Flying to San Diego

Airplane cabins are pressurized but there is still something about the altitude, or the dry air, or seeing the world so far below that elicits a magical feeling.  Suspended in air, between time zones, hundreds of miles from familiar places, dislocated from the earth, reference points fade away and one's life, the lives of others, the state of humanity, appear small and compact, and sound in longer phrases.  Some things become so clear just as they lose their edges.  The past and the present meld and give some meaning to the current direction; it seems a seminal experience to fly every so often.

Family Time

We forgot to bring our Christmas present to my grandfather when we went to his home a few days ago and so my father suggested that with the help with one of my brothers, we make an extra trip to his home to deliver it.

It's been raining a lot in Cincinnati, all day yesterday, heavy today, probably more to come.  So we drove through the grey rainy highway, windshields wipers and frosted windows that wouldn't clear, out to Mt.Healthy.

We stepped into the living room, filled with geodes from his son, a geologist, a few telescopes from his interest in the stars, a bonsai, pictures my late grandmother took in Kenya that still hang above the television, less a memento perhaps, than a lingering.  There is a drawer from a type set machine that hangs on the wall and serves as display shelves of sorts, a point of pride from his childhood, when his father had a printing press in their home.

A retired minister, he is a leader in conversational practice.  Listening astutely, opening with questions that might lead to more information about the state of someone's life.  And he shares with us his memories that pertain to our current lives, his trips to England, his children's involvement with music, his own attempts as such.  And then there is a mix of other sharing, experiences from his ministry, glimpses of his character.  He still speaks to and counsels many people by phone, he is a very trustworthy person and reflective, either by nature or by profession.

I have always wondered where he came from.  An only child, raised in a home of parents and grandparents, carrying something learned from them or somewhere else, forward.  If it is not possible to understand something concrete in him or to know his parents, it is certainly possible to see the value of self-reliance he has passed along to the people in his family.

We shouldn't take for granted the opportunities that we have to be with family.  We are a part of one another and can teach one another as mirrors of ourselves.  Sometimes we try to evade it, but when we approach one another, what we are avoiding often changes and something opens.  And what cannot be amended is something from which there is much to be learned, something of compassion for one another and ourselves.

Visit to Waverly

Holidays present a special opportunity to check in with family.  That's largely what they are about.  But it can be a strange thing to step into another's life.

Today we drove to Waverly, Ohio where my grandmother lives.  Because of traffic we arrived later than planned and only stayed for a few hours, exchanging presents, talking a bit, and allowing time for my mother to help my grandmother with some mending and sorting clothing gifts.  And then we left.

We only get a glimpse of what life is like for her.  And it is possible for her to show a specific side for a short period if she so chooses.  And after that period we are left to a long distance relationship, of learning about one another through my mother or occasional phone calls that only connect if they happen to be convenient in our unknown lives.  She goes out to get lunch at a certain, naps at a certain time.  I teach, and prepare for teaching.  It's hard to know what is really convenient and comfortable in terms of scheduled communication.

So it is wonderful to have the opportunity to actually be in the same room.  And at the same time mysterious.  Life goes on for both of us, different challenges and beauties, years and miles apart.

Carl Sagan Goes to the Nutcracker

Another night, another Nutcracker.  It still amazes me that the universe transpired that we should be able to have these experiences, that the atoms have aligned on our planet, in our bodies, that we should create and perceive such a confluence of things.  Sometimes love seems complicated, but perhaps love is simply gravity.  Things come together and interact.  They change one another and are changed.  Even at great distances this is possible with time and persistence.  Seeing and hearing and feeling are miracles of the universe, and we can in turn come to understand the universe through them.  It is a miracle to watch a ballet; to hear music that I have heard many times, each time colored by my memory; it is a miracle to see another midwestern sunset, different from all others.

Home for the Holidays

On many of the streets in New York, Christmas tree vendors have taken root.  There is usually a little hut, or a tarp, or at least a stool, and one of those tubes through which a full Christmas tree becomes entwined in plastic mesh.  Some of the trees are open, some are already tightly tied, but always the smell is beautiful and green.

I'm now home for the week and as such I'm not in New York.  Walking through the Christmas trees was a mix of sinful and useless desire to have one (yes, live trees are so wonderful, but no I wouldn't even be in the apartment on the holiday), and gratitude that I could have a home for a few seconds in the middle of so many, simply on my walk to work.

And now I'm sitting looking at our family tree.  It is undisturbed by my brothers and I fighting to put our ornament on the highest branch, or arguing for color versus white lights (color won).  It is a mishmash of various ornaments collected over the years, completed by my mother's love of fiber optics with a very tasteful angel on the top.  There is the red string which has been on it as long as I can remember, the Nutcracker ornaments, and various other ones that don't even have a category in my mind, but are one with the memory of Christmas.  I remember picking them out of the ornament box year after year and putting them on the tree without really thinking about their purpose or origin, the way children do, and they have remained that way for me, even now.  They are themselves, without category or question.

I can't imagine a tree elsewhere, a Christmas decorated in another way.  The season of advent has existed on the streets of New York until now, just as it has existed in many places.  But now I'm home, with a familiar looking tree, and a beautiful fiber optic angel.

Long Term Teaching

On this last day in New York in 2015 I taught for another teacher's studio.  This is one of the most fun things to do.  I can share something and they are generally receptive to it.  There's no defense on either side, really, because we both know this is a one time thing.  If they come back to their next lesson completely ignoring everything I said, neither of us will know or have to deal with it.  If they misunderstand, no worries, they'll be back on track with another direction.  I don't have to worry about digging in to huge problems, because those will take more long term effort, though I do give some points in those directions.  Maybe they practice what I suggest or not, but they could also listen to my advice, in which case some good can come of it.  It's a win-win.

But there is also something a quite sad about having leave them, about not being able to realize or see any of what I might have sowed.  It takes courage to stick with something, because likely you will see yourself in it eventually.  But it is also an opportunity to see yourself more clearly, a chance to grow yourself and a chance to share yourself with others more deeply.  I'm hoping to start that next chapter soon, a goal for New York in 2016.

Holiday Shopping in New York

It's the season which means shopping.  Often at this time of year that means that I panic because I can't get the things that I want through the mail on time.  But living in New York, it should in theory be possible to get almost anything that I'm hoping to give.  It's simply a matter of finding it, getting there, and squishing through lots of people.  Shopping can be a challenge and certainly today the walking in the cold and the crowds of people were tough, but since New York is already that way, and Andrew was there for moral support, we made it.  It became a journey.  And along the way we found the tree at Rockerfeller and took our selfie in the midst of many other selfies.

Choir Concert

Tonight was the first choir concert I've had in a long time.  It's so much fun to make music with other people and I'm starting to find the joy in the sound of the strings, too.  I don't think I realized how burned out I'd become as a cellist; I hadn't really felt that way at all.  But feeling the joy of singing with others and finding new creative ways of approaching music in general has made me realize how boxed-in the experience of playing the cello had become in many regards.  Even though at the same time I was becoming a stronger and stronger orchestral cellist.  I'm excited about this new chapter of music making, of finding a musical voice in myriad ways which may in turn strengthen them all.

Last Day in Harlem Before Winter Break

Sweaty bodies packed into one another and at every stop, more bodies wanting to get on.  Rainy days in New York are miserable on the subway and yet such a bonding experience for all the people involved.  

It was the last day of teaching in Harlem.  When I entered the school's hallway (there are 3 schools in one building) I was shocked to hear the loud voices of children.  I walked by the classrooms that are usually still, silent, hands folded, and saw a terrifying sight: gingerbread house building.  The smell of sugar was in the air and so was its sound.  This was going to be an interesting day.

And yet somehow, it was one of our most productive days yet.  Perhaps because I dropped my expectations for behavior and just pumped through some very specific teaching points with the promise of a party at the end.  The party never happened; we were actually too wrapped up in the agenda.  I'm still not sure how this happened.  I think normally I would have to be more strict with behavior, but today it wasn't the center of my attention anymore, and that was a nice little vacation.  

And now two weeks before I see them again.  Please dear students, practice.  It is exciting to see the potential start to churn.  Let's not lose too much. 

To Many More Wednesdays

Wednesdays are a challenge at the school.  It's a half-day, maybe that's why.  And we are being asked to teach a piece that is somewhat ahead of what the students are able to do.  And that's a challenge.  It feels like a fists up sort of day.  I go in and get myself ready for the experience.  Ready to hand out corrections for any infraction of behavior, ready to be extra demanding to meet the students' orneriness.

What a strange feeling.  What a wholly unnatural way to be.  After class today I was remembering the poles of Laban's Effort theory.  That in one's expressive movement, one can see in the use of weight, time, flow, and focus (space) the polarity of indulgent versus fighting qualities.  Heavy weight, fast time, held flow, direct focus–these are the fighting qualities.  Light weight, slow time, free flow, indirect focus–these are the indulging qualities.  So often things at the school are meant to be done quickly, with urgency, with direct focus.  And they seem to pull along other the fighting qualities of heavy weight (in the tone of strong voice) and held flow (in the motivation of fear not to get a correction).  But there might be something more to explore here.  Ironically, Laban developed his Effort Theory not for his dance profession but to help factories improve the efficiency of their manual labor.  Urgency can exist with free flow.  Focus can be direct without having strong weight.

