#blognow

Tonight was the night of the monthly Twitter chat, #blognow. The three lovely hosts are people I met have "known" online for years, but only really introduced myself to at BlogHer this past August. I have enjoyed talking with them instead of just listening in - it really has been so nice.

I don't ever really feel like a writer though. I like to write, but I'm not a writer. I like to sew, but I'm not a seamstress. I like to sing, but, well, okay. I'll take that one. I am a musician and have worked damn hard at making sure I was successful at that. Still. Creatively, I'm not exactly excelling.

The thing about November - that month where we torture ourselves with the promise to write everyday - it's a time where I force myself to sit down and post everyday. Granted, I've done a couple of gimmie posts already, but I also have done more writing this month than the past five or six months combined. So it's good for me.

I'm good at goals. Writing everyday for a month. Tracking what I eat through Weight Watchers. Getting the Listen to Your Mother show done. Things with tangible goals and deadlines, I can do.

This book that I want to write though? That's just me, thinking about it? Promising myself that I would write at least 500 words every night before I hit the pillow? That's not going so well.

Accountability. I need it, but don't have it where the book is concerned. I guess I'm not committed enough to it. I don't know.

I do know though, that I sat down tonight, thinking I would just post three lines, and I'm still rambling on and on. I have words. I just have to get them out. And edited. Some editing ever at anytime might be good.

Meal planning

If I don't plan ahead, there is likely to be pizza on the table or a trip to Torrero's. I just am not one of those people who can walk in the kitchen and throw something together.

So I meal plan. Often for a month at a time. I didn't mean to do it that way, but I got this awesome book, a Busy Body Book, at Blogher in 2008, and it just lended itself to compulsive meal planning. I know I'm not using it how they had in mind, but because of how I'm using it, I'm inclined to say it's the best planner I've had (although I'm waiting to see what Molly comes up with next, you know, supporting local moms and all!).

Here is what a week looks like:














The columns on the right hand side, I use for 1)Meals 2)People eating them 3)Notes 4)Weekly appointments 5)One-time appointments. The "people eating them" column may sound strange, but my stepdaughter is only here 50% of the time, and we like to have Papa eat with us whenever we can. Also, we meal share with a neighbor, so every other week, I make double and take part of it across the street, so I need to keep up with who I'm feeding nightly.

That's a terrible scan above, but the book is too big for my scanner. What you can't see on the far left is a lovely blank space where I put a list of what's in the freezer, Target lists, Trader Joes list, Costco list, or even copy down a new recipe I want to try. You can see the lines where I make my main grocery list.

About once every six weeks, I'll make a Costco run and buy meat. I'll divide it up into portions and freeze it, keeping a tally of what I've put on the menu plan. Other freezer basics are buttermilk biscuits, a frozen meal from Trader Joes for emergencies, a frozen pizza, a couple of casseroles, soup, stock, fat back for veggies (don't tell my Yankee husband about that though), twice baked potatoes that I make a couple dozen at a time, and summer vegetables put up for the winter. Basically.

That's it in a nutshell. If I follow the system, it works really well. I remember to take things out of the freezer in time for dinner, and I usually only have to go to Harris Teeter once a week. I feel better about how I'm running the household, the budget, and as a wife and mother.

And then there are weeks like this past one where I let it all slip through the cracks and barely made it to the store to get milk.

I like the organized weeks much better.

Goodbye isn't so bad

Yesterday and today, I said goodbye to three very important people in my life. Three students of mine have graduated. They are really an end of an era for me.

They have been in my studio for 10 years. I have watched them grow up, and they are not only my students, but my friends. One is going to music school, one to art school, and one to film school. Three very artistic and creative young people of whom I am so incredibly proud.

It was hardest saying goodbye to the artist. He and his family are moving back to Sweden. I most likely won't see him again. We had dinner with them this past weekend, and they gave Little Bird the Brio train set that belonged to their boys. Even better than the gift though was watching the two teenage boys and my one little baby boy play with the trains on the floor together. They were so sweet.

The director isn't going too far from home for now. She'll be at North Carolina School of the Arts. She could be going to the school of the arts for any of their disciplines really. She acts, sings, plays guitar, composes, is a visual artist, and isn't just dabbling in them all. She's really good at them all. Today she gave me a Muse CD/DVD as a goodbye present. I love that she gives me things that she loves.

