Kristen Lawrence: Bloggy Monster

Hey! I just thought of a competition for the Halloween Olympics! The Decapithon! I think only zombies and skeletons could compete. So don’t sign up unless you are one of those. And no, being tired or not eating enough doesn’t count.

I almost qualified as a zombie these past two weeks. Well, kind of a cowgirl-zombie-thing. I’ll explain. It starts with a “HEE-YAW!!!” That’s the sound of my trying to make my pipe organ software work for me. I have been a metaphorical whip-wielder.

See, authentic pipe organ sounds are not the most demanded digital samples in the world. Strings, yes. Drums, yes. Even non-pipe organ sounds like Hammonds, yes. But no, not so much demand for true-form cathedral pipe organ sounds. More programs are appearing (thank goodness) with options to pull each stop separately, as an organist would while sitting at a console (not just pre-programmed combinations of stops). I bought a promising company’s pipe organ software last year, but it is still not available as a plug-in for Logic or Pro Tools. So, I’ve had to be a creative wrangler to get this RAM-sucking software to work for me. H’yawwwwwww!!!!!!! But, oh, how it has exhausted me. Rrrrrrrrrrrrr. (That’s a zombie sound.) (And it doesn’t help that my cat, Molly Macabre the Halloween Cat, wakes me up before 6 every morning, demanding both her wet food and to be let out.)

I’m grateful to my engineer, Gaynor Brunson, for helping me figure out this software last year. And to my friend Tracy Taylor for helping me get it going again for this year. These last two weeks I’ve been recording organ audio tracks at Tracy’s, using his big desktop to run the organ software and my laptop as the MIDI controller. Quick tech lesson: MIDI stands for Musical Instrument Digital Interface and can be thought of like the little knobs in a music box. The knobs are created to strum in just the right sequence. They will strum whatever set of chimes is placed against them. MIDI makes those little knobs in digitized form. And they will play whatever digital sounds are run through them. For those of whom I’m fooling, I am not the most computer-savvy catwoman out there. I am finding, however, that when computer things go wrong, I learn computer workings better and better.

So, it’s fun to get smarter and smarter with computers, because a lot of things have gone wrong. MIDI is old technology and I’m baffled that it still has bugs. It gets stuck … a lot … and I have to hit “stop” and “record” in quick succession more than I’d like to. Also, because this organ software is relatively primitive for my recording needs, I’ve had to do a lot of experimenting and back-and-forths with recording audio tracks on my own and dumping them into Gaynor’s Pro Tools. But I’ll wrap up this paragraph by saying, All Hail the Flash Drive!!!

I’m sorry to shatter the illusion for anyone who thought that I record in a cathedral. I would, indeed, love to do this. Maybe someday I will, if I have the money for such a feat of mic-ing. What is great about recording pipe organ through MIDI, though, is that I can be a total control freak about the sound, and produce it more like a rock CD (classical organ CDs tend to sound distant; I like it a little more in-your-face). One foot in the classical world. One foot in the rock world. One hand in the folk world. One hand in the cookie jar.

The software I own was recorded dry (right up against each pipe with no hall sound), so when I work with Gaynor, we can control how much reverb to slap on. I also love to watch how he does EQ. He’s so good with all of those “tweaky” things. I call his studio “Gaynor’s School of Rock” because I learn so much as I sit next to him at the controls, day after day, observing and asking questions. He’s so kind and patient to explain things to me. Now and then he lets me take over the controls to try it out. I record on my own through Logic on my laptop, but my use of it is light and limited, so to sit next to an expert at work on a humungous system is so enlightening. I’m a control freak with every detail of my music, so it’s nice to receive this training day by day so my control freak-ism can deepen. Yes! Plus, Gaynor’s hair is long and curly. How can one not feel in good hands with a long-haired music dude? Ok, ok, there are plenty of long-haired fakes out there, but Gaynor is the real thing, so his hair only helps his case.

