Morning Workout

I freely admit our days are not perfectly-ordered, always-peaceful, never-complaining, hooked-on-learning days. I can’t tell you how many days there are that are ready-to-give-up, disgusted-at-the-sound-of my-own-voice, worn-out, convinced-I’m-a-fake days.

But there are moments scattered throughout when learning is work is joy, and they carry me a long, long way. The workout this beginning reader book gave Youngest left me a little speechless:

A lot can happen in eight pages.

Behind the Scenes

Some interesting things happen behind the scenes while I am teaching. It’s an interesting thing, being at home, and realizing that all sorts of stuff is happening in the rest of the house while I’m in the front room working with bow holds and shoulder pads and ringing tone. Not that their grandma doesn’t do a great job watching them—she keeps things under control. But recently it seems like a regular part of the evening on a teaching day involves some sort of interesting “reveal.”

Yesterday I discovered that Oldest created computer files for his sisters. For their writing. He already had his own, so now four of us have Very Important Things on this computer, and when it crashes, four of us will be inconsolable. Do I want everybody to have their own files on this computer for their writing? Not exactly. I would be very happy if they would just use the journals they have, or the notebooks I got them, or even if they would stuff loose papers full of writing in the already-overstuffed drawers they have for schoolwork.

But last night everybody was glowing about their writing. I guess I’ve modeled that well. It makes me wonder what the house would look like if I modeled regular floor-scrubbing. Youngest, in fact, did end up making her own loose-leaf notebook to go along with her computer file. She carried it around with great love and many flourishes, informing me that it contained her “most famous words.” And she volunteered to pray at dinner, thanking God not only for the food and the wonderful, wonderful day, but also “for changing my mind about my brother.”

Good bow technique requires a loose grip. This is one of the things I am working on with my violin students. Very often our instinct is to hold the bow tighter in order to maintain control, when really what we need to do is loosen up and allow the bow to do what it was made to do. That’s always been a challenge for me, personally—guiding my bow with a gentle, relaxed hand—but it is essential if you want to have any sort of advanced technique. And so, another lesson from my imaginary file, “Things I learned in violin that I need to apply better to parenting in particular and life in general.”

Still, I think I want my own computer.

10 Bits of Magic

Remembering that grace and wonder abound if I’m willing to see it:

1. Dreaming over a bowl of strawberry ice cream
2. Hearing someone else’s story
3. Cool water when you’re thirsty
4. A roomful of people, silent for a story
5. Muffins baking
6. A heart-to-heart with an eight year-old
7. Getting lost in the music
8. Digging in the dirt
9. Whiffs of lilac
10. Friends who both sharpen and soften you

What bits of magic have you seen or experienced recently?

Redbuds

The redbuds in our yard are about to bloom. Last year was the first year I was really aware of them, knew them as trees with a name. It was our first spring in a new house, and a happy surprise to discover that these small, slightly twisted silhouettes held so much latent grace. I love that about new places—discovering with each season all the treasures each one has to offer.

Last spring while the redbuds were blooming, my grandma was dying. It was precisely this weekend—the weekend of the Children’s Literature Festival at our local university, the weekend of our final symphony concert of the season, the weekend of some of my favorite things—that my sister called me early Sunday morning. “Grammy is giving up.” All weekend, knowing that she was in the hospital, I had considered this possibility. I lay in bed and cried for what was coming. Within a few hours we were driving to Lincoln. We had a reunion of sorts in the hospital; cousins, aunts, and uncles gathered around her bed while she acknowledged that yes, she knew it was possible to treat this, but she was ready to go.

We made more trips back and forth. All around us everything was coming to life. There were flowers in my grandma’s apartment and flowers outside her window. In the middle of everything we had time to say goodbye, time to sit with her, time to talk, time to sing, time to cry. Time was at once suspended and moving forward, and I can honestly say that there was beauty all around us and we saw it along with the hurt.

This is my favorite part of spring—when the buds have not fully opened and the greens are all new, when everything is about to burst but hasn’t yet. There was a spring a few years ago, in another city, when a cold snap hit just as everything was getting ready to open. We lived for what seemed like a week, maybe two, in a state of suspension, in the state of delicacy just before blooming. There have been springs I missed that moment entirely, but that year I got to revel in it. I took it as a personal gift, even though I knew it wasn’t about me at all.

This year I am watching spring and thinking of my grandma. Last year we lived in a state of suspension. This year everything seems to be moving on pace. I hope, though, that I am changed. I can live so myopically. It was so clear what was important, sitting with my grandma, her telling me that I was doing the important things--that I was surrounded by them, in fact. Hourly, though, I easily forget that I am in the middle of time, in the midst of loved ones. So I keep trying to stay awake to the reminders, keep trying to take hold of the moments when time is suspended, even as it marches on.

