So . . . That Happened

I am not going to lie. I am busy. Musicians and music educators go on and on about the crazy months leading up to and between Thanksgiving and Christmas. Then January rolls around, and every year, I forget about the joys of festival, recital, spring musical, "fill-in-the-blank" season. 

Because I am in the midst of insane "fill-in-the-blank" season, I am going to keep it short and sweet, friends. Here is In Jill's Words' Guide to Stuff That Happened This Week.

Pitch-Matching Machines

Three fifth graders who have been struggling with pitch-matching for a while signed up for Solo Festival. I was worried about finding songs that they could sing successfully alone or in small groups. But after three semesters of singing in choir and two months of rehearsing the spring musical, I am pleased to announce, they are matching pitch most of the time. Victory!

The Kids Won't Leave

Speaking of the spring musical, the kids are so excited about the upcoming performance, they want to spend all of their spare time in my classroom. They show up to watch even when they are not called in for lunch recess rehearsal. It's tough to get them to leave my room, before school, after school, during school. And I love every minute of it.

Now Watch Me Whip
My third graders were supposed to create movements for each section of Kodály's rondo, "The Viennese Musical Clock." The B-section students wanted to Whip and Nae Nae to the steady beat. Not stylistically appropriate, kiddos.

Broadway Over Mountain Biking?
The other day, my husband, Dan said, "That musical, Hamilton? It's good. It's like a rap concept album." 

Then he said, "Do you think we should try to go to New York this summer to see it on Broadway?"

The remarkable part of this story is that we were planning a mountain biking trip to Montana for our summer vacation this year. Dan would choose Broadway over mountain biking? 

Hamilton tickets are close to $500 a piece right now though. We may not make it to NYC this summer, but it's the thought that counts.

Like, Love, Ha Ha, Wow, Sad, Angry
New emoji reaction buttons were revealed on Facebook this week. It's great because if your pet hamster dies, and I want to show sympathy, the "like" button seems insensitive. By the way, I sat on my laptop liking and unliking one of my friend's profile pictures this afternoon until I figured out how to access the new emoticons. #Gen-XerTechnologyProblems

 

For the latest blog updates, visit and "like" Rebecca Turner-Duggan.

How a Couple of Clumsy Incidents Could Be the End (RE-POST from 8/1/15)

All of this rain reminded me of this blog post from last August. Enjoy rereading these slightly embarrassing anecdotes about my habitual lack of grace.  

Last year, I published a post about my klutziness, mostly a description of a bunch of stuff I had dropped like it was hot and broken. One thing you might not have known about me, or maybe you have already rightly assumed, is that I'm fairly klutzy with my body as well.

Let me preface this by saying that I am a physically active person. I run regularly on both dirt trails and pavement. I hike and mountain bike (acrophobia be damned). And in the winter, I have been known to do a little cross-country skiing.

But it was after one of my four-and-a-half-mile runs a few weeks ago that I found myself in real danger. I slid and fell into the splits as I was exiting the shower. My foot hit the frame of the shower door, preventing me from completely toppling to the ground, and I ended up with a purple bruise on the arch of my foot for a few days. I thought maybe I could pass it off as a running injury if necessary.

When my husband, Dan, and I go hiking, it's always entertaining (more for him than for me) when I walk over logs.

"Come on, ballerina," Dan will say, reminding me of my fourteen years of classical dance training that doesn't seem to have made a difference in my current ability to balance, as he snaps pictures of me awkwardly stumbling across fallen trunks.

Most of the time, I end up scooting across on my butt.

A few weeks ago, Dan rode his bike home from work in a surprise thunderstorm. That was funny, but I am the one who almost died.

I posted the photo below along with the following story:

Dan, biked home from work in a thunderstorm on Wednesday. I was getting ready to call him and find out if he wanted me to pick him up, but he had already left, right before the storm hit.

The truth is, I was a little delayed in calling him because I ran outside to stand up the watering can that had gotten blown over. (I wanted to catch the rain water.)

When I came back inside, my wet feet slipped out from under me, and I ended up on my butt, stuck underneath the kitchen chair. Hence, I did not get around to calling him as quickly as intended.

One thunderstorm and my whole world becomes very dramatic.

My arms and tailbone ached for a few days after that excitement.

I predict falling off a mountain (one of my biggest fears, by the way) won't be the end of me.

I'll probably just take a spill on the sidewalk, hit my head, and that will be it.

(Oh, wait! I already did that once when I was about seven. Ended up with a slight concussion.)

For the latest blog updates, visit and "like" Rebecca Turner-Duggan.

"Is He Kind to Animals?" A Thought for Valentine's Day

I have blogged about Valentine's Day a few times over the years, and I am starting to run out of things to say. Shocking, I know. But how many times can one write about a commercialized holiday perpetuated by the chocolate and floral industry?