The pianist is going into music therapy. She has been student teaching at a music school for children from low-income families for two years now. The beautiful thing is that twelve years ago, she started out as a student in that school. Her mother is amazing. They immigrated from Turkey and have built successful businesses. She has her mother's focus and an immense amount of talent to back it up. I know I'm not really saying goodbye to her. I just won't see her every week anymore.

I invest myself deeply in my students. There are a few students who I invested too much of myself in and who let me down, but for the most part, whatever I invested was returned much greater. Especially by these three.

I won't be taking on any new students for awhile. I've got things to create. Albums to record and most importantly, babies to grow.

Meet Butterbean. He's due January 26, 2010, on Little Bird's 2nd birthday. We got to meet him today. He said, "swish swish swish swish," which translates into, "I love you, Mama." At least, that's what I'm going with.

Everything else can wait

Last week I found myself at a monthly gathering of women. It's mostly social, but the women on the invitation list are all very politically and community minded. I haven't been since I quit my job as director of a local non-profit. For some reason, I decided it was time to go back last week.

I baked my brownies to take, prepared dinner, and made sure that Kevin had everything he needed for Little Bird and himself before I left. Kevin was going to feed and bathe Bird and then I would be home to nurse and rock him to sleep.

When I arrived, I found the friend who I knew would be there. Getting to catch up with her for a few minutes was the deciding factor in my attendance in the first place. However, I didn't want to monopolize her entire evening, so after catching up for a few minutes, we moved on to join some other conversations.

After the common pleasantries regarding the wine, the food, and the view from the amazing downtown condo, the next question was always, "What do you do?"

I would answer, "I have a one year old. I stay at home with him."

Crickets chirping.

Chirp.

Chirp.

Chirp.

It is just the conversation stopper I had heard it would be.

Looking back on it, I could have said, "I'm a musician," or even "I'm a writer." Both are true, even if they aren't full-time work for me right now.

But the truth is, I do stay at home with my son. I am a mother first, and everything else comes after that. It was my natural reaction to answer that what I did was to be a mama.

The conversations didn't stop long. I was perfectly fine asking them about their jobs, talking about the economy, and even slipping back into conversations about the grants process and the state of arts funding in our community with a city councilwoman. Talking about what I used to do came naturally, and fit in with the evening, so I did it.

I don't want to only talk about what I used to do though, and on the way home, I thought it might be time for me to think about getting back into non-profit work. Maybe look into doing a little lobbying. I got excited driving home with possibilities of working for the community once again playing through my head.

As I walked through the front door, I had my mouth open, about to call out for Kevin. Before I could get a sound out, He came running on tiptoe down the stairs. Without the baby.

"Shhhhhhhhhh!" he said. "I've just gotten him to sleep."

All of the swirling thoughts that were spinning in my head dropped like anvils, and I started to cry. No rocking. No nursing. No Mama. He just went to sleep without me for the first time.

I realized right then that there was no job I could do that would be more important to me than being here for all the little things. Nothing that I could accomplish out there that would make me feel more fulfilled than to spend as much time with my son as possible right here.

Everything else can wait.

One Little Sheep

There is a story in the Bible about a shepherd with 100 sheep. One night, he is putting all of the sheep back in their pen and only counts 99 of them. He secures the 99 sheep and then goes to search high and low for the one missing sheep.

My heart hurts today for that one missing sheep.

Some of you know that I used to be the executive director for a non-profit music school for children from low-income families. Hundreds of children who were considered "at-risk" youth came through the school while I worked there, and for the most part, I have all of these warm fuzzy feelings about success stories. Children who decided to go to college. Children who earned places in the premier youth orchestra here in town. Children who got music scholarships to college. A clarinetist who ended up the top player in the state and is now at Harvard. Children who I when I bump into them, still give me a hug and have something good to say about their experience at the school.

Funding was granted because of our successes and our mission. Who could say no to giving music lessons and instruments to at-risk youth? Even the White House thought the program was super and in 2004 I took one of our students there to accept a Coming Up Taller Award from Laura Bush. I was proud of the work we did and the families we helped.

This morning, I turned on the news and saw the other side of the coin.

About six years ago, there was a little boy who had all the cards stacked against him. He was withdrawn. His mother got him to lessons late if she got him there at all. He was unresponsive with his teacher, although he really really wanted to learn to play. He was 10 years old with a tough guy attitude already trapping him behind a thick defensive wall. When his lessons were over though, he would come see me while he waited for his mother who often had to be called long after his lesson was over and told to come pick him up. We would talk, rather, I would talk and he would give me one word answers and at least one smile every week. He was the kind of boy that I knew had it in him to do great things, but had no support system. I fought like crazy to keep him in the program. Convinced his teacher weekly to be patient with him, rode his mother to get him there and get him there on time, and skirted around the attendance rules so that he wouldn't be kicked out. By the time he was 13, he disappeared. Phone disconnected, mail returned. Lost from our radar.

