…when I woke up at 8:25am after having set my alarm at 7:05, 7:10 and 7:15? When I was supposed to be leaving to go to church at 8:50am so I could help play prelude music starting at 9:10am? I do. It just happened today.
Flash back a week. Two things: sickness had seriously struck our household (except me) and...
…with the week leading up to Christmas, there were several opportunities that were presenting themselves to participate in the coming Sunday services. Church is divided up into three hours: Sacrament meeting, Sunday School and a third hour of lessons. I was so excited to be participating in a musical piece during Sacrament meeting and then assist in the teaching for the third hour. I hadn’t taken out my violin in years, so I was thrilled for the opportunity to not only play prelude, but play a beautiful piece, O Holy Night, with an accomplished singer during Sacrament. I had been practicing all week with the help of my toddler who ensured that I would be prepared and able to play through ANYTHING. There was no way, after playing through his antics, that I could be derailed on Sunday.
[Sunday morning]
I wake up in a cold-sweat – look at my phone and it reads 8:25. I panic and in a fever (literally) jump out of bed nearly about to fall over – the family’s bubonic plague had finally struck me. All I could think was, “I have to be at church for prelude at 9:10….which is 40 minutes away… subtract 20 minute travel time, I had 20 minutes to get myself ready for church.” Running to the car, my hair in curlers and my makeup bag in the passenger seat, I shout back to Steve as I get out the door – “DRESS FELICITY! I’ll be back for her and biscuits during the second hour of church!!” I had made biscuits the night before as a treat for the lesson that would be taught later in the day (the third hour of church).
I sped to church – thankfully I didn’t get pulled over. I got through prelude music, with the help of another violinist – an accomplished young woman and her mother who was accompanying us. I was feeling a bit off as we played, lost my place a couple of times, but all-in-all I made it through. But unfortunately, it was a sign of things to come.
All throughout the beginning of church I was texting Steve about his progress with Felicity and other things that I had missed in my rush to get out the door. My plan had been all along that I would leave right after playing O Holy Night so that I could drive home to give myself enough time to pick up the items I had left and head back to church. I had myself sitting in the front pew on the left, so I would have easy access out. Anyone who knows the Payettes, knows this is a very uncommon place for us to sit – as we’re typically sitting in the very last row of the congregation (not out of preference, but out of tardiness). So, the feeling of everyone behind me, seeing my every move was a new one.
The time had come – amongst a beautiful musical program, it was our turn to perform. I said a prayer to myself, asking that the piece go well and that I’d stay calm. So, I walked up to the stand in the front, when all of the sudden my chin rest falls off my violin…like, a whole chunk of my instrument. I hurriedly try to get it back on…trying my best to screw it on my fingers only to have it lay wonkily off center. Next, I grab the music stand and while trying to lift the height, a loud, rusty squeak rings out across the audience. At this point, I feel my temperature rising, which is already high with a sweat breaking on my forehead. The next 4-5 minutes were a long – to put it frankly – train wreck (well, my part was – they did great).
Between losing my place and squeaking strings, I absolutely set a new performance standard for myself. In all the years of playing, I had never recalled getting so off track – and what was even better was this was the real first time anyone in this place had heard me play.
Well, I suppose my prayer was answered, the singer did an amazing job despite an absent violinist and considering it all I felt relatively calm.
Surprisingly, my nerves weren’t a part of the train wreck – I wasn’t shaking, I wasn’t having a panic attack –I just wasn’t “there.”
The end had finally come and here were the series of things I was thinking: “Ohh man, I need to sit down. Did I really just play that bad? Will this singer ever talk to me again? Ohh man, I need to sit. Did everyone just watch me do that? Wait, I have to get home for my stuff for the third hour. I wonder what I am going to bring those biscuits in…Ohhh, I need to sit” And from there, I rushed down to the front row, packed up my violin and slipped out the front door to sit in my car for a moment to catch my breath before quickly get back home.
After getting a pep talk from my awesome, sickly husband who had to endure the play-by-play account of my disaster, I returned to church complete with my Paula Dean biscuits – ready to be uplifted by an amazing lesson.
After all this, I wanted to say this:
Dear congregation –
I am SO sorry you had to listen to me today. Perhaps I should’ve stayed home – but, I didn’t want to miss it. Hopefully your attention was turned to the amazing singer up there with me and not the mere outline of a violinist next to her.
