Hymn sing

Yesterday in worship we had a hymn sing. They had taken a poll, asking members to name their favorite hymns. So we sang and listened to a few people talk about why a particular hymn was significant to them.

It brought my Grandma to mind....

I attended a Lutheran grade school where for eight years, every week on Fridays we studied a hymn. And memorized it. So I have all these hymns in my head, which is a wonderful gift even though I learned the version with 'thee's and 'thy's that have now been changed to you and your.

Having memorized a bunch of hymns came in very handy when I was 19 and spent the last morning of my Grandma's life sitting at her hospital bedside. The day before I had been there when the pastor came to visit, he read a verse and we sang her favorite hymn, Behold the Host Arrayed in White. So on the morning of her last day, the hospital called at about 4 AM to say she was agitated, would someone come? My uncle and I took the first shift. Unlike the day before, when they only let us into her ICU room for ten minutes every hour, and only two at a time, this day they welcomed us and let us stay. So I held her hand and talked with her, but she was restless and not at ease, breathing fast and shallow. So I sang the song from the day before. She took this really deep breath, relaxed and her hands stopped clutching at the sheets. I thought she fell asleep, so when I got to the end of the verse I stopped singing. She startled, looked at me, and squeezed my hand. I started singing and she relaxed again.

I sang everything I could remember for the next several hours until other relatives came to sit with her. Every time I stopped, she squeezed my hand.

 

 

Behold the host, arrayed in white

like thousand snow-clad mountains bright,

that stands with palms and sings its psalms before the throne of light!

These are the saints who kept God's word;

they are the honored of the Lord.

He is their prince who drowned their sins

so they were cleansed, restored.

They now serve God both day and night;

they sing their songs in endless light.

Their anthems ring when they all sing with angels shining bright.

 

 

It's not my all time favorite hymn, but it brings my Grandma back for a moment, squeezing my hand, telling me to sing some more.



Comings and goings

There have been a lot of comings and goings in my life, home and studio this year. Son #1 moved home a year ago after having lived on his own for three years; he finished his last semester and graduated from college, got a job, and is now saving for a car and apartment while paying off school loans. Daughter #1 graduated from college two weeks ago (Daughter #2's account of that event is here), has a summer job in Marquette, Michigan and is apartment hunting in Milwaukee, where she'll be in grad school in the fall. Daughter #2 was home for three weeks following her first year of college, and last Monday we delivered her to Camp Onomia for a summer working as a camp counselor. Son #2 is the constant here at home, at least for the next three years.

In my studio, I've enjoyed an 'aging' of my students over the past couple years. More kids persevered through their middle school slump and went on to continue their music through high school. It's a hard age -- greater demands on their time from all sides -- homework, sports, activities, a first job. It's amazing that any of them continue their music study through the middle school minefield. The fun part for me as a teacher of middle and high school students is that I get to reap the benefits of all the investment of their early years. At this point, they know how to practice, they understand the cause and effect of time put in and beautiful music emerging. We're working on beautiful masterworks together. It's all good.

But it's hard to say goodbye when the seniors graduate. I had two seniors this year. One had studied with me since she was eight, the other just for the past three years. I loved working with them both, being able to transition from the role of teacher, guiding their every step and selecting every piece of repertoire, to that of coach and mentor, giving them independence, selecting repertoire together, guiding them to personal interpretations of the music based on their own depth of knowledge and musical experience.

I also said goodbye to a couple middle school students who sat with their parents, took an honest look at their commitments and dreams, and decided that their high school years would be focused on some dreams other than piano. As hard as it is to say goodbye to students who've been with me six years or more, I always respect and appreciate the intentionality of their decisions. Much better to go out on a high note, having put their best efforts into their final performances, than to slink out the back door feeling like they'd hung on six months too long.

So there's some room in the studio for a few new students this summer or fall. Or, perhaps there's room to downsize a little. Something to think about as I'm moving my own kids in and out.

Arpeggios

My piano students are working on arpeggios this month. I've shown this video clip about 36 times this week. I'm surprised at how many of the 12 and under crowd have never seen The Aristocats! Enjoy.

