Tax Deductible (what a life)

I only ran into somebody once and the teacher is going to let me keep coming back.  So I have a 10-class card to the Martha Graham school for the next 3 months.  It means that even if I'm feeling pressed for time, or not wanting to schlep my cello over to Chelsea and back to midtown, I will make the trip to continue to explore the connection of the hips to the shoulder,the arms to the back and the core, to try to put together new combinations of movement through space.  I've been looking for a new beginning, and even though the class is paced to guide young dancers through a curriculum throughout the year, I am hoping to pick up on some of the spirit of it, to learn a little more about this technique, about how the body is connected and can be an expressive being.  At the very least, even if I cannot grasp all these things,  I learn what it is to be a beginner again.  To see and understand something, and yet be unable to do it.  9 more classes to go, and hopefully more....

Friends and Mothers and Amazon Prime

It is really important to keep in touch with friends.  Maybe I need this tattooed on my forehead.  But also, luckily for me, I have friends that can help.  They help by making sure we stay in touch.  It may be one of the tricky things with being a teacher or a mom, that life is consumed already with other people.  I have no scarcity of people in my life!  And wonderful people, too.  People with whom I feel a great deal of love.  But those are not relationships that will necessarily last forever.  It'd be great if they did, but that is not a part of our mutual understanding.  I would not hold them to that.  And maybe it's a part of a mother's sadness that the people with whom she has been so close, served so diligently, she also cannot hold to her forever.  How many mothers I see, whose children fight them and abuse them, and how different it is when dad is there.  Mothers are wonderful beings.

There was an article in my favorite local paper, about how friends can save your life.  It then broke for the last few paragraphs and the author wrote about how much she disliked Amazon Prime.  I really agree with her, friendship is necessary.  And that Amazon Prime is evil.  And that mothers are wonderful beings.  Thank you Marcia, for letting love be more important than staying on topic.

Two Teachers I've Never Met

I cancelled my home lessons today to go to  CelloFest in Fairfield, CT.  It was something I didn't organize, or have any obligation or even any real reason to attend, except that the teacher organizing seemed from different sources to be a good, caring teacher and I was invited and wanted to learn something about her community and this day she was putting together.  We exchanged several emails, asking one another for favors (I helped lead some things, and she let me use her carbon fiber cello).  One of the favors I agreed to do, to accompany a 13-year-old from NYC to CT, ended up getting returned such that the mother actually gave me a ride both ways.  The girl was a bit shy about making the journey with a stranger and since her mother would be driving her anyway, they offered to take me.

The day was really beautiful.  Over 60 cellists playing together.  There were some short rehearsals, improv sessions, luthier demos, a masterclass, and a final concert and improv demo.  It's just wonderful to bring different cellists from the community together, professionals, amateurs, different teachers, etc.

And the ride up and back home proved to be equally wonderful.  Not only did we share some common interests, but this girl, a student at a very special school in New York, studying with a wonderful teacher, played beautifully in the masterclass.  Several sources have pointed me towards the teacher with whom she works, and now there really is a pull to connect with this person.  It's funny how a person's vibrato, rhythm, phrasing and general approach can say something about the teacher with whom they work.  Already from interacting with them in the car ride, there was a sense of the established trust.  But after hearing her play, even more of a pull and desire.

And in the evening, the last of three Martha Graham programs.  I was very tired due to some late-night guests and an early departure for CT, but Andrew hadn't seen Maple Leaf Rag so we stayed to the end.  And I was so glad that we did.  I had seen it last week, and yet this time, perhaps because we were in the front row, the physicality of the dancers was inescapable.  And that was such a big part of the experience, a piece that quotes many of her works, laughs at herself and the paces through which she put her dancers, and the joy she found refuge in from her dear pianist friend when she felt despairing.  It was the last piece this serious woman choreographed, light-hearted after a very dramatic life.

Small Victories

The glories of finally finding a Goodwill "nearby" and getting a pair of dress pants from the Limited for $8.  This is my kind of shopping.  No excess consumption or support of large corporations.  Saving money.  Putting people to work.  How many other happy options like this exist, surely they must be in New York?  In this city there is so much and yet people are hungry.  I look at the salad bars overflowing with toppings that can't possibly all be calculated to be consumed in a single day, and all the produce lying in the fruit stands, and yet there are so many people begging for money.  It's hard to ride the train without a person soliciting money for one thing or another.  How can we match up these inequalities, some of too much, some of too little?  We are in a lopsided world and this is a city in the middle of it, spinning it around, a revolving door of rich and poor, fueling one another but never meeting.