I thought this Valentine's Day I would share an anecdote about how I chose my significant other. And I guess I chose wisely, so far, because Dan and I have been married for twelve years.

I grew up in a baseball family, following my brother's All-Star and American Legion teams around during the summers. All of the other baseball family members knew me, were quite interested in my love life for some reason, and had all sorts of relationship advice.

But the exchange I best remember happened around the time I met Dan. My brother's baseball team was playing in the city where I lived, at one of the local high schools, so I went to watch my brother play.

“Is he kind to animals?” one of the fathers who was sitting in the stands asked me.

"What?" I said.

"This guy you're dating, is he kind to animals?" he repeated. "You can tell a lot about how a man will treat his partner by the way he treats animals."

"I thought you could tell by the way he treats his mother," I said.

"No, the way a guys treats animals is a better indicator."

"I haven't seen him around any animals yet," I said.

But as I sat there, I recalled another guy I had dated briefly back in college. He had kicked a dog once in front of a couple of our friends and me. We were horrified, and I did, in fact, find out that he was not respectful to humans either. Maybe there was something to this theory.

This baseball father's litmus test popped into my mind a few months later when Dan was telling me about "Charlie," his chocolate lab who was getting older and probably would not make it much longer.

"She's such a good dog and doesn't get all the attention anymore because the other dogs in the house are younger and more energetic than she is, and I think she's kind of sad . . ."

At this point in our relationship, I had never heard Dan string together so many words together about anything, and I remember his eyes taking on this sincere, concerned quality while he talked about Charlie.

"That's it," I told my mother over the phone a few days later. "I think I might marry him. He loves his dog."

It turned out Dan is nice to animals, nice to humans, and mostly nice to me.

Yesterday, however, I was hesitant to ski one of the hillier trails at Ponderosa State Park because of the icier-than-usual snow conditions, and Dan said, "Come on. I've decided we're going to ski it."

"That's not nice to make me ski a scary trail."

"It's not Valentine's Day yet," he said.

But he is still kind to animals.

Yes, Dan and I still support the chocolate and floral industry on Valentine's Day

Other awesome posts about Valentine's Day from In Jill's Words:

"The Token Valentine's Day Blog"

"Just Another Valentine's Day Post: Are You Sick of the Day of Love Yet?"

"Valentine's Day: It's Alright With Me"

For the latest blog updates, visit and "like" Rebecca Turner-Duggan.

What I Actually Got For Christmas

In November, I wrote (quite persuasively, I thought) about wanting an American Girl Doll for Christmas. I know you are all dying to know: Did I or didn't I get what I asked for?

The answer is yes and no.

Here is a conversation I had with a friend of mine a few days before the big holiday.

Friend: "What did you think Dan will get you for Christmas?"

Me: "An American Girl Doll," pause, "either that or a food processor," pause. "He will probably get me a food processor."

Let's be honest. If I give my husband, Dan, the choice between purchasing a doll or a kitchen appliance, he will buy the kitchen appliance.

I did, in fact, ask for a food processor OR an American Girl Doll for Christmas. Dan was not being a jerk.

But as soon as I received the food processor, I realized I was scared of it. It has been sitting patiently in the pantry, waiting for me to put it to use, since December.

I mean, it has—like—sixty blades and weighs—like—a hundred pounds. Anyone who knows me is well-aware that I shouldn't be around anything that comes with so many sharp objects.

I'm surprised Dan bought it for me. He usually tries to keep me away from sharp stuff, like knives and open tuna cans. He has rushed into the kitchen, roused by my howling, on several occasions to find my finger gushing blood from a crooked gash made by a serrated knife.

I knew I should learn how to use this magical appliance from my Christmas wish list, a gift I had equated with the ever elusive American Girl Doll, but I decided Dan should supervise the first attempt. I wouldn't want to have to drive myself to the ER with a bloody limb.

I wrote, "Watch Becky use the food processor for the first time," on Dan's honey-do whiteboard list.

"What does this mean?" he asked.

"I want you to watch me use the food processor. It has—like—a thousand different components and sixty blades. You should be worried about me chopping off my finger."

"It’s pretty foolproof," he said. "I think you'll be fine."

We shredded some cabbage last weekend, and he was right. The blades are protected by plastic coverings, and my fingers don't even get close to the sharp thingies. The processor is so quiet, it doesn't even sound choppy and scary.

On Wednesday, I felt comfortable enough to use it sans Dan, and I made black bean cakes with fried eggs and salsa.

BEFORE

AFTER

"That was a good dinner," Dan said that evening. "The food processor must work well."

"And I didn't kill myself," I pointed out.

"That's a plus."

For the latest blog updates, visit and "like" Rebecca Turner-Duggan.