. Making a case that since a little alcohol is okay, why is alcohol above a certain level terrible and below that level acceptable? If we’re that confused, maybe we shouldn’t prosecute this man who may have been in full command of his senses.

I was glad to leave. Glad to get back home to work. Glad I’ll probably never be called to the courthouse again.

]]> http://jgjustme.wordpress.com/2009/07/22/jury-duty-civic-duty/feed/ 0 JG iStock_000006125225XSmall http://jgjustme.wordpress.com/2009/07/21/some-things-dont-get-done/ http://jgjustme.wordpress.com/2009/07/21/some-things-dont-get-done/#comments Tue, 21 Jul 2009 18:45:37 +0000 JG http://jgjustme.wordpress.com/?p=308 ]]> I guess I thought shoulder surgery would be a little like a tooth extraction. Hurts for a while, but after three or four days it fades into the memory bank.

Not this one. I’m still weary a week after my surgery. I was glad to see that my shoulders are now level for the first time in years. Dr. Humphrey fixed my drooping shoulder!

Cello lesson, no. Just not ambitious enough. I drove by and left a note on Lorrie’s door telling her I wouldn’t be there today. Maybe not next week, either.

Yesterday when Kay came to work I said, “Kay, we are going to hold hands, virtually, and go through this house until I find the one hundred dollars I lost.”

I  proceeded to tell her that the white cardboard folder I put in my wallet to contain my currency had mysteriously vanished. I last remembered having it on Friday when I made a deposit at the bank. About then Kay stopped listening to me and began grinning from ear to ear.

“Martin (husband) was wondering about someone putting a hundred dollars in the India envelope,” she said, referring to a project we are supporting in our Bible study group on Sabbath morning.

Next day she brought the envelope to me and while a hundred dollars doesn’t make me rich, I do have enough cash to buy a few things I need.