A musical interlude.

Earlier this week, I ran across an article (shared by a friend on Facebook, naturally) about how singing in a choir makes you happier. It turns out that singing triggers chemical reactions in the brain that release a number of feel-good substances: endorphins, which blunt our pain receptors; dopamine, the happiness hormone; and serotonin, a neurotransmitter that helps us regulate appetite. In addition, music plows durable pathways in our memory. Folks suffering from dementia can sing along with songs from their youth, surprising themselves as well as their caregivers. And music has the ability to transport performers -- and listeners. When I shared the article on Facebook, I confessed that listening to my daughters' high school choir performances would leave me in tears, and not just because I was the proud mama. Oddly, drum and bugle corps performances have affected me the same way. Not so orchestra or band concerts, maybe because I performed in enough of them as I was growing up that I got over it.

Anyway, I'm about to put all of this stuff about singing to the test. I signed up for a Smithsonian Associates program called the Boomers Chorus. We'll be singing songs from the '60s and '70s -- which is perfect, because I kind of specialize in knowing those oldies, having grown up listening to them on the radio.

cdd20 | CC0 | Pixabay

Unlike other musical groups I've been involved in, the program for this concert is already set. The choir director emailed us, explaining that because there are no auditions for this group (you pay your money and they have to take you) we're likely to have people with all sorts of musical ability and experience, from those who sing regularly, to those who used to, to those who have always wanted to. So while some of the songs will be performance-ready by the time the concert rolls around in March, not all of them will be -- and that's okay. The point is to get people singing, learn a new skill or brush up on an old one, and have some fun.

When it comes to experience level, I'm sort of a hybrid. The vast majority of my musical experience has been instrumental, although I sang in the chorus of my high school musicals every year. And of course, I always sang along with the radio. Given the state of audio technology back then, I might have to relearn some lyrics.

I'm especially excited about one of the songs on the program: Simon and Garfunkel's "Bridge Over Troubled Water." It's a great choice for a choir, with that symphonic ending. When I was in high school, we played an arrangement for symphonic band that raised the hair on everyone's necks -- and I mean that in a good way.

Here's the original from 1970. I hope we do it justice.

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These moments of hair-raising musical blogginess have been brought to you, as a public service, by Lynne Cantwell.

Yarny things.

Brace yourselves. It's a post about knitting.

You can blame Kriss Morton, a.k.a. the Cabin Goddess, who wants me to post a photo of the mittens I made for her this summer. Kriss, here you go!

Yes, that's right -- I knitted a pair of mittens that say, "Cold as Fuck." As you might imagine, there's a story behind them.

Kriss lives in Alaska, and last winter she found the pattern for these mittens on Ravelry. She doesn't knit, so she asked me to make them for her. As it happened, my daughter Amy had the yarn that the pattern calls for. And I thought mittens would be a good summer project (mainly because they don't create a pile of knitted-up wool that pools in your lap). So Kriss has her mittens and I had my fill of knitting in two colors and reading a chart.

After the mittens, I thought I'd work on something easier. So I decided to knit myself a cowl. I bought some bulky yarn (because it knits up quick), and a pattern called "Grace." But of course I couldn't just knit the thing in one color, like the pattern calls for. No, I had to go all psycho and make each side of the cable a different color. Here, you can see what I've got so far. (The glasses are holding down the edges so you can get the full effect.)

You can't see it in this picture, but there are five strands of yarn coming off the top of the project. Five. How this is easier than the two strands I was using for the mittens, I have yet to figure out. I might finish this "quick" project in another month or so.

So that's been my knitting foolery this summer, except for the shawl project that I took with me to Albuquerque and never pulled out to work on, except on the plane. Here's a shot of the finished product. The yarn was awful -- it kept breaking on me -- but the finished product looks okay.

Yarn seems to be a theme this summer for us. The girls and I, along with my friend Kim, trekked to downtown DC yesterday to visit the Corcoran one last time before the National Gallery of Art takes over and closes it for renovations. As we were going to be down there anyway, Amy mentioned that the Smithsonian staff had yarn-bombed the Castle to promote a show at the Sackler next door. So of course we had to see it.

Our first clue was the gate to the Haupt Memorial Garden, which was covered in knitted fabric. The little tags hanging from the knitting are cards advertising the show at the Sackler.

A pillar outside the Sackler.

When we went into the garden, we discovered that the gate wasn't the only thing that had been yarn-bombed. The railings along the grass and the pillars leading into the Sackler were also wrapped in red knitting.




With a knitted effort like that, we had to go in to see the show.

The artist's name is Chiharu Shiota, and the installation, called "Over the Continents," is pictured on the right. It's made up of shoes, all tied together by red yarn to a central point on the wall.

The shoes were all donated by people in Japan. Shiota asked for shoes that the person didn't ever intend to wear again, but didn't want to throw away. The donors all filled out little cards with the stories behind their shoes, and the cards are tied to the shoes -- but they're all in Japanese. Thank goodness there's a computer terminal nearby with translations of some of the stories.

The artist apparently attracted quite a crowd while setting up the installation -- a bunch of kids gathered around to watch her.

The installation will be up through next June, if you're interested in seeing it. But the yarn bombing will only be up for another few days. 

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These moments of yarny blogginess have been brought to you, as a public service, by Lynne Cantwell.