Love is Love

On Monday, I witnessed history.

It was a last minute decision. My friend and I drove to the Capitol to watch Governor Dayton sign the same-sex marriage bill into law, which as of August 1st gives gay and lesbian couples the legal right to get married.
We got there a little early and explored the Capitol building. Turns out it contains a lot of sketchy hallways and tunnels, a cafeteria with walls decorated with German table blessings, and more people in suits than I was prepared for.
So many people were milling about, and you could sense the excitement.
As it got closer to 5 o'clock, we gathered in front of the Capitol steps. What followed is a problem that I've been dealing with all my life.
I couldn't see anything. I'm around 5'2. We were near the media crews, so we were rather close to the podium. I'm glad we showed up when we did, because there were thousands of people there. Except I didn't know this, because I couldn't see past the people in front or behind me! I must admit, I was somewhat disappointed--I wanted to take great pictures to post on here. This was a big deal--my friends are finally getting the equal rights they deserve! I felt like I couldn't be a good witness to it now.
But let me tell you what I did see.

I saw families. Moms and moms, dads and dads, with their babies and toddlers and 8 year olds and teenagers. This was the most meaningful part for me. I don't consider family to be just about shared genes. It's about people who you share a bond with and are with you every step of the way. These families with gay parents were always families in my mind, and now I felt an indescribable happiness knowing that they would soon become legally recognized as such, and would enjoy the same benefits and protection that any straight-parented family might have.

Rainbow flags. Raised high, waving in the air, held by old guys and and 20-something moms. One of them was 10 feet tall, each color with a different streamer, being held up over the grass between the Capitol steps. On our way out we walked by and it almost swallowed me like Charlie Brown's kite-eating tree.

Dizzy, dehydrated, sunburned, but nonetheless happy people. And I was one of them!

Middle-aged 9-5 desk-job types standing next to frisbee-throwing hippies. I love America.

No signs of a protest. I'm sure there must have been some anti-gay marriage group there. It's sad that I assume so, but we live in a time where it's always within the realm of possibility. But from what I could tell, it was a joyous, calm event, celebrating the fact that equality had triumphed.

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.



Summer.
Wait, what?

Seems like the universe pushed the fast-forward button on everything, and now here I am, sitting in my house in the opposite end of the state, typing away at something non-scholarly. How good it feels!
Adjusting back to normal life (school being the opposite of normal) is going slower than I thought it would, though. I need a summer hibernation, not a break.
But summer will prove to be busy, so if anybody would like to buy me coffee so I can stay awake for it, please do.

I plan to work on German by reading some young adult novels ("For fun?" the librarian asked), hoping to absorb some good grammar by osmosis. I also am trying to keep up my Swahili after not speaking it for quite some time. Prepare to hear a really strange mix of things when I talk. You've heard of Spanglish, right? My Deutsch prof says English+Deutsch=Denglish. And here I am, throwing one more thing into the pot of linguistic stew, trying to sound comprehensible speaking what comes out as Swangdenklish. Es ist sehr mgumu sana, mensch!

My attitude towards piano practice this summer: Attack! Charge! Show no mercy! And other piratey-sounding things.
I will also be awkwardly practicing conducting in the mirror while blasting choral music in the background. Gotta get ready for choral conducting class with a Grammy-winning professor somehow.

Compose (and finish) some things. Finishing is the tricky part. Please remind me from time to time that I should be working on something...

But all of this is trumped by my continued search for a job. My options are limited, because I've been accepted to the Adamant Music School in Vermont, where I'll be studying piano for three weeks (!), so I need to work around that, and because I don't have a car. If it was safe for a small redheaded female of my age, I would pack my bag and start riding the rails with my guitar, Woody Guthrie-style, working where I can. But let's face it, I would probably get stabbed by hobos and gangsters. I also imagined cutting my hair and selling it, like Jo March in "Little Women," where her sister Amy so tactfully exclaimed, "Oh Jo, your one beauty!" and made enough money to buy a train ticket. But then I saw "Les Miserables," where Fantine, played by Anne Hathaway, sells her hair in desperation, and then promptly dies in poverty with a few less teeth and a lot less dignity. I haven't hit that point--yet. So, if anybody hears of anything--and I mean anything--that sounds like a promising opportunity for me, let me know. Trying to keep my energy level up in the face of the constant "no" I keep hearing proves more difficult than I thought.

