Same Auld Lang Syne

Calvin, Mary and I went to Bill's big band gig on New Year's Eve. The kids had fun watching Dad play in the band and taking turns dancing off to the side with their Mama. We did not venture unto the actual dance floor as the dolled up actual dancing couples were giving me the major evil eye from the get go. Uggs and cowboy boots did not meet their ballroom footwear approval. Mary was invited out by Maxine to do the group samba. She has that ability to make friends with dressed up ladies. Calvin got to watch the drummer from back stage. My adult companionship consisted of a few too many Facebook updates. I reflected on all of my own New Year's Eve gigs. Same Auld Lang Syne. I had the forethought to bring two wool wraps which saved us from the drafty corner where guests of the band get tables. This was not my first rodeo, folks. In the end, the goal is to be the first or last out of the parking lot after the gig. Anything else is perilous. We were the last, and having both kids sound asleep in the car actually made me feel like maybe they aren't growing up quite as fast as I thought.

New Year's Day and the first few days of January are dangerous times. Mental health can be fragile in the sub-zero post-holiday darkness. The kids have been home for two weeks and Christmas is over but still spilling out of the pantry and closets. On the surface things still look pretty festive but underneath they are tired and scattered with dry needles from the tree. The cookies are stale but I am still tempted by the stragglers even as I swear off sugar for the next fifteen years.

I feel the intense aching, longing--YEARNING--for every drawer to be cleaned out and every closet tidy and everything that I own to be taken care of properly. I settle for wiping out the silverware drawer and oiling the cowboy boots.

On my tombstone it very well may read: Here lies Sara Stephens Kotrba, she was very good at folding the laundry and finding lost items and organizing her daughter's room, again.

The un-important urgent does take over the un-urgent but important if we are not extremely careful. Two of my closest piano teacher friends have turned in their teacher trainer applications. We all started at the same time, but apparently they don't have as much laundry to fold as I do. That's a joke on me--don't you know a sarcasm when you hear one, Charlie Brown? Please--don't get me wrong--these are gals I respect and love dearly--my frustration is 100% my own. The important urgent thing is that someday we all pass the Suzuki torch to the next generation--and we will--but I can't help out until I find Mary's missing iPod.

All that is left for my own teacher trainer application is to record my own performances. That's not hard--but it's gonna take about six weeks of consistent practice to memorize the repertoire and get the videos in the can. Okay maybe it is hard. Where could that dang thing be? Probably in the snow outside a Wisconsin gas station.

Right now I'm supposed to be writing a parent lecture for the Austin group next weekend. The title? "Balance your practice, balance your life." Or something like that.

Balance? The truth is my kids haven't practiced in two weeks. How can I write this lecture when Mary has to have Spiritoso recorded by January 16th and she hasn't played it since the Christmas recital? I, who stood up at the S.A.M. meeting and suggested that if kids didn't have their recordings done by December they really weren't ready to graduate. . . .stuffing my child's recording into the last minute.

As president elect of the Suzuki Association of Minnesota I think my first change will be removing Spiritoso as the Book Three Piano graduation piece. I think instead it will be the Wild Rider. All in favor say "aye".  Charlie Brown. . . .

How can I write a lecture about balance?  There is no balance. There is only survival. There is only fumbling toward excellence. There is only clean socks and slow practice. Sometimes the practice day starts out with coffee and ends with red wine. Is this balance? No, this is survival.

Over the break I saw two of my alumni. Stefanie asked me to play at her wedding. Kathryn walked in and said, "I miss coming to this house." Tomorrow I'm having coffee with another student who is engaged. Two new little ones came over and played electric trains with Calvin and Mary. My studio is the Toyland Express. In case you want to be a train engineer yourself, here is a link to Calvin's 2014 train video: Kotrba Trains. Isn't it cool how the trains weave around the legs of the pianos and the drum set?

Maybe that's what balance is. Setting up trains in the piano studio over Christmas break. Seeing old and new students away from the piano. Having friends over instead of looking for the iPod. Maybe it's in the bathroom of the Rhinelander Pub and Cafe. Having one bowl of homemade ice cream instead of two. Or let's be honest, three.

Maybe balance isn't all it's cracked up to be. I can give a lecture on balancing a 15-60 minute practice session, but balancing your life? Probably not.

Unqualified.

But, maybe survival is okay too. Perhaps the title should be, "Balance your practice, survive your life."  Yeah, I think maybe that is a little more honest. I think I can actually do that. I'm good at survival--and I can start practicing those pieces myself--and get Mary's Spiritoso recorded in thirteen days. I'm better at survival than balance--and maybe that is a little more honest wish for you too.

Happy New Year, my friends. Here's to 2015--friends and trains and balance and the urgent and the un-urgent and survival and even the laundry and even Spiritoso. God bless it all, and God bless you.

Love,
Sara