Rachel S. Heslin
Thoughts, insights, and mindless blather

Notes on notes and other
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They are finally refurbishing the San Bernardino Amtrak Station. I have mixed feelings about this. It's an impressive structure in the Mission style, and I'm sure it will be glorious when restored to its former splendor.

And yet, I'd become quite fond of its old, decaying granduer. It had character. I mean, where else could you find a ladies' restroom, complete with antechamber, that had toilet stalls made of marble, half of which were missing their doors? It was wonderful: the broken panes, the rotting wood.... I mean, I love what they did with Union Station in LA, but grandeur in its prime evokes different stories than does that which is long gone and lost to the ages.

I'll miss those ghosts.

Wednesday was Shawn's awards ceremony for his scholarship. We had his parents, my parents, my grandma and her sister, and my cousin Erik and his roommate cheering Shawn on. When he went on stage to accept the certificate, Grandma (ever the flirt) leaned forward and whispered, "Doesn't he look handsome up there?" I certainly thought so. Dad made Woo! Woo! Woo! noises, accompanied by appropriate Arsenio Hall arm gestures, while I yodeled approval. We're not a terribly shy family.

Keys tuned: 28 new + 6 maintenance.

Yep: I did the rest of the bass clef and the last two treble notes before I have to contort myself through the lid to reach the strings. The bass strings are easier to tune because they're thicker, looser, and fewer: starting with the D below middle C, they only have two strings per note (rather than three), and the bottom-most octave only has a single string per key. There's just one note in "Summer Highland Falls" that I don't have, and I need to tune 3 more notes in order to be able to play Tori's "Winter." I called Shawn and played for him a little over the phone.

Yay! I can play! (some things, anyway; it's definitely better than not being able to play at all!)


After silence, that which comes nearest to expressing the inexpressible is music.
-- Aldous Huxley

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