Coral Castles

Froggy Friend

You are not as hidden as you think you are

Water is flowing again

Okay, I have a thing for purple and yellow

Waiting for the chipmunk 

This is called "Fairy Moss" 

Irish Moss, because Gertens didn't have "Czech Moss" 

It's okay, Mother, I'm gonna deadhead those chives and they won't go noxious
I promise I won't ask you to "dechive" the garden again

Endless Summer--doesn't seem to live out it's name

There is no pleasing this robin

Bunnies who don't steal from the garden

On another note. .. 

Even St. Francis can't protect the little creatures of THIS garden 

Of course you know Calvin made this with my dad

There are a few secrets here and there

Charlie could you stay on the path? 

Oh my goodness, it's fifty degrees this morning. Who pressed the Fall button?

I dreamed we were in a high rise hotel on the beach and we looked out the window and a tsunami was approaching and I starting tying my children to the furniture.

I dreamed I looked out the window and there was a tornado on the horizon and we just sat there and watched it approach.

I dreamed there were two weeks before school started and I was teaching 26 piano kids and accompanying and serving as president of SAM and the kids had marching band and ballet and piano and drums and clarinet and church stuff. . . oh wait.  That was when I woke up.

I'm freezing food. Been to Costco. There's enough meat in the freezer to make it through the great depression. We took an entire carload of stuff to Good Will yesterday. I'm almost done with my spark of joy year. I secured the Christmas clothes. There will be no running to Old Navy at midnight for black pants and a white shirt. All that is left is a big box of coffee filters and I'm set.

I told you my best read this summer was Richard Rohr's Breathing Under Water. http://www.amazon.com/Breathing-Under-Water-Spirituality-Twelve/dp/1616361573/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1440417986&sr=1-1&keywords=breathing+underwater. "Alcoholics just have their powerlessness visible for all to see. The rest of us disguise it in different ways, and overcompensate for our more hidden and subtle addictions and attachments, especially our addiction to our way of thinking." (Page xviii)

My belief is that everybody's got something:
single parents
married people who are still single parents
people have depression and mental illness
and changes in their health and lifestyle
and some are just plain addicted to wanting it all--read--wife, mother, teacher, house, garden, yoga

Guilty as charged.
Please forgive me comparing my own personal addictions of thought to those with more serious issues--I'm just being honest about my own suburban shortcomings. 

If we are powerless over these situations then instead of drowning, when the tsunami comes we must build our coral castle. (Powerlessness is just a place to start. . . the proven first step. . .)

Here's Rohr's opening poem, each time I read this I love it a little more. It's written by Carol Bieleck:

Breathing Under Water

I built my house by the sea.
Not on the sands, mind you;
not on the shifting sand.
And I built it of rock.
A strong house
by a strong sea.
And we got well acquainted, the sea and I.
Good neighbors.
Not that we spoke much.
We met in silences.
Respectful, keeping our distance,
but looking our thoughts across the fence of sand.
Always, the fence of sand our barrier,
always, the sand between. 

And then one day,
--and I still don't know how it happened--
the sea came. 
Without warning.

Without welcome, even
Not sudden and swift, but a shifting across the sand
  like wine,
less like the flow of water than the flow of blood. 
Slow, but coming.
Slow, but flowing like an open wound.
And I thought of flight and I thought of drowning
  and I thought of death.
And while I thought the sea crept higher, till it
  reached my door.
And I knew then, there was neither flight, nor death,
  nor drowning.
That when the sea comes calling you stop being
  neighbors
Well acquainted, friendly-at-a-distance, neighbors
And you give your house for a coral castle,
And you learn to breathe underwater. 

Here's to everyone in situations they cannot change.

For me? If the calendar is the sea approaching my house--I'm gonna build my coral castle amidst the iCal events and chances are very high that I will also be transplanting some ferns around the seaweed foundation and inviting the starfish in for coffee.

First Annual Recital at Little Pines Lodge

We had our first annual recital at the Little Pines Lodge. I think it was a great success. It was the hottest day of the summer, but there was a breeze, so it was that kind of hot that makes everybody want to jump in the lake--not sit and melt. Plus, this is Minnesota and Sunday it was back to sixty degrees and raining, we will take all the heat we can get.

We had eleven kids play. We had 29 guests. Three boats. Food for an army. Popsicles. More popsicles. Hamburgers. A bon fire.

Eighteen people spent the night. Folks slept in the boat house and the trailer. Two families pitched tents. We cooked pancakes for 25 Sunday morning. Bill's dad cooked bacon, a lot of bacon.

Thanks to Bill's folks and my mom and Mari and everyone else who spent more time in the kitchen than on the lake.

I'm also sending a giant thank you to Carly and Sam's dad, Travis, who brought his boat and gave 365,247 boat rides for a total of 1,000,000 hours. Travis you rock and the kids had an awesome time.

Seriously, the pedal was terrible for Lena's Debussy. Who knew that at 95 degrees and 80% humidity the 1905 Kohler and Campbell upright damper pedal would squeak? Who knew that last weekend we glued the bass F ivory back on? It's the piano that takes a lickin' and keeps on tickin'. It was happy to have the children play.

