The Thrill is Gone

It's over.  There's no doubt in my mind. 

Yesterday was proof positive - seven excrutiating hours, endless nagging and niggling over petty details, nothing ever quite right, no one happy, nothing being accomplished.

I'm done.

I admit, for a moment there, I was thinking about giving it another try.  A hand was offered (again) and it occurred to me that perhaps this outreach was a sign this relationship was "meant to be," that I should step back into the ring and start swinging once again.

But after yesterday, I knew I was through.

My relationship with Classical Bells is over.

When I joined this performing group in 1998, it was such an exciting experience for me, and the opportunities that arose from being a member were priceless -performing with the Detroit Symphony, playing for national conventions in Las Vegas and Virginia, and countless other concert venues in between.  Life long friendships were created and cemented and countless laughs and tears were shed over late night wine fests/practice sessions.  Believe me, you haven't seen anything until you've seen 13 pajama clad women in a hotel room at 1:00 in the morning, drinking wine and  "air-belling" their entire program. 

I left the group about five years ago, but I've remained on the sub list, meaning I return to fill in at rehearsals (and occasionally concerts) for friends who are on vacation, maternity leave, or some other emergency situation.  Yesterday was just such a day...the annual weekend "retreat" that occurs every fall, a two day marathon of rehearsals to get a jump on the fall concert schedule, which this year will culminate in a performing tour in France to celebrate the ensemble's 25th anniversary.

That's right.  Seven days in France - three concerts, the final one being in the American Chuch in Paris. 

Even as I write, there is a huge part of my heart that's screaming "Do It! Do It! Do It!"  Because not only have they asked to me come, they've offered to pay my way.

Before you light into me with cries of "Are you crazy?"...let me enlighten you a bit.  Returning to this group would require a "Gi-Normous" committment.  Six hours of rehearsal every Monday, plus a hefty concert schedule...24 concerts are already on the books (including 13 in the month of December alone - everyone wants bells at Christmas time).   A concert entails at least 6 hours (not including travel time).  And I haven't even figured in the practice time to learn/re-learn all the music.

Sigh.

When I joined this group in 1998, I was in my forties, I had only one home, I wasn't working, and all my elderly relatives were healthy and independent.  Every one of those circumstances have changed, in ways that make the level of commitment and energy required to be a member of this group impossible for me to support.

Knowing when to quit is not easy.  I'm always impressed by entertainers and athletes who have the guts to quit while they're ahead, before they lose their ability, but also before they lose their love.  I have wonderful memories of my time in this group...I gained enough confidence in myself to go out into the world and tackle things I'd never done before.  But yesterday, after spending the entirety of a beautiful fall day stuck inside a musty church with 12 snarly women, I realized that coming back could mean tarnishing all the good memories with dissatisfaction, resentment, and anger.

I don't doubt that I'll feel pangs of regret come spring when they all set off on their journey to France.   But I know I've made the right decision in the long run. 

I'm over it.

So, how about you?  Have you ever quit while you were ahead? 

Another Country (for Write On Wednesday)

This week's Write On Wednesday  Prompt: “The loss of a place isn’t really so different from the loss of a person.  Both disappear without permission, leaving the self diminished, in need of testimony and evidence.”   Bridge of Sighs, Richard Russo

Write about a place you’ve lost….

Wonderfully strange and exciting, those first days and years of love are like crossing another country, one whose customs are foreign, whose flavors are intense, whose ways are altogether unexpected.  Every part of you tingles with anticipation -what marvelous new sight will appear before your eyes? What soft new breeze will touch your skin?  What pungent aroma will fill your nostrils? What fiery touch grasp your skin?

And the object of your affection begins to appear differently before your eyes.  You devour guidebooks, hoping to soak up all the information you can...favorite songs and colors, preferred foods, morning or evening, fast or slow dancing...how can you best accomodate yourself to this new and beloved place, for, lost in desire, you'll do anything to belong, to become a citizen of this new world of love.

So you settle in to your new home, this land built by love, and dwell there as days become months become years become decades.  You barely notice the landscape changing around you, when the lustre of architecture fades, the gilding begins to tarnish.  Occasionally, you're startled by a missing step, cracks in the foundation that were never there before, huge spider webs and dust bunnies that speak of decay.  You hurry to get paint, polish, and begin to scrub furiously, peering intently for a small spot of original glory.

