"U da Mom!" . . . Eating and Practicing

Yes, these are bunnies riding unicorns. . . oh to be eight again. 

Yes, you guessed it, Bill is out of town. 

It's Thursday night and I have seen nineteen returning students this week.  Congratulations parents!  Everyone stayed in the boat.  I did not have to reintroduce any child to the black keys and the white keys! I'm pleasantly surprised. I worried that there would be fallout from my sabbatical this summer but almost everyone kept going!  Kudos to Aidan and Sami for their excellent practice partner coaching!  I was tickled to see some of their notes and suggestions in the kids' music.

Next week? Five new puppies--including four four-year-olds. We finish up parent orientation tomorrow. It's the first generation of kids who are younger than my own. That feels different. Really different. I feel this overwhelming sense of confidence and experience and affection toward these families. I have BEEN THERE. . . and I'm here to tell you, your child is not going to come up with anything I haven't seen. . .and they are going to play the piano really, really well.

I have to reflect on some faith based irony. For the past 25 years I've always been very prayerful about the studio roster.  I've always felt that children come and go according to their needs and my needs.  We all have a purpose in each others' lives. Yes, there have been a few kicks in the stomach, some tearful farewells, and even an occasion sigh of relief when the Dear John email hits in inbox.  (It's very rare these days to conjure up the courage to quit in person. . .) But for the most part, things work themselves out with very little influence from me. I never recruit students, I never turn away a family who observes and does orientation, and I never fire anyone for not practicing. Period. Every child can.

But, what I really wanted was some new little kids to start. You can imagine my delight that somehow in July and August the phone started ringing and four Eagan families stepped up to the plate. Three of them coincidentally go to the same preschool. My grandma would call that a God thing.

It's going to be a great little group. All the other studio kids think they moved up a group. I'm not sure they realize that everyone pretty much moved up a group. . . so. . . it's going to feel about the same. I'm not saying the high school group is going to feel the same. There's still a hole in my heart for all the ones who went before.

In closing--this is how a day in my life goes: wake at 6:00 and practice with Calvin. Feed the children and get them to school. Exercise. Teach lessons. Pick up the children and feed them snack. Teach lessons. Feed the children dinner. Practice with Mary. Feed the children a bedtime snack. Get the children to bed. Practice with Sara. . . feed Sara a bedtime snack. . . put Sara to bed. Doctor Suzuki said to only practice on the days you eat. Sometimes it feels like that is all we do. Practice and eat. Of course that's not true, we squeeze in eye doctor appointments and piano teacher meetings and roof repairs and birthday parties.

The things that go to make up a life. A very good life. As Calvin proclaimed on a recent camping trip when I saved his disassembled walkie talkies from a rain storm, "U da Mom!"  Wow. Just hearing those words made it all worthwhile. I'm the mom, even in middle school lingo. Sigh.

Eating and practicing. Eating and practicing. Eating and practicing.

Here's to all the parents helping their kids eat and practice and everything else in between.

We da parents!!!! (I think that's a compliment. . . at least I'm pretty sure it is. . . isn't it?)

Raise Your Ability. . .

. . . with a piece you can play.  This is a famous Dr. Suzuki quote.  It refers to the cornerstone emphasis on review in the Suzuki Method.

News flash! It works.

Kids who review their past repertoire everyday play really, really well.

Period.

Two-thirds of the child's daily practice should be on pieces that he can already play.  This affords him the ability to add dynamics, correct tempo, increased accuracy, sophisticated phrasing . . . etc. etc.

Kids who review are comfortable at the piano.

I'm increasingly convinced of the value of review in other areas of life as well--for instance, math and language.  When we rush ahead in math we may get to the next level faster and impress the fellow PTA members with how advanced our kid is, but if she doesn't really get it, sooner or later she will crash.  Ditto for the foreign language.  This explains how I could take three years of high school and one year of college French and yet arrive at the Paris Cafe unable to order and pay for a cup of coffee. When we learn our OWN language we repeat and internalize EVERYTHING year after year.  Kids that are comfortable with math didn't forget the addition facts when they went on to division.  They KNOW it.

So, parents, as you get ready to come back to lessons, ask your child to play all her pieces. Not mindlessly, but with a central focus, for example, today let's play all the pieces with your feet very flat or with very nice balance--of course depending on where the child is at.  Don't get stuck on fixing everything.  Just play the songs and look for one thing to think about.  Have faith.  Have fun!