Also, despite having played something that I don’t even know what that was…I didn’t storm out bawling like it may have looked like…although I probably should have. I realize after the fact that that’s exactly what it probably looked like. Note to self: never sit in the front again.
At the end of the day, I’ll tell you what I’m most upset about – messing it up for my singer friend and not being able to have my family there – complete with Harry’s Christmas bowtie. Despite all this, I truly felt the Christmas spirit today and am so grateful to be surrounded by amazing, talented people who helped me remember the true reason and purpose of this blessed time of year.
Until next year – well hopefully not until then – I look forward to stepping up there again, hopefully with my chin rest tightened, the stand greased, and my temperature cooled.
Merry Christmas friends!
Valerie
Actually, if you haven't heard, please call me Val
Sunday, December 23, 2012
Thursday, March 22, 2012
What's In a Name?
“What’s in a name?” Juliet asks. I’ll butt in here and say, "a whole heck of a lot."
I’m still reeling a bit from the recent news we received that the little one we’re expecting this summer will be a girl. Some say it’s a clear 50/50 chance for a boy or girl, others claim that depending on the father’s family you are destined one way or the other. Well, based on the Payette gene pool there is (counting two generations) a 11:1 ratio of boys to girls. So, if you subscribed to the latter belief of predicting baby gender, the odds were clearly staked against us for a girl.
All along we’ve been building lists of names in an excel sheet – remember, I’m married to an accountant – with the understanding that once we knew the gender we’d focus more on actually looking through the lists and determining “the name.” The girl names have mostly been a compilation of those that I’ve daydreamed about since college…never really thinking seriously about them…until now.
Could there be anything more fun and yet induce so much pressure at the same time as naming someone?
Well, yes…there could be, but humor me…naming…it’s kind of a big deal.
This name that you give a child before you really even know them is defining in SO many ways:
• It says something about you, the parents. Your kids’ names are an extension of what you think is attractive, significant, etc.
• If they're named after someone special (family member, favorite [fill in the blank]) - will they understand and appreciate the intention behind it?
• It’s the first thing people see of your kid on paper. Whether it be resumes or written petitions for any number of things (jobs, colleges, first crushes, money, etc.) – what emotion, image does this name evoke in another person? What is their immediate impression based on the name printed in front of them?
• Your kid – they’re going to grow up one day and what will they think of their name? Will they thank or curse you? Sure, there are plenty of adorable names that fit a spunky, mischievous toddler…but what about in high school, college, or when they’re running for president (of the PTA or USA…it doesn’t matter)?
I could very well be blowing this out of proportion…and when you think about it, it's all subjective anyway and based on each individual - which is a beautiful thing. Besides, all of these factors listed above are based on caring what other people think. A big part of me wants to sincerely think – “who cares what anyone else thinks?!” But, let’s be honest, I care because she will care.
She is the recipient of this name we give her – an identity that others may have an opinion about, but that she will have the final say on. While others will have their subjective judgments and thoughts regarding her name…she will, in the end, bring a legacy of her own to this name…hopefully reinforcing the positive and redefining the negative.
So, all that being said, there is a name I love, but am not sure will be the one. It is a name from a heroine of one of my favorite novels. There is a passage describing this character that has touched me since the first time I read it. One of the motivations for using this name is, not only is it beautiful, this is a passage that I want to share with her one day:
“…From the beginning she had given little trouble, for her naughtiness was only the normal naughtiness of a healthy child and she had always been more or less explainable… She had...the best of all gifts the power of enjoyment, not just animal enjoyment of good health and good spirits but that authentic love of life that sees good days . ‘He that would love life and see good days, let him refrain his tongue from evil and his lips that they speak no guile: let him eschew evil, and do good; let him seek peace and ensue it.’…that was the kind of person [name] had had the good fortune to be born. She had the transparent honesty and purity and serenity that like clear water flooding over the bed of a stream washes away uncleanness and make fresh and divinely lovely all that is seen through its own transparency. We see the world through the medium of our characters, and [name] saw and loved all things through her own bright clarity, and enjoyed them enormously. She had not got this clearness of happy sight from her mother, whose vision was always a little clouded by anxiety, nor from her father, whose sense of the importance of his activities kept his vision strictly limited to them. Perhaps it had come from the sheer happy loveliness of the Island spring and summer through whose months her mother had waited tranquilly for her birth. Where it had come from [her mother] had only to cast one glance at her dimpled happy beauty to have all maternal worries instantly allayed…No, there was no need to worry about [name]. She was absolutely adorable, and throughout life she would be adored.”
