An Anachronistic Excuse

Well, February has somehow disappeared without any blog posts making it out of my head and onto this site. I have a good excuse--really. I had mono. Yes, you heard me right. I know I'm 47 years old. No, I have no idea how I caught it. The only people I kiss on the mouth are my husband and sometimes, when no one is looking, my dog. (The cat won't let me and that stopped feeling like a good way to greet my daughter once she was out of diapers.)

I am, of course, a piano teacher. A small army of puny people march through my living room several times a week, use my potty and play my piano. They represent a dozen different elementary, middle and high schools and many of them have little brothers and sisters who go to another dozen different preschools and mothers-day-outs and frequent parks and playscapes where the equipment is probably sterilized once every decade or so (if we're lucky.) So in any given week I am probably exposed to more germs than many people encounter in a life-time. I am very careful to disinfect the piano keys, doorknobs and bathroom fixtures after my piano students have left for the day. I use so much sanitizer I have to buy in bulk. One never knows where those little fingers have been. I did actually witness a student pick his nose right before playing his piece once. It happens. But apparently, in spite of my usual vigilance some happy little Epstein-Barr virus took up residence and had a party in my throat for more than a month.

I started feeling symptoms right after the Zumba dance party I threw myself for my 47th birthday. I don't know whether there was any connection. I was pretty tired after the dance party, but I'd also had a Tae Kwon Do class right before so I guess that would be a normal reaction. What I do know is that I was certainly tired for far longer than one should be and when I started to feel like a golf ball had lodged itself irretrievably in the back of my throat I finally went to the walk-in clinic where a blood test confirmed the anachronistic diagnosis.

It has not been fun. Even having an excuse to sit on my behind and knit does not compensate for that icky feeling in my throat. I am sick and tired of cough drops. I am sick and tired of sitting. I am, well, sick and tired. So much for the "I will write a blog post every week without fail" plan. Oh well. In any endeavor worth doing set-backs are inevitable. This one really kicked my butt.

Say "Yes" to the Mess

As I've said before I am determined this year to do the things I say are important--like writing music again and blogging on a regular basis--goals I haven't been faithful to in the past few years. To keep myself from getting side-tracked I have been running a sort of motto in my mind from time to time: "First things first". That seems overly obvious but it is harder than it sounds. What is a first thing and what is a second thing? It depends on the moment and the day and how well I kept on task the day before. And it means making hard choices.

Today what "first things first" means is that I did manage to write some music (yeah!) I did manage to finish a crochet project that I need to mail off. I did manage to write out a list for my daughter of who gave her what for Christmas so she can finally write those thank you notes. I did manage to make the bed and straighten the living room and bathroom before my students started to arrive and did catch up on my email. But the dishes are still soaking in the sink, I barely got my shower in and there's a stack of unopened mail and bills to pay on my desk that is threatening to careen off onto the floor at any moment. Spending time on my music meant some other very important things just didn't get done. My conscience is bugging me a bit. Doesn't my husband deserve an immaculate and well-ordered home when he arrives after a busy and daunting day? Does my wish to provide that sound archaic? He has never been the sort to complain if things aren't done, and he is absolutely an equal partner in the work inside as well as outside of our home. But I realize my choice to "do my music" means I can't keep up with all the same chores I've been so careful to stay on top of in the past. It seems that to honor my dream I will occasionally just have to "say yes to the mess" and hope my family understands!

What were your "first things" today? Were they the ones that got you closer to your dreams and goals or the ones you felt obligated to do for the good of someone or something else?

Please Steal This!

From time to time I think of great ideas (at least I think they're great) for products or services or organizations etc. which I want access to without the actual work of creating them. So here is a list of ideas I wish you would steal....

1) Breakfast Delivery--like pizzas only home-delivered breakfast food like tacos, pancakes and bacon!
2) CARR--Citizens Against Road Rage--an organization (not yet in existance) dedicated to educating the public about road rage, offering public service announcements with reminders about rules of the road (like stopping for my daughter in the school cross walk!) and to encourage courteous driver behavior (like actually signaling your intentions and not honking at me just because I won't go when YOU think I ought to.)
3) Tivo for radio. I love my tivo for television shows, but I wish there were an easy way to record my favorite radio broadcasts so I could play them back, rewind when I wanted to hear something again etc. I'm so tivo-trained that when I'm listening to the radio in the car I'm always stunned to realize I can't hit the "back" button if I miss the title of the piece.
4) A purse with a built-in foot stool. I'm a bit short and standard-sized chairs sometimes sit high enough that I'm not really comfortable. If I try to cross my legs one leg always slides off, and only my toe-tips reach the floor.
5) A custom-bumper sticker business. (One may already exist. I haven't checked.) I keep thinking up ideas for bumper stickers and wish I could somehow print one. Like, when I owned a GEO I always wished I had a bumper sticker that read "Back Off. I'm pedaling as fast as I can." That would have been useful especially in the Texas Hill Country where I could go 30 at best when I floored it. Of course I can't actually put stickers on my car bumper because my husband thinks they look trashy. He won't even agree to post stickers from my favorite public radio station, (KMFA) my alma mater, (Lawrence University) or even my Phi Beta Kappa sticker. Of course he thinks Packer Gs are just dandy.

