Really and Truly?

The signs are abundant:
Motorcycle riders in the sunny afternoons
Birds twittering before the sun rises
Children with no attention span
The Quad full of students throwing footballs and kissing girls
The forsythia in bloom
Trees flowering everywhere
The first set of twins at the cattle ranch, kicking their heels in time-honored fashion

Could it be? Is it really and truly spring?

In the Words of an Old Song...

"Work your fingers to the bone,
What do you get?
Boney fingers!"

I've been practicing all morning -- it seemed appropos.

Blue Skies

Nothing but Blue Skies...

I speak figuratively. We're in the midst of a string of spring showers, and my shoes are soaked through. From where I stand, though, the skies are blue! I just played rather well in my lesson, and I think Dr. V. might believe that I have a smidge of musicality, after all.

Perhaps all is not lost.

The Intrepid Daffodil

The past season has been highly unusual, weatherwise. We called it winter, but in early January the trees were in bud and the crocuses were a full seven inches above ground. Then, of course, we had a string of ice and snow storms, causing Fayette County schools to be closed every Wednesday for a month. Ever since, we've had a lovely mild spring for several days, followed by hard freezes for the next few days. This past Tuesday, it was a sunny seventy -- perfect for a morning tramp through Raven's Run. Wish you could have been here with me, walking buddies! We've barely broken the forty degree mark since.

What's my point? In the community where the Music Institute is, there are several deserted flowerbeds. One of them must have been tended in the fall, because it is now full of small daffodils in bloom. These daffodils have been trying to come up since January, only to be frozen and covered with snow. Somehow, they have lived. Despite the tempest, despite the frost, despite all the abuse they've suffered through the season, they are nodding cheerful yellow faces to the world. "Yes, yes, spring is coming," they seem to say, "Just hold fast; life will be reborn! New joy is on its way!" It's a beautiful thing.

On the Go

I learned to walk early, as a lot of strong-willed younger siblings do. My mother recalls that it was a struggle to have me hold still long enough for a diaper change. (Perhaps this is about the time her idyllic dreams of a half dozen children reduced to a practical two!) Ever since, I've been on the move pretty constantly. This doesn't mean I object to a little cocooning, or that I don't need to rest now and again, but there's something about motion...

Friday morning held what is probably my closest brush with a nervous breakdown in memory. I came into the office, sat morosely doing nothing, and began to weep uncontrollably. S., one of the older piano teachers at the Institute, was here to practice, and she spent about an hour putting me back together again. I'm sure a lot of this was exhaustion; after we talked, I sat and stared out the window for about twenty minutes. No thoughts, no emotion, no action. Just sitting there, taking up space. I realized how un-me this was, in a disinterested sort of way, and I canceled my morning lessons. Driving home, where I expected to sleep, practice, or both, I decided to take the long way. This little two-lane highway, which I'd rarely explored, curves out of the city into two-hundred-year-old horse country. The sun, the road, the green grass, the coming spring, the space, the act of driving ... I began to feel again. I began to be me again. I began to care. I had a lesson that afternoon, so I had my cross-campus walk in the sunshine, as well. A couple productive hours of practicing later, I felt that I was nearly functioning once more.

There's something about being on the move, going somewhere, the action of driving or walking until I'm human again, that has a way of healing me. Maybe that's why I've always been on the go.

It's a beautiful day, the first day of Spring Break -- anyone want to go for a walk with me? I don't teach until 4:30...

On Courtesy

Everybody knows I'm fairly old-fashioned. Feel free to open the door for me if you like, though I might look at you funny if you offer to carry my books. Yet, even in Kentucky, the home of the Southern gentleman, courtesy is dying. In all fairness, most of these interactions are with the female of the species -- I keep forgetting that women are above the rules of courtesy. For example:

