Realities Collide

Any time you go through a major, unplanned life transition, there are points in time where the norms of one 'life' collide with the norms of the other 'life.' Considering the magnitude of my recent transition from life in dorms at a tiny college in a small town, to life in an apartment near a bigger university in a gigantic city, then, it's no surprise that this has happened to me quite frequently.

The social atmosphere feels like an entirely separate universe. Sometimes, I just don't get it, and sometimes, the biggest differences really frustrate me. The academic climate is of a different variety, too. Not better or worse, but just a slightly different set of rules.

I've made more than a couple of "cultural" blunders at City University, where I've discovered with surprise that certain customs that I thought were universal apparently only apply to Small College. Of course, my efforts after that to be more cautious and assume nothing also raised an eyebrow or two when I failed to act on standards I apparently should have known existed. Oh well. Live and learn.

A few days ago, I had a pretty major criss-crossing-of-realities moment. It was the day of the first choir performance of the year, at City University's campus-opening ceremony for the public. And that was the day I went through all my standard pre-choir rituals that have become familiar through many, many repetitions on the S.C. campus, on weekend extensions, and in Ukraine.

For the first time since Ukraine, I took my ever-familiar choir uniform out of my beat up garment bag and put it on again. It was all the same, down to the black shoes that carried me through the initial terrors of my first year in S.C. Touring Choir , through jittery PR speeches, through wonderful music-making, through never-again closing performances at S.C., and through the streets of Kiev, Kirovograd, and countless other Ukrainian cities and towns.

Yes, it was all very much the same, and yet, entirely different. This time, there was no excited, chatter-filled gathering of singers out in the residence hallways before we all traipsed across campus together, knowing that people knew when they saw us, "There goes the choir!" No, that day, I picked up my music, slipped out of my silent apartment, and out onto the sidewalk of a busy city road, feeling pretty conspicuous and odd-looking in a long, flowing black skirt and black dress shirt in the middle of a warm weekend afternoon. It was while I was walking that all these differences hit me. You see, these skirts are really long and really flowing, due to many layers of fabric in them, so walking in one poses particular challenges. That skirt is like an inside joke with myself by now. I have to laugh at it every time I go somewhere wearing it. But you know how as people, we are capable of unconsciously creating very strong associations with certain sense stimuli. Maybe it's the smell of a certain person's perfume. Or a very particular song we heard a lot at a certain time in our lives. Whatever it is, revisiting that stimulus can instantly and powerfully bring back a whole flood of memories. I'm sure you know what I mean. Well, the combination of walking with this skirt, carrying my music, and the tiny bit of pre-performance nerves and excitement did just that for me. Except that it was the contrast that stood out this time. Those things are so closely tied for me to the ultra-close community of last year's choir, the atmosphere at S.C., Ukraine perhaps, and my whole state of mind at that time in my life. I guess that's the part of all this that might not be really clear to all of you who are, thankfully, outside of my mind. But the contrast between the warmth of all those memories and experiences, to the intense contrast of walking down a noisy, crowded city street, alone, headed to the grand opening of a school that I'm still doing my best to affiliate myself with despite strong ties and also strong bitterness and hurt from my old school - it was like a stone in my gut.

The celebrations, both days, however, were really excellent. The campus is certainly worth all the hooplah. It's gorgeous. And you know, in the end, I had a good time myself, too. Singing with such a talented group on such great music was a thrill. A huge thrill. And while there were times while I was standing up there where it felt like my mind and heart were flipping between the past and present, most of the time, I was truly and sincerely celebrating this great event in the history of the school that I do call "my school" now.

One of the best highlights of the entire weekend was driving out for smoothies, good conversation, and a celebrate-the-gorgeous-day sort of frolic through a field in the warm sun, with a group of really fantastic and fascinating girls whom I'm really looking forward to getting to know better through the year. We shared good drinks, good laughs, and got our dress shoes so muddy that we had to paper towel them down when we got back to campus. It was one of those moments that is so purely good that it reminds you how awesome life can be, in the middle of all the insanity and pressure. And also that just because you leave something really good does not mean that there will never again be good of the same variety in your life.

Highlights of the Morning

Today was Elementary Music Ed number 2 for me. This was my first one completely on my own, though, without anyone observing or chipping in. It was a total thrill.

MOST HILARIOUS INSTRUMENT-RELATED QUESTION OF THE MORNING:
"Do you have to put a loonie in it??"

MOST HILARIOUS NON-INSTRUMENT-RELATED QUESTION OF THE MORNING:
"Do you have a husband??"

