Piano Rehearsal

Back from rehearsal for piano ensemble performance on November 6th. I don't see how Sherry stands us! We're really bad on the more rhythmically difficult pieces because most of these people don't have to count anymore to stay with anyone in an orchestra or doing accompanying. Plus, we're not exactly young anymore. J, who I thought was my age or slightly younger, was 64 today and wears 2 hearing aids! She's secretary/assistant for an attorney, and said if you have to have hearing aids to do your job, that there is a disability resource that will pay for them . Anyway, she didn't pay a penny for hers and they seem to work well for her. But, EJL, that's another story! She is the funniest thing alive and no one wants to boot her out, but she is banging with her left hand on the secundo parts and missing most of the rhythms unless Sherry counts out loud... really, really, loud just over her shoulder into her ear. And she talks while she plays and says things, really really loud, like "This doesn't make any sense at all. I don't know why he wrote it like this." But it doesn't make any sense because she can't hear the other parts. And Sherry is over there playing both the primo and secundo parts on her piano just laughing like a hyena. And JE, who is 75 but still works in day care programs because she is a pianist/organist/child care specialist, is playing all the notes, sitting beside EJL, blocking her out, saying, "Sometimes it's a blessing to not hear so well--especially when you work with children".

Now, my own confession. I turned a page and was utterly lost. None of the notes made any sense. Apparently I hadn't enough sense to hole punch my page correctly and it was placed in the folder backwards. Ahemmm.


Sherry, borrowing Dr. Suzuki's quote, told us we "only need to practice on the days we eat". So, Carol, a former teacher to my children in public school, told her she would be fasting many days. We' re performing four hand arrangements of Morning Trumpet, Amazing Grace, Wondrous Love, Shall we Gather at the River, and Simple Gifts. The first three are easy peasy lemon squeezy. The River is the rhythmic disaster and Simple Gifts is an oxymoron. The secundo part is way high into the primo range and we, not being "real" pianists, are knocking each other off the benches trying to play all the notes. Some sort of negotiation, compromise, treaty, or peaceful agreement must be reached or this piece will NOT glorify God!

We have two more weeks to pray and practice so that this performance will not sound like "Shall we sound the morning trumpet while praying for amazing grace before we toss the simple gifts into the river where we've gathered and beg for wondrous love."

All of this WHILE we're playing. It's a virtual nut house! It drove me to Starbucks for a cafe latte afterward. It may even drive me to practice on the days that I eat.

RetryTuesday

OK, maybe when I was 10 years younger I would have accepted today's happenings better. Or maybe I would have blown them off and smiled through my hormone patch. But honestly, I cleaned my kitchen three, yes three, times today. And I'm the only person at home! I opened the microwave door after the first cleaning to place part of my lunch--delicious grilled chicken and fresh green beans-- in to warm. And dumped the entire plate upside down on the clean tile. Nothing to do but start over--with lunch and cleaning.

Then, after spending 9 hours cleaning my lint/spider/bug/dirt/paperwork laden house, I thought perhaps I should get my aging bod to the gym. I rode the recumbent bike because I had been on my feet for hours today, and the seat would not adjust without me getting off, then on, then off, then on and finally somewhat adjusted but not really firmly in place. Disgusting clickety clack for 30 minutes. So I went to the resistance machines and finished my time there, came home and found clumps of dog fur where I had already vacuumed. Doggie Scooter is having some sort of trauma, which has been treated at the vet's office and he is literally biting out his fur. I sat with him, gave him treats, told him what a good dog he is, and began my dish for tomorrow's Bible study group, Hashbrown Quiche, only I cooked Canadian bacon, rather than ham, to cut the fat calories. When I began chopping the crisped meat, the cutting board slipped and tiny bits of Canadian bacon went all over the twice-cleaned kitchen. Scooter loved it. I cleaned the kitchen again.

