Discovering that my love is not great...

This morning, we got up too early to join our homeschool group in the glass lobby of the Lila Cockrell Theater.

We were there to sit audience for the dress rehearsal of the Nutcracker ballet. The opening scene isn't part of the deal, but we only pay $5 for a ticket--so there are no complaints. The girls were decked out in their prettiest Christmas-colored garb and happy enough to sit around for a half hour waiting to be seated because they were waiting with fun, new friends.

After the production, we walked down the block and ate lunch at Shilo's Delicatessen. It's closed eight out of ten times that we try to stop in--usually evenings and Sundays--but they were open today! I was pleasantly surprised at my vegetarian croissant sandwich, but the little girls didn't care much for their potato pancakes and applesauce.

As we ate, our attention was turned to three young servicemen in camouflage studying the menu outside our booth window. They debated among themselves for a long while before coming in for a round of lunch specials and water. Twenty minutes later our hearts were warmed to see them file past the register without stopping to pay because another patron had picked up their tab anonymously.

As we left, Cuddlebug meekly inquired about a boat ride on the Riverwalk. A mild day, nowhere we have to be, a resident discount, no lines and three sweet smiles quietly awaiting my answer. It was the perfect storm. This is their victory procession to the ticket stand where I will have to borrow $15 cash money from my 8-year old because they're not taking debit today.

I do not know why my 8-year old is carrying around $15 cash money. We keep emptying that wallet into safer places, and it keeps filling up with money--like the widow and her oil. I blame the grandmas.

Back on street level, we ducked into St. Joseph's Downtown Church. It was beautifully adorned with tapestries, paintings and stained glass as was the way to share the Gospel with worshippers before publishing and literacy were commonplace. The beautiful sanctuary was also riddled with at least a dozen life-sized statues, and Fifi's demeanor gave me concern.

I worried that she might be sick or faint dead away before we left.

We reverently walked the perimeter of the room, not daring to sit in a pew, and came upon a man unpacking his bedroll and backpack on a bench. As he wriggled his left arm out of its strap, I took note that his shirt was ripped the length of his torso. Clearly, this place was more his home than mine, and so I said nothing and continued on my way to the exit.

We passed the "poor boxes," and swiped a tourist information sheet on the way out.

Thinking back, I don't know why it didn't occur to me in the moment to give the girls some bills or coins to slide into those boxes. They kept asking about the boxes. They whispered about the boxes. They noticed every one of the boxes.

"Mommy, why does that say "poor box?"

"Mommy, how do you put money in there without a key for the lock?"

Once at the back of the sanctuary, another homeless man held the door for us. I greeted him with a smile and a "good afternoon," but we must have been too close, still, to the sacred place because he did not respond.

Back on the curb again, Fifi strung together her impressions the best she could. It sounded something like, "Mommy, people like that would never think to come into any of our churches."

It is sad and she is right. Our churches are all locked. There is no steeple. There are no people. We are grieved and talk through our feelings. Inaccessibility in the protestant church is a hard truth to swallow. Especially when it's coupled with childish indignation at the idea of taxes going toward government-sponsored social programs. My question then becomes, "O.k. then, Christian--what are you doing about it?"

And on our way home, we exited the freeway near our suburban neighborhood, and I met a man who busted my heart wide open...

to be continued

A Music Education

When you give a child a music education, you give her a chance to train in the noble discipline of hard work, diligence, and perseverance for a skill that will bless her and others for a lifetime.

Musicianship doesn't happen quickly. It happens one small bite at a time. Over the course of months and years, a child will be helped to shun the culture's craving for immediacy, and instead will revel in the pleasure of hard-fought gains.

A music education that begins to bloom into song gives a child something beautiful to share with others--even as they, together, share it with others in Jesus' name.

A music education that is watered and fed with encouragement and accountability will grow to afford a special kind of friendship--lovely fellowship encircled by the twirling strains of harmony.

But a music education isn't always laborious and profound; sometimes it provides sisters an outlet for play and imagination.

A child that has first been given a music education, and has then pursued it to make it her own has won herself a friend--a friend that is always ready to soothe a sorrowful soul, to aid her in praising her LORD, and to serve as a faithful distraction from every kind of temptation.

And such a wonderful friend it is with which to share an exciting moment--the arrival of a songbook she bought for herself...

...a newly discovered favorite genre of music...