What I’d like to know is … how was Davy Jones’ pipe organ recorded? When I first saw Pirates 2 in the theater and his first pipe organ scene came onscreen, I can’t tell you how my eyelids half dropped in dreaminess and how my smile stretched and shone. I thought, “Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh yeeeeaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhh.” What a great sound! It was fierce but alluring, really catching the character, the essence of his particular pipes. Are these among the secrets at Skywalker Ranch? Can anyone out there tell me? Please? I’ve tried some networking connections to contact these people, but to no avail so far.

Either way, I am the hee-yaw-ing cowgirl and I will keep on driving my herd of pipes forward (or should I say “heard” of pipes … bah harrr). Sometimes I’m a tired zombie, but sometimes I’m a T-I-double-guh-RRRRRRRR! When Gaynor and I get a good mix of a song going, I often yelp, howl, giggle, smack some ledge, and bounce in my chair next to him because it’s so thrilling for the sounds in my head to become translated into reality. (I’ve tried to be cool and chill … but I’m just not. I’ve accepted it. I’m just not cool. I’m a puppy dog, complete with wagging tail, lolling tongue, and rapid panting … and I love to give friends nose kissies.)

I’m excited to be getting closer to delivering this CD to you. The song topics cover ghosts, witches, cats, bats, vampires, centuries-old traditions, reverencing the dead, and a sort of Halloween-in-space song. I’m really hoping that it will add an enchanting, quality spirit of celebrating to your autumn.

I just finished squeezing a good amount of orange juice. The oranges themselves hail from Orange County. Orange County Juice! Ah-yummmmm, lip-smack-smack-smack. Every time I visit my parents in OC, I always drive back to my Salt Lake place with at least one box of oranges picked from their yard. And I hardly dent the trees; they carry so much fruit. After the Christmas holiday, I drove back with three boxes and inundated my friends with orange greetings.

I was in Orange County to play the organ with the Pacific Symphony Youth Orchestra. The performance was at the same hall where I played in the Halloween Spooktacular with the Pacific Symphony – The Renée and Henry Segerstrom Concert Hall at the Orange County Performing Arts Center (how’s that for a mouthful?). The piece I played with the Youth Orchestra was Albinoni’s “Adagio in G minor,” which, by the way, was not truly written by Albinoni, rather by Remo Giazotto, who claimed to have based it on fragments of an Albinoni trio sonata.

Also at this hall, I had the pleasure to be part of the audience a few days later when the Dublin Philharmonic Orchestra performed. It was a Saint Patrick’s Day concert and green lights shone on the organ pipes. It was delightful. And who should introduce this concert, but Fionnula Flanagan! She walked onstage at the beginning of the program and my eyes lit up! I recognized her from the movie “Waking Ned Devine,” where she plays Annie O’Shea. This is one of my favorite movies ever. The first time I saw it, I literally SCREAMED in laughter when the phone booth went flying over the edge of the cliff. Literally. It was so funny to me; I almost couldn’t stand it. My mom and I were watching it together and we both SCREAMED and SCREAMED in disbelief at the humor. I got up on my knees on the couch and clutched and gripped it hard while I wheezed.

And so, to thank Fionnula for her saucy acting in this great movie, I wanted to give my Arachnitect CD to her. After her introduction, I saw her come into the hall and I watched very carefully where she found her seat. When intermission came and I saw a few people getting up, I made a B-line straight for her and said hi, with a good bit of enthusiasm as I think back on it, which might have weirded her out, but then, maybe she’s used to it. We had only walked together a few steps when someone said that it wasn’t intermission yet. Woops! She quickly went back to her seat, but undaunted I followed her and slipped my CD into her lap and whispered, “To thank you for your acting.” I then ducked my way back to my seat in the smack middle of a row, dodging legs and apologizing as I went. Ha ha!

