Looking back, looking forward

It has been nearly a year since I last wrote, due to the demands of grad school, and this post must be brief since I should be doing homework. However, I must say that in looking back at my old posts, it is good to be reminded of things and to see where I have been, and where I am now headed.
Some posts in particular remind me how much has changed this year, and what I have to look forward to as well as what is still a mystery of the future. The post on "Solitude" made me thankful for the dear one who now keeps me from being lonely (yes you, you know who you are!) and whom I enjoy sharing things with. I have found a church where I can volunteer in the nursery and hold babies, and hugs are no longer a rare occurrence. I visited the elementary school during my road trip this summer, and got to see my ex-students, as well as reconnect with friends in Washington. The back problems I experienced last year are not so miserable anymore and therapy is helping. I don't think I ever wrote about the episode with mono, but let's say that it forced me to stop, slow down for awhile, and need/accept a lot of help from others. I am dancing again/still, and it is always something to look forward to at the end of a tiring week.
Last but not least, it's interesting to see how, in posts of two years ago, I believed that teaching was not my strength and that I needed to move on. Last year, I struggled with the expectations of professors and tried to find out what being a musicologist really entailed, ending the year with some hard truth from my advisor. It turns out that teaching is one of my strengths after all (thus a change in degree programs), and now I am developing that further so that I can use it in a context that may be a better fit. I am enjoying conducting, as it involves me in music making again, and is a sort of dance that brings forth the music from people. I am finding that I am okay with not knowing exactly what path I will take after graduation, and am glad that I won't be stuck in the dark corners of libraries hunched over obscure sources to make a living as a scholar after all. I am enjoying the research of music education even more, and even though I still love music history, I feel like this is more relevant and I will be able to make a positive difference in the lives of young people again. I never thought I'd end up back in the public school system, but now I don't dread the thought of that so much anymore.
I have also moved on from German language study to Italian, admittedly with some ulterior motives, and am looking forward to the possibility of studying abroad and seeing some of the world beyond the U.S.
I'm afraid this is more of an update than a creative writing entry; someday I will have time and inspiration for those again, but for now it is enough just to pause to take notice of the turns life has taken, and to be thankful for them.

Second Glance

This is the bamboo fountain that resides in the small Zen garden on campus; usually it might get a passing glance from students rushing to their next class, if they happen to hear the thump and splash the tube makes when it has filled enough to tip and pour the water into the pool.
However, on the day that I took these photographs, something was different: there were flowers floating in the water. White flowers, with one solitary red one in the center, made the little pool inexplicably extraordinary. Whomever had placed them so carefully had left no explanation, so we were all left simply to wonder...and to take a second glance at something often taken for granted. Is it a memorial? A shrine of sorts? A celebration of something? Or just a random act of generosity, bringing a little beauty back into the world, into our everyday lives?
It was interesting to see the reactions of others, as I sat on a bench nearby to eat my lunch. One guy stopped and stood staring for almost five minutes, as if in a trance, meditating, or just plain puzzled. Others walked on by, oblivious, talking with friends or buried in their phones. Many gave the scene a second glance, a few wandering closer to look, to wonder, to smile and move on.
When the extraordinary is unexplained, even if as simple as this, it takes us by surprise. Does it have a purpose? Who knows... but at least it invites us to think, to look again. I think that good art has this same quality.

Gripes and Thanks

"If at first you must complain, count your blessings afterward."

The past week or so has been miserable; the restlessness I described in my last post has been replaced with pain and exhaustion, and there are a number of four-letter words I could use to describe my current physical and emotional state. I sit here now, waiting to become comfortable enough to sleep, and recount some things that came to me as I made my way home from class.
I was contemplating how more and more negative things have been reducing the inventory of positive things in my life, and how the well of peace and happiness is running low and I just need to gripe for awhile and get it over with. However, I wondered at myself, if I am so dependent on circumstances to make me happy, and if I need to use people or things to "self-medicate" to make myself less miserable, what am I really made of? When happiness, health, and peace are stripped away and life is just HARD, what do I go on when there is nothing left but the core of my Self? And so I asked God.... and a few simple reminders came: "....the Lord is my strength, a present help in trouble..." "...greater is He that is in you than he that is in the world..." "....what doesn't kill you makes you stronger, and has a purpose for your life even if you don't know what that purpose is yet!" and "...This too shall pass!" And thus I was reminded that this week is Thanksgiving, and one of the best ways to combat the negative is to count the blessings I do have; so, first I must complain a bit, and then I will sweep the Gripes out the door with some Thanks. :-)

