​...Hana played a little melody she had been practicing, remembered from nights lit by dancing fireflies. She imagined that the notes would drift out through the window, past the bright rabbit moon and beyond, and Ojiichan would hear them and smile.
                                             from Hana Hashimoto, Sixth Violin
                                                       written by Chieri Uegaki
                                                         illustrated by Qin Leng
                                                           Kids Can Press, 2014
 
       We were a musical family. My grandmother played the mandolin. She also played the piano. My dad played the banjo, Mom played the clarinet, my brother and my sister both played the violin. My brother also played the viola..
       I wanted to play the piano. My grandparents bought me an upright that sat in my parents’ living room. I took piano lessons all through grade school, but they didn’t stick. My piano ended up in all of my own living rooms. Moving pianos is expensive and can be tricky when steps are involved. My piano is a little out of tune and the C above middle C gets stuck sometimes. My attachment is sentimental, not practical.
       Music lessons came with recitals. My mom worked for the school, so she was busy organizing the performance schedules and making punch, putting out the cookies and making sure the bathrooms were equipped with toilet paper and soap. Dad sat with us after we had our turns on stage. He liked to sit in the front row where we could find him.
       Then it was time for the trombone. I don’t remember the student, but he was very close to the edge of the stage. The slide actually hung over, sliding about six inches from my dad’s nose. Really. My dad was cool. That day he taught me how to laugh without moving my mouth, only my shoulders. Till tears fall. And you need a handkerchief. All our shoulders were shaking, my sister’s, my brother’s, my dad’s and mine. We shared his hanky.
       In junior high, Mom gave me her clarinet. I took lessons and joined the school orchestra. I never got one of the important seats, but the summer before 10th grade, I tried out for the orchestra in our summer community theater and got in. My musical claim to fame was the solo clarinet accompaniment to “I Feel Pretty” in West Side Story. It’s not very long and it’s not very difficult, but it is a solo. And it was mine. I loved that little piece of anonymous limelight.
       Yesterday was the eightieth anniversary of another orchestra, the Israel Philharmonic.. Bronislaw Huberman, a violin prodigy who continued to attract rock-star-sized crowds as an adult, saw Hitler rise to power in his beloved Germany. Huberman gathered the finest musicians from orchestras in Germany, Poland and other countries in Hitler’s path and convinced them to move with their families to what was then Palestine. He secured visas. He made housing arrangements. He bought and renovated an auditorium. He persuaded his friend Arturo Tuscanini to leave Italy to conduct the first concert. And the Palestine Orchestra was born. Many people who would have been murdered brought music, culture, hope, love to a world caught up in horror and sorrow.
       William Shakespeare said, “If music be the food of love, play on,” in Act I, scene 1 of Twelfth Night. I’m sure he wasn’t thinking of Tuscanini, Huberman or my dabbling with the piano or clarinet, but the sentiment is true.
       Music feeds my soul. It helps me express love. And encourages me to pray. I’ll start the New Year singing.
                                                                                                                                                       --stay curious!

     But when he finally woke up, Mrs. Teaberry was there with Tabby and her own dog, Zeke, and they ate cake and drank tea and watched the snow fall all night long.
                               from: Mr. Putter and Tabby Bake the Cake
                                                              by: Cynthia Rylant
                                                 illustrated by Arthur Howard
                                                           HarcourtBrace, 1994
           
            My first best friend was my next door neighbor, Mr. Spisak. He helped me catch butterflies, showed me pictures in the clouds and whacked a garter snake that terrified me. Mrs. Spisak gave me cookies.
            Mrs. Osika was a hairdresser who worked out of her house, katty-corner from our house. When my mom and I had worn each other out with our washing/brushing/braiding ordeal, Mrs. Osika cut off my butt-length braid and permed what was left. I wanted to hide my head in a paper bag. A story for another time.
            Our neighbors across the street were an older couple who may or may not have had their own (probably grown) children who lived in another town, or lived close by. I don’t remember children, grown or otherwise, just some vague answers to my pointed questions.
           My parents awarded this special couple with the titles “Aunt” and “Uncle.” In those days children did not address adults by their first names. Aunt Daisy’s real name was not Daisy. It was Agnes. Her English had a little touch of the Old Country around the edges. Uncle Frank loved her very much and called her Daisy. It made both of them smile. Me, too.
           Aunt Daisy and Uncle Frank invited us to see their Christmas tree every year. Imagine! A tree right in their living room! With lights and balls and delicate ornaments I looked at with my eyes, not my hands! I had never seen a Christmas tree.
           A toy train went round and round around the base. The track sat on a poofy white snowy blanket. The train tooted and chugged. It didn’t puff smoke. When I was tired of watching the little train, Uncle Frank put me on his lap and let me eat chocolates. My parents weren’t really the lap kind of parents. They also enforced a one-chocolate rule. I felt extra special.
           We kids drank root-beer, I think. The grown-ups sipped something in small glasses.
           Music played, but we didn’t sing. We just kept each other company. We sat in each other’s love and kindness in a warm house full of wonderful people who showed me how to care for others.
           This year I will light the candles in my menorah surrounded by my husband, my grandchildren, my grown daughters and my sons-in-law. Life is good. Yes, life is very good.
                                                                    
                                                                   --stay curious!
 