Gourmet Breakfast

There is no frigate like a book

To take us lands away,

Nor any coursers like a page

Of prancing poetry.

This traverse may the poorest take

Without oppress of toll:

How frugal is the chariot

That bears a human soul!

           --Emily Dickinson

10 Bits of Magic

Remembering that grace and wonder abound if I’m willing to see it:

1. Sunlight through rain
2. Shrub lined with opening buds and glistening raindrops
3. Receiving a dandelion bouquet
4. Dirty feet
5. A gift of multi-colored eggs
6. Proud robin singing
7. Branches dancing
8. Wind through the house
9. Trees dusted green
10. Half a morning devoted to reading

What bits of magic have you seen or experienced recently?

Earworm, Shmearworm

What plays over and over in your head? Do you, like me, have some sort of soundtrack playing pretty much all the time? I googled the phrase “music in your head” and came up with the term “earworm,” and articles about annoying snippets of pop music. The Wikipedia article mentioned some connection with OCD, (trust me to find the negative slant and latch on to it) and now I could spend all day worrying if this is just more proof there’s something wrong with me.

But honestly, I like the soundtrack for the most part. It usually consists of whatever music I am working on. If I’m in the middle of a season of opera or symphony rehearsals, that usually means I’m carrying my favorite moments around, listening to them over and over again. Sometimes a word catches my imagination, and it, too, will play like music: bijou, filiform, limn, foolscap, risible. Sometimes a phrase grabs me—maybe it is full of light or mystery or music—but whatever it is, I don’t want to let go of it: “Without a vision, the people perish.” “The world is charged with the grandeur of God. It will flame out, like shining from shook foil.” “Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light.”

These, I figure, are the things my mind rolls around on its tongue, fingers like a smooth stone. Souvenirs, maybe.

Each of my children will regularly burst out into song at any given point of the day. Part of me wants to help them learn quickly that there is a time and place for public singing. But part of me just wants to enjoy the glimpse into what they’ve got running in their own heads—it’s like peeking into a secret box of treasures.

I just wish there was a different name for the tune you can’t get out of your head. Because sometimes there’s no reason for it to go.

Children's Literature "in Concert"

My friend Amy sent me a nice treat last week, a link to this video of the Salastina Music Society and Seth Rogen performing "Ferdinand the Bull," composed by Alan Ridout, and arranged by Maia Jasper.

I grew up with Munro Leaf's The Story of Ferdinand, and I was familiar with Ridout's original version for solo violin and narrator because of a CD we have by Steven Bjella, titled, "Ferdinand and Friends." But after a little snooping around I found this CD, as well:  Ferdinand the Bull and Friends, which features not only "The Story of Ferdinand," but also Camille Saint-Saens' "Carnival of the Animals" (there are even accompanying CD-sized cards with illustrations on the front by Devin Bernard and Ogden Nash's poems for "Carnival" on the back.) What a find!

But did you know that there are other children's books that have been taken to the concert hall? There is a concerto for violin, narrator, and orchestra based on Margaret Wise Brown's The Runaway Bunny. The CD also features "Tubby the Tuba" and "Paddington Bear's First Concert."

Then there's Oscar Wilde's The Selfish Giant with muic by Dan Goeller:



 I don't have any recordings to refer you to, but I also discovered that composer Lorin Maazel has written pieces for narrator and orchestra based on The Empty Pot and The Giving Tree.




Do you find all that as exciting as I do?

10 Bits of Magic

Remembering that grace and wonder abound if I’m willing to see it:

1. Cloud-dappled sunset
2. First sip of a fresh cup of coffee
3. “Nature’s first green”
4. Finding buds, anticipating the scent of lilacs
5. Family belly-laughs
6. Jackets shed all over the yard
7. Wind in your hair
8. Sister hugs
9. The sound of rain
10. Sleeping with the window open

What bits of magic have you seen or experienced recently?

International Children's Book Day

April 2nd is Hans Christian Andersen’s birthday. It is also International Children’s Book Day. (I discovered both these tidbits over on the Fuse #8 Production blog, by the way.)

You may ask if a special day is really necessary, considering that most days are a celebration of children’s books at our house. (Why yes, the above is a picture of the book bag I carried out of the library yesterday! And—ahem—I straightened it up a little before I took the photo.) But I am all for a day to formally recognize the artistry and importance of children’s literature.

The United States Board on Books for Young People website has more information, with a number of wonderful downloads, including a beautiful promotional poster and a message to mark the occasion. I also found lists of ideas and books to use to celebrate the day, as well as Outstanding International Books Lists. Lots of neat stuff to explore!