Last night he was arrested for murder. He's 16 years old.

It breaks my heart. It reminds me to look at the kids who get into trouble with the law and remember that at some point, somebody believed in them. It reminds me that most of the time, these are kids who had insurmountable issues at home, if they even had a home. Sure, they made their own choices and have to answer for them, but somewhere along the way, he was let down by the people who should have done right by him.

When I saw his mugshot on the news, I didn't see a murderer. I saw the little boy who never lost his drumsticks and always wanted to have his lesson even when his ride dropped him off so late that the next student had already started.

This little boy had potential to succeed, and the adults in his life failed him. Then he failed himself. I'm just so sad. I wish that I had tried harder to find this one sheep and keep him with us. Keep him in a program where he could learn self respect, good self esteem, and self discipline.

The 99 continue to make it worth all the work, but my heart is broken today for the one little sheep.

Cross posted at Triangle Mamas.

Because most people hate George Crumb

One more gig is history.

My calendar is dotted with gigs in the past and in the future. Good gigs. Gigs with the North Carolina Symphony. Gigs in front of 10,000 people. Gigs that get filmed for television. Gigs that take me to little places in the state that I wouldn't see otherwise.

There is a build up to each one. The anticipation and preparation that come with making sure everything is ready for that call time are a huge rush for me. Some people get nervous, I get excited.

I love the focus that I feel from sound check onto the stage. It is when I feel most capable.

Last night, I had another gig where we were backed up by an orchestra. We used the two arrangements I did in 2004 and I also scored two new ones. It is an opportunity that most "pop" musicians don't get, and I'm grateful for it.

It's interesting, how the orchestra musicians treat "the band." Even though I have a lot of the same training that they do and have a Bachelor of Music in composition, they look down their fretboards at me. It bothered me at first.

Only at first.

Now, I feel a little bit sorry for them that they can't enjoy what they are doing unless it is "serious" enough. A pops concert is below them, and they resent having to do it.

But the audience loves it.

That is one thing I've learned from playing with The Dude. I've learned that being a musician isn't just about the study, the practice, and the perfection of it all. It's about connecting with other people.

I liked being liked.

Mixed in with my training, there were years of dragging myself through the rock circuit only to be met with mild appreciation left me tired and a little bitter. I gave it my all, even when performing in a stupid sports bar in front of a 100 foot TV screen showing a hockey game.

But playing with The Dude is different. People buy tickets and come because they like his music. Then they get to the concert and they listen. Without a beer, a cigarette, and a conversation on the side. They applaud. They even want to talk to you and get autographs afterwards.

It's very satisfying, honestly.

I could hold my own with the orchestra. I have a deep love for modern music that works its way into my "pop" arrangements (yes, Mr. Trumpet player, I was perfectly aware that you were holding a minor second against the horns for an entire measure. I like minor seconds.). I could play it as snobby as the concert mistress did last night.

But where is the fun in that?

What is wrong with putting your effort into creating music that a broad base of people actually enjoy?

Nothing at all.

My life's work

In a few weeks, I'll have to start working again. Students will start coming back for their lessons. I have to admit, I'm not looking forward to it.

Really, as far as a work scenario goes, I've got it good. Students come to my house for their lessons. I've been teaching in the area long enough that I don't have to take students who don't do their work. I have the luxury of auditioning them and laying down some strict guidelines for remaining in my studio.

I love my kids (and Bach too!!!). Always have. Most of them have been with me for at least 5 years, some up to 10 years. They are not just my piano students, they are important people in my life. That is what drives me to continue. That and a 6'4" Mason & Hamlin sitting in my studio that I'm not finished paying for yet. Or for a few more years.

Today, I got an email from one of them, an adult student, asking if I was going to be ready to start teaching again next week. That will have given me 5 weeks off. I expressly told her before the baby arrived that I was taking at least 6 weeks. As of today, I'm thinking of taking 7 because of all the issues that we've been working through.

The email got under my skin, and I realized that for the first time, there is somebody that I want to put before my students. There is somebody who means more to me than anyone else ever will, and I want for people to realize that.

While I love teaching, and I love my students - Bird will always come first. I can do both; be a mommy and still teach. Plenty of women work longer hours than I do and are still mommies too.
But if I can't give him 6 or 7 work free weeks at the beginning of his life? That would be ridiculous.

