Bionic

BI ON IC

 - adjective
[1]  Utilizing electronic devices and mechanical parts to assist humans in performing difficult, dangerous, or intricate tasks, as by supplementing or duplicating parts of the body.
[2]  Having anatomical structures or physiological processes that are replaced or enhanced by electronic or mechanical components.

dictionary.com

On Wednesday April 27th at 13:45 in the afternoon, the lens containing a growing cataract in my right eye was chewed up, vacuumed out, and replaced by something called acrylic foldable iol (intraocular lens).  At ages 49 and 50, my dad was considered pretty young for cataract surgery.  I hold the record for being the youngest cataract patient my three anesthesiologists had ever seen.

My favorite part of the surgery was the doctor.  Doctors typically intimidate me, but Dr. Yen Dang Nieman is wonderful.  I like her because she's pretty and Vietnamese like my mom.  George probably likes her because she's a highly reputable surgeon.  The worst part of the entire affair was the brightness.  I felt "pressure" 3 times during the surgery, but that was nothing compared to the eye being dilated, taped open, and flooded with lights.  I saw bright blue and pink for most of the time, with a brief episode of white-lined muddy brown waves.  Really neat.

The next day, I was trying to help some little girls read piano music when I noticed blurry white areas in the right and lower periphery.  Immediately, I ran off to Dr. Nieman again, fearing the worst.  She dilated the eye, looked in, and explained that my collapsing vitreous was tugging on my retina.  So for everybody besides George or Liên, this means that there are pieces of gel inside my eyeball trying to pull out something very important.  Apparently, as long as I see "flashes," I needn't be alarmed.  However, the moment "floaters" appear, all hell breaks loose.

Right now my eyeball feels like a jellyfish, but every cloud has its silver lining.

Engagement

Sigh.  My baby sister got engaged a week ago.

I can't say I'm ecstatic.

Don't get me wrong.  Her betrothed is a pretty neat guy, and more importantly, he seems to treat her very well.  My reservations really have little to do with him.  I'm just not one of those big sisters who's in any sort of hurry for her baby sister to get... married.  I guess Liên, and the rest of the world for that matter, feel that it would be "nice" if I were more "supportive."  Well, sure.  I could probably summon up the attitude if Liên weren't beautiful, intelligent, interesting, blah, blah, blah.  Because then, in the best of all possible worlds, having a husband could be a step up from having nothing.

Sort of like, "You had nothing, but now you have a person who probably loves you and a societally accepted method of trying to make babies.  Congratulations."  You would think that with both of us being so headstrong, I wouldn't be such an awkward mother hen about it all.  But as long as I don't think she's gonna die an old lonesome maid or develop some weird self-esteem problem from not getting married by age fifty or whatever, I'm just in no rush.  Let me put it another way.

Here's a picture of her rudely failing to keep up with conversation.

Here's the two of us in an uncomfortable situation.  Those are pretty much all we talk about, and if we ever wrote up a book of memoirs, our selective memory would be prioritized by discomfort.  "Remember the time we were in the pool and suddenly an anonymous sibling was running around it really fast but naked?  And everybody else was staring?  And then Chi Ngọc couldn't catch up to him but kept running anyway and screaming in Vietnamese?"

This picture was taken the last time I was stronger than Liên.

What I'm trying to say is that we've been through a lot.  I know her.  It's not just another, "Happy engagement, ohmigod I'm so excited for you, you two are like the cutest couple ever."  It's a really big deal.

But in all fairness, I don't really have the right to go around shrieking, "Don't get married!  It's awful, I hate it!"  Not only would that be slightly inconsiderate to my sweet George, but I also got engaged at her age and never regretted it.  And just for the record, if being unsupportive can be considered a measure of sisterly love, then Liên loved me more than you would care to know a few years back.

Seriously though, if there's one thing I know about Liên, it's that she has the means and the guts to do whatever she wants.  I normally don't disagree with any of her decisions, and nobody ever stands in her way.  Now she wants to be with Bill - forever.  Bill, you are a lucky bastard.

Bill is a professional video editor.
Their friend Tom taped the proposal, and Bill made it into this.

N.B.  When Liên was thinking of how to propose,
her first reaction to the idea of asking Bill for a lifelong commitment
just moments before he plummeted 40 meters downwards was:

"Yeah, but Lan, what if that isn't scary enough?"