Even if we don’t go with this name, I have this to say to the little one headed our way:
Dear ______,
You have no idea how thrilled I am to meet you, care for you, play with you and watch you grow. I hope that you will, like this favorite character of mine, love life and see good in the days and people around you. I hope that you will radiate happiness and contentment and that this will be the result of a true joy within you. I can only imagine you possessing this pure, transparent way and I hope that we, as your parents, will not corrupt this with our adult skepticism.
In the end, it doesn't really matter what your name is. Regardless of what it is we choose, know that your parents wanted to give you one that you would be proud of…and one that has the capacity to carry all the amazing things you are bound to accomplish in your life.
Cannot wait to be inspired by you,
Mama
p.s. it will always be mama
I’m still reeling a bit from the recent news we received that the little one we’re expecting this summer will be a girl. Some say it’s a clear 50/50 chance for a boy or girl, others claim that depending on the father’s family you are destined one way or the other. Well, based on the Payette gene pool there is (counting two generations) a 11:1 ratio of boys to girls. So, if you subscribed to the latter belief of predicting baby gender, the odds were clearly staked against us for a girl.
All along we’ve been building lists of names in an excel sheet – remember, I’m married to an accountant – with the understanding that once we knew the gender we’d focus more on actually looking through the lists and determining “the name.” The girl names have mostly been a compilation of those that I’ve daydreamed about since college…never really thinking seriously about them…until now.
Could there be anything more fun and yet induce so much pressure at the same time as naming someone?
Well, yes…there could be, but humor me…naming…it’s kind of a big deal.
This name that you give a child before you really even know them is defining in SO many ways:
• It says something about you, the parents. Your kids’ names are an extension of what you think is attractive, significant, etc.
• If they're named after someone special (family member, favorite [fill in the blank]) - will they understand and appreciate the intention behind it?
• It’s the first thing people see of your kid on paper. Whether it be resumes or written petitions for any number of things (jobs, colleges, first crushes, money, etc.) – what emotion, image does this name evoke in another person? What is their immediate impression based on the name printed in front of them?
• Your kid – they’re going to grow up one day and what will they think of their name? Will they thank or curse you? Sure, there are plenty of adorable names that fit a spunky, mischievous toddler…but what about in high school, college, or when they’re running for president (of the PTA or USA…it doesn’t matter)?
I could very well be blowing this out of proportion…and when you think about it, it's all subjective anyway and based on each individual - which is a beautiful thing. Besides, all of these factors listed above are based on caring what other people think. A big part of me wants to sincerely think – “who cares what anyone else thinks?!” But, let’s be honest, I care because she will care.
She is the recipient of this name we give her – an identity that others may have an opinion about, but that she will have the final say on. While others will have their subjective judgments and thoughts regarding her name…she will, in the end, bring a legacy of her own to this name…hopefully reinforcing the positive and redefining the negative.
So, all that being said, there is a name I love, but am not sure will be the one. It is a name from a heroine of one of my favorite novels. There is a passage describing this character that has touched me since the first time I read it. One of the motivations for using this name is, not only is it beautiful, this is a passage that I want to share with her one day:
“…From the beginning she had given little trouble, for her naughtiness was only the normal naughtiness of a healthy child and she had always been more or less explainable… She had...the best of all gifts the power of enjoyment, not just animal enjoyment of good health and good spirits but that authentic love of life that sees good days . ‘He that would love life and see good days, let him refrain his tongue from evil and his lips that they speak no guile: let him eschew evil, and do good; let him seek peace and ensue it.’…that was the kind of person [name] had had the good fortune to be born. She had the transparent honesty and purity and serenity that like clear water flooding over the bed of a stream washes away uncleanness and make fresh and divinely lovely all that is seen through its own transparency. We see the world through the medium of our characters, and [name] saw and loved all things through her own bright clarity, and enjoyed them enormously. She had not got this clearness of happy sight from her mother, whose vision was always a little clouded by anxiety, nor from her father, whose sense of the importance of his activities kept his vision strictly limited to them. Perhaps it had come from the sheer happy loveliness of the Island spring and summer through whose months her mother had waited tranquilly for her birth. Where it had come from [her mother] had only to cast one glance at her dimpled happy beauty to have all maternal worries instantly allayed…No, there was no need to worry about [name]. She was absolutely adorable, and throughout life she would be adored.”
