My friend YL at dinner. Every dinner.
Beijing, 18 months ago
Beijing, 18 months ago: I went to a dingy little divebar called XP to see a band I’d never heard of, called White+
I say with no exaggeration that the show changed my life.
It was the inspiration for the first comic I drew on this blog, in a project that would take me to countless shows in countless venues, and help me discover a city I love deeply.
My happiest memories of Beijing are in its cavernous livehouses, from drunk-singing ‘送春’ at a Residence A show, or pushing punters into moshpits at a sold-out P.K.14 gig.
Look at me getting all sentimental on a Monday morning. All this because I just hit 50 posts on BeijingBrown. 50 motherflipping posts!
Expect 50 more in the next six months. =)
Listening and Breathing
After a week in Hawaii, I’m not feeling too sorry for myself, but I have to say that we came home right into the hell fire and brimstone of holy week in conjunction with the collision of my volunteer worlds.
Palm Sunday. . .
Deerwood Gerten’s plant sale data entry. . . (eleven hours)
SAM fall workshop meeting. . . (two hours)
Piano practice for Tenebrae service and Easter. . . (fifteen hours)
A graduation recital at my house. . .
Post Hawaii laundry. . . (thirty-seven hours) okay-that’s an exaggeration but that’s how it felt
Scheduling and programs for SPTG masterclasses (three hours)
Getting two kidos ready for the masterclasses. . . . who is counting?
Leaving cat brushes on the floor for my husband to puncture his foot (five minutes)
And all with a significant case of jet lag.
Sunday I thought I was so cool getting up for Palm Sunday church at 6:00 a.m. Eight hours and I’m fresh as a daisy. Monday at noon it hit me. Total coma. I hate to pull the age card. . . but I guess at 5’6″ I can’t do a Friday night red-eye flight, lose a night’s sleep and not pay the price.
Monday morning (pre-coma) I went to start my business week and all my contacts were erased from my computer. “You have. . . zero contacts.” Zero groups of contacts like SPTG board, SAM board, Piano Kids, Plant Sale Helpers. . .
I cried for help but the Lord did not hear me. I stuffed Dove chocolate eggs in my mouth and still the contacts did not reload. Last straw? Ask Facebook for help. Here I gained the comfort and support I needed. The masses ensured me that Calvin would be able to fix it. But what to do until 3:05? I couldn’t really pull him from school for the day.
Breath and listen.
Our senior choir performed the Beethoven Hallelujah again this Easter. I long ago abbreviated the orchestral reduction but even my edits put me at my limit. Still, I’ve been getting some coaching on my playing and I’m committed to life long learning and this is part of it.
So this year for the first time, at home, on the Baldwin, I’m feeling very comfortable and working to get out of the “this is hard” mindset. Really–this is our third year with the piece and truly it isn’t really that hard. Well within my clear minded grasp. Even fun.
For those of us with debilitating performance anxiety the goals become clear. Listen. Breath. You lose one of those for even a moment and it’s all over.
We had four services and the third was the fullest one with the sanctuary packed and the narthex and the fellowship hall and the fireside commons and the live web stream. Bill and Mary and Calvin came too. The breathing and listening thing went pretty well and there was even a hint of the “fun” thing.
The fourth service the introduction did not go so well–I’m not sure if I lost the breathing thing or the listening thing because I wasn’t there. Upon my return the rest went fine and I never lost my faith that our steadfast leader would know exactly where I was even when I wasn’t there.
What is it about the end? How many times to kids screw up the last measure or phrase? I guess the brain has packed it’s suitcase and already left the hall. And so I guess during the introduction of the fourth performance my brain left the hall. Overconfident? Tired? Or maybe we need that total rush of the heart rate just to pay attention. When I die, I’ll get the printout and it will all become clear. Oh–that’s what was wrong with you.
I could cry. I could beat myself up about it. I could feel terribly embarrassed. I could feel guilty about not giving the choir the confidence they needed for the last entrance. But the truth is, you do the best you can with the brain you are given and you keep learning and growing. You listen and you breath.
Monday morning you get up and practice with Calvin and do the listening thing. Then you go to yoga and practice the breathing thing. And then you teach and you practice the listening thing again. And so it goes.
So–each day and each Hallelujah and each moment an opportunity to listen and breath.
Happy Easter! May God bless all our listening and breathing–today and until it all becomes clear.
Just Enough Merry and Bright
Well, here’s to happy endings. We had a lovely, lovely recital and Christmas party. Every child was well and everyone stayed for the party. Two of the children played Christmas songs accompanied by their grandfather. Hannah accompanied three of her younger siblings. Everyone played one Suzuki piece and one Christmas piece. I loved every minute of it. Mary pulled a Spiritoso out of a hat.
Then. . . three performances of the choral service at church. This year I mostly served as rehearsal pianist–the orchestra had the main focus. I got to play one jazzy song which was fun, and small accompaniments on a few others. Calvin played percussion on two pieces. Bill was not invited back to play second clarinet this year. . . hmmmm.
After the services on Sunday, we four Kotrbas went out for brunch. We got home around 2:00 and I sat down on the sofa and was going to look at some recipes. When I woke up it was dark. That from me, the non-napper. Apparently the excess caffeine from Saturday had completely worn off. . .