Her music education gives her the voice to get inside the music; to be a part of the music; to make music herself--which is infinitely more exhilarating than only listening to it.

This is the face of finding joy on many levels.

If I Were Stranded on a Desert Island....

Gute Nacht, o Wesen, Good night, existence
Das die Welt erlesen, Chosen by the world,
Mir gefällst du nicht. You do not please me.
Gute Nacht, ihr Sünden, Good night, you sins,
Bleibet weit dahinten, Stay far behind me.
Kommt nicht mehr ans Licht! Come no more to the light
Gute Nacht, du Stolz und Pracht! Good night, Pride and Splendor.
Dir sei ganz, du Lasterleben, Once and for all, sinful existence.
Gute Nacht gegeben. I bid you good night.

Alexander Lischke, Matthias Schloderer, Robin Schlotz, Tölzer Knabenchor

Fifi's Spring Recital: La Cinquantaine

Reverent Beauty

I just caught the tail-end of the PBS program, Classical Destinations. Today, they were in Leipzig, Germany talking about Bach and other Great Masters that come from there. Bach is first up in my music player tonight.

As I watch and listen, my heart swells with emotion for the incredible beauty that has been born in that spot in the form of music. Such reverent music. It stops me where I am and holds my breath.

As I watch the tour, I think I might like to go there someday, more than anywhere else on Earth.

And...I think I had better not go there, because if I do, I may not return.

An Exception

I'm sure I've made it uncomfortably clear what I think about the reality shows pervading our culture today. Disgusting.

*gasp* Did I think that out loud?

Anyway, to every opinion there is an exception. And tonight, as I searched around for how to assemble a soft-cloth pencil/sketch pad cover, I stumbled upon a link for this short video clip while on a rabbit trail.

And it cost me a tissue. It really did.

Because sometimes you only think the door to your dreams has closed tight.

*sniffle, sniffle*

Oh yes...does anyone know where that lady's blog is who makes and sells those cloth-covered sketch pad cases? I thought I bookmarked her but I can't find her on either computer and I've been doing Google searches all afternoon and I'm really discouraged and can't believe that it's so hard to find...

*whimper*

Weekly Roundup: A Week of Plan Bs

Saturday we revisited our new favorite breakfast bistro. The syrup is a little sticky, but the food is light and delicious and doesn't leave me feeling like I ought to lay down for the rest of the day.

Plus it's a pretty place; all the walls are painted in a salmon color. And it's clean. Clean ranks very high with me. While we were there, the little ones wanted their turn with the camera.

What are you doing, Dumpling? Don't take it like that...

There you go! Oh...well...um...try again....

Perfect catch, sweetie!

"Is it my turn, yet?" *whimper*

No, not yet. But I love you.

After breakfast, the day's main event: taking Dumpling to the music store downtown and introducing her to some instruments that she doesn't yet know. She's learned all her notes on the treble and base clefs, and as soon as she can say them a little faster, we'll start her on an instrument of her prayerful choice. We told her to pray about it because, at 7, she doesn't know what she'll enjoy 10 years from now--or what she might be gifted at--but the Lord does!

We've kind of pushed counted on assumed she had her sights set on the cello, but one day she said, "I don't know--what else is there?"

So, we spent a little time at Alamo Music. And that is where I remembered that I played the snare drum in a 6th grade Christmas concert once upon a time. My friend, Patti, and I were such a novelty to the band teacher that she really pushed us gave us a lot of attention.

So we promptly quit.

It's just like riding a bike....which I probably don't do well anymore if it's not bolted to the floor. But let's pretend.
Oh! And Husband too! He used to play. I think he holds the sticks weird, but he says that I'm wrong and that he did play longer than me, so I say, "touche"...but snap this picture anyway.

Hey...um...Dumpling--you're crowding my solo.

But there's more to percussion than just the drums! She's off to try the glockenspiel. If she chooses this, I'm going to have myself a hissy fit because last year in my de-cluttering zeal, I gave away a $20 garage sale set sans the stand. The music man behind the counter tells me they run about $500. And it makes me want to cry.

Pick something else! Pick something else!

Wait. What are you doing?

A trumpet! Are you kidding me, man?! Are you trying to kill me?

Oh, it's a coronet? Well, then that makes it all better, doesn't it?

(Actually, she looks kind of adorable, doesn't she?)