Failure and success

Sometimes I am just amazed at how close the distance between failure and success is. As a pianist, a C chord is millimeters away from a B chord. Drop your hand a quarter inch to the left and there's dissonance and a cringing panic in the chest as you try to adjust.

You've played this piece a hundred times, probably more, at various tempos, in so many different ways, taking apart the voicing and the nuances, studying in such detail the way your piano part fits with the voice parts, and still, when you put it all together, there is a surprise. "How fascinating!" one of my mentors advises me to think when the unthinkable occurs in performances. "OMG!" or "what the F#ck" is what really goes through my head when the unexpected happens.

Yes, those of us who know the piece in such great detail know exactly where we have fallen short, while those listening may only hear a momentary pause, a slight hesitation, or a moment of awkwardness. Sometimes the failure is barely noticeable, sometimes not.

But we who perform know.

And we care outrageously.

It's a good thing, in that the knowing and the caring spurs us on to greater practice, greater precision, greater efforts that eventually produce greater results.

But at the moment of failure, and the remembrance of it, even with many many many successes on its heels, it still feels like *shit*. We go home, we cry, we kick ourselves, we replay the failure many times more than we replay the success.

And we ask ourselves [again, and again, and again], am I going to give up or am I going to go on?

And we take a nap, and then we go on.

Comings and Goings

I have four children, ages 23, 21, 18, and 14.

The 23 year old, after not living at home for four years, is home. Home for the summer, home for a last semester of college this fall. Then we'll see.

Home and remembering house rules. Pick up after yourself. Replace the toilet roll when you use it up. Ask before you borrow the car. Fill the tank. Wash your own dishes. Don't assume all the steak in the freezer is yours. Make your own bed.

Home and contributing to family life. He loves to grill. He doesn't mind physical labor, hot and sweaty garden projects. He offers his technology when the house DVD player breaks down. Nice give and take.

The 21 year old is away. Living on her own, or almost. Taking responsibility for herself, mostly. Until tuition payments are due.

She checks in more frequently than she did when she had something to prove [to herself? to us? to whom?]

The 18 year old is making lists. Phone, checking account, laptop, laundry detergent, and all the other things she needs before she moves to college dorm life.

That one spends more time considering how many musical instruments will fit in her dorm room than she spends on what clothes, books, or gadgets to pack. Latest count: violin, guitar, mandolin, dulcimer [it's small] all go. Piano [it's MINE] stays. Accordion [it's not hers either] goes back to its orginal owner. Cello, that's up for debate. Is there room in her closet?

The fourteen year old schemes and plans about having his bedroom to himself again.

And me? It's going to be quiet in my house this fall.

We're going to have to negotiate cars if the 23 year old plans to commute to school this fall.

I'm proud to see my kids accept the responsibility of independence. And I'm pleased to see they can ask for help [and a spare bedroom] when circumstances warrant that. Love to see them go, see them grow, see them live in community, see them give back where ever they are.

For a long time I've said, healthy birds leave the nest.

But healthy people know when to ask for help, and a temporary home.

Love my kids, coming and going. Growing.

Guilty

I am feeling a lot of Mom Guilt this week.

Emily is gone for the week, and I'm so happy to have the piano all to myself. [guilt, guilt.]

I don't have to have an early morning consultation each day about who gets to practice when.

I just get to practice whenever I want. Whenever I don't have a student. Whenever I feeeeeeel like playing.

[guilt, guilt.]

A good mom would be happy to share her piano.

A good mom would take delight in her child's passion, discipline and drive toward success.

[guilt, guilt.]

I really do take delight in all those things. And, I wish I could have my piano all to myself, at my beck and call, and not have to share.

[guilt, guilt]

Em's got access to a piano where she is.

[happy, happy.]

Graduation, again

Our third child has reached that stage of life known as high school graduation. It's a little bit surreal. As a family that homeschools with the philosophy that learning is a life long endeavor, to mark an "ending" of schooling seems odd. This particular form of schooling ends, the learning never does.

And yet, it is good to recognize and celebrate this transition from home and family to continuing the learning in a different setting.

