Music, Teaching, Learning, and Life

This week I started reading the book of Isaiah again. A couple of days ago I read Chapter 9, the portion that contains the words made famous by Handel in the Messiah.

For unto us a child is born, unto us, a son is given, unto us, a son is given. And the government shall be upon his shoulders….And his name shall be call-ed Wonderful, Counselor, the Mighty God, the Everlasting Father, the Prince of Peace, the Everlasting Father, the Prince of Peace.

A post yesterday about the origins of the date for Christmas, December 25, had me thinking about the ideas of birth, death, and resurrection. Handel also used a passage from Revelations in his famous oratorio.

Worthy is the Lamb that was slain to receive glory and honor and power and blessing.

I’m not naive enough to believe that Handel’s life was without fault, any more than any of the rest of us. However, I’m very thankful that God used his life in spite of that to remind me of those truths.

Merry Christmas!

My original plan was to post several essays about ornament memories and stories this season. However, time has passed with only a few days before Christmas, so this one post will have to suffice.

During recent years, my thoughts have turned frequently to life’s purpose. I’ve often trapped myself in never-ending comparisons to others. Time and again, though, I’m reminded of the value of every life, whether or not it is marked by notoriety or wealth. As I unpacked the family’s ornaments this year, I was reminded of some of those lives.

At first glance, you might think I’m writing about one of my daughters. My daughters are extremely important to me, but this particular ornament makes me think of the person in the red shirt holding my daughter.

Before we moved to the western suburbs of Chicago a few years ago, our family attended the same church for sixteen years. My husband and I had attended as college students and made the decision to continue there after we were married. Three years later, our oldest was born. The church has wonderful children’s programs, including a nursery for all services. Betty Ann worked in that nursery for more than 20 years, faithfully. Every year, she took pictures of her little charges and made ornaments for the parents, like the one you see above. (We had one for our youngest as well, but the dog destroyed it when she was a puppy.) Betty Ann’s faithfulness in loving our babies week after week, year after year, is what strikes me when I get to this ornament. Because of her reliability, countless parents were able to leave their children to worship “in peace” because Betty Ann’s familiar face was there almost every Sunday. I don’t remember what she did outside of church, what kind of job she had or the details of her family life, but I remember that Betty Ann loved my daughters.

The ornament to the left is one from my college days. During my years at Olivet Nazarene University, Bourbonnais, IL (now Chicago Bears training ground), I worked in the music department office a few hours each week. My boss, Norma, was extremely welcoming and helpful to me, a naive, shy “country girl.” She took me under her wing my freshman year, as I was 1000 miles from home. During my first September in the midwest, she and her husband took me and another student to the Chicago Jazz Festival in Grant Park. On that trip, I saw the rows of project housing lining I-94 North for the first time, the “magic lips” marking our exit home, and Lake Shore Drive. I also stood on the sidewalk beside the Sears’ Tower and peered up like any new tourist at its dizzying height. Later that year as the weather got colder, she presented me with my first pair of moon boots. (Why were the called moon boots??) She probably knew my family had limited funds to send in addition to what they were already contributing to my education.

By the way, it’s very difficult to stay focused on my topic with my comedian of a husband cracking jokes behind me…and explaining moon boots to me:) On with my story.

My junior year at Olivet, students dressed up for a Halloween event. I chose to dress up as the Statue of Liberty, replete with rolls and rolls of aluminum foil and a torch. That event lives in my memory because of the ornament. More importantly, the thoughtfulness of my mentor, Norma, who gave me the ornament, remains.

My final ornament memory for this season is contained in the picture to the right. My dear husband’s mother gave it to me after our first year of marriage. She taught me to sew that year. She was also one of the few people I’ve met in my life who was consistently cheerful, with the true heart of a servant. It sounds like the rosy recollections for someone gone two decades, but my memories of her are of laughter, encouragement, kindness, and selfless acts for others. She was full of conversation, taking an active interest in everyone around her. I also remember the moments of frustration she had during her last months. Our last holiday we saw her, December, 1989, she sewed her last piece: a white tux shirt Kevin needed for band. I’m certain she was in pain, but she kept at it until she finished. We still have that shirt.

I think often about the value of our individual lives. Even though the three people I’ve mentioned don’t have any claim to fame, their lives were invaluable to me.

That’s the question I continue to ask myself.

I’ve been through several seasons of my life in recent years: moved to a new community, earned a master’s degree, struggled through changes in my marriage, sent my first daughter off to college, and began a journey of regular practice. What is the purpose of all this practicing? I’m not sure. Does there need to be a larger purpose? My competitive nature tells me there should be.