Nephews

George has two younger brothers.
The youngest is Zachary, who is married to Simone.  Zachary is a mathematician, and acts a little like my dad.  Simone and I met five years before I had ever even heard of George.  We teach at the same music school and share coffee almost every day.
The middle brother is Warren.  Warren and Christy live two hours away in Katy, TX, so we don't get to see them as often.  On November 1st of 2010, they had twin boys named Aiden and Andrew.  From Saturday to Sunday afternoon, George and I got the boys all to ourselves.

Additional notes:
This year, Austin has become a part of the "Play Me I'm Yours" project created by Luke Jerram in 2008.  As a result, we have 14 outdoor pianos available to the public.  The project has currently installed over 400 pianos around the world.  My good friends, Sarah and Emily, organized a get-together at the Travis County Jail, so we took the boys.  Emily, Aiden, and I sight read a few duets while Andrew stayed a little more out of the spotlight.

Aiden has the best baby hair I have ever seen, and likes to stare.

Andrew is referred to as "Meat" for good reason.

Children's Choir

There have always been a few redeeming qualities about going to church.  Well, mostly it's just music.  Once a blue hair gave me a hug and exclaimed, "You're worth going to church for!"  So anyway, it's not just me.

My family moved to Virginia and started attending Christ the Servant Lutheran at the end of 1988.  Liên and I started singing in the children's choir, which was directed by David Willis.  By the time I was going down the 4th-6th grade hallway of Terraset Elementary, we were way too grown up for a children's choir, so we quit.  We were cool.  Then suddenly we found ourselves highlighting parts for his hand bell choir.  You couldn't say no to David Willis.  Not because he was persuasive, not because you were interested, not because it was the right thing to do, but simply because you loved him.  By the time I was walking down the hallways of Oakton High as an overweight and insecure teenager, I was David Willis' sub.  Now that is what I call seriously cool.

David Willis holds a very special place in my heart, and has shaped me just as much as any of my piano teachers.  He died the morning of April 18, 2008.

Koenig Lane's humble six-piece choir (four of which belong to one family) and I did "Hymn of Promise" as the anthem yesterday morning, and I recorded it on my phone.  It was composed by Natalie Sleeth in 1985.  It's not my favorite composition, but Liên and I sang it for David Willis' choir 20 years ago.

Rest in peace.  I will never, ever, ever forget you.

Accompanying the recording are flowers from sweet George.

N.B.  George bought the red rose for me
and the white one for you on April 18th of this year.

1810-1849

"As this earth will suffocate me, I implore you to have my body opened so that I will not be buried alive."

Do you recognize the dates or very reasonable request of Frédéric Chopin?  I was probably about 14 when I realized that I enjoy what people unaffectionately refer to as "Classical Music," and it is to Chopin that I owe this opinion.  My loving teacher Betty Reed gave me a little volume called, "At the Piano With Chopin," and I immediately brought the cover into my art class to scratch his face into a piece of black coated paper with a knife.  Later, I realized that a photograph of him does exist, and that it bears no resemblance whatsoever to his other portraits.  Normally this would mortify me, but as I didn't have very many friends in high school, nobody really took notice.  Close one.

Back in the day, compact discs were just taking over tapes, and my mother bought me one of my first prized possessions - the box set of Rubinstein playing Chopin.  I listened to the waltzes particularly.  This waltz is from the very same book bearing a terribly inaccurate drawing on its cover.

Spring Break (4/4)

I've been back in Austin for nearly a week, and it's rough.  I adapt quickly to the luxuries of little responsibility and bounties of delicious food.  This is my final entry on Vietnam, designed to fill in the gaps from my other bowlegs.  After arriving in Saigon on Monday, Thal was sick and slept all afternoon.  Liên came home from work early, and we went fo Japanese food and bubble tea.  By the evening, Dad felt ill.  The rest of us took a bus downtown to book our tour to Nha Trang and find dinner.

On Tuesday, Mom showed George and me the building she lived in when she was growing up.  Her family had lived upstairs and owned a book shop on the ground floor.  A third floor has since been added, and the shop on the bottom now sells Western clothing.  We bought lunch and my favorite fruit, pomelo, from the same market my Mom had gone to every morning.
Mom, Liên, and I spent the afternoon at the salon, where we were well looked after for three hours.  After returning to the hotel and waking up the guys, we went downtown for a remarkable dinner.  My mom's friend Kristie Stovall had graciously invited us to her workplace, a five star hotel called the Windsor Plaza.  We joined Mom's friends for endless sushi, hot pot, spring rolls, intestines, etc.