Since then we’ve been on the Christmas train. The tea Monday night–Calvin played background Christmas piano music for an hour and a half and sold 23 CDs for FMSC. I bought a cake this year. The cake was very good. Monday night was also the dance program. Cue the Daddy/Daughter/date. Tuesday night was the multi-school jazz ensemble concert (three or maybe more separate arrangements of Winter Wonderland, I lost count) and tonight the kids get to go to a musical at the Ordway Theatre with their Auntie Ann and company. Tomorrow my mom comes and the festivities actually begin.
When my mom gets here I wanted to have the house clean with candles lit and a roast beast in the oven. I hoped to have all my presents wrapped and Mary’s hair in rag curlers. I dreamed the house would sparkle. Freshly fallen snow.
Instead we are managing clean socks for everyone and deli meat with rinsed grapes. The lights are out on the Christmas decorations and Calvin doesn’t have time to fix them. There is a heap of laundry and I still have shopping to do–let alone wrapping. I haven’t seen the kitchen counter since the recital. Bill is stuck in California due to flight delays. (Husbands who travel the week before Christmas lose brownie points–hence the passive aggressive second clarinet joke to get back at him.)
But, my mother is coming to my home, and I know that is a gift that not everyone will get this year. So, amidst the hectic week, I’m grateful.
I’m grateful for my family. For my sister and my niece who will be spending the first Christmas without Paul. For Bill’s family and our traditions. I’m grateful for friends–oh dear friends, I do love you all.
I’m grateful for cats who pee in the box and a bunny who stays alive.
I’m grateful for my home–and the Christmas chaos it holds. Mary is starting a new project every 30 seconds–origami everything with modeling clay and a sewing machine thrown in. Wrapping paper and ribbons, powdered sugar on the floor. Presents stashed in every conceivable cranny. Some of the deli meat is actually some pretty good roast beast. There is just enough snow to cover the muck. Just enough sparkle to get us through.
So, you should be proud of me, though we are hanging on by a Christmas thread and the same six Christmas CDs have been on my stereo for three weeks. . . .I’m right here right now.
Merry Christmas to you all–even if your Christmas isn’t white, and even if it isn’t what you dreamed or hoped or even wanted. . . may you be where you are meant to be, right here, right now, with just enough merry and bright.
Our New Neighbor
No, Jerry is not moving.
This is our new neighbor at the cabin.
My husband and I have occasional bouts of overdoing it. We did it this weekend with a capital O for ouch. My muscles are very sore and reminding me that at 5’6″ (somewhere over 40. . . ) you can’t do it all. It started with the Minnesota State Fair on Thursday afternoon/night. I’m not going to tell you how many pounds of Fresh French Fries were consumed. Friday we were up at 5:00 and drove up north to FINALLY close on our cabin. Sign the papers, eat in small town cafe with good hash browns and get back on the road. We barely made it home in time to pick up the kids and head to the Target Center in Minneapolis with some friends, to see the Katy Perry show. I’m so tickled to tell you that we ate at Hell’s Kitchen with my pastor. Wink. She called it pure hell. French fried sweet potatoes this time. Much healthier. Then on to the show. I’ve been told Katy Perry doesn’t call it a concert, she calls it a show. I concur. Not the musical highlight of the year, but so fun, and entertaining, and I do think it was totally worth spending our kids’ college fund on the tickets.
Saturday morn? Crack of dawn to clean out the storage unit. Bill and Calvin and I made two trips with the U-haul trailer. We no longer have a storage unit. One small step towards order in the universe. Of course it might be canceled out with the whole cabin thing. . .
There was a piano in the storage unit. Bill and I got the 1906 Kohler and Campbell into the truck, lifting it the 12″ up and over. This is not a spinet. This is an upright grand. Yeah. We bought it from a gal at church for $100 and spent $250 getting it moved to the storage unit back in May. A cabin’s got to have a piano. Hindsight is 20/20 but those pianos movers seem to make really good use of ramps.
We drove the U-haul trailer behind the jeep up to Nisswa. We slept our first night in the cabin. Sunday, getting it off the truck and into the cabin turned out to be even harder, and Two Kotrbas and a Truck probably should have spent another $250 to have real movers on the other end. It actually took about four Kotrbas to budge it, but it was all worth it, to hear the kids sit down and play in the cabin and hear the music ringing out the open windows through the pines. Probably tells you something that we don’t have a boat but we have a piano.
The cabin is old. It was probably built in the 1920’s. This is the first change of owner in a very, very long time and so there has been a lot of hoopla. City. County. DNR. Everybody has something to say. Thank you to Bill’s folks for manning the electric and septic and gas and roofing and plumbing and well-digging contractor appointments. All that stuff had to be up to code before we could close. There were a lot of mysteries to say the least. Bill’s dad loves a good mystery–thanks, Dad K.
So, the cabin adventure begins. Bill spent much of Sunday afternoon rebuilding the toilet. First things first.
At lunch, we met our new neighbor. Sir Eagle gave us quite the show. Bill was able to get his camera while he ate his fish on the dock. The eagle that is.
If you know me, then you know that at the very least, birds are a reminder from God that everything is good. This was a very big bird, so everything must be very good. God bless you Sir Eagle, and God bless our new Little Pines Lodge, and God bless all the cabin mysteries and the future times we will spend there with family and friends.