Artistic Ambassadors

I'm getting ready to go on another Minnesota Music Teachers Association Artistic Ambassadors tour.

Last year was the first one. Two solo pianists, a violinist, a saxaphonist and accmpanist. Two days, four schools, one community concert. Fabulous music. Incredible conversations. Wow.

One of the responses from an elementary music school teacher: Most of my kids have never heard classical music live. Most will never experience it again. Two weeks later, they're still talking about it.

A response from one of the Ambassadors: can I audition again next year?

Last year's inaugural tour was such a hit and a highlight that I'm afraid this year will be automatically a let down.

Don't go there.

Really, I'm expecting the same incredible high. Take fabulously talented college musicians, introduce them to kids and a music loving community, give them time and space and a good instrument and recital hall....what can go wrong?

This year our ambassadors include a fabulous cellist and collaborative pianist, doctoral students at the U of M. A singer from U of MN and her collaborative pianist. An undergrad solo pianist from Concordia College, Moorhead.

We're going to do four school performances and one community concert in two days. Excellent music for audiences who are eager to hear it. Bring it on!

The Christmas Tightrope

Earlier this fall I got it into my head that I was going to pen a Christmas carol. Whenever I try to write music, I don't like to think of it as a big masterpiece just waiting to be brought to life. Of course, I'm human, so that's usually where my mind goes, but usually I end up humbling myself through the time consuming process of pairing words with melodies and harmonies, something that takes just as much quiet contemplation and reflection as it does writing and erasing and plunking out notes. I like to write things I can share with friends and family, something for us to sing together. Masterpiece doesn't matter.

Now it's December 22nd, and the carol is nowhere near being finished--but that's ok.
Lately I've been thinking about the text I'm using. It's a poem by Madeleine L'engle called "The Glory."

Without any rhyme
without any reason
my heart lifts to light
in this bleak season

Believer and wanderer
caught by salvation
stumbler and blunderer
into Creation

In this cold blight
where marrow is frozen
it is God’s time
my heart has chosen

In paradox and story
parable and laughter
find I the glory
here in hereafter.


What strikes me most is the second line of the second stanza. As I read it, I can hear the voice of my Intro to Writing professor last spring saying, "Use strong language! Use those verbs!" Caught by salvation. Not given, not granted, but caught. I'm a wordy person who enjoys these little particulars. It makes me think of a nervous tightrope walker losing balance, then falling into the net below. These words sound joyous without being sugary. Just plain, straight clarity. I know we still have one more Sunday of Advent--of waiting in the darkness--and with the horrible killings in Newtown last week the dark feeling won't automatically be lifted from us come Christmas. But, there is goodness. Dark times can be remedied, Professor Dumbledore said, "if one only remembers to turn on the light." The net catches us tightrope walkers. We can at least give thanks for that.

never too late

Years ago, I read a book by John Holt entitled, Never Too Late: My Musical Life Story. I had read other books by Holt, who started out as an educational reformer and ended up as a homeschooling advocate – writing books like How Children Fail, How Children Learn, Learning All the Time, and Teach Your Own. He had a remarkable gift for observing in minute detail how children learn, from practical, pedagogical, and emotional perspectives.

Never Too Late was a memoir of sorts, describing how Holt at age 40 took up the cello for the first time in his life and aimed toward professional competency. “If I could learn to play the cello well, as I thought I could, I could show by my own example that we all have greater powers than we think; that whatever we want to learn or learn to do, we probably can learn; that our lives and our possibilities are not determined and fixed by what happened to us when we were little, or by what experts say we can or cannot do.”

I remember reading his account when I was in my 20s, thinking of how I could be more responsive, respectful, and empathetic with my adult piano students. I was taking notes, as it were, but not really thinking the concepts applied to me, personally.
So now here I am at age 50, learning a new instrument myself, suddenly remembering the descriptions of angst and emotional drama that Holt described in his own learning.

I am a pianist, teacher, and church choir accompanist. A year ago, my very large suburban church installed a new million dollar pipe organ. It’s a fabulous instrument in every way. My music director/choir conductor has been programming wonderful choir anthems with pipe organ accompaniment. Of course the choir should sing with this wonderful instrument. But I am not an organist. Oh, my – suddenly I am updating my skill set.