Really though? I have my work. My heart's work. He's laying nestled on my left breast, sleeping peacefully on his boppy.

Aren't I lucky to do what I love?

Girl posted this video a few weeks ago. It riled me up, because it is so true. Today, I'm finally adding my two cents.

I used to think that it was musicians who were just taken advantage of as a profession. I know better now. There are so many people out there who want to get it for free. While I've discovered that it isn't an issue unique to musicians, I do think though, that it is a more prominent issue in arts based professions.

I'm here to tell you though, that just because my profession had to start of with some raw talent, doesn't mean that I didn't work my ass off to become good enough to earn my keep this way.

Music is one of those majors that you can't just walk into your freshman year of college. There has had to be years of training prior to making that decision. Training that you didn't get in school. Private training that cost your parents extra money, and that you had to make a conscious effort to continue every year. Training that requires expensive equipment and countless dollars towards books and upkeep of the instrument.

It's not like majoring in English, math, chemistry, or any other of those core classes that everyone takes. Anyone can choose to major in one of those if they have the credentials to get into the college in the first place. Not everyone can follow through, but they can try.

To major in music, you have to not only be able to academically get into the college, but you must also audition to gain permission to major in music. It's a whole different ballgame. And if it sounds like I'm a little snotty about it, I am. I am tired of people assuming that I'm less intellegent because I'm in an arts profession. Want to compare SAT scores? LSAT scores? IQ's? Bring it on. I'm a musician because I chose to be a musician. Not because I wasn't smart enough to do something else.

My training began when I was five and continues to this day.

Why then, am I expected to do what I do for free? Why am I expected to work under any circumstances, play any old crappy instrument that is provided, work without a contract, and be okay when people cancel a gig at the last minute?

Because I'm just a musician.

I'm calling bullshit on that today. I'm so tired of people thinking that because I get to do what I love, that I should just give it away. Literally and figuratively. That's one of the reasons I shy away from getting too involved at church. The day Guy and I joined the church, I was introduced to the music director and given the list of times that the choir met and all the other ways I could "give my gifts" to the church.

Yeah. Well, I might bake you cookies. I will donate to your Joy Gift fund. I will volunteer to do many things, but I will not be your free musician. You pay your preacher, your administrators, your janitor. Pay your freaking musicians. Pay them well. Because they have been studying their craft a lot longer than anyone else on your staff.

Here's the thing. I was supposed to have a gig at a historic home that has been converted into a place for parties. The holiday season is my busiest time of year, and this year, I have had to choose my gigs wisely. I can only sit at the piano for about an hour or my hips really start to hurt. It's also extremely tiring to be "on" for 3 hours at a time. So, I said yes to some one hour gigs, put them on my calendar, began brushing up on my Christmas music, and bought a non-returnable maternity outfit appropriate for gigging.

Less than 24 hours before the first gig, the girl from the house calls and cancels. Says very casually that they won't be needing me after all.

So let me ask this of you, oh unorganized event planner, what would happen if you did that to your caterer? What would happen if you did that to the florist? What would happen if the guests did that to you? There would be money exchanging hands anyway. People would still get paid instead of just brushed off.

Do you not understand that what you have done is completely unacceptable? That you can't just hire someone for an event and then decide the night before that you have changed your mind?

No. You don't. Because I didn't make you work with a contract. And that is my fault. I know better, and I still didn't send one. You were so nice on the phone, and I trusted you. I trusted that you were going to do what you said you would do, that I would show up to the scheduled gig, play, get paid, and go home.

Stupid, stupid me. But I always trust people. Guy has been gently pointing out to me different times when I have just trusted what someone has said, been let down, and then been angry about it. When I never should have trusted them in the first place.

I'm bitter today. Tired of being taken for granted professionally.

So from now on, don't even ask me to give it away. Unless you are my friend. In which case, I give you music because I love you and want you to have it.

Everyone else can just bite me.

And we don't stop

While nothing is on my mind more than my friend, we made a pact yesterday that life will go on, and we will be happy. Right on. So just a few words, and then onto the triviality.

Thank you for all who stopped by and visited her yesterday. Hopefully we'll meet over there a bunch and be her cheerleaders.

Bon wrote a beautiful post about her, and while I sort of felt like a crappy friend because I couldn't come up with words like that, I loved it nonetheless. That's just Bon though. She always has the right words. I, however, have junior high notes and poetry which I will break out if needed. Mwhahaha. Don't worry Clifford, we'll leave the boys out of it.

