Musical Mother's Musings

It's Going to be Okay

For Christmas this year, my son (the only one in the house with any money!) went all out, and bought a Willow Tree figurine for each of us.  The one you see here is the precious gift I received.  Precious, because he gave it out of his heart, and also precious, because of what it stands for.  

You see, part of our package of challenges is a tumult of emotions.  When my son is fighting a food allergen, the emotional upset is tremendous--feeling worthless, desperate, anxious, panicky, out of control, and angry, all bundled up together.  It's hard to watch a nine-year-old fighting all that.  

When it's combined with the natural issues of young boy-hood, and amplified through the lens of ADHD, things get pretty ugly sometimes.  

Of course, because practice is so big a part of our lives, and something that takes self-discipline (almost impossible to tap into when the above-mentioned forces are at play), practice becomes the staging ground for trouble.

Easy answer? Drop the instruments.  Of course.  If the practice is the issue, than nix it!  But that logic is faulty for a couple of reasons: 1) because the practice really isn't the issue--it's only the place where the issues come to the front, and 2) because taking the music from my boy would be akin to taking the football from Tim Tebow.  Every child needs music--mine lives and breathes it.  [and 3) these practice sessions give us valuable practice at working through negative emotions, rather than caving in to them. VERY important.]

This is a topic we've struggled with for years, literally.  But there is a new (?) tool that has been helping all of us--"It's going to be okay."  Really, when you're panicking about anything, what is it you want most to know?  That this isn't the end of the world.  That beyond this, life will get back to "normal", that it's going to even out, settle down, resolve at some point.  This desperation will not be perpetual--there is another "shore" to the river you're struggling through.

That's why I love the figurine.  It depicts a little boy, wanting desperately the reassurance of his mother, yet partly turned away, and hands-in-pockets, trying to maintain that sense of self he is working so hard to develop.  It's a little boy on the brink between independence and reliance, needing Mommy, yet beginning to handle life's problems on his own.

It illustrates so beautifully the role a mother has in a growing child's life.  It's going to be okay, son.  You're growing up.  Life is throwing you more challenges.  It's asking more of you.  And right now, you feel entirely inadequate.  But it's going to be okay.  We'll get through this together, not as the mommy-carrying-baby, where she's doing it all, but as two individuals helping each other.

This practice stuff?  We're practicing music, yes, learning the skills on the instrument.  But much more, we're practicing heart-tools: self-discipline, courage, facing fears, stick-to-it-iveness, embracing challenges--all those internal skills you'll need in the real world.  We're practicing independence and dependence, self-awareness and other-awareness, self-critique and how to receive other-critique.  We're practicing getting through tough spots and celebrating victories.  We're rehearsing getting through the difficulties to find the joys beyond.

Yes, my son, it's going to be alright.  You're going to get through this.  Hang on.  Don't give up.  Don't quit, whatever you do.  Because, on the other side, it'll all be worth it.

And, son?  I love you.

The River of Life

Life has been swirling around me like flood waters around the roots of a river-side tree.  And, like the tree, I have been in danger of capitulating to its power.  But, by the grace of the Giver, I'm still here, and well-watered!

Today, we begin a new year.  Oh yes, it's August, not January, but life is often counted by school year than calendar year.  We won't begin "formal home-schooling" until later on, but today we begin our journey from summer into fall, from un-structured to structured days, from chaos to organized chaos.

The summer has been so full, the ebb and flow of busy and still, crazy and sedate.  We've traveled (over 4,000 miles), visited friends and family all across the U.S., organized or participated in 3 music festivals (Chamber Music Weekend, At First Sight, and Rocky Mountain CelloFest), explored 3 national parks (Ozark Scenic River, Buffalo National River, George Washington Carver National Monument), baked in over-100º weather, been doused with torrential rains, seen tornado damage one should never have to see, hoped through multiple job opportunities (none of which became anything), and so much more.

Now we're home, and for three blessed weeks we have virtually no appointments.  (Sure as anything, that will change, but for now, it looks blissful.)  At the end of the three weeks, we begin school.

Three weeks.  In that space of time, there's so much to do!  We have clutter to evict, plans to form, last-summer activities to squeeze in.  We have friendships to renew, schedules to set, reward charts and lesson plans to lay before school begins.  And we have the opportunity to solidify practice habits and routines before throwing "book-learning" in the mix.  

I'm grateful for this window.  It allows us to focus on the "big rocks" before we add in the daily grind.  And for our family, the big rocks definitely include practice.  Nathan is continuing three instruments (I can't convince him to give one up!), so each needs a daily dosage.  And I'm adding mine to the mix as well.  Plus, we're looking at exercise, sleep, regular meals and chores, all before adding more pressures.

Practice.  You'll hear a lot about it.  For those of you who honored me with your e-presence last year, year, you followed our saga through ups and downs, crazy problems, and equally crazy  solutions.  Nathan's a year older (a year more mature). Okay, I'm a year older, and trying hard to be a year more mature!  Actually, I learned a lot last year about myself, and about how my son thinks.  

