Piano Lessons

I am fortunate to be able to teach piano lessons in our local school. And I am fortunate to have the cutest, keenest piano students ever! They are all from the same class. They are all at the same level.  And they all started lessons in October. On average, each of my 4 students has had 7 lessons. But that's where the similarities end.

The youngest student - a boy- is very quiet. His hands are very small. He rarely speaks to me. He is always tired. And he is always prepared. Today I put a new piece of music in front of him, and while I was babbling away, explaining the new concepts in the piece, he just started to play.  Just like that. I was still talking when I noticed that he was half way through the piece.  So I let him play. And make mistakes. And smile when he finished. He smiled.  And he told me that he likes 'f'. He likes the sound that 'f' makes. He rarely smiles at his piano lessons, so this was good.

One of my students always makes me smile by the funny things he says. He'll be in the middle of a piece and stop to tell me something important. He's a quick learner too. Today, when I opened his book up to a new piece and asked if he'd like to learn it, he looked at it, then told me, "Nah, it's too hard..." It, after all, had parts in it that were hands together, with chords. Daunting, naturally, to a young boy who just started lessons last month.  He started a couple weeks later than the other 3.  But, I sat beside him, and had him talk me through the piece. He figured out what all the notes were, and slowly, methodically, and almost miraculously he played a piece of music that just a few minutes earlier looked impossible. His grin afterwards was worth it!

The oldest in the group, a girl, is now playing Christmas music.I gave her really hard pieces today. In one song she learned at least 5 new things. And she played through the piece, hands separately, very well. She has 1 week to practice hands separate and another week, before her next lesson, to put the hands together. She tackles her music with intensity and joy. She makes mistakes grandly. And accepts help equally as grandly. It's hard to believe that she has had only 8 lessons.

If I could use 1 word to describe the other girl it would be, "Joyful!" She is a very happy girl and she makes me smile just by looking at her. I think she's hard on herself, musically that is. I think she second guesses her abilities. I mentioned that to her today. I told her that she KNOWS the music- she just has to believe she does. And I think, after telling her that, she believed me.  The rest of the lesson seemed to convey that to me anyway. She played and even counted out loud! I knew she 'got it'!

So, because I have been entrusted with these musicians in training, I will strive to be the best teacher I can be for them. I will pray, continually, for insight and creativity as I teach. I will strive to encourage and be a cheerleader for each one. Each one is unique in their own special way.  And I'm the lucky one who gets to try and tap into that creativity at each lesson!

Last Times

I have enjoyed watching every stage that DD and DS have been through- stages that have come and gone as quietly as breaths of a whisper. One stage would be upon us, and before we knew it, that stage was replaced by a different stage.  And each stage was over quickly and quietly. My Sweetheart and I were talking about that the other morning. I think we got on to that topic, when, while laying in bed willing ourselves to get up and leave the warmth of the blankets, knowing how frigidly cold it was outside, we were talking amongst ourselves with a warm little body between the 2 of us.  Except it wasn't a warm little body of a little child who had come in after having a nightmare- it was the warm little body of a little shit-zu.  And she breathed on My Sweetheart.  But not with the sweet little puffs of baby breath that we so enjoyed while DS and later DD were little babies.  No, Chico's breath wasn't like that.  Her breath was anything but sweet.  And it wasn't puffy.  It was snorty. But it got us reminiscing and staying in bed just a little longer.  We wondered, 'when was the last time we...."?  And we filled in the blanks...

When was the last time we burped each child?

When was the last time they sat on our laps while we watched a movie during family night?

When was the last time we put a bib on our baby?

When was the last time we shampooed their hair while they were in the tub?

When was the last time we pulled the high chair up to the table?

When was the last time we carried DD to bed because she had fallen asleep on our knee?

When was the last time we watched DS paint at the kitchen table?

When was the last time DD played with her barbies?

When was the last time DS played with his rescue heroes?

When was the last time I rubbed DS's back while tucking him in?

When was the last time we scratched DD's back for the same reason?

When was the last time they jumped into bed for a morning snuggle?

When was the last time we hooked their seat belts up for them?

When was the last time we held their hands while crossing the streets?

When was the last time we pulled up the zippers on their winter coats?

We don't remember all these 'last times'.  They came so gradually.  All of a sudden our babies were toddlers. Then they were at school.  Now they're thinking of universities. While it's somewhat sad that we don't remember when each stage left, it is also somewhat exciting knowing that each stage has left and has been replaced by new stages. And I am so glad that the Lord saw fit to bless me with 2 incredible children to have these stages to go through.  And I am so glad that He blessed me with an incredible husband to partner through these stages with.

And That's the Kind of Day It's Been

Yesterday morning, when My Sweetheart was driving me into town to meet up with my cousin who was going to drive her and I to a trade show in a neighboring town, we hit a dog.  My friend's dog. It jumped out over the road too fast, and at just the wrong time. My Sweetheart had a smidge of time to apply the brakes, but not enough time to stop. I was sick. I cried. The dog was alive however, but seemed to be hurt.

