Julie R. Neidlinger: Lone Prairie Art Works

You can follow the summer's blog posts here.
You can read my experiences trying to learn to fly, which is here.

A month for music.

written by Julie R. Neidlinger 2 comments link this post

Back in May, I had planned to write about Bach's Goldberg Variations.

May was a good month, and I felt like writing about beautiful music. The Variations have always eluded me on the piano. I can't do the math Bach requires, the multiple notes against each other. All but the Aria escapes me in the first measure. The Aria loses me by about the twelfth measure.

But such beautiful music.

That was in May.

June was rockier, and my writing never left the draft form in my journal.

The last half of June dropped World Magazine in my lap, and what should I find on their "Notable CDs" page in the June 16, 2007 issue, but a reference to Glenn Gould's best-selling 1955 performance, "newly" released by Zenph using their new technology to re-release a classic performance.

Bach: Goldberg Variations (Zenph Re-performance) | Glenn Gould

Style: A Baroque "Aria with Diverse Variations" (Bach's title) originally composed for the harpsichord but now identified (thanks primarily to Gould) with the piano.

Worldview: That there is no better way to mark the 25th anniversary of Gould's death than to use his most famous (and bestselling) recording as the basis to debut a fascinating re-creational technology.

Overall quality: A 20th-century masterpiece presented in the most mind-bogglingly pristine method imaginable.

[...]

Spotlight | Glenn Gould

The occasion of Sony Classical's latest version of Glenn Gould's landmark 1955 recording of Bach's Goldberg Variations is the 25th anniversary of Gould's death. The gimmick is the composition's "re-performance" by a piano equipped to respond to a computer-encoded reading of Gould's original performance as overseen by the wizards at Zenph Studios. Other than its elimination of Gould's trademark humming, the artifact is not only flawlessly faithful but also metaphysically suggestive: Zenph unveiled its creation last year by inviting friends of Gould to witness an "invisible Gould" perform. Thus Zenph has enabled dead pianists to "live" again.

Should anyone but technology-obsessed musical perfectionists care? Yes (for obvious reasons) and no: There's something to be said for "moving on" and "letting go," not to mention for recoiling from the technology's being abused to resurrect the likes of Elton John. And, frankly, Gould without the humming isn't full Gould ("fool's Gould"?). As a technology-obsessed musical perfectionist himself, however, Gould would've loved it.

I almost resurrected my post, but I just couldn't do it.

Then there was July. I felt like I couldn't do the math in many areas of my life, let alone Bach.

I added Gould's CD to my Amazon Wish List.

Then August. The sweetness of the Aria would have been perfect for the month -- needed -- except that it seemed as if I was the one playing it, on an off-tune piano, humming. August was not a month for Bach, either.

And then there came September.

And a generous reader of this blog, who surprised me with his generosity and the CD in the mail, the pinnacle of my day after a long day of work.

How is the album?

Absolutely beautiful. I've teared up three times so far. Absolutely beautiful.

A fine September.

(Thank you, M.T.)

Labels: music, my life, reader input

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Questions from a young reader: Where do we go from here?

written by Julie R. Neidlinger 0 comments link this post

::You can read the start, and an explanation, of this short series here. There is also a post connected to this series which discusses art and artists, found here.::

So...where do we go from here? Where do we take our dreams and desires and bring something good and healthy out of it all?

Always forward.

It sometimes starts backward.

I don't think looking back is always bad; not ever look backwards turns us to salt. I don't recommend living in the past, but looking to it has value.

I have to learn from absolutely every experience -- every moment -- I've been through. We are creatures of learning and, if we aren't, then we are slowly dying. New doors that open in front of us will find us unprepared. A look back to learn what I just came through allows me to move forward, otherwise I am destined to repeat history on my own small, personal scale. Every moment, every experience, is a lesson. It teaches me about others and about myself. And it lets me go forward or forces me to repeat it.

Always forward.

I think of it like catching snowflakes in my hand, each snowflake seemingly individual and separate. If I wait just a bit, they melt and the water pools together. The connection between the separate snowflakes becomes clear. In that way, seemingly unrelated or separate incidents in my life become, after the passage of time and a backwards look, clear in their connection. I learn from that. I don't want to be chased or propelled by my past, but I want to bring it under control by learning from it, seeing it for what it was and is, and moving on.

My dreams and desires are built on this kind of foundation, that of separate-made-one; that of being based on what I've purposefully observed and not like some kind of disabled boat on a wave, blaming outside forces (like the past and the present) for my lack of a rudder.

So where do we take our dreams and desires? We take them with us, as they are still being formed, forward.

