Friends in Training

Ten-years-old is a good time to have a first slumber party.

Mary could only invite five girls. Seemed like 500 anyway. . .

They came home from school wild! Screaming actually. I glanced at the bottle of cabernet on the counter but alas. . . this was Mary’s party.

We started with snack. Fruit, salami and cheese on shish kabobs. Yum. A big success. There were no vegetarians here, five girls inhaled two pounds of salami. One sweet friend went to refill her lemonade and upon opening the freezer exclaimed, “You all must be rich! Look at all that ice!” Yes, Bill and I invested in a faucet early in our marriage and it’s really paid off. Now we have ice cubes enough to share with everybody. Never a warm drink around here.
Friends in Training--Slumber Party!

On to Color Me Mine. . . the girls all calmed down and settled into painting. Bill’s sister helped me play chauffeur and keep everyone’s colors from running. Well, almost everyone.

Home for a scavenger hunt–initiated by Calvin. He wrote all the clues in poetic form and hid all the treats. The girls were getting quite a thrill out of teasing him by singing the “Black Socks” song. What else are big brothers for? Tease all you want, Mary, but this is the boy you have to live with for the next five years.

Chicken and cupcakes and ice cream–then on to the sewing project. I glanced at the wine again–but instead commenced to threading six needles. And sewing 12 french knots for eyes. . . and six fluffy tails.
Friends in Training--Slumber Party!
There were some minor frustrations along the way. As one sweet little angel in the form of a nine-year-old girl’s needle came loose for the ninth time–while sewing around her little sweet little blue fleece bunny–she exclaimed loudly in her little nine-year-old voice, “This really sucks the big balls.”

I do not look up from the tenth french knot. Bill does not look up from washing dishes at the sink. We do not meet eyes under any circumstances. The other girls are unfazed. Well duh. She must have meant playground balls. I say nothing. Please pass the scissors. Mary reached over and threaded the angel’s needle.

There was the whole nightlight versus no night light and fan versus no fan shakedown. I set up zones and the girls settled in their sleeping bags according to their sleep needs. . . never mind my sleep needs.

There was talk of who likes who. There was talk about how chocolate makes you fat. I had hoped to postpone the whole fat skinny thing a few more years–maybe for forever, but, if you really want to go there girls. . . let’s talk about the salami first. I say nothing. That’s another blog. . .

Along with the superficial hoopla there was also some serious talk. My grandma has cancer. My grandpa had that same cancer. My grandpa had cancer too. No drama–just the facts and please pass the yellow paint. . .

Highs, lows, chocolate cupcakes, crushes, fat, skinny, a little profanity, a little help threading each other’s needles, sharing sad news, a few little white lies (your horse actually looks good with that black blob of paint), and a little tolerance for the sake of everyone being able to sleep. . .

Friends in training. I’d say they are off to a good start.

Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing

Palliative. When my dad was fighting pancreatic cancer it took me a little while to figure out why we got the big cosy room at the end of the hall with the lovely sofa at the University of Iowa Hospitals. The nurses gently educated us about a new word. Palliative. Dim lights, music. Family. Peace. Angels in the corners.
Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing

During that time, I listened to this hymn over and over. Chris Rice’s “Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing” Click it to hear the Youtube music. It’s so simple and beautiful. Kris gave me that recording.
Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing

So, now, my friend is hearing this word about her Mother, Karen, in the pink and black suit. In the photo she’s watching her grandchildren release butterflies as a symbol of resurrection on Easter Sunday, 2011.
Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing
Kris loves butterflies–so this is about the best I can offer today.

We remember every spoken word. Every laugh. Every hug and kiss. Every I love you. And somehow in that way that passes our understanding–these times are blessed and etched into eternity.

A Voice of Chopin

A Voice of Chopin

A Voice of Chopin

A Voice of Chopin

A Voice of Chopin

On Saturday the Suzuki Piano Teachers Guild held a workshop with Tadeusz Majewski. Twelve advanced students from our teachers participated in the masterclasses. Mr. Majewski also gave us an hour long lecture on the life and works of Chopin.

It was a magnificently lovely day. I’m still high. Like the birds he kept talking about in reference to Chopin.

I had never met Mr. Majewski. He is the known Chopin expert in town, founder of the Chopin Society. We did not know if he would be kind or mean or fostering or judgmental.

He started off the morning by sharing how Chopin grew up in a house of music. Everyone in the family was musical and they studied literature and music and singing and piano. It was this wonderful environment that built Chopin and his legacy. Hmmmm. What does that sound like? Do I hear a nurtured by love?

He shared his own concern that when his exceptional son goes off to conservatory, that anyone would cause him to feel that there was something “wrong” with him and try to fix him. That music should be full of expression, what we have to express can never be wrong. Never the feeling that something needs to be fixed, or tampered with, or made to feel less than whole. While we can, be must protect our children from these feelings. Their own instincts are to be trusted.

My mind was at rest. You can see from the photos there was nothing but joy the whole day.

I can’t possibly share all the inspiration we felt–it wouldn’t be the same without the Polish accent. He talked about Chopin’s wish to be one with nature. And his loves and losses and how they shaped his compositions. “How does that change the way you play this, knowing it was written the summer his beloved sister died at seventeen years old. . . ”

Gulp.

Since the Opus Posthumous Nocturne in C-sharp minor is in the Suzuki repertoire, teachers and students might be interested to know that the B section melody, starting in measure 21, is a quote from a Polish song, “Maiden’s Wish” and this would have been a “code” to his love Maria, whose father would not let them marry. The Maiden’s Wish has lyrics something like “what would I give to only be a sunshine at your window, or a bird at your window.” I lost it in the Polish. Wink. I don’t know Polish. Please correct me if I’m wrong. . .

It was something my Baldwin had never experienced when Mr. Majewski performed and sang the little art song in Polish during the lecture recital. Not to mention the polonaise.

I guess I won’t be needing a new piano. Turns out the Baldwin is fine. Any lack of tone is user error. He also played all six of the Mazurkas I played on my graduate recital. (Baldwin did recognize those. . . ) That was really, really, fun. Mr. Majewski, if you ever make your way to this blog, thank you so much for the gift of this day, we truly hope to have you back again sometime!

Here are a couple quotes to close:

Chopin said regarding his high story apartment in Paris and also as a metaphor of his life, “Everybody admires the view. Nobody envies the stairs.” Even Chopin earned it.

Mr. Majewski said something like. . . we all have something to say in life. Eventually people stop listening to the piano and they are only listening to you.

You through the music.

My teacher Doris is always all about the musical message. We all have something to say through the music, we learn and grow to figure out how to say it easier–to get the notes and the technique out of the way. But just like Chopin, we have to climb the steps first, before we get the view.