After the lively and lovely concert, I had the pleasure of meeting Frankie Gavin, considered to be the greatest living traditional Irish fiddle player, and Aidan O’Brien, who rocked on the Uilleann Pipes, Irish flute, whistles, banjo, and guitar. Their music, with the orchestra and soloists, was fabulous. The jigs, especially, went straight to my blood. Those sounds produce a very particular type of magical feeling. I can’t explain it, but those who know what I’m saying, KNOW what I’m saying.

I gave my CD to both Frankie and Aidan because I loved the traditional Irish music they played and thought they might like my take on the traditional American tune, “Ghost of John.” And a great deal of Halloween history comes from Ireland, so I’m eager to share my music with the Irish. It all made for a very rewarding night back home in Orange County.

My cat, Molly Macabre the Halloween Cat, is always such a good travel companion. She’s so patient during the drive. And with every drive, she’s getting more and more brave. Lately, when we drive through the Arizona canyons on the I-15, instead of curling up on the floor behind my seat, she has been standing on her hind paws and leaning against the window, looking with great curiosity at all the interesting scenery passing by. When I stop at In-N-Out, I always share a little bit of my hamburger with her. Treats for the kitteh! (And speaking of Molly, she just barely jumped up on my lap so I’m reaching around her right now to type on my laptop. I’m not kidding. A laptop and a cattop!)

During this last drive, among my stack of CDs I went through was the “Coraline” soundtrack. I’ve seen the movie in 3D twice and was so ear-tickled with the use of harp and children’s voices. I find the closing credits music especially tasty (and I love those flying dogs onscreen). A happy work of quirk! How can one leave the movie theater not singing psycho little sounds? Thank you, Bruno Coulais, and thank you, Neil Gaiman.

I also listened to Aaron Copeland while I was driving through the desert, which was such a neat thing, really. I love America. I can see why many Europeans are enamored with the “Old West.” Cowboys, Indians, the desert. See, and I’m fascinated by cities with ancient ruins. Vienna, for example, has ancient Roman ruins protected behind glass right in the subway stations. Blows my mind. So many interesting flavors and pockets of wonder to enjoy in this world.

Well, my Halloween CD for this year is galloping along. I’ve been scoring strings and other lovely sounds like mad. Today I played around with beats for a new vampire song. Beats are fun. I used to be intimidated by them because I was purely classically trained and had fear issues with technology (though I still prefer to write music down with a pencil, not a scoring program). I used to shake when I’d pick up a users manual for programs. My brain wanted to shut down. But I’ve told my brain that it is time to be fearless and just go for it. And why not? Fear is silly. Plus, my alter egos are Catwoman and The Phoenix.

I like February. I see it as a big splash of red right in the middle of winter. All around town I like seeing the shades of red and pink that emerge. So invigorating. And I think Valentine’s Day is kind of intriguing. I’ve never celebrated Valentine’s with anyone special, but I’m not pessimistic about it. I rather think it’s a succulent eye-feast with the deep blood colors and dramatic hues.

And a fun chocolate-feast, too. I am an experienced participant of the wonders that chocolate does to the brain. When I experience a piece of chocolate that’s so good, it seems a tragedy to finally swallow. I want the dark cocoa bliss to absorb into my tongue. I wish I could roll those flavors around in my mouth forever without the caloric punishment.

Blood reds and dark chocolates. Last winter I decided that I needed more red in my abode. I needed a pungent kick to the grays of January (as elegant as they are). I bought a red kitchen rug, kitchen towels with red/black/chocolate prints, a red tablecloth, a red vase, and I treated myself to a Costco bunch of red roses. Oh it was so good for my spirit. I think it made my eyes brighter, taking it all in. I wanted to chew and claw at the air and smile constantly.

Now, because February usually brings up the topic of romance, I’ll put it simply that I have not yet found a suitable suitor. I’m in a relationship with my Halloween Carols project. And it’s FAAAAAABULOUS. But then this, in turn, brings up the topic of Cat Woman.