The entirety of Wednesday was spent on a bus ride to Nha Trang.  I slept and fought off my cold, waking up only to consume the best of Vietnamese subs and grumble about the Rubik's cube.  George studied the countryside of Vietnam and held me sweetly.  On Thursday, we took a boat tour of four islands, where we discovered that Thal and I are horrible snorkelers.  During Happy Hour, everybody else watched our family jump off the boat just for a free drink of sangria.

Friday was our free day.  We spent the afternoon at Thap Ba, soaking in mud and hot mineral baths, enjoying water massages, and loitering about in giant mineral hot tubs.  That evening, we had the best grilled seafood imaginable.  Their cuttlefish is not something I shall ever forget.  We rode back to Saigon on a night bus, where Mom, Liên, and I slept like babies.  The three six-foot men stayed awake and watched us nearly crash every five minutes.

After returning to Saigon on Saturday morning, we took a trip to Núi Bà Đen, or the Black Virgin Mountain.  In sweat-soaked shirts, carrying nothing but extra water, we glanced up the stone stairs to see this woman.  We rode down the mountain in rickety carts on a curvy metal chute where we had control of the breaks.  By accident, George and I slammed into Liên pretty hard.  Thal, who was in the cart behind us, was utterly horrified.

And that's the end of this story.  Sunday morning we had a plane to catch, and Monday morning we had work to do.  Such is the nature of vacations.  George referred to Vietnam as a "paradise," which I find to be fitting.  There is no place I would rather have been, and I feel very lucky to have had my entire family there.  We even got along, mostly.

It would be remiss for me to neglect to mention any sort of culture shock.

Top Ten:

10)  Food - delicious.

     (Seriously, what are we doing over here?)

9)  Traffic - heavy.

8)  Littering - common place.

7)  Power lines - spaghetti.

6)  Fashion - anything goes.

5)  Coffee - it's a different drink.

4)  Street markets - so fresh.

3)  Bargaining - expected.

2)  Bills - worth a tenth of a penny.

1)  Mannequin stores - too many.

Happy Hour (3/4)

Today my family toured Nha Trang by boat, and visited islands Hòn Miễu, Hòn Mun, Hòn Một, and Hòn Tằm.  We went scuba diving and ate sea urchin at Hòn Mun, toured an aquarium at Hòn Miễu, and swam in the rain at Hòn Tằm.  But Hòn Một.  Hòn Một was happy hour.

Salon (2/4)

Liên, Mom, and I went to have our hair done.  Although the first place we stopped was advertised as a salon, it looked like a brothel inside.  After we explained what we were looking for, the young ladies laughed at us and pointed to an establishment for women.  At the real salon, there was a friendly woman, an angry woman, and a fashionable young man working while the American TV station in the background blared out such favorites as, "Screamer" and "What's My Name."  The hipster cut and styled our hair while the women worked very quickly doing everything else, like multiple washings, curling, applying 3 rounds of chemicals, etc.  Mom periodically disappeared and reappeared until she disappeared permanently.  She always understands everything that they're saying, so she doesn't get to experience the mystery we do.  The women were very rough with our heads, and it was painful.  My eyes welled up with tears several times, and Liên and I ended up taking ibuprofen.

Due to the language barrier, the hairstylists would push us around when they wanted us to do something, such as go to the back rooms and get our hair washed again.  One time after a washing, one of the women wanted me to hold the towel on the back of my wet hair, so she grabbed my hand and shoved it into place.  Unfortunately, I had been palming a handful of snotty tissues, which ended up getting thrown all over the floor.  To add to the mess, we were wearing containers on our shoulders to catch the perm chemicals, and Liên was making me laugh so hard that I would lean forward and spill them out onto the floor periodically.  It was embarrassing.

Last but not least, another woman entered the salon and promptly got a steaming bag on her head.  Every time Liên turned around, the bag had inflated a little more, as steam poured out.  It was so funny that we shot a video while I pretended to take a picture of my sister.

The entire process took 3 hours and cost twenty bucks.

I'd do it every six months if I could.

Bánh Cuốn (1/4)

George and I arrived in Vietnam on Monday morning.  We found Mom at the airport before she spotted the giant white guy in the Taiwanese hat.  Lien came on a 5-week medical rotation, and the units brought my brother on his Spring Break.  On Monday, we explored downtown and booked a tour to Nha Trang, a city known for beautiful beaches and hot springs.  Tuesday, Mom showed us where she used to live.  Her family owned a bookstore, which has since turned into a "Fashion Shop."

