a question of quitting
February 2, 2017 § 2 Comments
There is no greater measure of truth than the weighted minutes of nervous anxiety on the eve of a much dreaded day. One year ago it was a time for my daughter to confront self-doubts and insecurities as she procrastinated preparing for her band solo by sounding out the language to quit. Not one for standing alone under a spotlight of attention, I understood her pause and kept her company as she waded more deeply into her discomfort.
Last year she found the notes among her nerves and conquered her fears in a messy and brave posture of determination. This morning my daughter woke early to another performance, but this year’s ghosts were dressed in last year’s doubts. Two nights ago she unraveled into a memory from last year’s experiences. One new to my ears, but well worn in the quiet of my daughter’s thoughts. Her teacher, counting out a song, begged a question. My daughter asked why the pattern was different to which her teacher asked, “Don’t you even know how to count?”
It was a criticism in place of a question, a small condescension that directed quiet and silenced my daughter’s learning. She didn’t ask again and has since created her own cues to find her place in a collective melody. As part of a whole, she has disappeared in the silence between notes, but on her own she is lost in the sequence of unanswered questions. Without answers to fill what she does not know, she is certain only in the deficit she measures in doubt.
Such a small space between learning and letting go, wanting to grow and giving up.
Last night I listened as she fought her way through her sheet music until she had exhausted whatever joy might be had from each success. It’s a sad truth, a weighted reminder – our answers invite questions just as clearly as our questions invite answers.
One person has the power to inspire or intimidate.
My daughter wants to quit as much as she wants to play, to learn as much as she wants to leave. For all the words of comfort and empathy I’ve offered, the balance of my encouragements and another’s criticism rests in the silence somewhere between the music.
sounding out a word
October 17, 2016 § 4 Comments
This month’s One Little Word exercise prompted a reflection on music; the words that speak to a language of self. While others might have gathered lyrics, I’ve been reflecting on the spaces of music in my day and the sound of my family’s routines.
Breakfast begins with my daughter’s music; for her, it is the shortest distance between sleep and wakefulness. Inviting this into our morning routine has created a distracted efficiency and shorthand of self, I’ve become familiar with the words she sings in the same way I might get to know a new friend.
My husband and son use time others might use for listening to music for a favorite radio show; rather than singing in harmony they laugh in concert and there’s something wonderful about that sound itself. Early morning rides to school or weekend errands, they pick up the thread of story in snippets of time while tethering themselves to new memories.
For my part, the novelty of my short drive to work has fostered small changes; no longer do I turn the radio off. Where once I used to crave silence, using time alone to breathe in the stillness of quiet, these days I’m exploring music.
There is no one song for this moment, no mix-tape of memories; only a curious listening as I fill new minutes to a soundtrack of change. Wholehearted has gifted me permission to play at uncertain delight, listening more to the emotions beneath my choices as I work through the relationship between sound and self.
to my daughter
November 13, 2015 § Leave a comment
Last night was your first band concert in your new school. Perched high in the bleachers I surveyed your new gym, noting colorful differences to your previous experience. Gone was the elevated stage and behind the scenes preparations. Children visited across instruments in colorful interpretations of loosely outlined guides for attire.
There was a cautious cacophony of sound; families making their way to congested seats, younger children impatiently filling the waiting with restless wiggles, urgent shuffling of papers and easy banter. Then, you began a collective warm up and I was in awe of the singular sound 192 children created.
The hair on my neck bristled with the quiet perfection of a singular harmony.
There was something exquisite in the uniformity of sound juxtaposed against the kaleidoscope of individuality. The sharply contrasted colors of attire and the eloquent introductions from student guides who lead each performance.
I had expected to miss the consonance of black bottoms and crisply starched white shirts or the humor of a well-loved teacher’s wandering narratives and easy humor. Familiar is not always better.
There was a lovely humility in change. We stack our expectations against the joy of discovery.
You looked well placed in your company; prideful and poised. Dressed in your favorite color and settled into your space on the page, you became luminous among your companions. Serene in sound.