I aspire to Cat Woman – the Michelle Pfeiffer archetype. However, I wonder if sometimes I lean toward Cat Woman – the Simpsons type or the Monty Python’s Holy Grail type (though I’d never smack a cat against a hard object). I’m a bachelorette with a cat. And as the years go by, I fancy more and more having … a second cat.

I went to my first cat show a few months ago and made fun of myself for liking it. And it made me laugh even harder that that event was about 90% estrogen. Oh but these creatures! These cat creatures are so beautiful. All the different types – shapes, colors, furs, designs, eyes, tails, mew pitch and timbre.

The Long Beach Dog Show has been on the television lately and I’ve really enjoyed watching that, too. But it makes me wish that cat shows were as classy and formal (blue blood, almost) as dog shows. I mean, dog shows have COMMENTATORS. With microphone headsets, even! Like football commentators. But even though I chuckle at it, I was just as swept up in the wonder of all the beautiful breeds of dogs. Such lovely, intriguing things in life to enjoy. Sweet poochies. (I often stop to pet dogs while I’m out running and can’t get enough of their soft ears. Silly little pleasure, but it makes me happy.)

Cats, dogs, red hearts, and dark chocolate. What a nice February. This month also finds me hard at work for your Halloween music needs. I’ve been orchestrating and arranging more of my Halloween Carols to release on another CD this fall, headlined by a special witch song. I have some songs up on YouTube (like “Ghost of John” and “Blood Waltz”), so if you like them and are so inclined, please share with your friends. I constantly hear of people who are looking for good Halloween music and I’m trying to reach them. Please help me spread the trick-or-treat love!

This past November was a magical one. November is like October, but more dead. In an enlivening way. There is more of the “autumn muskiness” in the air. The trees of November are more naked, their branches looking like gothic cathedral spires. The sun’s angle falls lower and lower, making afternoon/evening walks scrumptiously surreal.

Going on these walks gives way for monumentally deep thoughts – like how “gratitude” rhymes with “foody-food.” We Americans consider November as the month of Thanksgiving, and though I miss Halloween decorations, I’m happy to report that I saw some jack o’ lanterns turned around right in their spots on some porches with turkey feathers stabbed in them. I think Thanksgiving is a lovely holiday similar to Halloween in that it celebrates the sacred and the profane. Sacred – gratitude. Profane – testing the elasticity of one’s stomach.

But for me, November is also a continuation of Halloween. I call November “The Month of the Dead.” Where many countries do not think anything special of October 31st (I’m trying to change this), they DO think very important things of November 1st and November 2nd – All Saints’ Day and All Souls’ Day.

Pagan Samhain (pronounced SOW-in) was gradually morphed by the medieval Christian church into All Hallows – a day to remember the saints. This was in the 7th century, and later, in the 10th century, as Christians wished for a day to remember their own familial dead, All Souls’ Day was set forth officially. I’m so fascinated by all the cultural interpretations of these holidays (“holy days”). One of the most notable to me, perhaps because I’m from California, is Mexico’s Dia de los Muertos. Some year I will travel there to experience it firsthand. (And some year I will travel to Delaware for the annual “Punkin’ Chunkin’” contest and see the brilliant display of pumpkins flung thousands of feet across a field. Oh happy activity.)

When I lived in Vienna, Austria for a semester of college in the fall of 1995, I remember walking the streets on All Saints’ Day, noting the services at various churches and cathedrals. I did as the locals did, and rode a streetcar out to the cemetery to visit graves. The day is distinct in my memory … crisp, cool weather; droves and droves of people making their way out to the cemetery; the sun at such a pretty angle with a magical haziness in its beams, the day seemed photo-shopped to perfection.

I visited the grave of Herr Beethoven, among other great ones. But great or small, known or unknown, I just enjoy graves. What stories they tell of the bones who lie beneath them. I like noting the families, the religious beliefs carved into the stone, other symbols carved there, what life might have been like during the years they were alive, and so forth. The only thing I don’t like seeing is a little gravestone with the years something like “1912 – 1913.”