BEST REACTION OF THE MORNING:
Theatre organ. Hands down.
Last time I did an EME, my supervisor played it, because I didn't think I was prepared enough. Today, I had no choice but to do it myself, because, well, it was just me.
I was contemplating whether or not to take a risk on it. You see, last night, I looked at the chords for the first few opening bars of the Phantom of the Opera theme. I figured it would be pretty sweet on the gigantic theatre organ. This is because you get the maximum effect from the theatre organ by using a massive, knock-everyone's-socks-off opening. If you start with something soft and sweet, the general response might be, "Oh, that's pretty cool." But something that instantaneously and overwhelmingly puts the theatre organ's full capabilities right in your face (or ears, if you will) will get no less of a reaction than "WHOOOOAAAA!!!" But I had not actually played the Phantom theme on the theatre organ! What if it sounded terrible, or just didn't work out the way I thought it would? I contemplated this dilemma while the kids finished taking turns playing on a synthesizer set up for them to try.
After I'd sat them all down around the organ, succeeded in creating even more of a dramatic buildup of an explanation than I had on Monday for it, swung onto the bench, and warned them all to back up a bit, because it's quite loud, I decided I just had to go for it.
"Are you guys ready?"
"Yesssss!!"
Are you SURE you're ready??"
"YYYESSSSSSSS!!!"
"Okay - here we go!" I told them, as I started flipping down every stop on the entire console.
flipflipflipflipflipflipflipflipflipflipflipflipflipflipflipflipflipflipflipflipflipflipflipflipflipflipflipflipflipflipflipflipflipflipflipflipflipflipflipflipflipflipflipflipflipflipflipflipflipflip (yes there really are about that many stops) flipflipflipflipflip It's a very gratifying feeling to simply flip down all the stops on a theatre organ, never mind play it, I have to say. It feels like you're powering up something REALLY HUGE or REALLY AWESOME, like a supercomputer, or a rocket launcher, or a heap of lights for a really important concert. Clearly this is where the expression "pulling out all the stops" comes from. You're getting set to give it everything you've got to throw at it.
So then I put it all on the line, and hit the opening chord. And I've got to tell you, the sound I got out of the organ was fifteen times better than I'd hoped, and their reaction was twenty times better than I'd hoped. It totally rocked, and a couple of the parents told me after that it was their favourite part. I'm pretty sure the entire city block could have heard the strains of Phantom of the Opera if they listened hard enough right then.
Linus & Lucy was next on my slate, so I reassigned particular stops to different manuals: a heap of xylophones, a glockenspiel, and a handful of reedy pipes for the melody on the top manual, and the fattest, richest pipes for the bass on the bottom manual, with a few flashy percussion instruments and some extra depth on the foot keyboard for the right moments. AAAAND, they loved it to death. AND they all knew the tune, which was exactly what I was hoping for. So when I finished my truncated-for-time's-sake version, the whole pack of them applauded wildly, laughing and cheering and pointing and shouting "Charlie Brown!", and the kids were literally begging me to do it again! Of course, just like in the world of magicians and illusionists, if you do something twice, it's never as cool the second time, so you have to leave it - sadly for them.
But here was the funny thing for me as a musician. The vast majority of my performances, both growing up, and in post-secondary, have been very serious affairs involving weeks or months of intense preparation and worry; quiet audiences who applaud perhaps enthusiastically, but always politely; heaps of pressure to remember your notes, remember your dynamics, remember your articulation; and the great imperative to "express something profound" with your playing. This was pretty much the exact opposite. Quite frankly, the musical quality of my playing would be pretty poor, to the ears of another trained musician. I'm not an organist at all, so somethings were muffed up, I slipped sometimes when I was trying to change manuals on the fly, my legato was definitely not all there because of nerves and excitement, and there were probably even some wrong notes here and there. But those two minutes at the organ were probably the most fun performance of my entire life. And I've certainly never had a more enthusiastic audience. There was no pressure to be perfect, or be profound. It was just supposed to be 100% fun and exciting for the kids. It was a fantastic experience, and a good reminder about some of music's other purposes.

WHAT MADE THE WHOLE MORNING MOST WORTHWHILE:
Yes, it does make you feel pretty good to have a bunch of kids think you're really cool because you can play the Mario theme or the Darth Vader theme using previously-meaningless triangle waves or sawtooth waves on a synthesizer, or when you watch their utterly astonished faces while you show them how amazing sympathetic vibrations are right before their eyes, or when they all run up afterwards while they get their coats on and thank you for teaching them so much awesome stuff today, and tell you about their favourite parts so animatedly.
I was pretty floored this morning, though, when, at the very end, as I collected their clipboards from them before they rushed off to get their coats, one girl came up to me, gave me her clipboard, and then said, "Here," and stuck out a tiny, folded up piece of paper towards me. "I made this for you." I was taken by surprise, but took it from her, having no clue what it was, and said, "Thank you..." She skipped off down the hall, past the Moog synths, and I had to slip the little paper into my pocket while I supervised the remainder of the class wailing away at the Theremin.
I forgot about it while we cleaned up and shut down, and I forgot about it while I hung around the interpreters' office afterwards, chatting with the other leader about the morning's events. Then, while I sat out at front reception, killing time with a can of Coke, waiting to talk to one of the program officers, I remembered that it was there, folded up inside my pocket. I took it out, and unfolded it, extremely curious, and read what it said:
On the back was a drawing:
Now, I'm not one to usually (or almost ever, in fact) think kids are cute. But this was pretty darn cute. And I really like it. In fact, I put it on our fridge (after debating about whether that was creepily mom-like or not. I decided it wasn't.).

Here's to jobs that actually invest in people's lives.

