Par-tay, the Chinese New Year Way

Recently the Chinese New Year came along--and subsequently passed right by we hard working music department penn staters.

Our Taiwanese members could not allow such an occasion to miss us, and so tonight--though this semester is determined to remind me that I am humanly capable of only so much, and though the last Thursday night of the month is one of the only nights I actually have to go home and drown on my couch and/or take care of my life--I fluffed my hair, painted my face, and gathered together with my friends and colleagues in a sea of red clothing and/or accessories.

We did some good eatin'

(oh how those tawainese girls can cook...).

We made our own dumplings

(oh how folding dumplings I can not...).

We played some traditional games, like writing a resolution and putting it in a basket for someone else to guess the owner. If you get guessed, you have to hula-hoop 3 times in a row. This year I played it safe: "I will learn to play the guitar". (Last year I said "I will not be so cranky" and got guessed right away.) There was no hula-hooping in my fortune for tonight, I am happy to report, though certain people tried to peg "I will find a man I can be happy with" and "I will not work so hard" on me. (I am finally learning to keep things simple, a strategy I'm liking more and more, particularly when it gets me out of hula-hooping...)

We gambled a bit.
We guessed riddles, and received lottery cards if we got the answers right.

(I got my answer right, but sadly my lottery card was faulty. There will be no trip to someplace exotic and/or a brand new wardrobe for me this year...)

We made signs that said "Spring" on them, to hang on our doors and to wish winter-be-gone with (I made 12 of them....)

And, when all was said and done:

The question one must ask oneself when one is tired and not feeling all that social is, how do you say no to such precious friends when they want to celebrate their heritage with you? And the answer is--you don't. You par-tay, the Chinese New Year way. And you have great fun while you're at it!

A Vacation from Real Life

Every once in awhile I would do just about anything to get a new life. This typically occurs every month around the same time [if you can pick up what I am layin' down...], which very nicely coincided this month with the opportunity to do the closest thing--go on vacation from my reality. Due to a combination of snow days and a conference that took away quite a few members of my department, I found myself with cancelled classes and rehearsals, working peacefully in front of the fire with this guy:

(Say hello Bam...)

Bam's owners went to said conference, leaving me a garage door opener, Bam, free-reign of their comfortable home, and a plethora of peanut M&Ms.

It was a much-needed vacation made right here in state college. Not only did I get some rest, but it turns out that Bam and I were meant to be friends.

For instance, we both like a treat now and again as a reward for dealing with the duties of life (Bam comes back inside from taking care of his business--treat. Lauren walks past the bar on her way from kitchen to couch--treat.)

We share an appreciation for art. I found this out as Bam frequently took the time to stop and pause in front of some abstract yellow renderings in the piles of snow we encountered on our walks.

(Bam even contributed some artwork himself--though I think his might fall in the category of graffiti-artist, a rebellious spirit I admire in him.)

We enjoyed having some visitors. Yu-Chen and Yi-Ting came over to watch a movie with us one night, and Bam was so happy to have them that he ate half of their dinner while their backs were turned. (This actually did not go over very well with our guests--the poor guy was completely misunderstood, which only served to bond us together...)

We enjoyed good companionship, something we had plenty of during my unexpected snow day at home. While I worked on the couch, Bam slept peacefully snuggled by my side. Bam is, in fact, quite the snuggler (and a bit of a bed-hog as well, though you didn't hear it from me). Every night found him snuggled up next to me (or on me) as we settled in for sleep. (I pity the squirrel that Bam continuously chases in his dreams, much like I have pitied myself these past few nights for being close enough to him to know about it...), and every morning found him politely yawning in my face. Friendship doesn't get much better than that...

Tomorrow ends my quasi-vacation. I will pack up my things, eat my last peanut M&M, say good-bye to Bam, and return to my apartment to get ready for a return-to-reality week ahead. I feel ready to take on the world, after being given such unexpected rest, but how will I live without my new-found friend?

When the adults are away the kids will...

If you've ever wondered what happens when a child is left on her own for a brief moment, this little video from Kate's piano lesson yesterday might give you some (hysterical) insight into the question.