Even if we don’t go with this name, I have this to say to the little one headed our way:
Dear ______,
You have no idea how thrilled I am to meet you, care for you, play with you and watch you grow. I hope that you will, like this favorite character of mine, love life and see good in the days and people around you. I hope that you will radiate happiness and contentment and that this will be the result of a true joy within you. I can only imagine you possessing this pure, transparent way and I hope that we, as your parents, will not corrupt this with our adult skepticism.
In the end, it doesn't really matter what your name is. Regardless of what it is we choose, know that your parents wanted to give you one that you would be proud of…and one that has the capacity to carry all the amazing things you are bound to accomplish in your life.
Cannot wait to be inspired by you,
Mama
p.s. it will always be mama
Monday, March 5, 2012
Cute Enough to be Attacked
What a strange/awful thing to think you need to be – cute enough to be attacked. Something recently reminded me of one particular exchange I had with someone I hardly knew so many years ago.
Before I go any further, I realize the subject of attacks and attack victims is not a topic to speak of lightly – I really don’t intend to treat it as such.
[Flashback] In a conversation with others about everyone’s plans for college and where we were going, I made a quip about needing to get mace for my experiences in traversing the city I was headed to. The response that came from this half-way serious, mostly joking comment, has lived in my memory ever since: “Why? You’re not cute enough to be attacked.”
What a puzzling statement. I mean, I guess that’s a good thing…?! To not be cute enough…to essentially be your own natural mace? It was a slight – for whatever reason – from an individual I hardly knew. To this day I have no idea what I said in response to that comment, but it has been seared into my memory. And while I haven’t been terribly affected by it – it has actually served more as a laughable example of ridiculous things NOT to say to someone - it has unfortunately been associated with this person and…to me.
Thinking about this has automatically spurred the self-reflection of all the ridiculous things I’ve said throughout my life, to or about people - some of which may unfortunately be on repeat in someone’s mind as a part of their memory or opinion of me.
In some cases we have time to repair our “stranger things have been said/done” statements, judgments, actions, etc. But, not all the time…and oftentimes, while the person may graciously accept an apology or choose to overlook it – it can still live, because it was said/done.
What a harrowing thought - kind of paralyzing if I think about it too much. Could I possibly recount, return to, and repair every stupid/thoughtless thing I’ve said to/about people I’ve encountered over the last 29 years? Unfortunately, no. In fact, I doubt this person would even remember this exchange – and I wouldn’t even want them to.
I guess we’re here to live, let-go, and LEARN from not only the things said/done to us…but really, and more importantly, the things we’re doing/saying to others.
Dear Person from the Past/and the World,
Crappy things have been said to me. Crappy things have been said by me. I don’t really like the taste of said crap – either coming in or going out.
So I guess it's best to really live that golden rule: do unto others as you would have them do unto you...(with the addendum: even if “others” don’t always hold up their end of the deal).
The thing is, I would bet most people don't truly mean to have their words/actions live as long as they may be living in our minds - I know I don't. If I were confronted with all the things I’ve said I would be hurriedly looking for an eraser or the “edit” option. So, I guess why say or do it? Hmm, I don't know why I'm a jerk at times and why others can be too. But...
Here’s to a continued effort at a crap-free diet – because really, this is not only better for my health, but better for everyone else’s as well. Just don’t listen to me during rush hour…that doesn’t count, ok??
Val
Yep, please just call me val because, in my book, we’re friends.
Before I go any further, I realize the subject of attacks and attack victims is not a topic to speak of lightly – I really don’t intend to treat it as such.
[Flashback] In a conversation with others about everyone’s plans for college and where we were going, I made a quip about needing to get mace for my experiences in traversing the city I was headed to. The response that came from this half-way serious, mostly joking comment, has lived in my memory ever since: “Why? You’re not cute enough to be attacked.”
What a puzzling statement. I mean, I guess that’s a good thing…?! To not be cute enough…to essentially be your own natural mace? It was a slight – for whatever reason – from an individual I hardly knew. To this day I have no idea what I said in response to that comment, but it has been seared into my memory. And while I haven’t been terribly affected by it – it has actually served more as a laughable example of ridiculous things NOT to say to someone - it has unfortunately been associated with this person and…to me.
