How My New Computer Went Together

Building the new computer:  The Big Day

Since everybody asked how it went, here's the story.


Monday, September 24, 2007


9:00  Gate open.  Kitchen table cleaned off.  Battery backup's been charging since yesterday.  Packages tracked. They are all on the magical brown truck, "out for delivery", but WHEN??? 

While I wait, I'm reading the instructions in Repairing and Upgrading, but apparently all the important instructions will be in the manuals that come with the parts. 


11:00  I went downstairs to do some laundry, and Dave did something Andrea didn't like, so Andrea took his baby away.  Andrea, Dave and Mike are all the parents of fine, healthy baby dolls, you see.  That's so cute, until it goes horribly wrong.  Dave didn't appreciate his child being kidnapped and took appropriate measures for its retrieval.  Mike came downstairs yelling for help, and I came up to find Dave and Andrea on opposite sides of a half-open bedroom door, each pulling on one end of a broom handle and screaming blue murder.  I broke it up, hauled Dave to the couch and gave him a lecture on the differences between humans and wild animals, and then a spanking.  I was just headed for Andrea, who didn't feel that ANY of this was her fault and was going to resist her share of the punishment, when the UPS truck drove up.  Oh, hello! 

My textbook arrived on the truck, too.  So that's good, I'm all set up.  Er... no, the setting up part's next!

12:00.  Parts spread all over table.  The case is absolutely beautiful!  The box the video card came in has gorgeous fantasy graphics with a sword and red lightning.  Mobo is out of box and I'm studying the book that came with it.  I am seriously intimidated.  I read where somebody said their first computer build took two days.  It would be nice to do it that way, with appropriate pauses for reflection, but I don't have two days. I gotta get all this stuff into the box right away to minimize possibility of damage by darlings. 

I've never seen the back of a motherboard up close before.  Wow.  That's all I can say, is wow.  That's something. Human beings did this?  And then we shipped the manufacturing techniques for it overseas? 

CPU is the first order of business.  I can't believe I have to touch these expensive, delicate parts with my clumsy human fingers. Better spit out my gum.  What a delight it is to do this all by myself!  Nobody here but me!  Oh, I say that now, before everything's gone all wrong and I have no clue what I'm supposed to do.  




2:00  Neither the HD nor DVD-R came with a SATA cable, and the motherboard only came with one.  Quick trip to town for another one!  No point standing there moaning about it, just hop in the truck and drive.  Computer shop charged me a dollar for a loose cable from a big box of them and I was back home in less than 40 minutes. 

4:00  Computer's together, except for the video card, which the computer guys advised me to put in after installing Win XP.  That's a good idea.  It's all ready, but I haven't turned it on yet!  I put the side of the case back on to protect the innards from the children, and I'm gonna make the enchiladas for dinner now and work on the computer more tonight or tomorrow. 

What a simply fabulous day!  I have to say that with all kinds of reservations as I have no clue if it's gonna work as planned when I give it power and push the button.  Today was extremely enjoyable, either way.  All the parts were so cool. The motherboard's booklet had all the instructions I needed for everything, and all in good English. This isn't the olden days of computers when things were cryptic and only geeks could do this. They've made it easy for the rest of us now.  







I was making progress on enchiladas until the boys came running in screaming.  Mike said Dave pushed him into a beehive. He still had a live bee in his clothing. I killed it, and discovered another.  He had five or six stings. Dave had a couple too, one just below his eye and one on his back. More live bees - flying around in the house!  We had to kill four of them and it felt like a scary movie for a moment there. Once the bees were dead, the poor little boys were panicking and wanting me to do something to help them NOW.  But there's not a lot you can do to make a bee sting go away.  It's just going to hurt for a while.  Ed said to put oregano on it, and I put only a tiny bit near Dave's eye and told him not to rub, but I guess the fumes got in his eyes and in just a few minutes he was screaming at the top of his lungs. That's not better! I threw the boys in the shower and then changed my clothes too, just because I was still freaked out about bees coming after me right there inside the house. 

Poor little darlings!  Ed came home and grabbed the can of hornet stuff and charged out there to spray the nest, even before he came in the house. Apparently he had known there was a hornet's nest by the chicken house and "had meant to spray them one evening".  So he felt guilty. 


