The Teaching Process --

Racing Hoodwinks–

Now and again I find myself telling a beginning piano student (whose hands get "tangled" when they play close together on the keyboard) about my old car, Sugar Bun. Sugar Bun was a 1964 Chevelle, with a marvelous 283 engine. She was an oxidized metallic gold color and had such a personality. Well, not too many people know about my "racy" side. No, I don’t mean sexually racy ... I mean literally racy. I love to race other cars when I’m driving. I'm usually able to subdue the urge (in times past I didn’t subdue it), yet even with my efforts at restraint, occasionally just the right vehicle pulls up alongside and I just know I want to leave him in the dust. Well, with Sugar Bun, when I would get in that mode, she would respond by having her front end actually rise up, "vroooom!", she would say (she had a big engine for her light weight) and, very literally, would leave my (by then engaged) opponent "in the dust". Oh, Sugar Bun, you were a great car. Anyway, she had this quirk (a short-circuit, actually) and would start her windshield wipers even with the engine turned off and the key out of the ignition. The wipers would then get tangled together (they were the old-fashioned type that each turned in toward each other); the little motor that powered the wipers would make whirring, growling sounds. I would need to put something on my hands to protect them and then manually pull the wipers apart and untangle them; they would only stop when they were ready to. They appeared to either be having a fight or making out. I mean, you couldn’t look at them while they were doing this without laughing. I’m laughing now at the memory of it. So I tell the piano student about Sugar Bun’s windshield wipers (just the tangling part) and the student, invariably, smiles and relaxes enough to overcome tangled-hand syndrome.

Pure Gold --

Last month I took a gold jewelry item that had been generously returned to me, at my request, by a beloved family member ... (years ago I would give things away prematurely when I’d get depressed...though I’d definitely had it designated for her, in my mind) ... to a gold exchange. The possibility of selling it if it was worth a bundle did occur to me. The particular gold exchange I visited is more honest and forth-coming than most and was featured on the Internet after a media secret-shopper visited there and then wrote a nice story about it. You may have noticed the huge number of places trying to lure people in to sell their gold jewelry, to be melted down.

Well, I went into the gold exchange (melting) store knowing I would not sell my bracelet because, while seeing and holding it again, I sort of relived the circumstances I’d experienced during the time I acquired it. It is a cherished charm bracelet that has charms which represent me, who I am, and the things I love: a grand piano, a microphone, an artist’s palette, a dog, a car, a typewriter, and a pistol and target board (I used to be a really good marksman). At the time I’d bought the bracelet, I worked a day-job in New Haven (CT) and would, daily, walk past Michael’s Jewelers (I wonder if the store is still there...it was a nice one). I was going through a horrific time trying to rid myself of a diabolical, very nasty husband who was equally determined that I should not be set free. I wanted something pretty and of tangible value, to bolster my ego. So I went into Michael's and selected a gold link bracelet and my first charm (the artist’s palette, which was encrusted with tiny multi-colored stones). The clerk was a very gracious lady. I took my cash down payment out of my pocketbook and expected to open a charge account on which I’d pay each week (at that time, stores each ran their own credit departments...there was no MasterCard, Discover, or Visa). The Michael's clerk said "I’m sooooo sorry; we can’t open charge accounts for women, only for men . I was incredulous! (That's right, ladies ... it really isn't that long ago that women were treated that way; I remember that years later, in 1987, the local bank in Knoxville told me they didn't issue credit cards to women, not even to employed women like me). That was an aside, but a relevant one. So the Michael's clerk told me she really wished the policy wasn’t like that, but the only way I could buy the bracelet was to put it on layaway..I really wanted it – so each week I would go into the store and pay on the bracelet (which I was not allowed to visit) and on the grand day when I was able to pay the complete balance, I proudly walked out of the store wearing the bracelet. In the following weeks, I added the other charms, one by one.

So you can imagine how poignant a moment it was when I got the bracelet back and actually held it in my hands and put it on my wrist again. I was urged to find out what it "is worth", for the sake of knowledge. So that's what brought me to the gold exchange store. The store owner seemed genuinely relieved when, after she'd told me what she’d pay me for it, I said that I am not selling it. Further, she somewhat excitedly told me that I should go home and "hide it"! "Hide it" she repeated several times with emphasis, adding that several people had told her that their items had been stolen shortly after having visited her store. Well, talk about mental red flags. I pictured some enterprising thief or a team of thieves, sitting across the street and writing down vehicle marker numbers, later looking up the owners’ addresses, and putting those addresses on the "to-do" list ... you know, "robbery agenda".

Two days later, I found two gray brick markers, one placed on either side of my driveway where the driveway and street merge. Uh huh. I reported my experience and theory to an officer in the local detective department.