Slouching Mom too, offered her blog post in support of Whymommy. I would just like to say for the record, how grateful I am that fabulous writers are cropping up all over to say wonderful things about a wonderful woman.

So my mundane life . . . I got the worst pedicure ever today. When I left, I looked down at my toes and each toenail was rimmed in blood. It was sick. No wonder it stung when poured some sort of alcohol solution on them. Bitch. I tipped her too. I felt like going back in and shoving my bloody toes in her nasty fish smelling lunch and asking for my money back. I was so glad to be away from her nasty fish smelling lunch though, that I refrained.

Guy did it. He started a blog. He's funny. You should go visit him if you have a moment. I though the funniest part was that he was trying to get the name Fancy Pants for his Google email, and it wasn't available. Neither was MrFancyPants. Or MisterFancyPants. Or any other version of Fancy Pants. I mean really. How many more freaky men are there in this world that would want to name their blog Fancy Pants? At least three. So he went with Plans To Match. The other half of the phrase. I think he is planning on writing about things that make me laugh a lot. If that's true, he's going to be a busy blogger.

My yoga teacher decided not to kick me out of class. I'm so happy. She wanted me to find a prenatal class, but there wasn't one that was not right in the middle of my teaching schedule. So I talked to my doctor, and she said that I could keep going until my belly stopped me. Which could be next week if I don't stop eating HoHo's.

The doggy pregnancy monitor still says everything is good. I ordered a doppler, so that soon, I can quit relying on my dog to tell me if the little bird is still alive or not. Until it gets here though, I will most likely continue to call her up daily and have her put her head on my belly. Tail wag = good. I also analyze how much she follows me around. Both are dumb I know, but it's all I have until a week from tomorrow when I go back for my paranoia ultrasound.

That is all. I have to get ready for my last lesson with one of my favorite students. He graduated this year and is heading off to college. It's very cool to see a kid grow up, be successful, and leave, but it's sad too. He is a terrific guy, and I'm going to miss him much. You can see a snippet of him ripping through some Rachmaninoff here.

Until later . . .

Either pour a drink or move on

Tipsy blogging. Never a good idea. So here I go!

Best thing about starting your period? Damn straight. Drinking. On the bar tonight? A lovely bottle of 2004 Estate, Sonoma County, Pinot Noir by Nicholson Ranch. Yummmy. I have had one glass and I'm hitting the delete button at least half as much as the letters I am typing.

And yet I continue. Brilliant.

I hate selling my house. We have now changed everything down to the paint colors of my most beloved kitchen. And the realtor says, "It just looks perfect now." Great. I liked it before. So not the point, I know. But still. It was perfect before dammit.

That was a tangent, by the way. Here is the real blogging now.

In 2005, I was fired from one of my jobs. Luckily, it was the job I hated, so in the end, I was much better off. But still, for those of you who have been fired, it sucks.

"Hello, you suck ass. Leave now and give us your key."

Ouch.

The double ouch was that they called me in for a noon meeting, fired me, and then I had to dash off to a 2:00 funeral of one of my students. She was 6 years old, the most beautiful and bubbly student I had, and she was killed in a car accident. Her father accidentally ran a stop sign on a country highway and that was it. He survived. Physically that is. If you think about it, pray for that family on May 30. I do at least once a week, but that day in particular.

Anyway, the women who fired me accused me of trying to take over the school. My confusion was that the head woman had asked me to take over. She had asked for advice and help on making the school a more viable business.

Lesson #1: When your boss asks for help on a helpless situation, either shut the hell up or stroke their ego and tell them how awesome of a job they are doing. Look for other work in the meantime.

Lesson #2: When co-head woman milks the school for all the money she can all the while farming out 90% of her responsibilities to the other teachers and paying them a generous $10 per hour for work that she is already being, you shouldn't tell her that you prefer to teach her how to do her job once instead of you doing it month after month.

Lesson #3: When you know you are being screwed out of your mind, and you know your students are being screwed out of their hard earned cash, make the decision to leave yourself. Don't wait around out of some twisted loyalty for things to get better. They won't.

Lesson #4: Even though you work for a nonprofit organization, that doesn't mean that they are aware that their tax returns are public record. If they tell you they are in financial trouble and can't afford to give the teachers but a $0.25 per hour raise, don't expect them to know that you can download their financial records off the internet and present them. In complete oblivion that they were lying in the first place. As in, "Someon is giving you wrong information. You have plenty of money. See?" I can be so dumb.