So, I ate a very late supper, began putting away everything that was left out, grabbed a trash bag from the top shelf of the pantry, and accidentally pulled down a precious little resin turkey that I had just bought for my Mother in law's collection--and it broke on the floor. So, I cleaned that and took a shower and called Muffin to talk before we go to bed, as we do each night that he is working out of town. And my email program refused to open. It downloaded some upgrade late this afternoon and hasn't opened since then. Tried system restore. Tried downloading a new version all together. Tried opening that version, and although it totally downloaded correctly, it will not open.

Just going to bed--if I can manage to walk to the bedroom without cleaning something or hitting "retry" 200 times.

Thursday Things

Love Thursdays. During the school year I don't teach every Thursday. During the summer I don't teach at all on Thursday--I catch up. Laundry, Bible study, flowers in the garden, wash the doggy, make phone calls, answer email. And my favorite Thursday Thing is that Muffin comes home from working all week out of town.
Plus, today, Gracie and Boo went home from the hospital. Jonah was so excited that he couldn't take a nap. She said he was like a bull in a china closet with Gracie and the operative words are "slow and gentle". But, he's not quite three and he wants to help so much. Both my girls who are mommies are awesome mommies, so I know Jbear and Gracie will be just fine. I'm packing to go check out the action!
Another favorite Thursday Thing is Body Flow. The class is at 5:30 and is so popular that students begin arriving before the previous class clears the gym. There is a sea of yoga mats and bodies and towels and eager students of all types and ages. When the instructor chooses tracks that I know well, I get a little distracted watching the other students. Today I noticed that there were several men around my age who were incredibly flexible. There was another man who totally gave up somewhere in each track. And there was a young, lovely girl who yawned through almost every track and refused to extend her arms in the strength poses. I love these classes because the age range is from about 10 years old than I am all the way to high school and college students. The late comers are always forced to park their mats near the stage, right under the instructor's nose. I've been in that spot and it isn't comfortable, but can force you to work out harder just to keep from looking like a dork under the eye of the instructor.
Tonight's instructor is incredible. She teaches four, count them one at a time, four different types of classes and there is not a spot on her lyrca-clad body that isn't totally lean. Plus, she has legs as long as telephone poles and is as musically choreographed as a dancer. I felt so good when I left the class that I immediately hit the elliptical machine, then the recumbent bike when the lower back reminded me of my age. But, now one of my favorite Thursday Things is ibuprofen--YES!
Finally, on the list of summer favorite Thursday Things is So You Think You Can Dance. Love that show. Real talent, real choreography, really good music. Each of the dancers is getting the equivalent of a master class each week on the Wednesday and Thursday airings. The choreographers work with them for a very minimal time, but the judges comments are just as valuable as the time with the choreographers. Reminds me of some of the excellent music camps with fabulous instructors that I attended as a student and that my students have attended over the past 30 years. Oops, I'm older than that. Make that 40 years. Forty Years????? Have I been teaching that long. Yes, exactly 40 years. Seems like only a couple of years ago that I was learning to accept the critiques of coaches and teachers and directors with nasty attitudes toward violinists. It still makes me uncomfortable when I watch SYTYCD and the judges deliver unfavorable comments, but I really love to watch the dancing. Hopefully I can learn to speak more kind, constructive, and loving comments to my own students as a result of watching my favorite summer TV.

I've seen fire and I've seen rain

Rain! Love it! An inch fell tonight with the promise of more tomorrow. All day the air was heavy and humid. When I played with the quartet for the first wedding of the day, at 1:30 p.m., the sky was too bright, the air somewhat stifling. By the end of the wedding it was hot and I was hotter, not having managed the ever present temperature adjustments my body refuses to make quickly. The doctor’s latest advice on this “temperature adjustment difficulty” is that it will pass in about five years. Five years! Do you have any idea how hot, or cold, a person can get if their thermostat won’t regulate for five years? Talk about global warming! All baby boomers with hot flashes should just rebel right now and get Congress to pass a bill regulating OUR temperature. Forget the polar ice caps. Get me a Sonic Route 44 right NOW!

