Clash this...I dare you.

Following on from the concert with 60% attendence, I sent out emails this week notifying everyone of the next concert...the 5th December. That's nearly three months in advance; I figure that short of a wedding or a ballet concert I should be in with some kind of improved chance. (And I've already checked out the dates for ballet recitals with the majority of my girls, and I'm getting in the weekend before so that I don't have children half-dead of exhaustion.)

How else do I educate/inspire? It's one of those things where the proff is in the pudding; you attend and THEN you see the benefit. You don't and there's no benefit - but also no discernible disadvantage, just a child with a downward curving motivation. I feel like I'm chasing my tail!

Yesterday I had lunch with a friend who was incredulous that a parent would even think of missing a concert: they pay for lessons, they come to lessons, they have some level of participation in home practice, why WOULD'NT you make an effort to attend? Perhaps this is subconscious sabotage. Perhaps I'm self-sabotaging by expecting that it IS an effort; maybe I should stop saying "I respect how busy..." and start saying "I expect that..."

I don't think I'm full-time nasty enough.
I'm sure there are many lurkers who would dispute this (HA!)
I need these holidays.

What do I read now?

In the last week, my reading has been:

The tail end of The Moment I First Believed by Wally Lamb, for the third time.


The Wonder Spot (Melissa Bank); no, it's not about sex.

James Frey's Bright Shiny Morning, and then A Million Little Pieces, because that was right underneath it on the bookpile (the one beside the front door. There's also one in the lounge threatening to engulf the couch, and another in the bedroom that mysteriously... grows. I have no idea how it happens, but it just does. I would purchase more bookshelves but we already have six (mostly double-layered) and I don't think our house can accommodate any more.)

Ummm.... then I wandered through a few chapters of Women who Run with the Wolves, Clarissa Pinkola Estes (is that not an UTTERLY fantastic name? Clarissa Pinkola. Seriously.) and Coraline, by Neil Gaiman; he has a special place in my brain. I read Good Omens as a stress response all through my VCE year, then the collected works of Jane Austen about twenty-nine times in my first year of uni.

Oh, and now I'm reading some piece of tripe called 31 Dream Street, by a random Lisa Jewell (That is SO a pseudonym).
So. What do I read now? I'm bored. Oh, and I'm a serious fan of Chuck Palahniuk. Weird, no?

Some things are more fundamentally interconnected than others.

We're on the way to our friends' place for dinner. They've been living there for some months now, and this will be our first visit. Are we bad friends? On the face of it, yes. They don't live all that far away, and we've seen them at a favorite restaurant in the interval. However, this is the first invitation to have been made, probably the only before the madness of Christmas and all that blah de blah.

But... He and hubs have hung out on many weekends and hubs is usually the group chauffeur. Our house is usually the venue for draft nights and then all the boys descend like fast-food locusts.

The short story: big group, mostly couples now, spread geographically and vocationally. Minimum ten years' shared history.
How far is too far? Do we take turns having our friends over? Organize some kind of monthly roster? There was a motion to catch up on the third Sunday of every month, but Sunday is family dinner for some, monday dog club for someone else, tuesday a horrible clash with work, and so forth.
At what point do you say "Alright, YOU make the effort." And if you have to say that, maybe the friendship isn't worth the effort anymore.

Facebook, twitter, phone, yes yes, but for my friends I view these as avenues to face time, actual time. Not a replacement.

Away from the frustrations of theoretical human interaction, dinner awaits. It may require actual interaction, but we shall see.

a brief memorandum: dinner was lovely. Face time is a precious thing. Thank you, our lovely friends.

Put some REAL knickers on. Please.

I wandered down to my (semi)local today to enjoy a little live music and some vertical dancing action. Jimi Hocking and the Blues Machine were great. GREAT. Loving it. Loving a lead singer who can SING (mother was an opera singer, guess who has great classical training), loving guys who can dance. Everybody's happy.

Then the mid-life-crisis Barbies appear. These are the women who bought themselves cosmetic surgery to pay back their ex-husbands. Or to find a new husband. Or to find, if not a sugar daddy, then someone who will buy them a drink. I just want someone to buy them a better color lipstick. Or, in the case of one unfortunate, full, boylegged panties.

I'm not saying that being over forty puts you out of miniskirt territory. Hey, fifty is apparently the new thirty. And if wearing a short skirt makes you feel all right then you go ahead, lady. But please, in the name of all things depilated, does it HAVE to be a full, spins-out to waist-height skirt? I mean, it barely covered your butt to begin with, but now no-one in the bar wants to take you home because they've all seen it all.