During this same piano lesson Kate told me I am "the best babysitter", a sentiment she has shared with me before (by saying "Lauren, can I tell you something? You are the best babysitter--[a pause as she thought about that for a second]--even better than God.")

(You can't make these things up...)

It is interesting that she shared her thoughts on my babysitting skills when I was playing the role of piano teacher, but I don't think we can blame her for getting things confused. Not only am I a pretty frequent babysitter and the piano teacher to both her and Sarah, I am also a good family friend. I wear many hats.

In fact, my invitation to Sarah's recent birthday party was addressed "To Lauren, my piano teacher and friend". (It is impressive that the post office found me...)

So, though it was a party intended for children, there I was with a front seat to the festivities.

They weren't just any festivities either--Sarah has recently become enamored with the Pioneer era, and so the party was lovingly dubbed "A Pioneer Party".

Hence, the bonnets (speaking of hats...).

I'm not sure who had more fun--Sarah and her friends or we "adults" (Heather in particular, who took this opportunity to pretend there was a cow in the backyard and that Ash was out farming the fields--when in reality, he was in the kitchen making the "Pioneer Pan Cakes" along with a side of salted pork while we ladies engaged in a small photo shoot...)When all was said and done, we had "churned" our own butter (from the milk of that cow residing out back), made pioneer journals out of paper and yarn, crafted these wooden spoon shaped pioneer puppets, and engaged in a series of puppet shows that probably reinforced stereotypes we'd be better off leaving behind (I'm thinking in particular of Heather's and my production of "How can I be beautiful so that I'll find a man out on these plains?"...I think the answer had something to do with churning some butter to put on our faces in order to retain our youthful glow....)

As I said, when the adults are away--

there's no telling what might happen.

But a Moment

There is a time for everything,

and a season for every activity under heaven:

a time to be born and a time to die,














a time to plant and a time to uproot,














a time to kill and a time to heal,










a time to tear down and a time to build,












a time to weep and a time to laugh,


a time to mourn and a time to dance,






a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them,



a time to embrace and a time to refrain,





a time to search and a time to give up,

a time to keep and a time to throw away,







a time to tear and a time to mend,










a time to be silent and a time to speak,









a time to love and a time to hate,


a time for war and a time for peace.








Life is but a moment,
full of mistakes and good intentions,
full of love and longing for what can never be.




His was a good moment.

Arthur Knyfd, Jr.

March 17, 1921-January 23, 2009

http://laurenkooistra.weebly.com/4/post/2009/01/to-dust-we-shall-return.html

Q & A

Q: When you give a kid a camera,

what do you get?

A: Too much fun

"I could die tomorrow....

...and that would be OK." ~Lauren KooistraYes, I really said this--numerous times actually--this past Saturday night. Before you get yourself all worked up, however, let me assure you that I am about to tell you why. Sit back, relax, get yourself a drink as I tell you the story of

"The First Weekend in January Lauren Lisa & Geoff Get Together and Hash Out Life, 2010"



Before we get started for real, you need to know that this is the third official January HOL (as we have come to lovingly refer to it). It has become an institution, and has spurred some spin offs (namely, the fall installment of HOL, annually held in State College Pennsylvania, and a spring version in New York City when the weather begins to change...). January HOL's began simply, but (to put it in Lisa's words) at a certain point grew legs and began to walk on their own. Hence, the reason I could die, and it would be ok. But--I get ahead of myself.

HOL's typically involve a low-key Friday evening, reminiscing the many hilarious and fun memories of our 10-year long friendship (things such as "the superfluous left nipple" that followed Lisa and I everywhere we went for a few years in a row [don't ask--it is too disturbing to think about more than once a year] and our curious experience with a boy who will not be named here because he is a google-able figure and I would rather not my little bloggy be found as a source of information about him...), drinking much good wine (probably more than we should), and eating decadent treats (probably more than we should). This year did not disappoint--we've got the routine down.

