Avant Gardener

Ever since 2008, I’ve had a houseplant or two in my dwelling.  By 2015, that number had grown to twelve, mainly hardy hanging philodendrons, spiky dracaena, and resilient aglaonema.  It’s not often that I lose one of them; these plants are pretty hard to kill.  A few have come and gone, usually lasting a few years without trouble.  Based on that unwarranted confidence, I fancied myself as having a bit of a green thumb.

Earlier this year, I was inspired by a couple things — firstly, that lovely patchwork flower garden on top of the multi-colored greenhouse bunker in The Witness, still my favorite puzzle set of the game; secondly, the flowers around Walnut Creek, where my current workplace is located; and thirdly, the very title of this post, which I’ll get to — to create and plant my very own flower garden in my backyard.

In San Francisco, it’s a blessing to even have a backyard, and my house had its renovated last year.  Since even before then, I’ve cared for the grounds insofar as I’ve been the one to voluntarily pull all of the weeds out of the beds surrounding the patios.  This past summer, and tired of looking at nothing but concrete and wood chips out my windows, I decided to add some color.

Naturally, watering hardy indoor plants regularly is a little bit different than growing flowers in a bed of mystery soil.  I didn’t know anything about it, really; I kinda just winged it.  Couldn’t be that hard, right?

I went ahead and dug up the dirt in two rectangular spaces with my trowel and garden fork.  We have a shovel too… not sure why I didn’t just use it.  A couple inches of worked dirt should be enough to plant in, I thought.  It only took a few hours in the afternoon summer sun to get it ready for planting.

The next morning I would head down to one of my new favorite spots in the city, Sloat Garden Center — right next to the ocean by the zoo — and snag a couple dozen 4″ perennials of varying colors as well as fertilizer and soil.  The soil in my yard is somewhat sandy, thanks to the dunes that used to cover my neighborhood, so I ordered soil specifically to enrich it.  Luckily, I happened into the store on the very weekend where they were having their annual flower sale.  I didn’t know about it beforehand, honest.

I very scientifically measured appropriate intervals for planting my perennials, dug little holes, and put them in, eventually covering the whole planting area with soil and mixing in the fertilizer.  After a light water, I was done for the day.  I have to say, it looked pretty nice!

Weekend project complete! #flowers #flowergarden #greenthumb

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I gave them a shower ever other day or so, as needed.  My lovely little flowers.  They grow up so fast:

Garden update #SundayMorning #flowergarden #flowers #greenthumb #backyard #sunshine 🌼🌻🌱🏵️☀️

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In this fledgling garden was a great variety of color, shape, and size.  A cluster of magenta, red, white and orange geraniums flanked by deep blue and purple verbena and yellow, red, and pink calibrachoa.  Others included white lantana, apricot sprite agastache, and a few grassy pink things — I don’t know the names of the latter because they’ve since been replaced.

During the later summer, I went home for Labor Day weekend.  It was, unfortunately, the hottest week of the summer in California — temperatures in the city exceeded 85 degrees for days on end, which is a rarity.  In my absence and without water for four days of extreme temperatures, I lost a great deal of growth on my garden, with some flowers wilting enough to require amputation, while a couple just outright died.

To make matters worse, there was an invader in my garden.  I didn’t full understand the scope of my troubles until I saw it with my own eyes.

A gopher!  This little underground terror had been burrowing his way around my garden for weeks, casually nomming down my more appetizing plants — the verbena and calibrachoa —  as well as stunting the growth of the rest of the garden with its tunnels and root damage.  I had been puzzled as to why my left-side bed was under-performing the right; here was a sure indication.

Now, I should have known better.  There are gopher scars in the vacant planting bed at the rear edge of my yard, as well as all across the neighborhood.  I can’t help but notice them now whenever I’m out and they’re everywhere.  Indeed, the folks at the garden center confirmed they’re somewhat of an epidemic in the city, especially out on the sandy western side.