Elementary Music Education - Chapter Two

FIVE MONTHS ago, I submitted my resume to the organization I am now employed by. YESTERDAY, I finally led my first program.

"So what is this elementary music program?" people have asked me. Well, I'd have to start by telling you what the organization as a whole is about. Aside from it first of all being one of the coolest places in the entire universe, this organization works with arts programs of all kinds in the community: jazz, folk, classical, blues, and a raft of others. But they also have a collection of instruments, which is where I do most of my work. This collection contains literally hundreds of instruments, all the way from the historic harpsichords, hurdy-gurdys, and harmoniums to the wildest modern electronic instruments you've ever seen. And this is where I work. Even though I've been there dozens of times now, I still have a complete sense of awe every time I walk into the gallery, surrounded by these instruments, that seem to be alive with their mysterious or fascinating stories, and the pieces of history they comprise.

An interpreter's job is to bring this collection to life for the general public, through general tours, elementary education programs, seniors' programs, and many other events that involve some or all of the collection to varying degrees. When I came on, the area of greatest staffing need was the Elementary Music Education program, which is geared towards grade 3 kids, who are covering a sound unit in their science class. So that's what I've started doing first. In contrast with the more historical, in-depth tours created for adults, the EME program is more hands-on, more high-energy, and more kid-friendly. We take them through a two-and-a-half hour curriculum discussing sound waves and sound production, using certain areas of the gallery, some cool equipment, and a few instruments that we use just to let the kids touch and experiment on. And that's what I do, in a nutshell! But the surface explanation hardly gets at what it's really all about. So I have to share some stories with you...

The last five months have been full of delays, delays, and more delays. Once things get rolling here, it seems, everything's really smooth. But submitting my application, resubmitting my lost application, calling, calling again, interviewing, preparing for an audition, auditioning, getting permission to train, training, getting permission to take shifts, and finally taking shifts was an extremely tedious process, which required massive amounts of persistence. But finally, I had completed the prerequisite training, and the next step was to launch into leading my own EME program! This part, let me tell you, was the scariest.

You see, all that my training consisted of was 'shadowing' other interpreters while they ran an EME program. And standing and watching someone teach material is horribly, horribly different than standing up in front of a class of children, their teachers, and their parent volunteers, and delivering the material yourself. I feared the day I would have to lead one of these programs since the day I first shadowed one. "Me? Teach 25 squirmy eight-year-olds about frequency, amplitude, and instrument families?" Oh no. I'm far more comfortable talking with adults, on an equal intellectual playing field. I tried to respectfully talk my way into doing general tours first, but my doom was with Elementary Music Ed.

Finally, I booked myself to lead my first program, which my supervisor would observe, which made it fourteen times more scary. Imagine having to give a two-and-a-half hour-long presentation in class, without any notes, during which you would be repeatedly required to perform on instruments you don't really play very well, while simultaneously being required to maintain the high energy and flow necessary to hold the attention of a couple dozen wiggly children, after which you would receive constructive criticism from your academic advisor. It's kind of like that. So perhaps you'll understand why I feared this day so much. I've done a heck of a lot of things in the last couple of years that have scared me spitless. Thankfully. Otherwise I don't think I would have had the guts to apply to this organization in the first place, to then audition for the job, and especially now, to muster up all the fake confidence I had, and put myself out there for these kids.

I came in yesterday morning, after having counted down the hours all day the day before, heart now racing a little, put on my new nametag and my best pretense of calmness and confidence, received some final words of instruction and reassurance from my supervisor, and then the school bus pulled up.

Before we split the two grade 3 classes up between the other interpreter for the morning and myself, we gave them all some directions and cautions. Or rather, Interpreter B gave them all some directions and cautions, while I stood there next to him, trying to make my smile look less shaky, and trying to figure out what to do with my hands. Arms folded? Too cross-looking. Hands in pockets? Too relaxed-looking. Behind back? Too nervous-looking. Darn it. I didn't have too long to worry about it, though, because soon we were handing out hand-outs, and splitting the group in two. So half of these young'uns were my charges now. ...Yikes.

My supervisor had graciously offered to come in after about fifteen minutes, so I could get to know the kids a bit, start teaching, and relax, before I felt scrutinized by her observations. Well, fifteen minutes flew by, and we were all well into the sound wave material, and discussing sine waves and square waves when my supervisor slid into the back. Grade three kids are still at an age where everything is a total thrill to them if you act like it's a total thrill to you, I learned. So, if you build up some suspense before you show them a high-frequency wave on the oscilloscope, you'll get a pretty sweet reaction out of them! The remainder of the first half of the program was all hands-on, where the kids got to see their own voice displayed on the oscilloscope, play a vibraphone, pluck, strum, and strike the insides of a partially-disassembled piano, and other such things. It had been fine.

The program's second half takes place out in the gallery itself, and includes a lot of demonstrating on the instruments in the collection. When you teach kids, you do the majority of your teaching by asking them tons of questions, and getting them to explore for the answers. If you just tell them the information, they won't learn it. So I'd show them instruments, and ask them to look for differences between them all, figure out how sound is produced on them, demonstrate them, and then point out other stuff they wouldn't know. They get to try a few things, too, like a hammered dulcimer, a harpsichord, and a synthesizer.