If you have an idea you'd like someone to steal let us know via a comment on this post. In the meantime, I wish one of you would steal mine!

Old Dogs CAN Learn New Tricks

I was messaging a former college friend on Facebook last Friday afternoon when she told me our old piano professor, Ted Rehl, had taken up the piano again after completely abandoning it in 1992 when he retired. She is thinking about playing again and is a bit intimidated by how much she will have to relearn but his story inspired her to try. Mr. Rehl told her she must be prepared to play an hour and a half a day and do as many exercises as possible to retrain her fingers, regain her dexterity and technique. I scurried to read the article and play the video clip myself. In the article that accompanies the clip Rehl explains that he is enjoying being able to play for pleasure without worrying about a professional reputation. When you are a music professor, he explains, you are concerned with "getting it right", with your reputation among your students and colleagues. Now, playing concerts for pleasure in his retirement community, Rehl has fallen in love with his instrument as he did when he began playing hymns by ear as a child.

If 81-year-old Ted Rehl can relearn then so can we all! I have always  maintained that it is never too late to learn something new, try something new or regain something lost though this sometimes requires reframing. Perhaps I will never teach at a university or finish my doctorate. But I can regain enough technique to play music I love and to compose something beautiful. I've added Rehl to my list of "old dog" heroes along with Rosina Lhevinne. Ms. Lhevinne earned high honors as a young pianist before she married the famous concert pianist, Joseph Lhevinne after which she abandoned her own solo career to become his helpmate (as so many women did at the time.) After his death she took up her own career again in her sixties, performing concerts and teaching at the Julliard School, a career that lasted well into her 90s! If these octo/nongenarians can jumpstart new careers maybe it isn't such a stretch for this soon-to-be 47 year old to do the same.

If you are trying to learn something new or regain something lost or if you have examples of other "old dog heroes" post a comment! http://www.heraldtribune.com/article/20111228/ARCHIVES/112281049
http://www.people.com/people/archive/article/0,,20064248,00.html

Composing is Like Knitting Socks: You Don't Always Succeed on First Try

I am at a sort of crossroads, and what better time to write about it than the eve of a new year? I have struggled over the last few years to keep two careers going and have succeeded in my teaching and writing, but not so much in my composing and playing. It is hard to do justice to twin passions and harder still when each field--music and writing--is so ripe with different aspects and possibilities. What I mean is that each of these fields already requires us to be multiple things at once. If you are a writer you are probably also an editor and maybe even a writing teacher or coach. If you are a musician you might simultaneously teach an instrument, play an instrument and compose not to mention writing and publishing words about music. Each of these fields by itself has multiple layers. I have taught writing workshops to women eager to record their lives and piano, theory and composition to five and ten and forty year olds eager to express themselves through music. I have written and published profiles, interviews, essays and the occasional book review. But I have not been composing or playing piano with anything remotely resembling seriousness and I want that to change. I have also not even begun to take advantage of the possibilities of this blog and if I have a new year's resolution it's to do better about posting and composing and explore how these two mediums can feed each other.

I spent the day cramming, skimming and underlining in my Blogging for Dummies book and am consequently inspired and a bit daunted. But I know the best way to begin is to just begin, give yourself permission to experiment without self criticism until you have something you can really work with. I am having the same challenge with my composing. It isn't going well. I have been trying to write a piece for flute and piano off and on (very off and on) for two years mainly because I know someone who plays the flute and therefore have at least a chance of having it performed. But I can't decide what I want to say with this piece or how I should say it--what language to use--and that plus being extremely rusty is making it nearly impossible. I have already started and scrapped several pages of music because it sounded too much like a jazz/pop thing when I want to write something "serious." Then I tried a contrived non-tonal scale which sounded quite reassuringly modern. After weeks of playing with it I have decided I don't like this language at all. It sounds like something I'd write to please some composition professor somewhere but it doesn't sing.  I want to be able to sing what my soul is yearning to sing through this music, but I don't yet quite know how to do it. I've never before written something totally and completely just for me.

Of course the real problem is that I shouldn't be worrying at this point about anything other than putting notes on paper daily, regularly, without fail.  I should be playing and experimenting and not worrying at this stage whether my style is unique, whether the flute can really play what I write or any other of my myriad distracting concerns. The thing is to just do it. It's like learning to knit socks. At first you can't imagine how you're going to get all four needles going at once, or how you'll keep the thread from slipping off the double-pointed needle. But after lots of false starts and bad, misshappen efforts it gets easier. My hope is I can learn to compose again, find my voice again--croaked and even ugly though it might be. I don't know why. It doesn't matter one whit whether there's another piece of music in the world when there is already so much beautifully written by other people. But I can't help myself. Something in me compels me to try, so try I must.