Thinking about this has automatically spurred the self-reflection of all the ridiculous things I’ve said throughout my life, to or about people - some of which may unfortunately be on repeat in someone’s mind as a part of their memory or opinion of me.
In some cases we have time to repair our “stranger things have been said/done” statements, judgments, actions, etc. But, not all the time…and oftentimes, while the person may graciously accept an apology or choose to overlook it – it can still live, because it was said/done.
What a harrowing thought - kind of paralyzing if I think about it too much. Could I possibly recount, return to, and repair every stupid/thoughtless thing I’ve said to/about people I’ve encountered over the last 29 years? Unfortunately, no. In fact, I doubt this person would even remember this exchange – and I wouldn’t even want them to.
I guess we’re here to live, let-go, and LEARN from not only the things said/done to us…but really, and more importantly, the things we’re doing/saying to others.
Dear Person from the Past/and the World,
Crappy things have been said to me. Crappy things have been said by me. I don’t really like the taste of said crap – either coming in or going out.
So I guess it's best to really live that golden rule: do unto others as you would have them do unto you...(with the addendum: even if “others” don’t always hold up their end of the deal).
The thing is, I would bet most people don't truly mean to have their words/actions live as long as they may be living in our minds - I know I don't. If I were confronted with all the things I’ve said I would be hurriedly looking for an eraser or the “edit” option. So, I guess why say or do it? Hmm, I don't know why I'm a jerk at times and why others can be too. But...
Here’s to a continued effort at a crap-free diet – because really, this is not only better for my health, but better for everyone else’s as well. Just don’t listen to me during rush hour…that doesn’t count, ok??
Val
Yep, please just call me val because, in my book, we’re friends.
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
Myrle Johnson
The countdown to moving is very real now. Operation: Throwaway is in full swing.
Through the sifting and chucking of it all, I came across the same small brown shipping box that I always do when we move. The same thought process enters as I think about the fact that I haven’t done anything with its contents, but that I can’t throw it away.
This small box was sent to us as a wedding gift. It holds a beautiful vintage china tea cup – the saucer completely shattered, but the cup still intact. How it was broken is whole other story.
To this day, the tea cup and shattered saucer have moved from one apartment to another since the beginning of marriage – never to leave the box, only to be placed in a closet until the next time we move. One might think you’d either fix it or do away with it…the thing is it is too broken to really fix and well, I can’t seem to part with it.
The gift was from an elderly woman by the name of, Eva Myrle Johnson, who has since passed. She was an older friend of my grandparents. My grandpa would frequent her home to help her with yard work, shovel snow throughout the winter or address any repairs she needed around the house. She came over for Thanksgiving and other holidays occasionally since I don't think her family lived close.
I remember going over to her house with my Grandpa and being intimidated by this older woman who moved slowly from one room to another with her old, loud, clunky, walker that seemed to get caught in all of the doorways. We always seemed to bring along my dog, Molly, to her house and I was convinced that Myrle was more partial to the dog than me…which wasn’t true, she just loved dogs.
As a ten year old, I remember thinking her house smelled and looked like an “old person” house which didn’t appeal to me – what do ten year olds know?! In actuality, she lived in what I remember to be a beautiful, turn-of-the-century home filled with lots of character that I would now appreciate.
Today, my eyes well up and my heart fills with disappointment at the thought that I hadn’t known this woman as well as I could have. I find myself wishing that I would have been mature and interested enough in my youth to take the time to listen to her stories, to ask her how to make her amazing hot fudge or rice pudding or to just be content sitting in the “parlor” with her.
I suppose I carry this with me not only because I feel ashamed for having such a beautiful piece of china broken due to my own stupidity, but, because I’m holding onto a piece of a woman I don’t want to let go of…
Dear Myrle,
I’m sure you have watched from above as I tote this box around from place to place…each time wondering what I’ll ever do with it. The truth is, I don’t really know what I’ll do with it, but I do know I don’t intend to do away with it.
It reminds me of the memories I have of you. It reminds me of a woman who was dear to my grandparents, who had enough interest in my life to send something for the wedding of a girl who acted so shy and probably indifferent around you when she was young.