Last week my body decided it had had enough of heavy backpacks, bad shoes, hard chairs, long hours at a desk, etc. My back problem became a whole-body problem, as it first put my legs into a constant state of cramp, and then into a state of trembling weakness and spasms, none of which is conducive to walking across a large campus, studying, or sleeping well. As they say, "when it rains it pours," and "misery loves company." I couldn't dance; my new orchids started to die; I got a summons for jury duty in Washington; I got a nasty paper cut on the card from my Grandma; I had a ton of papers to grade and an overwhelming number of tests to study for and papers to write. On top of it all, I had to face the disappointment of a professor over the state of my midterm exam and recent tendency toward tardiness, a dismal state of affairs that I was already ashamed of. It was a painful meeting, where I would have liked to have said "Yes, I understand that I approached this the wrong way, was not sufficiently prepared, and did not meet either of our standards. I got a grade that I have never gotten on a test, so yes I will do the extra credit and will be an exemplary student for the rest of my degree program. Now let me get out of here!" I am used to being an exemplary student in all of my classes, so it is a new experience to have to prioritize which class I will choose to do the best for/focus my energy on. I found that I am the ONLY musicologist-to-be in this school of music, surrounded by a sea of performance majors, and that my musicologist professors expect me to produce work/grades at a much higher level than the rest of the playing field. I understand why, of course, but it is a terrible feeling to doubt myself, to doubt whether I really am capable of making it through a Master's program, to wonder if I can meet their expectations or write as well as I thought I could, and to wonder if I really want to be a professor enough to withstand all the pressures I must go through in the coming weeks and months. I am admittedly a perfectionist, but I can't be perfect all the time, especially when my health fails and I have lost interest in the class I am supposed to be the best in. I am sleep-deprived, in pain, depressed, and to top it off, I have indigestion from the cup of coffee I had before going to my evening class.

Now the Gripes are out, hopefully not a burden for any one person who may read this, but silently collected and carried away by any angels listening in. Now to reverse the negativity by counting blessings, which I hope the angels will remind me of often in the coming days.

The cup of coffee I had, before it made me sick, was the most perfect cup of coffee I have had in a long time. I may have bombed one test, but I did pretty well on a few others, got a big paper revision done and out of the way, and have the next few days to rest and catch up. I may have had a few hard words to swallow from my professors, but at least they are people I respect and want to do my best to please.
Life is hard right now, but it didn't go from hard to harder, more like from "stuck-in-a-rut hard" to "climbing-up-a-cliff-amid-rockslides hard." Last year at this time I was working every holiday as a grocery-store checker, trying to teach young children at the same time, and feeling drained and like I was going nowhere with my abilities. Chronic laryngitis killed my voice, and with it a source of happiness that had kept me going, and the rest of me was out of shape as well. Now, I am struggling with another health problem, but after a relatively long stretch of good health. I have avoided respiratory bugs, gotten into better shape by dancing and stretching regularly, and my voice has returned to what it once was. It is the season for Christmas music, and I get to sing "Noel Nouvelet" and the "Halleluiah Chorus" with a functioning voice. I get to go home for Christmas, for two weeks instead of two days. I have a family to go home to. I have friends to call or write cards to on Thanksgiving.
As for this temporary disability, it is just that, something that I am currently dealing with, will learn to accommodate, and will eventually recuperate from. I have hope of dancing again soon, and I have a kind dance partner who cheers me up and has not abandoned me to go dance with someone else! I am also now better able to empathize with a friend, who has lived with a condition like mine but for her entire life. I think now I know what it feels like to be her, the obstacles she faces in the ordinary things that everyone else takes for granted, like walking up steps, bending over to pick something up, carrying a backpack, or holding oneself upright while feeling like the wind could blow you over. I may have it bad right now, but there are others I know of who are worse off, or whose condition is chronic rather than temporary. Such realizations make me pray better and more often.
Last but not least, I am thankful that here in my blog I have a refuge, a place to let go, and in the process of writing be restored. Here, there are no academic writing requirements, no critics, and the world can be put back into perspective. Next year when I read this post, I'm sure I will have something to be thankful for as I reflect on this part of my journey through grad school. Right now, it serves to remind me that I may not be happy and I may not be physically strong, but God is my strength; the person the world sees when I battle difficult circumstances should not be so different from the one it sees when life is easy and I am enjoying smelling the roses.