Labels: essay, personal, reader input, religion

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Audience participation: Fake state facts.

written by Julie R. Neidlinger 6 comments link this post

I have a few fake North Dakota facts running under the rotating image in the right-hand column. These include:

In 1885, three young women discovered -- and photographed -- a large sea-going vessel said to be, at the time, Noah's ark. It was later revealed to be an empty meat tin cleverly disguised.
All of North Dakota's congressional representation purchase their hairpieces from Jim Thornton's Cow-Hide Hair Essentials, a home-grown success story located in Crocus, ND.
North Dakota has more coastline than any other state in the union.
During the North Dakota War of 1961, 14 mud hens were loaded with explosives and used to decimate the enemy.
During the Great Lone Prairie Siege, 14 prairie dogs were killed in action, and another 30 turned into cannibals.

One of my readers has been sharing some fascinating fake Idaho facts using the white board in the right-hand column:

Candy Corn was outlawed by Idaho in 1885. However, in 1931, candy corn was allowed to be sold only from state owned and licensed dispensaries to persons over 19 years of age.
Everybody drives enormous pickups all of which have gun racks stamped "Hecho en Mexico" on them.

Got any fake facts, state-based or otherwise?

Labels: reader input

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My dog is more popular than I am.

written by Julie R. Neidlinger 2 comments link this post

A reader emailed me a short story today which left me almost rolling with laughter. With his permission, I have turned it into a cartoon.

I can't say the cartoon does the story justice, since the visual images that ran through my head while reading the email were much, much funnier.

The writing on the cartoon is fairly small, so I made the graphic a bit larger than usual and consequently, it's a bit big for regular display.

Cartoon: My dog is more popular than I am.

Labels: cartoons, reader input

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Questions from a young reader: What keeps you pressing on?

written by Julie R. Neidlinger 0 comments link this post

::You can read the start, and an explanation, of this short series here.::

What keeps you pressing on? With everywhere that I have been, and everything that I do, I often become discouraged by my own apathy. I have so many ideas, yet no way of putting them into practice¹. I question every decision I make and pick apart everything thought I have. Is that even remotely healthy?

You wondered how I keep pressing on, concerned with apathy and how much you question yourself in all things. I spend much of my life collapsing under the wrong crosses that I've foolishly decided to pick up daily, and so far, too much of my time is wasted not on pressing on but being pressed down. Jesus' yoke is light. I make it heavy.

Apathy is a way of trying to survive all of the knives thrown at you -- knives of fear, failure, shame, injustice, insecurity -- to care so much is too much, it seems, and so I, at least, start to care about nothing. Life hurts too much sometimes, and when that overload happens, when I am overwhelmed, I shut down. I don't care about anything because I can't handle caring about everything.

Which, of course, is not how life is supposed to be. It's a gift, not a sentence in prison.

My best antidote for apathy is to start small. I can't help every person, for example, but I can at least smile at the over-worked clerk and try to pass on peace. I can help one child. I can care on a small level and see where that takes me. I can't save the group, but I might be able to save the individual person. I can't solve the entire mess, but I might be able to do one little thing that helps. A kind of anti-apathy butterfly effect.

I just wrote an email to a friend talking about the race of life, which seems to be fitting here since "pressing on" indicates some kind of race. My biggest mistake, always, is thinking that I'm running against other people. You know, living comparatively, seeing how I don't measure up to them. They're doing the same inside, of course, which makes it all ironic and circular. Which makes it not just a race, but a competitive rat race.

Life wasn't meant to be that. It's a gift. We all win for just having it. There are no losers.

There's nothing wrong with questioning my own thoughts, ideas, and motives in a controlled amount, but if I'm doing it in reaction to what someone else is doing or in reaction to how someone else has made me feel, any answer I get from the question is useless. I've already started down a destructive path. Either I or the other person will end up the loser.

I always over-think. I make things that are black and white into full-blown color. I make things more difficult, I make my own life and relationships more difficult. I am contorted into the unfortunate position of trying to see all sides of a multi-faceted issue; there's no movement from that position. It is paralyzing. And it also contributes to apathy. It takes a strange kind of courage -- one not necessarily valued today -- to stop thinking and just do something. To make the leap. It takes work to leap like that.

It is difficult to self-extract from such a place. I haven't figured out how to do that reliably, and in the process of trying to figure it out...I over-think. I think that I need a calming presence in my life to allow me to just be, obviously forgetting that Jesus is wanting to do just that.