I'm tempted to advertise my services as a 'dresser' - literally, one who ensures you leave the house DRESSED. That means that when you think an strapless bodice top would be just the thing, I will gently remind you that you plan to be twirling about with your arms above your head. Tape may be a wise investment.

Hair is a component of your appearance, not an accessory. Sparkly butterfly clips will look much sweeter in your granddaughter's hair than in your own.
When striving to maintain a youthful appearance, bleach-blond wire hairsprayed into dead-straight tufts is not a weapon in your charm arsenal. It's just a weapon. That anyone takes money from you to make it look like that is criminal. (We're talking hair to shoulders or longer, not some perky, sweet pixie cut.)

Perhaps more worrying than any of the mavens of grotesque is the following exchange:
"So, where are you guys playing next weekend?"
"Oh, over at the Manhattan, but you should come to the Elephant and Wheelbarrow the weekend after that . It's a really nice gig."
"And do many people dance?"
"Ah, not so much, no. It's pretty cruisy though. Why, you'd want to dance?"
"Ah, yep. Just need to know if I have to bring my own boy or I can recruit from the crowd."
"Oh, you'd have a boy to bring, wouldn't you? You look like you'd have a few boys!"
"Ah, yeah. Yeah, I could probably scrape one up." [quick, embarrassed exit]

You look like you'd have a few boys???!!! I really hope that's some kind of a compliment. On the other hand, I have (and wear, let's be quite clear) a wedding band.
Guys, decode please: "You look like you'd have a few boys!" with reference: NO, I was not wearing a short skirt. OR a strapless top. Grey tee, black skirt.

ANd the perfect end to a Sunday... Hubs, rifling through the cookie tin full of homemade cookies: "Have you tried any of these ones with the stuff?"
"Ah, yes, the ONES with the STUFF..."
"Should I maybe make a little plate of cookies and things to..."
"You know, I'm SURE that's something you can do spontaneously."
"Oh, yeah. Yeap. I'm -ah- just talking to myself over here. Not asking you anything about stuff at all."

Yeap.

Suzuki students are the awesome.

So concert per se went well. Soloists did a great job. They ranged from five years old up to twelve; playing thirty-seconds up to five minutes from memory. Our accompanist was marvellous; I'm so lucky she is a Suzuki parent and sensitive to each child's character and personality. And the group pieces were lovely; gave everyone ELSE the opportunity to get up and perform for their parents/grandparents/etc. The disappointing thing? Sixteen students no-shows. I had forewarning for ten of those, and six just didn't show.

There will always be last-minute things; we're talking about primary-school-age children and life happens. At the same time, I'm really disheartened. The kids who came are motivated; they go into the holidays with a role model and will often try to play the piece THAT kid played, or be excited about what's coming up now they've SEEN someone else their own age play it.

The kids who missed out...miss out. And I think that for some of them they're actually missing out on a bigger message; concerts aren't just about THEM playing, they're about coming together as a community and being a supportive audience for everyone else, too. When a parent says (verbally or otherwise) "Oh, it's not such a big deal if we miss out, you were only going to play two pieces" I feel they're missing the point.

On the other hand, I know one child left halfway through because of a party. Am I annoyed? No, we compromised. I don't want her to feel like HAVING to play violin made her miss out on a party, and the party child & her parents came and sat in the audience for her (the violinist), understanding this was a big deal for her too. I understand we're all busy. I'm just disappointed by the choices some families make - especially when I feel they don't really understand the repercussions or ripples of their actions.

Some people who I DO know understand... all the yoga teachers beaming from the third row. Not just my very lovely inlaws, but some serious community. They all know who they are, and I am very grateful they came; even if it was merely for my sake and not for the artistic quality on display...although, we have a REAL concert. We don't sit there with polite, strained smiles. The applause tonight was heartfelt and thoroughly warranted.  My teacher was present tonight; I know she'll call me in the next few days and ask me about every child who played.

Funnily, during our "run mad with cookies" time I pointed out to my husband that two of my students are taller than me now. (I'm not especially short, but these are Grade 6 kids) One of the dads (T's dad) came and thanked me and said "You know, I remember when all our kids were the little ones in the front row, and now.... you have all these tiny ones." Yep. I currently have seven Grade 6 kids. Five of them have been with me since their prep year. This year I've taken on seven "babies" (three/four-year-olds).

Where will we be in another six years?

Tonight's concert programme:

Busy Busy Stop Stop (all)
O Come, Little Children (5yo S)
May Song (all)
Long, Long Ago (6yo G)
Allegro (8yo O)
Minuet 1 (all)
Musette (11yo R)
Two Grenadiers (all)
Witches' Dance (6yo S)
Boccherini Minuet (7yo C)
Gavotte in G Minor (all)
Bach Bourree (11yo J)
Seitz Concerto mvt 1 (7yo E)
Seitz Concerto mvt 2 (11yo J)
Bach Bourree (12yo T)
Vivaldi A Minor 1st mvt (10yo T)

You HAVE to laugh...or stomp on toes.