       While orbiting Earth, you pass through a time zone about every four minutes. So NASA uses MET (Mission Elapsed Time). At launch, the clock starts at 00:00:00:00. The two zeros on the far left measure days, the next two count hours, the next two count minutes and the last two count seconds. When it’s 01:06:31:56 MET, you are 1 day, 6 hours, 31 minutes, and 56 seconds into your fabulous vacation. 
                             from: How Do You Burp in Space? And Other                                    Tips Every Space Tourist Needs to Know
                                                 written by Susan E. Goodman
                                                    illustrated by Michael Slack
                                           Bloomsbury Children’s Books, 2013
 
       I’ve said many times, I don’t have wanderlust. I like to stay home. I knew I would not grow up to be an explorer or an astronaut.
       But in 1962, counting backwards meant something new. Now it wasn’t just counting backwards. It was a countdown. And blastoff! always came after one.
       The space program captured our collective curiosity in the 1960s and lead to an explosion of all things space. Here are a few I remember:

• My Favorite Martian
• Lost in Space
• 2001: A Space Odyssey
• Telstar That earworm will stick in my head for days just because I thought about it.
• Astronaut Barbie

        I was not allowed to own a Barbie doll (or even play with one). My mother said Barbie didn’t do anything important. She only wore lots of expensive clothes and make-up. Mom claimed that Barbie, just like Miss America, was an inappropriate portrayal of women. Mom really was ahead of her time in the women’s rights arena, but I suspect she was uncomfortable because Barbie was “grown up.”  It was all too realistic for Mom.
      Astronaut Barbie was introduced in 1965. She was part of a career series that Mattel developed to answer Mom’s questionable tone about Barbie. Mom didn’t change her mind. So I went to my friends’ houses and played with their Barbies. I don’t think Mom ever found out.
      None of my friends wanted to be astronauts or scientists. I don’t even remember talking about a career of any kind. We just played.
      When John Glenn was a kid, he loved airplanes. Charles Lindbergh flew solo across the Atlantic Ocean in 1927. Six-year-old John was fascinated. He had his first plane ride at age eight. He flew a fighter bomber in World War II. He flew at supersonic speed in 1957. I remember those sonic booms. We always knew when they were coming and would run outside to catch a glimpse of the plane. The ground shook under our feet, the windows rattled in the houses, but I never saw the plane. It was too fast.
       On February 20, 1962, John Glenn was not the first person in space, but he was the first to orbit the earth. 
       In 1998, when John was 77 years old he flew again, this time to help scientists discover how space travel affects the aging process. In his 1999 memoir he wrote, "It was hard to imagine that virtually the entire history of space travel had occurred between my first ride and my second..."
       And aboard the Friendship 7, during that historic triple orbit of the earth, John remarked, “I don't know what you could say about a day in which you have seen four beautiful sunsets.”
       As the sun sets on a long life well-lived, we say good bye. John Glenn: scientist, humanitarian, public servant. Thank you. You will be missed.
 
                                                                   --stay curious!

Ada’s mother despaired. Her daughter was beginning to remind her of Lord Byron. She sensed her imagination could not be confined by math, because Ada was starting to find her own sort of poetical expression. . . through math!
                                        from: Ada’s Ideas: The Story of Ada                        Lovelace, the World's First Computer Programmer
                                   written and illustrated by: Fiona Robinson
                                    Abrams Books for Young Readers, 2016
 
            Ada Lovelace was born on December 10, 1815, at the front edge of the Industrial Revolution in Great Britain. Her keen mind and fascination with machinery led her to write complex algorithms defining complicated mathematical computations.
            Only a few inventions have shaped the course of humankind. The wheel, the written alphabet, and the computer come immediately to my mind.
            I have experienced various kinds of wheels:

• transportation (cars, trains, tow trucks)
• toys (LEGOS, Thomas the Tank Engine and his friends, dolly strollers)
• kitchen implements (rolling pins, dishwasher bins, pizza cutters).

            I spend lots of time with the alphabet, both reading and writing.
            The computer, though, is not really my best friend. It’s 2016 and I have finally arrived (kicking and screaming and dragging my feet) into the 21st century. I have a smart phone.
            My phone is really a computer. I type messages on it. I take pictures and store them and send them. I check my e-mail. I play Angry Birds. Oh, and I make and receive phone calls.
            I type on a laptop, my other computer. It works or it doesn’t. Mostly it does. I don’t know how it works. I just turn it on and start typing or looking up stuff, or checking my e-mail. My printer is wireless, so it’s anybody’s guess how that thing works. But it does, too, mostly.
            My grandfather (my mother’s father) was born in the horse and buggy days. He experienced inventions from the lightbulb to automobiles to rockets headed for the moon and beyond. Although he had an attitude like Ada Lovelace’s, his curiosity didn’t lead him to invent anything. He was too busy providing for his family. But Grandpa loved to learn about the world. Sure he was stuck in his own ideas about some things, but he was open to change. That says a lot.
            I like to blend the old with the new.
            I look online for stuff like when the next super moon will appear: December 14, 2016 (https://science.nasa.gov/news-articles/2016-ends-with-three-supermoons) or how to roast vegetables But, I keep my newspaper recipes alphabetically in a notebook. I call my bank’s automated teller, but I do the math with paper and pencil. My phone has a calendar app, but I keep my spiral one up to date.                                  For now, I’ll keep my phone (and laptop) charged up. But I’ll keep a sharp pencil at the ready.
           Happy Birthday, Ada!
                                                                                                                                                      --stay curious!