Now then, that's nice. A clarinet. You know, Dumpling, your Aunt M played the clarinet for about 10 minutes. I blinked and missed it, but I heard she was pretty good.

And finally, a flute...

Sunday night Dumpling fell ill and that cost us all the next couple of days. So...the week starts out as a Plan B. But as it turns out, I don't think she was contagious. I have my reasons. And while the story would make the funniest. post. ever. I will choose dignity and propriety over blog fodder.

Sorry.

When we finally got back on routine, there was the everyday learning...

Math and manipulating all manner of fractions. Skip counting and place value. Divvying up cookies and telling time.

Grammar showed us transitive and intransitive verbs and the early stages of diagramming sentences. Copy work that teaches and reinforces spelling and punctuation. And delightfully strange new words are popping up in everyday conversation: the cat gave her an imperious look and once she had to extricate him from her knitting yarns.

We finished Children of Summer and know more about dung beetles than anyone in double digits wants to know. Of course, for those among us in single digits, the stories were gleefully gross!

History has us moving through the ancients. This week we arrived at the Egyptians, the Minoans and river civilizations in general. If I was concerned that our second time around would prove less than inspirational for Fifi--I needn't have worried. She cannot. stop. telling me about Queen Hatshepsut--Hattie, for short--and what they found in her temple grave, and how grand the ancient structures, and something about mummified crocodiles that were burned to ash before one was broken open to reveal random bits of Egyptian scrap paper with heiroglyphics.

Unless, of course, she's talking about the Titanic.

Hey! There's no reading at the table!

Of course, for my "puppies," everything represents a chance to play and learn...but mostly play.

I must be reminded annually, at least, that the less I rely on the pressing time structure of my curricula, the more learning weaves its way into the fabric of our days. Those are the best days.

The a/c failed on Wednesday night, just in time for record highs on Thursday. But by the Lord's mercy, it was fixed fairly cheap on Thursday, just in time for the first dry cold front of the year to hit our town on Friday! Ha ha ha ha...ha...ahem.

Finally, on Friday night we tried to take the girls to see a horse trainer who uses his beasts of burden to illustrate biblical principles. But once we hit the road, it was like the end times...traffic backups for accidents every few hundred feet it seemed. Before long, it was clear we would have to formulate another Plan B.

And that wasn't too terribly hard because Freddy's Frozen Custard has just opened a store nearby.
There were seats to twirl atop...

And of course--there was custard. Good to the last drop.

Quote of the Week:

This week, Cuddlebug wins the honor for stopping down devotions after Husband happened upon the story of Stephen's stoning in our 365-day Bible for Kids. "Noooooo, he wasn't stoned...he was just pebbled!"

Honorable Mention:

Husband, when Fifi appealed to him that Patience, our howling, yowling, barking beagle, would surely die if we drove her up to a ranch and left her there, said, "Well, she might at first--but then she'd get over it."

Ugh. That dog. Good thing the cat really likes her.

Encore! Encore!

We interrupt this blog for a little more of Mommy's musical moments. Again, it's Fifi--because the other two are slurping fruit pops at the kitchen table, trying to keep the sticky stuff out of their freshly washed hair.

Go figure...they would rather be doing that than playing for me. And you.

But Fifi is generous this way. Because we make her.

Suzuki Book 2, A Short Story

And God Got Bigger!

The school year is well underway and I must say we're having a great time! This year we've put the science curriculum more toward the top of the list because the poor thing has been so neglected for so long. There had always been something else more pressing to accomplish, like orchestra or dance--or how to host a tea party.

But to my great delight, I claim no regrets! Fifi is now of an age where the subject matter is being met and matched by her great curiosity and enthusiasm and it makes for some really fun discussions. Now, it only took us 2 years to move through the opening lessons on the galaxy and weather, but now we're moving toward plant and animal life in this overview course and I don't see any more stalls in the future.

This week, in studying the speed of light, sound and wind, God became exponentially bigger in our finite little minds with every new understanding. This is where it becomes a little humbling that my educational years need such a measure of restoration.

Who knew that the speed of light travels the globe 7 1/3 times every second?!

Not me.

Who knew that, with the afore mentioned in mind, the sun's light takes just more than 8 minutes to travel to our planet?! That's more than 480 seconds at--again--7+ times around the globe per second. 3460 revolutions around the earth! And then some. Wow!