I do love seeing humor among gravestones. One family I am quite fond of resides in the Salt Lake cemetery. I’ve never met them in life, but I often stop on my bike ride by their plot, just to re-read their gravestone. It’s shared by the mother, father, and a baby son who only lived a day. Under the son’s date of birth and death, it reads – “His humor kept him young.”

Also in the Salt Lake cemetery, I once happened upon a gravestone whose occupant’s first name was Bror. Bror! I think that is so handsome. He was an immigrant from a Scandinavian country in the 1800’s. I often think about naming one of my future sons Bror. It rhymes with roar.

I just started Neil Gaiman’s new book last night – The Graveyard Book. I went to the Cathedral of the Madeleine for a children’s choir Christmas concert (which was enchanting … those perfectly pitched little voices with nary a bit of vibrato). I was in my seat an hour early, so Gaiman’s book kept me company. Delightful company. I’m only a bit more than one chapter in, and I find it a charming read! A boy who was raised by ghosts in a graveyard. Love it.

In other news, my motorcycle burn is healing very well but still makes me chuckle with happy memories of the Pacific Symphony’s Halloween Spooktacular. Yeah, who needs Maxim Eshkenazy’s autograph? I’ve been practically tattooed by him.

Next up in my recording endeavors … cat sounds. Oh yes. Cat sounds. I’ve already scored the cat parts right underneath the cello staff. Just as Christmas needs jingle bells, Halloween needs meows. I can’t wait to record this for you!

October was a mighty month. A surreal month. A beautiful month.

And it gave me an honor that will make me smile for quite some time: playing the organ with the Pacific Symphony in their “Halloween Spooktacular” children/family concert at the Renée and Henry Segerstrom Concert Hall, Orange County Performing Arts Center.

This splendid hall just finished installing a 3.1 million-dollar pipe organ by C. B. Fisk Organ Builders – the William J. Gillespie Concert Organ. Four manuals, tracker action, 4,322 pipes arranged four stories high. It is a beautiful beast. My little paws had such a delightful adventure prancing across its keys.

The Spooktacular was a program with a little play and music excerpts. I played a music teacher who gives a lesson to a boy on Halloween. I somehow have a whole orchestra in my house to demonstrate different instruments to him and at times I am under the spell of “the Phantom of the Concert Organ” who “commands” me to play as the boy and the conductor try to break the “musical spell.”

It was also fun to teach the audience a little bit about the organ and demonstrate it’s incomparable range of pitches. I heard gasps as I played the 2-foot flute as high as it could go (almost like a dog whistle), and chuckles of disbelief as I played the rumbling 32-foot reeds in the pedal slowly down to low C.

Rehearsals were a kick. Sometimes I was smiling and laughing so hard that my cheek muscles ached. And guess what – I’ve been “branded” by a new friend.

As I parked my car at rehearsal and got out, Maxim Eshkenazy, the new assistant conductor of the Pacific Symphony, pulled up on his motorcycle. Now, something to know about me is that I am a puppy dog. I love car rides, bike rides, boat rides, train rides – they stir up my brain chemicals and make my tail wag. Maxim must have noted something like that when I eyed his bike, for he immediately asked if I wanted a ride.

Oh YES!!! I didn’t even take a second to put down my purse or car keys. I hopped on and … psssssssss … something felt very hot on my right leg. I forgot that exhaust pipes on motorcycles are burning hot. Maxim felt so badly, but really, my excitement didn’t give him enough time to warn me. Off we went anyway – oh it was so much fun. I don’t know why fun, little rides make me laugh my head off, but it sure pumped me up for rehearsal. What a brain high.

We teased him about being a “hot conductor.” He conducted two different sets of pipes this month. Ah, it was great to work with him and I feel I’ve made a lasting friend.