Then we came to the Theatre Organ: one of the highlights of the gallery, in my opinion. This instrument is absolutely unbelievable. It's huge - gosh, probably about ten meters long, although I'm a poor judge of length, so it could be a bit more or less. The thing that makes it so huge is that not only is there a complete set of organ pipes, but there are dozens of other instruments hooked up to the blower: drums, tambourine, triangle, wood blocks, xylophones, glockenspiels, orchestra chimes, and even a little oil can that creates a bird-call sound effect when used. The overall effect of all this being operated simultaneously by one performer from one console is completely mind-blowing. And ridiculously loud. The lights dim when you fire this thing up, and it's played using dozens of stops, two manuals (keyboards), and a foot keyboard. But the kids don't know any of this when you sit them down in front of it! Which means the interpreter can have a really good time with it.

First I asked them what instruments they could see. They named lots of them, and got a few more with some help. Then, when I told them that all this as actually one instrument, their eyes were about as big as loonies. So I asked them for their help: "If I wanted to play ALL of these instruments at the same time, how do you think I could ever do it?"

One boy stuck up his hand, and said, very sincerely, "Um, you could make it all really small..."

"Well, yes," I said, thoughtfully, "If I could make this all really small, it would sure help! But, since I can't do that, what else could I do?"

"You could get a lot of people to help you!" said another child.

"If I had a lot of help, that might be a good way to do it! But there might be a way I could play all of these instruments by myself. Can you see what it might be? I think it would be pretty hard to run back and forth and play them all with mallots..."

"You could run really, really fast!"

Well, eventually, you need to point out the console to them, all hooked up and ready to go, then fire up that blower, and prepare them to be awed. That organ is so loud that you can seriously scare the socks off anyone if you pull out enough stops to start with. But they absolutely love to watch all the different instruments going at once: dozens of little xylophone mallots, rattling percussion, different pipe voices, and the whole nine yards. Last night, I added the opening few bars of the Phantom of the Opera theme to my little repertoire of snippets for use on that organ. That piece is just meant for a giant organ. Oh yes.

There's a ton more material in between, but the last stop we get to make on a GV program is usually at the Theremin. For those who have not seen one, the Theremin is a pretty wonky-looking electronic instrument, with one antenna sticking sideways out of the left side, and another antenna sticking straight up out of the right side. Apart from the black box in the middle, and the wires running out of it, that's all there is to it. The left antenna controls volume. The closer you are to it, the lower the volume. The right antenna contols pitch. The closer you are to it, the higher the pitch.

Now, if I were to explain the Theremin to a group of adults on a general tour, I might say something like, "The Theremin has two radio frequency oscillators, which are normally operating outside the range of human hearing. The human body's capacitance property is capable of detuning them, resulting in changes in pitch or amplitude." Well, okay, that's the really scientific explanation, which some people don't get anyway. But a kid doesn't exactly care about how it all works, they just think it's weird-looking...so it's really cool! A kid also has no idea how you'd play an instrument like a Theremin. So you can toy with it a bit, to make it even cooler for them.

I started with my left hand resting on the left antenna, completely muting the sound. And then I asked them what they thought I should do to play this strange-looking instrument!

"Hit it!" came one suggestion.

They all expected it to work, and stared fixedly while I tapped the centre box firmly with my right hand. Nothing. They all looked comically disappointed.

"Awww. No, that didn't work. What else should I try, guys?"

"Rub the antenna!" I obliged, pretending to listen very closely as I rubbed the vertical antenna. Nothing, of course! The kids wanted to figure it out so badly, and started squirming around while they tried more ideas.

"Turn the knobs!"

"Blow on it!"

In the middle of all this, I 'accidentally' moved my left hand away from the volume antenna, and quickly replaced it, producing an eerie "wwWOOOooo" sound. Eighteen pairs of eyes as big as saucers stared alternately at the Theremin, and at me.

"What HAPPENED??" "How did you DO that??" they all inquired.I had them guess for a few more seconds, until I moved my hand again, and they all started to catch on. Theremins are notoriously difficult to play any sort of song on, because the pitch is all controlled in empty air, but you can make some really great sound effects on it. Aliens. Motorcycle engines. Howling. The Theremin is also great because kids can play it without even touching it. And they love it, too. They all took turns standing up behind it, waving their hands wildly, and making crazy faces, before dashing off to collect their coats, reunite with the other class, chatter madly, and get back to the bus. The gallery's pretty quiet after they all clear out!

At the end of it all, I realized I had really, really enjoyed myself, and was in fact looking forward very much to leading another one on Wednesday. I got great feedback from my supervisor, and from the teacher evaluation form, too, which was awesome. I never thought I'd really be cut out for doing stuff with a large group of kids, because I tend to be more serious and down-to-earth about stuff, and always claimed that I didn't really 'get' kids, because I couldn't think and talk down to their level, or with their imagination. I guess I was wrong. Not that it all went perfectly - I know there were definitely things I can change to explain better or more imaginatively next time. But I can only improve things each time, right?

