The Sunday Carwash Blues

What do you do in Minnesota when it gets a whopping 33 degrees?

I got "The 4 Ahead and the 4 Behind Me Carwash Blues"

An Adult Performs

I judged a Festival yesterday. The last "contestant" of the day was an adult! I should not be shocked. I teach adults. They are some of my treasured students. I have sent adults to the festivals to learn how to play in front of critical audience, to handle those nerves, to get to another level of playing. There are many great reasons to participate. But I had never critiqued an adult student.

Do you know how many adults have whispered to me that they used to take music lessons? Many wish that they had "kept with it". Many hated it. Many have the Nun and Ruler story. This is a public apology for any of you who went through that. Some remember secretly going to their lesson for the candy, the stickers or to pet the dog. A few went to the "little old lady next door" for lessons regardless of her teaching ability. Some can still play for parties or Christmas. Does one of these describe you?

Many felt that it was important to give that musical gift to their children, or that when the kids are grown, the bills are paid, the time is right, they may take lessons again. I can't wait to see them here!

Adults at the festival don't have to memorize their two pieces. I'm so glad. Most of us have enough on our minds. I have come to think about her presence at the festival a lot since yesterday. She chose two intermediate pieces; she chose slacks and a nice sweater. She didn't clip her nails. She played cautiously and correctly, and she DID IT! I told her how excited I was to see her and hear her and celebrate this moment with her. I think I critiqued her graciously, with hope of a faster tempo on one piece someday. How lyrically she played her Sunflowers, a full deep melodic line sang above the rest of the field. I wonder how she felt about the experience.

Performing at a critiqued event is not for everyone. Some want to enjoy music for their sake, a stress relief, a time of meditation, a moment of grace. I do not know if it was her choice to perform yesterday or if she was coaxed, coached, cajoled into it. I only hope she feels proud and invigorated.

I know how I feel when I'm learning something new and then putting it out there. I am taking pottery classes intermittently. 6 weeks of doing something new, exciting, intimidating and foreign to my hands. It is so humbling. There are master artists East and West of me on the wheel that encourage, tilt their head askew, and comment that this may be my best pot yet. Oh my, I created a, ah, a something. I imagine that is what all students feel in any art. I created, I learned something about the art, and something about myself. There is such beauty in that for me.

This is my favorite piece to date. Why? It feels good in my hands, the glazing is fun to see where the white ran into the blue, but the best reason is because it perfectly holds a bag of peanut M&M's.

Frosty Watches the Sunrise

"Is this the beginning of the end", he wonders, "or rosy with possibilities?"

Practice Practice Practice

"We perform what we practice."
"Only practice on the days you eat."
"Practice makes better."
"How do you eat an elephant? One bite at a time"
Or my friend's small black button on her coat, "go home and practice".

How many ways can I encourage, nudge, nurture, foster, engage the young artist? Musicians can't just show up and BE great. (That only happens on TV, like American Idol) Musicians BECOME great when they work out the details. I want to push, I'd like to nip a little on their heels, but I refrain. I can't make them love this. I can lead them to the music, I can be a good example. I am trying to ask the right questions and put the numbers out there. After all this is mathematical. If you want to be memorable, you spend the time at the bench. What goal can I set before you in a small attainable way that sparks your inner fire to do more, go higher?

Minutes per day, hours per week, it's not glamorous, nor is it a mystery, really. I remember sitting in the basement practicing and hearing kids play ball in the open field next to our house. I got out there eventually. I didn't mind the process, most days.

February is that revealing month as end of the year goals start to look out of reach. It happens every year. We eagerly said "yes, of course we can" accomplish this or that. The wonderful thing in September is that it's all true. We CAN accomplish the goal, if we put in the time, slowly, daily, working toward May. It's what our country will realize soon. "Yes, we can" will take daily hard honest work.