So with that in mind, I purchased and liberally deployed rodent repellent in the garden.  The above pictured bed was subsequently completely unaffected by the little menace following this endeavor.  The verbena he was most recently eating has fully recovered, as have the calibrachoa which were chewed up only on the fringes, with the cores left intact.  But, he scurried his way underneath the patio and began to severely terrorize my other bed.  The repellent had failed, despite continued use, and every week, another one of my tasty flowers was crippled.  I knew exactly where he was coming from, yet I had nothing at my disposal to solve the problem.

Finally, last week I’d had enough.  After losing two flowers completely and having *four* more crippled in just days, I decided to take a full measure.  No, I didn’t kill it.  That’s, ironically, only a half measure.  I plotted out and engineered a solution: I was going to enclose the beds of my garden in steel mesh to ensure that they were completely impassible to burrowing animals.

I bought corrosion-resistant galvanized steel meshing, planters for emergency evacuation, and wooden stakes to attach the mesh to.  I spent nearly a whole week working on it, starting by digging out my most vulnerable flowers a few at a time each evening after work.

Of course, that only seemed to embolden the little guy by giving him a direct path through now-thinned soil to get at other at-risk flowers.  I lost one completely, and am rehabilitating two others that were severely wounded.  What a terror!

When the weekend finally arrived, I stripped the garden down six full inches of dirt, roughly four inches below the base of the patio on all sides.  It was harder work than I was expecting.  By day’s end, I had two giant piles of dirt, but a snugly secured steel mesh in each bed, fastened in place with staples and friction.

That’s four cubic feet of dirt, plus whatever air filled in the gaps of the newly unpacked earth.  The mesh is jammed in there as best as I could get.  The only gaps are hopefully not large enough for vermin, but I can’t be sure.  The good news is any potential access points are easy to mend without needing to dig up the whole garden again.

The next day I woke up sore, but managed to fill in all of the dirt, along with new enriching soil, layers of repellent, and fertilizer before the morning was through.  I replanted all of the flowers in the new beds, re-arranging them in a more appropriate configuration given their individual growth patterns and colors.

In a few weeks hopefully the dirt will settle and I can finish the landscaping off nicely.  By then, I also hope the damaged flowers will have somewhat recovered.  For now, my reborn garden looks a little unfinished.

Five months into this project, I feel like I’ve learned a ton about how to build a garden and care for it.  San Francisco’s climate is welcoming, so I have yet to experience the challenges of other areas, but at least it’s a start.  When I inevitably move out of this house (hopefully not for awhile), I’ll have practical knowledge to build on for my next garden adventure.  It’s been unexpectedly expensive to do this, but it pays off in the vibrance and life it gives my yard.  I appreciate my view far more than I did before.


I’d be remiss if I didn’t follow up on the title of this post.  “Avant Gardener” is a song by Courtney Barnett, one of my latest favorite artists.  I have to admit the lyrics of this song are also partly responsible for my dive into yard work; the way she puts it, it sounds wonderful, at least at first.  Coincidentally, I went to see her in concert in Oakland just last week during the majority of my garden troubles, and as I suspected it would, the show closed with this very song.  Incredible.

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Pilgrimage To The Great American Eclipse

August 21st, 2017 is a day I won’t soon forget.

In the months and weeks leading up to the now famous date, I didn’t really feel anything.  Sure, an eclipse is neat.  I’ve seen pictures.  I recall seeing a solar eclipse as a child in my backyard (1994, I think).  I’d even driven a few hours north of my old town in California to see the annular eclipse of 2012.  I took photos through a hastily assembled filter made of a pair of perpendicularly arranged polarized sunglasses.  It was neat.

Composite of the annular solar eclipse of May 20th, 2012

When it happened, the land grew dimmer for a few minutes and there was a noticeable chill in the air.  It was still nearly full daylight, however.