I think so often, and especially in New York, I've commented on the many different possible ways that there are to live.  But in oneself, there may also be so many more then what we practice.  How many ways are there to do one action?  There is always another, always something new to explore.

Musicist

It was a busy day today.  I had an interview, taught at the school, and had a choir rehearsal with the orchestra.

In preparation for the interview, I had to prepare a short piece to play and get my thoughts together about my teaching philosophy.  This was a funny thing to do in tandem and certainly so in less than 24 hours.  What do I think about teaching?  What do hope to have private students learn and be able to do through the cello over the course of several years or their lives?  And as I prepared some pieces to play, I had to ask myself, am I doing that?  Would I be able to stand by my words in action?  In the end they didn't even ask me about my teaching philosophy or seem very critical about my playing.  But it was a great opportunity to reflect on this, to see what I might be able to learn from myself.  What do I want from myself as a cellist and musician?

After teaching I went to choir rehearsal.  It is the week of our concert and the orchestra was there, which I had anticipated being a somewhat emotional thing for me.  For years I have been in the orchestra when there was a choir on the concert.  I've been hired to play in those orchestras in the past.  And here I am, in New York, not playing very much; it seemed likely that I would have some longing to be back there.  And yet I didn't feel any missing, which was strange.  I didn't miss being hypercritical about pitch, about articulation, about phrasing.  I didn't miss being irritated at my colleagues for being insensitive about these things or insecure that I was missing something and offending others.  I didn't miss having all of this being under the control or lack of control of the conductor or the people around me.  And I didn't miss making the music on the cello with my hands, when I could be doing it with my voice.  The woman sitting next to me in the choir pointed out the contractor for the musicians and said that she is very nice and knows lots of people.  I should talk to her, get my playing life going.  There she is, right there, the choice.  And maybe I will.  But right now I'm really enjoying singing in the choir; I enjoyed watching the ballet the other night.

Maybe I'm just a little burned out from three years of playing in orchestra and enjoying a hiatus.  I'm enjoying the new musical impetuses of Dalcroze, choir, and the ideals of education and what music ought to be.  This is familiar from my time as a student, the times when I sang in choir in high school, my work on my dissertation with movement and self awareness, my time as a chamber musician.  Perhaps in a little time I will be ready to return to playing the cello as a cellist, but right now I might let myself play a little longer and perhaps return to the cello a little more fully fleshed as a musician.

Dovetailing

I am really interested in developing a studio of students one way or another.  Teaching at the school in Harlem is getting more and more fluid, but I dream of having a private studio.  Flyers are made to invite potential teachers of young children, and possible locations have been scouted to put them.  Tomorrow would be the day except that as of this afternoon I learned I will be having an interview for a teaching position somewhere downtown.  I didn't actually apply and it isn't much time to prepare but I'm ready to take whatever I can, even the experience of interviewing, of collating my thoughts about how I think about teaching.  

There are so many opportunities in this world, and it is exciting to mingle with them, but can also sometimes feel disorienting.  I sometimes miss the solemn loneliness of days in Japan.  And though "solemn" and "lonely" are not words that would often be associated with childhood, I feel them in this way in regards to Japan.  I felt like a child there in my solemnity and solitude.  There was something simple and centered, free of thoughts and urges, other than those which continued to vibrate from my former western life.  

I wonder if New York will be the final place I live.  Something in me imagines that there will be another location somewhere.  But I wonder what will trail off from it.  Will I miss this impetus to create, this drive to be involved and interact in the world around me, to do whatever I wish to do, to be willing to be stressed for those around me?  What I am learning from New York?  And how will I continue to learn from Japan?  

Excursion to Inwood Hill Park

It seems stress is inevitable.  Our bodies are made to do it and they do it in order to survive.  We should be thankful that we have this incredible ability.  Without it perhaps life would seem empty, boring, meaningless.  We become stressed because something matters and we are called to respond to it with our whole being.  But what to do about it?  Sometimes it's useful to have that added adrenaline.  It gives us the energy to push through an all-nighter, tough week, a race, an audition.  But often it is out of our control and then grows out of proportion.  What to do?

I think we have a lot of control over stress, actually.  There are many responses to it, some more healthy than others.  People meditate, say affirming things to themselves, drink herbal tea.

Today, Andrew and I wanted to do something, so we took a 1 train up to 207th Street to go to Inwood Hill Park.   We walked through an hispanic neighborhood with lots of used appliances and clothes being sold on the street and grocery stores with Spanish labeled produce until we got to the entrance of the park.  People often say that they think they would miss greenery living in New York City, but there is actually a lot of nature here, in its own urban way.  We walked up the hill through the woods, and found a little spot on the black top turn around near the top to look over the connection of the Hudson and the Harlem Rivers.  Trains went along the north side and across the bridge, a highway flowed behind us, but there were dried leaves on the ground, the rustle of the wind through the bare branches of the trees.   We walked down and found a climbable tree and a dog park, reminders of a different frame of mind.

If we can focus on the source of stress, perhaps it can be moderated in such a way that we can use it as needed and disregard it as needed.  But quite often, a reminder of the other options for living can help center us as well.  Nature is always such a calming resource, and it is true that some of the stillness that it can engender is not as prevalent in New York City as other parts of the country and the world.  There are still many people on the paths, people who are not in the hiking mode of friendly greeting, but rather in the city mode of blindly passing.

But still, it is something.  It is a small reminder–and perhaps even more stark and necessary in the fast-paced, kowtowing, driven attitude of New York–that there is another life, a life that existed long before us and will likely continue after us.  Nature provides a bit of respite, a humbling opportunity in the midst of a stressfully ego-centered life.

Mark Morris and Cadman Park

This evening I was given a surprise ticket to Mark Morris's The Hard Nut, a very different interpretation of the Nutcracker.  The story of the Nutcracker and its relationship with the music is such a familiar trope, so to see a new version where men could be snowflakes, the party is in a modern apartment, and the young heroine falls for Drosselmeyer's nephew was strange but refreshing.  Whatever gaps there were in this new fantastical plot were filled with the musicality of the Morris Dance group, their rhythm and sustain.  I look forward to seeing future shows by them.

Afterwards we walked through Brooklyn, claiming a little more of the map of New York, finding ourselves in Cadman Park, where the trees were blue and orange in the night lights and sky, and the open astroturf welcomed white clouds against the black beyond.  I had been here before, been lost here before with my mother and had been guided by a stranger to a station.  So tonight, I knew where to find it, walked from new to known, covering more ground in this huge city.

Reliving New York

We have a visitor from Europe who Andrew knows from Cambridge.  This is his first time in America and he wanted his first time in America to be in New York.  It's exciting to hear his excitement of all the things that have come to be New York, his amazement at Chinatown, at Wall Street, Times Square.  The old world comes to the new again.  Past grievances which are engrained in the European lifestyle are erased in this country, though not without replacements.  It's a reminder of the special place that this country has in the world, in its ideology and optimism.  Despite the shortcomings in realizing those ideals, America is still a beacon.

Tonight we had tacos in the West Village and listened to some jazz at Smalls Jazz Club.  Tomorrow it sounds like he'll be going to Central Park, perhaps to play some chess, and then likely to Brooklyn.  And the day after, off to Boston, the real reason for his travel across the Atlantic, for a conference.  But he wanted New York to be the first impression he had of America and he will come back again before he departs to Europe.  It's fun to be a part of that introduction, to be an ambassador of an exciting place that is still just barely my home, but a very significant part of who I am.

De-stressing

Today it was a vocal trio and a comedian that graced the commutes.  Perhaps as the winter sets in the performances will increase and my budget will have to adjust accordingly.  New York really expects a lot, even from people randomly asking for money on the trains.  One must show some skill, some ability, there is competition even there.  It trickles up and it trickles down, the stress comes from all over but it makes people attempt to be their best and in the process a performance emerges and the stress is relieved, for a moment from everyone.

Shared Readings

One of the pleasures and pains of New York City is riding the subway all the time.  It's crowded, people come through to beg for money, it's sometimes on time and sometimes not so reliable, and it can be too hot or cold or wet, depending on the weather.  But overall I generally enjoy it for several reasons.

Firstly, it means seeing lots of different people, some of whom are really different.  Unless you have a driver, or are brave enough to drive, it really is the means of transportation here.  Yes, there are taxi's but the people of the subway occupy many walks of life not suited for such decadence.

Then there are the musicians that grace the platforms and occasionally the subway cars themselves.  There is a lot of diversity in the music they are sharing and a lot of variety in their ability as well.  Pan flute players with soundtracks, erhu, steel drum, classical violin, jazz combo, vocal ensembles;
any variety of numbers and styles exist underground.

But perhaps the real thing that I like about subway travel is that there is little to do but read.  10 minutes here, 15 minutes there, and somehow books and articles are eaten.  It's hard to stop life to find the time to read, but if it is the time that you are spending traveling, then there is nothing you can do about it.  