Exhausted, you finally accept the inevitable. 

For no one can be a newcomer forever and each place on this earth is subject to change, every country, whether on the map or in our hearts, grows old, and can be lost.

Begin at the Beginning

September feels like a new beginning to me - I suppose because I'm still a schoolgirl at heart.  September buzzed with the excitement of new classes and books, seeing all my friends everyday, projects and parties and programs.  But this year, there is no school bell in my future, nary a one.  Neither student, nor teacher, not even that ubiquitous "staff member" appelation I wore for the past 15 years in my capacity as music department accompanist.  So I've been searching for ways to get a bit of that September enthusiasm into my regular work place and my home life.  Last week I cleaned out my desk at the office, re-arranged my overheard compartment, and hauled my recycle box to the storage room to await the shredder. 

At home, I made a trip to Office Max and picked up new file folders, then emptied out a desk drawer where I can now store all my home office paperwork in one place, rather than the fragmented assortment of bins and baskets where it's now located.

Now all I need are some inspirational posters, post-it notes in bright colors, and stickers that shout "You Can Do It!" and "Hang in There!" or "You're Tops!"

In short, I've been keeping really busy so that I don't think too much about this big change in my life, this absence of music and school and interacting with young people.  Because while I won't miss the hectic schedule, or the last minute programs at holiday time, or the winter festivals that always occur during prime time traveling season, I will miss working with musicians, and helping kids realize their musical dreams, and being around the energy that radiates from talented teenagers.

Yep, I'll miss those kids a lot.  A few weeks ago I set up a Facebook account,  and rarely a day goes by that I don't receive a "friend request" from a former student, even from as far back as 1993  - this one a young mother who is sending her daughter off to kindergarten tomorrow!

And I'm a little worried about my musical skills, because I know myself pretty well, and I won't be working at the keyboard unless there's something specific to prepare for.  Technique goes pretty quickly (like muscle tone!) when you stop practicing and performing.

But mostly I'll miss the sense of working to accomplish something important that I always feel when I'm musically active.  My music jobs are never about making money - they're always about challenging myself to become better at my craft while accomplishing something that makes other people happy or more fulfilled. 

Actually, I suppose that's the way I feel about every job I have.  I've always been fortunate in that I could work at jobs which were personally rewarding to me.  I like to be challenged, to master new skills and interact with people I respect and from whom I can learn.  And that's probably why I always loved school so much, because it offered the opportunity to become better every year, to expand my mind and my social life and all my horizons.

So perhaps I should start looking for some new ways to engage the brain matter, musically or otherwise.

September beckons.

How Lucky am I?

My gift from Laundrygirl

August has been an unusually lucky month for me - I've won two blog giveaways, and was a prizewinner in a blog reading contest.

The wonderful wire sculpture of the letter "b" (is for becca's byline and for bookstack!) was a gift from artist and blogger Kristine Mays, who writes at notes from the laundromat.  Kristine works in wire, and as I hold this piece in my hands, I'm in awe of the skill and patience it must take to create these artistic renderings. 

You can't know how much I cherish these kinds of gifts, for I have absolutely no artistic talent of this kind.  I clearly recall my elementary school art classes, which were almost as nerve-wracking for me as math class.  None of my projects ever turned out the way I wanted them too, and I spent many tearful, frustrating times working away, usually making them worse in the process. 

So, mille grazie, Kristine :)

My winning streak continued when Gautami emailed to tell me I had won a signed copy of Matrimony, a novel by Joshua Henkin.  After reading her review, I was really excited to read this book, so I'm eagerly watching my mailbox for that to arrive.  I'll be reviewing the book, and hosting my own giveaway of an autographed copy (courtesy of the author!) sometime in October.   I'll keep you posted on the details.

THEN, last but not least, yours truly was the "silver medalist" in the Olympic Reading Challege, which I participated in over at Bookstack, my book blog.  My prize (an Amazon gift certificate!) has already been spent on - a book! what else??  

And now, before my lucky August runs out, I'm off to my local convenience store to buy a lottery ticket.