And who has spent time lately pondering the fact that the light from the next nearest star would take 5 years to reach us? 5 years?! That's really far; and that's just what we can see!

I'm using a lot of exclamation points, I know. But, wow! How can I not?

We also talked about measuring thunder and lighting, and came to realize for the first time that the two elements are actually one event; only the evidence of the lightning is traveling faster than the evidence of the crash and roar of the thunder.

Yes, indeed, that just...donned on me...today. Because I'm a genius that way.

And when we were through, and the text pointed us to the section of Proverb 139 in which David ponders that there is no escape from God, how moved was I to listen to Fifi interject about how that reminded her of the end of her latest read, Twenty-Thousand Leagues Under the Sea because the main character cries out to God at the end, acknowledging that even at those depths, he is not hidden from Him.

I want to read that book. She says it was pretty exciting.

All this intersected nicely with our opening lesson of this year's study of the Creation, Ancients and to the Resurrection in The Mystery of History. I like that history a lot for it's very detailed instructions about how to mark the lessons with hands-on activities; I need that direction because I am about as creative as a bookcase.

Meanwhile, the littler girls continue with their reading lessons and piano practice. Math is an easy sell because they don't get to play with the MathUSee blocks unless they first, cheerfully, attend to their lesson.

Thankfully, each is very excited about the McGuffey's Readers, Primer and First, that I checked from the library this month. They're so cute! They are just the right size for little hands, the drawings are darling and the story texts are sweet narratives that often promote kindness and virtue. I may have to look for a set of my own because, by comparison, what I've used until now is very big and bulky, hard to handle, and kind of nonsensical with stories of driving cows and talking dogs. It's got the job done, but nobody is anxious to do it--least of all me.

And to top off a lovely week, Fifi gave me this. And I bawled like a little baby. Because it's what I do.

Oops, I Think I Must Have Had a Stroke

Because that's all I can figure as I think about my sudden and complete inability to sing back a random pitch, much less a series of them for my audition tonight. This has not been a problem for me in the past, and as recently as a couple of weeks ago--but tonight I. just. froze. Solid.

And then the real fun began with the sight reading. It really wasn't that difficult, and I had been practicing with my little sight-singing series books, but again--frozen. Solid.

Pick a pitch...any pitch! I figured I'd have a 1 in 12 chance of being right.

After that, I don't think it mattered what my solo sounded like. I could have been Rene Fleming, but if Rene can't read the music and sing back a measure, what good is she?

So...no...I wasn't invited to stay tonight. Maybe I'll give it another try next year. Or maybe I'll just stay home and poke sharp sticks in my eye.

At least now I'm free to devote Tuesday nights to blogging.

Crunch Time

As in salt.

Salt water gargling, that is. But actually, I let the nitty-gritties dissolve in the warm water first.

*blech*

I'm suffering for my art here as I have a last-ditch audition with a pretty prominent choir in my city tomorrow evening. My voice teacher has done wonders in bringing out my tone, true vibrato, and overall strength. Oh, yes! And confidence! She's very encouraging.

But when my head hit the pillow Saturday night, I felt a strange tickle in my throat and knew that Dumpling had shared what had kept her in complaint mode for most of the latter part of the week. And I've been mostly laying around ever since, trying to direct all my body's energy to the healing of my upper respiratory tract.

So, I'm praying for the Lord's perfect will tonight: that He would either heal me so that I can do my best, or make it worse so I just can't do it at all.

Wish me luck Pray for me if you think of it?

Auf Wiedersehen, Herr Bach

I just quit the choir.

It was one of the saddest decisions I've ever made.

There are many reasons why I needed to leave after two seasons, but the clincher was change. Change that was squeezing me out. The other, better reasons, I had long just tried to live with.

But the silver lining is this: I realize that for someone who thinks they have a problem living in the moment, I sure have enjoyed the every moment I spent vocally swirling and twirling inside the most profound music ever written on this side of heaven: the music of the Baroque and Renaissance.

Will I join up with another choir? Perhaps a friend's ensemble that only sings during the Christmas season? Or--dare I dream--the large choir that will visit Carnegie Hall in May?

I don't know yet. Who will have me? What kind of time commitment am I willing make?

These are not questions that a homeschool mom can answer hastily.

So for now, I'll have to learn to be content to strap on my headphones and live in the past with Bach, Buxtehude, Rameau, Purcell...