That’s what happens with an annular solar eclipse.  The moon passes completely in front of the sun during totality, but because the moon is at a more distant part of its orbit, it is not apparently large enough to completely block the disc of the sun, leaving behind an annulus.  Like I said before, it was neat.

A total solar eclipse is something else entirely.  The event that happened on August 21st had been predicted for decades, if not centuries, and as the date approached, hype and eclipse-mania began to build.  Normally I don’t buy into hype.  Too many things these days are sensationalized in the media, resulting in dilution and an unnecessary increase in expectations.  There are few things that ever seem to live up to the hype surrounding them.  I thought The Force Awakens was pretty good.  I enjoy Game of Thrones, but Jesus pump the brakes a little, people.  I cannot say enough about Hamilton.  I don’t know where I thought the eclipse lay on the spectrum from over- to under-hyped, but evidently I thought enough about it to justify taking a day off from work and driving nine hours into Nowhere, Oregon to see it.

And that’s exactly what I did.

To prepare for my sudden compulsion to be in Oregon on a fateful Monday morning, I took a page out of my own book.  It had been over four years (!) since I last drove myself north of the border.  No, it definitely doesn’t feel like it’s been that long.  Naturally, I’ve camped in my car since then — a few nights in L.A., at rest stops on I-5, and most recently during a stargazing expedition up the north coast a couple Labor Days ago.  The essentials for a successful sleep in the back of my car are pretty simple: a stack of pillows, a set of blankets, ear plugs, a sleep mask, and correct positioning.  Also working windows.  I had to fix those before I left.

As for the purpose of my quest, I did a fair bit of research.  As I have only a point-and-shoot camera, I needed to devise a way to filter the sun enough to be able to take sharp photos without destroying my sensor.  Before I used sunglasses.  It worked, kind of, but as you can clearly (or unclearly, as it were) see in the composite, the focus is just not there.  I looked into SLR filters and found mixed results, ranging from prohibitively expensive, to cheap and bad.  Luckily, a deep dive into photography forums unearthed some cheap and well-reviewed 58mm filters by Altura photo.  Like before, I would need to hold them in front of my camera.  Don’t forget the tripod.

I also needed a chair, so I snatched one from Home Depot.

Finally, the big one: the drive itself.  I over-prepared my car, having it fixed and serviced (and I even washed it) before setting out.  Snacks and food were in abundant supply in my cabin, so much so that I only stopped for dinner once on the way home.  I had all my electronics’ power needs satisfied, spare clothing, emergency items, and even entertainment to keep from potential boredom.  But the most important thing of all concerning the drive was, naturally, where the heck I was going.

The first thing I thought to do when planning my destination was open Google Maps to find a town within totality.  Madras, Oregon seemed a good candidate — right along the center line, and just up US-97.  Convenient!  Indeed, it was so convenient that they were hosting an official NASA event and over 100,000 people were expected to attend.  Okay, let’s not go there, I said hipster-ly.  I spent a few hours combing over the rural expanse of Central Oregon just south and east of there.  Anywhere farther and I’d add a chunk of time to my return trip.  Prineville, Oregon seemed less popular, yet still within totality.  I searched for rest areas, locating one half-an-hour up the road at Bandit Springs.  It was small and I feared it would be clogged with transients who’d had a similar idea.  A good back-up plan, I suppose.

The place I settled on for the eclipse was somewhat of a miracle find.  As I looked across the land, I found a hiking trailhead halfway between Prineville and Madras within open land.  The roads to it were dirt, and from everything I could find, were also public.  I remained skeptical though; what if they were closed for this?  Also, was it permissible to camp there?  What if a forest ranger stumbled across my car at 2am?  What if it was all perfectly fine, but there were hundred of people there already?  I couldn’t be the only person to find this place.  My mind was an anxious mess.

All of this worry for a stupid eclipse.