I plopped Ed down on the couch with enchiladas and X-Files.  I said, "Is it okay if I sit down on the couch and watch the X-Files with you?" 
He said, "Yes." 
I said, "Well, then, is it okay if I spend an equivalent amount of time working on my--"
And he said "No." 

7:00  Okay, the BIOS seems to see everything, and Windows XP is formatting the drive. 

The boys aren't suffering very much from the bee stings.  That's a relief!  They haven't complained of pain.  I don't want to ask them and remind them of it, but Dave's got his shirt off and I can barely see the mark of the sting was on his back. 


9:00  The status bar on the format is stuck at 95%.  It's been sitting there at 95% for half an hour so far. What to do??  Should I assume it's a Microsoft product and just reboot?  How dismaying.  It's my beautiful new computer, I want it all to be perfect!  I guess I'll just go to bed and see if it's still on 95% tomorrow morning, and panic then. 

It says in the book that people tend to assume a piece of hardware is bad, when most of the time the problem is caused by conflicts. 



Midnight.  I got up and looked, and it's on 97% now.  Well, at least it's moving. 


3:00 in the morning.  GOOD news-- the hard drive is BAD.  That's okay, that's better than it being something else!  I'll have to run to Wal-mart in the morning to buy one.  It might cost a little more.  Or I could scrounge one?  The motherboard came with an IDE cable.  There's a 40 gb in the drawer here, but I think it probably has an old version of Windows on it.  Maybe I could start the Win XP installation from CD and format.  There's also an 8 gb in the kids' computer nobody's using, that's already blank. 

Walmart.com has a WD 160 gig hd for $65.  I'll have to call in the morning and see if they have it at the store.   That way it'll be all new and shiny for the new shiny computer. 


Tuesday, September 25, 2007


4:00  Why bother to go back to bed?  I went looking for motherboard specifications online, and noticed this is NOT a full-size ATX motherboard.  I thought it was a bit on the small side when I was handling it earlier!  How'd I manage that one?  What a ditz!  I guess I shopped so bloody much the numbers started blurring, and in pursuit of the details, I forgot the basics!  I definitely should have gotten a full size board with more room to work.  Oh well, all the full size boards had some bad reviews, and this one had all good reviews. It's here and installed, and seems to be working fine.  


6:00  I put that 40 gig from the drawer into this computer and formatted it, and put it into the new computer and it didn't recognize it.  Well, I tried! 

Phoned Wal-mart.  The 160 gig is $75 at the store, and they're not going to match the online price.  Ouch. 

Wait a second, the hard drive Wal-mart has is an IDE, same as the one I had here.  If the motherboard isn't recognizing this IDE drive, who says it's going to recognize that one?  Uh-oh.  There might not be any point running to Wal-mart.  The nearest and cheapest SATA drive is back at Circuit City for $80. 

I'm getting sleeeeeepyyyy...


7:00  Well, it wasn't recognizing the scrounged hard drive because I hadn't plugged the POWER into the hard drive.  What a dunce!  Duh! It's amazing how much better things work when they're plugged in.  I'm starting Win XP installation again and go to bed. 

7:30  Some gal just called, asked for Janel and then hung up.  Hm.  I really just wanted to come out here again and see how the status bar goes this time.  It's on 75% formatted right now. 


9:00  Took a shower while Windows installed.  Then blah blah screwing around with stupid computer multiple times, ending with, "Drive C is corrupted and cannot be repaired."  Not having good luck with hard disks, are we.  Well, Sis is coming today, I can ask her to stop by Circuit City on the way here and get me a hard drive. 


11:00  How are we improved from the last status report?  Not much, only reassured.  I phoned local computer guys to see if they had a hard drive, and they didn't, but he wanted to know why I thought the hard drive was bad, and said to bring the computer down and he'd check it for no charge. I might as well.  Maybe it's something simple that I've done wrong.  So I hauled the shiny black box in the truck and down to the shop.  They took the new WD away into the back and couldn't duplicate the error, but agreed it should be returned to Newegg.  They went paging through the BIOS which drove me crazy.  I kept wanting to know what they were doing and making sure they weren't changing anything without explaining it to me first.  They were going to send me home with the hard drive I'd taken out of the drawer, but I asked if we could get as far as I'd gotten before and see if it went any further.  XP started installing, and when it was done copying files, there was that message again about bad hard drive!  He said, "Hey, she's actually got TWO bad hard drives!" and they all stood around admiring my luck.  He went on Newegg and started shopping for a replacement.  This guy says he likes Seagate better than WD.  You gotta love these brand loyalties, right? 