Let Them Eat Steak!

That dinner was so good that I don't even know where to start. It was so beautiful that I'm tagging this post as, "arts."

Husband works a straight commission job. There is a lot of potential in such a lifestyle--potential to be eating ketchup on crackers and...potential for a reward perk after an impressive quarter. Earlier this year the latter was visited on Husband in the form of a certificate to Ruth Chris Steakhouse.

I always meet a night like this with a little trepidation. What to wear? Oh, how I wish I had time for a manicure. Should I wear my open-toed sandals? But wait...my toes are au natural, and I remember that Big Mama once said that that was bad, bad, bad.

And then there is this big fun...

Both of us go somewhere? Together? Without the children...alone? In a car? One car? Maybe we should take separate cars in weather like this. You know. Just in case.

These are the thoughts that I am tempted to think, because fear is the fiery dart torch that the adversary tries to shoot my way most often.

But by the grace of God, I hold up my shield and live!

And I was livin' large tonight! Delicious fun!

The room was so lovely I thought I could sit in it forever.

The table so clean and bright that I hated to eat upon it.

The glasses sparkled so that I didn't even ask for a straw! In fact, I'm pretty sure they were brand spanking new, and that the wait staff was just breaking them like festive Greeks in the back.

The waitress was so courteous I thought I'd like to fall all over myself telling her how much I appreciated her.

And then came the food. *sigh*

When your Husband's employer is footing the bill, you spring for the appetizers. Sauteed mushroom caps stuffed with crab meat. I. am. so. spoiled.

The salad came next--shredded like coleslaw so that every bite was the same even mixture of many different greens, and presented just out of a 4-inch-diameter, cylinder mold with *what were those?* decorative fried something strips atop the course. Wow-weee! I whispered to Husband that, "Someone in the kitchen doesn't have enough to do."

The potatoes au gratin was enough to share, and yummy for sure, but let me tell you that when Patti, our server, brought my 8 ounces of filet, cooked medium, on a 500 degree hot plate, I'm just sure I heard the sizzling butter squeal with delight.

Or was that me?

A good steak can make you talk to it and say things like, "I've been looking for you for so long. Where have you been all my life?"

And a good steak can make a slightly frumpy homeschool mom ...*shhhhh*... forget she has children. Not for too long, mind you--just long enough to savor a wonderful meal amidst good manners, clean dishes and quiet surroundings, staring at the handsomest man I know.

Oh, and then there was the cheesecake. With blueberry sauce. On a pecan crust.

When the waitress asked if there was anything else she could do for us, I asked for a "do-over." Yes, I really did.

Singing In The Slough Of Despond...And Coming Up For Air

Two summers ago, I stumbled upon a website for one of the many community choirs in my city, got a hankerin' to sing again and called for an audition. I hate auditions. Always have. It's all so personal subjective. And of course, any choir that's worth its weight is going to ask you to sight read some music -- they don't need any slackers weighing them down.

Did I mention that I am the world's worst sight reader?

So...two summers ago I swallowed my fear of rejection pride and set up a couple of auditions. The first was for a big group with a limited number of openings. When I sight read for this director, I sensed he felt compelled to lunge for the phone and dial 911, seeing that I was having hallucinations and all. He said he would call after the open auditions at the end of that month, which I decided meant, "If I can't find any better talent before the season starts, I guess I'll have to call you."

But before he could officially reject me, I found another ensemble. It was smaller and quicker about welcoming newbies into the ranks. (Which meant I was not going to have to be rejected by the other choir, but could do the rejecting instead.) I was so relieved when this director only asked me to sing back a strange pattern of notes, which I did well enough after a compelling rendition of God Save The Queen My Country 'Tis Of Thee.

"Well, I think you would be a welcome addition to our group," said Mr. Director. He said I had "chops," and assigned me to the altos.

*scoff* Being the kind of person who wouldn't belong to a choir that would have me, the respect level dropped by about 1/3 right off the bat.

But then, I met the music. And the texts. And I was in love.

See, 19 years earlier, I had been a rebel teen who thought that the only worthy expression of my musical talent and appreciation was fame and fortune, and being wholly convinced that the best way to do that was to network with those who could make it happen -- I got into radio.

And so I didn't go to college.

I didn't even explore the possibility. I didn't want to. I didn't care.

