Hmmm.

So I'm a Suzuki teacher. Not a "Oh, I teach Suzuki method violin" teacher, but a Suzuki philosophy teacher. Well, I try to be. It doesn't always go to plan, especially when I'm brought (or pushed) into proximity with other Suzuki teachers. The code goes like this: "Methhhhhoddddd" (with eye-rolling or tweaking fingers) or "Philosophy" (hushed, slightly reverent tones).


An incident is relayed in Suzuki Changed My Life by Masaaki Honda.in which one of Suzuki's nieces returned to the modest family home and said "Oh, on my way home I saw this poor man... and thought how nice it would be to invite him home where we have hot tea and good food." (I am paraphrasing because I can't currently find my copy of this book, but you get the point.) Instead of praising her for her kind thoughts, Suzuki pushed her back out the door and told her to find the man and bring him home. She did, and they fed him and kept him overnight before he resumed his journey the next day.  


While the action points to the value of karma and reciprocity, Suzuki said he was trying to teach the value of action. (Hello, Satyananda philosophy!) When we think Hey, wouldn't it be nice if... yep, ok, you're a great person for THINKING that, but it's meaningless and futile unless you get off your backside and DO it. So, the message? Thoughts are essentially without value unless they are acted upon and made real.  (The perfect illustration: Well, I was going to do x (where x = wash the dishes), and I was thinking about it, but then y (a phone call inviting me out to lunch) happened. Yes, so you lost your intent and x never actually happened.)


What's brought this to my mind was a funny incident on Sunday involving several Suzuki teachers. Meeting was meant to take place at location A but changed to location B (another teacher's studio) because of our warm weather and the availability of air-conditioning. 


At my house my studio is downstairs and semi-detached from the 'main' house; students need to come upstairs to use the bathroom, for a drink, etc. Same deal @ location B. The homeowner and her husband were at home and spent their Sunday in the garden and other activities around the house. 


I think that in a similar situation (i.e. location B being my home) I would leave the necessary items for lunch (we were in situ from 10am-4pm) such as plates, glasses, cups and cutlery on the kitchen bench or dining table so that the (four) working teachers could assemble their meals (from the food they had brought) and have a cup of tea before getting back to it. Well, I thought that would be a sensible approach. 


Clearly I'm afflicted by a very strange and perverted type of common-sense. It does, after all, make far more sense for the visiting teacher to bring cutlery, cups, glasses, plates, TEABAGS, sugar and coffee. And then pack them all away to wash up at home. 
MUCH more sense. What was I thinking? 


You will all be pleased to know that I have offered my studio space on multiple occasions. I even have five different types of herbal tea. However, living forty/fifty minutes from the city, it's clearly too far for other teachers to travel. Clearly. There are some days I just don't get it. Any of it. 

Apparently it's Friday.

And what a Friday it's been.
Today I've realised that one of the seven-year-olds I teach is in fact no ordinary child, but my nemesis. This epiphany was compounded by her cheery "Look, Miss Chelsea, I have hair cut the same as you now!"

Yes, yes you do. I generally don't have issues with challenging kids. I have rules, there are consequences. I'm happy to be the responsible adult that doles out tough love and kicks them into some kind of understanding about group activity, cooperation, participation, personal space, respect, manners, grammar, grooming, musicality, deportment, and oh yeah, ballet. Nearly forgot that one.
It's a little hard to get onto sometimes when it's October and eight months on parents haven't taken the hint about writing R and L inside school shoes so their child sees this information five days a week. I wrote R and L on the feet of three girls today.

It's not that they're slow kids, or "too young" (HA!), it's that their parents have failed to provide consistent opportunities for this information to be assimilated and integrated. This gets me a little tetchy, as you might have noticed.

Evidence of their capability to learn and retain information: over the last ten weeks my littlies (predominantly six and seven year-olds) have learnt two ballet routines. They have not only learned the dances and spatial information (where to start, order to line up in, direction to travel and formation/pattern changes) but can sing the music. Yeah. Forty-five minutes once per week.

So, what's wrong with their parents/teachers/every other adult in their world? Is it just that the kids live down to their (the adults') amazingly low expectations?

In other news, celebrated six years of coupledom with my lovely hubs tonight. Yep, six years ago he decided that perhaps I was actually the girl for him and proposed some kind of going out arrangement to my skeletal and pathetic post-glandular self. The rest is history.
He's remarkably able to view the world with a child's perspective. While sometimes this kills me, I'm reassured by his idealism and sunny disposition.

He's certainly a much nicer and more deliberate person than I will ever be, and I'm quite sure he will be a parent who teaches shoe-tying with infinite, graceful patience. (From my earlier ranting, the attentive reader will deduce this to be a compliment of the highest order.) uhnm, yeh. He's awesome.

Now, if only I could sneak him into ballet to deal with my nemesis.

Oh my GOODNESS.

It's been a day. Quite a day. A day which has just culminated in me writing a very nice nasty email to a parent basically saying "My house is MY HOUSE! Have some respect!"
Let me clarify: students come to my home.
Their families often come too. I respect that bladders do not always operate to schedule.
But please, instigate a "Have a try" before you leave the house rule.
Your house.
And don't let sibling and friend run amok through my house.
Or my backyard.
Break limbs at your own house.

To the violin parents reading this blog after loving my adventures in Japan, I know you are sympathetically nodding. Let me restate, I CHOOSE to teach from home. But it's still my home. Today my lounge was covered in washing. Not all my knickers are white cotton and that's fine, because they're hung over a clotheshorse in my private home.

My husband should feel free to saunter through the house in a towel (although he'd have to be crazy or courting hypothermia to do so) and nothing else because he LIVES HERE. And unless you want to teach your children that it's ok to wander through people's houses unsupervised, start with the good old foundation of "Sweetheart? Just wait a minute and check that's ok."

Odds on I will say "Sure! Mum will go with you so you don't get lost." or "Yep, I'll just make sure there's a light on up there." (And that my vicious pug won't lick you to death when you get to the top of the stairs.) But just ASK. (Should note that for under-fives, toileting is almost expected; over-tens should CERTAINLY need to know when they need to go)

Running through the music room, friend in tow, disappearing through the door that connects studio to house WITHOUT SAYING A WORD TO ME is not the way to win my respect. Or anything else. Maybe I'll instigate Association fee scheduling for people who want to treat my house like a school. I'm sure they'd love paying the extra $8 per lesson for what amounts to unlimited toilet privileges. Hmmmmm....... Maybe I should install thumbtacks in nasty places.

Actually, I must add that my last two students took advantage of my absence to begin fifty-day practice challenges. Now on Day 18, their attitudes were great, their playing was great, they'd progressed past the goals we'd discussed two weeks ago... and they and their mom were excited by what they achieved today in their lesson because there was very real and discernible progress.

I would like to add that, as siblings, they were both present in my studio for an hour (half lesson, half while other child played) and that in their downtime they read or played quietly with puzzle blocks. Neither seemed in need of toileting. So some people totally get it. Sigh.

Well, my day just got better with this magical clip of a Coldplay song; it's chalk-on-pavement stop motion and whimsical and beautiful and not a bad way to end a post hoping for a better day tomorrow...