So I've learned a lot. A lot of stuff I probably already knew but wasn't in a mental or emotional state to realize.

Now, two years later, the head and co-head have imploded upon each other. No surprise to me or T, but apparently a surprise to the rest of this area. And today, I took a look at the new websites for the school I used to work for and the school that the former co-head started (hence the implosion).

I cannot believe how many resemblances there are to my studio website. My studio name. My studio logo.

And yet, I am my own studio. I am not in competition with their schools. Not really. I am not soliciting students because I already have a waiting list. Plus, I don't have an overhead to meet really. I'm finally teaching for the love of teaching. That, and to pay for the fantabulous piano sitting in the other room.

What I want to know is this. If I had been trying to take over (which I wasn't), then did you really think it was that bad of a plan? I mean, if you are going to model yourselves after what works for me, can you really expect me to believe that I had bad ideas?

Not really. Just bad presentation.

Lesson #5: Presentation is everything.

Happy buttday to me

Today is an up day. I wasn't ready for this day, so in the shower this morning it was definitely not an up day, but I think it is turning into one. There were things I wanted to have done before this birthday. I am learning a lot about control, and the lack thereof.

My kiddos had their first competition of the season, and they kicked butt. I love it when they do that.

It is so incredibly cool to watch a student go from "I can't play this," to "Well, maybe I can play this part," to "Oh my gosh I love to play this piece." It is tons of fun.

Then, to have them go to a competition and be validated for all the work they have done - it is a great feeling. I can tell them how awesome they are all day long, but hearing it from a judge, well that is so very different.

On another note (no pun intended) . .

So 34 years ago on this day, my poor mother gave birth to me. I was butt first and folded in half. It was a vaginal delivery. Oh.my.god.

When she met Guy, she told him that I came out butt first and that is the way I have faced the world ever since.

I think she was kidding.

Rach and Roll

I'm not so rock 'n' roll anymore. My days are filled with this:




That is certainly not a complaint. This is just a smidgen of Rachmaninoff from one of my seniors. I'm going to miss him next year. This is the version where he isn't swearing after a mistake. That did crack me up though. You know they're cozy when the pottymouth slips out in a lesson.

Teaching is something I never thought I would do. Getting to know people like this student make me so thankful I was wrong.

The new year can't come soon enough

I was planning to sort of do a year in pictures today. Before miscarrage. Everything is before I lost the baby. Instead, I'm just going to point out some of the good things that happened this year. I've spent enough time and words on what has gone wrong.

Marriage. July 24, Guy and I were married by a stream in Montreat. It was perfect.

Family. My parents moved around the corner from Bro and Sil. Mom has been declared in remission. Nerves are cooling and settling down. Dad is, well, one out of two parents is still good.

Work. I quit one job, leaving my precious school in the capable hands of someone new and a great Board of Directors. I got a new piano and am enjoying growing my career as a performer and teacher.

Self. I learned what it felt like to be pregnant. I learned what it meant to love someone you hadn't even met yet more than you could possibly ever love yourself. At the same time, I learned how to love myself better because I was carrying my baby. He taught me the reason my body worked the way it did, looked the way it did, and how to enjoy every glimpse and every moment of it.

I'm trying so hard to end this year on a positive note. That would be completely dishonest though, now wouldn't it?

No matter what else has happened this year, I'm afraid I have to admit that 2006 will always be the year that I lost my baby. My first baby. The one I have waited on for close to 10 years. Please God, let 2007 be better.

Curtain call

Saturday was a big day. The group I play with performed with a 200 voice choir in the symphony hall here in the lovely capital city. We have played on that stage before, and we have played on TV before, but never on that stage on TV. Plus, we were playing mostly brand new material. It was a little stressful.

Full dress rehearsal started around 10:00 that morning. Wouldn't you know that as I was drying my hair that morning, I looked in the mirror and saw, oh my word - my bump. Cleatus determined that the very day I was already going to be in front of the 10 pound adding camera, he wants to make an appearance as well. Luckily, my organza pants had an elastic waist. The sweater though - well, the sweater was shorter in the front than in the back. I guess that in itself isn't so new. My boobs are ginormous. However, Guy proclaimed (proudly, I might add) at the end of the night,

"You so looked pregnant up there on stage."

That's so cool. Of course, to some people I might just look chunky. I have no control over that. I did think ahead enough to get a manicure and stop by Kerry Catherine and get my rings cleaned. They always do a close up of the pianist's hands. I wanted those puppies to sparkle. Make Guy proud. He said that the camera was swooping in at me, so I hope that they got that shot.