Mainly, I have to remind myself that the race isn't with other people. It's with ourselves. I don't press on in competition with someone else. I press on in a struggle to overcome the unique burdens I am carrying, those wrong crosses I kept picking up.

| Last question |

-----------------------

¹ For a take on this in regards to creative blocks and how to get pass the idea of not finishing anything, read this post. I wasn't sure if that was part of the question. I did not include it in the main body of the answer above for that reason.

Labels: essay, personal, reader input, religion

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Questions from a young reader: What about God's love?

written by Julie R. Neidlinger 1 comments link this post

::You can read the start, and an explanation, of this short series here.::

Questioning God's love. I know God, I have experienced His presence, I know of His existence, I know of His power. Sometimes, though, I question His love. I had the idea pounded into me growing up that one should not live by their feelings, but sometimes, I can't help but lose grasp of the idea of God's love. I have a distinct head knowledge that He does, but you know...seeing is believing, and I am often a doubter.

You mentioned that you know God, you've experienced His presence, know of His existence, and know of his power. It is His love you question.

Love is difficult.

I sometimes think it should be easy, but it is the most important, the greatest of the three, and it is difficult to show it and see it and know it and understand it.

I have a struggle understanding love just in human terms. I have heard many sermons and teaching on God's love over the years, all the Greek definitions and explanations. From the same God comes love beyond love, that Jesus would die for us. But it is a love that allowed an only son to die. From the same God also comes wrath, discipline, anger, a mighty roaring voice, a faint whisper, years of silence, plague, salvation, light, healing, hope, death, misery, life, hope, mercy, grace, strength, and curses. What am I to even begin to do in trying to understand God?

I admit to questioning His love, even when I see, in hindsight, how He was right. I used to think in far simpler terms when I was growing up.

Love was always, and is always, expressed in human terms by humans, and I have come to realize that the love of God is an amazing, fearful thing. Trying to get a grasp on it is like holding a rock in your hand and saying that you know the earth. I sometimes don't understand His love. I sometimes feel hated or ignored. In moments I am afraid of God, only later to feel completely safe and at ease. But I won't let go of His hand, so to speak, because I absolutely trust Him. A paradox.

I think that our best efforts to understand God, aside from his Spirit revealing something directly to us, is through stories, art, analogies and symbolism. The Bible is full of these, and there is a reason for this. They give us a way to understand and to speak about a Being so far outside our realm (yet right here with us), a kind of language or way to see things from our lower, smaller angle. So, love gets talked around by noting what it feels like or where it is found, kind of like a prepositional phrase. Perhaps that is part of the confusion: we only know how to talk about love in part.

You also mentioned feeling torn between living by feelings and what you know. I often "preach" about making decisions based on what we know instead of feel, but I only do that to such a degree because I, too, go by feelings.

Feelings are real. They may lie, and not coincide with what we know, but they are real.

I don't want you to dismiss your feelings. I think of how the Bible says that Jesus wept when he heard his friend had died, when he saw how sad the people were in that moment. He knew he'd raise him from the dead, but his feelings were otherwise at that moment.

I suppose the problem is when love becomes a feeling and nothing more, whether that is in a human relationship or in our connection to God. I see, more and more, that love is not a feeling, but a doing. An action. I can show love if I don't feel it. Is that bad? Am I a hypocrite? Do I have to get my heart in perfect order for love before I can show it, or is it better to not wait for feelings to arrive and do it anyway?

Feelings are slow to arrive and never behave steadily. I've discovered that by doing the action of love before I feel it often has a way of bringing my feelings up to speed. The horse should be in front of the cart.

The reverse of that, perhaps, is God feeling a great deal of love for us but having to allow hard things to happen to us for whatever necessary reason, whether that is what he feels like doing or not.

This is a bit of a jumble. I find love to be difficult. It could be no less as the greatest commandment.

| Next Question |

Labels: essay, personal, reader input, religion

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Questions from a young reader: Do things get better?

written by Julie R. Neidlinger 8 comments link this post

::A reader emailed me a short while ago, when I was down and full of self-doubt and wondering, as I often do in such moments, if I was doing anything that was truly worthwhile and amounted to anything in the scheme of life and God and the machinations of this world. I felt like a rusted bearing, perhaps, making some noise but needing to be removed, something extra and nothing vital. My life felt painfully small, quiet, and maybe a little unnecessary, like Emily Dickinson but without the poetry.

And then I received that email from a young reader, a long letter full of thoughtful questions, ending with "Regardless, take care, and don't give up hope. You do have more of an impact on others than you realize." It was the perfect words for the exact moment. They were the questions I often think, that I often wonder of others. I found, in trying to answer them, that I didn't necessarily have the answer, but that I finally began to understand the importance of the questions.