I don't think playing piano is what the kids are going to remember anyway. While it did keep us practicing over the summer, mostly the performance was an excuse to party.

Here's to old friends and new friends and a new tradition.

Love, Music, Fear and Rest

Mary and Sue--yes, theory can be fun! 

Britta, Wynn-Anne, and Mary after the composition recital. "There's short good compositions, and long good compositions. There's short bad compositions and long bad compositions" says Mary. "We love the short good ones!" Wynn-Anne says, they are all good. 

Me and Úna. I know, I have a tough job, but somebody has to teach these little angels. 

Mary and Fay--they are pretty fond of each other. 

My little friend from Houston. Again, tough job here. 

And what about this kid who is teaching me to see with different eyes? And laugh while doing it. 

Britta and Fay. Thank you Britta, for knowing what a two-note slur was in a public lesson. Whew!

And the young drum teacher will always win. And he eats really healthy. Like-avocado blueberry salads. Sigh. 

July. Breath in and breath out.

Two big cabin weekends with company
A big fun wedding to play for and celebrate
A week with my sister
Ballet and clarinet
Marching band boot camp and away camp
MacPhail institute as teacher and parent
Faculty and student recitals
One weekend in Iowa

And the first world problems. ..
House Air-conditioner broken twice
Boat motor broken twice
Fountain pump broken and rebuilt by 89 year-old Elmer

First the rest part: here at my mom's in Iowa, last night, in the basement guest room with the shades drawn, and ear-plugs in, I slept nine hours. My husband and I say that's when the little guys in our brain put up the scaffolding and do all the heavy maintenance. Rest.

Next the music part: let's talk about MacPhail. You can see from the photos that there is no lack of love in the Suzuki community. By Friday, I'm overwhelmed with the kids and the parents and my teaching friends, the old ones and the new ones. We had a great institute. The kids has master classes, composition, theory, group class, and bucket drumming. There was an honors recital, an ice cream trip, a faculty dinner, a faculty recital, composition demonstration and final student recital.

Where does the fear part come in? Well, one little girl from Portland was chosen to play Cuckoo on the honors recital. When the time came, all in her lovely dress, she couldn't do it. Can you tell the difference between true anxiety and manipulation? In a heartbeat. So folks, this is what you do and this is what we did. You don't make them play, but you don't make one ounce of a deal about it. They must not get any more attention from not playing than they would have gotten from playing. I saw the ten seconds away from throwing up look on her face. It was the real deal, but the next day in group, I publicly congratulated the girl who did have the courage to get up and play. She shouldn't lose out. You don't say nothing about the fear. Next step? Non-challently use Cuckoo as your rhythm activity. Patty-cake. Oh, who could play that for us today? Cuckoo girl marches up there in group and gets to play it ten times in a row while we all do our clapping and laughing. Incidentally she nailed it every time. Success leads to success. And Friday she marched up there onto the big Antonello stage and played her Cuckoo without incidence. And no one had to say nothing.

I played my Reverie on the faculty recital. Lots of compliments and Mary said it was perfect. But to me it was not a success because for four measures I was not there. For four measures that panic creeped in, like someone slipped you a drug, and no amount of mediation or breathing or listening or shaping the phrase can rescue you now. You are not there. You don't remember that it was a B-flat chord in second inversion with the ninth in the melody because-you are not there.

Why? I don't know. It's an easy piece and don't you wish you could just show one of the 100 perfect videos you have of yourself preparing it at home? Heck, gather round and I'll show you the one on my phone in my jammies.

It could be that the sole purpose for this anxiety is to help me maintain my compassion and respect and awe for every child who marches up there with their bare soul on the line and plays from the heart.

Success leads to success. As long as I only play solo piano from memory 2-3 times a year this will not improve. The kids play for each other in group nine times a year. That is mostly why I even have group. Maybe I should play for them nine times a year. That's what I would say to them. We will see. Maybe I should play Reverie for patty-cake.

Performance anxiety is a selfish thing. And there are mountains of books about it and imagery and psychology. When push comes to shove you got to either quit or keep going.

What might keep us going under these circumstances?

Love. It's the love part that keeps us going.

Love of the children and love of the music. That is the only reason. Love wraps itself around that fear and while it can't take it away, it makes everything okay. Love is stronger than fear.

Love is stronger than fear.

I tell the children their music is a gift to the audience.
Gifts don't have to be perfect.
They are gifts. Nobody is afraid of a gift.

Music is a gift. Children are a gift. Love is a gift. Rest is a gift.
May your August be filled with all these gifts!

Pray, Praise, Serve

Our Pastor Paul is retiring. Last Sunday he gave his last official sermon. He was just back from Africa and he told us about the resiliency and gratitude of the folks from Tanzania. He told us of the tremendous hardships they have endured. He told how he asked the one of the Christian radio leaders how he kept going and going under the terrible circumstances. The radio worker replied that he stuck to three words: pray, praise and service. Pray for guidance, praise the Lord, and serve man.

