Whew!

I played lots of notes this week. (I missed quite a few, too) The Symphony No. 2 by Dvorak is a very powerful piece of music, a composition which, in all my years (48 in orchestra) I have never performed until tonight. Compositions like this are why we practice scales and arpeggios. Problem with this music is that it doesn’t lay well under the fingers of the left hand, even after practicing it for hours. We were all hacking at the same passages over and over backstage and it still felt like a panic attack when we saw them coming at us in the performance. The audience loved it, however, so we must have done enough of it well to be pleasing to the ears.

As much as I love playing symphonic music, I’m having doubts about how long I will be able to play first violin parts. All the reaching for high notes and the shifting to high positions is aggravating my joints—especially the right hand, wrist, shoulder and both shoulder blades. I was feeling my age this afternoon after the 4 hours of rehearsal, morning and afternoon. I hit the sack with a hot pack on the shoulder, after spraying it with pain killer and taking more Advil. Muffin dragged me out of bed, cooked an omelet and poured a big Diet Coke to lure me into getting dressed and out the door.

Our first item of performance was the Bolero, by Ravel. Our conductor had “choreographed” the orchestra so that only a few musicians were on stage to begin—led by the snare drummer. Gradually, we added soloists and sections until shortly after the trombone solo, all personnel were onstage and playing. It was very effective in showcasing the soloists and drawing attention to each of them. We followed along backstage in the darkness on an orchestral score on a music stand with a light. Following the Ravel, we performed with a famous saxophonist, Dr. Eugene Rousseau, who played an incredibly difficult concerto by Tomasi. I can’t believe I heard such beautiful tone and interpretation, fully memorized.

I enjoy each week of teaching my students, and I always enjoy providing music for weddings, receptions, and other special events. But, symphonic music is what inspires me. The music of Beethoven, the sound of the orchestra, is what drew me as a very young child, to study violin. It is the overtures to opera, the driving rhythms of 20th century music, the dissonances that resolve to rich harmonies, the subtle timbres of rich symphonic works which drew me to choose to major in violin, rather than piano, which I began to study when I was four years old.

One of these days I will need to retire from playing with the orchestra and I will miss that fabulous sound, the experience of playing from the center of the sound on stage in a violin section and knowing that the audience is hearing it full on—impossible to experience any other way that LIVE in a concert hall.

But I will not miss the joint pain, the adrenaline drop-out, the soreness the following morning (moving into several days as I age), and the moments of terror, wondering if I have practiced enough to truly perform my best. Even the youngsters were complaining of aches and pains tonight. It was truly vindicating!

Age and Experience

This is my banner this week. So far I have dropped a jug of water I picked up by the unreliable handle. I knew that about the handle--just did it anyway. And I forgot to close off the doggie door after a rainstorm, even though we had just cleaned the carpets. I stayed up very late last night hand-cleaning off the mud. Then, there was the DVRecording I tried to drop to a DVD, although I should have known that the recording was bad, because I was there when the TV went to green screen because the local station lost its feed. One DVD wasted.

Yesterday I picked up a flower pot off the front porch so I could plant some recently rooted basil in it. It only had potting soil in it. Brought it inside, planted the rooted plants, poured a bit of water over it, and started outside with it. When I realized all the water was running straight through the drainage hole, I remembered why the plants originally planted in it wouldn't live. Plus I had to clean the tile where all the water leaked. I shoulda known better!

Tonight, tomorrow, and the next day I'll be reminded again and again that making mistakes is a way of life, until my fingers thoroughly learn all the notes and bowings for the Saturday night concert. Discipline. Wisdom. Practice. Knowledge. oops. Discipline. Pracitce, knowledge, wisdom. Oops. Discipline......

Same Kind of Different as Me

Tonight I was greatly privileged to hear the authors of this book speak to incoming Abilene Christian University freshmen and other guests. About a year and a half ago I read their book and promptly bought two copies, which I still circulate to willing readers. I thought I could not be touched more deeply than when I read Ron and Denver’s book originally, but hearing them speak almost broke my heart with love.

Ron’s main message is that most of us want to make ourselves feel better when we help a homeless person. We do one thing—give money, or food, or donate clothing—and expect that to make a difference. But real love keeps giving until the homeless person is different, changed, improved, headed in a different direction to a different lifestyle.

