Our internet service has been mostly down lately. I came home from work yesterday, hopped on the computer. No internet. I tried to rip off our neighbor’s wifi connection but it kept dropping out. I realized how tied to the internet connection I am/we are.

Things pop into my mind: oh, I need to order those shoes. Too bad–no internet. What’s the name of that…? Too bad, no internet. I need to check.. Ah, too bad; no internet. OH! I need to remember to email…, oops, no internet.

I plopped down on the sofa and pouted. After decompressing, I read a bit more of Dan Brown’s fun “The Lost Symbol.” Then I went up stairs, tried in vain to log on again for 15 minutes before giving up again. Then I sat down and worked on my book for two hours. Before going to bed I tried to log on again with no luck.

This morning by some miracle, a little connection appeared, so I am posting all the blogs that have been waiting in my head. I better hurry before I get kicked off again. The ATT repair guy is coming on Friday. The company is so oversubscribed they can’t effectively take care of us anymore. And being without an internet connection sucks.

Internet gravity is palpable.

I think about retiring from academia quite a lot these days. One thing I would miss is the affiliation with an organization that ensures I have a performances of my music. Once you retire, you don’t have the same connection. I look at many American composers late works and no one seems to care too much. Oddballs like me may love Griffes or Carpenter or Reale, but the whole world? Not so much. I personally LOVE Stravinsky’s late work, but most don’t. It rarely gets performed.

What American composers of so-called classical concert music are still played extensively today? John Philip Sousa, George Gershwin, Richard Rodgers, I’m not going to count Stravinsky and Schoenberg (tho the verdict is probably the same) all come to mind. Not too many university professors or composers of “modern” music. These days John Adams is our most popular I’d imagine. Many of us may lust after John’s success, but we are also very happy for him, as he’s “one of us.”

I asked Aaron Copland what he was composing in fall 1976: “Nothing, and I am not accepting commissions; if people want to play my music, there’s plenty of it available in my catalog.”

Today I went through an old journal, listing old UCLA Music faculty and their appointments and salaries. I looked at all the composers and saw their careers over a span of decades. I sighed and thought about how none of their music is heard these days. And I’m sure that this is true for every music school in America.

NOTE TO SELF:

So, should I worry about what I compose after I retire? No. I’ll compose if I want to, and if someone or group commissions me. America doesn’t care about composers so much, especially old ones, so don’t expect to be any different.

So in your retirement, Roger, why not reinvent yourself? Try something new! Catch up on reading! Blog more (count on it), and put more energy into our publishing company. Travel. Meet some new friends. Take risks. Love life while you still have it.

I love being a composer and what it has afforded me in this life and this world. I have loved the time spent composing it, playing it in progress for my close friends, and most especially, having premieres of new pieces. I went into this profession knowing I would not ever be “famous” like the Beethoven club, and have accepted that.

It shouldn’t be relevant to anyone as to whether what you’ve done in our life lasts beyond your lifetime. You’ll be dead, or at least, not here. Your music is important here and now, and that’s enough.

I found several times this week that making a call can save weeks of email volleys. Long emails, and especially ones that are a bit confusing or unclear can be cleared up in a minute with a quick phone call. I must say that I love email for quick memos, notes and efficient communication, but sometimes it just doesn’t work for more complicated business transactions. I have to say that I use the phone less than I ever have these days, but am thinking it’s a bad trend. Talking, or — gosh — even VISITING someone else in person is truly a good thing and one we shouldn’t give up quite so quickly. Peter Sellars brags that he doesn’t use a phone; he prefers to GO and visit the person whenever possible. Well, Peter, that’s not possible for all of us, so why not settle for second best?

One of the hilarious things about the recent Pixar movie UP is the leitmotiv of someone saying “squirrel!” which, as all dog owners know, drives a dog crazy. For those of you that didn’t see UP, here is a clip that features the squirrel moments. You’ll notice the dog collars that they wear. Those collars translate what the dogs are thinking into English. I love this because I often translate what our dogs say to our visitors.

As Daniel and I have laughed and joked about this for weeks, wouldn’t you know that one of our parrots, Aiko, picked it up. Last night I roared with laughter and Aiko yelled “Squirrel! Squirrel” Both dogs came thundering through the house and tearing into the backyard, outraged that a squirrel would have the audacity to encroach on their domain. Aiko then said “SIT! SIT!! Good dog.”

Jennifer Snow and I went to the grand opening of Steinway & Sons new west coast store in West Hollywood (call it Beverly Hills adjacent) last night. It is in an amazing neighborhood and is a wonderful store. There is a loft upstairs that functions as a little concert space. We visited with the store owner, Gavin English, who is very excited about the store and being a new Angelino. Ron Losby, the President of Steinway, USA, was there feeling a bit homesick for his old stomping grounds. I comforted him by saying if he ever retires, I’m sure LA would welcome him back.

The store was filled with all kinds of pianists from all over Los Angeles, all looking vaguely familiar. There was champagne and tasty wine for all.

After the ribbon cutting ceremony, Gavin welcomed and thanked everyone, then introduced his long time colleague, David Benoit who played two numbers. The first was a lovely, catchy love song for his wife. The second was a tribute to Dave Brubeck, who just turned 88 yesterday (”an appropriate age for today”) and played a kick-ass up tempo rendition of “Blue Rondo a la Turk.” I was in heaven. Benoit, with his impressive white grey hair, almost looked a bit like Brubeck.