As an off-beat postscript to all this, the giant contrast of the day was my immediate move from this job to my office job. From a gallery of fascinating history-come-to-life full of bright-eyed children, and the chance to step outside my usually-more-reserved self and become an explorer/teacher; I transitioned immediately to...hours of putting cheques in numerical order. Yes, folks, I know, the excitement of that prospect is overwhelming. Not to bash that job. It pays well, it's professional, it's...well, the corporate world. And I know there are people who work there who love the quiet atmosphere, the business-like-ness, and the energy industry itself. It's not my thing. It never will be, I'm pretty sure. I've always felt like processing financial stuff for an income-oriented oil giant is a pretty meaningless existence. But I guess it all goes to show that we need all different types of people. I intend never to commit myself permanently to a job that I'm doing just for the paycheque, though, even if it means my lifestyle is way less extravagant.

Elementary Music Education

Today was the day I shadowed my first Elementray Music Education program! EME is a really popular educational program put on by my workplace, intended to fit in with these kids' sound unit in science. So today, two troupes of eight-year-olds flooded the gallery and 'discovery room' to learn about sound waves, instrument families, and other musical concepts, using ridiculously fun demonstrations and lots of hands-on activities. It was just a terrific program.
I am shadowing so that I can lead these programs on my own soon. And that's more than a tiny bit scary. Sure, I've taught piano one-on-one, but I've never had to manage a group of 25 squirmy, chattery grade three kids before, and I haven't even been around younger children in a lot of years. It not only takes musical knowledge and teaching ability, but crowd-control skills, and the ability to communicate on these kids' level, in a way that keeps their attention focused (NO SMALL FEAT). So at first, I was kind of unnerved and tongue-tied by them all as they streamed in, eyes as big as saucers, whispering loudly. And I'm still not sure how I'd manage if I were the one keeping their overactive hands and mouths at bay, but my goodness - they say the funniest things!

"What did you see when you came in today?" asked Interpreter A, whom I was shadowing. (We had taken them through a small section of the gallery, past dozens of incredible instruments.)
One boy stared up at her, chewed his lip for a moment, and then answered bravely, "Um...Stairs."

Perhaps the best one was from a boy who was answering another question from Interpreter A, who had just explained that if they looked at the first page of their handout, they'd find a glossary there. "Does anyone know what a glossary is?"
His answer was given completely seriously. "It...helps us to communicate with aliens."

These kids were also never afraid to get very up close and personal. They would rest their arms or heads on Interpreter A while she crouched down to demonstrate something, and the whole bunch of them always tried to pressing so ridiculously close that they were all practically on top of one another. They shrieked with excitement when they saw what a tuning fork does, and even more so when we touched the tip into a bowl of water to show them what the sound waves would do. And boy, did they ever throw themselves 100% into the hands-on stations! A bit too much sometimes, in fact. I'm not really sure how one person usually manages these things on their own. At one point, there were seven of them trying a harpsichord, seven trying a dulcimer, and seven goofing off with a sampler. I stayed at the harpsichord, telling them over and over and OVER not to touch the harpsichord strings, while the whole class rotated through the station.
"Okay, we need to keep our hands off of the strings, please."
"Oh - just play on the keyboard, alright? It's not good for the harpsichord to put our hands on the strings. Thanks."
"Hey, can you girls back there keep your hands off of the strings??"
"Ah! No, no, don't do that to the harpsichord, Joe!"
"Guys!! Do not touch those!"
"OKAY: EVERYBODY in line needs to take one big step away from the harpsichord!"
"LOOK PEOPLE - DON'T TOUCH THE HARPSICHORD!!!!"
Okay, no, it didn't actually get to the last one, but so help me... And if I'd been needing to monitor the dulcimer and the sampler, too? Gosh!

During one explanation using a cross-section of a harpsichord, Interpreter A removed part of the sound-producing mechanism (a long shaft called a "jack" with a tiny "plectrum" at the end, which plucks the string) for them to see.
"This is a jack," she explained.
Almost immediately, several scattered voices from the group of children piped up. "Hi Jack." "Hiiii, Jaaaack." HI JACK!" "Hi! Hi!"
Well, now that "Jack," to our amusement, was personified, she carried the idea a little further for their sakes.
"This is Jack's nose (the plectrum), and his nose is going to pluck this string right up here, see?" She showed the plectrum, replaced the mechanism, and depressed the key a few times to show them the plucking action.
And this time, several scattered but sincere outbursts of "Good job, Jack!" and "Way to go, Jack!" were offered by the kids.
It was too funny, just because they were so serious about praising that little piece of mechanism that they'd just named, so I couldn't help but laugh, and even Interpreter A had to stop for a for a moment to say, "You guys just crack me up!"