As each child 'graduated,' we have asked family and friends to contribute their thoughts -- memories and bits of advice -- to a book that we have compiled for the graduate.

I am always stunned at the thoughts people share.

As connected as I am with my children, they have lives apart from mine and my influence. This is a good thing.

I am so grateful for the people who have been part of my children's lives. They so often notice and remark upon aspects of the child's personality or gifts that I take for granted. They see it as special, whereas I just see it as *Emily*.

And I love the pieces of advice they share. Sometimes it's something they heard from their own parents. Sometimes it's something they've learned the hard way.

Best of all, so many of the people in my children's lives share their foundation of faith with her. Remember, Emily, you are one of God's children, now and forever. Rembember, Emily, God will help you when you need help and guidance. Remember, Emily, you are baptized. Remember, Emily, you can be a witness of God's love in the world.

Thanks to all who have or will contribute to this book.

Playing on the floor

It's the last week of our regular school year piano lessons. For something a little fun, I brought out my new toy - er, teaching tool. A giant floor piano.

My students and I are not quite as adept as these players, but we're having fun.

be still

Midweek Lenten worship this noon followed a blessed bowl of chicken soup. "Be still and know that I am God..." takes on a different meaning this week. I'm on spring break and I've been still, except for the almost constant coughing over the past twelve days.

After worship we had the option to create a cross from a variety of objects--beads, popsickle sticks, feathers, twigs, shells, stones, wire. I chose from a box of found objects, driftwood and bark, a feather, beads in shades of blue.

The cross, the place where we connect with love. A good place to rest the eyes and be still.

Between trips

In the past five years, I've taken six trips to Tanzania. They are major travels, 14 to 16 days in duration. On most of the trips, I've been one of maybe two returning travelers. Each trip requires at least six months of preparation, and often several months worth of follow up work upon our return.

My last trip was in August 2010, my next will be July 2012. For the first time in years, I am not in the middle of pre- or post-travel work. I'm taking a breather.

I really miss the anticipation, the excitement, the wondering of what new experiences I'll have next. I miss my friends in Tanzania. I miss the bananas, the singing, the drumming, the walking, the conversations, the relationships. I miss getting to know a whole new crowd of travelers.

But there are compensations. Time with my kids, time to read, time to reflect. Time for jigsaw puzzles, long baths, short trips closer to home. Time for concerts and plays and dinners out. Time to host a visiting niece or nephew. Time to let my hair grow.

On the journey

Photo: a present to yourself. Sift through all the photos of you from the past year. Choose one that best captures you; either who you are, or who you strive to be. Find the shot of you that is worth a thousand words. Share.

This photo was taken in August by Pastor Randy. Our group was walking back from the village of Mahove to our bus for a return trip to Tungamalenga. We were walking because Mahove is very remote, up a mountain, several kilometers off the dirt road. Every other time I've been there, I'd taken a Land Rover and had to replace a tire that was punctured along the way.

We had been to Mahove to talk about bringing water to this sprawling village. The women and children walk about 3 miles one way to get water for their village. Men don't fetch water. There is a wonderful, inspiring Bibi (grandmother) in the village who has persevered in her quest to bring water to this village. She visits the parish office (miles away) and continues to ask for help in bringing water to the village. We have heard this request for several years, and finally the parish placed this need as the number one priority on their list of partnership projects.

So in the village, we had met this time with local government officials. It's important to talk through the details with all the stakeholders in a project like this. Sometimes we'd like to just go in and make the project happen, but we've learned to listen first and follow the pace of our African partners.

I like a couple things about this photo. I have a newly framed enlargement of it on my wall at home, and every time I look at it I'm compelled to walk toward it. Is it because of the path? or to get a closer look? It draws me in, every time.

I like it because it puts me in perspective. Yes, it's a picture of me walking alongside Pastor Naftal, on the path from Mahove toward Makifu. I like that we are holding hands and are deep in conversation. But we are so small on this path in the vast landscape. What we're doing is important, but it's just part of something so much larger than we ourselves.

As I go from 2010 into 2011, I want to remember to enjoy the journey and all that it brings--the sweat, the effort, the long walks, the conversation, the purpose, the holding hands, the vast landscape, and being a small piece of something much larger than myself.