Restless Musings

It has come to that time of the term when the excitement has worn off, homework and responsibilities threaten to overwhelm, insomniac nights and weary mornings are a common occurrence, and my mind wanders to thoughts of Christmas vacation.
I am looking forward to a break, and the good things that a visit home will bring: the good company of a faithful old dog, walks to the river, a piano in the living room that I can play whenever I want (or linger to compose, if inspiration hits), the smell of woodsmoke, evergreens, and frosty air, familiar music of the season, Christmas baking and gift-wrapping, holiday traditions, long conversations, quiet moments, and hugs from dear friends and family.
I haven't had a hug for three months, and I probably get a bit grouchier (or weepy) the longer I go without any human contact/affection. I need to find a church soon, and volunteer in the nursery just so I can hold babies and hug little kids who cry for their mothers.; I need them as much or more than they would need me. I miss getting hugs at recess from my young students, who would surround me on my way inside from the music portable; they always knew that, even if we had a disappointing class due to bad behavior or whatever else, I still cared about them and they could always get a good hug out of me. But now they have a new teacher, and I see hundreds of people each day, none of whom I am on hugging terms with. Thank goodness for the girls in my choir, whom I can be a sort of peer mentor to, as well as have that comraderie that one can find in a choir; a choir is family, of sorts.
I have more thoughts, collected over many days, that I need to spill out here; they have been contributing to this restlessness that makes me feel as if I am about to explode with energy that demands I do something, although I'm not exactly sure what. I want to write creatively and descriptively instead of academically, for a change. Part of this restless feeling is due to being forced into sitting-at-a-desk posture for too many hours of the day, when I would rather be active. Several recent events have reminded me how much I miss dancing, and the inner gymnast has also been screaming for release much more often now that I am regaining flexibility and energy. Salsa and Ballroom dancing have helped to channel that energy, but I find myself needing additional ways to release all that is pent up inside. Years of training in precise movement, attention to detail, spatial awareness, expressive gesture, becoming an embodiment of music, and self-discipline don't just go away when you grow up, you still remember how it felt, and there is a haunting sense of loss because you just don't have opportunities to move like that in everyday life. For some people, the past experience becomes just a pleasant memory; for me, it is an engrained part of my identity that only sleeps at times when it is ignored.
This restlessness leads me to sing in stairwells, walk barefoot on the grass, go for walks at night, do split leaps on curbs when no-one is watching, and write blogs in my mind while trying to fall asleep. I turn off music and listen in the silence, get lost in thoughts, and under it all lies this desire to do something. I want to write a book, write music, make some art, capture a moment of beauty or authenticity in a photograph....there is so much that just has to wait for now.
I feel like I am getting ready for something good, besides just going through all the work -which is worthwhile, of course- of getting a degree, but I'm not sure what... Maybe it is just a reawakening, a coming back to life, a rediscovery of possibilities, of finding that the door to the future is open again and I am enjoying going through it.