I also promptly boxed up the jewelry item and mailed it back to the wonderful person on the other side of the country, to whom I’d previously given it. May she enjoy it for many, many years. I feel good about that.

Haiti –

Please send whatever financial assistance you can to help the stricken people and animals (please don’t forget the animals....dogs, cats, livestock) in Haiti. When donating for people, my suggestion is to choose an organization that doesn’t pay its executive director a huge salary...choose one that will give most of your dollar to the cause and the suffering people. For animals, I chose WSPA (World Society for the Protection of Animals) which has a special fund created for the Haitian animals. Their U.S. office is in Boston, MA; the address is on their website and I’ve got it right here too, so I’ll type it in: WSPA - USA, Lincoln Plaza, 89 South Street, Suite 201, Boston, MA 02111. You can also donate online, of course.

(Don’t) Let It Snow!

When I was a tot, there was a song entitled "Let It Snow", whose first block of lyric goes "Oh, the weather outside is frightful, but the fire is so delightful, Since we’ve no place to go, Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow". My mother liked for me to sing this song during the long winter months and frequently I performed it on radio, TV, and stage in those days. Invariably, the weather would comply and it would snow, sometimes delivering a huge bunch of the stuff. After a while, it became a bit of trivia that people either joked or complained about. Sort of like when, in recent years, it would begin to rain on my outdoor gigs when I’d do "The Sky Is Crying" :)

Well, getting back to snow, a very long time ago I did a snowflake analysis of sorts. I determined that there are three kinds of snowflakes (this has nothing to do with the saying/fact that "no two snowflakes are alike"). Yes, three kinds or groups of snowflakes. First, we have the "scouts", who do a kind of reconnaissance thing, scoping out the situation and maintaining mental (or maybe it’s emotional) contact with humans. They are medium-sized flakes that tumble down in what weather forecasters refer to as snow showers or flurries. Then, there are the large, wet flakes that have an aura of innocence about them. Truly, they mean no harm and I’ve always thought of them as "friendly flakes". They gently land on our noses and are fun flakes. The third group are definitely the ones that mean business. They are small, driving, stinging, purposeful, aggressive, and .... mean! I’ve always thought of them as "the mean, little devils". And they are the ones that mass together and pool their efforts to clog roadways and build into drifts that need to be laboriously shoveled off of everything.

This post may make you swear off reading my blog ever again :) I hope not. Rather, next time it snows, see if you find yourself looking at snowflakes in a different light.

2012 --

Jesse Ventura was on Tru TV recently. His presentation (including interviews and lots of video) reported about underground condos built under a major airport identified as Denver Airport. These elaborate protective "bunkers" are being constructed to accommodate the very wealthy and choice government figures as the year 2012 approaches. The idea, the program says, is to enable the underground condo occupants to survive Earth’s catastrophic fire storms and continent-consuming tidal waves, while the rest of us (people, animals, and plant life) perish. I don’t like that plan at all. A friend of mine, commenting on the various scary 2012 scenarios being presented, said "Well, my only spin on it is that if something dramatic does occur then, why does it have to be negative? Perhaps it would be something more wonderful than we even comprehended. All I hear is end of the world scenarios. Well, maybe it is, but maybe (that means) the end of the world as we know it, which in our short history hasn't been very pretty in so many ways. Just a thought :) ". Thank you, Sandy, I certainly agree a major improvement in life as we know it would be very nice.

Rock Slide --

Well, it’s been three months now since the rockslide closed I-40 at the North Carolina/Tennessee border. I haven’t seen Shara in that length of time because she needs to use that route to come and visit. The DOT estimates that the cleanup, repair, and preventive (against future slides) work will run through March, maybe into April. The rockslide certainly has changed things for a lot of people and businesses along the route.

Treadmill --

My treadmill has been moved from the basement (icky-yucky) to my bedroom (wowie-zowie) and now I can and do use it every day. Feeling better and better. No excuse now to not feel and look streamlined :)

Daylight Is Lengthening ...

The light is returning, with a little more each day, as we "march" toward the Vernal Equinox. I know Winter is probably not through with us yet, but we are definitely on the road toward Spring and I will, again, (attempt to) put my song Spring Is In The Air on my website. I need to get some Dreamweaver software so I can make updates to the site.

Pix To Come --

I plan to put a few more pictures up soon. Also :) I'm working on a cartoon sketch that shows a teacher with a pitcher full of knowledge (in this case musical notes), standing next to a seated student who has removed the lid of his/her head so that the teacher, standing alongside, can pour the stuff of knowledge from the pitcher into the head :)

Just kidding...that isn't the way the process goes. But I've pictured that sketch in my mind so many times.

2010 –

May this New Year bring blessings, progress, fruition, comfort, joy, light, love, and ... above all ... peace – to you, to me, to all!

The Post Holiday Gamut Of ...

