Wanting To Be Great

I woke up feeling very inspired today to be great. Conveniently, this feeling came on my day off from work, so I have a moment to reflect before I get busy with this and that.

I have finally completed my audition and application process for school. I passed a prepared vocal audition for private studio work on Wednesday and the Praxis I yesterday. Both exams were weighing heavily on my mind and spirit the past couple of weeks, so when all was done: a huge sigh of relief was ushered, and a little 'happy jig' was performed for the secretary in the testing center. [Note: The secretary instigated the dance.]

Then I drove myself home, after a butterburger at Culvers [gosh darn they are like crack], and froze in a feeling of: I have nothing to do. [Imagine the kinds of sentiments expressed by empty-nesters and the newly retired.] After a half hour of pulse counting, I went to the piano. What I wanted to do, or what seemed customary in these kinds of situations, is celebrate with the company of good friends. Unfortunately my location isn't very accommodating.

Thank God for the telephone. I had a most inspiring conversation with a friend last night. Someone going through some similar challenges, but who, also like me, is making lemonade with all those darn lemons. I've not yet said 'Thank You' to all of you who read this blog, and have faith in me, and I apologize for it. Your support gives me courage and confidence. And for you, I want to be great.

There is a really cold winter ahead of me. But I'm pretty good at keeping myself busy, and I have plenty of playing to do before the semester starts, including a complete revival of running scales in thirds, sixths, octaves, and twelfths; also with: broken scales, arpeggios, full chords and finally running octaves. The mechanics of my playing should improve greatly by the end of the semester, which will help me tackle some of the bigger pieces I'd like to be playing. And I will also be spending a bit of time relearning the foundations of theory and harmonization.

It's hard to imagine in what ways my life will change once I become full-on music master, but I'm sure I will have plenty to blog about.

More Moments of Mediocrity

We were hit with the first big storm of the season Tuesday evening; eight to ten inches of snow and winds above 30 mph, which created obstacle course drifts on the road.

Every now and again I find it really difficult to sleep through the night. Tuesday happened to be one of those nights. Wide awake in bed at 3AM, I decided to roll out into standing position, walk over to my east-facing window and open the shade to catch a moment of the storm. 0 to 100, I wrapped my quilted housecoat around my pajamas, layered on hat, leather work gloves and my rain boots, and headed outside to shovel.

It was quite bright outside for 3AM. I swear there is an allusion of the moon seeming larger here and the reflection of the light on the white snow had more effect than tens of those dippy nite-lites parents pollute their hallways and bathrooms with.

I thought my work would be a huge help and surprise to my dad the following morning. He leaves the house around 6:30AM for work. But it turned out he didn't even notice. Oh the pangs of disappointment. Apparently, unless absolutely necessary, don't bother clearing the snow until the storm has stopped. Winds can shift directions and all of your neatly piled work can blow back upon you. This is also a very real observation to note when snow-blowing. It's not that much fun when you can only yell at yourself.

The combined couple of hours of shoveling [I went back out Wednesday afternoon to clear the pile of snow left at the bottom of the driveway skirt, courtesy of the city] was an excellent workout for the two small muscles encasing the 'chicken bone' perimeter of my spine. I didn't know these muscles existed before yesterday. I can't wait to see how sexy my back will look in a tank top after three months of element pumping.

Also in some pain, is the 'ole left hamstring. I haven't had any pain in this region since I pathetically tried to join my previous college's track team, without any previous running experience*. I can only assume my quick-hurry-shuffle-because-it-is-so-freaking-cold-out is to blame, and my lack of wanting to drink water, or any beverage of, or cooler than, room temperature [except this delicious Leinenkugel's Fireside Nut Brown, which I am holding in a mittened hand].

