Academic Accolades

I thought we were saving so much money by Bill taking Calvin's senior pictures. . . then I remembered about the camera collection. . . .

Congrats to Calvin, that is John Calvin. . .
Did you know Calvin's full name is John Calvin Kotrba. He's named after my grandpa, who was an Iowa farmer. At this point, Calvin has his blue eyes and his dimples, but that's really about all they have in common. I kinda remember when my grandpa earned his GED--to graduate from high school. He must have been in his fifties. Then along came my mom, and she (and my uncle) were going to college. That was a really big deal. Iowa farms girls didn't have a ton of options to study at that time. They could be a nurse or a teacher. My mom graduated from Iowa State and became a home economics teacher. Bill's folks grew up around Chicago and advanced education was a little more of a given. Now Calvin and Mary have a suburban education, myriad options for college and advanced degrees are pretty much expected. Time marches on.

Just a note, our public schools in District 196 rock and the opportunities for the kids are unbelievable. All of this is mostly to say thanks to all the teachers we know but also to give Calvin a moment of congrats.

Calvin is a Semifinalist in the 2019 National Merit Scholarship Program.
How come he is so smart when I have to run spell check on my blogs?
I don't know. I'm just thankful that every generation gets smarter.

If I had to voice an opinion about why kids do or don't test well, I would credit Calvin with two habits. The habit of voracious reading. Calvin reads everything. Conservative publications, liberal publications. Fantasy novels that are a million pages long. The Wall Street Journal--almost everyday. The second thing I think I would credit is piano. The ability to focus on a task for a given amount of time. The development of concentration and creativity in music.

Reading and music. The perfect storm.
Congrats Calvin--Bill and I are proud of your academic success and I'm happy to celebrate you in my blog today. We are also mostly proud of your heart and your faith and all the things you are off the testing page.

Love you,
Mama and Daddy

http://www.district196.org/blog/2018/09/12/district-196-seniors-recognized-by-national-merit-scholarship-program/

A Noble Creature

Charlie is missing. Since Wednesday night. He was last seen by a choir member coming into our house for the gathering. We've been doing the lost cat thing. Calling animal control and the local vets. Posting signs. Sharing on Facebook sites.

Charlie is ten years old. He came to us on a snowy night in April of 2008. I had fallen in love with a picture on the web and Bill and I drove to some god awful farm down south in a snow storm to get rescue him. It was the worst place ever with monkeys and lizards and no floor. We laid down the cash and snatched the cat and got the heck out of there. He is a Napoleon but I didn't give a hoot about the breeding papers I just wanted those white whiskers.

He fit in my robe pocket and practiced with us at the piano every morning. When he ran across the floor to chase a toy his back side got in front of his front side and twisted him about.

There is still hope that Charlie will return--it's only been three days. Garfield was gone for nine days. Still, I don't do well with lost things, let alone lost pets.

The pity party in me is crying that I've actually lost the two cats that I love and now we are left with Rosie, and I'm not so connected with Rosie. She was just Garfield's sister who came along for the ride.

Charlie is actually the best cat ever. Even Bill loves Charlie and he has spent the best part of three days combing the ditches and the ravine behind our house looking for that black and white cat. That's what good husbands do.

Charlie was like a bad boyfriend to me. He is known to bite and scratch when things didn't go his way, like if you pet him wrong or for one moment longer than he tolerated. I have the scars to prove it. The piano kids are instructed not to pick him up.

Then he comes around later all sorry and wanting to make up.

He sat on my lap every morning listening to Calvin and Mary play the piano. Until we got to the Chopin Scherzo. That was too much for him. Come to think about it he wasn't very fond of Op. 90 either.

He's noble for a million reasons. He lets the other cats eat before he eats. Even though he could take any of them down with a swipe. He waits at the foot of the bed for my alarm to go off before sticking one claw into my neck to wake me up. He would never wake me up and that was part of the deal. Same thing with all the doors. Never cry at the door, just wait patiently for Sara to finally walk by. He expected very little and never asked for much with his voice.

In 2009 we got Lilly from the shelter, to keep him company. She was a tiny little tabby. He adopted her and protected her and they were ying and yang. Him the huge long haired black and white cat and her the tiny short-haired tabby but something worked. He couldn't protect her from the coyote when she snuck out during a recital. I'm sure he would have tried and he sat on the screen porch for days looking for her.