... Energies and the lack thereof. High-energy house cleaning, house clearing struck at my address on December 26th, when, in a whoop-dee-doo whirlwind of activity, I put away all the holiday stuff and put the furniture back where it is for the eleven other months of the year. Then, on December 27th, the doldrums settled in for most of the day; the weather had something to do with it, too. That same day, I went to Kroger’s. Clearly, no one wanted to be at Kroger’s, including the manager who stood and stared blankly straight ahead, while the only two cashiers dealt with long lines of customers waiting to check out carts full of groceries; fortunately, the customers all seemed to be patient, almost like they were half-asleep. A girl who was about ten years old and wearing tweety-bird pajamas with booty slippers was with her mom, who was also attired in pajamas and slippers. Maybe we all need a tweety-bird day occasionally. Music practice and recording were the main items on my December 28th agenda; that evening, I successfully recorded my two newest songs, "Today" and "Smile Your Smile" at Sandy’s studio.

From the 29th on, the temperatures here have gotten so cold, it feels like my eyes freeze when I'm outdoors. Upon starting Harley (my van) on one of these mornings, I remember saying "Good morning, Harley. As a being made out of flesh, blood, bone, and nerve endings, I can imagine it must be hard for you, too – a being made out of steel, plastic, leather, and assorted electronic and mechanical components – to start up and actually move on a cold morning such as this." When I start up Harley on a cold morning, he utters a musical, high-pitched "whooo" or maybe it’s "whew". Anyway, I certainly agree :)

On Wings Of Thought –

I need to write whenever the passion stirs and I’m very vulnerable when it comes to nostalgia. The year-end introspection brought back many memories, some of which were very happy and others that were agonizingly sad. I try to honor all of them. And to that I will add here because I feel that I must: "To my old Estey upright piano" (my ever-faithful childhood and teenage companion, who was later ‘dismantled’ by a cruel ex), "God Bless You – wherever your splinters now lie".

January 1 Blues –

Dixie Lee is not feeling well. I won’t get into the particulars of her ills because I don’t want to embarrass her. I’ll be taking her to the vet on the first day he returns to the office, probably Tuesday. Meanwhile, I’m hand-feeding her foods that she likes and that I know will be gentle in terms of digestibility. I’ve had dogs whom I truly loved in the past. Some of them came to me under poignant circumstances (as did Dixie – please read her link on my website at www.claralandau.com). Dixie is special, though, beyond a degree for which I can find the proper words. She is, at once, ultra sensitive, super intelligent, intuitive, and loving; she is also very big in physical size and, when she sits in the passenger side of my van (in her seat belt, of course!), it feels like she’s taller than me. In truth, she’s the "sister" I never had. Yes, I am her caregiver and her "mommy" – but at a spiritual level, she is my peer.

"Tonight" – (written 1/1/10 evening)

Tonight, after a day of turmoil and decision-making, I sat at the dining room table, sipping Kendall-Jackson chardonnay from my lovely, emerald green wine glass, the glass that I bought a couple of years ago at Good Will, for 25¢. It is one of many treasures I have found there.

My Health Returneth ...

Thank goodness for those "light bulbs" that turn on (or even flicker) in the intuitive part of our brains. I intuited that my flu-ish health of recent months was maybe tooth-related. The culprit/victim was a tooth upon which an inept dentist had performed a root canal ten years ago. I have had it re-done by a specialist who worked an intensive 1-1/2 hours on it. No pain afterward and no health issues since. Success!

Bye, bye Gazelle Flu.

The Power Of Pink –

During my years of study leading up to my holistic science Ph.D., one of my favorite fields for research was that of matching, comparing, observing, and "doing the math" on colors and musical tones relevant to the moods they foster and the vibes they emit. In fact, with the concept of healing in mind, I wrote a booklet that delves quite deeply into the subject. If you are interested in having a copy, please let me know.

Well, that was my way of prefacing what I’d like to reveal about my love of the color pink. Pink is not actually my "favorite" color, my main favorites being maroon and dark green (think of an Italian flag of maroon, green, and white, though I’m not of Italian extraction). I actually enjoy all colors. But pink has a delicate, flattering, blush-of-the-rose appeal to it. The color also has the therapeutic power to calm aggressive individuals. Its deeper, rosy shades are said to be romanticly seductive (think of valentine cards and Victoria’s Secret). Whatever the reason, in my softest self-care moments, I like to wrap myself up in pink and off-white and mossy green.

New Project –

I’m planning a huge project that will begin this month and end ...... whenever. It involves making sheet music for (almost all of) my original songs. As an artist, as well as respecter of the big picture, I want my music to live on via CD and sheet music long after I’m gone. The CDs are available and I’ve added my two newest songs "Today" and "Smile Your Smile" to CD, as well. Sheet music is needed, though, as there are many musicians who rely on notated music in order to play songs (rather than learning by listening to a CD). So I’m about to get a midi interface, hook Yamaha up to one of my computers, and put to use my music notation software.

