This institute is very different from Colorado. Colorado must be one of the largest and this institute is relatively small. Colorado has all instruments and this institute is just for pianists.
We come here because we love the teachers. We have basically been following around the teachers we love for the last four years. We meet other teachers along the way and get to know and love them too.
This year Calvin has Fay Adams for a masterclass teacher and Mary has Marina Obukovsky. The kids love their teachers. Calvin has Catherine McMichael for improvisation and they both have David Brown for Dalcroze. Mary is fiercely affectionate toward the teachers. Everyone knows when the Kotrbas are coming down the hall. . . Mary also has Orff class and they both have a 30 minute choir class each day.
So today we were late for the first class and I was gently reprimanded by the teacher. (Loser mother who can't get a family of four showered and tooth brushed, breakfasted and hair combed, recital clothes ready and out the door of the tiny hotel room we are sharing and loser Dad who fights traffic all the way on the five mile trip that takes us 30 minutes to drive. . . ) I put my make-up on in the car while eating a banana and sloshing coffee. Class starts at 9:00 and Mary didn't wake up until 8:25. . . tomorrow is a new day. I'm just kidding of course about being the loser parents. . . kinda. I will set the alarm for earlier tomorrow. Not the beautiful life.
Mary has some situation going on with her bladder which causes her to need to go every 15 minutes. Bill took her to the doctor and the doctor gave her a clean bill of health. . . but there's something going on and the reason I mention it is because it is driving us all crazy. We are walking in the door to each class and she has to go. We come back late and enter. I know compassion is the correct response, but there is still a primal scream in me that says "YOU JUST WENT."
Calvin wanted to be completely independent at the workshop. It is a small church and he has been here before so I don't see a problem with that. Of course I will be at his masterclass but the other hours I will go back and forth between him and Mary. End of day quote, "Mama, where were you? I couldn't find you after my two classes? I looked everywhere for you. I thought you would be there." Oh the freedom we long for and yet fear so deeply. I assured him that at no time had Bill or I left the church property.
Mary met 100 friends. Her favorite of course is Emily, cousin of Anna, Christina, and Oliver. They hold hands whenever possible.
Calvin and Mary both played in the recital after lunch. Beforehand, Calvin spilled his chocolate milk down his shirt and I had to rinse it out. Mary was completely sweaty from playing on the playground. They both played very loose but musically. Mary pulled the double applause stunt where she waits with her hands in her lap until the audience finishes clapping. Then she bows and gets another round. Calvin missed the last note of his Gigue and went back to fix it. First he looked at me and like the good parents I lectured last week, I gave him a two thumbs up. He shook his head and I saw the tears well up as he moved his glance to Chris Liccardo and the row of all his favorite teachers in the back of the sanctuary. These are the lessons we learn.
Mary and Calvin are being good listeners in their lessons. This is all I really want. Last year Calvin spent more time studying the map of the church and documenting what kind of piano was in each room. This year he holds an intelligent and respectful discussion about the phrasing with Mrs. Adams. He has an opinion about the music which he politely shares. My heart sings. Mary is out of shape having taken two weeks off of practicing for Montana and while I was gone last week. Calvin copes better with the break. To her, it is like starting over and it is never nice and easy. Still she attacks the teachers with hugs when we meet them at the dinner arranged at Fuddruckers.
They are good enough, and I am a good enough parent. More than good enough.
No comments:
Post a Comment