Climbing Rona

After a couple of weeks of steady climbing, I am nearing the top of Rona's Hill. I think I may actually be able to finish this before it goes to the Land of The Once Admired and Now Ignored.

I didn't particularly like the looks of the shoulder and neck of the original design because the ribbing around the armholes seem to promote a lot of bulk. Instead, I am using the neck and collar and armhole shaping from Janine's Dragonfly Vest in Sweaters From Camp. Also, I plan to shape the shoulders (slope them) in the round, per Janine's instructions. I'm a big fan of Janine's, can you tell?

I have been trying to plan a course for dyeing experimentation, and find myself morphing once again into Rimmer, of the series Red Dwarf. I want to create certain dye formulas and then test them on different types of fiber, both protein and cellulose (using the appropriate type of dye, of course). I have nine different colors of dye and I want to see six different depths of shade per formula. I want to have 9 different combinations of two dyes beginning at 90/10 percent going to 10/90 percent. Then I want to use each of these formulas in combination with a third color in the same range of percentages and depths of shade. AND I want to try each of these formulas on white, moorit and gray natural fibers. To avoid Exploding Brain Syndrome, I eventually had to set up a database. One day I might actually be able to start dyeing. Who knows how I'll label these samples, much less store them! Perhaps the planning of this project will be enough to keep me busy until I... die.

Okay, here we go with the Colorado Springs entries in my 100 Things About Me:

81. We arrived in Colorado Springs in late February of 1987 in the middle of the worst blizzard they had seen there for many years. Although Alex was assigned as an Air Force flight liaison officer to Ft. Carson (an Army base), we were to live in the officer's housing area at the Air Force Academy. As we drove up in our little caravan, happy that we had finally made it, we realized that there was nobody around, not even at the gate, because of the several feet of snow brought on by the blizzard. Alex had to tromp around knocking on windows and doors to arouse someone to let us in to temporary quarters.

The first couple of weeks we froze, being newly transplanted Texas/Mississippi residents. I bought warm coats and boots for the family and we trudged around bundled up to beat the band, while curious onlookers gave us strange looks. Within a month we had acclimatized and I understood why the strange looks. Even though it was below zero, it really wasn't that cold-feeling, due to the altitude and dryness of the air.

It wasn't long before we had our house on Douglas Drive, one of a group of four houses. The house across the street held a family of Mormons (there were lots of Mormons there). Next to us, the official artist of the Academy resided with his wife and five children (one set of identical twins, one single child, and one set of fraternal twins). In the far corner a couple lived who eventually divorced and did not ever seem to be happy. I spent many mornings shoveling snow off our long driveway while Sherah (I found out years later) made long distance calls to her grandmothers when I supposed she was playing with her doll house.

One morning in April when the weather had warmed considerably and the sun was shining brightly, I walked out of the house to check on the children only to find Sherah and Randy stark naked with the neighbor child, rolling down the gentle slope of our front lawn to feel the tickle of the spring grass. I was apalled and amused at the same time, knowing exactly the exuberance they were feeling at the feel of the sun on their bare skin and the smell of the soft grass as they whirled around and halfway wishing I could join them.

Eventually there came the day when I looked at myself in the mirror and was horrified to realize the toll that three babies had taken on my body. I vowed to do something about it, and soon joined the local health club and started working out three times a week. They had child care, so it worked out very well. I had no idea that I had never ever been in shape before. I couldn't even ride an exercise bike for five minutes. In a few weeks a new body had emerged, one that drew attention and caused anonymous phone calls and unsolicited propositions. This was all very new to me.

82. We had left our piano with our church in Texas, and we soon bought a new one-- a Kawai this time-- and I started teaching piano lessons at home. At the same time, I started studying with Frank Cedrone in Pueblo at the University of Southern Colorado. Mr. C. was a delightful older man, a compassionate and understanding teacher, and a former head of the Boston Conservatory. He was not overbearing or pretentious. He knew what he was doing and for the first time I was motiviated to practice, practice, practice. After the kids were put down at night I practiced, and I soon found out that unless I was practicing, Zachary would not go to sleep. I got up early in the morning to practice as well, and practiced from five to eight hours per day. On Saturdays I taught lessons at the Youth Center on base, and I also enrolled at USC to continue work on my degree.

I made several new friends. Lennita and Bruce would play Spades with us often, and finally afer five miscarriages she became pregnant. We were so happy for her. My friend Jwan, whose husband had been first in his USAFA class of 1975, lived up the hill. She and I took French conversation classes at Pikes Peak Community College, me for fun and credit and she because they had received a follow-on assignment to Paris. My friend Diana from church taught me how to tat and smock.

After a few weeks of piano coaching with Mr. C., he told me that I had surprised him. He had not thought at first that I had it in me, but now he thought I could play anything ever written (with practice, of course!). He set about finding competitions that I could enter. The problem was that I was now 27, and the cutoff for most major competitions was 25. The one he felt would be best was the San Antonio International, held every two years in San Antonio. I was highly enthusiastic. When I was in Junior High Mama had asked the professor at the Fine Arts Center if they should try to send me to Juillard or some other music school, but the reply was "unless a child starts concertizing by the age of 6 they are not likely to go anywhere." This is patently false.

Mr. C. selected some challenging pieces for me to learn, including a MacDowell concerto, the Schumann Carnivale, Mendelssohn's concerto in g minor, and others.

Alex and I were happy in C. Springs. His job had fairly regular hours and he wasn't sent away much at all. The weather was mostly sunny if cold in the winter, and I wish it could have lasted forever.

Posted by Sheila at February 1, 2005 09:17 AM Posted to | TrackBack