The Pacific Symphony was very gracious in letting me sell my CD after the two concerts. About 100 sold there and I hope they are making trick-or-treaters of all ages happy.

Another highlight of October was going for a stroll on a couple of evenings at Downtown Disney with my parents and getting a caramel apple at their confectionary shop. This shop also sells wonderfully huge cookies. Huge. Chewy. Full of love. These cookies – oh man – what a story each one is. The perfect balance of doughy and bake-y. For me, texture is half the pleasurable experience of a good cookie. And the caramel apples – it’s like biting into autumn. (Like the same caliber of when I lived in Vienna for a semester of college and I bit into a hot sausage I bought on the street – I bit into Vienna. I felt the history, art, music, architecture, and culture swirl around in my brain with that simple sausage. Silly? Profound? I don’t know.)

My catwoman costume (á la Michelle Pfeiffer) made it out this year for a pre-Halloween party. Thank you to my friend Jana Hill-Dyble for creating it – such a talented seamstress! Certain costumes really are extensions of our personality and it feels so right to wear them. Well, such it is with catwoman. It feels so right. Purryeah.

I became sick the day before Halloween, but my dear old boyfriend, Sam, invited me to go surfing with him on Halloween day and, fie on sickness, I went. (Sam teaches surfing lessons and brought me along!) It was a lovely way to spend Halloween, like costuming as a surfer chick. I only got up for a few seconds and did a lot of “knee surfing,” but I’ll conquer it yet. The clouds, sun, and water did some very pretty things. I think what I like most about surfing – at least at this point in my skills – is sitting out on the board, waiting for the waves. It is so beautiful right there, bobbing and floating (I was hoping the sharks wouldn’t consider it the reverse of “bobbing for apples”). I love the salty, fresh smell. I love how my lungs and brain feel as I take it all in.

As for my “Halloween Carols” project, I’m taking a bite at a time. I’m very fortunate to have a New York contact to some big publishing houses, so I hope I get a bite there. People have already asked if they can buy the sheet music, and so I hope that a good publishing company will see the ready demand and market for my idea.

I hope that all of you had a magical Halloween with lots of chocolate and candlelight!

A bit o’ happy news – I’m melanoma-free after my six-month check up last week. So I won’t be turning into a ghost any time soon. I want to tell everyone to GO GET YOUR MOLES CHECKED, so you don’t turn into ghosties either.

Yes, my dermatologist had no choice but to tear a chunk of flesh from my back last February. But he’s no Dr. Frankenstein; he and his assistants did a nice job of sewing me back up. Even still, my friend Linda (a.k.a. “Linner”) said that my back looks like Sally from “The Nightmare Before Christmas,” which is fine by me. Sally’s a hip little seamstress.

Speaking of Dr. Frankenstein, while I was recovering from this minor surgery, I watched “Young Frankenstein.” It didn’t occur to me ‘til halfway through what a funny thing my movie choice was. Ah yes, and the healing power of “PUUUUUUU’IIIINNNN ON DE RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIZZZZ.” If you don’t know what I’m talking about, go get this movie in your life. There’s something about a German-accented, ”Yessssss, YESSSS, HE VAS MY … BOYFRIEND!” that put my stitches in stitches.

And for Nightmare-Before-Christmas-Season coming along, I’m happy to say that I saw some leaves changing this morning whilst out on my run. I did a double take. At first I thought the leaves were just burnt and fried from the summer heat, but upon looking closer I saw a good number scattered on the ground with true color change. All hail the equinox approaching!

Fluffy leaves! Fluffy leaves!
Summer’s gone but it bereaves
Not a soul like Mol’ or me.
Death is pretty in a tree!