I couldn’t think about anything else the week before.  My Saturday was useless.  I spent the morning doing final preparations for the trip, but finished them before 10am, so I spent the rest of the day just… waiting.  I decided to leave at 3:30am on Sunday morning to get ahead of the theoretical northbound traffic and because I was tired of waiting.  Getting to sleep was difficult.  Waking up was easy.

With the car already packed from the night before, I set out on the San Francisco streets.  I queued up my driving playlist, shuffled by albums.  The first song to come up:

I can only listen to this song in pairs.  A rewind is compulsory.

As it turns out, traffic at 3:30am in the Bay Area is light (for once).  There were absolutely no issues.  I had breakfast in the car.  Sunrise occurred near Redding, California at 6:30am.  A red sun through smoke — it reminded me of India.  The haze was unrelenting, evidently the result of numerous forest fires in the area.  I filled up the tank in Weed.  I couldn’t see Mt. Shasta.  I stopped to watch a train pass along US-97.  Oregon was closer than I remembered.  I turned toward Crater Lake, hoping the smoke would clear before I got there.

It didn’t.  Same as last time.  Still, the water below remains the bluest blue I’ve ever seen in nature.  The smoky photograph can’t do it justice.  I strolled along the rim for a few minutes.  It was a beautifully sunny morning, just before 10:30am when I arrived.  There were already a ton of people there, and I wondered with how many of them I would be competing for eclipse real estate.

I ate a quick lunch there under the sun and headed out.  It had only been forty minutes, but I reasoned that gnarly traffic awaited me if I didn’t get a jump on the day.  It was still another three hours to my destination, Bandit Springs.  I figured I should take a chance on the rest stop, if only for the facilities available.

I ran into a traffic jam near La Pine, one of the only places within my route on US-97 with a signal.  It was the only jam of the day.  The roads were still surprisingly clear through Bend, Redmond, and Prineville, the latter of which was very clearly experiencing above average traffic (read: a few cars rather than zero).  Another gas fill-up (no self-serve!) and I pushed up along the road toward Bandit Springs within the Ochoco National Forest.  Signs and cones along the road denoted private properties and NO ECLIPSE PARKING.  There was eclipse stuff everywhere.  Merch, events, RV campgrounds; it was weird.  As I entered the forest, I noted that the US Forest Service roads were open, and down some of them I’d noticed campers.  A good sign, though this particular area wasn’t much for views of the sky.

I happened upon Bandit Springs a surprisingly long time later.  The thirty-minute drive through the forest felt far longer than it should have.  There, at the rest stop, were a handful of cars and folks at picnic tables, but plenty of open space for parking.  Nice.  I thought it wise to stake a claim there, so I parked my car and briefly found ways to entertain myself.  Feeling the weight of the long day upon me, I elected to take a nap.  It was mid-afternoon already and the sun was bearing down on the side of my car, so I rigged up one of my blankets across the windows, ventilated the others, and made myself comfortable.  I got maybe an hour of good sleep out of it.

When I awoke, I was horrified to notice that there was no cell service there.  I made a rash decision to venture out in search of service, driving twenty minutes east to Mitchell, Oregon, a tiny almost commune-like town full of hippies and campers and, I guess, locals.  No service.  I turned back to the west.  Forty minutes later, and nearly back to Prineville, my LTE was re-established long enough to download reading material and prolong my Duolingo streak.  By the time I returned to Bandit Springs, it had been a nearly ninety-minute-long excursion.  Thankfully, there was still a spot for me there.  I ended up settling in, exercising my patience, and slowly watching the evening turn to night.

Speaking of Game of Thrones, thank goodness for leaks, am I right?

Before bed, I took some time to gaze at the stars.  Only a few times in my life have I been in a location so dark.  As I lay in my car looking up, I felt the strangest feeling — that I was looking down upon a vast starry expanse below, prevented from falling into it by the hold of Earth.  Up had become down for the briefest of moments.  It was honestly a little bit terrifying.