Practice Time

My best friend Lisa and I started taking piano lessons when we were about six years old.  We had the same teacher, and were quite competitive (well, at least she  was).  I recall Lisa was never able to come out and play between 6:00 and 6:30 because it was her set time to practice piano.  There was a wind up kitchen timer always sitting on top of her piano, and her mother would set the timer for 30 minutes, during which Lisa was to practice her Hanon and scales, do the workbook exercises we were set each week, and then practice her pieces. I have to confess, my practice techniqe was much more haphazard.  I would sit down for 15 or 20 minutes in the morning before school, and usually play for a while as a way of relaxing after I came home.  I often did the workbook pages in the car on the way to my lesson.  As for Hanon and scales - well, let's just say I didn't get many gold stars on those pages in my lesson book.  My parents never forced me to practice, or chided me if I didn't.  I loved playing, and since I seemed to be at the piano for a good portion of every day, they were never too careful about exactly what I was doing. 

A few weeks ago, we talked about our writing practice in terms of an activity we held in high esteem in our lives, approaching it almost as a spiritual, ritualistic event.  This week, with the beginning of a new school year upon us, I'm thinking of writing practice in a bit more, well, practical  sense.  Here's how Natalie Goldberg describes it:

This is the practice shool of writing.  Like running, the more you do it, the better you get at it.  Some days you don't want to run and you resist every step of the three miles, but you do it anyway.  You practice whether you want to or not.  You don't wait around for inspiration and a deep desire to run.  It'll never happen, especially if you're out of shape and avoiding it.  But if you run regularly, you train your mind to cut through or ignore your resistance.  You just do it.  And in the middle of the run, you love it.  When you come to the end, you never want it to stop.

That's how writing is, too.  Once you're deep into it, you wonder what took you so long to finally settle down at the desk.  Through practice you actually do get better.  You learn to trust your deep self more and not give in to your voice that wants to avoid writing.  It is odd that we never question the feasibilty of a footballe team practicing long hours for one game; yet in writing we rarely give ourselves the space for practice.

I have a long standing writing practice, and I admit it's a bit like my piano practice.  I write every day, with a cheap, ball point pen, in a brightly colored spiral notebook, three pages of anything.  Sometimes it's stream of consciousness garbage, sometimes it's a list of everything I'm worried about, or happy about, or thinking about.  More often than not, it starts out as one thing and becomes something else - today, what began as a simple memory about a conversation I overheard as a child turned into five pages about my neighborhood. 

My favorite time for writing practice is first thing in the morning, after one cup of coffee and about 15 minutes of reading.  Often, something in my reading will ignite an idea for writing -this morning, it was a passage in Richard Russo's Bridge of Sighs that got me started. 

I don't hold myself to any time limit (no kitchen timers for me!), but I usually find myself spending about 20 or 30 minutes on these pages.  I write loosely, and messily, on one side of the page.  This writing is for me, and it doesn't matter whether it's grammatically correct.  When I'm really "on," the pen can barely keep up with my racing thoughts - sometimes, I feel as if my brain is running away with me, like flying down a steep hill on my bike.

"This writing practice is a warm-up for anything else you might want to write," Goldberg continues.  "It is the bottom line, the most primitive, essential beginning of writing."  Through the daily writing, we learn to listen to our own voice and trust it, we learn to free our thoughts and then corral them into words, to improvise like a jazz musician at the keyboard, experimenting with the tools of the trade. 

So this week, I'm channeling my friend Lisa's mother - if you don't regularly practice writing, challenge yourself to do so.  Get yourself some brightly colored spiral notebooks (they're on sale everywhere just now!) and a package of pens.  Find a time each day when you can sit down for a few minutes and just write.  No need to pressure yourself - you'll know when you've said all that need to be said. 

By the way, lest you're wondering how our musical career's ended up - my friend Lisa stopped lessons in 10th grade, and hasn't played since.  Me, on the other hand - well, I've been playing the piano regularly for the last 42 years, working as an accompanist, a solist, and just playing for the pure love of music.

How about you? Do you have a writing practice?  What's it like?  How has it helped you become a better writer?  If you're thinking about starting a writing practice, how do you envision it?  What would work for you?

Occasionally, Write On Wednesday  will offer a writing activity to use in your writing practice notebook, or as an idea to blog about.  Here's one to start you off...

Writing Practice Idea: Write about a time in your life when you were learning a new activity - a musical instrument, a sport, a language - and how you went about practicing it.