Life is Too Short to Scrub

I never scrub. If there’s dried on/baked on muck on a pan I let it soak first. I wonder what else needs soaking in my life. Could I put some troublesome problems on hold? Would they get easier? What is the equivalent of soaking a set-in-stone habit? Is there any virtue in putting some things off for a more propitious time?

I have a “to do” folder—two actually—one for urgent tasks and one for things I need to “get around to” some day. It’s easy to figure out what goes in the “urgent tasks” folder: bills, insurance claim forms, letters that require a response. It’s harder to figure out what to do with other items: the college scholarship info that I will want to know about in four years when my daughter is old enough to apply for college, or the neat websites that I may want to check out some time, or the articles ripped out of magazines (how to turn my hobby into cash, American-made products I can buy to stimulate the economy, recipes I want to try but need to plug into my Weight Watchers website calculator so I know how many points they are.) My life is full of such tidbits that I can’t let go of but can’t yet deal with—hence the need for a “get around to it” folder. There are some things that are worth hanging onto just in case. Having a place to keep them makes me feel hopeful and organized.

Unfortunately, it invariably takes me so long to get around to the “get around to it” folder, that when I do, half the things in it are past date: concerts that already happened, coupons that are expired, business cards of people I met so long ago they will have no idea who I am. I always feel bad about the missed opportunities in the “get around to it” folder. But maybe it’s not such a bad thing to miss out once in a while. My life is pretty full as it is! Maybe by letting these tasks metaphorically soak I allow a natural selection process to weed out those things that really aren’t important after all. Maybe it is sometimes better to put off until tomorrow what you just can’t get to today. Life is simply to short for scrubbing anything that will get easier if you let it soak a while first.

Life's Eternal Spiral

Years ago I attended a women's spirituality conference where I had an astonishing experience during an exercise in opening ourselves up to the voice of Wisdom (however you define that.) We sat in a large circle, chairs facing inward, with our eyes closed. One by one we took turns circling along the outside and when we felt we had had a "message" for a particular woman, we would whisper it in her ear. I have no idea whether what popped in my head answered any questions for the woman I whispered it to, but it did answer questions I had at the time about what felt like a bout of failure. The message that popped into my head was "Life is a spiral. Don't be afraid to turn back along the way." It still gives me goosebumps. The image of a spiral is a very powerful one and a very feminine one as well. The power of a spiral lies in the fact that though we keep turning back we are never in the exact same place twice. Anyone who has walked a labyrinth as a spiritual practice has experienced this fact in a profound way. As we turn and head back in the direction we just left, our feet are in a new place. So there is both a sense of familiarity and a sense of something completely new.

Life is like that. Every beginning has certain characteristics--hope, fear, anticipation--that it shares with every other beginning though we might be talking about very different experiences. Reaching our thirteenth or eighteenth or fortieth or sixtieth birthday. Going away to college, or saying goodbye to children who are leaving for college. Getting married or getting divorced. Giving birth to or adopting a baby. Beginning a new career or a new phase of the same career. We think of these as very different experiences, yet they are similar too. Each time we experience a new beginning feels as though we are repeating a process we've been through before; beginnings carry an imprint or memory of every other beginning--ours and those of others who have been there before us.

It's been said that every ending is also a beginning. The reverse is true as well. In order for something to begin, something must end. When I married I was keenly aware that I was giving up a certain freedom as well as taking on a great responsibility. The moment I recognized my unborn baby's complete and total dependence on me for life and health was another epiphany. Each of these experiences was full of promise but also of loss, for I would no longer be free to do whatever I liked, someone would be depending on me.

The image of a spiral has come to me many times since that women's conference. It offers comfort when I feel like I'm in a rut. It offers the promise that a new experience I'm frightened of will have something in it I can understand, something familiar. The spiral is nothing more or less than the spiritual experience of our twisting DNA, the spiralling whirl of stars in our galaxy, the very stuff of life.

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.