Overall, I think the evening went pretty well. We held everything together, and Dude has an amazing way with a crowd, no matter what the setting. I don't know if it is his day job that gives him that - he is a morning news anchor - or if it is his personality. He just makes everyone feel at ease. He is a pleasure to play with.

The coolest part of the evening though was having my family in the audience. I could even see the from the stage. You can only see about 10 rows back because of the lights. But there they were, Guy, Guy's dad, and Lovely. There they were, smiling at me, and it was awesome.

Endings and beginnings

It's my last day at work. Well, one job at least. I will still have the other two part-time jobs.

So I'm leaving one thing and moving onto another.



Guy said I shouldn't tell too many people yet because you never know what will happen. Good thing we are a small circle of friends here I guess.

I've been working in charity for almost 6 years now. The music school that I run is a non-profit organization that gives music lessons to children from low-income families for $1 per week. It is a service, or a charity. The lessons cost the school $26 each, so essentially, every half-hour of operation, there is another $25 to make up in grants and donations.

This past week, I've been reconsidering the purpose and value of charity. I even thought that I might be turning into a Republican. Lest I lose a reader right here and now, at the end, I decide that I'm not.

What I decided was that there are 2 types of charity.

There is charity that believes the recipient is less fortunate and somehow beneath the giver. It is out of the giver's kindness and general superdooperness that this unfortunate soul will be lifted up out of its misery.

Then there is the charity that believes that the recipient is equal to the giver and therefore deserves the help being given so that the two might have a chance at the same opportunities in life.

After serving my community for almost 6 years, watching my first marriage crumble as I spent 50 plus hours a week at this part-time job, and more than doubling the school's services and annual budget, I was called a racist last week.

The short story is I had to write a disciplinary letter to a parent who was completely out of line with one of our faculty members. I don't like to do it, but teachers can be hard to keep, and I have to stand behind them when they are mistreated.

The parent responded with a handful of letters to me, the Board President, and the city arts commission. She had her venting opportunity, and I think that will be the end of it. I certainly don't send disciplinary letters without support and approval of the Executive Committee, so it's not like I just flew one off the handle and sent it for kicks. They were aware, informed, and in agreement.

The point is that she declared that the school and myself were a bunch of racists. She said that she had noticed at recitals that the black children were given less challenging pieces than the white children. Never mind that I can't think of a single white child in the program who is an advanced student. There are some intermediate and advanced Latinos and Asian Indians, but since they are not black, I guess that makes them white.

She stated that I always try to make them grateful and if they are some sort of charity.

Um. Sorry to point this out, but you are. I remind people who supports us, and yes, I expect everyone at the school to be grateful. That includes me, the families, the teachers, and the Board. When people give you things, you say thank you.

So I went around and around about how that made me feel. The first stop was at the misconception that all my work was futile and I should never have left the deep South where I was never surprised when someone randomly called me a racist for no bloody reason. I thought I was stupid for trying to be a private school educated white woman running an organization that serves mostly African American students. Who was I to think that I could do that without being considered a uppity racist trying to help the poor black children.

After a few more stops at self pity, more anger, and the one that I almost declared Republican at, I found myself at the stop of, "This is not my issue."

Not once have I ever thought that I was helping the poor black children until this woman suggested it to me. It has been and will continue to be my stance that every child deserves a music education, not just those whose families have expendable income with which to provide it. I do not care what color you are, where you came from, or why you don't have enough money to provide it. The children deserve it because they are just like all the other children.

So next time you write a check to a charity, stop and think why you are writing it. Are you writing it because you want to help fellow human beings and try to make the human playing field a little more even whenever you can? Or is there some other reason that you feel the need to write that check?

Pity is cheap to pay in but expensive to pay out. Compassion is a much better bargain.

Deborah commented to me today that Lovely seemed to be adjusting remarkably well to her new family construction. I agreed and tossed in how I knew that we would hit our rough spots and I was ready for it and I would be patient, yah, yah, blah. Deborah said that things might happen and they might not. "I never got the stepmom thing from my kids," she said.

That's probably because she just called them "her" kids. She accepted them right away and loved them for who they were, where they were, and whatever they were to become.

As much as I am learning to love her, I have yet to do that with Lovely. Right now, she still feels like someone else's child. Guy has already jumped right in and introduces me and "our daughter" to people like I'm the one who gave birth to her. It makes me a little uneasy; like someone is going to point and yell, "Fraud!"