I only regret that I didn’t get to meet the gentlemen who owns Steinway, who was skittering around the store the whole time looking wonderfully eccentric, and a bit like Truman Capote.

A lovely event.

Daniel was our primary driver for most of our vacation. One night after a fabulous dinner in Avignon, I agreed to drive home. It was a new route, a bit longer, but had highways with less rotaries to go through. The night was pitch black. It was a bit stressful as we kept seeing signs for deer, and having seen boars the night before, we were nervous about running over les animaux. Seemingly, in the middle of nowhere, a red light appeared. A slammed on my breaks in time to realize we were right in front of a train crossing. I looked to my right and saw the black and white guard bar coming down, about to hit us. Everyone in the car was screaming GO BACK GO BACK!! I put the car into reverse, but it went into first. I inched forwards instead of backwards. BACK BACK BACK screamed everyone hysterically. I calmly got into the correct gear and inched backward just behind the bar. Just then, the train, probably a TGV–judging by its speed–whooshed by. We would have been dead.

I decided to let Daniel drive for the rest of the vacation.

We were missing some items from the hypermarché on a Sunday night, but found one about to close called “Le Vide a Bo.” The grocer had everything we needed and I was able to successfully converse in French. But as Jenny and I left, I turned to let him know that my nickname was “Bo” but I forgot about using appeler and said “Je suis Bo.” Hours later I cracked up, realizing that I had just told him that I am beautiful. The grocer was a gentleman who just smiled and nodded. Had he been a queen, the appropriate response would have been “Of course you are, darling.”

Living in Los Angeles, one doesn’t get to see really old buildings. It was a joy to learn that we would be staying in a little settlement, rebuilt from Roman ruins. As I mentioned yesterday, we vacationed in the south of France, technically, the Languedoc-Roussillon region in a little area called Suzon, which is part of a teeny city called Bouquet which is about 30 minutes from Uzes. An artist purchased this hilltop area 25 years ago and over the years built a group of five homes, mostly from materials in that area. After building the first couple of homes, he tired of trying to fit ancient rocks together and built himself a modern home with square bricks.

On our second day, Bernard showed up at our door offering to show us the Roman ruins on the top of the hill. His English was as good as my French, so we were able to communicate as we walked up the hill. Along the way, we saw dug up parts that were left from the boars looking for truffles. Truffles attach themselves to the roots of oak trees, which are plentiful in the region. He said that most people bring dogs to find truffles but bragged that his wife had the nose to smell truffles, pointing out location under an old oak tree where a recent truffle had been found.

As we got to the top of the hill we were privileged to walk through the remnants of a minor Roman settlement that had toppled from fire and age. He has found pottery (we found some later) and ancient coins from 1 CE as well as the Middle Ages. Scholars have been to the area and taken photos but he wouldn’t sell them his coins. He showed us various collapsed rooms, and other settlements atop the hill. We were amazed that little had been touched since the middle ages. He took us into a grotto (a “grotto” is nature made, the caves are man-made) and a bat flapped up as we entered. We weren’t interested in going in but did our “oh wow’s” and left.

As we traveled around the region, we saw the Theater in Avignon and the Arena in Nimes. [Pardon my lack of complete accents and diacritical marks here.] I loved the theater — it had terrific vibes, having a history of theater and fun entertainment, whereas the arena felt creepy to me, now used for bullfights and formally used by gladiators and other death-for-entertainment activities. Also in the otherwise gross city of Nimes, we enjoyed the beautiful Temple of Diana and the parks and fountains that surrounded it. (Nimes’ only other redeeming quality is that the fabric we know at denim is from Nimes, or De Nimes.) The most breathtaking structure was the Pont du Gard [see yesterday's post for the picture]. A gorgeous piece of Roman ingenuity, that carried water from Uzes to Nimes. We were amazed to learn that at one point, the Arena was filled with water for aquatic battles.

The region is peppered with ancient and well preserved Medieval villages. We drove up many and after a while got spoiled by “yet another gorgeous view from an ancient village.”

[Photo is not of Roman ruins, but of Diana, the goddess of the hunt, in Nimes, where other Roman ruins are plentiful.]

I’m just back from a fabulous two and a half week vacation with my husband, his colleague, Matias, and Jenny, Matias’s wife. Jenny left young Katie with her Mom, so this was their first time alone–a kind of second honeymoon, avec Roger and Daniel.

We flew to Paris, then took the TGV to London–Daniel’s and my first times (sic)–met Pete’s new fiancee and spent time with them. and then took the TGV back to Paris for two and a half days. Then we met up with M&J and TGV-ed down to Avignon, rented a car, and drove to a remote area thirty minutes away from Uves.

I’m jet lagged now, and am anxious to put down some of my thoughts and experiences.

Excuse me, zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

At dinner the other night, two of our good friends whom we are visiting in London, Daniel and I asked “who is more British?” The two Brits listed their relatives–neither had a heritage that was mostly British. Daniel, who is Eurasian, listed Humphreys and Davies in his family tree–Welsh names. My father looked into our family tree some years back, saying that Bourland is Scotch-Irish. We went to the internet to research our respective family crests and were all amused by the images a mottoes. I trotted out my family names: Rhodes, Yelton, Arnold, Netterville… To my shock, I was more British than anyone at the table, even though my family has been in America since the 1700s. Go figure.