Use charts, games, or. . . dig out my flash cards for books 1 and 2.

Teachers. . . here's the other news flash: the students will only review when we ask to hear the pieces every week.  This is my goal this fall, to hear every song at every lesson. Yes, this means less time for the new piece. But the payoff is extraordinary.  And. . not to worry. . as ability grows. . . you will spend less time fixing things and be able to learn things correctly the first time. I promise you will make even more efficient progress.  Good luck.  Get busy.

See you Monday. . .

RED

Family date night. . .
For Christmas last year the man in the red suit brought us tickets to the Taylor Swift Red concert. The Kotrba family didn't get the memo that like Santa, you were supposed to wear red to the concert. It looked like a Lutheran church on reformation Sunday.

I can count on one hand the number of arena shows I've been to in my life--Adele, James Taylor, Bonnie Raitt, Chicago and Rush. Count Basie and Pat Metheny and other jazz and singer songwriter types play smaller venues. This was definitely my kids' first big show, outside of Eastview High's Bravo production, that is.

It was a great show.We all had a great time. Casey James and Ed Sheeran opened up for her. I missed most of Casey James waiting in line to get Mary a t-shirt, but Ed Sheeran was awesome. He stood on that arena stage with his guitar. Just him. And the guitar. After a bit I heard a whole band playing and was dismayed to think that he was singing to canned music. Not. He was using his guitar as bass and drums, making percussive sounds and creating live "loop" recordings that he recorded and controlled with his foot pedals. I've really never seen anything like it. By the second song he had the whole 15,000 people singing in two part harmony that he asked us to sing back to him, left and right sides, and it made this sweet little chorale round. That is some charismatic pedagogy if I've ever heard it. Several times he worked the guitar into a frenzy and he was scat singing or rapping or both at the same time--but it was really well done. He closed with his hit "A Team." If it makes you warm and fuzzy to think about 10,000 eight to twelve year old girls singing this sweet song along with him, I'm going to suggest you not google the lyrics and their meaning. Oh well. My mom let me buy the 45 rpm record of "Afternoon Delight" when I was eight and I sang along with the catchy tune and never knew what it meant till many years later. Sometimes you have to lighten up.

Taylor Swift was really cool. I know folks have strong ideas about what kind of role models we want for our girls. Here's my take: when a girl works really hard and follows her dream to write songs, and takes it all the way to employ a gazillion people and make millions of dollars and sell out arenas on her own terms--I think that's a good role model. And she's done it so far without any drunken headlines. Personally, I think it's a great thing to show our girls that they can be cute and flirty without being raunchy.

Was it a theatrical show?  You bet'cha.  It wasn't Adele sitting on a bar stool with a lamp beside her. But last time I checked, musical theatre was a highly respected and successful art form.  There were a million costume changes and stage sets and dancers and video and her face larger than life on the jumbo-tron. Fireworks and confetti. Taylor flying across the arena in some boom contraption.

But she also sat on a stool in a t-shirt and shorts and sang and played the banjo. With her hair in a pony tale. That's another hidden message. We are okay both ways. Dolled up or in our own skin.

She told the kids--I paraphrase--if you think people stop being mean when you grow up you are wrong. . . when someone is so mean to you and it hurts so bad. . . you have to resign yourself that you will never ever make someone else feel that way. . . and then go in your room and write a song about it. She related again how she didn't fit in at school and didn't have many friends because she was different. Don't we all feel like that?

My favorite? "All Too Well." She played it on the red piano. She sang it beautifully and expressively and I was really moved. She captured that fine line between sadness and anger.  She was dramatically rockin' her head of hair at the climax of the song and Calvin turned and yelled to me--I think she's moving too much to play very well. . . well. . . hopefully the other keyboard player had her back.

Mary lost her voice after the first ten minutes. I think that is a successful night. My ears didn't ring until this morning. . . then only the left one--my drum set side--from ten years of being on the right side of the drummer. Bill had the drums in his right ear for his live music era--we should make a good couple in our old age.

