Beethoven and Migraines

Nothing kicks off a migraine like Beethoven’s 5th symphony.

We finally made it to the symphony this week for the first time in a year or so. We’ve gone with our homsechool group for years (to the field trip version which randomly includes refrigerators, beat boxing and 40 yr old women play acting as children). Migraines aside, Beethoven this week was perfect. Sometimes I can’t relate to the music they play at the symphony (although I always enjoy it), but who can’t relate to Beethoven? He’s the original full range of feels.

Once, when I was super postpartum with one of my kids, we all went to the symphony… during that stage where the ergo is permanently tattooed to one’s hips, and all of the tears and things are still flowing like the opposite of the land of milk and honey. I couldn’t go in because the sweet, rule following ancient ushers didn’t want the baby to be inside the inner sanctum. I completely understood and so pawned my older children off on friends and listened to the music from the lobby. About halfway through, a kind extra ancient gentleman usher had pity on me and let me go sit in the back. I vividly remember sitting in the chair, jiggling the ergo (hoping the baby didn’t realize I’d sat down), not really paying attention to the music, but something snapped. Sometimes when you’re not paying attention to the music, the music is still paying attention to you. I don’t even know what piece it was, but nothing compares to hearing a live symphony. It wraps around you, and comes up the bottoms of your feet. It’s nothing like listening to the same piece on even the most expensive sound system., and so I started bawling. Every phrase and line was like balm to my poor, traumatized post partum self.

I’m passed that phase (thank goodness), but the magic of the symphony never ceases. My more musical kids were almost frozen (the boy version of frozen) with the awe of it.

Beethoven wasn’t to blame for the migraine (luck of the draw), but I’m seriously at my wit’s end with these things and will try anything if anyone has any suggestions. So far I’ve got a pantry full of different prescription meds. I’ve tried acupuncture, chiropractic, various forms of magnesium, supplements and cbd topical cream. They all help in varying ways, but not enough to make a dent. I end up wearing sunglasses, puking in the random trashcan and praying I don’t decapitate a student for clicking their pen off and on or breathing too loudly.

I’d blast Beethoven’s 5th at anyone who dares misbehave if that wasn’t super counterproductive.

Gaelic Prayers, Duolingo and Torso Tips

Imagine a tax collector is sent up to the Scottish Highlands as the dreaded sassenach who everyone hates, but he makes lemonade out of lemons and writes down page after page of Celtic Christian prayers, songs and poems.

Celtic Christianity is like Harry Potter meets the Bible Belt. It’s so awesome. I’d go to that church tomorrow. Those early Celtic Christians were super passionate. And they weren’t esoteric about it… it permeated the whole culture.

But spoiler alert, turns out the sassenach tax collector was rather liberal with his interpretation of most of the prayers and poems, so current literary critics and anthropologists say that the exact wording is not accurate but the vibe is. I’m cool with that. You can read the whole thing here: Carmina Gadelica

I love this one which I’ve been praying as a sort of bubble wrap every day (modern Mrs. Xerxes translation: “Help me get through this day and all of the crappy people in it with benevolence in my heart. God give me the wariness of a deer, the strength of a horse, the wisdom of a serpent and the dignity of a king. And help me go out and crush it.”

I’m learning Scottish Gaelic on Duolingo… which helps almost not at all with this prayer. The only words I recognize are “milk”, “tongue” and “son”. I realize that learning an almost dead language on top of the already dead language I am already learning, is probably the most pointless exercise ever, but I don’t care. I tried to learn something useful like Spanish or Japanese and found I just really don’t like doing useful things. I tried the Duolingo Latin, but it was making me demented because in Latin word order doesn’t matter, but Duolingo hasn’t entirely gotten the message yet, but I love learning Gaelic, so they can take their time.

Unlike my love affair with Carmina Gadelica, there are some books I shouldn’t be allowed to read. I recently re-picked up “What Every Body Is Saying” which is one of those annoying book puns (it’s about body language and how to “speed-read people”). Sounds intriguing? Don’t pick it up if you’re already overly prone to reading into things. I felt like all of my worst people pleasing fears were confirmed. In the chapter “Torso Tips” it lists how if someone crosses their arms, or hugs a notebook or purse close, or keeps their ventral side away from you and swivels their head…then they can’t stand you, don’t like what you’re saying and can’t get away from you fast enough. (I’m exaggerating, but you can see where this can go wrong.) This was information I didn’t need to know. It’s bad enough to watch someone going in for the side hug that the other person misses the cue on.