New Beginnings

My very talented neighbor, Ken Hamilton, owns a recording studio called Razor's Edge Sound. For my 40th birthday, (in 2005), he gave me an hour of studio time to create a short piece. I thought I'd experiment with something on the commercial side. The result is this quickie piece that sounds a bit like the theme to some TV show in the 1980s. I called it "New Beginnings" because it marked a new phase of my music career, a return to some composing and to teaching composition as well. (Check it out here: http://soundcloud.com/lisa-shirah-hiers/new-beginnings) It's taken me quite a while to explore my various options for sharing my music and as far as that goes I'm a beginner too. I just signed up on soundcloud.com yesterday and I'm only just now really starting to "get" how to use Finale, the professional level very complicated music notation software I bought two years ago. (It took me over a half hour to figure out how to create triplets the first time I did it. I didn't really figure out my mp3 player either until just recently.)  If keeping two careers going at once is hard, it is even trickier to find time for all these new-fangled inventions. But of course they are oh so cool and indispensible once you get the hang of it.

I can't help being old fashioned. I earned my Masters in Composition in 1993--just when the web was launched. What a strange new world this is! We've got so many tools at our fingertips--libraries of sounds and research tools that were unheard of when I was in my 20s. I still remember poring over "Books in Print" volumes in the library, writing down articles that might have something to do with what I was researching, walking to a card catalogue and physically thumbing through to get to the periodical I needed, or filling out--in pencil--forms for interlibrary loan, then waiting weeks for the photocopies to arrive in the mail.   I have to admit though, that easy as things are now, I sometimes miss the old ways. When I would thumb through the card catalogue I always found something cool that I didn't know I was looking for. I know that happens with web research all the time, but the internet just doesn't have the same pleasantly musty smell, nor the thrillingly sensual feel of running your fingertips over those old, well-thumbed cards. I like the smell of books too, and while I love the Kindle my students pitched in to buy me, it just doesn't have that satisyingly musty aroma. Maybe they will come out with digital smellinet versions for old foggies like me....

Meanwhile, Kevin and I were talking this morning about the absurdity of all of this, of people who work one mile apart but miss out on a lunch date because one sent the other the invitation via a Facebook message and the other just didn't get around to checking the site in time. Something similar happened to me recently. Although I am on Facebook and I enjoy it and think it's a great tool, I don't really care what people are doing every second of the day, and I don't think I'm alone in my disinterest. So I tend to visit only once a week or so--usually when something from Facebook plops in my email inbox. What a strange world we live in where we miss connecting because we failed to open up a particular webpage! Remember the telephone? You could call someone up and talk in real time and make an arrangement faster than it takes to open your browser, click on the link, scroll through your friends list.... Then there was this really cool invention called voicemail where you could leave your message in case they weren't home when you called. For that matter, remember when you actually knew who your friends were?!

We also got to talking about the new Roland Digital Piano I've got my eye on which uses actual, real hammers instead of weights so that it really, truly feels like you're playing the real thing. According to Kevin drummers also now have real drum heads on their digital drums instead of the old drum pads from the 80s because they feel different. Drummers count on the rebound of the stick off the drum head for multiple hits and they hate the old drum pads because they don't rebound and it takes an extra effort to play multiple notes in quick succession. I guess there are just some things you can't improve on.

That really old dude Shakespeare (remember him?) hit it on the head in The Tempest when his character Miranda sees a man for the first time and exclaims "Oh Brave New World that hath such creatures in it." Only in our strange, brave new world there's a new creature every day, with a 100+ page virtual manual to navigate! Lord Bless us if we occasionally forget that new doesn't always mean better! It just means beginning again, for the 100+ time.

Birdy Bitchfest

It’s spring in Texas. A pair of Mocking Birds have nested in our neighbor’s tree—just over the privacy fence that divides his yard from ours. The birds recognize no such division but consider our whole backyard their nursery. As such it does not belong to us and we are trespassers every time we water the thirsty grass or even when we dare to fill the birdfeeder and birdbath. From my back bedroom office window I watch the mother and father’s cautious approach to the nest. Worm squiggling in his or her beak, bird parent settles on the fence, cocks an eye at me gazing with the same intensity I do mornings as I watch my sixth grader walk the half block to middle school. Only when they are sure no one sees do they venture into the tree with the prized breakfast. We have much in common. They fear the cat that roams our street, and the human and canine and feline inhabitants of this house. I fear other predators who may be lurking in shadows, watching and waiting for my daughter, for other daughters and sons.

Yesterday I heard a raucous aviary remonstration while I was trying, unsuccessfully, to read a book. I went to the patio door to see what was amiss. There I found my cat peering keenly through the window at one of “our” (we feel a sense of ownership) mocking birds who was assailing her with bitter invective, casting, I am sure, aspersions on her character. It was a true birdy bitch-fest, a sight to behold—or rather—to hear. This went on for about an hour and a half during which I heard not a peep from the babies in the tree. This worried me. I thought perhaps the outside cat had got them and the inside cat was being made to pay for the crime. So I gingerly let myself out only to have the angry parent launch a new assault on this well-meaning citizen. I was relieved some time later when the parent resumed feeding operations and left me and my cat alone. As soon as the aviary curses subsided the babies began to cry again in earnest. All is well with the world!