Away

Travel: How did you travel in 2010? How and/or where would you like to travel next year?

Last March I spent some fun days in Albuquerque at a conference but hardly saw the city beyond the conference center. Opportunity missed.

In August I spent three weeks in Tanzania, two of them with a group and the last week more on my own. Opportunity treasured.

In September, Bruce and I spent a few days driving down one side of the Mississippi River and up the other, exploring little towns, shops and wineries in Wisconsin and Minnesota. Opportunity for which we scrimped and saved.

Throughout the year there were short trips to visit family in New Ulm, Iowa, several parts of Wisconsin. Opportunities for which we are grateful.

Coming up next? 2011 looks to be a little more mundane on the travel front, sticking to car trips to visit family and to take kids to and from college. Even the annual music conference I attend is closer to home, in what feels like a ho-hum city, Milwaukee. I like Milwaukee fine, and I go for the conference and not the sightseeing, but it doesn't have quite the "ooh and ahh" factor of 2012's destination: New. York. City!!

But we're making one trip a priority for 2011: an anniversary trip for somewhere. Today Bruce and I are celebrating our 25th wedding anniversary and we had been planning to take a big trip somewhere together. But he's in a new job and has no vacation time to take until May. So we're planning to take a week or a little less at the end of May or early June, depending on my schedule.

Where? We're considering Charleston, unless it's too hot in June; Redwood National Forest; Vienna. Talk about diverse options!?! Time to do some research and thinking!

Beyond Avoidance: What should you have done this year but didn’t because you were too scared, worried, unsure, busy or otherwise deterred from doing? (Bonus: Will you do it?)

I've been struggling with these reverb10 writing prompts. Seemed like a fun idea when I started, but either I'm overwhelmed by my schedule, or too tired to write, or the prompts feel too personal to put on a blog, of all places.

But this one's easy.

What I should have done this year was practice organ.

For a couple years, my church has been working toward the goal of building a pipe organ for our sanctuary, to replace the old electronic organ that is held together by twine and spit, has all kinds of surprises each week for the organist and congregation. In this last year, the forces in the benevolent universe that govern such things began to align, and I knew we were going to get our organ someday soon.

And as choir accompanist, I know that when we have a decent instrument, our choir director will be selecting more anthems accompanied by organ. I better get prepared to play.

I've had some little training on the organ, and I can do it if I have to, given plenty of preparation time and some help deciding on which stops to use.

But I feel so gangly and uncoordinated at the organ. There's the feet to get moving, there's no damper pedal to help connect big reaches from chord to chord, there's the difference in touch at the keyboard, there's the issue of reading three staves or rearranging the voicing between the hands. All stuff that makes me feel awkward.

And then there's the big, big sound that comes out.

I don't have the experience yet to judge how the sound I hear at the console sounds to the rest of the room. Sometimes I'm too loud and don't know it, often too soft.

So all of this makes organ playing tops on my avoidance list. I suppose you could call it living in denial, knowing that the organ was coming and knowing I would occasionally be called on to play it and still not preparing. I had chances. I thought about taking lessons again a few years ago. And last spring, after playing organ for some choir anthem, the director encouraged me to play any little thing over the summer--some Bach for a random Sunday prelude, or some quiet stuff for offertory--just to increase my comfort level. But I didn't do it.

I have a couple pieces I always come back to when I do play organ. Bach, Franck. I like them well enough and can get them up to competent if not great.

So will I practice organ in 2011?

Probably. Maybe. If I have to. We'll see.

Unsubscribe & Delete

11 Things: What are 11 things your life doesn’t need in 2011? How will you go about eliminating them? How will getting rid of these 11 things change your life?