In 2010 we got Garfield and Rosie from the Picket Fence house in Burlington Iowa. Instead of loving his new friends he was completely annoyed with the two fluff balls we brought into his life. They were not Lilly.

That's the story of Charlie. Lost pets are the worst because you never know at what point to cry. When Flopsy died we said goodbye and laid him in the garden to rest. Now I just have some black fur on the carpet in the hallway upstairs--and I'm not ready to vacuum it up.

Forgive the drama, please, but I am a crazy cat lady after all. It was part of Bill and my marriage vows actually.  I would move to Minnesota and he would deal with the grand pianos and the cats.

So--here's to Charlie. Here's to all the pets. Thank you for the joy they bring to our lives. Charlie if you are out there--make your way home safely.  If your life is done--thank you for being the most noble of creatures.

Humble Heroes

Everyone Needs an Expensive Frustrating Hobby, Don't They? 

Mark Humphrey is My Hero

Restringing in Progress

Second Day of Eighth Grade

Shiny New Strings and Pins and Bright Red Felt

Good to Go For Another 50 Years

Aren't They Shiny? 

Still Some Work to Do 

No More Teflon in the Under Levers

Somebody Hand Makes This 

Did You Know You Can Dust Under the Plate with an Air Compressor? 

Friday Night Football was Played Before and After the Half Time Show

First Day of His Senior Year 

We are off and running. School started Tuesday and I start teaching this next week.  It's a good idea to start lessons a week after school starts. For the children and for me. It gives us all just a little breathing room.

Life moves at several different paces. Highs and lows? A twelve-year-old brought a loaded gun to the junior high I grew up in, where my mom taught for 30 years and where my sister currently teaches. He attempted to shoot my sister's friend Dawn Spring. He fired the gun but the safety was on. Then she said, quote of the year, "it looks like you are having a really bad day, lets go talk to someone." And she accompanied him to the guidance counselor's office where they disarmed him. Sometimes the angels show up at the right time. We didn't really want Eldridge on the map. Dawn is a humble hero.

My friend Kris is in the hospital with viral meningitis and Ramsay Hunt disease in her ear. That's shingles. She's been very, very ill and the church is postponing her goodbye party. We hope she will come home as soon as possible. More room for angels, every kind nurse and creative doctor is appreciated.

Mary is making jewelry out of the old piano strings and pins. Mark has been here all week putting new strings and dampers on the Steinway. He is an artist and the hero of my pianos. The piano was built in 1970 and has the original strings and dampers. The next time they get replaced it will not be by me. Isn't that something. Pianos are something else.

Everyone seems to be in the right place at the right time. Isn't that all we really need? I'm teaching teachers Suzuki Book Five this Fall and believe me, it's a little intimidating. Who would really want to take this from me? I've taken the class from Doris Harrel and just having her Steinway does not qualify the teaching. Still, I didn't do this because I think I'm worthy. I did the teacher training thing because I believe in the mother tongue approach and talent education.

In The Book of Joy, Archbishop Tutu says on page 210-211, "Sometimes we confuse humility with timidity, this gives little glory to the one who has given us our gifts. Humility is the recognition that your gifts are from God, and this lets you sit relatively loosely to those gifts. Humility allows us to celebrate the gifts of others, but it does not mean you have to deny your own gifts or shrink from using them. God uses each of us in our own way, and even if you are not the best one, you may be the one who is needed or the one who is there."  I'm clinging to that. . . we don't have to be the best one to be of value. Whenever we are at the edge of our ability and experience there will always be doubt. The author goes on to remind the reader that it's not about me. It's about the message, in this case the joy of teaching book five. Except the Haydn. . . I'm not quite getting the joy of that first movement yet.

Back to The One Thing and I'm sorry you are victims to my current reading list, after the blog you will not need to read the actual books. . . but, in keeping with the goal of blocking time for my one thing, I'm committed to practicing two hours a day this Fall. I'm off to a very good start and it feels very good to play. The author says you need to block fours hours a day to your one thing, but he doesn't have two kids and a studio and a home and garden and a church job. I humor myself.

Other heroes of the week? High school calculus teachers who buy the textbooks THEY want with their own money.  Middle school GT counselors who sneakily get readers the right English teacher. The entire Eastview Band department. Husbands who run errands on Saturday morning so wives can blog. Pretty much everyone one who goes to bat for someone else, sacrificing something of themselves along the way, is a humble hero.