There was another not so tiny problem today that could have been related to aging. My joints hurt. I don’t mean they ached. I mean they fell like they were on fire most of the day. I woke up that way and even took plenty of ibuprofen, did stretching and exercises in the floor just after getting out of bed this morning. That’s another thing the doctor says needs attention—the joints. We’re talking about flesh and bone here, not the illegal variety. The doc wants further follow up on the latest comprehensive lab results. When I had the lab tests it was only two days before Daddy had pneumonia, and I thought nothing about it, because for years and years, all my labs return with perfect results—right down the middle of the charts. Not so this year. The results showed a slight increase in the cholesterol and an enormous jump indicating inflammation. Flames! Fire! I prefer the fire of the Holy Spirit, thankyouverymuch. Anyway, the thumbs were flaming after playing for the first wedding, so I took more OTC anti-inflammatory drugs, rested while Muffin rubbed the arms with Blue Emu goo, and drove myself to wedding number two for the day. Our quartet played with another quartet, along with a trumpeter, a pianist, an organist, and guitarist, along with three vocalists. When I sat down with the other first violinist who is about thirty eleven years younger than I am, he said, “I don’t know why, but my hands have hurt all day and now it’s really bad.” I really tried not to feel gratified. Really, really tried. Anyway, it began raining while we were playing and both of us began to feel better.

I simply refuse to accept that I have growing pains. Not when the twenty-somethings are complaining too. This lovely rain that is falling goes a long way to regulate temperatures and quell fiery pains. Thank you, Lord for Your rain. Amen.

And the time is: Two Hairs past a Senior Citizen

When I was about 27-28 years old, people seated behind me in orchestra began to tell me that I had gray hair—always such a welcomed comment to a brunette. Ten years and three children later, I was definitely past gray and moving rapidly to silver/white. I felt really sorry for my youngest child since I looked more like her grandparent, and I had a very serious visit with my hairdresser, darling Rosie. She laughed only a little and did a reverse frost, so it left some of my tresses the natural color and the rest were blond. But long time friends didn’t recognize me, since I had always had hair this color.

Finally, I reconciled to my genes. My Mom’s aunts were silver early—by mid 30’s. My Dad’s hair was really graying by 40. His sister was whitish by 37. I made a decision—let the hair go natural ASAP so no one will remember when it happened. Then, with any luck, they’ll think I’m timeless. It was somewhat successful as a beauty plan. At my 30^th high school reunion my classmates complimented my Silver Fox look, and many of them proclaimed they wished they had the nerve to do the same (big chickens or little lies?).

About a year ago Muffin started to gray a bit at the temples—so distinguished. I thought we looked a bit like George and Barbara Bush—he had the wrinkles and I had the silver hair.
And he earned the wrinkles, having worked hard to keep three of our four daughters in college in a 5 year overlap, then the same three marrying in a span of 11 years. Not to mention that he has worked 200 miles east of our hometown for the past 10 years, traveling back&forth, to&fro on Thursdays and Mondays, living in an apartment Monday through Thursday, and with me the remaining days. Then our darling baby went to college far away for four years. Let’s all say, “Travel!Travel More!” It’s enough to give a man gray hair, wrinkles, office spread, and dishpan hands! (He avoided all but the wrinkles.)

During this past year, with all the stress of travel, nursing home, job related woes, and life in general, a very positive thing started to happen. Clerks in stores and employees in fast food restaurants began to offer us Senior Citizen Discounts. And, they didn’t just offer, but actually rang up the discount after a mere glance at us. In the words of “Monk”, “It’s a curse and a blessing”—especially if you don’t want to look as old as you may feel, but you love being favored with a discount. Now, please note, this never happens at a drive thru where our faces (and our hair) is unseen. We still sound young—no loss of vocal quality accompanying the muscle tone and hair color here.

We’re taking the “eat inside option” more often.