Anyway, super fascinating book. I’m glad that some people don’t overthink people’s body language though… like an English tax-collector who probably ignored a lot of ventral blocking and torso tips to make a piece of Christian history immortal.

"The Devil Is An Ass" and Science Fair Is Upon Us

Everyone has that friend who throws out random hypotheses and theories. I have at least two of them, which keeps me busy in the mulling and contemplating department, but at least life around them is never boring. A recent discussion on Satan and whether or not the church has historically ever looked at him as schizophrenic, led me to realize two things. A) Most of my common conceptions about the Devil are written post Reformation. Which makes sense since my circles are Protestant B) My Latin is not quite up to snuff for the older than Reformation writings. Julius Caesar is a piece of cake to some of those old monks. C) I had totally forgotten that weird “s” exists that look like “f”. I feel like I’m going cross eyed and literally feel exhausted like I worked out when I read it for any length of time. If that’s what dyslexia and visual processing disorders feel like then t̶h̶o̶s̶e̶ ̶p̶e̶o̶p̶l̶e̶ my children have my renewed sympathy.

I came across the 1600’s version of Saturday Night Live. A play called “The Devil Is An Ass” and got so sucked in I almost gave myself a migraine reading it. It was so funny though and so cool to see how they were just as witty and crazy and divided as we are today. It’s about how this demon is begging to go live it up in the DC swamp, so he’s allowed to go, but Fake News has its way with him and he eventually pleads with the Devil to let him back in Hell because it’s better down there (modern retelling). But see what I mean? I dare anyone to read this for any length of time.

The Devil is not quite as big of a… donkey as Science Fair though. Every year I swear it’s the last year I’m doing it, and then somehow I find myself in some sick twist of fate where a year later I’m up at eleven o’clock gluing things to a trifold board. William is a hundred percent more into it than I ever thought a Kindergartner could be. He should win on sheer enthusiasm and joy. He (we) built a marble run out of hangers and cardboard. His hypothesis was that the bigger marble would get through it faster, and he happily sat with a clipboard and stopwatch for a half an hour, timing and recording trial after trial after trial. (long after I was done…I kinda figured 5 trials was good enough for a five year old.) I like to take credit for all of the good things my children do, but this one is all Jim. I do not carry the data, spreadsheet maker gene.

“And if this Science Fair thee do not like? The Devil is in’t.”

Cranky children, French intensive gardening in the dark, and the moon

When I imagined having children, I was (am) naturally pessimistic enough to skip over the standard issue dreams of straight A students, star athletes and whatever else one hopes for when you see two lines on a pregnancy test. I did maintain a few visions perhaps of chubby, rosy cheeked toddlers with striped shirts, overalls and blonde curls (which coincidentally I got), but for the most part I’m hard to surprise.

So I wouldn’t say I was surprised by any of my children’s behavior today, but it did remind me that even though I may have passed the diapers and sleepless nights stage of parenting, there are plenty of new stages. Every time someone stops me at the grocery store and tells me to savor these moments because they go quickly, I want to stop and hug them for being one of the few people left who haven’t read the articles on Facebook and aren’t afraid to tell mothers that. I’ve considered passing out thank you notes to anyone who tells me I’ve got my hands full, or that I’m blessed…or cursed…. or that my child just ran over their foot with a cart, because I’m glad they’re not scared to say it (even though I’m somewhat scared of strangers). I like to live in a world where people notice children…. sometimes.

• One of my children ripped a reading book and evoked the berserker death glare that I’m sure is the fault of some Scandinavian grandfather nine generations back.

• One of my children didn’t earn his gummy bear in math, and proceeded to sneak the whole bag into the car where he was caught and burst into guilty tears and prostrations of penitence.

• One of my children is at camp this week and I miss him. He’s currently my only perfect child.

• All of my remaining children wouldn’t wake up today which made me think they might all have the Corona virus since early risings have been a lifetime achievement for all of them. They were so grumpy. I meant to check if the moon is waxing or waning although I’m not sure which one causes crazy behavior.