I am working through the discomfort by working more and by wearing the Man's Mall favorite: flannel hat. The hat is not a favorite of my sister, nor my mom or really anyone female. They liken me to an Elmer Fudd type character. I dig it though and I don't plan to quit designing my burly outer costuming just yet. 'Man's Mall, I shall return. Army Surplus, we rendezvous next week.' Documentation forthcoming.

*For your enjoyment, a historical review of my early writing career as a columnist for The Royal Purple, the student newspaper at the previously mentioned college. And of course I took the position without any previous writing experience [save a few C-graded papers from my high school's junior year lit class; probably on the topic of Steinbeck, with the stylistic charm of poor penmanship and strong critical analysis built upon 'I don't understand what I'm supposed to be writing about.'] As you will come to notice, I always jump head first.

Last Time It Worked...

...I posted about wanting something, and I got it.

It's not greed, when you are student poor.

Big White Bird

Way way back in July, I anticipated the likely results of a full-out battle between Rob Halford and my neighbors, the miniature ponies. Today, I challenge the likes of the local music community.

I am currently singing second-alto in a local community choir. 70 folks, mostly white or lacking on top, color the choir. A few recent Lawrence University grads, and myself, help even the inevitable tremolo that comes with age. Don't get me wrong, this isn't some glorified church choir, we are conducted by the Director of Choral Studies at Lawrence University and receive endowments, which far surpassed my estimation.

We perform three concerts each season. And it seems we host a guest artist each concert as well. We were joined by a Salvation Army staff band last October [image below] and will be joined by a deaf choir [Glee, anyone?] this December. Our choir has an executive committee that picks each concert's theme a year in advance. Not being a member of the committee, I don't know how we came about deciding upon this season's guest artists. Considering past themes, which have included: "Gypsy Spring, a celebration of Gypsy music," "All Creatures Great & Small, the music of animals" and "It's All About Sports, a Packers game set to famous choral pieces," I don't think the likes and dislikes of the refined music community are necessarily taken into account.

I'm a speck of tan in there.

An estimation of score card ratings and comments from audience members of both concerts:

Gregg (Male, 49, Business Professional)

Band: 9 "When that one old lady got up to play that solo, I didn't expect much, but, "Wow" she did really good. I liked the uniforms."

Deaf Choir: 6 "I forgot my glasses at home so I couldn't really see what they were doing with their hands."

Lorraine (Female, 78, Retired)

Band: 10 "I love that kind of music. Carl and I, before he passed, used to see the band concerts at the high school. You know, Carl used to play trumpet in the old army band. Him and the guys used to play at the church bazaars. Before my legs got bad I used to dance and dance. We had so much fun."

Deaf Choir: 10 "You all sounded like angels. I am praying for those deaf kids tonight. You know, I think Fran might have a deaf granddaughter."

Brad (Male, 23, Undecided)

Band: 8 "I liked the drums."

Deaf Choir: N/A "Deaf? [pause] Shit. That sucks."

Renee (Female, 54, Assistant)

Band: 7 "I enjoyed the energy the band brought to the concert, but if they hadn't played, couldn't the concert have ended earlier? Two hours is too long for me."

Deaf Choir: 10 "I am an open and accepting person, unlike most people around here. You know what I mean."

The deaf choir better get to practicing if they hope to get Brad's attention. And I better, too; we will be performing 11 songs in just under a few weeks time. Not sure I will be able to continue on for the spring concert, because of my NINETEEN CREDIT semester ahead, so if anyone wants to purchase my elegant floor-length rayon grandmother-of-the-bride dress and sheer 'flowy' dress jacket for $200 (yes, that is the going USED price), please drop a comment.

Your witchy ringmaster demonstrating the 'flowyness' of the dress jacket.

In other choir news, I was accepted into the university's chamber choir this morning. Costume swap? May I please show that I have a figure? Very few straight young men go to choir concerts, enough said.

Dale

Dale has been retired six years. But he quit drinking 25 years ago, and quit smoking cigarettes in the early 70s. Illicit drugs? Try over 100 years ago.