I spend a lot of time on the computer, for work, for volunteer tasks, for pleasure. But lately I spend the first several minutes of email sessions just deleting, deleting all kinds of stuff I no longer want to read. So I've started to become intentional about getting rid of the clutter. Here are eleven things I'm going banish from my in box:

1. Daily horoscopes. How did I get on that list?

2. Vegetarian recipes of the day. They're really not all that appetizing, sorry.

3. Discussion lists for homeschoolers with young families looking for playdates. My youngest is 14.

4. Dell Deals of the week. I just bought a computer, don't need another one just yet.

5. Facebook notifications. When I want to play on Facebook, I'll go there. Why read it twice?

6. College parent and alumni newsletters.

7. Screen It weekly newsletter. I rarely go to movies anymore, and I put more weight on what I hear from my friends. If I want to read reviews, I can go to the website.

8. Weekly sale updates from an online auction site that I used once, for one specific item not available anywhere else.

9. Two of the three daily devotions I receive. I tried them, they're all okay, but one stands out in a way the others do not.

10. Non profit organization emails for groups that I no longer have an interest in contributing to. Priorities change.

11. Follow up emails from a marketing seminar I attended. It was good, but now I have that information, thanks.

How will deleting and unsubscribing change my life in 2011? I hope I'll be more efficient with email and spend less time on the computer, feel less overwhelmed with information that's no longer relevant to my life, and have more time and attention to spend at the piano and with the people I love.

Community

Day 7: Community. Where have you discovered community, online or otherwise, in 2010? What community would you like to join, create or more deeply connect with in 2011?

[Yes, Day 7. I've obviously skipped a few. Who knows, I might come back to some of them but for now I'm happy responding to the prompts that speak to me.]

My patchwork life has several communities--the family, my closest friends, my studio families, my church music community, my Tanzania connected communities (here with people who support the Tanzanian mission, and there, the people in Tanzania), and then my music colleague community.

One of my most profound experiences of community in 2010 happened this fall during the visit of our guests from Tanzania. Last January, as a way to raise funds for the travel expenses, we had auctioned off the chance to share a meal with our guests. Members of our partnership committee offered to host a dinner in their homes with our guests and with four to eight other guests. The auction was really successful.

Two of our guests stayed in my home for ten days in October, and on eight of those ten evenings, we hosted dinner guests. Some nights as many as twelve or fourteen people gathered, some nights it was just eight or ten. There were families with children, couples, teens, people who had been to Tanzania and others who had not. Pastors, lay people, church members and people from outside the faith community.

Those dinners were one of my favorite things we did with the guests. My own children asked why we don't do this more often, wasn't it fun to have all these different people and all this interesting conversation. [Why don't we do this more often? Maybe because I teach during dinner time?]

It was fascinating to watch the interactions. It was like watching something holy as people made connections, asked questions, shared perspectives, reached across cultures to try to understand what we have in common and where we differ.

One night each guest took turns entertaining a baby and toddler, another night we discussed dating, engagement and marriage customs, another night one guest grabbed a guitar while my daughter played the accordion and we all sang.

Every guest told me how much they appreciated the opportunity to connect on a personal level with our Tanzanian friends.

The second place I've been exploring community this year is in my music organization. As part of my preparation for taking on the presidency of the group next summer, I've visited many of the local associations of music teachers around the state.

Local associations like the ones I've been visiting are the grassroots of this organization, the places where isolated, independent music teachers like me can connect with other professionals, create programs for their students, share information, continue their professional growth, and use their skills to give back to other colleagues.

When I was a brand new piano teacher years ago, the internet wasn't around and I couldn't just google all my questions. How do I write a studio policy? How much can I charge? How do I teach a kid to read music when they've got such a good ear that they pick up all the easy songs the first time they hear them? When do you push and when do you let an overcommitted student coast for awhile?

I lived in New Ulm when I started teaching and I was blessed to have an active group of about 15 teachers who met monthly; I could ask them anything. They shared their experiences, referred students to me, helped me in countless ways.

When I moved away from New Ulm to the metro area, I didn't join a local group. I had babies, I told myself they were my priority and that I could get along without the professional support. A couple years ago I finally joined a local group again and have realized how much I missed that comraderie.

So now I've been visiting other groups, getting to know people, giving them a chance to get to know me a little, and oh, how interesting it has been. Each group has its own flavor. Some have been around a long time, others are relatively new. Some wear name tags, in others, the members all seem to know each other already. Some have recitals and many programs for their students, others are primarily organized for the fellowship of the members.