It's been a week of high drama and we're up to... Wednesday. Awesome.

There's really nothing to make you question your life choices like dancing about in front of eight hundred people. Wearing a pink tutu. With a crying five-year-old on your hip. Who only stops crying when you keep dancing. I mentioned the pointe shoes, right?

Pointe shoes are bad enough when my own sixtyish kilos are sloshing about on top of them; add another twenty of lumpen child (also wearing spiky pink tulle) and they're instruments of torture.

But really, no concert would be complete without the class who can't seem to see the audience (and therefore perform half their dance facing the back, the wings, and (only by chance) the front.

Such are the joys of kinder-aged children cavorting about in front of their adoring parents. The more recent concerts, with school-age children, have been more successful.

Sure, there was the boy who announced (in the middle of a quick costume change between ballet and tap) "Oh, my tap shoes don't fit me any more." Mmhm. In the five days since dress rehearsal your feet have grown THAT much.

Thank goodness for the senior student who retrieved his shoes from the bottom of his bag and undertook to stuff his feet into them. Miraculously, they somehow fitted again.

Oh, there were also feather dramas. Idiot me undertook the manufacture of swan lake headpieces. This means feathers hot-glued onto a paper base in a wing shape, two per girl.

So, making eighty-odd of these took a fair amount of time and used up my 2010 quota of swear words, but that's fine, they'll look great. They did look great. Even better when pinned in with WHITE bobby pins (I know, I'm OCD). And I made six spares. SPARES!

They looked less great when, five minutes before the performance, four girls are telling me there aren't any left. Of COURSE there aren't any left. Some featherbrains have take them HOME after the dress rehearsal and failed to bring them back for the real concert. And so the spares have been used by stupid people and we're STILL short.

Seriously. Would you not check that you have, oh, your LEOTARD? Do me a MASSIVE favor and check on the status of your headgear as well. Thanks so much.

I have the distinct feeling that my lovely flowers post-concert were guilted out of the girls who faffed about in the following way: "We can't find the white castle headpiece!"

Addressing this crisis requires problem-solving abilities far beyond the reach of any normal human. Clearly.

"Have you checked in the chess headpieces box? Have you checked in the pawn hoods box? Have you checked in the box of black and white skirts? And what about looking on the list to see who wore it last and asking them?Hmmmm?"

Invariably, five minutes later: "Oh, it's ok. It was..."
UhHUH. Because it would have killed you to have looked in more than one place before you made it someone else's problem. Skilled. Is it just me, or are we failing to invest our teenagers with common sense?

Kirtan.

Possibly not the best idea in the world; my cold is getting worse instead of better and tonight has been a night of loud.  Interesting fact: when you blow your nose too hard and too often you can burst blood vessels. THAT's a whole load of disgusting right there, thanks. 

What in the name of all that is weird is kirtan? Essentially it’s a sung meditation in call-and-response style; the kirtanist plays harmonium (or guitar, or whatever) and sings the mantra, the participants sing it back, following tempo and dynamic. In the yogic tradition, the mantras are sung in Sanskrit, but kirtan can be practised in many ways and is a major part of Satyananda philosophy, which holds music and mantra to be a stepping stone to higher consciousness.

We skyped another kirtan group in Darwin tonight; one of ‘our’ teachers moved up there with her family last year and is trying to get a regular kirtan going. She led a kirtan and then R. led a kirtan on our end. Sadly our connection fell out before we were quite done, but c’est la vie. 

Concert tomorrow. I think I'm turning into my mother (this is the crucial moment at which my darling spouse (who is presently reading over my shoulder as I type) should interject with "No, of course you're not!" Hmmm. Doesn't count when you read it off the screen. 

I'm a little stressed about this concert tomorrow. I've had a HEAP of "Sorry!" statements in the last few days and I'm getting a little narky about it. If I kept a grudge book I'd be beginning Volume 2. Easily. 

Ah well, should stay focused on the good. There seem to be a few random people coming (i.e. NOT parents or directly related to students) and a few of our good friends might come along to see what who can do now.... so dinner afterward and some alcoholic therapy.

Oh, and in the name of all things funny (or just another example of the universe's current disregard for little ole me, Extranjera has very politely informed me that google reader and Blogger are pretending this blog doesn't exist.
Since I update every damn day with something approaching OCD, I consider this VERY rude. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE visit http://thewayitgoestoday.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/full and switch your subscription over. 
PLEASE?