For fun, Dale climbs trees.

"The hardest tree to climb is a Spruce. You have to climb on the outside of the tree, because it's so prickly."

"My favorite trees to climb [pause] are the Sugar Maple and Burr Oak. There are a bunch of Burr Oak trees in this area."

I had to ask Dale how to spell Burr Oak, because I thought he was going on about Baroque trees; my fumble didn't even elicit a smile.

LESSON TO GROUND WALKERS:

1) Burr [more commonly spelled Bur] Oak trees are some of the most massive and slow growing of the Oak trees, and can live for huuunnndreds of years. They grow solo, hans solo, away from forrest canopy. The tree pictured below is rooted 300 feet from my parent's house, not sure if it's a Burr Oak, but I envision zebras and gazelles trading afternoon gossip beneath its huge swell of cool shade.

2) Sugar Maples: from which both pancake-syrup and bowling alley pins are born!

3) Have you ever climbed a tree? It's kinda freaky. I used to climb as a kid, but then freeze at the top, "Daaaad! Help! I can't get down!" Last month, I had to climb about five different trees. I was helping my dad clear the sight lines from his various deer stands. [If he didn't have a clear shot of me in the tree from a particular opening in the field, he wouldn't have a clear shot of a deer while seated in the stand. Trees grow between hunting seasons, duh, so we had a lot of work to do. With rope, we tied mini-saws to long branches to trim other living branches hanging twenty feet above our heads. I was pretty slow at task; I had to stop every few minutes to bend over at the waste and let my arms hang and rest. So Dad had me mostly climb and hug, for deer life. "Whoooaa, Nellie!"]

Dad shot his first buck (bow and arrow) last weekend, and hopes to fill the freezer after opening gun weekend, which is this weekend. When the area men go Up North to hunt, the ladies hit the bars [and the strip clubs, so I hear].

I've got plans to hit two local dives this weekend: Houge's and Acee Deucee. I've invited some of the ladies from work. Age doesn't impede on the party round these parts. I'm sure to get an earful of bizarro stories including: "woods" "that one time" "wasted" "cousin" "field" "pregnant" and so on... Can't wait!

Becoming the 'Older, Non-Traditional' Student

I pulled through for you guys. I actually accomplished the previously posted goals regarding applying for school, auditioning, etc... And as of 9AM this morning, I became the newest member in the UWO piano squad.

Three weeks ago, I submitted an application to the school online in one two-hour sitting, personal and professional statements included. The audition process into the music department has been the beast. I have been practicing the same two piano pieces over and over and over again every day since my October 5th post, and relearning scales. My bruised fingers and sore wrists have healed, thankfully; however, my parents are still bored with the repertoire. My Dad keeps requesting 'honky tonk'; he purchased a harmonica this past June at Main Drag in Williamsburg. He was playing a bit this summer, but hasn't had the same enthusiasm since we hosted a surprise birthday party in September, wherein the short familials gunked up the factory with their wet sticky mouths.

I am technically enrolled as a transfer student, since the credits I earned while completing a piano minor in 2003 are helping to shorten the expected graduation timeline for my second bachelors degree. I am enrolled as a music major, but will receive a degree in education. I hope to fulfill all the zany expectations of frazzle-dazzle music lady: bright clothes, world music collection, and all!

The drills begin now. I need to relearn a few techniques on the piano before the semester officially begins and I need to complete the Praxis I exam -- required by the Department of Public Instruction for admission to teacher preparation programs. I took a sample Praxis exam online last Saturday night, it is similar to the SAT. [In another year, once admitted into the College of Education, I have to take the Praxis II exam.] In a way, I'm pleased to know there are required general education exams, in addition to the licensure application -- I hope the extra work would weed out anyone on-the-fence. But at the same time, what a bother. Each exam costs nearly $200 to take and each requires surveillance at an approved testing center.

Boring.