Collectibles –

As some of you know, I’m a collector of lighthouses and all things wolf – calendars, sculpture, pictures, books. Probably fewer people know I also have a small collection (ever willing to grow) of toy and/or model snakes. I’m very fascinated by live snakes whose existence, incidentally, has been made quite difficult by biblical bad press. I do believe there is inherent value and divinity in every creature of our earth family. This evening, Jerry presented me with two additions to my model snake colony :)

Is There Anybody Out There Who Isn’t Currently Or Hasn’t Recently Been — Sick?

I’ve lost count of the weeks now, of wavering in and out of some kind of warped assortment of flu, hot & cold waves, asthma, recovery, and repeat of the procession just named all over again. Friends of mine are telling me they have or have had the swine flu, or the H1N1 flu (that does sound better!). Nobody claims to have the seasonal flu, as reports say that hasn’t started yet!

Well, I don’t know what kind of flu I had (and at some moments seem to have again) and it was never really diagnosed (the doctor seemed befuddled), so I’m declaring that my strain of flu was/is the "gazelle flu". I’d like my flu to be named after a graceful, attractive creature (that way, maybe I can feel sick and seductively attractive at the same time!) . Yes, I’m desperately trying to find a "positive" attribute someplace in this flu misadventure,

Scandalous!

Two family members have, laughingly (but they meant it), said that I should write about this on my blog. No matter that it happened about five or six years ago. As I type, I’m trying to think of what I can entitle this post, without causing undue alarm (in a comedic way)! If anybody has a title they’d like to suggest to replace/enhance whatever title I come up with it, please send your thoughts along to me in a comment :)

Well, on the sunny summer day of this adventure, I had set aside several hours and left the house (I lived in West Knoxville at the time) with my detailed itinerary packed in my cream-color shoulder tote bag that has a beautiful pink rose design all over it. The purpose of my drive downtown that particular day was one for which I’d had to psyche myself. I was to pound the pavement visiting venues. There were quite a lot of venues with the potential I wanted. This was one day of many during the years that I had a band. And it was my job to look for gigs for the band. A personal visit was/still is always better than a phone call. I’d taken my hair out of its braids and combed it down nicely. I don’t remember what I was wearing, but whatever it was, it had been chosen with care. And into my rose-covered shoulder tote bag, I loaded demo CDs and a stack of cards and printed promo material. I chose a centrally-located (for the stops I planned to make) parking lot, parked Lance -- my truck, put a gazillion quarters in the little coin box and went to my first and second venues and talked with the general managers. I remember I felt kind of jaunty, so I guess my conversations with them were good ones.

Anyway, I was crossing one of the busy intersections and had reached the middle of the street. Suddenly, a long, majorly deluxe-looking, fancy car (sorry, I only know names of vans and trucks – not cars) rounded the corner. And it stopped abruptly, a few feet in front of me. The driver had his window rolled down and he was very lavishly and impeccably groomed ... and dressed in a dark navy blue suit, white shirt, tie .... I mean, to the 9's. Picture this. Yes, you are about to discover how naive I was. But I shouldn’t tell you that yet. He very politely said: "Can you tell me how to get to South Knoxville"? In an instant, I felt amazed (as my familiarity with city streets was woefully limited), that I actually happened to know the couple of turns it would take for him to be on the road leading to the area known as south Knoxville, and I took a step forward so he could better hear my voice over the traffic. Gesturing, I told him the two turns he needed to make "and that will take you to south Knoxville", I exclaimed.

During the few seconds it took for me to utter these two sentences (and he appeared to be stalling as if he didn’t understand what I’d said), an immense red-flag vibe loudly bonged in my head and, directly on the bong’s heels, two or more swirling vehicles zoomed into my peripheral vision and then stopped, attempting to block my passage across the street. Yup. It was a prostitution sting. See, I didn’t know at that time, that the ladies of that career always carry shoulder tote bags or backpacks, although I highly doubt their tote bags contain CDs. But the stinging gentlemen didn’t know I had CDs in my tote bag :) I could sense I was seconds away from being grabbed and nabbed, so I decided to just innocently continue on my way and see how the police would play it out. I’m not sure if this was on the advice of the little angel sitting on one of my shoulders or of the little guy with the pitchfork perched on my other shoulder (you know how some cartoons have those two entities giving the person advice?).

Energies were palpable. Eyes were on me ... and I made sure not one step faltered, as I walked the block or so to my truck. Once inside my vehicle, I decided to forget the rest of the venues for that day and just go home.

To this day, when I think of that experience, I like to imagine whipping my CDs out of that shoulder tote bag, to the chagrin (maybe?) of the stinging officers.

Now I need to come up with a title for the post :)