  The accident happened just across from their driveway so we hurried to their house, relayed what had happened, then hurried back to the dog and waited no more than 30 seconds until they arrived with their truck and loaded the dog up to take to the vet in the city. Needless to say, I was a wreck until later on when I received a text from my friend, assuring me that the dog was at the vet's and in good hands.

On our way to the trade show, just after I had told my cousin what had happened, a dog ran across the highway. Fortunately, we saw that in lots of time, and my cousin was able to slow down and save the dog. I hope it went straight home.

When I got home from the trade show My Sweetheart informed me that he had run over one of our cats- apparently on our way into town in the morning- just before we hit our neighbor's dog. We didn't notice the cat accident though. Kitty had met her demise in our yard- as My Sweetheart was leaving the yard. He didn't notice that until he got back home after dropping me off at my cousin's.

So, that was the kind of day yesterday was. A day that, I am glad to say, isn't the norm. A day that makes me appreciate the 'good' days more.

Cheers to Volunteers

I was thinking, this morning as I was driving into town, about our community and the many volunteers who make this community a good place to live.

About 5 minutes after we had brought DS home from the hospital, a week after he was born, the lady in charge of the "rink duty" scheduling phoned to see if My Sweetheart and I would volunteer for rink duty. I found it amusing that we were phoned to see if we would volunteer. Does that make it volunteering then? I guess she thought that now that we had a big strapping son, he would turn into a big strapping hockey player and that we would be hanging out at the rink. I shuddered. I don't enjoy watching hockey, and I can't even stand on skates. But we signed up.  And for the next few years we 'volunteered' at the rink for 1 week a year. Along with the others on our crew we flipped burgers, sold pie, cleaned bathrooms, made coffee, cleaned the windows between the ice and the inside part of the rink where spectators sat to watch the events.  We scrubbed floors when it got muddy, and scrubbed floors when our shift was complete. And we did it with a smile.  Seriously.  Although there were times when it was crazy busy, those were the times when it was fun to be around lots of people. But when DS was in grade 1 or 2 he decided that soccer was the sport for him. And indoor soccer, in the city, took place in the winter, when our rink is open.  We were gone almost every weekend for tourneys, and we were gone 2-3 nights a week for practice. So we took our name off the 'rink duty' list. And, through the small town grapevine, heard some not nice things about us.

But volunteering at the rink is not the only place where volunteers can be spotted. Some people might find that hard to believe.

There are those people who deliver meals on wheels to the seniors.  Cheers to you!

Those who shingle halls and churches - Cheers to you!

To those who, every Sunday play the instruments in your churches - hats off to you!

There are volunteers who go to the Care Home and entertain the residents.  Cheers!

To the parents who carpool students to tournaments - You are appreciated!


You teachers who coach our kids after hours, and who mentor our future leaders - Cheers!

Moms who take food to food booths at the school when there are tournaments - Cheers!

Hats off to the women who slave over hot stoves for fall and fowl suppers!

To the volunteers who take people to medical appointments - you are appreciated!

The directors, producers, actors, servers, artists and everyone else involved with drama club, put in hours and hours of work that culminates in an appreciated touch of culture for our community.  Thank you!

To my singers, ushers, program makers, ticket passer-outers, and everyone else involved in the cantata- cheers to you for the hours of rehearsal time volunteered!

The community choir depends on volunteers for leading, accompanying and myriad other tasks that go unnoticed - Cheers!

All the organizations - the Lion's Club, Seniors' Club, and the Youth Group Leaders in our community - Thank you for all the volunteering you do!  Cheers!

There are even sneaky volunteers.  The ones who quietly go about helping and quite often are unnoticed. The ones who pick up mail for shut-ins, shovel walks, deliver baking when someone is hospitalized - You matter! You are appreciated!  Cheers!

I'm grateful for volunteer opportunities that come up - grateful to be part of a community that needs each other in order to survive as a community.  I pray that my small community will never take our volunteers for granted. I pray that the Lord will bless the volunteers!

He's On His Way

It's just a long weekend.  But I haven't seen him since Thursday morning.  It's now almost supper-time on Sunday. And Dear Son just texted to say they're on hwy 32.  He'll be home in about an hour.  And I am so excited to see him.

DS, and some other teens from our town, along with the wonderful youth group leaders, have been in the big, big city for a youth thing. It sounds like, from the texts, that they've been having a  great time.

Since he's been away the rest of us have been enjoying indulgences that DS doesn't particularly care for - bacon and eggs for breakfast, watching Pearl Harbour on Remembrance Day, White Christmas last night.

But tonight is his night.  Well, supper is anyway. I texted him earlier to see what he wanted for supper.  He didn't care- just not stew. So I'm making spaghetti.  The meat sauce is simmering, water for the pasta is heating up, and the pie has been made. DS loves pie.  Pie is his preference over cake when it's his birthday. I know he likes spaghetti too!

