we’re back

 

I skipped blogging yesterday because I couldn’t get my site to load. I apologize if you tried and were unable to access. I emailed my daughter who changed my server from Bluhost to one that she uses. But in these days of multi-layered ineptness, bad design and inefficiency, it’s hard to tell where the bugs are coming from.

It actually worked out well for me because I have a ton of work to do to prepare for Holy Week. Most of this work is making psalms over again with Anglican Chant tones and using the pointing in the Anglican Chant Psalter.

psalm116

Despite me having previously asked my morning class teacher if she was going to need me for class (since I suspected she wouldn’t), I ended up sitting and not being needed throughout her shortened class. Anticipating that I would spend any extra  time yesterday working on my psalms, I had prepared the music software documents to allow me to work on them on my laptop before leaving for work. This enabled me to sit (uncomfortably I might add) at the piano with my laptop open and edit psalms.

psalm116really

I managed to do three entire psalms that way including the long Psalm 22 for Good Friday. I now have the psalmody for the Easter Vigil and Easter Sunday left to do.

 

psalm22

I confessed to Jen my boss during our weekly meeting that I am burned out in more than one way. Besides the usual work burn out my tolerance for silly Christianity has reached very near to zero. Jen’s sermon Sunday was a glimmer of Christian sanity in an otherwise madhouse where I live, work and make my meager income. I just checked and she still hasn’t changed her sermon page since January of this year.

I remember that she centered her ideas on the first line of the gospel: “As he walked along, Jesus saw a man blind from birth.” Jen asked if we see each other. This hit home  to this invisible old musician. The rest of the day I seemed to find all contacts with Christianity sort of like moving through an insane asylum.

Burn out, indeed.

burnout

I finally emailed the New York Times and asked what in the world I was doing wrong since all of their comments online had disappeared. I would see a link for an article that said it had comments, but when I clicked on that link, nothing.

I received an email back which suggested that I clear cache and cookies, make sure my browser is updated as well as all plug ins. When I went to do that I noticed an option.

relaunchchrome01

I clicked the relaunch option and lo and behold my comments came back.

relaunchchrome

I emailed the NYT back and told them what I did. I received a response thanking me and encouraging me to contact them again if I had any further problems. Boy, they’ve come a long way.

An internet rule I watch people follow or break: Talk like a person

Jes sayin.

blather

 

After classes yesterday I went into a mental burnout stall and sat in my chair and played online scrabble. Physically and mentally exhausted I put off any tasks I needed to do to today.

I think I am daunted when I look at the upcoming Holy Week schedule. It’s no worse than usual of course, but I find that I need more time to rest and recuperate than I used to.

In the meantime I continue to enjoy having online access to reference material. This morning I made a list of words I had looked up while reading Cranmer by MacCulloch:

waiters

peculiar

prorogued

frank pledge

winkling

You may wonder about “waiters.” I find that reading an educated author and especially one that speaks another form of English than USA English, it’s easy to mistakenly assume that words  have expected meanings.

Here’s how MacCulloch used the word:

The rest of the day was taken up in manoeuvering the vast crowd of notables across to Westminster hall and dividing them into honorary waiters and seated guests for the state banquet there…

In this case, “waiters” means “an attendant upon the bride, bridesmaid.” At least I think that’s how he’s using it.

MacCulloch repeatedly uses the word, “peculiar,” to mean “in the C of E, exempt from, not subject to the bishop of the diocese.”

I’ll let you google the others if you’re curious.

I also ran across another unusual usage in a poem by Thomas Hardy this morning.

teen

But it was not much in a world of teen,
That a flower should waste in a nook unseen!

from “The Flower’s Tragedy” by Thomas Hardy

After poking about, I take Hardy’s usage to mean “Irritation, vexation, annoyance; anger, wrath, rage; spite, ill-will, malice.” (OED 2b)

Yesterday John Donne graced the Episcopalian Church Calendar. March 31 was the day of his death in 1631. I mention on Facebook (in the Grace Music Ministry group) that I was a fan of Donne’s. Someone asked me to recommend a poem of his. I got up this morning and pulled out my Donne and looked at my notes. I had to recommend several. Here are links.

Song: Sweetest love, I do not go

A Lecture upon the Shadow

Holy Sonnets: This my play’s last scene

Wilt thou forgive that sin where I begun

The last is used as a hymn in the Hymnal 1982.

I continue to be annoyed at David Byrne’s lack of sophistication in his book.

I suspect him of affecting a voice that fits his commercial persona, sort of dead pan hip. But it bugs me when his footnote citations omit little details like the year something was published.

On the other hand I was happy to run down an article he cited and find it online (via Hope College access). “Thinking about Sound, Proximity, and Distance in Western Experience: The Case of Odysseus’s Walkman” Michael Bull.

It’s found in the 2004 collection of essays, Hearing cultures: essays on sound, listening, and modernity edited by Veit Erlmann.

It begins with this interesting quote:

The individual is constantly here and elsewhere, alone and linked to others ….. the twentieth century stroller with a Walkman or cellular phone remains along, communicating not with passers-by but to those to whom he or she is connected.” Patrice Flichy, Dynamics of Modern Communication 

Byrne mentions the article in his chapter, “Private Music.” It’s easy to see why.

I’m sure all this blather will increase my net popularity. Heh.