I was only on a jumbo-tron once in my whole pop music career. Is Taylor Swift a little bit of an actress? Of course she is. But. . .she earned it and I'm here to look up to anyone who can smile and sing and play on the jumbo-tron night after night---her own music on her own terms, and send all 15,000 of us home with a song and a smile.

All Good Things Must Come to an End

Boundary Waters Canoe Area

Because I was camping with the pastor I didn't steal a lily pad for my pond

When you camp with an engineer you get very level pancakes 

Girls in Nature

All Good Things Must Come to an End

Including camping trips.
And summer.
And sabbaticals.

It's one of those perfect first days of school here in Minnesota.  The temperature was fifty and the sunshine was bright.

Seventh Grade

Third Grade

As I dropped the kids off the song on the radio was playing "this is the first. . . day. . . of the rest of your life. . . "
I love new starts.
I love routine.
I love crisp Fall weather.
I love that moment when I drop the last child at school after three months of 24/7.
A tear runs down your eye as you do cartwheels through the door.

I love how just when I've had about enough of the garden the season turns and I'm ready for pencils and music books and practice journals. I'm ready for fires in the evening and maybe even a batch of chili.

I'm starting three new families with three four-year-olds and a seven-year-old. I'm so excited. Brand new little faces. They have big shoes to fill.

I love making practice books and setting recital dates and buying a couple more four color pens than I really need. Paper and cardstock and stickers. New music.

Calvin and I sat at the piano at 6:15 a.m. for the first time in a month. Mary will practice tonight. 

I'm going to head upstairs and practice for choir on Wednesday--another fresh start. Then I'm going to go for a long walk all by myself. This week I'll start lesson plans and new parent orientation.

I love it all. I guess truly everyday and every moment is a chance at a new beginning. All good things must come to an end. . . but that gives us the blessing of fresh starts.

I'm so thankful for that. God bless all the children and the teachers and the parents and the piano kids--the new ones and the old ones! God bless all our fresh starts and new beginnings. Amen.  

In the House of Stone and Light

To everything there is a season.

This is the season to work on our house. The house of stone and light.

I thought I was making ground. . . the leaves and branches from the storm keep falling but I'm keeping up. The basement is coming along--we have cabinets and one coat of paint and the doors got hung yesterday--more trim today.  All that is left is the tile, toilet and sink, and the carpet and last coat of paint.

Then. . . yesterday we had the second visit from the insurance company regarding the hail damage.  This time we got the A team. The national hail team. Tim was just in from two months of figuring claims in Amarillo. I said I'm sorry about that. Two months in a hotel in Amarillo. Lord have mercy. I was about to write him a check.

They spent an hour an a half around the house and on the roof. So. . . looks like we will be needing a new roof and most of the house will need to be re-stained. Perhaps the thought of the roof leaking onto the two grand pianos put the fear of God into them. Maybe it was the private roof contractor I had there and Kathy our builder happened to stop by about then too. . . funny how that all came down.

I felt a little guilty. The roof is only 12 years old. But Tim told me they have to substantiate every claim and if the roof wasn't compromised they wouldn't replace it.  They have strict guidelines. And the old shingles get recycled. I felt a little better then.

Bring it on.

I've already had contractors here everyday since June. The ferns are already wrecked for the year. No better time to make an even bigger mess. But this time--I'm getting my own guy to do the stain. I'm becoming partial to 30 something guys who own there own business. It's not what you think. They just do a good job. They have shiny clean trucks that they are proud of. Matt goes around with his brush free handing it and you never see a drip drop anywhere. They don't smoke--they are from our generation. They listen to descent music on their jam boxes. Okay, they are a little cute.  

I'm so hoping to get all this done and move back into the basement and get on with the next ten years of raising my children and teaching piano and serving God. I know there will always be something. But this is really the last big push in this house. We could have moved to Atlanta or Chicago or Denver. . . but we stayed here. So I'm digging in my heals.  In the house of stone and light.

I love this Martin Page song on many levels. I want my house to be strong and filled with light. But the song is not about a structure--it's about the dwelling place of our mind. To me this song is about making my Christian faith the stone foundation and joy the light of the the house of my spirit. Hopefully I'm getting that house a little in order this summer as well. Stone and light. To everything there is a season.