One thing that's weird is how often I am among the youngest people in the room.

I think of how important that group was to me when I was starting out -- where are the young teachers today finding their support and their community? Are they all online?

I would like to explore ways to bridge the gaps in 2011.

In the community that supports our church's partnership with the people in Tanzania, how can we make connections that extend and continue the conversations we had with our guests?

In my music teachers association, what do we need to create so that people who don't come to meetings can find the same support, information, connections, development opportunities and community that I remember being so vital to me at that stage of my life? My gut feeling is that it will be an online community that could bridge the gaps between old and young, metro and rural, college faculty and independent teachers. I'd love to see a blog with excellent writers taking turns, creating compelling content that would in turn elicit reader response that would eventually create community.

One word: Striving

I've discovered an interesting end of the year blogging challenge at Reverb10 and decided, what the heck, better late than never. So even though it was supposed to start December 1st I'm going to jump in and do what suits my fancy. The idea is to use daily writing prompts to reflect on the year that is ending, and make plans for the coming year.

Day 1 challenge: One Word. Encapsulate the year 2010 in one word. Explain why you’re choosing that word. Now, imagine it’s one year from today, what would you like the word to be that captures 2011 for you?

My word for the year 2010 is striving. I've been striving toward goals, striving toward high standards, striving toward perfectionism. Want to know how much striving I've done? Even this blog post has been started three times, with three different words each time.

About eleven months ago, I went on a two day retreat. Beautiful place in northern Minnesota, staying in a compact hermitage/cabin that held everything I needed and nothing I didn't. Serenity outside my windows with snow and woods and cardinals; the warmth of a log fire inside my cabin. Space and time to think and dream and reflect.

I spent those two days thinking about how to balance my life. I knew that's what I was supposed to have as my goal, I know that's what my life lacks. Balance between work and play, giving and receiving, obligations and freedom, calendar and free time, clients and family, doing and being, checking off items on the to do list and giving myself the space and time to feel the spirit.

I made some really good plans. I had a list of things to do to create a better balance in my life. Take time for yoga every day, set a weekly date night with my spouse, be intentional about getting together with friends for coffee. I knew what I should do, I had measurable goals, I set up a way to track progress toward my goals, and I made a weekly appointment with myself for time for reflection.

And I want you to know, I've stuck to my goals at least 80-85% of the time. Excercise, check. Date night, check. Friends, check. Weekly check in, check.

So I've been striving toward balance, and guess what? I don't feel any more balance in my life, I just feel more striving.

I remember that just as I left that place of retreat and tranquility last January, there was this niggling voice in my head saying, "I don't really want balance. I want all the things I've always wanted, a loving family, a comfortable home, challenging work, fulfilling commitments, a place to express my creativity, and the chance to make a difference in the world somewhere. I want it all."

Maybe my life is not going to be perfectly balanced. I guess I will always be dropping one ball or another. But I'm looking more closely now at the rhythm and the tempo of my life. My days often resemble a classical sonata in three movements, with the Allegro opening, an Adagio in the middle of the day, with a fast Rondo to close the afternoon and evening. Sometimes it's a four movement work, with a minuet or scherzo thrown in for good measure.

Most of the time this year, that rhythm and tempo has been okay. It enabled me to do work I love, get paid enough to allow me to do other stuff I love, go places I wanted to go, do things I wanted to do and accomplish things that give me great satisfaction.

I know I'm in a really extraordinary place where I don't do and I don't have to do anything that I don't really want to do. How many people can say that about their work and other commitments? It may be that I have a few too many things that I love and want to do.

So I've been striving, and there are many good things about that. Every once in awhile I think about how life would be if I adopted another way. Right now I haven't got another word for where I want to be this time next year. I could work on coming up with one. Or I could wait and see what bubbles up.

My idea of a fun weekend

Johanna and Emily sharing a laugh

Life is good.

I often over-work, I spend too much time at the computer, and I tend to think/obsess/worry about tasks left undone when I'm not actively doing them. My weekend activities don't usually look too much different from my weekday activities. I like things that way, but every once in a while even I need a break from routine.

That's when I rent a toddler.