There were many other memorable moments from this morning. It really was something. If I had to be completely honest, I'd say I'd really prefer to lead general tours, where I can relate with mostly adults, on a more intellectual level, share the gritty historical details wtih them, and not have to ask for their attention every 45 seconds. I'd feel more comfortable with that. But. Even though I'm being trained for both things right now, they want me starting EME first. So, onward I go, trial by fire, keeping the fact that I don't have the greatest large-group-of-children skills ever under wraps for now. I think it'll come with time and experience, as I learn how to translate my adult-music-major thoughts into ADDish 8-year-old words. What experiences these all are!

Poetry that did not reach its intended audience.

Every couple of days, I have to write up our company's AFE administrator and request that a recently-closed AFE be reopened, so that I can enter an invoice into it, if the invoice date is older than the AFE's termination date.

I get really bored with the repetitive emails, so I have asked in a variety of fashions, from mildly apologetic, to overly enthusiastic, to slightly ironic. Each and every time, I get an identical response: "Hi, this is now opened." The time before last, I thought to myself as I searched for new words to make a routine email less monotonous, "Next time, I should just write a poem."

So this time, I did, in limerick form:

From: Me
Sent: Wednesday, September 10, 2008 1:29 PM
Subject: An AFE...

I have this invoice to key,
But alas, the poor AFE
Has been terminated,
But the invoice is dated
July, so please open it for me?

AFE# 200631065

It took only a couple of minutes to compose, and I sent it off, feeling rather pleased, and hopeful that the uniqueness would add some fun to the administrator's day, and perhaps invite a more interesting response.

My hopefulness was completely wasted. This was the administator's reply:

Sent: Wednesday, September 10, 2008 1:42 PM
To: Me
Subject: RE: An AFE...

Hi, this is now opened.


Did they not even notice it was a limerick? Or did they not even care? Who knows. Either way, having your creative efforts unnoticed is always a little deflating, even if it is just a limerick.

Pure Relief

My piano exam is over. Finished. It happened.

I can still scarcely believe it. Two years ago, when I first had the thought, "Hey, I'm going to take this exam," I don't really think I had much of an idea how hard it was really going to be. The past two summers have been entirely sacrificed to that goal. I think all my friends just thought I was a really boring recluse, but boy, was I ever working hard.

This past summer was the climax of it all, of course. After I got back from Ukraine at the very end of May, the next three months were one big ramp-up to the exam date for me, work-wise, and also most notably, psychologically. I've never been one to handle performance nerves well. And I'd never had to perform a program close to that size before. So when the days between myself and my exam started getting in the 30 range, and then the 20 range, my focus closed in, yes, but I also went into something kind of like long-term panic mode, and didn't realize it until it was over.

I sat on the couch the afternoon after my exam, trying to absorb the fact that this event I'd been unable to see past for so long had already taken place. It was a pretty incredible feeling. The world felt like it had suddenly returned to colour again, and I hadn't even realized how it had slowly grown increasingly gray as I pushed myself in my preparations. I felt like myself again. My mind was finally my own again - no longer forced to constantly battle fugues and fears and fingering patterns. It was like the past month of stress and fatigue and tears had never even happened at all, and it was just an ordinary August day...

Lessons learned? First off, I know I ramp up way too much about performances. But, see, that is a big reason I'd never want to become a concert performer for a career. No way. But performances are often necessary, even if they aren't your career, and nerves only get in the way of performances. Yet again, as I've discovered retrospectively so many times in my life, I just need to calm down about things, and take life a little less seriously. The potential worst-case scenario is never as bad as you thought it might have been, once you identify it. Then you realize life will go on, no matter how bad things turn out. For myself, I need to start realizing that before the fact, instead of after.

Another Page Turned; Another Fork Taken

I think I'm finally ready for launch. All my paperwork, decisions, and finalizations are made and done. I'm signed on for two more years at another university.

I corresponded one last time with my fantastic program advisor from my previous school, and when he replied for the last time, he signed off, saying, "Wishing you all the best in your new life."
...New life?
It struck me strangely, all of the sudden, to think that this wasn't merely the next step, but a new and very different step. With this choice come all kinds of challenges - about a new campus, new faculty, new living arrangements, new program, new people, and so many other 'new' things. It's scary, but it's also very exciting. I saw my new school's campus just a week ago, and to actually stand there, see it, and be able to imagine myself being there, was a bit reassuring. It takes some of the unknown out of the equation.

Perhaps the single biggest challenge of this situation is that I'm moving from the coziness of a very small school in a very small town, to a bigger school in a very big city. I've been living in the city for over a month now, and while it was uncomfortable for me at first, I've actually discovered quite a few things I love about being here. There is always so much going on! I can walk over to a few different ethnic districts, browse the unique stores there, pick up a new kind of tea to sample, or enjoy a special treat of a meal. There are countless performing arts events going on all around me - and lots of them are free (this is a huge plus for a student)! There is simply far more here to see, experience, engage in, and try out.
The icing on the cake for me was getting an interview date yesterday for a music-related job I've been dying to work in for close to a year now.
So, when it really comes down to it, as much as I miss the closeness and warmth of a small town, I really think I will enjoy big-city living for the next two years.

I hope all of you academic-types who are gearing up for, or in the middle of, some sort of big transition after the end of the previous school year are having success and looking forward to what's around the next bend. Cheers!