I suppose the same was true in the midwest.  But somehow it is more pronounced here, and the act of shopping at Goodwill seems far more defiant of the economy of this place, far more radical.  And for that reason, far more pleasing and rewarding.  In some very, very small way I've put a dent in an unbeatable system.

Take My Seat

We can act out of fear or we can act out of love.  Sometimes we don't really have a choice, but maybe we have a choice more often than we think.  And sometimes our actions look the same either way, or may even appear to be the opposite of what they actually are.  A chore can be an injustice or it can be an opportunity give.  

Days Off

What is a day worth?  A certain amount of practice, some chores, rest, reading, free thinking, free movement.  In New York, there are many possibilities, from people watching in the park to seeing the Martha Graham company do an amazing and moving performance to watching the patterns of the people in the apartments across the way.  Letting a day go by and filling it as whim requests....

Date Night at Strand

New York is so wonderfully alive on a thawing Saturday evening.  The subways are full of music, people are tipsy, loud, taking up space, and enjoying themselves.  Union Square, filled with people chatting, playing chess, smoking, eating, and a man rolls by doing a handstand on a skate board.  Of course people notice, but they remain unchanged.  And a huge bookstore filled with people, open until 10:30pm for all those who are still unable to find their perfect book, or just enjoy the lingering.

Ecology

I mentioned in my last post that I'm reading The Sixth Extinction.  It's a book about the history of extinction and the many ways that humans are altering our planet and the effects on the other species with whom we share it.  Climate change is something that I am increasingly concerned about, so I appreciate this eye-opening look.  Part of that is getting closer to some of the species and their interdependencies that are being effected.  There is something very intimate about knowing the life of a particular ant, and the birds that follow in the wake of its destruction, and the butterflies that lay their eggs in the birds' droppings.  There are so many little worlds and lives going on that I have no knowledge of, so many realities in this one world, very different from my own day-to-day.  It speaks to an interconnectedness and a reason to patterns that might not have been present to the naked, or unreflecting, eye.  That one small thing may be the result of so much, or the impetus, or could be responsible for such change.  It's fascinating and beautiful and touching.  The world is going on around us, buzzing beyond immediate comprehension, spinning a texture for our backdrop.  It's wonderful to take it aside and see its magic a little more clearly.

And maybe because of this mindset, I discovered two new ecological systems of New York today.  Walking by Westside market as I'm sure I have now done hundreds of times, I finally figured out why people loiter around the entrance, crowding an already overcrowded space.  They are waiting for a bus.  They wake up, get ready for the day, and then walk to the bus stop.  And to avoid the cold and wind, they huddle inside the market.  Perhaps it took them a few times to figure out there was a place to be warm, but now this is a part of their system.  A small piece of my world, now better understood.

Later in the day, I took the train down to 14th St. and walked to Bethune St. to the Martha Graham school to take my first class in the city.  And I learned, or realized, that 10:50am classes on weekday mornings are likely not the ones that everyday people join, but rather are for the 20-year-olds at the school (I overheard one in the dressing room lamenting turning 22) or aspiring actors and dancers, looking for a class to help them audition and advance their professional career.  Dancers need classes the way I need my cello to practice in the mornings.  And this was it for them.  Luckily I had some experience and could roughly follow along, but this was not my school of fish.  I briefly got to live in the world of young girls on the cusp of forming a career in a demanding world, stressed and hard-working for it.

There are also many worlds in New York, like that of the ant/bird/butterfly, that I do not see.  Most of of them are invisible to me.  And many of them I realize I don't even look at, even turn away from.  There are so many people doing manual labor, delivering water jugs and groceries to homes, holding doors, taking care of other people's children, carting and lifting boxes of fruits/vegetables/anything, completing purchasing transactions, selling donuts in a little van, all for far less than I or many other people make.  Their lives are consumed by these actions, as well as the early morning commute to do them.  And there are the people that beg for money on the train, sometimes with a sign with pictures of their sons who they implore you to help them feed, or telling the story of a large tumor in their cheek, or the abusive relationship they are trying to bounce back from.  It is hard to face a reality in which we have little or no power to make a difference that seems meaningful.  But perhaps by trying to take a closer look, it becomes harder to turn away.  And perhaps that can awaken us to action.