To lead up to the blesséd fall time, I’m taking my mom and two friends to see Nightwish in concert at the Wiltern in LA this Saturday. Sonata Arctica is opening for them – how lucky am I? Yes, I’m lucky that my mom likes metal, but I mean this concert!!! Nightwish … it’s like Lord-of-the-Rings-metal. It makes me feel like I’m riding a dragon into battle. Or at least riding into battle with a Hobbit on horse with me. And destroying a Ringwraith while saying, “I AM NO MAN!!!” Of all their fabulous CDs, my favorite is “Wishmaster.” Go feed your ears: www.nightwish.com
The strings for my song, “Flappy Bat,” are coming along nicely. I prepare them in MIDI on my Logic then dump them into Gaynor’s ProTools. I’m also in the middle of preparing strings for my witch song. I think you’ll like these babies. They’re preeeeeeetty little songs and they can’t wait to meet you.

No, I didn’t lose him. I never knew him. But I know his music, and that’s why I call him “My Dead Boyfriend.”

Today is the deathday of Ralph Vaughan Williams. The 50th anniversary of his death. Happy Deathday to you, Ralph! He was born October 12, 1872 and died August 26, 1958. I was born 100 years too late. He was a kind, fine English gentleman and couldn’t stand when anyone pronounced his name “Ralllllllph.” It’s pronounced “Rafe” like “safe.”

If not an amorous relationship, I think we would have at least been very good friends. In fact, when it’s my turn to be a ghost, I intend to seek his friendship and thank him for his music. Ghost of Ralph. Ghost of Kristen.

But I must say, even in life, I usually don’t seek out musician boyfriends. I want to eat. No, no, no – just kidding. But I do find I’m rather intrigued by men who are expert in what I am not. I am not a competitive person and do not welcome any potential for competition in a relationship. I believe a true gentleman would want his woman to shine and be thrilled at her brilliance, just as a true lady would intend for her man.

And on the subject of amorous thinking, Halloween used to be about romance, believe it or not. Traditions have trickled down over the centuries from the British Isles, crossing the sea to early America – from Druid priests foretelling the future on the eve of Samhain (“summer’s end”), to Scottish and Irish young adults making predictions about their future loves. Druids cast cats into the fire; their posterity played divining games and rituals with cabbages, nuts, apples, wet “sarks” (petticoats), “luggies” (bowls) and so forth.

I’m OK with cabbage stalks and nuts, but not dead cats. (I never tell my cat, Molly, about this part of Halloween, although she could do her fair share of mice entrail-reading.) Halloween greeting cards from earlier last century had these prediction symbols on them and scenes of courting. Many showed a girl sitting in front of a mirror at midnight (sometimes cutting or eating an apple) and an apparition of her future love appearing behind her shoulder. Personally, I think it a shame that these charming historical symbols are mostly lost in our modern Halloween celebrations. Let’s bring it back! Go give someone a love note and a cabbage when October rolls around.


My love note to Ghost of Ralph is in my dedication of “Ghost of John – Dead Composers Version” to him and Johann (Sebastian Bach), my two favorite dead composers. (Johann I don’t claim as a dead boyfriend – he’s too out of my league.) Were I in England, I would place a copy of the score and maybe a cabbage at Ralph’s grave in Westminster Abbey – if they’d let me. Or maybe a little nut. Two little nuts, from the old tradition of “nutcrack night.” That wouldn’t be as ostentatious.

My favorite works of Vaughan Williams are:

- Five Variants on Dives and Lazarus
- Variations on a Theme by Thomas Tallis
- Oboe Concerto
- The Lark Ascending

Sublime, surreal, profound, achingly lovely.

So today I’m in the middle of entering and perfecting the MIDI strings for “Flappy Bat” – one of the Halloween Carols due to come out on the full-length CD and sheet music book next year. It’s a special day with Ralph’s ghost haunting his fans and girlfriends. Maybe if I eat an apple in front of the mirror at midnight …



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For either Ralph or Halloween, here are some books I like very much …

Paul Holmes, The Illustrated Lives of Great Composers: Vaughan Williams, Omnibus Press, 1997.

Lesley Pratt Bannatyne, Halloween: An American Holiday, An American History, Facts on File, 1990/ Pelican Publishing, 1998.