Link to Martin Page's Song

MARTIN PAGE

In The House Of Stone And Light lyrics

O Mount Kailas uncover me
Come my restoration
Wash my body clean

I've been walking
Along a crooked path
Where the walls have fallen
Broken me in half

I'm telling you
I will not rest till I lay down my head
I'm gonna go
In the house of stone and light

I shall not cry
For the blind man I leave behind
When I go
In the house of stone and light, yeah
In the house of stone and light

Holy lady
Show me my soul
Tell me of the place
Where I must surely go

Old man waiting
At the gates for me
Give me the wisdom
Give me the key

I'm telling you
I will not rest till I lay down my head
In the house of stone and light

I make my way
Oh, gonna be such a beautiful day
In the house of stone and light
In the house of stone and light

Let me in beneath my skin
In the house of stone and light

It's been too long
My spirit's been at war
Havasupai Shaman
Let me be reborn

And I will embrace
The sun upon my face
Come the day
I awake the child inside
In the house of stone and light

And when I go
I will op', op', open my eyes
In the house of stone and light
I will see you
In the house of stone and light

Looking in beneath my skin
In the house of stone and light

Going inside
In the house of stone and light
(Stone and light)
Looking for the child
In the house of stone and light
(See myself got such a good shelter)
In the house of stone and light

In the house of stone and light
(I'm gonna let this child come washing of water)
In the house of stone and light
(He's speakin' softly to me)
(I must go there, to find my soul, yeah)

In the house of stone and light
(I can see so clearly now)
(I will go there, to find my soul, yeah)
In the house of stone and light
(Well keep on knocking on my door)
(I must go there, to find my soul, yeah)

In the house of stone and light
(I will go there, to find my soul, yeah)
In the house of stone and light
(I must go there, to find my soul, yeah)

Sabbatical Off the Rails

The basement fireplace--I love it!

I'm stalled out. Off the rails. I did email the studio folks and set up lessons for September. But that email took me all day to write. Slightly pathetic efficiency. It's not healthy to run at this pace. My heart rate is dangerously low. I can't get a dang thing done. Yesterday I washed and made the bed. The clutter of everyday life takes up the space that is allotted. Does that make sense? This morning I have to drop Mary at church. Better not plan anything else. . .

It's not ground breaking news that I do better with a routine. I'm starting to panic that I won't be able to take back my studio in the next month. At least not at this rate.  

I couldn't have taught this summer with people here working on the back yard and the basement. It would have been too crazy. Everyday there is a fire to put out. For example: the sink faucet is too high and the medicine cabinet door won't open. Cut the legs of the base cabinet?  Raise the medicine cabinet?  Pick a shorter faucet?  They needed to know ten minutes ago.  

Yesterday the insurance adjuster was here. He was a swarthy little man who started picking a fight with me from the driveway. I'm not easy to fight with. I pretty much try to be a peace maker. When he started talking about sanding and painting the rough sawn cedar of our house I knew I was in trouble.  STOP! STOP! STOP!   STOP using the word paint. There is no paint on the house. . . it's called stain. Then he tried to convince me that a good power washing would take that "stain" right off and the wood would be back to "normal."  It's not my job to educate the insurance adjustor. While the man on the roof said everything looked fine. . . he did leave several pieces of broken off siding lying on the dormer. I asked him to go back up there and at least put the siding puzzle back together for the time being. . . seeing as there was no damage.  Bill. . . tag you are it. . . you call the little man back.  

I don't want to unnecessarily fill up the landfill with shingles.  But. . . I think we need a second opinion. Shingles?  They are those things you put on the roof that keep the water out of your bedroom. 

Am I rested?  I don't know?  Resting is a difficult thing to achieve. I put it on my to-do list. That should take care of it. It's right below type up the minutes from the June SPTG board meeting and print out the senior photos for the wall of fame. Also on the list? Get teacher trainer application from the Suzuki Association of the Americas. Work on it. Yawn. . . that's going to take a little more effort than I have in me today. 

One can spend the whole day deciding what kind of sandwich to make for dinner. Might have to stop and pick up a better avocado.  

So there you have it. I'm happy enough. But I think I'll do better with a little more pressure again. Deadlines spark creativity. My laundry room has not been clear for ten weeks since Mary Lynn helped me while I was in California. Everyone has clean underwear and that might just be good enough. 