I am currently reading a book that I quite enjoy, The Goldfinch by Donna Tartt.  It's set in New York City which also makes it interesting to read as I ride the trains.  This evening, as I was standing next to the train door, I finished a chapter and looked up to see a 20-something-year-old girl standing next to me, looking at me.  "How do you like it?" she asked with a smile.  "Oh I'm really enjoying it," I said.  "I love her descriptions," to which I answered, "Yes, and also the characters."  She nodded in agreement and said, "Enjoy."

And then we both awkwardly arrived at our mutual stop, but upon exiting the train, knew one another no longer.  It broke the rule of New York anonymity that we should walk together, outside that sacrosanct space of the subway train car.  But still I think I saw her as she left the station and walked out onto 87th street.

Shout-outs

Yesterday something happened during group work in my class.  I had asked a more advanced student to work with beginners on identifying note names in a piece of music while I worked with another student.  When we all came together after the 10 minutes, the students with whom he was working accused him of disrupting their focus so that they would get in trouble.  Others seemed to agree.  I remained neutral and didn't punish him in anyway since I had no grounds, but nevertheless he began to cry.

Sometimes this happens in classes.  In observing other classes I've seen it happen more than once which is a fairly high percentage.  The atmosphere can be quite intense in such a pressurized educational environment.  But still, I didn't want this to be the norm.  I took him aside to try to calm him down, but he was so upset I could only have him sit alone and catch his breath.

School is hard.  Kids don't seem to realize that their words and actions can be as hurtful as they are.  That probably goes for adults, too.  But it is clearer to see in the interaction with children.  As an adult, we have learned some basic rules–whether or not we understand them–of how we should behave with one another to roughly get along.  But it can be hard, really hard, to be a kid.

So today we did "Shout-outs," five minutes of opportunity to say what someone did well, or in what way they were supportive.  It was such a change of voice in the room, to decompress and appreciate one another, to be grateful.

We so rarely do this as adults.  There isn't an adult to tell us to do so.  There are so many things that can be perturbing about others' behaviors.  They may say things that are offensive or hurtful, but what if, under guiding eyes and ears, we were asked to say something good, something that we appreciated about their presence?  Or maybe about any particular situation that can be challenging?

Teaching is a very interesting endeavor.  It is a like a little microcosm of the world.  What is important for students to learn?  How are we going to cultivate that?  And perhaps most tellingly, are we living that way ourselves?

Streets and Subways

I thought it was stroller when I got on the train but as I squeezed in the car I realized it was a folding chair with a hoodie over the back.  It wasn't until I saw the drum sitting in front of it that I realized we would be serenaded by something other than the crying cat in a carrier at the other end of the car.

It was a new route for me.  A ride down from Harlem on the 3 to 42nd Street, then a transfer to the R to get to 28th Street.  The lettered trains are still so exotic to me, especially ones at the end of the alphabet.  I'm a 1,2, and 3 person, generally, and enjoy the opportunity to collect more letters and numbers.

The occasion was a private party for the music program for which I teach.  It was an end-of-the-year celebration for staff and board members.  I had the street address for the place, but the same wasn't true of the building.  The first restaurant I entered had no private party, but upon asking they sent me next door to a small wine place.  I tentatively entered, wedging my way in with my cello and asked the same question.  "Looking for a private party," I said.  And the woman said, "Follow me."

She led me through a small hallway and towards a large, warm, back room which I scanned for familiar faces.  Nothing.  She turned to the left and gestured, "Just down there, first door on the left."  I followed the trajectory of her hand down chipped, narrow concrete steps to a cellar with a low ceiling and what appeared to be a service door.  Hmmm, was this the same private party?

There below the seen, was a hidden little cellar with bottles of wine on the walls and the people for whom I was looking.  I came in, stood awkwardly for awhile, my friend and I sort of played a piece that we had run through twice (late notice), I talked to some really interesting people and ate some really good hummus, and then squeezed my cello back up the stairs and through the red and white wined people of the counters and tables out to the street.

Sometimes the sirens of emergency vehicles grace the streets but this evening the soundscape was punctuated by a pick-up truck with a giant electric menorah on which was written, "Happy Chanukah!" playing loud music.  Shortly thereafter I walked past and then stepped into the 28th Nader Food Market which enticed me with its huge containers of nuts and dried fruits and at 9:06 pm it was still open, negligently or not.  It was a sale of $8 for the man who had been in the back and I was happy to have the almonds for a good price.

In the subway station on the way home a woman saw me with my cello and got extremely excited.  "Ooooh you gotta take my picture with that!"  People can be crazy sometimes, but I let her pose with my case until she picked it up a little too close to the tracks for comfort.  And that was enough.  I quickly got it back and handed her her phone, relieved but a little sad that I didn't have a copy of her interpretation of what it means, apparently, to have a cello in the subway:  super tough and cool.  She even got her outfit to show.

There are so many things to see and take in.  And it seems so natural to let one slide away into the next, to be phased by nothing, constantly underwhelmed even by the incredible.  It would be a shame to be so stressed as to not see it or remember it.  What a crazy place.

Different Skies

I just returned to New York after a weekend in Madison, Wisconsin where I participated in a belt test with the Tae Kwon Do club there. Stepping out of the airport I was greeted by an open sky, blue air, empty sidewalks, and buses running every half hour.  

Twice a year, the Madison club hosts a color belt test to which people from all over the country come.  There were people who had been studying with the head of our club for over 20 years, who have been committed to this practice through multiple moves and life changes, who have adapted their practice and stayed connected to the foundation of the community in Madison.  These meetings are an opportunity for everyone to meet again, to learn from one another, not unlike a conference.  But they are also an opportunity for the color belts in the Madison club and the students of past students of the club (now black belts living elsewhere) to try to do more than they think they are able to do.  It is a day of growth in a supportive environment.  

Just under two weeks ago, I spoke with my instructor and we decided that I should also be involved in this test.  It has been discussed that I should try for my black belt this year, for which there is a preliminary test in March, and this was meant to be an opportunity for me to try in the testing atmosphere and to get some feedback in that arena on things on which I should focus.  There are forms, blocks, kicks, combinations of blocks and kicks, physical tests, mental tests, sparring.  All of these are worthy of consideration, trying to build a strong test.

Once we had this conversation, at relatively late notice for preparation for a test, I got to work.  Since moving to New York I have certainly maintained my Tae Kwon Do practice, but admittedly the stress of living in the city and adapting to a new job and identity has taken a lot of my focus.  Practice sessions have been shorter than I would probably like, intended mostly to stay in shape and in touch with the concepts less than pushing myself to focus on their improvement.  

There are times when I have a deep desire for devotion.  I think it is a wish to connect with something truly significant in the midst of the many demands of daily living.  I understand the wish to be religious, the feeling that there is something important towards which our lives point.  And in these two weeks I was reminded of a hint of that devotion, which I have cultivated in the past through this practice, but which has of late been muffled in this new life.  It was comforting to know that it is still there, that others are practicing it, working hard with their bodies and through reflection to come to greater self awareness, greater awareness of others, and a greater ability to contribute and share within their community.  The individuals of this club are remarkable people, but the club as a whole is an unbelievable gift.  It is a gem living in Madison.

It's comforting that it is now not as far away as it was a year ago.  It was such a joy to be able to be there for this test, after missing them for three years.  It was a joy to be able to make sound with others, to jump in unison with others, to try and support one another, and to have the guiding support of our instructors.  

But there are so many of us that do not have the benefit of checking in with this remarkable club four times a week for their classes.  We have to hold it inside of us, to remember that it is there, and to bring it to life wherever we are.  That is the requirement of finding something that you love.  You have to share it, otherwise it will die with those that gave it to you, it will die with you.  As much as I wish that I could be with this group all the time again, as I was for 2 years, I think it would miss the point.  It is important that the members there are cultivating their strength and spirit, but so too is it important that I cultivate it in myself, in my world.  That is devotion.  It may be lit by another but it has to come from inside to continue.

When I arrived back in Newark, New Jersey I was surrounded by so many languages again.  People, people, people, walking and moving around one another.  There was no sky between the airport and my destination other than at a crowded train platform.  People pushed and shoved to get on the train, to get off the train, the subways, the stairs.  This inertia can be draining.  People, people, people, everyone looking at one another and past one another, touching and thwarting.  It's a numbed free sparring match.  

It's so easy to be caught up in what is around us.  Or to think that what is around us is all that is there. There are things unseen, underneath, and within.  They are the things that we carry with us, the way that we carry with us, our being and state of being.  We can practice in ourselves.  Any sky, no matter how distant or unseen, can be touched by our light.  

Freedom

Immediately after I finish teaching my Thursday class in Harlem–telling my students to check their bodies, to keep their voices at zero level, hands folded, tracking me or the speaker at all times–I take a train down to 72nd street, walk a few blocks to the Lucy Moses School and become a student in a Dalcroze class.  Dalcroze, for anyone who is familiar, is a way of approaching music in a very holistic manner, of engaging the body and the mind's ear, of improvising, moving, changing and exploring what one hears.  It's a very visceral approach to music.

I enjoy the class a great deal.  We always start by moving to an improvising pianist, trying to discern what teaching point they are trying to convey, using our bodies to show rhythm patterns, meter, register, dynamics, anacrusis, anything that we hear.  We talk about it a bit and move some more.  And then we use simple kids toys to show musical elements–balls, scarves, bean bags, hoops.  Again, it's full of exploration.