The elephant in the room of course, is that this also describes Easter's own leader, Paul himself. It could have been a sermon about himself.

The fourteen years that I have known Pastor Paul? They started with Calvin's baptism. Pastor lifted Calvin's little baby body high above his head at the alter--symbolically offering Calvin to the Lord, and simultaneiously scaring me to death--in that new mother sort of way.

Pray, praise, and service. Really that is the central theme of Pastor Paul's life. When I think of service to man, I think of Paul.

I will miss his sermons. But not really--because I actually remember almost every single one and there are a dozen of which I could rewrite the outline. The sermon the Wednesday before Thanksgiving, I don't remember the year. . . well actually it was 2002. . .the catch line. . . was "heaven is not a place of leisure." God has us here to serve. And that might put us out of our comfort zone, again, and again, and again.

He can stand up and say those works to the suburban congregation because Pastor Paul put his money where his mouth is. Most of that money and those mouths being in Tanzania.

So those sermons have pushed me out of my own comfort zone more than once. Heaven is not a place of leisure. Heaven is a place of service. And it's right here.

Pastor Paul is facing some of his own challenges with his health. So, he's in our prayers. I remember a lecture series he gave on resiliency. I still have the notes tucked in my Bible. Pastor Paul is a resilient man. He knows all about that.

 Prayer. Praise. Service. God wants us out of our comfort zone. Resiliency.

Thank you for all those words and blessings on your retirement, Pastor Paul.

Circling Our Summer Wagons

It's that time. 

Last Day of School Outing With the Boy

Child Labor--thank you Mary for compiling my scores

. . . and Calvin for filing choir music

Working on the Workshop

Now for the poly and the cushions. . . she's almost done

Calvin survived a week at piano camp WITHOUT ME!

Calvin's first good crop

Cat Labor. Helping me tidy the linen closet. Note the black fur and white quilt thing. . . 

SPARK OF JOY -- It doesn't injure me when I open the door

Please note the paddle in my hands. It's a long way to shore folks. 

Who would have thought one little boat motor could suck up so much rope. Rookies. 

The banana boat lives to die another day. 

Piano Toys

Updating the studio with some organizers

And a day of antiquing with my family girls brings home some american pottery. . .
Some was my grandma's and some is new. 

The gang playing JAZZ IN CHURCH.  Satan get thee back.
Bill and Bill played a medley of Amazing Grace that would make just about anyone come to Jesus. 

Because we didn't have enough practice hours in the day. Oh the tales that clarinet could tell. 

Linda Erickson eat your heart out. I'm getting there. 

We've been having a great summer. There is so much going on and time with family and music camps and teaching. The garden is weedy but alive and blooming. A tornado came within a mile of our cabin. Our 100 year old pines dodged a bullet. Others were not so fortunate but no one was hurt up north.

Mostly this summer, in-between practicing for weddings and planning the fall workshop with Cindy, I'm circling my wagons.

I'm scared to death of this Fall, and high school and SAM and SPTG and choir. And my other child starting clarinet and continuing ballet and Calgon take me away.

I've been reading my new favorite book, Breathing Under Water, by Richard Rohr. Subtitled "Spirituality and the 12 Steps." No one in my current circles is battling substance abuse, thankfully. But me and a lot of people I know . . . do battle with addictions of the mind, consumerism, sugar and even our old friend caffeine. Most people got something hanging over their heads, maybe even the idea that everything is perfect and they DON'T have any addictions.  That is an addiction too.

So none of us are safe.

The reason I am loving this book is because it's giving me a conscious path to looking for God's will in my daily life. Rohr believes AA is the closest thing we have to a pure religion in the United States. While all the folks are dressed up ready for church upstairs, the inner work is happening all across the country in the basement meetings. Maybe.

Step 11: Sought through prayer and mediation to improve our conscious contact with God, as we understood (God), praying only for knowledge of God's will for us and the power to carry that out.

If I can wake up everyday and meditate even for two minutes on God's will for my day it's gonna change my life. It's gonna align my desires with God's. I just have to be still enough to listen before I jump into the to-do list.

It might not change to to-do list. Or it might. It doesn't matter. How I live inside will largely determine how I live outside. A calm inner authority could possibly prevail. At least now and then.

It's the same thing I've always said--you have to secure your own oxygen mask before helping others. But it's just making sure the oxygen we breath in and out is the pure air of God's will for each and every moment.

The storm is gonna come. I won't be checking FaceBook and watching cute cat videos when the winds of September blow.  I won't be sorting recital programs by date and slipping them into little clear sleeves.

It's a letter from my calm self to my stressed out self. It's okay to get a little frantic now and then--that's gonna happen for sure. We just can't stay there too long. We have to circle our wagons and find the path back to our very best self--which presumable is God's idea of us in the first place.

That's all I know for now. There was a raccoon on the front porch last night. Little yellow birds are at my feeder. Bunnies are minding their perimeters munching the back lawn. We've had an inch of rain every three days. And Mary is up for all day at 11:15 a.m.  Time for me to go.

Happy summertime.

Love,
Sara