Sleep came easy under the stars.  A woke up at 3am feeling just about fully rested.  Looking around, I saw that the rest area had completely filled up with travelers.  My anxiety took over, and, while I’d justified my current whereabouts as a fine location from which to observe the eclipse, I just had to try my original plan.  In the total darkness, I started up my car, blasted my headlights, and drove out into the void.

In an hour, I came upon my lonely forest service road.  I passed a few campers by the entrance.  A decent sign, I suppose.  I elected to pull my car off to the side as soon as I found a place to do it.  Turns out, it was the most perfect spot I could have hoped to find.

I’d still had an hour of darkness remaining, so I more liberally cracked open my windows, curled back into my blankets, and went to sleep.

I awoke to find a few folks had begun to populate my area.  I didn’t care.  I’d made it.  I breathed the fresh mountain air, looked upon a perfectly clear blue sky, and awaited the sun rise.

Happy #Eclipse morning. #sunrise #lotsoffilters

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I took a moment to test my solar filters, to find the most effective combinations of ND2, ND4, and ND8 filters, along with my polarizer and UV filter.  I ended up with an orderly stack of the six filters to hold and swap as the eclipse went on.  They were slightly tricky to get a supremely sharp shot out of, but again, it was far superior to the sunglasses of yore.

Selfie

The morning continued.  More folks arrived in the vicinity; smart folks, these were.  Equipped with my Eclipse Timer app (thanks, SmarterEveryDay!) I was able to follow the event from first contact until the end, down to the exact second.

It started at 9:06:36.  The moon appeared as a dimple cut out of the side of the sun, and slowly grew over the course of the following 70 minutes.  The sun turned from Death Star, to Apple Logo, to crescent.  I shot several photos every minute, settling on the best settings and producing multiple takes for clarity’s sake.  It went well, albeit momentarily frustratingly at each stage.

The sky began to dim; the clear blue lost its vibrance.  The dirt and shrub covered land slowly faded in contrast.  It wasn’t until nearly halfway before totality that it became noticeably colder.  The brightest stars started to show themselves through a still light sky.  This experience was nothing new to me.

Within ten minutes of totality, things began to change dramatically.  Shadows became fuzzy; straight lines turned to crescents.  Birds took off heading… somewhere.  Ambient temperature fell sharply.  Minutes felt shorter than even before.  My app was going nuts.  The people nearby became audibly excited.  I split my time between snapping photos and looking around.  What was happening was unbelievable.

The sun gave one last shine as the disc of the moon crossed in front. At 10:19:46, I was stunned.  The land suddenly became as dark as twilight.  The sky above glowed a perfect deep blue, dotted with the stars.  And to the east: one of the craziest f#?king things I’ve ever seen.

Against an ultramarine backdrop floated a ring of white fire, its center pitch black.  At the horizon, the colors of sunset.  In every direction.  The air inside the umbra was cold.  It didn’t feel real.

I shot photos of totality.  I pointed my camera to the horizon.  I sat back and marveled.  Holy shit.

It wasn’t long enough.  Max eclipse occurred after only 50 seconds.  Another 50 seconds later, sunlight peaked through once more, and I snapped what I consider one of my finest photos ever.

As day returned, the reality of what was just witnessed hadn’t even begun to settle in.  One minute and forty seconds burned into my memory, yet somehow I still don’t believe it.

The umbra retreated toward the eastern horizon.  With the sun now in a waxing crescent, some of my neighbors had begun packing for Eclipxodus.  I wasn’t leaving yet.  This journey I’d set out upon 31 hours earlier could tolerate another hour, even with the ultimate reward now behind us.  Besides, it was a beautiful day in Central Oregon.

There isn’t much else to say here.  The eclipse proceeded exactly as it had begun, in reverse.  The air warmed and the land and sky were restored to their normal brightness and color.  I stayed until fourth contact, at 11:41:14; 155 minutes after it had started, the moon had moved on, and now it was my turn.