I found myself so intrigued by the scarves this evening.  My partner and I quickly came up with a solution for showing form in "Old Grey Mare" using scarves in different ways, and so I started putting them together to make different colors, throwing them around, twirling, and just openly playing with them while the other groups tried to make rhythm games with their bean bags and tennis balls.

Oh the joy of freedom.  What is the cost of it?  Why are my scholars not to move?  The truth is that I understand.  I understand that it makes it harder to have a focused class when students are moving and speaking as they wish.  So really, what is the cost? What is the cost of freedom and what is the cost of stifling it?

Finding a Break

This was my first time coming back to school after a break.  Well, as a teacher at least.  I and one of the other music teachers were a little apprehensive.  I had made my lesson plans after the last class, and they were based on where we had left off.  Perhaps they were a little optimistic.  How much have my students really learned?  Would they remember anything?  And what mood would they me in?  Would I remember how to speak to them in clear directions, to hand out points?

But we all did really well.  Most of them didn't really practice but somehow they still remembered Hot Cross Buns and some of Bile Them Cabbage Down and Twinkle is progressing.  Fingers seemed to find the tapes fairly well, bodies seemed to find the cellos.  Maybe we are learning more in the mayhem than I think we are.

There are still some big hurdles to step over, but I'm finding better footing in the way I need to speak, finding more trust in letting the students lead.  It seems we are getting more good days, but I'm still far from fluent.

It was good to have the break.  I think it was helpful for all of us.  Maybe we can find more ways to find moments of respite in general.

Arrival in Ravenna, Ohio

We left the urban jungle of New York and traveled across Penn's forests to arrive in my brother's home in northeastern Ohio.  Leaving the city highlights the singularity of life there.  The space is crowded and vertical, time is heavy, fast and direct, people are so concerned with themselves that there is a peaceful solitude in the masses.  To drive among the forests, to see the setting sun from the rolling hills, to roll through the open Main Street of Ravenna, Ohio, is to remember a that life in one place is not life in another.

I recently lay awake at night remembering late fall day trips to Kyoto where I would look for Christmas gifts.  The streets and allies belonged to me.  It was my home.  I walked them in silence, in a sea of people, breathing the fresh cold, exploring news ways of finding Kiyomizudera and the Gion district, the art museum, the Silver Pavilion.  I remember the many times I took the bus to the Golden Pavilion, where nearby I had my cello repaired and sat drinking tea.  I remember one day, the early winter snow began to fall outside the warm woods of the shop and soft sounds of classical music from a CD player, and a cat came to trust me over the course of my hours sitting there, an unlikely friend in a far-off magical place.

It's so far away now.  As I lay thinking about it, I began realize its impossibility.  There are so many stages of moving forward, and even though I've known that Kyoto is no longer an hour and ¥560 away any longer, I think there is still a part of me that has yet to fully understand this.  It was the place that housed my late autumn wanderings, that welcomed my early winter need to stretch as atrophy made its inevitable mark.  I remember the fields on the train ride, the hills, the houses.  

Something in me aches for this, now realizing that it is gone, and realizing how impossible it is to have it again.  A day trip to Kyoto.  I could live there.  

But in its place is growing something new.  Every time I travel I can see the beauty of where I am.  Something in me wishes to see only one, that I wouldn't have to remember and miss so many.  What is the value of experience?  

Bouncing Subway Rides

After I exited the subway today, a woman approached me an asked if I had an extra "swipe" on my card, meaning, could I spot her a ride.  Being approached so often by people asking for money, my reaction settings to this sort of request is uniformly, "no."  I'll give money to performers sometimes, but I don't have money to hand out to every person that asks-  there are a lot of people asking for money in New York.

But several weeks ago, someone volunteered to give me a "swipe" when my card didn't read and I had already started into the circular turnstile with my cello.  I was just starting to back up to swipe again, when he said, "Don't worry, I got you."  And that was it.  In the confusion of the crowds there wasn't really even an opportunity to thank him properly.

So tonight, I pulled out my wallet and gave her the last ride I had on my card.  And because I had the time, I went to the kiosk and topped off again, realizing that with my purchase of $27.75 my bonus $3 could really always be used to help out a stranger.  Every time I refill my card, I get a little gift card for another person.  It took two strangers and some relay kindness for me to see this opportunity.   But hopefully I can get onboard now.

Twyla Tharp, Central Park at Sunset

For several weeks I've been seeing advertisements for Twyla Tharp's 50th Anniversary show and thinking that even if there were still tickets, likely they would be far too expensive for me to dream of buying them.  But realizing that this was the very last weekend (after a 17-city tour) that they would be performing the works, and that I had also failed to secure tickets to see the Berlin Philharmonic play Beethoven weekend, I thought I should buck up and at least check the website.  Not only were there still seats, but they were good ones and affordable.  There should have been more people fighting for $200 tickets for this performance, but I'm not going to complain.

And so this afternoon, we went to Lincoln Center and saw the miracle of modern dance.  It was refreshing to see the body conceived in so many new ways; to see an interpretation of rhythm and harmony, of a piece as familiar as Bach's Well-Tempered Clavier, in movement.  I always feel like I grow in a very undefinable way from watching dance performances, trying to grasp something as the magic flies by, trying to remember a scent or an essence.  The lighting, the space of the stage, the space of the dancer's body, a sense of time and tempo, and the raw emotion of the body as it moves without a voice.

And afterwards we walked to and through Central Park, seeing the glow of the reddish, yellowish trees take over the glow of the sun as it left the sky with vibrant pinks and oranges.  We watched its light fade behind the sky scrapers, watched  groups of people watching it, perched on the giant bedrocks above the ice skating rink, huddled in the late afternoon darkness.

We walked on the east side, looking at the opulent Christmas displays in Swarovski and Coach and marveled at the dearth of restaurants, until a clearing past Grand Central Station, where the Hunan Restaurant filled us and then quickly scooted us out.  Chinese food in New York.

It was a colorful, late autumn day in New York.

Class in New York

I wonder where our doorman lives, and if he has someone to hold the door for him.

4th Grade Thanksgiving and Williamsburg

Pumpkin snickerdoodle cookies for an American Revolution Thanksgiving feast at the school.  Right after I handed out a correction to one of my students for being late to her seat yesterday, she invited me to their classroom party.  Kids are funny, but I had no excuse to not go.  So I saw the things they were learning about the American Revolution, got some prizes for playing the games they had created, and felt comfortably awkward trying to fit in among the 4th graders and their parents.  I left my cookies as stealthily as possible and thanked the girl who had invited me.

And Williamsburg is cool and beautiful.  It's the place to see the twinkle of the New York City skyline, eat some trendy food, and watch lots of other people eat other trendy food.  The subways are full of people, and a jazz duo was well worth the dollar while we waited for our train.

Out Loud

On the streets of Harlem a man singing on old jazz standard, a woman whistling a Disney tune.  On the train this morning a vocal quartet, on the train this evening a story-teller with a bongo.  All these people throwing their sound and ideas out to the world around them.  Everyone is judging, the wash of paint is neutral, and a dollar, an interesting interaction might emerge from a raincoat.

I met another person today that spoke of the exoticism of the midwest.  There is no reason to go there and so no one does.  She thought it would be mind blowing if she saw it, except that there is no real reason to go.  Yes, the sky is big there, but just like it is everywhere in the world, even like it is in New York, though hidden.  Yes there are fields, and drive-through fast food restaurants, and space, and time.  It is remarkable in its unremarkable-ness.  It looks to the rest of the world, an unassuming silent gem in the middle of it all, flown over.

The population is much less dense in the midwest.  It would be terrible to offend the people around you.  You might see them again, you might need them.  In New York, the chances of either of these things are very low.  Even if you do see someone more than once,  the chances you will both remember are slight.  Even if you do need someone, you don't, because there are so many niches in which to live here.  So people are people.

I am curious to see the way that people love in New York.  I'm curious to learn how they fear.  I imagine both are here, just as I found them in Japan, just as I lived them in my many years in the midwest.  But to my midwestern eyes, New York appears to be so open and indestructible.  The sadnesses of poverty are muted by the efforts to eradicate them.  The city seems to know its woes, celebrates its beauty.  But still it isn't cold, when shoulders protect the heart and backs turn away.

I gave away two dollars today to people who brought music to my train ride.  I love this openness, this audacity, this spirit to share in order to live.

Teaching Perseverance

This may as well be a blog about teaching for the time being.  So much of my life is wrapped up in exploring this incredible art.  There are many levels to being a great teacher and each person can bring something new to it.  And there are many ways to feel that one has failed one's class or a particular student.  This can be true of a particular moment, day or even over time.  The rub with teaching is that it is always possible to do it differently, there are so many ways to approach delivering a concept.  How do we think about any given thing intellectually, emotionally, spiritually?  What are we giving to a student?  Are we open to receiving what that student has to give to us?

In the past week I've been making an effort to observe more teachers at the charter school where I'm teaching.  I was also able to attend a meeting/presentation on behavior management and classroom culture.  And through these interactions I've come to learn that many, if not all of the teachers there, struggled with feeling successful in this teaching system at the beginning.  Even those that had been very successful teachers in other schools in the past had a hard time adjusting.  But this school demands a lot to be considered successful.  There is constant monitoring of classes by administration, constant feedback, collaboration among teachers.  It isn't without stress, but it also isn't without support.