Back to frazzle-dazzle: I have enrolled in slew of random music lab classes. It is a requirement to learn how to play all instruments. I begin with woodwinds and percussion next semester. I promise to somehow video-record myself attempting to make music out of a reed-instrument. In years past, on numerous occasions, I tried to make sound out of my sister's clarinet, just a single note; always unsuccessful. I don't see why things will be any different now. But at least I'll have a small moment to shine with the sticks, unless I need to hit more than one drum at a time.

But the #1 most awesome headline from the past week:

Parents surprise me by offering to put $ towards my tuition! Said $ will be pulled from my no-future Wedding Fund. How bittersweet. Especially coming from a gal who DVRs The Nanny on Nick at Nite, twice daily.

I meet with my piano professor again next month to discuss future repertoire and ways to convince myself to purchase more Henle editions. Note: repertoire will include chamber accompaniments! You have no idea how happy this makes me.

Ray

I'd like to introduce you to Ray, an elderly neighbor of mine. Over time, I hope to introduce you to several extraordinary people I come into contact with.

The short bios will contain fact, but also extrapolations from my imagination. See, I met Ray for only ten minutes in a waiting room, but he totally changed my day last week Wednesday.

I'd guess Ray is about eighty years old, twice married and twice widowed. The latter is a pretty big guess, you might think, but I have such a strange gumption about it. The ladies at work say he's an amateur poet. He definitely has a sprightly romanticism about him, definitely not something you expect from someone his age. Or from a portly man with yellowing overgrown finger nails and a small closet of dirtied shop clothes. He was probably the kind of husband that needed constant reminders from his wife to button his shirt collar or comb his hair. And I'm guessing those women never minded it a bit; might have been the root of the attraction.

The first thing Ray said to me was, "Did you watch that animal show on TV this morning? There was a porcupine riding a skateboard." He was seated about ten feet from me but with a clear line of fire. I had been reading something or another, so so deep in thought, which at that point skidded to a halt. My cartoon bubble at that moment could have read: "Uhhmm. Is he making a joke? Wait. Crap. What was I working on?"

But Ray kept going, "And there was a squirrel that they had on those little skis on the water, he was really good. One time they had a goat climb a ladder. You ever watch that show? It's on in the mornings."

I am a very gullible person, always have been. I like to think anything is possible. But I've been made fun of enough at this point in my life, that I now typically look around for public response (when in company) before issuing any comment. There were two men within earshot, but neither would look above their own two feet. So I had to assume there was a television show.

"I worked all morning today, and most mornings, so I'm afraid I don't know the show you are talking about. Do you know the name of it? I don't have cable." I replied slowly and unevenly.

"They had a porcupine riding a skateboard this morning," he kept going. His eyes never left mine, not sure he even blinked.

Ugh. I just about lost my shit. I don't think knowing that I had just won $10,000 would have elicited more reaction. I hit 10 in one second, like a strongman at a carnival. I thought this old guy was fucking with me, it was so bizarre, but he was dead serious; he just wanted to talk about animals doing silly tricks. I was still looking about the room at the other guys in the waiting area, while I half-gasped half-giggled out loud in exasperation. Neither would meet my request for affirmation. Without, I had to wonder: did something stop, did I stop?

There were other animals and different tricks, but I can't remember them now. My mind was stuck on how or why anyone would train a porcupine.

So, maybe you are not sold still on the charm of Ray. But try reading this post again keeping his delivery in mind. Not a 'How are you?' was uttered, we just jumped straight into his morning funnies on the TV. He was just so wonderfully curious to find out if I had shared in his moment. Or he just wanted to make me laugh. If his motive was the latter, he might have had three wives!

What a man.

The ladies at work said he has come into the office bearing gifts of baked goods in the past. Or maybe he'll return with a poem for me, apparently that's happened, too.

Hope you are having a wonderful night, Ray. And tomorrow I hope you get to watch two dogs in costume dance a waltz together. That would be lovely.