The tech guy admired my power supply.  He said he liked the wires all wrapped up like that.  When I was going away he asked if I had the side, and I got it from the shelf where I'd put it and started to put it back on.  You know it's all black and glossy with this big blue plexiglass window.   He said, "Oooooh!" and I said, "Yeah oooooh!  Isn't it pretty?  And it was cheap!  Only forty bucks."  He said, "With that power supply?"  I said, "No, that was separate, but it was only thirty bucks.  I was worried it would be cheap, but..."  He said, "No. That's a nice, NICE power supply."  So I went away feeling all warm and geekly-approved-of. 

He didn't charge me anything this time, either.  He brought two office chairs out for the boys to sit on and watch the game show that was on their TV, and the boys not being used to TV, were hypnotized by the ladies winning things on the show.  It's The Price is Right, that same dumb show they used to play when I was young.  I'm surprised to find it's still playing after all these years.  One of the gals screamed, and the boss said, "With the same energy, too." 
I said, "Free money is worth screeching about." 
Later I saw one of the ladies reacting over the numbers 1000, the results being rather immodest in front of a lot of people, and I said, "But I wouldn't jump up and down for only a thousand dollars." 
One of the guys said, "It's cash." 
I said, "I don't know, I still wouldn't." 
He said, "But it's cash.  What would you do if somebody handed you a thousand dollars cash?" and he playacted handing me money.
I said, "There's no jumping." 


4:45.  I got too hungry this morning, got my blood sugar messed up and had to take a little nap, and while I was asleep, UPS dropped off Adobe CS3 at the door.

Sis left just a little bit ago.  They went by Circuit City and brought me the hard drive I asked for.  It's 250 gigs.  That's enormous!  And it's a nice Western Digital in a fancy box with an instruction booklet and everything: "plug in hard drive" 

So I've set Windows installing again while I scramble around to clean this place up, and we'll see how it goes THIS time.


6:00 dinner is leftovers of various types heated up in the oven.  Call it smorgasbord.  Win XP installed nicely.  That was an easy Win installation less customizable than 98, and is beautiful.  It's running light and fast.  Feel the power!  There's some serious horses under the hood.  THIS is where we would have been on Monday night but for the bad hard drive.  It feels like it's been three days!  I'm going to mess with the new Windows for a bit then open up again and install the modem and video, then start installing Adobe suite. 


Wednesday, September 26, 2007


Got up at like 3:30 in the morning and started messing with new computer.  I was mostly looking around Win XP and seeing what's different.  It's very idiot-proof at first and I don't like that.  I want all the options present for me to easily screw up.  I want the system files out where I can accidentally delete them. 

Installed video card, and the driver doesn't work.  Windows boots into safe mode and I uninstall it, and things become visible again.  Hm.  Installed driver again, black screen.  Tried downloading new driver from the website, but they've only got images of the install disk as zip files-- 500 megs later, I'd be here downloading until this time tomorrow!  Blah.  Down to the shop again? 

Gotta go to horse lessons today, for Dave and Karen both a lesson.  I don't know what boots Dave's going to wear.  Should we go try to buy boots??  Gotta go to post office, call Mom back with some information she wanted desperately last night, and other letters and phone calls... hm, what's for dinner?? 


Down to computer shop, where they're not too surprised to see me.  I got the hippie guy today but he was really nice too.  That video card has two outputs on the back which both look the same.  I didn't know if there was a difference, and the book didn't say, but I saw one picture that had a monitor only plugged into one of them, so that's the one I used.  Well, it's the wrong one!  Thanks a lot, book, for pointing these things out.  Then he downloaded a driver from the ATI website, which is who makes the basic chip inside.  HOW could I know these things??  