I've been practicing framing my directions in the manner that the school uses.  The presentation gave some very specific pointers about lesson planning, giving directions, and managing behavior in the moment.  And today was a lot smoother.  In fact it was incredibly rewarding to work with the students during that time and I felt a feeling of satisfaction that was very complete, even if not fully grown.  I am so incredibly aware that this is fleeting.  There will be more bad days when I'm less on my toes, less practiced, had less time to fully think through a lesson plan.  But a beginning is a beginning and the reward for sinking into this challenging work is there.  I can see it.  It feels good to be working towards something that has so much to offer.

There will be days when it will cost a lot more, when I will want to walk away.  But this is here, putting a little more weight in this direction.  Trying and trying.  There is always another way to teach, another way to learn, another way to try.  If I don't do it myself, how can I give it to others?

Shim shin talyune

What if we lived in a voiceless world, in a blind, soundless space?  If I had never seen something beautiful, perhaps I would not be so plagued by a desire to find it.

So often in a new place–how often does it happen?–I feel one voice leaving me and another weakly trying to take on the weight.  How many times are we petrified in our lives, dissolved and constructed again?

New York is a wonderful place.  There are so many things happening and I am surrounded by all the resources I could wish for.  The energy is all kinetic.  Spices from around the world, newspapers in different languages, plays, concerts, lectures, intriguing and inspiring people and voices.  Life is full of action.

But this morning, after several weeks of separation, I was able to workout remotely with the Madison Tae Kwon Do club.  Madison, a place with big sky, where people meditate and eat locally.  I miss the centered feeling that comes from group workouts with the club, but even from far away I can feel it and hear it, I can see it in the way that people stand as they listen to the instructor.

Every sparkle of the world is worthy of attention in New York.  People meditate on the samsara that is living around us because that is the essence of being alive here.  In New York, life is engaged in itself.  But there is another way of being that I remember.  There are many different ways of being that I can remember.

And yet right now, I know that becoming the best teacher I can learn to be from all the resources around me is the goal.  There are many techniques to this: ways of explaining something, of managing focus, of breaking down concepts and choosing an order for delivering them.  It is another skill set to acquire.  Another thing towards which to strive.

I think it is another step in becoming a New Yorker, to be striving for something, to be unsettled, and yet to have a foundation in that striving, to find a center there comprised of the stress and growing that it is a part of living in this city.

I would like to write more, I would like to practice more, I would more more more.......

Classroom Learning

This is a challenging teaching job.  There are many challenging aspects to it, many questions that it inspires.  What is the most important thing that I teach?  Why are we all doing this?  What is the role of education in society, or public education?  What is knowledge, what does it mean to be educated?

The scholars that are in my class are varied.  There are some that have a hard time sitting still, have a hard time giving attention to something that isn't interesting to them.  Some are more capable of putting things together, of synthesizing, than others.  Four of them are beginners three have played for a year and this poses a challenge as the new ones need a lot of input to get them actually playing.  But these are all challenges that have possibilities and as challenging as it is, it is also engaging.

But a week ago, in the perpetual effort to get them onboard, I slipped, and yelled at them.  It was a mistake or a moment of weakness and I felt terrible after it.  I made it to the end of my extended day, walked in the door of my apartment and cried.  Teaching has the ability to eat one up, because in principle, everything is under your control but only to the extent that those who you are teaching give you that control.  Only to the extent that you earn it.  It hurts to be ignored in the classroom.  It hurts to be ignored in life, and yet when I look at adults, I realize that many have still not learned.  It is a skill that one must acquire, some more naturally than others.  Listening.  It's one of the most valuable things that one can learn to do.

I've been doing a fair amount of reading to understand the context of charter schools in education.  Diane Ravitch offered an interesting definition of what it is to be well-educated:  "The well-educated person has learned how to explain ideas and listen respectfully to others."  I like this because it implies that nothing else is needed to be "well-educated."  That to be "well-educated" is to have these skills.  We think of education as years and years of inputs and it is important to know things, but more valuable is being able to have the skills to interact with ideas.  Articulation and engaged listening seem quite pertinent.

I want to teach my scholars to listen.  When I've engaged them in reflections on why it is important to listen, often their answers come back to getting in trouble if they don't, or perhaps missing information.  These are very good motivations for them to have and completely appropriate for being 10-year-olds.  But I would like to broaden and deepen their understanding of the importance.  And I don't know how to do that.

The answer certainly not yelling.  And since that day, I decided to just keep trying.  I gave up on my lesson plans that day and I've decided to no longer do that.  Everyday, to keep trying, changing based on what I'm learning but to keep trying.  There are a number of things that make this a uniquely challenging situation but I have to find ways to work with them.  They have no idea how difficult they are and why that is hurtful to all of us.  And I have no idea what they need.

But I know that they need more chances to be successful and fewer chances to fall off the behavior wagon.  And so tomorrow I will try a restructured break and new method for transitions.  I will try to get as much playing or various kind of musical interaction as possible.  I will try to break them up into groups so they can work with one another.  I will try to time everything and just keep moving.

And I will try to continue to maintain a tone that is mine, a tone that is the courtesy and respect I want them to hear and to have.  A tone that has trust rather than fear or confrontation.  I need to strengthen that tone so that it is demanding but still loving.  We all have things to learn in this.

Remembering New York

I've come and gone from New York a lot in the past week, and the presence of my younger brother has been an additional refresher to the city.  The trip to Washington DC made me love coming back to the city, the walks through Central Park and Prospect Park through the fall leaves have made me realize the natural beauty that coexists with the millions of people tightly crammed here, and the return from a weekend in Burlington, Vermont has reminded me of how much I love the activity here, the many possibilities, the people and diversity.  It is an exciting place to live.  Jazz combos and steel drummers in the subways, the faint small of pizza in the train station, a person succinctly announcing his intention to get off the train to get people to move out of the way.  It's good to keep coming back.

It has also been great to see new things in the past week.  My brother and I went to the Metropolitan Art Museum and in the midst of a quest to discover what is valuable in education, I was reminded of the creativity, reflection, history, philosophy that is embedded in the the visual arts throughout the history of humanity.  This was such an important part of my education, of learning to reflect on the inner world and possibilities of expression in myself and others.  It is not the world of test-taking and point giving.  There is something very rich in it.  And I would like to share this richness, this sense of empathy and inter-reflectivity with my students.  What do you hear, what do you feel?  How and why did another create such a thing?

And the natural world of trees.  Vermont, the Green Mountain state.  The branches were mostly bare but still holy and cathedral-like, framing the setting sun over Lake Champlain. It was a reminder that in most lives, in most lands and waters, there is a stillness in which I do not live.  I live in a land of people, of heavy footfalls and places to be; of forward and direct rather than exploratory and free. 

 

But it is good to be back here because it still feels so unique and special, so important.  There will likely be a time in my life where I will no longer live in the center of the peopled world and will feel even more comfortable living in a new center for it having been there.  There may be a time when I exchange art museums and huge parks for expanses of forest and large lakes, local crafts and cheeses.  But for now, I'm happy to be here and happy to have the reminders of it.

Autumnal Beethoven

The train that I'm on, headed south to Washington DC, is traveling through the height of autumn, a preview of the beauty we will be seeing very soon in New York.  How lucky we are to have autumn.  Just as the sun is creeping away the leaves burst into flames, a quieter more noble light, something that echoes the inner fading.  It is very special, perhaps a blessed thing to be connected to this earthly rhythm, to see around me something that I cannot express in words, to share something with the trees, a secret that only we know, and perhaps that all people know, but cannot share with one another.  The trees are our translators.

And also to Beethoven goes this autumnal gratitude.  Especially to late Beethoven.  Just as I cannot express the feeling of autumn to others, so too is Beethoven forever to be in the crystallized deep sadness and solitude of his last years which gave rise to the longing and desperate acceptance of his late works.  I cannot thank him.  If I could, he might not exist as I know him.  We cannot exist other than isolated companions, and he not knowing that I would exist, that all the others who needed him would exist, writing into himself with some faith that we all find something in the trees in fall. 

Staten Island Ferry

I had to take the Staten Island Ferry to get to Staten Island this morning.  When I initially emerged from the the subway at the tip of Manhattan I assumed I could follow to crowds to get to the ferry entrance, but quickly realized they were headed for the Statue of Liberty cruises.  In the coolest way possible I asked some maintenance workers the way, yeah just the free ferry, not the cruise line.  

But of course the ferry was filled with tourists speaking French, German, and British English.  And they had a great idea.  It's beautiful!  An amazing view of the city and the Statue of Liberty and the water rushing beneath the boat, all for free.  And it's timed so that you can get there and then hop on another boat to enjoy the same journey in reverse.  

Unfortunately my iPad camera doesn't really do it justice.  But here is a glimpse of a very bright fall morning on the water.

Full Time Living

This has been such a full and wonderful weekend full of music and meeting new people.  My friend and former quartet-mate came down from Boston to begin a quartet rehearsal process with a group down here.  She is sensitive and full of laughter, unplanned and free to a fault, impervious to morning alarms.  It was good to have her energy for two nights and really wonderful to start playing in a quartet with her again.