A few buildings down from her old home, there is a market with a big sign reading, "Khu Phố Văn Hóa."  We walked through and saw my favorite foods - fresh seafood and fruit.  Mom bought me a pomelo, which is like a huge delicious grapefruit.  She says Bà used to give her money to pick out breakfast from the market.  Because everything smelled so good, I asked her about coming to America where we eat things like cereal and oatmeal for breakfast.  She replied, "Yeah, that doesn't taste good."

My favorite meal from childhood is called bánh cuốn.  Mom would say, "Girls, we're having bánh cuốn tonight," and we would shriek, "Yaaaay!!!"  At the market, we ordered the best bánh cuốn I ever had in my life.  A steamed sheet of rice flour is stuffed with ground pork and mushrooms, served with fresh veggies and chả lụa.

Try to ignore the antics that are my family, carrying on and about in the background.

Push a Little Button

I woke up with a song called, "Push a Little Button," in my head.  It was originally written by Tony Hatch in 1966 and recorded by his 15-year-old sister, Ninette.

This evening I figured out some chords and played it on my clavichord, which is an early type of keyboard.  The strings of clavichords are struck by small pieces of brass called tangents, whereas they are plucked in harpsichords by plectra and struck by hammers in pianos.  Clavichords have a much quieter range of sound than pianos, and because the tangents are in constant contact with the strings, clavichords can vibrate pitch.
The handsome fellow playing it, named Pooh, was bought for me by my mom before I was born.

George and I are trying to sing in unison.

Is It Yours?

Grandma is a church pianist who plays by ear.  It's not that she can't read music, though.  Her idea of a good time is to play through the Well Tempered but transpose the Preludes and Fugues to - well - whatever she feels like.  "This is J. S. Bach's Prelude and Fugue in C minor.  In F minor."

I don't play by ear as well as I read, so I have arrangements for my church job.  They used to sit around in the sanctuary, but now I keep a few at home so I can call and play melodies we both know.  The other night I played, "Fairest Lord Jesus."  She replied with, "Is it yours?"  Surely she knows I don't spend my time coming up with hymn arrangements when I can buy a dozen that are better written for 10 bucks.  In other words, 4 arrangements would probably cost me 4 hours of my life or the price of a latte.  I think she just likes to be reassured that she's the only one in the family who holds that spot.  Take it, grandma.  I'll make a doppio with one percent at home this week.  This one is arranged by Melody Bober.

Also, that strikingly handsome man is my husband.

Grandma

On January 15th of this year, my 84-year-old grandmother had a massive stroke that severely affected the left side of her body.  Most people in that condition don't recover, but then again, most people aren't Ruth Volkert Kratzke.  If Little Red Riding Hood were visiting my grandmother, the girl would arrive to a home filled with the aroma of a blackberry pie that made her basket of sweets look like hardtack, broiled tenderized wolf with three sides, a printed menu, and not one drop of blood on the floor.  She probably does not own a tenderizer.

Grandma and I have a few things in common, such as an underdeveloped sense of patience and an overdeveloped sense of when it's appropriate to be insulting.  Generally speaking, the notion of considering another point of view when it comes to just about anything is unheard of.  Oh, yes.  And we both chose a career in piano.  It shouldn't be hard to imagine that we haven't always gotten along.

For the past few months, I've been trying to take a little time out of the teaching day to give her a call and play something short and fairly sight-readable.  The arrangements are nothing special, and it's sort of stupid to try transmitting 88 sets of vibrating strings over a telephone.  Despite this, she seems to look forward to hearing whatever happens on her end of the call.  I tried ringing one time just to talk to her, and the phone was promptly hung up.  She really just wanted to hear me play, so then I had the idea to do start some postings.  You know, just in case somebody out there might like to hear a little easy piano music from somebody else's granddaughter.

"Crown Him with Many Crowns" in the setting of Bach's Prelude in D Major

Arr. Cindy Berry

First Bowleg

When I was in elementary school, I couldn't keep a diary because my handwriting was not uniform enough to prevent me from ripping out pages.  If 7 pages went missing on the left side of the binding, the 7 adjoining pages on the right had to be neatly removed.  Often, this process ended up removing more than 14 total pages.  Before very long, the paper in the center of the book was visibly denser, and the covers lacked a sense of proper cushioning.  They were the jutting, vulnerable bones of what once was a diary.  This was all very hurtful to me because the soft blue paper with faint lavender lining was very pretty, indeed.

Now that we've moved to easily deletable data, I'm trying again.  It's been 20 years.

In closing, I find the word "blog" to be disgusting.  As I don't find "web log" to be much better, I entered it into an anagram solver out of sheer desperation.