The shop owner said, "Is Windows happy now?"  What a great way of putting it.  Windows was happy with the video card, and he tested the modem for me quickly, so now all the hardware is in.  Now I just gotta go home and install CS3.  They think it will go just fine.  I can only hope, but I've sure read some nightmare stories about CS3 installations.  

Next, horse lessons.  Dave's horse lesson was the cutest thing ever.  That little guy perched up on that big animal--!  Dave got shy and quiet at the last moment and wanted to hang back, while Mike, who had said he didn't want a horse lesson, started crying because it couldn't be him. 

We went to Wal-mart, where my baby boys spotted some large F14s with sound effects that were only $20 each.  Dave had $20 at home and promised himself breathless that he'd pay it back.  But what about Mike?  Now Dave's getting a jet but Mike isn't?  We can't allow that.  So I'm buying Mike a jet and it wouldn't be fair to make Dave pay for his. WHY WHY WHY???  Why do I even let them get near the toy section?  How do I get into these things?  At least I got the defective hard drive mailed back.  Newegg sent a printable postage label. 


Ed turned on X-Files again.  This episode was about evil rituals and sacrifices, and witches are suspected, but Mulder makes a defense of modern witchcraft which has a deep love of nature and respect for all life, and "They would never do something like this!"  I have to say that episode goes over the line of caring what Ed thinks and into the place where I just turn it off and take the heat, luckily Ed was disgusted too and said he wasn't going to watch the X-Files any more. 


Thursday, September 27, 2007


The class started on Monday.  Today, I signed in from the new computer.  The new computer runs the internet really fast!  How nice to have a modem designed for the OS and have the proper driver for it.  This modem was only six bucks. 

I just started Adobe CS3 installing.  It's going to take 4 gigs to put everything on there.  We'll be installing for a while.  That's okay, I have a lot else to do. 


7:00  Hey, it's installed!  CS3 went in just like a breeze.  I came back to check on the status bar, and it was all done.  That was FAST!  It prompted me to activate, which went smoothly.  Photoshop's running, InDesign's running, and I'm DONE. 

Hey, I'm here!  I'm where I needed to get!  I can do my class now! 

One class at a time is going to be enough for now, really.  I've just got to sell things on Ebay like crazy to recover some money. 

I'm not going to TOUCH that computer, I mean, I'm not going to mess with it in the happy-go-lucky way I usually mess with computers.  No customizing.  No turning processes off.  No "cleaning up".  Not even any Firefox, IE is okay for now.  No games!  No installing anything!  I promise!



On Forcible Music Lessons

On Forcible Music Lessons

I wrote this in 2005, in response to a homeschooling discussion list on which some mothers were comparing ways to make their kids practice their violin. One mother said, "If she chose violin, and asked for lessons, be prepared to stop lessons and take away the violin if she will not be a good steward with the investment she asked you to make on your behalf. If the decision is, you need to practice 15 minutes a day, and she consistently refuses, or she refuses to do what the violin instructor says, you calmly follow through with the consequence of that action."

I have a strong opinion about this topic because of how much my own life was affected by it. I'm absolutely against any forcible music lessons. 

I define "forcible" as using any technique at Mother's disposal, including gentle reminders, nagging, making deals, threats, or anything else that has the desired effect of making the artist practice one minute longer than the artist naturally feels the need to.

Telling the artist you're going to take his instrument away if he doesn't practice is a threat. How would you feel if your husband told you he was going to take your sewing machine away because you weren't using it regularly enough? 

Everybody is born with a talent from God. My mother always said so.

My talent was piano. It showed before I could walk. They'd set my high chair in front of the piano and I would pick out notes, one at a time, playing the keys slowly and listening to the sounds. They tell me that the piano kept little baby me happy for hours.

I never remember wanting piano lessons or asking for them. It was my destiny, so naturally I must have lessons. Wasting a God-given talent is a sin, right?

I remember my first lesson. It was great fun, as a novelty. Another thing I liked as a child was codes and ciphers, and this was like that, only on the piano The idea of writing notes in a book in a pattern that represented music was a fun idea.