And I didn't know what I was missing.

All that to say that my first few rehearsals with this choir opened my eyes and ears to thoughts and theory and theology of sound that I had no idea existed. Yes -- theology of sound! Maybe I'm the last music lover on the planet to know that the Baroque-era composers were using tempo, dissonance and the note placement on the staff to convey everything from the sign of the cross to the confusion of hell and judgment. They were not writing toward the "hook" that would help their little ditty climb the R&R charts.

And the texts...glory to God! Read the text from a couple of the 7 versus we sang this weekend:

Christ lag in Todesbanden,
composed by Bach, text by Martin Luther (pictured above, left)

Christ lag en todesbanden Christ lay in death's bonds
Für unsre Sünd gegeben, handed over for our sins.
Er ist wieder erstanden He is risen again
Und hat uns bracht das Leben; and has brought us life
Des wir sollen fröhlich sein, For this we should be joyful,
Gott loben und ihm dankbar sein praise God and be thankful to him
Und singen halleluja, and sing allelluia,
Halleluja! Alleluia!

Es war ein wunderlicher Krieg, It was a strange battle
Da Tod und Leben rungen, where death and life struggled.
Das Leben behielt den Sieg, Life won the victory,
Es hat den Tod verschlungen. It has swallowed up death
Die Schrift hat verkündigt das, Scripture has proclaimed
Wie ein Tod den andern fraß, how one death ate the other,
Ein Spott aus dem Tod ist worden. death has become a mockery.
Halleluja! Alleluia!

English Translation by Francis Browne (January 2005)

And I've learned so much more than that in my two years with this group. Like...

Did you know that there are two ways to produce vocal vibrato? Naturally and correctly, from the diaphragm, or manufactured and wrong, bad, wrong from the tongue, throat and jaw. After all these years, I discovered that I don't have the right one. *sniffle* And it was hard to part with. I liked my little, frilly vibrato -- but to continue to use my voice that way would probably ruin it by causing a premature loss of elasticity of my vocal chords. That's why older women have such a wide and warbley quality to their voice.

So my friend -- and now, vocal coach -- Katherine is helping me to find my true vibrato. I was sure that it would be a futile exercise; I thought Fifi may as well try to teach me to wiggle my ears. But the good news is that it has peaked out here and there -- ever so small and slight right now -- but Katherine assures me that it will come.

So, one can see that two years in this choir has been a very good thing. A very good thing indeed. I have been blessed beyond measure. Good music, good technique, a good friend. And last but not least, a ready-made mission field of unrepentant sinners singing the Gospel!

But the honeymoon is over. People are becoming rather comfortable. True colors are showing through. Man's depravity is evident. And equally so is the roaring lion.

The fields may be ripe for harvest, but the crop is growing out of a slough that smells like an open sewer line, and I am praying about what -- if anything -- to do about it. Should I quit? Should I persevere? This "light and salt, reflecting Christ" business can be some dirty work. I'm learning that you can't brush shoulders with the world without getting a little of its filth on your shirt sleeve. But I'm trusting that it brushes off easy enough.

But mostly, I'm reminded that I can do nothing in my own strength. By myself, I can't perceive for whom to pray. By myself, I can't muster the right motivation. By myself, I can't rise above the temptation to tiptoe into the sludge that is the profane conversation going on around me. And by myself, I can't withstand the insults and wicked word pictures that are hurled at me by them whose mouths are as open tombs, even if they think they mean no harm.

But two things I have not forgotten: I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me, and God is faithful and He will teach me which way to go. I will delight in Him and He will implant in me the desires He wants me to have.

Even if it means I must give up my music.

Even if it means I must stay right where I am.

Master Class With Nadja Salerno-Sonnenberg

We attended our first-ever violin Master Class this evening. World-renown Nadja Salerno-Sonnenberg is in town to perform with the Symphony, and we were front and center to watch her instruct and de-construct 3 young, impressive talents from our city. Maybe someday Fifi will get her chance!

We've seen Ms. S-S perform once before -- a few years ago she gave the season's opening recital for the Tuesday Music Club here in San Antonio. Now, I don't have to like every piece of music she presents to appreciate her passion and artistry. I don't have to appreciate her irreverent language to admire her for her willingness to mentor younger talents. I don't have to play the violin to learn from her skillful instruction. And I don't have to call her Sister to heartily thank the Lord for her great talent.