I had one semester of organ lessons in college, 28 years ago.

For the past five years, I have had to accompany the choir on the organ about once or twice a year, increasing to three to four times in the past year.
You have to understand, this is not my area of expertise.
In the beginning, I thought of it as an exercise in stretching my personal comfort zone.

After a few tries, I thought of it as a grand lesson in humility.

Lately, I have realized that I am no longer learning to play a particular anthem for a particular occasion. Now I am really learning to play a new-to-me instrument.

At age 50, I can’t think of anything more humbling. I think of myself as a professional most of the time. Professional teacher, professional accompanist. I feel competent. I come prepared, I deliver an expected outcome.

Then comes the Sunday I’m scheduled to accompany on the organ, and I suffer tortures unimagined. I am awake at 3 AM imagining all the ways my feet could fail me, I half hope for food poisoning to incapacitate me, and I secretly bargain with God to do just well enough not to totally embarrass myself. Even when the playing goes well enough, the mental uncertainty exhausts me. I spend the rest of the day second guessing myself, replaying the performance, wondering if I should retire, and berating myself for not aiming higher than ‘getting through without embarrassing myself.”

All this has made me a much more empathetic teacher, especially with my adult students. Think of it – you’re the vice president of a major bank, but learning to play the melody of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star takes longer to prepare than your notes for a board meeting. You’re a college teacher, but keeping a steady beat through a Clementi Sonatina takes weeks and weeks of practice. You’re hell on wheels in the corporate world, but performing Rudolf the Red Nosed Reindeer on a recital has you shaking in your boots.

My own practice sessions on the fabulous pipe organ I am privileged to play are hilarious – I sneak into the building at 7 AM and spend days practicing with the softest organ stops available so that no one in the building will hear me fumbling about. It’s only when I am 90% sure I can dance through correct notes that I will “pull out all the stops” and practice with the sounds and open swell boxes that I’ll actually use in performance.

All in all, I am grateful for this opportunity, humbling as it sometimes becomes. Experiencing the learning process, entering the ‘beginner’s mind’ is instructive, humbling, and useful for me as a teacher.

My organ learning reminds me how it feels to be incompetent, reaching for competence.

Isn’t that what all of my students feel at some point in their journey with us?

Experiencing it, feeling it myself, helps create compassion and patience for others at that stage in their musical journey. It makes me a better teacher.

Vote vote vote.

I'm a news junkie. I love to know what's going on in the world, and learn about interesting people and places.
What I don't like is being surrounded by the college campus bubble, where somehow you become isolated from the outside world, being consumed by your homework and not having the time to be aware of things outside of your student life.
This Thursday night, I couldn't take it anymore. I just needed to listen to some news. I needed to feel aware again. It's election season, and being away working at a summer camp in the woods, then coming straight back to the college bubble made me feel completely ignorant, especially of the 2012 presidential race.

So, I got out my homework, hunkered down, and watched the Democratic National Convention on C-Span.
I cannot describe to you the level of giddiness I felt. I love C-Span so much! It's news ALL THE TIME, and unbiased, because most of the time, no one's there commentating! Just the straight-up live programming. You get to watch sessions in Congress, mass protests, official ceremonies, great interviews, and even the British House of Commons when they have Q & As with the prime minister. And during election season, C-Span is just plain addicting.
My roommates walked in as I was watching, and looked at me. I couldn't contain my excitement. "It's the DNC! It's Joe Biden! It's Bill Clinton! Gaaaaah!" They just shook their heads and laughed. But I don't care! Like Jimi Hendrix said, I'll wave my freak flag high!
What surprised me though is how productive I was while listening in on the convention; perhaps I should do my homework with C-Span in my head phones more often.

After months of being deprived of decent news coverage, I was happier than a hippie in a drum circle. But I realized the actual reason for my excitement is that this is my first year that I can actually vote! It gives me a warm and fuzzy, yet powerful, feeling that my one vote can join with others to bring about change in the world. Of course, it's not as simple as that, and neither is actually solving the problems of the world and sustaining the things that work. I just hope that whatever happens this November that voices will be heard, and that those voices will do amazing things.
In closing, I don't want to sound like a PSA or anything, but it would make me oh-so-happy if you could do these two things for me:

1. Vote, please and thank you.
2. Watch C-Span. You'll feel better about life, I promise.