You can rent them pretty cheaply. Actually, all you have to do is offer their parents some free time and you can pretty much get a toddler whenever you want one.

I'm blessed to have two toddlers in my life who are often available. This weekend Johanna is visiting. She laughs at the dog, she has enthusiasm for the most tedious household task, she takes us to the playground "over this way," and she keeps us laughing with her commentary on life. "I not a baby, I a girl," she says emphatically. To my dog, she says, "Puppy, that's enough barking." She's right.

Parenting a two year old is exhausting, but hosting a two year old for a weekend is not. For me, it's a shot in the arm, a break from routine, an opportunity to dwell in the moment and remember that the ordinary things of life are extraodinary.

Thanks, Johanna. Thanks, her parents.

Precious time

I love my work, don't get me wrong.

I love my volunteer commitments, make no mistake.

But right now I am experiencing two weeks in between. Home from my travels to Tanzania, where there are many things to do, many people to see, many requests and plans to follow up on my return. Yet not in my school year schedule of piano students, regular meetings, choir rehearsals and Sunday morning worship services.

I'm working ahead, planning, practicing, and coordinating many of those teaching, accompanying and volunteer projects that will come up this fall. But somehow, the time still seems like mine.

Each morning I revel in a walk with my daughter. Sometimes we talk, sometimes we just walk.

I've scheduled coffee or lunch with colleagues and friends, catching up, planning ahead, or just enjoying.

I take my son to lunch, or to a bookstore.

When stuff frustrates me, I pull weeds in my garden.

And I love these days. I know I'd get bored if these days lasted longer than two weeks. But for now, the time is precious, and I am full of gratitude for the end of summer.

Tanzania #7

Tomorrow I leave for my seventh trip to Tanzania. I'm excited. I'm traveling with a great group of guys--two my age and two teenagers--who will be my travel buddies. They're new to the Tanzanian experience, but they're all game and ready to take on the challenge of travel to a third world country.



For some reason, I've been thinking about travel companions of the past six trips. Companions really make or break the journey, you know. I'm so grateful to have had wonderful companions for many of my journeys.



There have been wonderful medical professionals who kept the members of the group healthy. First trip, a wonderful doctor who met us every morning for breakfast with the questions, "did you sleep well? do you have any diarrhea?"

There have been those whose expertise was in biology, who would spot wild animals, name trees, pick up tortoises and help the group appreciate and understand the environment of the savannah.

There have been teachers who provided encouragement and teaching tools to our partners, there have been business people who mentored our partners who are involved with microfinance, and there have been pastors who shared their experiences serving, nurturing and leading congregations.

There have been people with years of wisdom who become "bibi" and "babu" to our partners [grandmother and grandfather] and there have been youth who give our partners hope that this partnership will continue into another generation.

I have been blessed to share three of those seven trips with my two daughters.

For all these traveling companions, I am grateful.

A word from the mom

I haven't been keeping up my end of this blog. Let's get that out there right away. Despite Em's gentle nudges---"you could write about that, Mom!"---"that would make an interesting blog post, Mom!"--I have, as usual, let work take precedence.

What's this blog's title? Play on. Play.

Play is not what comes naturally to me. I was a serious kid. I liked to read. I liked to listen to adult conversations. I didn't care much about meeting unfamiliar kids or playing tag, hide and seek, or alley alley in free.

And I'm a serious adult. I take responsibility, I follow through, I do what I say I'm going to do, I work hard, I accomplish the things I want to accomplish.

But. How fun is a life without play?

I have learned to play through watching my children. There was some child psychologist who talked about the concentration exhibited by children stringing beads. I have watched my children, and my piano students, as they metaphorically were stringing beads. Sometimes what they were actually doing was moving sand, forming dikes and ponds, sometimes what they were doing was taking on a role, and sometimes playing "Heart and Soul."

But the thing all these play-ers had in common was, they were in the moment. Experiencing whatever they were doing without any self consciousness at all. Totally absorbed in what they were doing, without the "how am I doing" or what do they think of me" or any of those other self conscious thoughts that intrude.

Those are the moments I'm seeking to create in my life.