Clandestine Reading

I have a confession to make: I am one of those people who peers over to read the books that the people next to me on the bus are reading.
I always try to be very discreet, but sometimes I know I've been found out when the owner of the book either angles it pointedly away from me to prevent my intrusion, or else spreads it open a little wider and turns it a little bit, to enable me to share the wealth of text even better. I know this habit might be terribly annoying or even creepy to some people, but, if I had a book and had the opportunity to share what I was enjoying with them, I'd be glad to do it!

You really can learn a lot of great things by sampling conveniently-located prose in this way, too. Sometimes, I catch segments of news articles on the back of people's newspapers, and am better equipped to discuss that particular current event or issue. Sometimes, it's a novel being read next to me, and I can grab a glimpse of a genre or writing style that I would never have otherwise been exposed to. Still other times, if I'm really lucky, it's a non-fiction book, and I can soak up new perspectives or knowledge on a topic I know comparatively little about.

Recently, I found myself sitting next to a woman who was reading from a collection of essays on education. As someone who is counting on teaching at some point in the future, I was especially eager to take in what I could.
This is also the point in this blog post at which I might lose a lot of you who don't particularly care about educational issues.
The particular essay I read most of was discussing the value of intrinsic motivation, as opposed to extrinsic motivation. The author explained a study that was conducted (I won't go into detail on it, because I'm sure I'd get a couple of facts wrong) that clearly showed that students who are invited, by a facilitating teacher, to learn because of their own natural curiousity, learn far more and far better than those who are told to learn the same material well for examination purposes. The point the author was trying to make is that our current emphasis and reliance on the testing system in schools is turning out rote learners, whose innate hunger for knowledge is killed.
I agreed with nearly everything the essay presented. In almost every learning situation, intrinsic motivation is of far more value than extrinsic motivation. But in my mind, that does not imply that we should scrap the test-based system we're accustomed to. Imagine for a minute that we did just that. Without the added motivation of grades and tests, one group of students - those who were actually motivated to learn on their own, and had interest in the subject - would likely learn more, and learn better. But the result on the other group of students - those with no motivation to learn, and no interest in the subject - would be disastrous; they'd have no reason to learn.
I don't have an answer. But I do feel that some fresh thinking would be beneficial for the educational system. I hope someone with more knowledge than I have of psychology and teaching methods can find some middle ground, and develop a great new system on it.

Next time you're reading on public transit, no matter what book it is, keep it open a little wider. You never know who might be reading, fascinated, over your arm!

What can I say about Ukraine?

Ukraine, Ukraine... What can I possibly say about the trip that would successfully walk the line between trite and uninformative, and intolerably long?

It was challenging, eye-opening, thrilling, and most of all, life-changing. We spent nearly a month together as a choir, travelling all over the country, from the largest cities to the most remote villages, singing and interacting with the Ukrainian people in schools, churches, seminaries, and music colleges. We stayed in their homes, dove into their culture, learned their music, and saw the hearts of these amazing people. We raised money to partially fund a combined choir and orchestra seminar, and had a fantastic time making music together with the Ukrainian musicians. We could usually communicate only minimally at best, but there was still an instant connection there, despite language barriers and cultural differences. I left their country having had my eyes opened, and with several new perspectives and values. This has made returning, and trying to slide back into 'normal' life's usual grind, very difficult at times. I'm sure my experiences and memories will work their way into my writing (and certainly my day-to-day and even hour-to-hour thoughts) many times this summer, because they are so much a part of who I am now. I wish I could somehow impart all I saw, felt, and learned, to each of you reading this, because of the impact it has had on me! That being impossible, I'll do my best to share some stories from the trip on this blog, mixed in with the summer's events. (Yes, I can blog more regularly now that summer has arrived!)

Well, that paragraph does a fairly miserable job of capturing a snapshot of the month. It was all I could do to keep it brief, though, knowing I could carry on for far too long if I let myself! Pictures are of a Kiev street, the gorgeous church in Kiev where we held the seminar, and me, accompanying the choir at a performance at a large music college in Kirovograd, where we were honoured to share a concert with the college's fantastic choir.

CD Cover Art Meme

"I'll just try one," I told myself. It looked fun, after all.

Well, three albums later, it's long after when I should've been in bed. But it's been a while since I had a reason to play around in Photoshop, so here are the products of my work. I like how the first and third ones turned out best, I think. It's a little crazy how some of the ones people have been making really could pass for an indie band's cover art.

For those who want to give it a go, here are the directions (as found on musikwissenbloggenschaft)

1. your band name is the first random wikipedia article you pull up.

2. your album title is the last four words of the last quote on this page.

3. your album cover is the third picture featured here.

4. photoshop.

5. share!

The worst case of overpackaging I've ever seen

I received this box in the mail a little while ago.

Any guesses as to what it contained before you look? A whole stack of music books? A toaster, maybe?

Nope.

















Okay, okay, I'm visually exaggerating. Yes, there was a bit of packaging around the remote when I opened it. However, excessive bubble-wrapping and all, this tiny item was still filling only a small fraction of the box. Did they run out of small boxes?? The reason this irritates me is because I paid an exorbitant amount to have it shipped to me. Maybe shipping would cost less if things were properly packaged!