I packed up my equipment, queued up my music, and set off down the rural roads.  There were cars in front of and behind me, but we were moving.  I stopped at a Wal-Mart to grab water.  Waze directed me to avoid US-97 upstream of Bend.  I crossed US-20.

When I got to Bend, traffic stopped.  My ETA grew by 10, 20, 30 minutes.  Voraussichtliche Zeit im Stau etwa sechsunddreißig Minuten.  The estimated time in traffic didn’t go down.  Before I knew it, I was over an hour behind schedule.  Each small town in Oregon was a bottleneck.  Sun River, La Pine, Gilchrist/Crescent, Chemult; each went at a slightly faster crawl than the previous. The stretches of road between them were 75 mph half of the time, and 10 mph the rest.  I expected this.  It wasn’t until passing OR-138, the road to Crater Lake from the north, that things moved smoothly.  I gassed up at Klamath Falls and enjoyed the sunset down the final stretch of US-97.  Yes, sunset. I’d set out from Prineville at about 12:15pm, but I didn’t get out of Oregon until 5:45pm — an over two-hour delay compared to typical traffic.

Naturally, there was one last annoyance — a construction bottleneck on I-5 near Weed.  No doubt, the two lanes here are able to handle regular Northern California traffic, but not on this day.  At least as we weren’t moving I could look up at the majestic volcanic cone of Black Butte just off the freeway.

Having already spent seven hours in the car by the time I hit the mountains, I was shocked how much I enjoyed driving through them.  That stretch of I-5 is beautiful, and in this direction, entirely downhill. Even still, finally crossing the Pit River Bridge at Shasta Lake felt like a relief.  Besides, I was getting hungry and Redding, my dinner destination, was so close.

I ate Five Guys in my car.  These were the burgers I was looking for.  By now it was night.  My drive, much like the eclipse, had become the previous day’s drive in reverse.  Having exhausted my music playlist twice over, I put on that days’ Comedy Bang Bang podcast in an effort to keep me laughing, and therefore awake.  I-5 is a slog.  It felt like I’d never get home.  My ETA was just before midnight now; my drive-time expected to total over 11 hours.

I rolled into San Francisco at 11:30pm.  I love crossing the Bay Bridge, even during traffic, yet at night with few cars on the road and the city shining in front of me felt almost magical.  My city.  After two days in the middle of nowhere, among dilapidated towns and soul-numbingly empty spaces, I was grateful to be back among civilization.

It was 12:03am when I got to my house.  I unloaded the car, took a shower, and fell into bed in ten minutes.  My quest was complete.  I was groggy for the next two days.  I didn’t catch up on sleep until Saturday.  Was it worth it?

Yes.  Holy shit, yes!  A total solar eclipse is a mind-altering, life-changing wonder that needs to be seen and experienced first-hand to be believed.  My words don’t do it justice.  My photos don’t capture the majesty.  You need to be immersed, to allow yourself to be overwhelmed by the cosmic display in order to really understand.  You may have read or seen many, many folks talking about how absolutely amazing this experience was — they’re all 100% correct.  This is something that cannot be over-hyped, whose expectations deserve to be sky high.

If you have a chance to see a total solar eclipse in your lifetime, take it.  I’m extremely happy that I did.

The Piano Bug

I recently had a revelation, wherein I didn’t completely suck at the piano.

I’ve been playing keys in some form or another for over twenty years.  I had taken formal lessons for a few years toward the end of elementary school, but fell out of interest in the music I was given.  I played on and off in high school, lending my abilities to a smattering of events and jams.  After I graduated in 2007, I bought an electric piano for college, where the on and off playing continued, mostly due to the fact that I had to store my keyboard underneath my bed due to space constraints in the freshman dorm.

When I moved up the hill to my fraternity house in 2008, I set up my keyboard next to my desk so I’d had easy access to music at any time, and as a result my creative juices flowed like never before.  As school progressed, music took a backseat to my studies and other various activities, and once my senior year rolled around, I had once again stashed my keyboard under my bed.  My senior year apartment was (relatively) nice, but my cozy room had, again, no space for a piano setup.