Speaking of the moon… I wasn’t into the whole moon thing until I couldn’t get a hospital room when the 3rd child was born and the nurses calmly explained it was because of the full moon. Now I blame almost everything on the moon. Your keys were found in the knife drawer? Can’t remember what a passive subjunctive verb is? A new pack of socks is mysteriously missing? All definitely caused by the moon. I’m only half joking, I read this study a few years ago that just solidified for me that all things can be blamed on the moon (or maybe just sleep patterns, I dunno).

We found that around full moon, electroencephalogram (EEG) delta activity during NREM sleep, an indicator of deep sleep, decreased by 30%, time to fall asleep increased by 5 min, and EEG-assessed total sleep duration was reduced by 20 min. These changes were associated with a decrease in subjective sleep quality and diminished endogenous melatonin levels. This is the first reliable evidence that a lunar rhythm can modulate sleep structure in humans when measured under the highly controlled conditions of a circadian laboratory study protocol without time cues.

One of my other New Year’s goals was to spend more time doing physical things and not abstract things, so when I got home I promptly went out to the backyard and worked on digging my garden (after I nearly put everyone in a worse mood with my own bad mood). I don’t think I’m cut out for gardening, but I like it so I’m going to stick to it even if it takes me months to dig up a 10’x10’ square of dirt. I hate jumping on the shovel and then hitting something so solid I either need to see a chiropractor or it is the chiropractor. I think there may be some leftover cement underground in my backyard… or maybe an old septic tank… or maybe a coffin. Who knows, but it’s square, and large and cement, and like I said, there’s nothing wrong with my imagination. I blame the moon.

Hallelujah, Pachelbel's Canon and upside down Myers Briggs

I know the new “it” personality structure is the Enneagram, but despite reading three different books on it, I’m still completely lost on the logic of it. It probably doesn’t help that told I’m a 4, 5, 6, 7 or 9 on a regular basis, which is fine with me because at least thank goodness no one is accusing me of being a 3 or 8 (I kid I kid). I sympathize with all of the people who hate personality tests and think they’re all pseudo science (especially if you read Jung…see insane quote below), but I still firmly believe that God designed humans with pattern recognition, and although human’s are infinitely complex, there are still discernible patterns. That said, the whole reason I was drawn to Myers Briggs is because it helps you understand other people. whereas Enneagram helps you understand yourself (which doesn’t need to be a higher priority for me than it already is…cough cough).

All that to say, my pattern recognition for the month is to notice that the old adage “Opposites Attract” might be due to the human need to have your friends having opposite freakouts from you. So when one of you is unbothered by something, they can hold up the other person until its time to switch. It’s a beautiful system. Thank God for new friends and old.

Every time my youngest hears “Hallelujah” or I play Pachelbel’s Canon, he bursts into tears he’s so moved by it… or he’s just sensitive to overtly manipulative chord progressions. I’m not sure which MB or EG that makes him, but I’m guessing an ISFP or 9 (help)? Conversely, I’m not sure which other Myers Briggs type it would be that loves watching the tears and so plays it at every possible opportunity.

I’m saving for the Jung therapist now.

Use every part of the buffalo and the reading chair that backfired

One of my firmly half gen-x/half millennial hobbies is to peruse Google Books for old, completely intact books. Since I don’t have time to go find actual physical old books in thrift stores and library sales, and since I have physical touch dyslexia when it comes to enjoying the smell and feel and whatever else book lovers gush about, google books is my poison of choice. Gutenberg and other open source platforms are too easy and don’t have helpful answers to inquiries like “books on prostitutes during the Middle Ages” and other pertinent information I need to know. Part of the problem (and brilliance) of old books is you get the original source. I don’t want some college professor’s take on housekeeping in the 1700’s I want to read the actual book on house keeping in the 1700’s, which is how I found Mrs. Beeton’s Book Of Household Management. I couldn’t put it down. This lady was the centuries bygone version of Martha Stewart and the Pioneer Woman rolled into one beautiful book on how to fix your life, make friends, take care of your house and throw parties all with a sick toddler on a hip.

