Frohen Geburtstag, Franz Peter!

Two hundred and nine years ago today (at least it's today for the next few minutes), Franz Peter Schubert was born in Vienna. He was the only member of the so-called First Viennese School actually born there; Mozart, Haydn and Beethoven were all born elsewhere.

Schubert's musical output was vast, and one hesitates to go down the track of the what-ifs, but I can only imagine how much more he would have written if he hadn't died at age 31. Of course, he might also have "retired" at age 38, like Rossini, and spent the rest of his life writing trifles and living off his royalties. But alas, we'll never know!

So happy 209th, Franz, and thanks for all the beautiful music! I hope they play your Masses in heaven.

PISTOL-PACKIN' GRANNY

HT: The Rat. Thanks to Eve for linking to Ratty, a constant source of wry amusement.

The headline refers to this story about a woman who slew her ex-grandson-in-law. Now, I realize that this story happened in Califor-Nie-Ay, but are we sure Abuelita isn't southern? Down here, most of our womenfolk can clean and reassemble a gun, too.

I can't say I agree entirely with what she did, although it seems like a favor to society, but it's a shame she doesn't live in the South. Down here, "he needed killin'" is a valid legal defense!

When Dogs Attack . . .

. . . or, Why there's always more to the story.

It was a textbook dog-biting case: unneutered, ill-trained, charged-up dogs, with a history of aggression and an irresponsible owner, somehow get loose, and set upon a small child. The dogs had already passed through the animal bureaucracy of Ottawa, and the city could easily have prevented the second attack with the right kind of generalization—a generalization based not on breed but on the known and meaningful connection between dangerous dogs and negligent owners.

Go and read the whole thing. HT: Arts & Letters Daily.

A while back there was a thread on Amy's place about a woman who had stupidly left her 12-year-old son locked in the basement while she went to the grocery store. Unfortunately, the family pit bull, a dog they knew was dangerous, got loose and got into the basement, where it mauled her son to death.

Who's the real problem in that case? It sure isn't the dog. It's the STUPID mother who kept a dog she KNEW was dangerous around her kid, who should have been her first priority. She should have gotten rid of the dog. Instead, the dog got rid of her son.

LAWYERS GONE WILD

It's not very nice to make fun of this situation. In fact, let's be honest: it's not nice at all. Unfortunately for everyone, I can't resist.

The thing that gets me about this story is the reverent tone of their discussion of the nature of the establishment where the tragedy occurred. I'm sorry the fellow lost his life (lawyers can be dangerous), and he seems like a decent guy just trying to get by. I sympathize with his need to make a living, and I'm sure there are worse places one could work. For instance, Johannes Brahms had an early gig playing piano in some very seedy places. But in their coverage, you would think (except for the lead-in) that this business was like any other bar or restaurant. You can see the reporterette make puppy-dog eyes and adopt the mien of heartfelt TV mourning.

I note, however, that they didn't interview any of the club's (ahem) featured employees. I suppose that wouldn't have made good TV. After all, it's not a Fox affiliate!

Finally, if this fellow isn't strung out on drugs, I'll be extremely surprised. Talk about your lost weekends!

CHANT WORKSHOP CONTINUED

The Chant Workshop is coming up in Auburn in a couple of weeks. I printed out the booklets (one for chant, one for polyphony) and uncharacteristically for the world's laziest choir director, began looking them over. I don't want to show up unprepared (or even underprepared).

The more I look at it, the more excited I am about the possibilities. Now I just have to decide which part I'll sing -- bass, tenor or alto. A lot of choral groups today use male altos (or a mix of male and female altos). Just in case, I'll learn all the parts. I'm a choral director, so that should be my default setting anyway; and any choral director coming to this conference will probably do that as well, not just learn his own part.

The chant booklet is harder. Of course I learned to read Gregorian notation in music school, but I don't use it that often; it's obviously much easier to read modern notation. I can't keep the neumes straight -- who can really remember the difference between a proclivis and a podatus? Maybe if I had to read them more often, I would be able to remember. But a few paragraphs of the explanatory section in the Liber Usualis and I'm nodding off, or thinking about Rachmaninoff or something.

And how sad is it that in my 20-plus years as a Catholic musician I have never had to know how to read the neumes, except on my own initiative? If I hadn't gone to music school, I would never have had to learn that skill.

Unfortunately I have to attend an event at my church on Thursday the 23rd, so I'm going to have to leave for Auburn early on Friday morning. It's a drag, but that's all I can do now.