Jack Santino, The Hallowed Eve: Dimensions of Culture in a Calendar Festival in Northern Ireland, The University Press of Kentucky, 1998.

Lisa Morton, The Halloween Encyclopedia, McFarland and Company, 2003.

My bicycle – Bianca, She-Goblin of Might – and I had quite an adventure this past Saturday. Well, misadventure, really.

She’s been my trusty mountain bike since 1997 (beautiful autumn-orange-and-black-colored) and we’ve never taken a tumble … until a little wasp decided to fly down my shirt as I flew down the canyon on Saturday.

Now, I imagine how confusing it was for the wasp – a nice buzz through the air one minute, wall of flesh in its face the next. But you would think it would immediately seek fresh air. No, it decided to snuggle under my left breast. And chomp.

“YEEEOOWWWCH!” was all I could think. I wish I had had the presence of mind to deal with the bite, squeeze my breaks, stop, and fish the little sucker out. But no. “YEEEOOWWWCH!” took over my brain and I tried to get that wasp out of my shirt – the shirt which was speeding at several miles-an-hour downhill.

It was surprising how quickly the road moved closer to me. But I’m sure that road was amused at the alternate smacks of Kristen, Bianca, Kristen, Bianca, and so forth until we thumped to a stop with Bianca on top of me. Poor Bianca broke her neck. Luckily I did not. But I easily snapped Bianca’s neck back into place and re-adjusted her seat. My seat, however, wasn’t looking forward to 20 more minutes downhill.

Here’s something I like when one gets involved in a sport – other sportsmen look after you. Immediately a woman stopped on her bike and made sure I was OK before she continued. Though quite shaky, I forced a laugh about a wasp biting my breast. Her partner came right after her and said he had just been stung in the rear. Why do these wasps go for the tender parts? Wait, that’s a silly question. I go for prime rib when presented with my choice of cow.

Anyway, a mere 15 seconds before this wasp’s kiss sent me into a passionate embrace of the pavement, a squirrel had crossed right in front of me. I missed it literally by about 5 inches. My friend Britney later quipped, “Well, for most people, a black cat crossing their path is bad luck …”

Yes, for me, that squirrel was an omen of gore. Black cats are rather good luck to me, because my sweet black kitty, Molly, stayed right by my bathtub as I later soaked the gravel out of my body. She is my comfort, my inspiring “Mews,” as I call her.

As for the gore, those who know me know that I do not like the horror and guts that some people associate with Halloween. I rather prefer the Old World/mystical elements of the season. But for those who would like a dose of gore from me, this story is all you’ll get … unless I get run over by a truck or some squirrels attack me when I’m out running.

So here’s your gore – lively bits of road rash and deep scrapes all over my arms and torso, with three little chunks of skin taken out of my left hand (the hand still works great, thank goodness!). Nice, rainbowy bruises on my right leg and pretty burgundy cuts on my knee. A gash on my right hip bone that resembles something hazy from the solar system.

The real gore, though, appears an inch below my right elbow. All I can say is … it was a HOLE on Saturday. A grotto. A mushy, dark mess with long shreds of skin dangling from it. A thick stream of blood had run down my arm and dried there. As I gritted my teeth and held this ghastly wound under the force of running water filling the tub, a fair amount of gravel came out. Blasted stowaways.

It is frightening to think that I could have had it so much worse, and I know that I am fortunate indeed. My skeleton is intact, including my teeth. I’m also lucky that my friend, Christine, is an ER doctor who hooked me up with a numb shot, scrub, irrigation, and a stitch. She was so compassionate as we laughed at what she called my “little hamburger arm.”

So I’ll be a bit of a hamburger zombie for the next week or so. And now that I think and laugh about it, my stiff walk and hobbling limp really lend to the role. It makes me think of Gene Wilder and Marty Feldman in “Young Frankenstein” …

“Walk this way. No, this way.”