Leadership

Most of my life, I have gone solo and independent of the mainstream, cultivating my skills and talents for myself and by myself. I was a gymnast, a dancer, a pianist, and homeschooled, then an organist, a choral singer, a teacher and music director. With the exception of choir, these have been largely self-guided pursuits, where I have had to be in charge, in control, and the leader. Add to that the fact that I am a perfectionist and single -which means looking out for myself and taking care of whatever has to be done- I find myself labeled a control-freak and over-achiever (mainly by people who know me well enough to get away with saying so). I didn't always seek to be a leader, I kind-of just ended up that way. When you have standards, you take action to ensure that those standards are reached, but that means ending up in a lonely place where it is hard to find others who are also "unique" enough to put up with you. All this to say, I am used to working and learning by myself, but sometimes it is wearying and I wish I didn't have to be in control, that I could let someone else be in charge.
Well, now I have the opportunity to put this wish into practice, and learn how to follow instead of lead. I am taking a Salsa/Latin dance class, so for the first time in my life, I have to coordinate with someone else who may or may not be as experienced in movement and music as myself, and let him be in control of the situation. It is both a challenge and a relief to not be the leader, and I find myself instead in the position of being an enabler: I do my best to know my own steps so that I am easy for the man to lead, since he has to decide which move we are going to do next. He gets to drive, while I hopefully make the ride enjoyable! Yes, there are fumbles and awkward moments, misinterpreted directions and sweaty hands, but the simple thrill of helping someone else build their confidence as I learn how to make following look beautiful, makes it all worth it. I am learning how to keep my mouth shut more and not expect instant perfection from myself or others, even if my goal is to get as close to perfection as possible! I don't want to be a control freak, so maybe my love of dancing will help to free me from it, at least in one small part of life, no longer solitary.

Field-Guide

A Layman's Field-Guide to Identifying Pipe-Organ Species - a humorous explanation generated during a sleepless night

1. Lesson number one: all organs are not created equal; the one you saw in your grandma's parlour or heard on a gospel choir recording are not the same as the one in Notre Dame.

2. Lesson number two: Any musician knows that it can be difficult to adapt to a different violin, piano, bassoon, etc. than the one they are accustomed to playing. For an organist, there are several species of organ, and each organ has its own touch, feel, and for lack of a better word, competency, often drastically different than what the musician prefers. Harpists particularly will understand the organist's plight, as the instrument is relatively rare, and one must go to the organ in order to practice it (and unlike the harp, it is not portable for concerts). Organists flock to the really good instruments, politely fighting each other for practice time and memory pistons on which to save their configurations of stops. In order to explain what is so different from one organ to the next, it is necessary to outline for you the four general categories, or species, of organ that I have identified, complete with ample metaphors and analogies to illustrate each.
The four categories are as follows: the Noise Machine, the Beast of Burden, the Runner-Up, and the Work of Art.

A. The Noise Machine
If this instrument were a car, it would probably be a golf cart; fun to play with, but it can't really take you very far. Instruments that fit into this category are the kind found in homes (or attics), or the expanded versions found in some churches. Noise Machines are comparable to the button labeled "organ" on a keyboard/synthesizer, and in some cases are inferior even to those. The keyboards are too short to play art music on, as is the pedal board (all four or fives keys of it), and it functions best as a harmonic support for hymns, to play chords on, or to annoy neighbors (or a visiting organist). The Noise Machine has several buttons that are meant to represent stops (some even include rhythm sections!), but they all have a very phony and overdone vibrato that has nothing equally annoying to compare it to in the natural world.

B. The Beast of Burden
To continue with the car analogy, this instrument would be a jalopy, or perhaps a VW Bus. Beasts of Burden are a step up from Noise Machines in that they typically have a few ranks of pipes, two full length keyboards and pedalboard, and one can attempt some art music on them. These organs are commonly found in practice rooms of universities, and some churches have larger scale models that nonetheless function and feel almost the same (with the exception that there may actually be pipes for the bass pedal notes, instead of harmonics approximating the sound). Beasts of Burden do not respond well to the organist's touch, with keys that are the equivalent of running in the sand or a bog, and a key or pipe stop may become stuck at times so that the pipe keeps sounding until you deprive it of wind by turning the bellows off. These instruments try to do what the organist demands, with much bellowing, wheezing, and shrieking like a chorus of donkeys, geese, and alley cats. The benefits of this instrument are that one can sometimes clear the adjoining practice rooms of people, so that there are then fewer musicians to hear the blatantly loud mistakes and profanity directed at the organ. One can also practice fingering and manual changes that are not possible on a piano, although this is sometimes better done with the organ turned off.