That reminds me . . . I need a hotel! Anybody know a good place to stay in Auburn?

Thank you…

…for all your prayers. Mrs. Yurodivi's mother has pulled through. Pneumonia, yes, but not yet death.

Thank you all again!

Dear Blogfriends:

Please say a prayer for Mrs. Yurodivi's mother, who is in the hospital in critical condition.

Sadly, she has been ill for a number of years, even though she is young; it is likely she will go to her eternal reward before sunrise. She received the sacrament of the anointing of the sick (the Lutheran version, anyway) not too long ago, so I believe she is prepared. I pray that God will provide grace in her suffering and bring her home to his fold.

There is a Jewish prayer that is said when someone has died: Blessed art thou, Lord, our God and God of our Fathers, the Just Judge. And I always think of the passage from Wisdom:

2:23-25 For God created man incorruptible, and to the image of his own likeness he made him. But by the envy of the devil, death came into the world: And they follow him that are of his side.
3:1-9 But the souls of the just are in the hand of God, and the torment of death shall not touch them. In the sight of the unwise they seemed to die: and their departure was taken for misery: And their going away from us, for utter destruction: but they are in peace. And though in the sight of men they suffered torments, their hope is full of immortality. Afflicted in few things, in many they shall be well rewarded: because God hath tried them, and found them worthy of himself. As gold in the furnace he hath proved them, and as a victim of a holocaust he hath received them, and in time there shall be respect had to them. The just shall shine, and shall run to and fro like sparks among the reeds. They shall judge nations, and rule over people, and their Lord shall reign for ever. They that trust in him, shall understand the truth: and they that are faithful in love shall rest in him: for grace and peace is to his elect.

That passage has been a mighty comfort to me in some pretty dark days over the years.

Mrs. Yurodivi has already been through a lot the last year or so, and this news is hard news; so please say a prayer for her and for her mother. This would be a good time to call on the Fourteen Holy Helpers.

Woo hoo!

Or, considering the subject matter, perhaps I should say e u o u a e.

Hat tip to Father Tucker.

Also attending: Gashwin Gomes. At least, he wants to go. I hope to see him there.

Any other bloggers attending?

Condolences

To Mark B, the owner of Luna. My friend, we have never met or even corresponded, but I sympathize, and I can only say that I hope to see my dogs again in heaven, and that helps motivate me to try to get there myself.

Eventually the pain diminishes, and you can talk about them without getting teary-eyed; but even if you get another dog, the pain never really goes away -- it just recedes into the distance of the back of your mind.

Hat tip to Jonah Goldberg, a true mensch of a dog owner, and the rescuer of a shelter animal.

Ex ore infantium

So yesterday, even though I was sick, we did some good music for church. The choir sang a renaissance Ave Maria at Preparation of the Gifts, and another song about Mary before Mass. At Communion I sang (as part of the World Day of Prayer for Peace aspect of the feast) the Charles Gounod setting of Tennyson's poem Ring Out, Wild Bells.

A friend was sitting in the congregation, and he said there was a little about four years old sitting in the pew in front of him. The boy had been squirming all through Mass, but when I started the solo, he seemed to be transfixed. After the last note had sounded, the little boy looked up at his mother and said, "That was beautiful!"

I always worry that operatic singing will scare children, because to many people it's a bit of an acquired taste. But maybe there's a budding Cacciaguida in my congregation.

As for the song, it's interesting that Gounod omits the fourth and sixth stanzas of the poem. He does a similar thing in his setting of The King of Love my Shepherd Is, whose text you can see here: he omits the penultimate verse, "Thou spread'st a table in my sight . . . " But Gounod was not a native speaker of English, although it seems likely he understood the language well. Anyway, I only dust off that song every few years, but it's perfect for the Mass on New Year's Day.

Bleccchhh.

I hate being sick. That's at least one reason I haven't been posting -- that, and I've been on vacation since a couple of days before Christmas. And now I have to go back to the office tomorrow, and probably still sick . . . oh well.

Master and Margarita

Story via Father Tharp, who says he doesn't know whether the film is a good sign or a bad one.

All I can say is that Bulgakov's personal story is a true inspiration to the power of the human spirit. And this novel is not exactly a "cult novel" -- I read it in a class at my out-of-the-way southern university twenty years ago. And it is a fascinating book. I highly recommend it to anyone who has a dark sense of humor, as I do.

In fact, I seem to remember writing a column that quoted from this novel: Manuscripts don't burn.