Speaking of Mary Lynn, I'm going to wander outside and check to see if the baby fish she gave me are making an appearance yet.  I hope they are hiding under the rocks. 

Very difficult to keep the train of thought on the rails. Maybe a different kind of fish food would lure them out. 

What was I writing about?

Sabbatical is off the rails. Remind me to take a break next summer, but maybe not so long as to slip into a coma again. It's just not me. But there are a few weeks left and I'll try to get resting checked off the list.   

Blue is Just the Minnesota Sky

I'm not afraid of storms.
This is why: I spent approximately 13% of my Iowa childhood summers in the storm cellar. At my grandparents in northern Iowa it was more like 21%. During these times my grandma would scuttle me to the basement and shove me under the bureau. . . whilst my grandfather stood chest to the wind on the sidewalk between the house and the barn. Scanning the horizon. A human barrier to any hot spinning air that might approach his precious crops and livestock and family. He was not afraid. I was not afraid. Still. . . mysteriously I was under the bureau. . .sending the clear message that my life must be more important than his. My grandmother went up and down the stairs between us trying in vain to coerce him down and reminding me to duck my head.

I'm still not afraid. But. . when that sound of wind and lightning and hail and that green tinge of the sky bears down upon us. . . it can creep up on you.

Mary cried as we scuttled her to the basement. By some miracle of God her "dada" that is her security blanket appeared in her grasp. Go figure. . . children have their ways. Mary?  Where did that come from?  I don't know.

All night the sound of firetrucks up and down Blackhawk Road--clearing the street of downed trees and all day the sound of chain saws and backing up trucks and the outline of cranes lifting 100 years old trees from the backyards of the unlucky ones. I counted more than 50 big trees just on our road. One blue spruce went through the garage two doors down. Some uprooted and some snapped in the middle. Uprooting actually feels more dignified to me.  Four pines in a row, fifty-footers, at the park.

All day long the melody of John Denver's song Matthew rang in my ears. Had an uncle named Matthew. . . if you know the song. . . it will be in your head too now.  Ultimately the song is about a boy who lives on in joy even after a storm destroys everything else.

Our storm did not destroy everything else. We will probably only need some roof repair, siding repair and Bill's folks' car will need some substantial work, as they were here visiting. Bill's Dad had to choose between the hail and the tree falling and he choose wisely as the huge limb of the maple fell where the car was moments before he moved it.

My garden is a loss for the year. Ferns and hostas and hydrangeas aren't as strong as my grandpa's chest.

So. I held back the tears last night to put on the brave face. And this morning. And this afternoon.

People. Today was about people. Good people. Kathy our builder stopped by shortly after 8:00 a.m. just to check on us. She choked up. Sara, I'm sorry. She got it. Bill stayed home an extra hour this morning to help me with the big branches. He got it. My landscape hero sent over two of his best guys and they helped me for an hour and took all the thrash away in their superhero trailer. It would have taken me a week. He got it. Mary Lynn stopped by to see how we faired. We all fought back tears. Well, not the yard guys, but even they had compassion in their eyes. They had, after all, just put the finishing touches on the new backyard project yesterday afternoon, one and a half hours before the storm. Is that irony?

Why? Why the guilt? Why can't we openly cry over ferns and flowers and trees? Yes. . . yes. . . everyone is okay. . . we are so thankful.  No. . . no. . .we are not farmers who lost a crop. But something that was beautiful is now wrecked. I think that matters.  Well, it matters to me.

If tending a garden can feed our soul, then I think it's only fair that when it gets wrecked our soul can and will bleed at least a little.

I don't have that many hobbies. My garden is my creativity and my exercise and my vice. I spent twelve hours today cleaning up. It will all be okay. Next year. The little fern fronds will pop their little heads through the damp leaves. The hostas will be just as temping to the deer next year as they were yesterday. The hydrangeas will be better for the pruning.

I'm thankful. A walk down the street to the park reminds me that we were lucky. Very lucky.
I don't know why my blue spruce is standing and the neighbors to the north is through their screen porch.

But I'm still blue. For them. For me. For the ancient trees uprooted and the smallest trampled frond.

Joy was just the thing that he was raised on

Love was just the way to live and die

Gold was just the windy Kansas wheat field

Blue was just the Kansas summer sky

Link to John Denver's song. . . that will stay in your head too if you listen.