C. The Runner-Up
This instrument is comparable to a modest sedan; it is like the athlete who fell just short of the bronze medal, and is the wannabe of the organ world. It is certainly better than a Noise Machine or Beast of Burden, as it is either a quality digital instrument that can fool the listener into thinking it is the real thing, or an instrument with several ranks of pipes and a reasonably stylish facade. These organs handle decently, have a fair selection of stops, and may be found in churches in rural areas or in churches that paid a good sum for an organ, but not enough of a sum to get a Work of Art. An organist will settle for one of these, and may even moderately enjoy it and do less negotiating than with a Beast of Burden. Art music is possible on a Runner-Up, it just may not be quite as brilliant or have the ease of touch of the next category.

D. The Work of Art
This instrument is a Porsche, a Corvette, or perhaps even a Ferrarri (but one usually has to go to Europe for those). A Work of Art commands a room, and its beauty of presence (the arrangement of facade pipes, the wood carving of the case, the way it is situated in the room, and so forth) is matched by its beauty of sound. These organs have three or more manual keyboards and pedalboards that include stops for 16- and often 32-foot pipes. There are rows of stops to choose from, including reed, string, and brass stops in addition to the Principles and Flutes, and usually a few harmonic Mixtures available also. These instruments sparkle with brilliance, and full organ (pulling out all the stops) has a power that one can feel under one's feet and radiating through the air. The touch still varies from instrument to instrument, but they are generally responsive to the organist's wishes, and the development of good technique becomes easier to measure and perfect, creating more of a symbiotic relationship with the keys rather than a tug-of-war. The Work of Art inspires an organist to work hard to be worthy of playing it.

This concludes the field guide. I hope that you have the chance to experience a Work of Art at least once in your lifetime. For goodness sake, at least get a CD from Amazon that lists Bach as a composer and has a picture of the organ on the front! As for me, I battle with Beasts of Burden while I wait for a turn to play the real thing, a Work of Art, in the Organ Hall!

A Beautiful Storm

I think S Oregon, where I grew up, has the best climate I've found so far; it gets hot and dry enough for it to feel like summer, the rain brings back the green and then the clouds move on, the snow falls sparingly enough for one to be excited by it but not imprisoned by it, and the seasons do not overlap each other unreasonably (unlike 9 months of rain in NW WA and 10 months of sun in AZ). I do not mean to offend anyone in WA or AZ, that's just my personal opinion of what feels like home.
However, I have been looking for things to like about living here in AZ, so that it feels less foreign and so that I miss the Northwest less. I like the sunsets, going to school in shorts, freckles instead of paleness, and blue skies surrounding the tops of palm trees. Another thing I found to like, are the thunder storms. On Camano the storms were heavy, gray, depressing things that blow wind and rain for days and make you cold and glum, particularly when the power goes out. Here, the summer storms so far have been evening events that are over and moved on by morning, after dumping some warm rain, blowing some gusts of humid wind, and giving a lightning show. Last night's storm was a bit more violent than the others, but also more exciting.
I went out on the balcony of my apartment to watch the lightning sizzling across the clouds, back and forth from both sides of the patch of sky I could see. The clouds had moved right overhead, and the lightning was almost nonstop, the thunder a continuous rumble punctuated by louder cracks and rolls. The rain created small lakes in the low-lying places, and the wind tossed the branches of trees and made my bamboo wind chime dance. The lightning was a thing of dangerous beauty, branching out clearly and brightly so that I could see the definition of its form, not just the flash of light. Thankfully, it spread horizantally rather than vertically, causing a lot less damage than it could have. The hot air was at last cooled, and I stood barefooted in puddles, just watching the play of light and sound. There also sounded the ominous wail of sirens, a sobering reminder that people do stupid things or just happen to be in the wrong place at the wrong time during storms like this.
This morning, the sun shines down as usual, down upon the wreckage of battered trees, broken windows, and giant puddles that fill parking lots and make lakes out of lawns.
It was a beautiful storm, and a tangible reminder that we are mortal.
The birds are happy; they wet their feathers and cool their parched throats, wading in the puddles and splashing amongst partially submerged cacti and agave.