We've started rehearsals with Beethoven's Opus 132, a challenging but rewarding piece.  It was rough as we were reading terrible parts and truly reading them, but the group has a fun balance and we covered a lot of ground in the two long rehearsals that we had.  It's interesting to be able to fully express myself in quartet again, after two years of gestures and half-linguistic communications.  It's amusing to rehearse in a quartet that doesn't have a structured tuning protocol, or the score, or preparation for the rehearsal.  This is not necessarily a good thing–it's better to be prepared for the rehearsal!  But it's also lighter as we are all learning together from the beginning, getting to know one another, trusting that we are capable (because this group really is).

I also sang in public for the first time in my adult life, at a fundraiser Cabaret for the Riverside Choral Society.  The choir has a very friendly, supportive social life to it and I was happy to volunteer to sing the work of a woman in the soprano section who composes in her spare time.

Afterwards I joined my visiting friend (who has friends everywhere) at a house party in the upper upper west, where I mingled (or was in close proximity) with lots of composers from the city and elsewhere, a few other musicians, and enjoyed the not-yet-too-cold night air from their roof.

And today, after another rehearsal, I accepted a last minute invitation to concert my friend's chamber group was giving at a Japanese cultural center.  A fundraiser for their concert and educational activities, they had picked several movements of pieces for horn, clarinet, cello, and piano to accompany segments of silent movies.  It was very well rehearsed and timed, there was wine (and Pellegrino!) and various cheeses, crackers, etc, and popcorn for the movies.

The futon is back in place, the house is quiet again, and I'm preparing for another day in the city.  Tomorrow a trip to Staten Island for an appointment and a few substitute lessons (meeting new students!).  It's a busy and full existence and at the end of this week looms an audition in DC that has not been prepared, and has no time to be.  Should I take it out of principle?  Gain something from the experience?  I have until Tuesday to decide.  I understand why New Yorkers don't seem to audition so much.  When would they have time to prepare?  Why would they want to leave?

To a Person in New York

I have looked through the jungle of rails and pillars to the other platform, searched the oncoming faces and those pacing to the sides of me.  I have seen with certainty a corner of you how many times, and yet never the whole thing.  What are the chances that our paths will cross?  What are the chances that we will see one another, that when you are there, my eyes will be up, and yours as well?  

I Teach To....

My brain is so full of my students at Harlem.  We had our best day yet and overall things are getting smoother.  But those successes only make me expect more.  Yesterday was swimming, today was quick sand.  It was a half day which is sort of a holiday, and we had to get everyone together for orchestra time (a first).  It will get smoother.  We'll get to know the challenges and the possibilities better and better.

I came home and put on Beethoven's String Quartet Op. 132.  It's hard to think of the most important thing right now, and sometimes the answer is not thinking.  Not to be without thinking, but that the answer isn't there.  I started to think about life as a performer and what that shares and life as a teacher and what that shares.  Why is it important that we have courtesy in our classroom?  Why is it important that there is respect?  Why is it important to listen?

Without these things we cannot share.  I can hear something in a quartet, I can allow the musicians who play it and Beethoven who composed it, to enter in to me and to change me and I carry those with me.  And with teaching it is the same, but for me perhaps the possibilities for traction are even higher.  When there is an exchange of ideas it is possible to learn and grow and pass things along to others.  And then we can become bigger.

There was a rally today for the teachers at the Success Academies and they were all wearing T-shirts that said, "I teach to end inequality."

This seems to be a very sincere goal of this school.  And I believe in its importance.  I think there is a large part of me that teaches for this reason, too.  But I wasn't one of the teachers wearing this shirt.

Why do I teach?

I really believe in the importance of what I'm doing.  It occupies a large part of me right now, larger than any orchestra audition has.  It sort of eats away at me to be better.  I want to open another space of listening, another space of sharing, another space of growing, so that we can all pass something along, to touch others, for years to come.  

Voices

I recalled yesterday, that during my first few months in Japan I thought a great deal about finding a voice in this new home.  It wasn't until I was walking away from observing some wonderful Suzuki lessons that I began to reflect on voice and the many voices I have around me in New York that it occurred to me that I am not feeling this void.  Rather there are many from which to choose, many incredible teachers to observe and from whom to learn, students to steer me, and the strong voices of all the people around me, telling people to move in on the train, saying what they like and don't like very clearly, no offense.  New York is strong and moves along.

But in Japan there wasn't a voice around me that I could hear.  It was such a silent existence, and the voice that was there was of a few fellow expats, trying to make meaning of their place in the sea of Japanese.  But there was also the wordless voice, something very special and as foreign and valuable as anything else surrounding me.  It was a different way of listening.  Listening to the intent, listening to the air, through my skin, and from within myself.  I miss it, and yet the cold has not yet fully set in and I am very grateful for the beautiful wealth of guidance that surrounds me.  I am touched by what is possible to communicate in words and inspired to find the imagination that words can create in their poetic cross-modality, the excitement, the quickening they can fire in the learning process.

What would it be like to have grown without words?  They say that words gives us the concepts and categories that we manipulate to have thoughts.   We might not be able to navigate if we didn't have a "right" or a "left".  Might not be able to differentiate without words for colors or textures or statures or lengths.  And what more can we learn with our creative use of words?  What concepts can we create and more importantly, what concepts can we share with one another?

But still, there is a world without words that has great feeling and meaning and carries an incredible about of importance in our lives as artists and human beings.  It can transcend us beyond the categories and concepts that we have so explicitly created and packaged and exchange with one another, but it somehow needs a voice.  There must be translators, through music, through art, through words, but most certainly through listening to it and from it.

The cold air is exciting this time of year.

Day of Free Sparring

I made an appointment for a doctor's visit this morning, only to arrive and discover that I didn't have the proper health insurance.  I didn't realize that I have Medicaid now and will have HealthFirst (and also Medicaid?) starting November 1st.  It has a been a learning process to get this whole thing set up and has taken a fair amount of time, not to mention the mistake that I made about coverage and the time it took to go to the office to figure it out.  Eye-opening to be in these shoes.

The office itself was quite strange.  The doctor was probably in her eighties, and although this shouldn't be an issue, I realized that for me, for this particular specialty, I was not so comfortable with it.  How would I know that she was up-to-date on the latest medical issues?  I decided to assume perhaps she was, and to just go with it, but the open Dixie cups of urine on the counter by the sink outside the bathroom just didn't breed confidence.  And her rejection of me only pinched that much more for it.  I couldn't help but feel a little low as a Medicaid-only patient in her midst, someone she wouldn't see.  I've never been on Medicaid before.  What a feeling to have the world see you in this way, to have to search for doctors that will accept you, when even the eighty-year-old-open-urine-cup doctor won't.

But I realized I was judging her, too.  And perhaps we were both fair to do so.  Maybe she has nothing against me, but for some reason she has to be defensive towards Medicaid patients.  Maybe she was afraid I would desperately beg her and thus her reaction of trying to get me out of her office saying to the receptionist in her Long Island accent, "Just throw away her papers.  If she comes back we'll make more," and walking out of the room.  Maybe I'm a threat to her.  And I have nothing against her really, but I don't want her as my doctor.  So we can go on having our own lives now.

Later in the day I went to the Success Academy to observe a ceramics class.  I'm very curious about how other teachers teach in this school, and it was suggested that I attend another arts class.  And more and more I'm starting to appreciate this hard-lined approach, because I also see how much dedication and care there is in it.  Two of my students were in this class, one of whom is challenging due to a very short attention span.  But this teacher had made a deal with her that she could be her assistant if she got fewer than 5 corrections (for bad behavior) in the week.  And she was a different girl in this class.  She had so much loyalty, so much calm, respect, and relatively more focus.  There is a real commitment to getting students to all be onboard, as one teacher said, "One hundred percent of students, one hundred percent of the time."

In the 45 minutes I was in the class she expected good posture from them all the time, expected them to track whoever was speaking all the time, expected (of course) complete silence, even making them stand more quietly so that their squeaky shoes didn't obscure the voice of one of their classmates.  And I learned the difference between tint, tone, and shade, and how to mix colors to make different skin tones (orange and then gradually white or black) and that if the outcome is too green you can add magenta to fix it.  And for about 10 minutes they all quietly focused on their own work, trying different color mixings, creating their art.  In line, before they left the class, they talked about the challenges and successes they had in their individual time.  One girl spoke of trying to perfectly match the purple in one of the room wall hangings.

They need a lot of disciplining, but there is a lot of learning and experiencing happening, too.  It's so cool to see the relationship of trust being built between teacher and student and to see students seeing the world around them differently.  It's inspiring and I still have a lot to learn from these teachers.  But luckily, the other great thing about this school is that all the teachers seem really supportive.  They give students points to take back to their main classes, they know one another, work together, and seem to be in constant contact about how all students are doing.  Everyone knows everyone.

I'm trying to read more about charter schools and don't know the specific background of this one.  But I can certainly see the appeal in having the teaching environment be so intimate and connected, and to having the teachers be so involved in their students.