Fraud is a fear of mine. For whatever reason, I have always felt like I'm just getting by in whatever I'm doing. I don't know if it is because I never planned to be a piano teacher and I never planned to be an arts administrator, or if it is some other misfiring in my brain. I swear, I'm standing in the White House, receiving an award for the school that I run, Laura freaking Bush is shaking my hand and I'm thinking, "Why am I here, and how can I keep them from finding out that it shouldn't be me?"

I would love to start taking piano lessons again myself. There are so many things that I want to learn: better technique, how to really play jazz, and a breadth of literature that I know I missed out on in my younger years. So far, what stops me from starting is fear of fraud. My students place in so many competitions that I have developed this reputation in the area as being a kickass teacher. Why then do I still feel like I'm flying by the seat of my pants? If I were to sign up for lessons, then someone in my own profession would find out how very little I know and how very little I can play of the standard classical repertoire, and I would be found out as a fraud.

So I go about my days, doing the best that I can and praying that no one finds out that I am less than I seem. Stated that way, I think maybe I could use therapy. Of course, that would mean actually talking to someone, and having them find out that in fact, I am less put together than I seem. Just a big fraud.

Although I would be delighted if a giant cookie rolled out of that truck, it is in fact, something much much better.

Thanks to some really strong guys and pretty ingenious piano moving tools, I am now the proud owner of a 6'4" Mason & Hamlin grand piano.

The joy comes not just in playing it, hearing it played, and sitting staring at it praying it doesn't vanish out of my imagination - there is joy in the feeling of validation.

I am a pianist. A musician. A singer. A composer. A teacher. And now, I have an instrument that makes me feel valid. Like I'm doing this for real.

It's like a computer programmer using a Commodore 64 to program, or if Emeril was cooking in the woods over an open fire. Most professions require certain tools specific to that profession. Mine is no different.

In a month, I lose my title of Executive Director. Now, it doesn't bother me quite as much.

I am a musician.

Thank you, Guy.

On Friday, I will resign. For 6 years, I have been the Executive Director of a non-profit music school whose mission is to provide music lessons to children from low-income families. You really couldn't create a more fulfilling job.

The children at this school pay $1 per week for their music lesson. We give them an instrument to use while they are enrolled and even buy their music books if they need us to. Our teachers are professionals, and our graduating class of 2006 went on to Harvard, Duke, NCA&T, Wake Tech, and Barton College. Not too shabby.

I've been to the White House to accept an award from Laura Bush. There have been newspaper interviews, podcast interviews, and numerous TV interviews. We get funding from the National Endowment for the Arts, our state arts council, the city, the county, and usually just about anyone else I ask for it.

This has nothing to do with me. The program is magnificent. The idea is brilliant. The need is absolutely relevant and the results scream success and value. I have said many times and say again, "It is easier to give us the money than it is to tell us no." It is true. What this school does with $25 could not be replicated by another arts organization or another service organization of which I know. The one-on-one student/teacher ratio and quality of music education offered makes our program the most important program seeking grants in this town.

Modest? Not me. I reiterate though, it's not me. Thank God it isn't, because I'm quitting. After 6 years of throwing my entire being into this school, I am tired. The responsibility of being in charge of the music education of 200 kids, a six-figure budget, 20 faculty, another staff member, and working with a volunteer Board of Directors has finally gotten to me.

I want to be a family girl.

There is my new family. And there is my old family. My parents need me more than ever. Guy needs me and Lovely needs me. And I want to have a baby.

I don't think I've ever looked at that sentence before. It seems odd to come from me. I have been an independent woman, a career minded, socially responsible, civic concerned woman. Lots of my colleagues and friends have no children.

I want to have a baby.

Let me be slightly more specific. I want to have Guy’s baby. I want to be a mommy with his daddy. I want to change the diapers of our offspring, get hardly any sleep, have sore nipples, wash 18 loads of laundry a day, and take long morning walks behind a stroller.

The beauty of being a musician is that you make up your own job. I can be a stay-at-home mom and still teach. I can teach as many or as few students as I want to. I can take as many or as few gigs as I want to. I can record, write, or do nothing as I see fit.

I am looking forward to having more time for my family and for music. Guy and I are looking forward to recording together, writing together, playing together, and just being together. I have never looked forward to the future before. I have only looked at making it through the now.

Although I am sad and scared to leave my job, I can honestly say that I'm looking forward to something new. I hope that I have accomplished enough to have made a difference while I was there.