It got not-fun really fast. The playing went away, replaced by work. I had to play these same songs and finger exercises for 35 minutes every day, and then do a page in my workbook. I was relegated to the living room for that, while Mother would listen from the kitchen, and occasionally I'd hear the classic, "I don't hear anything!"

Sigh.

My teachers weren't bad people, they were just your standard, unimaginative church ladies giving lessons on the side to make some extra money. But the lessons were stressful for me no matter how kind the church lady tried to be. I didn't like being watched while playing. I was already angry with myself if I was anything less than perfect, and didn't appreciate my imperfection being pointed out. And that whole posture routine! Sit up, back straight! Fingers curved! Look at the music, don't look at the keyboard! It was hard to not look at the keyboard, but eventually they got that through my head, and I even got a little pride from mastering that "skill". I hated finger exercises, but gradually learned to do them with zero mental attention. Luckily it's easy to play Hanon and daydream at the same time. I hated having to memorize pieces whether I had initially loved them or not.

I complained about my lessons and tried to talk my mother into letting me quit. No luck. If I pushed it, I'd get that caring little heart-to-heart about how God gives us all a special talent and how it's our duty to use it, and a SHAME to neglect it. 

I asked if I could switch to flute. When I was taking piano lessons, the flute seemed as magical as the piano used to. I guess I innocently thought I might be given a flute and then left alone--? 

But, Mom ran that idea by the piano teacher who said (surprise) that what I was learning in piano was a basic groundwork that would serve me well all my life, and would transfer easily to flute later on. So I must keep taking piano lessons.

Life circumstances intervened when I was twelve. The folks moved to the woods where there was no piano teacher. I ran away from the piano in relief and didn't touch it at all for a year or two.

Gradually I was drawn back to it. Piano is my natural talent, after all. I pulled out my old books and tried to play, and it came easier than I expected. I was surprised I could still do it, and I was better at it than I remembered.

Once free from coercion, I played for hours. Being a little older then, I was amazed by how easy it was. Sightreading was really easy, so I'd just pick up a piano book and play my way through it. I was good enough to impress people. My mother told me and everybody else within earshot, all about my golden future as a rich and famous concert pianist. After hearing it enough times I accepted it, and assumed that's what I'd be when I grew up.

At that point the keyboard was a stranger to me. I could sightread music like I could sightread English, which was fun just like reading a novel. But I felt so trapped, playing others' music others' way, and of course falling short of perfection. I would beat myself up for my lack of perfection. I knew I didn't sound like the recordings. Even if I got every single note right, the musicality wasn't there. The inspiration was lacking. I felt like a robot, a drone. I didn't really understand music. I couldn't strike out on my own.

In my late teens piano lessons became possible again, and off I went. I had better teachers now, who tried to wring out some expression from me. I got assigned practice again, and hated it again, but I tried and tried, because in the back of my mind I was still somehow believing that piano was my destiny in life. Being a rich and famous concert pianist sounded cool, all except for the "playing piano in public" part.

The public part, I didn't like, but I didn't give it any analytic thought at the time. There are some outgoing, sharing types of people who make good performers, and some just don't. I never could have become a concert pianist because of my personality! I was always introverted and stubborn. I had no showmanship, no desire at all to perform for others. I didn't want to share. There was no problem with the fingers but a major problem with the attitude. When I played alone I enjoyed the music, but as soon as there was an audience, I could think of nothing else but the tense struggle to be perfect, and I'd be consumed by self-consciousness and anxiety until I got to the end.

What's more, I thought I was a failure! This had been my obvious destiny, right? Yet it wasn't happening. I had been given a gift, but I had turned out to be unworthy of it?

Okay, I'd go be a secretary and work in an office or something. Not that I liked that idea either, but Hanon had paid off in a side benefit; when I learned how to type, it was easily 100+ words a minute.

Actually I ended up getting married and having babies. Piano was entertainment, and consolation.

Pretty soon I didn't have the free time any more, and something had to go. I gave up piano. Unless you practice a couple hours a day your fingers turn to cardboard anyway. I had gotten a computer by that time, and computer projects are much more convenient for busy people because they can be saved and resumed later. A computer project isn't like a performance. It can be worked on in private, in quiet, and brought to finished completion before anybody has to see it.