I do have to say that I'm incredibly excited about this little gadget, though. Truth be told, I've never owned a remote control before in my life. And the fact that I can control my music while I sit at my desk on the other side of the room is truly a thrilling novelty to me. Yes, I am easily pleased. But that also means that I get to be pleased more often.

A day that will live in our memories for a long time...

9:oo AM.

The ring of the phone penetrated my haze of sleep. I chose to ignore it, in hopes I could doze off again after the interruption on my Day to Sleep In. No such luck. Feet pounded down the hallway, I heard Friend S answer, and then my name was being called. After untangling myself from the covers, I stumbled to the phone, still dazed.

"Hello?"

"Hi...Mail order's coming down - right now." In my groggy state, I couldn't quite place the male voice, or completely understand his words.

"Mail order??" I echoed, confused.

"No, Miller!"

"It is?!" I suddenly recognized Music Friend R as the caller, and I gasped as his statement sunk in. "Thank you for telling me. I'll see you."

'Miller,' our abbreviated name for the music building on the edge of campus, has always been a special building to me. I have a sentimental spot for all old buildings, and the history their walls have seen, but many personal memories were attached to Miller for me. This old structure was erected about eight decades ago, and was certainly the oldest remaining building on campus. Some people have been impatient in recent years for the new performance facilities to open up on campus, but I was always unalterably fond of old Miller, with all its quirks. There was the strong, musty smell of age that greeted you when you entered, the way the stage clunked and creaked when you crossed it in performances, the archaic radiators that seemed to take pleasure in rattling and whining during the most inopportune moments in students' graduate performances, the worn wooden floors, and most of all, the sense of wonder that it always gave me to think that I was studying and performing in exact rooms where generations of music students had studied and performed before me. Sure, music buildings and performance spaces all over the world have held the hopes, fears, dreams, successes, and lessons learned of many, many people. But this was the building that held all of mine. Heck, I even travelled out to this campus when I was only a kid, to have band adjudications in that very building, long before I ever dreamed I'd pursue music seriously, especially on this very same campus. I'll never forget the recitals, juries, examinations, auditions, competitions, classes, rehearsals, and deep memories that have been a huge part of my life and musical development over the years.

We knew that Miller's demolition was going to happen eventually, but we had no idea what the date would be. The aging building had had its rooms gradually blocked off last year, due to the spreading black mold that was slowly eating away at the wood, and the air quality.

After I hung up the phone, I tore down the hallway to relay the message at a shout to Music Friend J, who was in the shower at the time, then proceeded to throw on whatever clothes I could see laying around, throw my hair up, slap a hat on, grab my camera, and sprint for the door. As I sprinted across campus, I heard the event before I saw it. Finally, I rounded one last building, and saw dear old Miller, with a yawning hole in its side. Music Friend R and several others were standing at a distance, watching as an escavator tore chunks out of the old music theory classroom. The building was very old, and the machinery had no trouble at all nudging and pulling through the flimsy structure, which flexed and tore like cardboard. Doors splintered, walls caved, and sawdust insulation poured out, clouding the air. Music Friend J came out shortly after, hair still wet, eyes glued to the carnage. The three of us stood together, lost in our individual thoughts, and watching together as Miller's innards were slowly exposed. The whole process took a couple of hours. The stage and auditorium floor were crushed down into the basement, the radiators were plucked out, never to rattle during another recital again, and fluorescent lights and wooden beams swung out and hung at wild angles from the disappearing ceiling. The escavator began to seem more and more like a scavenging carnivore, as it crunched mouthfuls of already-demolished wood in its jaws, grinding it down before crawling over the wreckage to reach another section of defiant structure still standing upright. The final portion of the building toppled with another tremendous, terrible noise singularly unique to the toppling of ancient wooden buildings. After the great cloud of dust and mold spores settled, we tore ourselves away to leave the machine to the chewing and sorting of the debris.

It definitely was a sad event, but I wound up not being nearly as emotional as I thought I would be. Yes, the structure is no more, but the memories we all have didn't go down with the wood and shingles. That building was an important part of important times in many people's lives. I loved it, and I'm simply grateful to have made my own musical memories in musty old Miller's halls in my time here.

I finally get the nerve to start blogging again...

It's almost like staring out at a fresh blanket of sparkling snow on the ground, and experiencing that reluctance one has at the thought of making the first few dirty footprints in it.

It has taken me a long while to get over the frustration of losing the years of writing on my old blog when it was shut down for unknown reasons. So after a few years of being an invisible lurker on everyone else's blogs, I decided it was probably time to start posting again. I've missed writing. So here it is - a blank slate where I will pick up again on chronicling my journey.

This is my last semester at Small College. Which means that I am on the brink of a whole lot of change as I continue my education, and am experiencing the tangle of apprehension, excitement, reluctance, and curiousity that comes along with most major transitions in our lives.

To those reading: welcome to my journey! Don't lurk (I know, it's a little hypocritical of me to say); I'd love to know who you are, and read your blog, if you have one.