Saturday morning in the NYC/January HOL tradition typically involves L & G sleeping in while I read on the couch, and then brunch at Cafe Henri. Brunch at Cafe Henri is an excellent way to start any Saturday, but particularly a HOL Saturday--it is only a mere estimation of what is going to occur later in the day, and it fortifies us as we wait in eager anticipation of what is to come.





(Their food is beyond good, but it is the latte I long for whilst reading on the couch....)








Typically there is some sort of "girl-time" taken so that Geoff can get away from us and we can talk about our hair. This year's installment involved a movie (Leap Year: to paraphrase Lisa's words again, entirely predictable, and entirely lovely. Ah, escapism...)









Now, I am sure that you are thinking "Well, that all sounds very nice, but take on death? Isn't that a bit dramatic?". I am sure that you are thinking that, because--at this point in the story-- I would be thinking the same. You, however, are not being patient. Do not worry though, because here we go:

Before we get started for real, however, you need to know that when Lisa first moved to NYC she worked as a server (as in that nasty word "waitress") at a pretty fancy-shmancy restaurant in the city, working her way (while she was at it) into the hearts of her colleagues. This boded well for HOL when a particular colleague (as in, the chef) decided to own his own restaurant and also decided that when special guests (such as former colleagues) came to dine they would be SHOWERED (as in: the-completely-unordered-and-yet-completely-divine-items NEVER STOP ARRIVING) with food that is not really food but instead some sort of artistic masterpiece that you cannot even entertain the thought of wolfing down because your tongue refuses to hurry.





By the time we had gone through the rose champagne, the appetizers (both ordered and un), the main course (baby pig, monk fish with braised oxtail, and striped bass in truffle sauce), the wine, and the many small palette-pleasers in between, I found myself in tears at this man's generosity (I am not even kidding and no, I do not think it was the alcohol...) when not three but five desserts were brought to us and arrayed in splendor across our table. We didn't even have the presence of mind to take pictures (and we always take pictures) because we were having a transcendent experience (and--I don't know if you know this--transcendence cannot involve cameras. It is against the rules.) Even the tea was the best tea I have ever consumed.

I was so happy.



(I believe this was the point where the first "I could die tomorrow..." statement was uttered, in case you are keeping track...)

The transcendent dinner, however, took nearly three hours. This meant that we had to hot-foot it over to Dizzy's Club to make the 9.30 set of the Clayton Brothers. We didn't need to worry however--we made it in plenty of time, settled into our table, and ordered our drinks. (I only mention the drinks because Sangria is my Dizzy's Club drink of choice, and Sangria also is one of the things that makes me ridiculously happy.) (I feel the need to mention: Please do not think I drink like this on a regular basis--or that I even got all that inebriated--in case you were dialing my local intervention service...though I appreciate your concern, of course.)


As we waited for our drinks to arrive and the music to begin I literally sat there looking at the audience, feeling sorry for them because they had not experienced the dining experience we had had the privilege of. They had no idea that their night was nothing to die after. (Truly--sad.)

The sadness was short-lived however, as I drank in the music and drowned in the most beautifully compelling sound I have heard in a long time. (Here is the key to great musicianship as I realized it that night: Great musicianship involves taking the music where your audience expects it to go, and then going just a step beyond it so that they collapse-in-a-heap-on-the-floor out of sheer aesthetic surprise.) As I said--could die tomorrow.


We ended our night with gratitude for the unnecessary privileges our life has afforded us (as a privilege is just that--unnecessary, yet granted to us for some strange and providentially benevolent reason), for the gift of each other (as Geoff said, we've reached a place in our lives where very little hashing needs to occur and we can just settle into being together), and the warmth of much laughter ("Why aren't we doing that?!" [don't ask, it needs context]).

We have already decided that we should not even try to match the decadence that was involved in this grand edition of HOL, and so next year we're going to take in happy meals from McDonalds and sit around the stereo listening to Brittany Spears. Maybe we can build up from there.

The point is: I had a fabulous time with these dear friends, and was happy enough to say that I needed absolutely nothing more out of life: I could die tomorrow, and it would be ok. (You might be thinking the same thing, except in reference to the fact that you have encountered your lifetime's share of parenthetical information in this one posting.)

Thanks for reading!