Her master class was fascinating. She heard 3 students of different ages, different backgrounds and -- to some degree -- differing levels of ability. She had great suggestions for the musicians and accomplished a lot of improvement in the short 20 minutes she had with each.

Two of the musicians took her advice and were clearly engaged with one of the best violinists alive today. For those, the memorable experience will only become more treasured as their years of study help them to truly appreciate the opportunity made available to them today.

To be learned:

1. Explore your range of dynamics.
2. Use dynamics to make a piece more interesting.
3. There are three methods of vibrato.
4. One method should not be used universally for the music of all composers.
5. Most students have a musical intuition.
6. Most students are quashing what little musical intuition they have.
7. World class musicians listen to opera and note the drama.
8. Good musicians will teach themselves; be a detective.
9. When a Master makes a "suggestion" for change, do not treat it like a suggestion; take it, don't leave it. Leaving it makes you look arrogant and unteachable.

Cyber Step Back In Time

I just found my favorite website ever...so far. Someone has done a lot of work making a boat-load of 1950s & 1960s song and storytelling vinyl available to all of us.

If you don't know what I'm talking about when I say vinyl, slink away you youngster.

No, I'm kidding. You, especially, should check out the treasures on this site.

Dumpling's Dance Recital

Baptists beware.

There is dancing up ahead, and I don't want to cause anyone to stumble into judging something that is more like eating meat offered to idols than it is actual sin. I also don't want to be the cause of anyone going against their own conscience. So, if you don't think you can help yourself one way or the other, *warm smile* maybe y'all better just move along for the time being.

We dance. The girls and I like the joyful expression of Davidic dance and employ it in our morning devotion time often. I realize that some may be offended by the very idea but my thinking is that people -- and especially children -- are going to move their bodies to music -- even the hymns. I've watched it happen. To stifle it is not to train up a child in the way she should go; it is to exasperate her. So, 'round here, we're teaching the girls to associate dance with modest movement and a heart of praise toward the Lord.

Psalm 150:3-5 says (emphasis mine)...

Praise him with trumpet sound;
praise him with lute and harp!
Praise him with tambourine and dance;
praise him with strings and pipe!
Praise him with sounding cymbals;
praise him with loud clashing cymbals!

We're not going to throw the baby out with the bath water just because the World has taken such a beautiful thing and made it a lewd and lascivious exercise in all that is an abomination.

Oh! *Ahem* Excuse me; there I go again.

These are the costumes that Fifi and I designed and sewed; it was hard, long, messy work...but such a blessing to have something to offer. And the girls all did so well. They practiced all semester to bring honor to God in this way. It was a delightful evening complete with refreshments afterward. Praise the Lord! The Lord is good.

Flying Fingers: Handel's Presto

Praise the LORD with the harp;
make music to him on the ten-stringed lyre.

Sing to him a new song; play skillfully, and shout for joy.

Psalm 33:2-3

Converging

I try not to be one of those hyper-scheduled mothers. I do. You know the ones; they're too busy to call, too busy to drop a line, too busy to help, too busy to be available, too busy, too busy, too busy!

But somehow between my own Baroque ensemble and the Board on which I serve, Fifi's demanding orchestral schedule and now my commitment to sew 9 little costumes for Dumpling's Davidic dance class and recital -- I've become one of those mothers -- but really only for a 2 week period; it seems that everything is converging and climaxing in this short space of time.

Last week we enjoyed a Seder dinner with new friends from the orchestra. What a blessing and a treasure it is to experience and learn about the Feasts, even if it does mean taking off my shoes for the Davidic dance before seeing my way clear for a pedicure. Oh, who am I kidding? I haven't had pretty, painted toes since Fifi was 5-weeks old. At least not that I recollect. And if I don't recollect it, it doesn't count.

It was also performance week for the girls' orchestra and choirs. Thursday night they performed at a local community center before a full house of family and friends. The orchestral program consisted of Via Dolorosa, Handel's Amen Chorus from Messiah and Handel's Presto -- and it all went well (if not a little too fast on Presto).

Dumpling sang with the intermediate choir even though she was desperately intimidated by the young lady who directed it and would have enjoyed her first musical experience much more if she could have been in the Kinder-music class with Cuddlebug. That class was delicious fun until they had to buckle down and get all serious about appearances and performances; they were adorable on stage though, singing Jesus Loves Me and The Best Thing In My Life I Ever Did Do.