Before the Turn

Admittedly, a challenging time of year.  Many people have been sick, myself included, and those that aren't, are probably trying to combat the forces encroaching upon them (germs and bad attitudes, both).  It leads to shorter, more pointed emails, to direct efficient movements, straight home straight to work.  Nothing can be spared, there are no flowers to tempt meandering.

But I'm also reading The Sixth Extinction and as barren as things seem in winter, the realization that life is so fragile makes the landscape even more dire.  We are so small in this world and in time.  This is, we are, unbelievably fleeting.  It makes me want to take in more breaths of cold air, to enjoy the winter, full of sorrow and struggle and longing for spring.

Valentine's in New York

1) from the man that works at/owns the street stand on 116th street.  Just as I was thinking about his departure from his perch to check on his gum and candy bar inventory, wondering if he does so every hour, or if perhaps he was leaving his little hut to grab a snack, he turned around and gave me a candy heart lollipop. 

2) from the two guys talking loud enough for me to hear at the Bryant Park subway station.  "Turn around, c'mon Carnegie, man she must feel good today, turn around!"  Guess I couldn't really hear them....

3) from one of my students, home made soap from her and her mother, beautifully wrapped

4) from another student, a Rice Krispies Treat that says, From Shamaya, who apparently gave it to his brother, who gave it to him, but he said he wanted me to have it.  

5) from another student, short bread cookies from Whole Foods market

6) from another student, a heart-shaped box of chocolates, a rose, and a Valentine's Day mini-heart balloon.

And on the subway, quite a few people carrying flowers, stuffed animals, Victoria's Secret bags, looking forward an evening ahead.  It's sweet to see New York be happy in the middle of February.  Never thought of this day as being much more than Hallmark, but I'll take it.  

Togetherness

It was so nice to hear my three group class students perform their minuets with unified articulations and beautiful intonation.  It's really special to be able to play with someone closely, it's a way of getting closer to them that cannot be done in normal relationships.  And it's really wonderful to have been able to work with these students to get them closer to understanding that, and to having the tools to do it so well.

Also wonderful is to see all the pictures from Saturday's recital, and to get follow-up emails from students, some of thanks, but also those seeking something more, questions about taking it to the next level.  It's a pleasure to do what I'm doing.

Shaping the Air

How does one teach, or learn love?  It seems to be the result of so many actions, words or non-words.  To teach love through playing the cello is to teach the elements that are the backbone of some feeling and faith.  Trust clings to itself.  How does one break that down for oneself or for another outside the realm of an art?  What is the substance of it?

Growing Musicians

Student recital and chamber music reading with some wonderful musicians.  One of the pieces that we read is one that I have known since early in my music studies.  How wonderful to no longer worry about coming in wrong, to have my mind fully engaged with the deeper meaning and emotion of the piece.  I remember the panic of trying to get the pulse right (is it in 2 or 4?) and then being faced with a series of rests and being unsure about when to start, or questioning if I was with the violinist or by myself.  So many little things to fret over, just to get in time and play the right notes, and in tune, and gracefully.  It takes so much to get to the point in music of being able to read and perform fluently.  To replace worrying and counting with listening and transforming.  After a day of helping others take steps toward this goal, it was nice to sink into it at the end of the day.

Today's performers

Stationary and Toys

I needed some origami paper and I wanted it within a 3-block radius of the 72nd St Trader Joe's.  New York is a magical place, so this wasn't a problem.  Less than 1 block away was a store called, of all things, Stationary and Toys.  Three tiny aisles of exactly those items and everything that falls in between, crammed floor to ceiling and hanging from above.

Twilight on Amsterdam after a snowy day

Snow days never get old.   A whole day off!  I slept in, practiced for awhile, did some administrative work, and then because I wanted to get out and had some coupons to use, went for a longer than anticipated walk to a CVS 25 blocks away.  Every corner was a puzzle of icy water and snow mounds.  I once stepped around a man that was concerned about an elderly woman, overseeing her step.  Another time, offered my hand to a gingerly stepping gentleman that chose to go solo.  People were out and about, being New Yorkers again after a beautiful appearance from mother nature in our urban jungle.

Twilight on Amsterdam after a snowy day

High Time

What is the value of a person?  What is their time worth?   It's impossible not to think about it, perhaps especially so, living in New York.  People are paid a lot of money here, and people are not paid a lot of money.  Many of them work very very hard for the high salaries they have, and unlike California, the new trends of ball pits in the office seem very unfamiliar to the attitude here.  People are expected to work hard.  It's a hard working city.  But how hard can a person work?  $100/hour, $200, $1000?  How much can we value a person and their time?  And what of all the people that we need that are not valued at such a rate?  Who will run the subways?  Who will check us out at the grocery store?  Who will teach our children?  Who will administer our health care?  Who will fix our elevators and escalators to take us up to the top floors?

