Hoosier In Israel

August 11, 2011

For the Children

When I was a little girl I had a book of 365 one- or two-page stories, and I loved it to pieces. And recently I heard from somebody that somebody wants me to write a story. So, having just read the story about the bald frog with a wig, I decided I should tell the one about the bald toad with a wig.

Bald Toad with a Wig
There was a bald toad who wanted to wear a wig. After all, friend Frog wore one. So he bought one and all his friends said, "Cool! You look just like a frog." But he didn't want to look like a frog so he took his wig off and lived happily ever after.

Moral #1: You can (sometimes) tell a frog from a toad by his wig.
Moral #2: Sometimes your friends will think you're cool when really you look like a frog.

Also: Wog and Tog
Wog was an average worm. Tog was a very special worm. He had it all together. That's why they called him Tog. Wog was a bit envious because Tog got all the attention.
But one day, matters changed. Tog got put in a can of worms! "Oh dear!" worried Wog. "Next thing you know he'll be on a hook. I'd better try and help him!"
So he wiggled and wiggled with all his might, until boy-with-can finally noticed him and put him in the can with Tog. Together they plotted how they would get out. They decided to tie themselves together. The boy saw them and said, "Wa-hoa! A double worm! I'll hang it on my hook by the knot." As soon as he did, Wog and Tog untied themselves, fell to the ground, and immediately disappeared into the dirt.
After that, they both made a point of not wiggling around except when truly necessary. And of course, they made sure to hide themselves deep underground if they heard footsteps of boy-with-can. The End.

I'll have to try a little harder if I want to write any stories worth putting in a book, but maybe this will do for practice.

August 10, 2011

On the Way Home (not LIW)

We left Houston at 11:30 for New York. It was beautiful approaching New York. I looked down on some very beautiful houses, each surrounded by a few acres of land with lots of very green trees. Then the houses got smaller and the lots got smaller, but they were still very nice. After that the houses were smaller yet, but still not small -- nice-looking two-story houses. Then there were blockier houses and apartments, and finally we flew over the city itself, and it wasn't bad.

We were delayed getting out of New York and the rest was the usual ordeal of flying west to east, listening to the roaring air, and sitting in a seat designed for someone with a hunched back or someone who can miraculously breath sufficiently in a very hunched position. We arrived in Tel-Aviv at 6 p.m. Houston time, and home in Jerusalem at 8 p.m. Maybe now I'll reset my watch, since I need to shed my Houston skin and emerge with my Jerusalem skin. Or maybe I'll stay in my cocoon until I get a night's sleep (I got almost none on the plane.)

I dreaded entering my very small apartment after being in a house with space, but when I walked into my nice, clean simple kitchen, I felt fairly satisfied after all.

However I don't feel like unpacking, since there's nowhere to unpack to. I brought back more than I went away with. Those "space solutions" they advertise don't work unless you have some space to start with. I can hang five shirts on one hanger, but then where do I hang the hanger? Maybe I should just stuff them into boxes and get used to ironing. Not a bad idea, really.

July 5, 2011

Going Home (to one of them)

My last day in Israel for a while. Very sad. Trying to wrap up loose ends. Took a look at some music I have been working on and realized there are a lot of loose ends. But that's good in a way-- that means there are a lot of starts. Finishes are another matter. If a fraction of all my starts can actually be finished, that will be good progress.
My stack of loose papers (rough drafts of music) gets taller and taller. I should be able to condense it somehow but that never happens. It just gets taller. Loose ends get longer and longer. Some of them have knots in them so I know they won't unravel. Some are quite good but very tangled. Others are so ugly I hate them, but I can't give up on them yet. A tune sometimes can be re-worked completely, maybe after being left to rest for several weeks. Sometimes I have a tune that seems like it might work, but I don't like it, so I change it from major to minor, or from 3/4 to 4/4 or even turn it upside down. Then in the process of copying it down in Crescendo (which will print semi-professional-looking music), I make a few errors and the errors give me better ideas. After I'm about at the point of total frustration, I walk in the other room saying, "That's it! I've had it for today!" And then, suddenly, a solution comes to mind, and I'm back at it for a little longer. Then I say, "That's it! For real this time!" And I head for the kitchen and another solution comes to mind. Sometimes I end with a feeling of satisfaction. Other times I feel like forgetting music and getting out of the house and planting a garden, which unfortunately is not a possibility.
What brings me to a halt sometimes is a phrase in Hebrew that just sounds awkward to my ears. I just need to learn more Hebrew. The cantillation points can be quite a help, even though I technically don't know what they mean. I just know that when I come to certain types of rhythmical problems, I look at the points and realize, hey, a little more pause here, and it works. Or I try to look at the phrasing as indicated by the points, and less at the verse divisions. I don't actually know what I'm doing--I just follow my hunches.
When I have no ideas at all, I listen to Jewish tunes on the internet, or African tunes (simple tunes with four-part harmony), or Spanish tunes. It's hard to explain what that does for me. It keeps me from getting in a rut and getting caught in annoying details. There's something about Spanish and Hebrew together that pleases me. They're sort of complementary--don't ask me how. The African pentatonic major tunes fit in my mind easily and without struggle. The Spanish tunes have a kind of lift and lightness in them. The Jewish tunes that I have listened to range from extremely mournful to extremely rousing. Minor tunes can be quite joyful, and major tunes can be depressing.
Eastern tunes are another matter. My western ear has a bit of trouble. Can you consistently sing the interval that is exactly half of a minor third? Maybe I can get a musical instrument of some kind, like a little harp, that can be tuned to that scale, and see if I can get used to it. I have heard our neighbors sing in such a scale on Shabbat, and they're not particularly talented, but they've been raised hearing it, so it is quite natural to them.
I don't do music all the time--it would drive me batty. Many days I prefer studying language because it's like mathematics--you can tell when it's right and when it's wrong, and you can tell when you're making progress.
It can be relaxing to play a lazy tune on a keyboard, something I could really use to relieve stress and burn-out. Maybe I'll get a keyboard when I return. Provided I can be sure it won't also be a temptation and a time-waster. It could be useful in coming up with some better tunes. At present I just do them in my head.