#159 He Endures Music He Dislikes

Weekend I’d Forget

Naturally, Weekend I'd Forget has found its way to Tuesday again.

I'm totally okay with this.

Not really, but I'll get over it.

This weekend was absolutely the best.  Before I get to my positively favorite part, I'll tell you what came in as second runner up: Pie tasting at Johnson's Farm.

Hubby and I went to their first annual pie tasting last year and we were not disappointed.  The $3 admission goes directly to Urban Promise of Camden to help provide meals to 600 individuals.  With that admission fee visitors get to taste every single pie that Johnson's Farm bakes on their premises--and trust me, it is more than just a few.

This year, we also had the treat of tasting meatballs and ziti from Roselli's Italian Market which is located just down the street from Johnson's.  Their sauce was divine, in fact, it was so delicious I literally could have slurped a cupful sans ziti or meat.

My favorite pie is still Johnson's sweet potato pie, though the apple lattice and cherry were tempting me to place them in first place.  Johnson's sweet potato pie has a lighter and more refreshing taste than the typical pumpkin pie--though I still wouldn't pass up a slice of their pumpkin if it was at my Thanksgiving dessert table.

Although the pie tasting was great fun, nothing could beat my Saturday afternoon spent in Hershey, PA listening to the rocking sensational tunes of Trans-Siberian Orchestra (TSO).  For a few years now I have been wanting to go to one of their concerts and finally Hubby made it happen, in spite of his personal preferences.

If you love Christmas and have never heard of TSO, please, do yourself a favor and immediately buy all their Christmas CDs. You will not be disappointed.

That is, unless you like frilly Christmas music that sounds like it belongs in the seventeenth century.  Don't get me wrong, I'm all about traditional Christmas music here and there, but sometimes an electric guitar screaming out Joy to the World is just the right touch to make Christmas come alive.

I was, of course, immediately inspired by their violinist who dramatically ran all over the stage playing his electric violin.  Although, I think for dramatic emphasis he allows his bow to become ridiculously broken of some of its hairs.  There is no way that the style or amount of notes he played would ever make so many hairs come loose from a bow.*

*Note: If you have no idea what I'm talking about--ignore my rant.

It was clear that the members of TSO are not merely musicians, but they are also entertainers.  They knew exactly how to involve the audience and get them hyped for each and every song they perform.

While there were five main performers (two electric guitars, one bass, one keyboardist, and the electric violin) there were also vocal soloists, backup singers, a small strings section, drummer, and another pianist.  I always wondered how one might become a part of the strings section (because, naturally life on the road at Christmastime is clearly one of the things I aspire towards---not!) and was interested to learn that they hire their strings section from the local symphony orchestra.  The group at our performance were part of the Pennsylvania Symphony Orchestra.

It was the perfect kick off to the start of the holiday season.  Don't hate me, but my Christmas tree has been up for a week now and my heart jumps a little in excitement when I drive by other homes with Christmas trees that sit beside windows shining proudly for all to see.

 

#119 He Doesn't Stop the Music

I love in November when some radio stations begin playing Christmas music all day long.  In my area, I have a choice of three which makes commercial breaks just fine with me.  As Christmas Day draws near, a few other stations join in with nonstop Christmas music and everything is right in the world.

The day after Christmas everything changes.  Finding a Christmas song on any radio station is like expecting to hear a Mozart piano sonata on a heavy rock station.

I can't wrap my head around why at the stroke of midnight on Christmas Day the plug is pulled on everything Christmas.  Suddenly, the pinks and reds of Valentine's Day stand in the forefront of supermarkets and department stories.  Radio stations go back to their regular routine, as if they had never played music filled with the hope and cheer of the season.  Employees of various entities who could only give the farewell greeting of "Happy Holidays" now suddenly can say, "Happy New Year".

In Miracle on 34th Street, Kris Kringle says, "Christmas isn't just a day, it's a frame of mind..."

Far too many people have a mechanical frame of mind towards Christmas.  Thanksgiving ends, Christmas decorations go up.  Gifts begin to be bought.  Cookies are baked on this day.  The tree is bought on this day.  Presents are wrapped on this day.  The tree comes down on this day.  Decorations are packed up and put away on this day.  Then, we'll all meet up at the same time, same place next year to do it all over.

Of course, some of the above rant is tradition.  I have nothing against tradition.  I love it.  My problem is when we lose sight of the meaning of Christmas by making it a meaningless part of the machine that is our everyday life.