I went on playing hymns just because I love them and they're very easy. But if I played at church, even that "easy" music in public would turn me into a quivering ball of stress. I felt that nervousness, the need to perform well, the anxiety because of all those eyes on me. Everybody at church gushed about how good I was, but I'd always feel ashamed and brush it off. They didn't know any better; I knew I was really no good at all.

Life went on. After ten years, I basically lost all my skill and couldn't play piano if I tried.

I had always wanted to play by ear. When I was little I wished I could play like my mother. She could only play tunes in two different keys, with simple repeated patterns, but at least what she was doing looked like FUN. She had learned to play as a teenager, when her friend spent an afternoon showing her how to do it, and she took it from there. She hadn't wanted me to learn piano that way and wouldn't teach me. She said real lessons were better.

As a middle-aged mother who couldn't play piano any more, I used to sometimes think about it when I was falling asleep. I'd dream of going to the piano and just playing the keys randomly, in freedom, to see what it would sound like, to see if I could learn to associate the keys with the sounds. The more I thought about that, the more I wanted to do it. I didn't know where to start. I was afraid to go to that alien keyboard (which I hadn't been allowed to look directly at since I was a small child) and go ahead and sound stupid, like a beginner again. I didn't know if the idea would even work out.

It was last year that I read something very interesting: "Unless you are one of those very rare people who can play completely by ear, some knowledge of music theory is necessary in order to be liberated from having to read all the notes of a piano score."

I studied some books on theory.

The hireling piano teachers had shoved theory at me long ago, and I had dutifully filled in the worksheets so I could get everybody off my back, but I had been too young to understand why it was important and none of it stuck.

Stanley Kubrick said, "Interest can produce learning on a scale compared to fear as a nuclear explosion to a firecracker." That happened for me.

I heard someone talking about her child: "My ds7 plays his own inner music on the piano so beautifully, which is funny partly because he usually looks like a dirty pirate and partly because he's never had a lesson. But the sounds he brings out of the piano are exquisite."

I saved that quote. If her dirty little pirate can do it, maybe I, with my God-given talent, might someday do it too?

It was hard to go back and be a total beginner again, but one fine day I couldn't resist any longer. At age thirty-five, there I was, sitting in front of the piano pressing the keys slowly and listening to the sounds.

FINALLY I was back to where I'd been when I was a baby in a high chair!

Yes, I sounded stupid at first, but it didn't last that long. A few notes turned into a tune, and the left hand did something simple, and some notes sounded bad, but some others came together. I played them again, and they sounded nice. Pretty soon it was music.

Sure, it was very beginner level, but, unlike my teenage renditions of Chopin and Brahms, it was REAL. It was genuine. It had my true feelings in it. Suddenly, I wasn't faking it! I wasn't a drone! I wasn't desperately trying to live up to someone else's expectations.

I was using the piano to say what's inside me.

To do it brings such joy as I can hardly express. There actually is some music in my soul, and I'm finally sharing it. It's like learning to speak after a lifetime of being mute.

Now, why couldn't I have gone right on from the high chair to here? What went wrong between?

When I was young, I loved Barbie dolls. I played with Barbies a lot, but it wasn't every day for at least a half hour, doing the same things over and over until I got all the motions right. If I had been forced to do that with Barbie, I would have hated her.

What if I had been allowed to play with the piano like I played with my other toys? When I liked, how I liked. Maybe I could have retained my love of piano until I was sixteen years old. Maybe at that age, being in love with music and wild to learn, I would have engaged a piano teacher on my own volition and at sixteen I would have been the performing sensation my mother so badly wanted me to be.

Well, I don't know: I'm really not the performing type, I'm not just not. Mom always got a huge kick out of having me play in public. She basked in the admiration and compliments of others. She would have been surprised and disappointed if she had known that I didn't enjoy a single word of those compliments because I thought people were just saying what they had to say to be polite. Mom's a performer. She taught the children's choir at church. She organized special music. She's a people person, a go-getter. The famous pianists that you read about are all showoffs. I used to assume that my personality was wrong for my gift. It must not have been the right gift for me, or it had been bungled somehow.