1. Jeanine wakes up between four and five in the morning. Please refrain from calling her after midnight unless you're dying. And even if you are, I might not truly comprehend the situation. Yes, I sound awake on the phone. That's acting ability, not reality. The perpetrator in this case: a college professor with a doctorate!
2. Jeanine may be found closeted quietly in a study room in the library, preparing for midterms. Please don't walk in uninvited and prepare to join her. Even if you promise to work quietly, she will no longer be alone. That was the original idea behind sitting alone in a closed room in the first place. And you know you won't be able to remain quiet! The perpetrator: one of the most talkative people in my class.
3. The Italian professor has been walking on a bad foot all semester, limping about with a cane. Before meeting with Jeanine and another student, she begins to erase the board, which runs the entire length of the classroom. Does courtesy suggest that you help erase the board or that you encourage her in word and gesture? Hmmm... The perpetrator: dense blonde sorority girl. Who would have thought.
4. Your son has a trumpet lesson with Jeanine at seven this evening. He comes home from school sick. Really, is 6:55 the best time to call and cancel the lesson? The only appropriate excuse I can think of is if the boy gets out of school at 6:50. The perpetrator: the same woman who called every Wednesday for four weeks to ask her son's lesson time. Yup, still 7:00.
5. You drive down a two-lane road. You stop in the middle of the road. You give no indication of the cause for this sudden stop. After a confused pause, you turn left. Aha! That's what you wanted! You wanted to turn! You know, somebody should come up with a device to alert other drivers of your desire. I bet it would really catch on. The perpetrator: 50% of the drivers in the UK area.
6. Okay, this one was a guy thing. There is a sidewalk down which I walk daily to and from school. It is wide enough to drive a Mack truck upon (which they do, on occasion). Just before the sidewalk reaches the road, there's a two-armed gate that has enough room for one person (or two good friends) to walk through. You and several of your friends wish to congregate on this sidewalk to chat. Obviously, the best place to do this is in the middle of the one-person gap in the gate. As you stand there, watching a pedestrian nearing the gate and talking with your friends, perhaps you should practice your look of surprise for when you discover she intends to walk through your congregation in order to reach the street. It's important to be convincing; how were you to know she desired to pass through the gate? After all, she easily could have been ... um... going to the fraternity house next door? Walking up and down fully loaded with school books for her health? The perpetrators: Two different groups of guys on two consecutive days.

The good news is that there is yet hope. The other night, after withstanding (I hope graciously) an undeserved (though understandable) blow-up by a coworker, she called me. She apologized beautifully and courteously. Her small courteous act made my night, and I'm not sure she'll ever know how much. Courtesy -- I wonder what the etymology of the word is. Surely something to do with the noble court. Behaving in a noble manner could change the world, don't you think?

An Unknown Talent

Apparently, I have a natural talent for causing people to worry, exacerbated by my ability to broadcast my thoughts worldwide, a generally pale complexion, and a tendency toward circles under my eyes. Yes, I'm tired; yes, I'm frustrated; yes, I'm still fighting migraines. However, I am not: seriously ill, depressed, miserable (generally speaking), or really about to hang it all up. This is one of those struggles which just keeps resurfacing, and I'm usually able to handle it. It's when I'm in the middle of the raging black torrent that everything seems unmanageable -- a day or so later, I know I'm okay. I was just airing my feelings -- now, in the soon-to-be clear light of day, things are pretty good.

Agony and Frustration

Ask anybody, I'm about as stubborn as they come. I toss my head up high on my stiff neck, stick out my chin, dig in my heels, and decide to win out on will-power alone, if need be. Sometimes, though, I meet an enemy that won't stand and fight properly.

This is day two of one of my championship migraines. Yesterday, I had to cancel my piano lesson (for the second time this semester), which is the whole reason I'm in Kentucky. I'm on campus now, because I was determined not to miss two days in a row, but this was a stupid decision. I ended up practicing in the dark, because I couldn't stand the lights, and I only lasted an hour before giving in and coming to the library. Really, another stupid decision, because this building gives me a headache on the best of days. It's not that I can't take a little pain -- I have a pretty good pain tolerance, thank you very much. But I can't see straight or think straight or be successful at the things at which I can usually depend on being successful. It's not fair, and it's not fight-able, and I hate it very much!

Last week, I learned a lot about "His strength made manifest in [my] weakness." I was exhausted beyond my limit by the end of the week, but I was granted joy and strength beyond anything I could have anticipated. So what's the lesson this time? That I'm in the wrong place at the wrong time, and I ought to go sign up for a nunnery where things are peaceful and quiet? If I didn't know beyond all knowing that I'm doing what God has asked me to do for this season, I'd pack my bags.

What do I do, instead, then? Try to fight an invisible enemy? Collapse into tears and acknowledge my misery? Give up?

I hate this.

Luke Simpson on Tour!

Normally, when I talk about my friends or family on this blog, I only use initials -- after all, I never actually asked to mention them in an internationally accessible forum. In this case, since publicity is often a good thing, I'm going to make an exception.

My lifelong friend, Luke Simpson, is now playing with a group called "Rend the Heavens," a Christian group based out of Nashville. Check out their site if you want to hear some of their stuff: http://www.rendtheheavens.com/ Luke is one of those musicians who really knows music, understands the language, and has an incredible amount of talent. It's always been such a pleasure to play with him, on those rare occasions when we had the opportunity. I would bet that Rend the Heavens under-utilizes him terribly, but it's a professional gig all the same. Luke is playing drums with them on their current tour, and they'll be appearing at New Covenant Christian Church (Lansing, MI) this Sunday, March 4, at 7 pm.

I'm so thrilled for Luke! He ought to be a full-time musician, and I hope this may be the beginning of big things for him. Wouldn't you know it, this is one weekend when it's absolutely impossible for me to go to Lansing and see him. Well, the life of a musician is full of being somewhere you love to be when you want to be somewhere else.