And to (almost) end the day, I met with a fellow Tae Kwon Do member for a workout together.  It is the second we have had and like the first, it was great to work out with another person and get feedback and modeling from a strong black belt.  And especially the free sparring.  It's something that cannot be done alone and so an area of training that can atrophy in solo work.  We only did one match, but it was fairly long, and I found myself connecting more to him as I tried to find openings and tried to keep mine closed.  Free sparring can be a very intimate thing.  One gets very close to another as you put yourselves in one another's space and work with anticipations and reactions.  And afterward we sat for a reflection as we always do in our Tae Kwon Do tradition, this time a silent one, being open to whatever came up for us personally.  And I felt the strange and overwhelming feeling of love that seems to come from such an activity as free sparring.  And I thought about my doctor's visit and the world of teaching a little differently.

A Mouse House Isn't Enough

A teacher cannot break something down too much and can never be too creative or inventive in finding ways variation in doing it.  There are so many parts to our complex actions.  Suzuki taught the one point lesson, through different activities and exercises he focused on one point, keeping it interesting and intriguing throughout.  I'd love to find this virtuosity.

Today in Dalcroze we improvised with partners.  One person sang in A-flat Phrygian while the other used four different hand motions to dictate what rhythms they should use.  Our teacher is so creative in this class.  He settled upon this method because everyone was too shy to sing solo in front of everyone, and he played the tonic so that we wouldn't slip into the the foreboding A-flat major which might scare us with right and wrong implied harmonies.  He morphed into this solution and we all participated safely and grew from it.  

Teaching seems a bit like improvising with people.  There are various different parameters--age, experience, personality, environment--and one has to soar with the possibilities, and find counterpoint with the barriers, rather than feel restricted by them.  And so to dance around the tiniest minutia, to find intrigue in the most mundane part of playing and to alter it, to turn it to a new angle, seems to be one of the most important parts of teaching.  Today I realized that I need to find more intrigue in the bow hold.  There is a whole world for me to discover again.

Pajama Day

It was pajama day at Success Academy in Harlem today and no one told me.  But I had stickers and an agenda and today felt better.  I'm increasing my batting average at having good teaching days.  In fact the last three times visitors have come into my class, it has been at dream teaching moments, everyone engaged, everyone getting it.  Thanks guys.  Captain America and Pink Sparkle Stars.

There is such a game of power between teachers and students and I enjoy the humor of it, unless I'm losing terribly.  (I know they still have that power over me.  I'm not yet invincible.)  As per their request and good educational practice, everyone in the room has responsibilities, which they more or less maintain.  My time keeper enjoys usurping the class focus by frequently announcing how much time we have left ("Five minutes twenty seconds!"  "Four minutes fifty seconds!"), but then that is also a barometer for me because she is perhaps the most easily distracted.  Maybe time to move on.  And I'm not sure my point keeper was completely diligent and honest in her point logging when I saw the tally at the end of the day.  But I'm not really worried about that (what's an extra temporary tattoo for their focus) and no one seemed to have any problem with what she announced.  But I should be careful, because there are some in the class that I believe care very deeply in their points.  Or do they?  What a farce this seems to be.

And with my increasing batting average comes increasing enjoyment.  One of my beginning students has sung both the blues and Michael Jackson's "Thriller" plucking only open strings for his daily performances.  And pajama day, I hope I get another chance.

Sunday Morning in Lower Manhattan

A morning walk on this Sunday morning to lower Manhattan.  We saw the touching and reflective 9/11 memorial, ventured to Battery Park and through the financial district, and stepped intoTrinity Church between services.  And then we found a small bagel shop with a very long line and knew that would be lunch.  It was the most delicious bagel I've yet had in my life.  Mmmmm, I can still remember the perfect texture of the wheat core and the touch of garlic and poppy and sesame.  And the clear fall light sifting through the skyscrapers, falling on the rivers and bay, dazzlingly in the haunting memorial fountain.  

Chinatown Lessons

I really want some cello students.  And so when a colleague of mine asked me to substitute teach for him this morning in Chinatown, it was a definite yes.

It took an hour to get there because on the weekends there are inevitably route changes to the subway.  I got off the bus and walked through a courthouse district, closed off to cars.  There were some Chinese people practicing Tai Chi in the shadows of the tall buildings and as I rounded the corner and stepped out of the restricted zone into Chinatown, I immediately saw the Florentine music school.  I walked in and got the receptionist's reluctant attention.  "You're early," she said.  I had figured 15 minutes was at the very least polite for a first time.  She escorted me to the room where I would be teaching, a tiny kitchen complete with refrigerator, washing machine, dish washer, microwave, sink, some folding tables, a drum kit, and a piano.

I squeezed in and tried to make sense of the space.  Where would I go?  Where would a student go?  It struck me there was no music stand, but it seemed silly to ask for one.  Where would it go?  This was a used room, an unnurtured space.  Strange to imagine a lesson happening.

But it did.  Three of them, in fact.  And it felt good to stretch those rusty muscles again, good to feel the things that I've been learning in the past few weeks come into use.  And over the course of the three hours that I was in that room, I was also the beneficiary of a college prep Algebra lesson being shouted in a Chinese accent at a class of students on the other side of the thin wall.  "18...  X....WHAT IS X???  YOU SEE Y????"

The teaching conditions were a little less than ideal, the pay a little less that than it should be, too.  And yet I would eagerly return.  It's pretty cool to change the character of such a tiny room, to leave it seeing it differently than it was when I entered.

Learning Teaching Learning

I am surrounded by wonderful teaching models.  There are so many ideas moving around, so much creativity and curiosity.  I hope education is never complete.  I think this is why I'm so drawn to it.  Will we ever conquer all the things it poses: how we learn, the ethics of what is taught, the politics of how education is structured, the interpersonal relationship of teacher and student?

I had the pleasure of watching Pamela Devenport, a master (truly) Suzuki teacher give two very different lessons to two very different students this afternoon.  They learned from her,  I learned from her, and my lesson for my students will be influenced by her as well, and where else will it all go?  Learning from learning, teaching from teaching.  It is such a difficult art and only as I start to step into it with some self-scrutiny am I starting to see the incredible virtuosity of certain teachers.  I am a beginner, and a very fortunate one, indeed.

Catching Points

Yesterday they were great, and today, chaotic.  I think my scholars are as pecuniary and fearful as the rest of the adult population and my job is to award points and corrections and stick to it.  I'm disappointed in my ability to do this consistently.  So I'll keep asking myself if I can do a better job.  Can I put more of my focus on the points and corrections distribution?  100% of the students 100% of the time.  This is what the art teacher advised me today.  Everyone is so supportive.  They know it takes time, that it's difficult.  But that doesn't mean I don't want to have it solved now.  It's a quick fix once I get myself on board.  And yesterday was great.  They were expecting their punishments and I didn't dole them out because they didn't need them.  It was a mistake.  So many thoughts about what I'm going to do with the content of the class and really I think it is far more simple, just lay down the law.  But it is so hard to do that.  To really be fair, to ignore someone if they are talking out of turn, to call them on it, and punish them.  I have to trust that they can be trained.  That's the goal for Thursday.  And better bow holds and the left hand on the cello and better rhythm reading.....

I joined the Riverside Choral Society because I had missed singing for the past ten years.  And it is wonderful to be singing again and it is wonderful to be in this group of people that are very nice and talented amateur musicians.  But we do have to go over things a lot and I miss the rigor of orchestra.  I miss the engagement of sitting next to a really great stand partner.  I miss the trombones.  Yes, that's right.  There are so many colors, so many nuances and capabilities.  I'm surprised how much I miss it and I can feel the atrophy of it every time I'm singing in this group.  For some reason it invokes the desire for more.  And maybe for that reason it is something I need to be doing, to at least be reminded of the importance of making music with others, that it not silently crawl out of existence.

But there is a frustration here.  I wonder if longing is actually connected with lacking or missing.  I remember longing so much in high school.  For what?  Or maybe it was for all the things that have come into me.  I long much less now and somehow feel less sincere.

I had a moment today where I wished to be blind.  It was a feeling, a desire to lose my eyes and ability to see.  Hard to know what to make of it.  Maybe I wish to see the beauty of the front hallway of our apartment again, the way the elevator door closes.  It can be hard to note all the beautiful things once experiences.  How to keep seeing.  

Rainy Mornings, Diner Booths

A chilly, wet, autumn morning through the streets of New York.  Coming out of the subway and feeling the wind whip the mist along the pavement, up the buildings, a warm smell of something, from a bakery, a food cart.  On a street somewhere some one is walking.   Maybe it is someone I know, someone I've loved, or will love one day.  I'm looking at all the faces and searching, and not looking at any of the faces and feeling.  This time of year is a departure.  The sun is leaving us, the warmth is leaving us.  We never think of the arrival of the dark, the arrival of the cold.  

So many departures come to mind on a morning like this.  How many departures does one have in life?  

I've been reading Nurtured by Love the classic Suzuki text I've read at least twice before.  But this is the first time I've read it since having been in Japan.  It takes me back a little.  I understand Suzuki, his way of life and way seeing the world in differently than I did before.  To Westerners, he is a magical person.  He is indeed, but his thoughts about pedagogy are certainly the product of the classic approach to Japanese education and culture.  It takes me back.  I read a few lines of Japanese this morning for the first time in months.  There is an irreplaceable feeling there.  It's a hidden alcove inside of me that can never be closed, even if it gets shriveled and shoved under all the pertinent parts of living now and living to come.  I've been opened in yet another way.  How many ways can one be opened?  How many times can one love?