I'm really excited to see him.  I can't imagine how much more excited I'll be to see him when he leaves home for good and comes home on long weekends. And Christmas time. That 'coming home' time after being away is coming sooner than I thought possible. The precious years with DS and DD at home are quickly coming to an end. DD has already been looking into universities.  DS will be graduating high school in a year and a half.  And that year and a half will fly by.

We're making this time count. We hope we're instilling good things into our kids. We hope they'll leave home with wonderful memories.  And we hope they always will be excited about coming home - coming home where the love and  welcome will always be waiting, and coming home where the pie will be cooling on the counter.

Grandpa Saw a City Burn



I went into our school today for the Remembrance Day ceremony that was put on the by students. Dear Son, with the rest of the grade 11, History 20 class, had a prominent role in the ceremony.  The gade 11 class, typically does each year. The whole ceremony was very well done- moving in fact.

When it was over, Mom and I headed into the city to do some shopping. On the way home we talked about her dad- my Grandpa.  A man who, sadly, I never really knew.  I remember seeing him once - when he was in the nursing home. That is my first and only memory of him. At the time I was a young teenager and he was an old man.  The only connection I had with him was Mom. That saddens me.  That saddens me that I never took time to try and get to know him.  All in retrospect I guess. Had I known then what I know now I would have written him letters. I might have phoned him.  I don't even know what his voice sounded like. He never heard me sing. I'm pretty sure that the only thing he heard me say was, 'Hi Grandpa.' I'm pretty sure that's all I did say to him. I remember going to Grandma's when I was little; but I don't remember Grandpa being there. I'm sure he was though.  Grandpa died when I was 17. 1981. It's funny now, because when I'm doing the math, he would have only been 75.  And I thought he was an old man. Mom is older than that now, and I think she is incredibly young.

Grandpa left his family in 1941 to go to war. He would have been 35. I've heard that many soldiers lied about their ages in order to enlist. Grandpa would have likely seemed old to those younger ones. I like to think that he would have been a father-figure to the young soldiers. I like to think that maybe he was able to offer words of hope and encouragement to them when they were scared or homesick. I like to think that he would have treated them like his step-sons. Grandma's first husband had died before Mom was born and Grandpa would have been a step dad to Mom's older brothers - 1 of whom would have been old enough to fight in the war and another 1 who could have lied about his age to fight.

Mom told me that Grandpa wrote poems. I wonder if his poetic genes were passed on to me.  I wonder, if he would have still been alive, if he would have enjoyed the songs I wrote. Grandpa wrote 1 poem called, if Mom's memory is correct, "I  Saw a City Burning", a poem that someone put music to and recorded.  I'd love to see that poem, to hear it being read, to hear it being sung.  But it's lost somewhere. He wrote it while in London. While he was there he and a buddy had been to someone's home - likely a lovely couple who had invited them in for some sort of normalcy in the midst of a horrible war. They were playing cards. Grandpa and his buddy were going to go back to wherever they were staying, but were talked into playing "just 1 more game" - a game that saved their lives. While they were playing cards, during that last game, the place where Grandpa and his buddy had been had they not been playing cards, was bombed. I believe that the Lord spared his life then.

Grandpa was away for his family for the duration of the war. Mom remembers when he came home.  She was 11 years old. She remembers meeting him  at the bus. I wonder if he recognized his little red-haired daughter. Did he know the twins who were then 7? They would have been 2 when he left to go and fight. Mom remembers that her mom had roasted a chicken that day. I wonder if that was Grandpa's favorite meal. I can't imagine how it must have been for him coming home. I can't imagine the horrors he would have seen- cities burning, buddies dying...But I can imagine what kept him going - the love of his family, as well as the love for his country.

I wish I would have known my Grandpa. I would have told him how proud I am to be his granddaughter.  I would have told him 'thanks, Grandpa.'

Belonging

On Sunday night, when I got out of the car, near the  church where we've been rehearsing for a few weeks now, the fragrant aroma of wood-- burning from a fireplace in a nearby house-- wafted to my nostrils.It was a welcoming, comforting smell;  the smell that says, "welcome to winter!"  There was something  comforting and peaceful about that smell, combined with the falling snow, the nip in the air, and the warmth from the church as I entered. It felt--well, it felt 'right'.  And then, as the chorus members trickled in, laughing, smiling, obviously happy to be there, I knew that this is where, for this time in my life, I belong. I enjoy directing the choir.  I enjoy helping them learn their parts and I enjoy listening to the fruit of all of our labours. Each member is vital. Each member is appreciated.  Each member is valuable. Each member belongs.

That's what I was thinking about when I was driving home after rehearsals. I was thinking of how important  and crucial it is for every person to know that he or she belongs. I belong to God's family, my family, my prayer group, my church, my choir. I'm accepted, loved, and my gifts are utilized wherever I belong. I'm strengthened by belonging. There's something powerful and humbling at the same time - knowing that I belong.