I hear other musicians, both educators and performers and find my skills lacking. I’m 44 years old. Maybe I could have done more if I’d practiced regularly as a teenager and young adult. Hindsight doesn’t really help me at this juncture, though.

I don’t have a definitive answer for myself. I’m not sure I need one. With those questions in mind, I’m off to practice.

I came back after a few minutes of practicing to add one more thought. “Do more” translates in my mind to “play better.”

This afternoon I experienced Skype with two of my 2nd grade classes. It was wonderful for all involved.

About a month ago, I saw a few tweets about skyping with students by three different twitter friends. Within a week, a music teacher from New Jersey posted a request for a class to share the experience with her students. Even though I was nervous about the technicalities, I jumped at the chance.

We used e-mail to work out the details. (I almost forgot to consider the time difference!) After a final conversation via Skype last night, and some help from a techie teacher on my end, we were ready.

Each class sang a couple of concert songs for our distant audience.  On our end, we heard the New Jersey children sing a song partially in Chinese while the classes here shared American Sign Language in one of our selections. Both classes were able to connect with the other. There is a Chinese speaking student in one of the 2nd grade classes here, and our new friends are familiar with sign language.

We made sure to allow time for a few questions about the music programs at our respective schools, as well as details about the weather and time differences. The classes were so excited and attentive!

Even though working out the details was a little tricky (scheduling music in a classroom with a big screen, projector, and web cam; scheduling around time differences, etc.), I’m so glad I took the risk. Now I want to plan a Skype session with a classroom in a different country! Time differences could be a challenge. Maybe I’ll start with the Western Hemisphere…

As the third grade classes dance one of my all-time favorites, a reel, to the music “Alabama Gal” in Chimes of Dunkirk, I feel right at home! My student teacher is currently in charge,  so I have time to write a few thoughts.

Yesterday was the first full rehearsal for the 2nd grade musical. The music and riser choreography is well prepared. I’m thrilled with that part of the production. However, the cast on stage is struggling. Part of the problem is all students don’t have their lines memorized yet. I also figured out last night, that there’s another problem. I scheduled practices a week earlier than last year (a good thing), but only once a week for each scene rather than twice a week. That wasn’t such a good thing! Most students need more frequent practice (fewer days apart) for their lines, blocking, etc. to stick!

The solution I arrived at will hopefully be enough. I’ve scheduled in another practice for each scene over the next few days. Frequency of instruction and practice is important for all areas of learning. I must remember that fact the next time I schedule the scene practices of even a simple 2nd grade play.

Several years ago I met Ross Kellan for the first time.  Ross is a wonderful musician and teacher known and loved throughout the western Chicago suburbs by scores of students and families whom he influenced during his 30+ years of service at Glenbard East High School. He went on after his retirement to join the faculty at Elmhurst College. I met him there when I joined the College/Community Band under his direction. Even though he’s widely known by educators and students alike for his excellent example, he’s also one of the humblest people I know. When we met, one of his first questions to me was, “Bonnie, what’s your story?” I didn’t know exactly how to respond at the time, but I’m working on the details of that story!

Another friend just last night commented that the ornaments we put on our Christmas trees each year tell part of our stories. I experienced that fact yesterday as my family displayed our many eclectic treasures. I’ve forgotten the stories behind many, but some ornaments stand out in my mind as marking very special moments, memories, or people who have influenced my life. I’m going to try to post a few entries of Christmas ornament memories that tell part of my story over the next few weeks.

I believe every single person has a story to share, no matter how boring or insignificant you think it might be. I imagine there are people in your life who would like to know what your story is!

Discovering the world of musicians, educators, and techies on the internet has been both inspiring and intimidating.  I often see posts by others and feel totally inadequate. There are so many teachers with wonderfully creative ideas, musicians who perform at levels much higher than I , and techies who are on the cutting edge.  I lag behind in each of those areas.

I decided to revamp my school blog during November after a few posts by other music educators. I heard several conversations on twitter about Skype sessions between music classes. What a great idea! (I’m now in the process of scheduling a Skype session with another music teacher in the northeast.) I also heard a podcast of a fourth grade choir singing in two-part harmony. It was a rehearsal, not a polished performance. During those weeks I also began following Brenda Muench’s school blog on a regular basis. Those posts reminded me that a school blog is about students, not me.