Since I’ve lived in California, I’ve always had my piano out in full view.  In my first few apartments, I’d even set it up desk-adjacent, like the good old days.  My playing was relatively regular.  A few years ago, I started MIDI tracking some of my favorite songs as a gift to my mother.  It became an annual Christmas present… for two years; in 2015, after recording a shorter batch of pieces later in the year, I stalled indefinitely.  I’d moved to San Francisco and, thanks to the topology of my studio apartment, my piano was no longer within arms reach of my computer desk.  It’s ten feet away, directly behind it, which is a nearly intolerable distance when in the process of laying down MIDI tracks.  I’m only half kidding — the lack of immediacy did definitely kill some of my interest in the piano for a time.

That brings me to now, and the reason I’m writing this.  Suddenly, this summer, I’ve been bitten by some kind of piano bug and its effect has yet to wear off after several weeks.  It might have been seeing Hamilton that made me dive into the Hamilton sheet music book I’ve got here.  When you really get it going, the piano arrangements are extremely fun to play:

On the other hand, another catalyst for my new found addiction might be the time that I stumbled upon a new piano artist whose songs I found not only immediately gripping in their musicality, but seemingly simple enough that I could play them with little effort.

For example:

This is suddenly one of my favorite pieces of music ever.  It’s beautiful, the chords taken some unexpected and frisson-filled turns, and it’s not too complicated for my hands.  I bought the sheet music for this album from Germany on a whim not long ago, and I find it’s not that hard to play.  Granted, I’ve been playing it (and many others) over and over and over these past few weeks, and wouldn’t you know it, I’ve gotten better.  Funny that.  I am still working on that quick-chord part in the second half, though.

Between 2011 and now, most of my piano playing has been improvised, relying only on chord charts and my ears.  While fun, this doesn’t do much to help technique and skill.  It wasn’t really until this summer that I really cracked open my sheet music books and sat down to learn songs, slowly and painstakingly without shortcut.  I’ll tell you what, my hands got sore just from stretching and bending to previously unimaginable positions.  The fun part is, eventually some of these more difficult songs actually become possible for someone of my limited talent to play.  It’s a great feeling to finally nail a tricky bar or two, and an even better one to get through an entire song without a mistake or hesitation.  I don’t have a lot of those songs in my repertoire, but that number is slowly going up.

Additionally, I’d had another sudden revelation just this past week.  For years, I’d struggled with digitizing my playing due to the latency between the physical touch of the keys and the output of the MIDI-fied sound.  When you press a key and it’s a full half-second before the note is returned to the ears, it tends to make keeping tempo difficult.  However, for whatever reason, I stumbled across an, in retrospect obvious, fix that I would then quickly implement this past weekend.  I installed a new secondary sound driver designed specifically for low-latency musical input.  It worked (nearly) flawlessly right away, allowing me to play digitized tracks full of effects, backing tracks, without delay nor distraction.  I’m somewhat ashamed this idea never occurred to me in the last ten years, but it’s better discovered late than never at all.

The end result is that, beyond my rediscovery of the instrument, I’ve only managed to further strengthen my desire to play.  I’m even taking my newfound confidence to social media.  There’s nothing more motivating than putting my performances out into the public, where I’m not allowed to screw up lest I face the wrath of my fans.  Or, less dramatically and more realistically, I’m putting all of the pressure on myself to be perfect.  It works. (Especially when all you need is a flawless minute before you’re allowed to make a mistake again…)

Can't forget my favourite part to play! Only made a mistake or two. 🎹🎹🎹 #piano #thesims #jamming

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All of this is to say, I’ve fallen in love once again with the piano.  I can’t believe I let it sit idly for so long; I’m glad its back in my life.

Perhaps you could expect some new music out of me?  It’s been… a while.