I'm learning a lot, and I'm grateful you've joined me on my journey.  I try, each time, to give you a bit of advice or a good idea to hang onto, to turn in your hand and investigate, to try with your dear child.  It's free advice--worth what you pay for it!  But it is given from the heart.

So, here, in the final paragraph or two, is my advice for this first blog of the new edition:

        Love

Season everything with love.  Speak with love, wait with love, practice with love, discipline with love, sit and read with love.  

Yesterday and today both, I've had plenty of opportunity to exercise this advice.  When a child goes from chaos to organization, it isn't always easy.  But, thanks to Divine strength, we've made it through two potentially volatile practice sessions without me losing my composure.  And the secret has been to listen, step back, and allow love to take its course.  Firm love, yes, that says "we have no room for disrespect  in our home," or "you may come out of your room when you're ready to be civil."  But not demanding, ordering, insisting, controlling--instead, space and love.

As life swirls around you, let love be your craft.  Let it buoy you up and sustain your heart, no matter how turbulent the waters become.  

Bon voyage!

The Human Reward

While we're busy counting the human cost of making music happen, whether in a large format (as with directing Chamber Music Weekend and At First Sight), or on a smaller, day-to-day scale, helping our children with their daily practice and lessons, or even the effort it takes to go to a concert, or to schedule a jam session with friends, perhaps we should flip the coin over and count the human reward.

We make music because:

1) it's beautiful

2) it's a language that enables us to express things verbal language can't

3) it helps bring emotional depth and content to our awareness

4) it (or the development of musical skill) helps foster discipline and analytical skills

5) it reveals something to us of things above and greater than ourselves, specifically of our Creator

6) in the light of number 5, music encourages in us the creative spark which we share in small part with the great creative power of God

7) it is most enjoyable when shared with others, thereby fostering connections with our fellow man.

I've listed only seven, and those very simply put.  There are reams and heaps of research into the benefits of making music, the reasons we humans do, the power that music holds over us.  (Here's just one example, an interview/seminar about "Why Do We Make Music and Art?".)

The whole field of music and the brain is awash with fascinating, awe-inspiring information about the power of music in our lives, in our brains, in our every-day business.  

Who wouldn't want their child to be able to converse in this mystic, powerful language?  Who wouldn't want to indulge themselves in the sensitivities that music inspires?  

While there is a human cost to making music possible, the rewards are endless! 

What's the trouble here? (or "microscope practice")

Ever met one of those spots?  You know, the ones that are always trouble, no matter what you do?  The ones that reach out and trip up your child every time he plays it?  Such ill-behaved portions of music can be a real downer for practice.  The child doesn't want to drill them, because he can't see progress, or can't figure out how to fix it.  You dread the spot because it seems like "same song, 49th verse" every time it comes along.  Let's see if we can tame some of those unruly bullies.

With each spot, ask yourself and your child, "what's the trouble here?" Be specific about the answer.  Is it bowings? Fingerings? Counting, tempo, rhythm? Dynamics? Some large leap with the hand or shift? What exactly is keeping this from being easy?  If you can't tell, play the passage slowly, looking each time through at a specific area to see if that's the trouble.  If there is more than one answer, try to isolate the ringleader--the worst of the crowd.  Pick one. Only one.  Then challenge that one to a duel!

In our home, we call it "microscope practice." We isolate the problem as though it were under a microscope.  Now, not much can fit under the lens of a microscope, so it has to be a pretty small section we're looking at.

For example, if there's a passage with a scary shift in it, we begin by isolating the shift itself and drilling it till it's easy.  Just the shift.  The note before and the note of, and perhaps the note after.  That's it.  All.  We give it about 15-20 times before we open up the microscope lens to take in a few notes on either side of the shift.  Another 15-20 times, tops, and we open the lens a little farther to look at a larger snippet of the section, perhaps a measure on each side of the shift. We've now spent probably no more than 5 or  6 minutes actually playing the "bully". 

Then, finally, we plunk it into the phrase and see if it behaves better.  If not, we go back to the smallest view, and repeat the process. Then, we leave it.  Yup.  Leave it.  Go on to another little window.  Better to come back to it tomorrow than to lose forward momentum.

Sometimes the challenge to isolating the "bullies" is keeping your child focused on them. Here's an idea that takes just a few minutes of pre-practice preparation, but can save so much wasted practice time. Photocopy the piece your child is working on.  Then cut out the trouble spots and glue/tape them onto individual cards.  Instead of pulling out the book, put the cards on the music rack and work only from them.  That way the distraction of all the "fun", easy parts is significantly reduced.  Plus, it's a more "graspable" job for the child--"when we have played each of these cards, we can be done." 

One can practice an entire piece successfully by only focusing on the "microscope" spots every day for a week. Try it.  Then, on the last practice day of the week, put all the little pieces together, add in the easy stuff, and play the whole piece.  Be sure and praise the "bully spots" that mended their ways and became "cooperative".