I’m posting podcasts of class sessions. Those podcasts are real life. Students are still in the process of learning. Singing is often off pitch. The recordings themselves aren’t great quality. However, as I’ve played them back for various classes, I’ve seen students evaluate themselves at a higher level. Students are also excited about visiting links at home. They’re more motivated!

The blog is also serving as a medium of communication with parents. They can hear what their children are doing and learning in class every day.  In the process of blogging there, I can further educate parents about the value of a music education.

I still have so far to go, so much to learn. I’m continuing that journey with the revamped school blog. I needed to “just do it.”

This morning I called my Dad to wish him a Happy Thanksgiving. During the conversation he mentioned going to the annual Thanksgiving Day cane grinding at my uncle’s farm.

Daddy was born and raised in a very small, rural community. One of thirteen brothers and sisters, they grew up on a farm, about 250 acres large. They grew vegetables (canning and freezing many), raised animals for food, milk, and labor, churned their own butter, harvested grapes, etc. They were considered poor even in their small community, but they always had food to eat and a few items of clothing to wear.

As a child growing up, I spent many Thanksgivings at my father’s parents’ home in northern Florida. Crossing over the state line (a river) from Georgia on the way, our family had a tradition of singing “Over the River and Through the Woods.” We also played a silly game to see who could be “first” in the car to cross the line. As the youngest, I somehow was allowed to win this game frequently!

Even in the 1970’s, Daddy’s parents were still using milk on the table that had come straight from the farm cows. I can’t say I enjoyed it, but grandmother’s homemade biscuits are still some of the best I’ve ever tasted. She made them without a recipe, using lard. I learned to mix peanut butter and my uncle’s sugar cane syrup for a delicious dip for the biscuits.

Every Thanksgiving we spent in northern Florida, we went to my uncle’s place a few miles away for the annual sugar cane grinding and syrup making. My memories revolve mostly around playing with my cousins, and chewing on pieces of cane to get the last drops of sweetness. I wish I had paid more attention as a child to the details, but I do remember the huge vat where the juice was cooked down to the syrup’s sticky consistency before being bottled in hundreds of jars for family, friends, and for sale. I remember the barn being a stifling, steamy place, too hot even for a chilly Thanksgiving morning. It seemed run-down to me even then. But the sugar cane syrup made there is still my favorite of any, ever.

My Dad told me this morning that my 88 yr old uncle and his family no longer make the syrup. They still harvest the cane, but the syrup isn’t made at that location. I was there on Thanksgiving Day for the cane grinding several years back for the last time. Even though it hasn’t been a part of my life except that once in many years, I’m sad to hear that part of my extended family’s Thanksgiving tradition is over.

That one memory has brought to the forefront of my mind many of the ideas and struggles that have been a part of my blogging in the last few years. Perhaps the questions I’ve struggled with are questions some of you struggle with as well: Who am I? What is my calling? How can my life make even a small difference in this world?

I’m still working on the answers to those questions. However, this morning I was reminded of one thing. I’m still my father’s daughter, and I’m very thankful for that!

Yes, I’m still moving forward, but in ways I didn’t anticipate when I wrote my last post.  I’m discovering that moving forward can mean making the most of the best elements of my past while working within its framework to change those aspects that caused pain or disappointment.  Within days of my last writing here, my husband and I decided to reconcile.  Those words look so flat on the screen compared to the raw emotion involved when both of us reached that decision!  Maybe one day I’ll write more on the subject, but for now I’ll only add that it was probably the best decision of my life.

A part of the growing process has been determining priorities.  I suppose that’s huge for all of us.  My twitter profile states:  elementary music teacher, wife, mother of two girls, clarinet player; loves reading, writing, and learning.  All of those are still true, but I’m coming to terms with the amount of time I can afford to spend in each area…and I’ve reached a conclusion…for now.  The most important areas of my life right now are my family and my job as a music teacher.

Continuing to learn is still vital.  I’ve learned recently in classes, by reading, writing, taking private clarinet lessons, and by performing in community groups.  I don’t have the energy or time to spend on a daily basis in every one of those areas and still make my husband and daughters top priority.  I also don’t have time to labor over that last sentence to get it just so!!!  I know. I’m getting wordy and probably redundant…”blah, blah, blah,” I’m saying in my head.

I’m thrilled to say I love my job as a music teacher.  When I get in front of a classroom of eager (and a few not so eager) students, I’m reminded they need someone to open up the wonders of music to them.  I’m so thankful I can be that person for the students at my little school.

Also I started a separate blog for my ramblings as a music teacher…more “blah, blah, blah!”