When the music ends, it's like the world is saying, "We're done with that, now it's onto the next big thing,"

I know I'm a bit of a fanatic.  I get eye rolls when I say that I've been listening to Christmas music since September, a mixture of reactions when I put my first tree up towards the middle of November, and constant questioning towards the end of January from those wanting to know when I will finally take my decorations down.

I don't do it because I'm eager for Christmas Day.  I don't do it because I'm impatient and can't wait until Halloween and Thanksgiving are over.  I do it because the emotions and feelings that go into everything that is Christmas are ones I want to embrace for as long as possible.

The excitement and anticipation to give and receive.

The warmth and coziness of a glowing tree.

The contagious cheer that spreads like wildfire as the day approaches.

The childlike thrill of the first sparkling snowflake that falls from the sky.

The hustle and bustle of preparing the perfect gift or meal for loved ones.

The peaceful calm of knowing every family member is here to share one more Christmas.

The hope and joy of a Savior born to save us all.

So if you pass by my way and the buds of spring surround or the glow of a summer sun is in the sky, and you hear Christmas music--don't think me crazy.   Instead, know that I am longing for the feelings that only this time of year can bring and should not be too soon forgotten.

#90 He Says I'm His Favorite Violinist

Technical difficulties have lead me from having this post exactly the way I wanted it to then, nope no more.  So I'm going to try my best to recreate what once was.  If it doesn't feel authentic, that's why.

When I was in sixth grade I told my parents that I wanted to play the violin.

Perhaps it was boredom that sprung about the desire to want to tackle another instrument in addition to the piano which I had been studying for several years, or perhaps it was the fact that I have never been one for hobbies such as sports, dance, or any activity that required a lot of movement that could result in my being out of breath.

Today I'm still shocked that my mom said yes.  Not because she is an unmovable ogre who refused to let me pursue different hobbies, but because when asked why I wanted to play the violin my answer was: "Because it's pretty".

Looking back I suppose I'm lucky she didn't say, "The moon is pretty too, would you like to go there?"

But the joke is on her.  I would have agreed, eagerly.

It's hard to express to parents how much they have to push their child to stay devoted to an instrument during the beginning stages of learning it.  While today I am the one who can play Bach and Vivaldi concertos on the violin, my mother is the one who gave life to the passion that vibrates from my strings.

I began learning the violin through a video course and it was painful, wonderful, strange, and perfect all rolled up together.  Given the chance today, I don't think I would choose a different way to have learned.

My mother sat through every lesson with me, insisting that I follow every order of the conductor while persistently correcting my errors.  Lesson learned?  If your child wants to learn a difficult instrument, and you want them to stick to it, you should probably plan on learning it too.

After two years of learning with the TV in front of me and my mother spitting out corrections from behind, it became time to establish contact with me, my violin, and a real person.  Quite shocking to my mother and myself, the violin teacher at my local mall pronounced me to be no longer a beginner, but at an intermediate level.  She dropped me in the middle of the Suzuki method books and within months had me auditioning for an orchestra an hour away from my home.  After a crushing defeat in my first audition, I was sure my life was over.  Most girls my age were crying over boys and I was crying because I didn't make it in an orchestra after only a few months of real instruction.

By the end of that year, the perfect orchestra for me came my way: an orchestra a half hour from my home comprised primarily of retired senior citizens.  The better part of three years was spent in their company and I wouldn't have traded it for any more advanced placement available.

I wish I could tell you that this story gets exceptionally better here.  That I advanced and amazed.  But the rest truly isn't so fascinating.  Music was my only passion at the time, other than my hubby who I had been going with for a little over a year.  It was only natural that I went on to study music with aspirations of becoming a professional violinist.  I studied at a fantastic college with extremely talented instructors, including but certainly not limited to, my private violin instructor, Michael Ludwig.  He directed my course in music, and with a great sense of practicality and kindness he gave me a mental picture of what life as a struggling musician would be like.

That said, I slowly let go of my grip on the dream of becoming a professional violinist.  While music still held a place of importance in my life, it slipped little by little down from a place of prominence.

This leads me to ultimately why I began writing this post in the first place.  Recently, I had to have my violin repaired because it had a crack in it.

This is not something that any violinist ever wants to see in their instrument that cost more than their first car did.  In my mind, this discovery equated to what a mother would feel like if she stood by and watched her five-year-old climb onto the staircase banister, then slide down, and crack his/her head on the hardwood floors.

"How on earth did I let that happen right in front of me?"

I don't know what the mother would chalk it up to, but for me I could only think one thing: neglect.  A lack of attention to the instrument that had once dominated my entire life led to this.  It could very easily have been just one of those random things that happens, like the time in college when my bridge snapped in half as I was tuning my violin.  Unfortunately, I wouldn't let myself get away with such an easy out.