And so I thought about the questions and thought about possible answers and decided to put them on my blog and give all of my readers a chance to answer.::

--------------------

Do things get better? Does life, with all of its misgivings, appearance of hopelessness, inconsistencies, problems, and whatever else you can name in the realm of negative aspects, get better?

You spoke of the appearance of hopelessness, the misgivings of life, inconsistencies, problems -- and wondered if it would get better. If you equate "easier" with "better", the answer is no. The paradox of life is one much like Dickens' "best of times worst of times", but above all, it is our time. This is when we are on this earth, this life. I never see beauty like I do in my darkest, lowest moments. I draw better, write better, when I am far below the surface of hope.

Hope, then. There must be hope in life.

I do not know what hope can be, what it is, until I'm at the bottom and I find myself trying to even pretend that I have hope. I can't resurrect hope out of nothing, for my hope is not in me. The more I look in me, like a black hole, I fall further down and in. My hope is in God, I know, learned since I was a child, though I don't often feel it. Hope for me is more often a knowing and not a feeling. It makes it more difficult and harder to hold on to because feelings ring truer in me. Feelings are what my heart sees as true, and my heart seems to be more directly attached to my soul than my head.

All the inconsistencies in life -- those not our fault and those weaknesses we hide inside -- are like the many languages at Babel. They are confusion. It is only the embrace of the paradox of the Bible (the weak made strong, life found in death, the Beatitudes, etc.) that we are able to function wholly. Otherwise, we rage against that machine, angry at all the inconsistencies and unfairness and things that seem to cancel each other out, not realizing that they are only such from our limited view. The confusion is the enemy, not the languages.

Our view, through that glass darkly, is far more severely limited than we realize. The person who is not conflicted, who sees no inconsistency or paradox, who has it all reasonably figured out, is either a liar or is busy building a tower to reach his own god -- himself.

So, in spite of all that, do things get better?

I can only answer for me. Things don't get easier, but they get better. Better, like a kernel of wheat, crushed to become flour for a fragrant bread. I know the more bruised and hurt I become in life the sweeter and softer I become inside, but only as long as I embrace the paradox. If I hold out for fairness, for what's just, for what seems right in my eyes in this life, for when confusion clears, I become hard and bitter and life becomes far worse.

Life is a paradox. The bigger it gets, the bigger the paradox. But the bigger it gets, the richer it is. We could make our lives small in many ways, narrowing our focus and pushing aside hopes and dreams, focusing on ourselves and things that don't matter in the light of eternity, thinking that will make our lives better. It will not. It only makes it easier, and much worse.

| Next Question |

Labels: essay, personal, reader input

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Mr. Bubble isn't sanitized on the Google Gadget.

written by Julie R. Neidlinger 0 comments link this post

::More Google Gadget gold, compliments of random readers. At least, those who can make the gadget work.::

I have a cell phone, too.

I am a cell phone.

Prove it.

I ring therefore I am.

I am not a cell phone.

I have a ring, but do not ring. Am I a cell phone?

Are you a bath tub?

I am.

Me too.

Wait, if I read "me too," does that make "me" me?

Mr. Bubble can make bath time fun and doesn't leave a ring!

Mr. Bubble has never been engaged.

Nor is Mr. Bubble a cell phone.

He is, however, a bubble.

Mr. Bubble is engaged in making bath time fun for kids of ALL ages!

I make bubbles in the tub, too.

That....doesn't sound like much fun.

::Thank you, readers.::

Labels: reader input

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The Red Wheelbarrow.

written by Julie R. Neidlinger 0 comments link this post

Most people know William Carlos Williams' poem:

so much depends
upon

a red wheel
barrow

glazed with rain
water

beside the white
chickens.

I posted it in the Google gadget on the side of the blog. In the past, I've let readers create their own epic poem there, but I put this one up "ready-made" because I've always liked this poem.

And no, not just because it was easy to memorize.

Right away, Will said: I love this poem. I don't know why, but I do. In fact, he's gone and posted about the poem on his own blog.

Which got me wondering why, exactly, I like this poem.

The word "glazed" gets me every time, thinking how rain does exactly that. Hard to explain, but I like the way the words roll around in my mind, how the water sticks but doesn't. Something about the red and the white, the solid and the feathers, the clear-coat of glistening rain, all in so few words...

Brevity is the soul of wit.