If I didn't practice as a tortoise, slowly and steadily conquering the road, February now looks bleak. 10 weeks until May is over. The task too mighty, the deadline too near. Minutes a day now better become hours. It's not always the talented that rise to the top - it's often the hard worker. Bach once said that everyone would have as many compositions if they worked as hard as he. He believed more than talent he had a stronger work ethic than most. Yikes.

I have a fantastic quote on my wall from Jon Kimura Parker. "I practiced this and this and this (imagine big black sharpie arrows pointing to the program notes), even when I was completely sick of them!"

How many ways can I encourage you? Go and practice. You can do it.

Chit Chat Happens

Sometimes I actually have to explain things to my students in words. There's only so far demonstrating, breathing, and singing can go before we stop and get out scale fingerings booklets and discuss the most efficient way to run up and down the keyboard. A mom who usually listens to her childrens' lessons remarked today that I was unusually talkative. Between critiques and techniques, she's right.

The two of us then proceeded to talk awhile longer about the weather, spring sports and Superbowl commercials. My next student wasn't coming and I had time. It was delightful to chat with a grown-up for a minute. Finally one of the student children said, "Mom, you think the teacher talked a lot today?" Maybe Moms need the interaction with me as much as I need them!

My Bad

One of my students was sure he would NOT be a finalist. He had played so much better at home, he missed a few big jumps, he was fairly certain he had few to zero dynamic contrasts. To quote the president today, "I screwed up". He called his mom on the way home, so disappointed. What this young man did not do was to blame the piano, the day, the drive or the judge. Noble.

What's remarkable about my student's honesty is that his critique said almost the identical. You should work harder in accuracy, the quieter sides of this piece, but there is so much potential in your performance. In a wild dash of grace, our young pianist IS a finalist. The judge heard past the minor flaws to the full content of his musicianship, of his character, in a way. Granted this will not be the case at the final competition. His best "A" game is the only one that will be awarded honors.

I can hear the president at the dinner table, groaning as this Daschle problem came to light. Wow, Michelle, what do I do now? Girls, if you had this problem in school, what would I expect you to do about it? You'd tell the truth? What an awesome and novel idea. I can do no less than what I expect of you.

I hope we can we allow the president to take the responsibility, be honest, noble. I admire my student and the president for owning up to their mistakes. My high school students love to say, "oops, my bad". I shake my head in agreement, amusement and some amazement that we can be given a second chance.
(an albino squirrel family lives in our neighborhood. He is sitting in a crab apple tree.)

The Astilbe Predictions

The shadows are crisp in Minnesota today, 4 degrees above, smart and shiny. In other parts of the country, they are bragging about the buds on the hydrangea, but my astilbe poked dead heads up, and predicted at least 6 more weeks of winter. Where the icy birdbath sits, there is at least a foot and a half of snow blanketing the crocus bulbs.

I predict that my studio did well at the contest. Remarks and emails from the students so far sound promising. 12 students of mine participated this year. The best news for me is when they don't need to know whether they won, but they felt they performed well, or even know that they didn't play that great. They speak matter of factly, almost boldly. Wednesday's US Postal holds answers.

Today I reminded a young lady to pedal with her heel on the floor. She turned and said, "You sound like my mom when she tells me to chew with my mouth shut." Laughing, I told her it was more important than that. But my prediction is that neither Mom or I are done with our messages to her.

Although no birds are chirping in Minnesota yet, the students are!

In honor of poetry day in blogland, here is a poem that the English recited on Feb. 2nd, hedgehog in hand (groundhogs were easier to find in the US). A healthy mix of pagan and Catholic images prevail on this day, which is halfway between solstace and equinox. "The church" planned a purification day to coincide with this day. 40 days after the birth of a son, women would purify themselves in the temple, having been unclean and unable to enter the temple before that. Feb. 2 is 40 days after Christ's birth. The German church named it Candlemass, and blessed their church candles.

If Candlemas be fair and bright
Winter has another flight
If Candlemas brings cloud and rain
Winter will not come again