End of the Day

Usually after my last lesson on Tuesday I use the restroom, refill my water, double-check the room and turn off the lights.  It means that my last student and her father head out a bit before me.  But tonight I had been able to pull things together quickly enough that we shared the elevator down to the first floor and walked along the street.  Her father speaks English but seems a little shy to do so, and her loquaciousness easily balances it.  I found myself walking between them, listening to her tell me a story about her teacher.

About halfway down the block she skipped to my other side to say something to her father, something in a language I don't know, but which I understood well enough to mean, "Hey aren't we going to Dunken Donuts?"  It was a bit of a tradition for them after lessons, but he said something and she skipped back over by my side and said they would walk with me to the subway and then go back.  It turned into them going back to their neighborhood where there would be another opportunity, about an hour away.  She so happily talked the whole time, a stark difference from her tall, silent father, who says as much with his eyes, smiling very gently at his daughter.

How wonderful to share the end of the day, walking between these two.  So often as a teacher I feel the need to oversee students, to guide and protect them, but sometimes they teach me far more.

S. M. And L. E.

There are some days when a student comes into my room and immediately proceeds to play on the piano that I think, "OMG, get out your cello and sit down."  And other days, like today, when I somehow have the good will to say, "Waking up the piano?" And then guide them through getting out their instrument and starting a productive lesson.

In a later lesson, after guiding a student through a mentally taxing pattern, he took the opportunity while I spoke with his mother about it, to ask to get a drink of water.  I said, Of course, and after he had left the room his mother somewhat apologetically said, "You know he has ADHD so I just let him...."  It was a funny thing because I have been working with him for over 7 months and while a diagnosis had never come to me, his attention span is quite noticeably short and hard to grasp (for both of us, I think).  Also funny because she sets high expectations for him, really digs into his work, is one of the most attentive parents in the lessons and loyal in their home practices.  I had no problem with him getting water, but that she didn't protest it was more surprising.  She pushes him out of devotion and love and although she spoke of fits in their practice, she has raised an incredibly polite and courteous child, despite the challenges he must experience with his focus.   Her saying this to me, opening a wider picture of their existence individually and together, made it easy to keep finding him in the rest of the lesson, to get closer to him, to guide his attention a little more tightly.  

How wonderful are people.  What beautiful beings. 

To Listen

Where does control begin and end?  How much can I hope or expect to confer to the parents of my students, or to my students themselves?  How much do I assume?  How much am I  blinded by that assumption?  

More and more listening seems to be the best path to walk.  It is also often the hardest one to remember.  How deeply can we listen to one another and to our own intuition?  For me, the act of listening more deeply to a student is similar to a wish I might make of their flattened fingers, their straight thumbs, their crooked bows.  Look at what is there, notice what is happening.  Be aware of yourself and how the world is falling upon you now, how you are treading upon it.  It is a delicate but direct dance.  Something that is open, but powerfully aimed.  

Field Trip to Jazz at Lincoln Center

The M5, usually quiet on mid-morning weekdays was full of pre-adolescent children.  The few adults that were riding it, found a seat here or there, or were offered one by some of the children, politely following the guidelines of their instructors.  And when they got off, I think we all kind of missed their boisterousness, filling up a space in a very unique and sacred way.  It was suddenly so quiet, the world was no longer something in need of commentary, it was once again the world we all knew after a number of years.  But several of the riders chuckled to one another at the change, a little jovial lingering of what had been there before.  

Longer Phrases

I would like to take it as a sign of my growth as a teacher that I no longer finish a day and think, "That was brilliant!"  Or "That was totally off."  So much depends on the reception of the student and I can't really know that after one lesson.  It also depends on persistence over time, the building up of expectation and trust.  Maybe I delivered an excellent lesson, but if they were checked out for some other reason, it doesn't count.  Or maybe I was tired and less patient than normal, and it caught their attention in a way that woke them up and made them own their mistakes and focus a little more.  Made them go home and practice.  It's so hard to say, but kids are really perceptive and so there is always a feeling of a mirror being there.  They see through me in a way I can't really see, and I can't help but find it reflected after time.  How nice to have a chance to be with a group for awhile, to hone myself for them and to learn from what they show to me.  It's far more than a single day.  It's time to think in longer phrases.