The Real Thing

This last week I taught at the MacPhail Suzuki Institute. It was a hybrid format, part live and part Zoom. The kids were amazing as always, and it was all very well-orchestrated. Still, I confess to feeling slightly empty on the drive home Friday, while not dropping Fay at the airport. Also, I missed packing a huge lunch for myself, Calvin and Mary and the chaos of getting everyone packed up and practiced and downtown. I missed having my own piano kids there to eat lunch on the giant steps and have picnics outside. I missed chatting with colleagues in the hallways. I missed walking to Izzie’s ice cream Thursday after class. Our faculty dinner was delicious and lovely, but there were empty seats at the table since Fay and David were zooming.

I feel like until we are completely past covid, and all the teachers and families are back in full glory, things just aren‘t really real. We make the best of it. We keep trying to make the best of it, but it’s not the real thing.

Even aside from summer institutes, which again, are doing the best they can. . . there is something missing in our new Zoom culture.

It’s not the real thing.

I feel like we are asking our kids to do all the work, put all the time in, and expecting them to just be satisfied with their own personal growth. To be satisfied to play their Zoom recital and click the red “leave meeting” button, change clothes and go back to whatever they were doing before the recital. Well, here is the bottom line, it’s not really that satisfying. In fact, it’s a recipe for burnout. I know the kids are feeling it because I’m feeling it. It’s not the real thing.

I’m not going to Zoom anymore recitals this fall. If families want to make a video and post it and send to relatives afar, that’s fine. I’m putting all my eggs in the live music basket. We are gonna play a real piano in a real room with a real audience. Real applause. Then we are going to have real treats and real conversation. And give real hugs. I’m gonna sit in a chair with no screen between me and performer and listen. Just listen. No beeps, and no someone’s beloved grandma making commentary unmuted. I’m just going to watch and listen.

I’ve got six studio graduations in the next ten days. I’m looking forward to each one. These piano kids have worked hard. They did the real work, let’s give them the real celebration. Let’s get back to the real thing.

The Circle Game

Happy birthday Calvin. You are twenty. The boy is twenty.

Here is a song for you by Joni Mitchell. . .

Yesterday a child came out to wander
Caught a dragonfly inside a jar
Fearful when the sky was full of thunder
And tearful at the falling of a star

And the seasons, they go round and round
And the painted ponies go up and down
We're captive on the carousel of time
We can't return, we can only look
Behind, from where we came
And go round and round and round, in the circle game

Then the child moved ten times round the seasons
Skated over ten clear frozen streams
Words like, "When you're older" must appease him
And promises of someday make his dreams

And the seasons, they go round and round
And the painted ponies go up and down
We're captive on the carousel of time
We can't return, we can only look
Behind, from where we came
And go round and round and round, in the circle game

16 springs and 16 summers gone now
Cartwheels turn to car wheels through the town
And they tell him, "Take your time, it won't be long now
'Til you drag your feet to slow the circles down"

And the seasons, they go round and round
And the painted ponies go up and down
We're captive on the carousel of time
We can't return, we can only look
Behind, from where we came
And go round and round and round, in the circle game

So the years spin by and now the boy is 20
Though his dreams have lost some grandeur coming true
There'll be new dreams, maybe better dreams and plenty
Before the last revolving year is through

And the seasons, they go round and round
And the painted ponies go up and down
We're captive on the carousel of time
We can't return, we can only look
Behind, from where we came
And go round and round and round, in the circle game
And go round and round and round, in the circle game

Listen here: The Circle Game

It’s so cliche, but I can’t believe it. Twenty is so much more grown up than eighteen. You are our adult child, my travel companion and duet partner. You are an amazing man. A musician, a scholar, a traveler, a creator, and a listener. I pray that your dreams continue to come true, that you always meet the right people at the right time, that you always shine your light and that your heartbreaks, although necessary, are few.

Love Grows Here in the Overgrown Garden

Welcome to my new blog! I’ve been blogging for over ten years. Lately, it hasn’t been so easy to write. My kids are older and their news is their news. Maybe covid and current events have closed me off a little as well. Yet, that’s not how I want to be. I started writing because it was therapeutic. It still is.

I titled this new site, “Notes From An Overgrown Garden Of Life” because that’s how I often think about the largeness of family life, being a serious piano teacher, and taking care of a whole lot of flora and fauna. It is a lot like working in the garden. We want to plant new plants and try new ideas but the old plants still need water and love and meanwhile they are propagating all over the property and also meanwhile the weeds are growing like weeds. It’s time sensitive and it can be overwhelming, and depending upon the eyes you look through, at any given moment it’s either beautiful or complete chaos.

A wise man, in the form of my husband, once said, if you are only going to be happy when things are perfect, you are probably not going to be very happy. True in the garden, and true in life. So I get down on my knees and pull some weeds and try to maintain some semblance of order and beauty. While I’m there I say a little prayer that God would use me to some small service through it all.

Every day we make moment by moment decisions to place our focus on the weeds or on the flowers. As Jesus said, the weeds will always be with you. Wait. . .that wasn’t quite right. Anyway, the weeds are always there, still, we must try to shine the light towards the flowers of gratitude.

My hope is to make this blog a place where love grows. An alumni parent gave me the idea for the title, “Love Grows Here.” That is my goal.