Denver’s primary message is about Jesus. Jesus changed his life and showed him how to love and receive love. He still prefers to be introduced as “nobody who will tell anybody who will listen about the Somebody who changed me”. His heart cries out to preach the gospel. He reminded the audience that the only thing we own is what we give away.

Denver is an artist represented by a Dallas gallery now. He gives his earnings to Debbie’s Chapel.

First Date

Thirty-nine years ago tonight, Muffin and I had our first date. We met on the dorm lawn as I was moving in for my sophomore year at dear old Texas Tech. He was with two friends, one with whom I was supposed to have had a blind date. The blind date fell through, but he came to meet me just before he left town to return to Navy duty, bringing two of his childhood friends along. Enter Muffin, one of said friends. Half an hour after they left, Muffin called to ask me out. “Which one are you?” is what I was thinking. But I accepted and we agreed to go to a university dance the following weekend. The big band playing for the dance was, this is very painful to remember, Strawberry Alarm Clock. You must Google that one to believe it. Anyway, he remembers every little detail of the night and I confess that I do not. I was in my do-not-try-to get-near-to-me-I-have-been-greatly-wounded-by-a-guy mode for about, oh, three years.

We had a lovely time, and I do remember feeling safe with him and that the dance was really, really loud in the coliseum, so we mostly talked outside while walking around. We agreed to go out again, but he broke that date. So, before you form an opinion of that, I’ll say that he was sick. Sick and contagious. Contagious with the chicken pox. Yep. At age 19 he caught them from his then three year old sister, missed a week of the semester that cost him a grade point in one class, and broke our second date. I confess that I laughed quite a lot when I got off the phone, then got a blind date with someone who was a friend of someone, who lived on my hall, who I don’t remember—neither name nor face.

But, Muffin never forgets this date. September 7, 1969. He swears he was McSmitten. I just want to keep him that way for, oh, about another 50 years.

Alphabet Opera

Muffin and I traveled south today, down highways blocked by construction, cattle, and tractors outside little towns. The fields are green (Thank you, God, for the recent abundant rains.). The sunflowers, cows, horses and goats are very happy. It was a pleasant 3 ½ hours in the car visiting and listening to podcasts. When we arrived we had called ahead to let CB know that we were nearby so we wouldn’t startle anyone. Opening the front door we heard two little voices from the kitchen table singing the alphabet, counting to 10, and finally saying, “Grandpa, Marmee!” Very sweet sounds.

We played house, took photos, danced, watched Baby Signing Times, read books, made tents, ran and played on the slide and in the sand box outside, found a bunny rabbit in the yard, and ended the evening as we started the afternoon, with an Alphabet Opera, and of course, prayer. Best two year old sopranos in Texas! And I’m not biased in any way whatsoever.

Change in the Wind

Tonight there is a change in the wind. Yesterday the wind came from the East and was hot. Today it was from the South and was warmer still. Tonight we have a North wind and tomorrow the forecast is for gusts up to 40 mph and coolish temperatures--low 80's. In Texas this time of year we call that a cold front.

Today is Nannie's 87th birthday. I called her this morning and she had already had a visitor. By tonight just before 9 p.m. she had a steady stream of calls and visits with gifts, complete with flowers, offers for free lunches, and a massage. She also decided that she wasn't feeling so poorly after all the exercise last night and will meet me at the gym in the morning for the senior class. Like I said, there is a change in the wind.

Hallelujah!

Foiled Again

Age has its perks—senior discounts (not old enough yet), respect and reverence (waiting on that one, too), wisdom (put my order in a long time ago). But today was not one which offered the perks.

Felt every bone in the body early on today, probably because it’s been 3 days since I worked out. Would do that tomorrow but I begin teaching for the fall semester and that will be for 8 hours and 45 minutes, with a short break for lunch.

Age is not in my favor with Nannie. She had agreed to meet me at the gym and consider my advice to spend one, two, or three days a week with the trainers who teach Active Living for seniors. However today she overdid her time on the stationary bicycle at her home and has now decided that she will not try anything new that might cause her to hurt.

Scratch that idea. It was primarily to help her get involved with new people in a new place where she had not built an album of memories with Daddy. But, no deal now. It may hurt.

However, the day was not lost. Upstairs is ready for the next visit. Muffin made the yard look fabulous. Reunion group was great, with lots of good prayer taking place. The Cheesemyhead family is coming to visit later this month. Most of what I need is in place in the studio for tomorrow’s first Fall lessons. Downstairs carpets are cleaned with foil still under the table legs. Foiled again in more ways than one.