It is a new favorite memory, the image of you finding your way home.
Love, Mom
sound & sentiment
May 21, 2015 § Leave a comment
Sitting on folding metal chairs stretched neatly across a familiar gym room floor, there is a sound to this memory. Children shuffling nervously and parents settling into quiet greetings, a scraping and rustling as we nestle into one another’s company. We are near the end of our days in this season of elementary school gatherings and today my heart is full of sentiment for the sweetness of this time.
It seems like only yesterday I was wrestling a wiggly toddler onto the same uncomfortable chairs, begging stillness from my daughter while my eyes sought my son’s over the chaos of children filing determinedly into position. Personalities as different as their eye color and years between their songs, both children began every performance with an anxious seeking until their gaze would relax into a reassuring smile.
This morning I marveled at the dance of time, my oldest’s teenage limbs folded uncomfortably into stillness as we settled into his sister’s school performance. Gone is the madness of restlessness, the quiet encouragements and pleas for patience. We have moved collectively into a new togetherness and I was left to note the unexceptional sounds of a too often overlooked moment.
Today my joy and sentiment push against the music of my memories, the present and the past scraping into the folding metal chairs that hold our place even as we approach goodbye.
making a list, checking it twice
November 16, 2011 § Leave a comment
It’s that time of year, the air has turned cooler and the wind sends me scuttling inside after a forgotten scarf or gloves. Mother Nature gently reminds me that winter is around the corner and with it the festive busyness of Christmastime. In anticipation of familiar holiday routines, I have begun my list of things to do.
Christmas cards are the pre-season tradition I most look forward to. I have not taken the time to hand-write messages in years and while I miss the quiet, individual endeavor; I am content to label envelopes that will carry pictures of my children to family and friends. My life long love affair with mail is heightened over the holidays and I watch for the mailwoman eager to exchange a greeting and collect seasonal tidings of joy. This is the first sign of the season as I gather materials in the hopes of sending warm wishes soon after Thanksgiving.
Cookie making I save for winter break, an activity more enjoyable when shared with tiny hands. My island covered with flour and sprinkled with conversation makes for a delightful indoor activity on a cool winter’s day. An afternoon indulgence of warm baked goods and cocoa are a pleasant break from holiday errands and outdoor play. I am less traditional and entirely spontaneous when baking. Each year the cookies are predictably different from seasons past, old favorites and new samplings eclectically gathered like old friends and new in celebration.
Christmas gifting. I try to shop locally, happy to extend my errands to visit with friendly faces behind boutique counters and to window shop quaint storefronts appreciative of the festive decorations that twinkle against snow and lights. In an imperfect world the warm glow of lights and infectious good cheer of strangers makes neatly wrapped presents gifts secondary to kindness and good cheer.
The days between Thanksgiving and New Year’s Eve move to the soundtrack of familiar songs. I hum, accompany off-key, and twirl between activities, happy to breath in the sounds of the season. Quiet will settle only long enough for little ears to listen diligently, half asleep for the sound of stomping feet and bells on Christmas Eve.
Decking the halls and planning meals will keep my feet planted in reality while my head swims with daydreams of sugar plums. Classic holiday stories and old movies will gather my family near in restful moments of stillness balancing seasonal outings. It is a time of believing in the possibility of magic and giving thanks for the blessings of loved one’s. The greatest gifts will go unwrapped, the sweetest treats stolen moments in good company.
music
January 28, 2011 § Leave a comment
I rebel against organized religion, but find it impossible to deny the power of faith when choirs sing. In contrast, the haunting beauty of a sole voice against a backdrop of silence is no less humbling. Instrumental or vocal, I reach for the fluid language of music when lost for words. In a moment of melancholy, a melody transcends time and I am flooded with sentiment for days long past. Like a child seeking the security of a mother’s embrace, I long to crawl inside a thick, rich sound to keep sadness at bay. Music bubbles effervescently from a place within me in moments of joy; my spirit celebrating with the grace of a small child clanging pots and pans. The music is not mine, their authors are strangers to me, but their lovers are my friends.
scribblechic 