The dessert reception was delightful, and we were a little stunned and humbled to find that a couple of families from church that we barely know yet, came just because we invited them! So kind; we are grateful.

Saturday night saw South Texas in a freak cold snap with rain and temps in the mid-30s. But the show must go on! Husband took Fifi to the performance at a lakeside campground and the show was even better the second time around. The younger class performances were canceled, so Dumpling, Cuddlebug and I stayed home.

*sigh* I should be sewing. I've 5 more little shirts to complete before lunch tomorrow.

I should have been practicing my new Bach and Buxtehude when I was sewing the first 4 little shirts and 9 circle skirts.

I never did get around to coloring eggs this season with the girls. Or making cookies. Or shopping for bonnets and gloves.

But we did do our indoor Resurrection Egg hunt and we read from His Word the Resurrection story to little girls with intense eyes and quiet hearts. Our favorite part was when Jesus said, "Mary," and she recognized His voice and suddenly *gasp* knew who it was with whom she had been speaking -- that it was not the gardener after all.

Isn't Jesus good? Never has the peace of such profound love -- albeit invisible -- so completely overwhelmed and enveloped me as does His love when I ponder all He did for me.

The Audition That Wasn't

When our family looks back at this season of our life, figuring prominently will be Fifi's acceptance into a local homeschool orchestra. After 6 years in private lessons, she finally has something besides the next lesson to practice toward, and it has made such a difference!

After her first rehearsal, it was not uncommon to hear her practicing for 2 or even 3 hours most days. I was awed by the untapped potential, skill and progress that her efforts yielded. I was praising God for her new sense of determination.

After her second rehearsal, we decided we had better amp up the search for a new teacher for Fifi! She'd been without for almost 2 months and was running into notes for which she was not familiar with the proper positioning. I was tempted to teach her myself, but considering she left me off back at Go Tell Aunt Rhody from Suzuki Book 1, I thought it best that I stay humble and leave this to the professionals.

I was thoroughly enjoying my exercise in living vicariously through her as she worked hard and succeeded in this very new experience. How wonderful!

After the third rehearsal, I convinced Fifi to let me help her work out some of the new music. Rhythms, notes, intonation, dynamics. We now had a date for chair auditions in the section, and thought, "Hey, she could really hold her own and do well here," and so she and I worked so very hard and accomplished so very much.

We really did.

We even left off history for the week, to spend that time doing what needed to get done. I promised Fifi that if she worked hard and went to that audition prepared, that it would curb her anxiety and I believed that the Lord would honor her efforts with a sense of accomplishment, regardless of the actual outcome.

I was just so excited by how hard she was working. And she was just so excited that the working hard was really working. Chair auditions were a short 4 days away, but Fifi was well on her way to having every single measure ready to roll. Bring it on!

And then I got sick.

And then she got sick.

And we knew we were going to miss a day or two of rehearsal time. And I began praying the Lord would multiply her time and effort in whatever time she would find left.

But the headache would not let go. It dug its claws in hard to the back of my sweet girl's head. And chills played hide-and-seek with us both, appearing only once we'd forgotten to look for them, and then they would chase us back to bed.

One day gone.

Two days gone.

Three.

And we simply couldn't make the rehearsal or the auditions.

There will not be any make-ups; Fifi will be seated at the back of her section this time. To be seated in last chair after you did your best is something to find peace about, but to be seated last chair because you don't get to do your best is a little harder to appreciate.

Fifi, though, says she's only slightly disappointed and is quick to add, "it's really o.k."

But she's a purposeful non-complainer, I think -- which is to say she actually cares a little more than slightly, but knows it's in God's timing and in His control, and she is choosing to react to that. She won't be driven by her emotions on this one. Just like Mommy taught her.

Too bad Mommy sometimes has trouble practicing what she preaches.

But God is faithful. I know He will comfort me in this disappointment. He will make me to rejoice for Fifi's hard work and even for her missed opportunity. The tank is still filling, but I've proved Him over and over in other difficult moments and am glad that I'll soon have another for which to sing of His goodness and love.

Sing. Sing?!

Ah! In all this, I nearly forgot I've got my own gig for which to prepare. This weekend I'm supposed to be singing the 3rd of 4 annual concerts with my local early music choir. I may have to let that one go too.