In the hands of a lesser poet (me) or someone prone to melodrama (also me), the scene could have unfolded with far more words and far less power:

If it weren't for the wheelbarrow, which Charles used every day to haul oats to market, the family would starve. The ruby-crimson beast, it's broken wheel banging and clanging with every turn, often scared away the chickens. But today it was raining, ruining the oat crop, and letting the chickens stand out in the rain. Charles looked anxiously from his window, worried about his chickens standing out in the rain, drowning. Don't look up, he thought, trying to force his command into the minds of the chickens. Stay beneath the wheelbarrow. The wheelbarrow, covered in the heavenly liquid, stood silent and stern. And then the chickens walked out from under it and looked up.

It just lacks the same punch.
I told Will that I had written this post a few days back and was waiting for his post so that I could link. When I saw his post, and compared it to mine, I told him that I thought mine was "kind of flippant. As in 'hmm. Maybe I should cut a chicken joke or two...'"

Labels: poetry, reader input

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Google gadget: It all leads to Bill Gates.

written by Julie R. Neidlinger 2 comments link this post

The Google gadget "whiteboard" on this blog sometimes provides the best reading. Who can forget the epic poem we wrote together? Yes, nevermind my drivel -- the Google gadget is the place to do your reading. I have no idea who has written what, but I enjoy it. Have a look at this poetry:

What does this do?

It's provided as a way of speaking into the ether. Please utilize me.

Excellent definition of the gadget.

I am self-explanatory. Thank you.

I wish all gadgets were.

Were...defined? Or self-explanatory?

Error 407 - Your question does not compute. Please ask a different question, one that is less philosophical.

System has rebooted.

It's provided as a way of speaking into the ether. Please utilize me.

What computer nut is responsible for this reprehensible repetition?

Bill Gates. It's always Bill Gates.

He's evil.

Yes, and have you tried Vista lately? Whoa, it's Evil Big Time.

Vista means view which really means they're spying on you. Yep.

Any reader out there want to own up to any of these lines?

Labels: reader input

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The most epic Epic Poem, thanks to Google gadgets.

written by Julie R. Neidlinger 0 comments link this post

I think people enjoy the little Google gadget I have in the right-hand column of this blog. It allows anyone to type a quick note for the world to see. I've seen chat boards and other more standard ways of letting people interact without having to leave comments on posts, but I never really cared for them. I wanted something more like a "notepad." You can get something similar -- and much more -- from Google. Check it out. As of yet, it hasn't been abused as far as unsavory or inappropriate comments left there, for which I am glad.

For about half a week anonymous readers have been adding a stanza or two and helping create an epic poem, a poem I started with a line from Poe's well-known work. I've erased the Google gadget notepad, and started something new, but the poem was rather funny and so I saved it and decided to share it here, in its own blog post.

The Epic Poem the Lone Prairie readers built.
---------

Once upon a midnight dreary...

While reading something
by Jumpa Lahiri

My eyes became
red and teary.

When there came a tap, tap, tapping
at my front porch.
Lo and behold
it was Scott Storch,

and at once I opened for him,
the door.

"Hello," he said.
And nothing more.

I closed it quickly;
what a bore!

Ah distinctly I remember,
It was in the bleak December,
As the dying ember
of the sun gave no warmth.

And nothing (of value) rhymes with warmth.
She shook her head sadly, then.
And took the road less traveled.

On this road, met she Chaucer.
Well, actually
it was a window washer.
Who was a little trashy,

But for being in the bleak midwinter,
his pocket was strangely full of cash-y.

"Wash your Windows,
dear Prairie Princess?"
"No!" said she,
and most relentless,

Drove on past the
wintry window washer,
To find old Slim,
the aged fossor.

Whose lips were dry
and in need of gloss-er.

"Old Slim!" said She,
"How fares thee?
And whom wilt thou bury today?"

But the old sexton said,
with a voice like lead,

"Alas, no one is on my way,
For folks sing and dance
Like they do in France,
In the balmy port of Calais.

For my work goes slow
and my pay is low,
And a job at Walmart
looks so much nicer.

At that very moment,
As mournful bells rang,
A penitent man asked
if he'd want some de-icer.

And when he said yes
he only got a de-louser.

Labels: blogging, humor, internet, poetry, reader input

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BLOGROLL

A month for music.

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Questions from a young reader: Where do we go from here?

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Audience participation: Fake state facts.

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My dog is more popular than I am.

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Questions from a young reader: What keeps you pressing on?

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Questions from a young reader: What about God's love?

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Questions from a young reader: Do things get better?

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Mr. Bubble isn't sanitized on the Google Gadget.

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The Red Wheelbarrow.

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Google gadget: It all leads to Bill Gates.

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The most epic Epic Poem, thanks to Google gadgets.

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