With the cold, we've started a diner search.  An hour spent in a booth, across from a solitary woman reading a book, a well-lipsticked and laid back waitress with a light evening, a decent cup of hot chocolate, and some horrendous cherry pie.  One diner down, and so many more to discover in the upcoming cold that approaches this city.  

New Yorkers

As I left the school today, wondering if I'd gotten any closer to figuring out the classroom management needed for these students, it started to rain.  And then next to me came the voice, "Ah another fellow musician."  A woman dressed in black, carrying a bassoon on her back.  "It rains on us all," I said.  And here was an immediate friend, originally from Israel, speaking in a candid, comfortable and straightforward manner.  She could not have been more New York.  We chatted during our train ride to the same stop and she got my email address.

And on the way back home a stranger paid for my train ticket when my card didn't read and I got stuck in the turn style with my cello.  I could have backed up, but he was too fast.

People are so open and closed with the strangers around them.  They ignore them or interact with them, but not much in between.  It is so liberating to be in this city after Japan, where emotions were so covered, but still understood.  There need be little deciphering here.  The pace is fast enough that there isn't really time for it.  Any offense gets off a few stops later, walks on.  People are too involved in their own lives to be concerned for others.  And so kindness actually feels more sincere, more open.  Like the woman who spontaneously opened up to me, or the guy who paid for my fair.  They have nothing to expect in exchange.  Just people being nice and open.  No strings attached.  Another side of human nature.

Listening and Cultivating

Watching a Suzuki master teacher give a lesson to a 5-year-old Book 1 student this afternoon, I have the feeling that experience entitles one to being less hurried, to having greater ease.  She knows that she can get a student there.  She's done it probably hundreds of times and even though each one is different, she can look at this little person, with imperfect little things and still see a path to the future when he is more than what he is.  She is that path and that connection.  She has faith in something that others can't see.

It seems to be the same with masters of any number of things.  There is a confidence, a calmness, even if the task requires great speed and focus.  I can understand this as a cellist and I wonder if I can help myself along by finding it in my teaching.  I do believe in myself, but I have never gotten a mixed group of cellists to the next level, including four beginners.  Can I do that?

The answer is yes.  Perhaps not as well I will be able to do it in the future, but it will happen.  Already they know how to open their cello cases and get out their bows and cellos safely.  They know how to do pizzicato and the names of the strings and at least in theory, what it means to have good cello posture.  When I think of just a little more than one week ago, this is huge.  They are already on the path to becoming cellists.

But I think as I do this more often, I will know and trust the path in me more and more.  But in the meantime, I admire the voice that I hear in these Suzuki teachers.  If I'm incomplete in some of my early lessons on set-up, if I'm distracted by the classroom management gymnastics that I feel I have to be doing, I can at least remember to give them some of this voice.  It is so much closer to my own than the one I've been trying to adopt.  And I think I will just have to go with it, not really knowing a more authentic way.

Points

I miss playing in an orchestra.  I'm surprised to have this feeling and in a quandary over what to do about it.  I believe in the work and the struggle of teaching my students, even after a day like today which is more challenging than I would have hoped.  (Was it the messy start due to the previous class running over?  Or was it my desire to be more hard lined than is natural for me?  I'm still trying to calibrate this whole thing.  My parents disciplined me by asking how I wanted to be disciplined.  Can I do that here?)  But despite the challenges, they seem like worthy ones to meet.  I believe in them in a way that is quite different from orchestral playing, even from chamber music playing.  It seems larger, more creative, more intertwined in the lives of others, which I enjoy.

I did not enjoy today, though.  And practice seems without purpose.  I think it is an inevitable part of transitions, the weeding of the old self and the building of the new.  And the old self dies hard.  I have no reason to turn away from this afternoon of challenging students, of poor classroom regulation on my part.  Points were flying everywhere, good, bad, inconclusive, and I felt like people were being more hurt than helped by them.  But that is not the issue.  The issue is what I'm trying to build behind them and how I'm going to do it in this school, with all the various things that need attention.  There is something that feels very important to me behind it and I have to listen to that.  But I must also listen to the muscian that is leading the meaning of its importance, to see if the two can learn from one another.  

Learning in New York

I have a new Consequence Hierarchy and a new Behavior Tracker, both used universally by the teachers at the school.  What if adults were monitored this way?  I suppose we have jail and fines, but how often does it really come to that.  Every time I jaywalk I feel like I should be losing points, except that it's New York.

And these are good students.  I want so much for them.  A lesson plan soars and it's execution is bogged down in time and reality.  Why does it take so much longer to get through things than I had thought it would?  Perhaps this is experience.  I can imagine myself playing the cello, but I have yet to unite the vision of my classroom with its reality.  One day I hope to be able to bring my mind up to speed with what can really be done, to gain that traction, the ability of mental practice and planning.  I notice more and more about my students, more and more about my classroom.  And there is still more to notice.

And tonight I began training with a fellow Tae Kwon Do member who has been training alone.  It's so wonderful to be working out with someone again, to have his guidance, and to have another example of teaching in a teaching tradition that is very, very strong.

I think I want to be a master teacher.  To feel as though I have mastered teaching, even though, from my experience with cello, I know that it doesn't mean that one has finished learning when one is a master.  But I feel very young, or at least I am surrounded by many inspiring possibilities.  Something new to learn in New York.

Catch

We just came inside from catching a lunar eclipse.  We watched the moon fading behind the earth fading behind the thick clouds, with a crowd of other people watching at one of the entrances of Riverside Park.  There are always other people, always other people.

I think in my life in Japan I became accustomed to being alone.  Being in Japan was a practice in loneliness.  I was far away from family and friends, far away from familiarity, and even in the cluster of people in which I moved, there was a loneliness.  The courtesy of the Japanese culture, the way that they express fear and love, to my eyes and ears and all that comes in between from their searching, was so quiet, so polite, or judging, or fill-in-the blank.  It was lonely.

There were many people in Japan, but there are so many people in New York.  And it is much harder to feel lonely.  I say this with winter ahead of me, but never in Japan would a woman have gotten on a bus and berated the bus driver for leaving the stop too early, continued to argue with him, and quickened to an apology to get him back on and driving again.  People throw themselves at one another in New York and are just as quick to ignore one another.  People say hello, or bury themselves in their work, but the strings of longing and loneliness seem shorter or non-existent.  There is so much here.  There are so many different people doing different things and the ragged edges of possibilities are as inviting as velcro.  It's hard not to become attached, to get caught up in the importance of walking from the subway stop.

It's been a week of many new things.  And new things require a lot of attention.  I began teaching at the Harlem Success Academy and find myself just as caught between worlds of education philosophy as I was a week ago.  I already have a growing affection for my students, something that I believe was seeded in the moments between discipline when I saw their deviations from the norm, their individual humanity that disrupted my classroom.  And somehow this is what has made me more committed to them, to finding a way to keep our order as tight as I know they are capable of doing.  A great deal can be done in this teaching style.  But I would like to include the words "Please" and "Thank you."  I would like to quell the discipline arms race that stands in the hallways in stern tones of reckoning.  What happens when these students grow up and people don't speak to them in such a tone?  Will they still know how to show respect?  I see what focus these students can achieve and I admire what learning can be done in its wake.  I find myself still at odds, not entirely committed to this tone because it is not mine, but I'm open to hearing what it can offer in the void of having my own.

And to balance this is the Suzuki training that I'm doing which is a guiding force in the expectations to which I wish to hold my group of students, though we have far fewer of the benefits of classic Suzuki teaching:  the involvement of the parent, the control of the teaching space, the expectation of daily guided practice, proper chairs and equipment.   But the tone is one of warm love.  It is still full of expectation, but it is also full of time.  There is time because there is support from all around, because there is trust that success will happen.  Time is timed my Harlem school.  There is no time for time.  But maybe that is the way it needs to be.  And it certainly it is efficient and a great way to motivate.  I suppose even Suzuki lessons use the motivation of the timer occasionally.

It's a wonderful opportunity to be merging and playing with these ideas in teaching.  And to add to this is Dalcroze which is a movement based method of music education in which I'm taking classes once a week.  There will be even more resources for thinking about how to embrace students, how to help them grow, how to reflect on what it is that needs to be shared and how to most effectively share it.

It is quite stimulating to be here.  And maybe this is the antidote to loneliness.  Or at least it is mine.   I'm finding myself more and more wrapped in this city, coming to love all the different people, all the different possibilities and feeling free to interject my own existence into it.  There are many things in New York, but I find loneliness to be a difficult one to feel at this point.  Of course I know that winter is ahead.  And I know that people rarely follow up on the get-togethers they say they will have.  One day I will feel lonely again, and wonder how to shake it, and wonder how to make the world seem so new as it does now.  And hopefully then, there will be the twins dressed in black that I saw on the train the other day, or the crowd speaking loudly in Spanish, or the shoe sellers yelling in Arabic on the street, or the vendor yelling "good morning" with his stern but kind eyes.  Hopefully there will be some New Yorker throwing themselves my way, allowing me to catch them.