By the way, the bridge snapping in half was not a fun experience either.  Just in case you were wondering.  I consider it one of the top five scariest moments in my life.

While most musicians in limbo might return with wild excitement to their instruments after being inspired by a performance of Itzahk Perlman or the Boston Symphony Orchestra, this crack in my violin impacted me greater than either of those could.

It was a wake up call that I needed to make this old friend a part of my life again.  It had slipped away to a place so far removed that it grew comfortable to ignore.  I'm trying this time around to still play with purpose as I did before, but also for my own enjoyment and the enjoyment of those around me.  I'm playing now for the love of the art of making music, and even for that dreamy teenager who thought she would become professional one day.  I play this time in hopes that the next time my violin needs repairing it is because of too much attention it has been receiving, rather than neglect.

#60 He Makes Memory Music

Music has a mystical way of making memories spring up in the mind.  Have you ever heard a song and instantly been mentally transported to a previous time in your life?

Please tell me I'm not the only one.

Of course, there are the music world staples which cannot be counted as memory music.  "Mary Had a Little Lamb" might bring most to a Pre-K state of mind, and it could easily be disputed whether it actually reminds us of our Pre-K years or just of the association that the song has with toddlers.  Likewise, "The Wedding March" cannot count as a true memory song because as a society we associate "The Wedding March" with weddings.  The second the lone notes bring in the mighty chords of that familiar tune our minds instantly picture doors opening and the presentation of a huge white gown hiding a nervous bride.

That's association.  We associate toddlers with "Mary Had a Little Lamb" and white brides and weddings with "The Wedding March" because that is what such songs are typically associated with.

Of course, there are always exceptions.

True memory music should be unique to you and your life encounters.  

I'll show you.

My entertainment growing up was always Christian or educational.

Seriously.

Hearing just a few verses from The Donut Man's song, "Jesus Showed us God's Love" instantly sends me back to around five or six-years-old in the doorway of my living room.  I'm instantly getting teary eyed at the verse:

"Jesus showed us God's love, when he carried that awful cross,

Tell me could you say what Jesus said if they did those mean things to you?

He said, "Father, forgive them, they know not what they do,"

I hear, "Oh I wonder wonder, boo ba do oo who? Who wrote the book of love?" and I'm in sixth grade on my Tuesday night trip with my dad home from the Burlington Center Mall where I've just had a 9:00 pm violin lesson.  We've just picked up fries from Checkers and have the radio set to 98.1 WOGL.  We're listening to the oldies and I'm fascinated by all this music of the past.

I need only hear the didgeridoo in the song "Niki Nana" by Yanni and I'm sitting at my family kitchen table for dinner on any weeknight of my teen years.

It's eighth grade and the Backstreet Boys are big.  My friend, Amy, and I fantasize about particular members of the boy band while using their songs to relate with them.  When I hear, "I Want it That Way" or "Tell Me Why" I'm thinking about young love and heartache.

Louie Armstrong's "Blueberry Hill", and Sarah Vaughan singing "All of Me" puts me back to those awkward years in the middle of high school right after the Backstreet Boys phase.  It's the, 'he loves me, he loves me not' time of every girl's life.

Eminem's tunes and Busta Rhymes singing, "Busta, what it is right now," reminds me of when I first started my friendship with my hubby.  He was convinced that he could make me like the music he liked and I tried to for a while.  Yet now, it is a memory of the start of our friendship.

When I hear the Brooklyn Tabernacle Choir, any song off their "Be Glad" album, I'm at my job at Ward's Christian Bookstore where my school principal first introduced me to this CD by playing it every single time he worked.

I connected a lot of music to my time spent working at American Eagle Outfitters.  There was selected store music we had to play all day long.  The problem was that if you worked a full day's shift you heard the CD about two and half times.  Feist's "1234" is one of the songs that puts me back on the hardwood floors, standing and chatting, while folding t-shirts.

Michael Jackson shouting out, "So just leave me alone," puts me on the job merchandising for Fossil, Inc.   This was back when I set certain ring tones on my cellphone, and the Fossil office and all my supervisors were given this one.  I still shutter a bit when I hear this song.

I do have a particularly favorite memory song.  When I hear, Coldplay's Viva La Vida start:

"I used to rule the world, 

Seas would rise when I gave the word

Now in the morning I sleep alone,

Sweep the streets I used to own..."

I'm reminded of my first year of marriage.  This was hubby's ringtone for his alarm clock in the morning.  So now, whenever I hear this song I'm instantly sent back to my first year of marriage and how wonderfully perfect it was.