Someday I will throw a dinner party using the exact menu/recipes and decor laid out in one of the chapters (and anyone is invited who is willing to eat such things as “Haunch of mutton, boiled turkey and celery sauce, boiled tongue garnished with brussel sprouts, blancmange and cabinet pudding.” . I have no idea what “blancmange” is and I hope that “cabinet pudding” is not a descriptor of where it sits for any length of time.

I hadn’t had a chance to put the book to practice until a friend gave me some Montana, happy, cow-in-a-field knuckle bones. Jamie has been down with the flu for the last five days, and I decided it was time to pull out the bone broth with the help of Mrs. Beeton. Since we’re the type of family to save things forever, it was hard to actually use the bones since we usually can only afford meat from mass produced sources. To assuage my guilt, I p̶u̶l̶l̶e̶d̶ ̶o̶u̶t̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶t̶r̶u̶s̶t̶y̶ ̶M̶r̶s̶.̶ ̶B̶e̶e̶t̶o̶n̶ ̶b̶o̶o̶k̶ er… fired up the computer and google searched a recipe in the book for “Marrow dumplings”. So after turning the bones to almost mush in the crockpot for 30 hrs, I then tossed all of the marrow, fat and cartilage into my vitamix (which I’m sure Mrs. Beeton totally had) with the rest of the ingredients.

The results were…interesting. Not wanting to traumatize my children, I fished them out of the soup after steaming them and put them on a separate platter on the dinner table. When the pile of brown, squishy… (never mind, I won’t describe what they looked like) got some interesting comments from my offspring, I promptly set out a gummy bear reward to anyone willing to try them. I had a 75% success rate with this strategy, although the gummy bears may have negated any health benefits from the marrow balls, but whatever, I’m still counting it as a win. I ate several myself and kinda sorta liked them, I enjoyed them more when I pretended I was in a castle in a German forest.

My children do not entirely approve of my love for Mrs. Beeton, and they would approve even less if they knew that I have plans to make elderberry barley water if Jamie doesn’t improve soon. In a renewed effort to inspire and encourage more reading in the household, I bought this reading chair. The proprioceptive input you get from gently swinging is great from the brain and for sensory seeking kids who have a hard time sitting still long enough to read.

The chair as a gentle haven of learning backfired though, because a design flaw ensures that one side will slide to the other side when you least suspect it. It’s like a Venus fly trap that snaps shut and drops you on the ground just when you get to the good part in a book. It’s not inspiring anyone in the family to adopt my hobby of reading strange books.

It’s ok though, Jim says he can fix it and meanwhile I have bone broth and marrow dumplings for any injuries incurred.

Rome Day #9- home again, home again jiggity jig

Twelve hour flights are like mini vacations of their own when you're used to flying with young children. I'm writing this final blog entry from the plane, and thinking someone should start a sensory deprivation service where you pay to get locked in a room with white noise for a certain number of hours (or until you get all of your goals accomplished). So far I've mapped out lesson plans and brainstormed for Challenge A next year. I've written out a menu and grocery list for when we get home, worked on my last nanowrimo book, written several emails, read a book, watched two movies and took a nap. It's glorious. 

Our flight left 4pm and we had a shuttle ride to the airport at 1pm.  Hayley and I had a goal this whole trip of stair shuffling up every available stairs we could find (where it was not irreverent or inappropriate). The Spanish steps were the final goal. The ultimate prize.  The problem was the spanish steps were always packed with people, so we got up at 6:30 this morning and hustled up there... we even got Trinity to join us.  Rome in the early morning is perfecto. Bright sunlight and the city is empty. Not only did we see (and stair shuffle) up the Spanish steps, but we also went to the far (ancient) northern gates of the city and explored Piazza del Popolo. From there we popped back down to the Trevi Fountain and did some shopping and got some breakfast gelato.  The whole early morning escapade took little over and hour and would normally have taken 3 to 4 hours. 

Everyone was finishing up their last min shopping, pizza eating and gelato consuming. Some of us popped back down to St. John's and the Holy Steps. I prayed up them this time and it was the perfect way to end a perfect trip. 

Although I forewent both breakfast and lunch, we got to the airport late, and there are limited food options on this plane so I have gotten to the stage of hunger where I'm chewing madly on gum and fantasizing about fish tacos.