Does God give us gifts? Are we each born with at least one? And does God make mistakes? Does he match up talents with personalities that aren't suitable for them?

Well, here's another thought. What if my gift had been not for performing, but for composition? Composers sit alone and play music and write it on paper and then give it to the pianists. I hear tunes in my head, and whistle them a while, think about their variations and what would go well with them, and make up a harmony. I just hear the whole thing. I go to the piano and work it out, and write it all down. It takes ten minutes and it's an act of pure creativity that feels wonderful. When it's over, I sit there holding the finished product and feel warm and satisfied.

When I was young, I used to make up songs sometimes, but very rarely, because the stress of memorizing and practicing and performing took up all my piano-energy, and after being forced to practice, I only wanted to run away from the piano first chance I got. I have a few artifacts still in childish handwriting of songs that I made up.

So, what if the gift I was given was something to help me come out of my shell? I don't easily connect to other people. What if God gave me music as a form of expression that would have helped me share part of myself with others?

I rather think it is. But God doesn't make mistakes and the gift is still there. I haven't missed it because youth isn't all there is. Maybe I can open that gift when I am a old woman. Maybe I'll teach my grandchildren. Maybe I'll write original music and young people can perform it.

The other day I went to the piano and played dissonance on purpose, with my eyes on the keyboard, one foot up on the bench, a slouch that would have made all my teachers scream, and my fingers perfectly flat. It sounded horrible, but it was what I had to say, how I had to say it. I was speaking the truth in love, and learned something. Once the rebellion was out of my system I made up a pleasant little ditty. I liked it, so I played it again. My daughter came running out of her bedroom and said, "What was that? What's that song? That was so cool! Do it again! Can you show me how to do that?" Well, of course I can; it was just C major plus some staccato, basically. I went away and did housework, and listened to my daughter playing my song over and over.

The daughter's thing is singing. Last year she joined the Sweet Adelines. They gave her some music to practice, and she brought it home and didn't practice. I asked her if she was aware that she needed to learn those songs by next week, and she was. I didn't hear any practicing. I was just on the brink of urging her to practice, "I don't hear anything!" Until I remembered the consequences. If I don't make her practice, she might fail at Sweet Adelines. If she fails, that's not the end of the world and not my problem. But if I make her practice this week, I'll have to make her practice next week, and the week after that. So I shut up about it.

The morning we were supposed to go to the next Sweet Adeline meeting she panicked and freaked out because she didn't know any of the songs! She practiced for several hours straight and then sang in the car all the way there. The next week she practiced in a more timely fashion, and the week after that. She ended up succeeding at Sweet Adelines and had a couple public performances in spangles, and enjoyed herself immensely. She quit because she didn't really fit in with the older ladies and barbershop music wasn't turning her on, which are healthy reasons to quit.

She wants to sing, and I'm sure she'll find a groove to sing in. She's a born showoff. If there's an audience, my daughter is performing for it, in one way or another. If she can get them to laugh at her, she's high as a kite. She'll be as goofy or dramatic as the occasion requires. Right now she wants to learn some nostalgic solos and go perform for the old folks in the nursing home, who are lonely and need to be entertained. She's picked some music out and wants me to accompany her... although that idea makes me freeze solid with anxiety.

Here's another question about these natural talents. There's a saying, "Follow the love, and the money will come," meaning that you should do what you enjoy in life because enthusiasm will get you farther than drudgery. So, if we are given a natural talent, and it's developed by force to become a source of misery instead of joy, is it any good to us? Wouldn't it be better not to have a talent, but to end up doing something that we may be mediocre at yet still enjoy doing?

I know my Mom did what she thought was right. She was trying to provide for my future. She was trying to follow what she thought was God's will. Unfortunately she thought that one has to "raise" children by pressing hard fingerprints into them all the time, or else they'll remain shapeless lumps of clay forever.

And I'm afraid her pride was involved. She was very proud of me. Having a child who can play Beethoven for your friends means you've ARRIVED, right?

Well, here is my opinion: If a mother thinks that learning music is important, worth worrying about, making deals about, manipulating a schedule to make time for, then I think she ought to use that ONE single 70-year lifespan that is HERS, and by all means, learn music with it.