I will never forget your way with dogs; your incredible rice pudding and fudge sauce that you’d send home with my grandpa in Ball canning jars; and your occasional visit during the holidays.
I look forward to the day when I can sit down with you in a parlor somewhere enjoying a bowl of your rice pudding while we compare how life treated us.
You are a dear woman and I treasure your memory with my boxed up tea cup and broken saucer.
I look forward to our future conversations.
An older and a teensy bit wiser…
Valerie
p.s. – oh, I hope you’ll please call me val
Through the sifting and chucking of it all, I came across the same small brown shipping box that I always do when we move. The same thought process enters as I think about the fact that I haven’t done anything with its contents, but that I can’t throw it away.
This small box was sent to us as a wedding gift. It holds a beautiful vintage china tea cup – the saucer completely shattered, but the cup still intact. How it was broken is whole other story.
To this day, the tea cup and shattered saucer have moved from one apartment to another since the beginning of marriage – never to leave the box, only to be placed in a closet until the next time we move. One might think you’d either fix it or do away with it…the thing is it is too broken to really fix and well, I can’t seem to part with it.
The gift was from an elderly woman by the name of, Eva Myrle Johnson, who has since passed. She was an older friend of my grandparents. My grandpa would frequent her home to help her with yard work, shovel snow throughout the winter or address any repairs she needed around the house. She came over for Thanksgiving and other holidays occasionally since I don't think her family lived close.
I remember going over to her house with my Grandpa and being intimidated by this older woman who moved slowly from one room to another with her old, loud, clunky, walker that seemed to get caught in all of the doorways. We always seemed to bring along my dog, Molly, to her house and I was convinced that Myrle was more partial to the dog than me…which wasn’t true, she just loved dogs.
As a ten year old, I remember thinking her house smelled and looked like an “old person” house which didn’t appeal to me – what do ten year olds know?! In actuality, she lived in what I remember to be a beautiful, turn-of-the-century home filled with lots of character that I would now appreciate.
Today, my eyes well up and my heart fills with disappointment at the thought that I hadn’t known this woman as well as I could have. I find myself wishing that I would have been mature and interested enough in my youth to take the time to listen to her stories, to ask her how to make her amazing hot fudge or rice pudding or to just be content sitting in the “parlor” with her.
I suppose I carry this with me not only because I feel ashamed for having such a beautiful piece of china broken due to my own stupidity, but, because I’m holding onto a piece of a woman I don’t want to let go of…
Dear Myrle,
I’m sure you have watched from above as I tote this box around from place to place…each time wondering what I’ll ever do with it. The truth is, I don’t really know what I’ll do with it, but I do know I don’t intend to do away with it.
It reminds me of the memories I have of you. It reminds me of a woman who was dear to my grandparents, who had enough interest in my life to send something for the wedding of a girl who acted so shy and probably indifferent around you when she was young.
I will never forget your way with dogs; your incredible rice pudding and fudge sauce that you’d send home with my grandpa in Ball canning jars; and your occasional visit during the holidays.
I look forward to the day when I can sit down with you in a parlor somewhere enjoying a bowl of your rice pudding while we compare how life treated us.
You are a dear woman and I treasure your memory with my boxed up tea cup and broken saucer.
I look forward to our future conversations.
An older and a teensy bit wiser…
Valerie
p.s. – oh, I hope you’ll please call me val
Monday, October 24, 2011
Second to Last Chair
Second to last chair in the second violins section: you might as well be banished from Verona.
From this vantage point, the conductor seems but a blur making sudden movements…but, from where you’re sitting it doesn’t really matter because you can’t see anyway. It’s as if the worst of the worst are sent to the back, not only because everyone else is better than you, but because it wouldn’t matter if you were close enough to see the conductor’s signals…you weren’t going to follow him accurately anyway.
At least that’s how it feels.
How do I know that feeling so well? That was me, freshman year of high school. I had auditioned the year before to become a part of the competitive Youth Symphony in my hometown.
Once you were “in” the symphony…there would need to be a way of determining the pecking…I mean…seating order, especially in a sea of violinists. Every orchestra has a section of first violinists and section of second violinists. Most people tend to say the first violinists – on whole- are better, since many pieces have a challenging melody (which they play), whereas, the second violinists take on the harmony…usually resided in the lower octaves and thus, being easier. In actuality, both parts can be equally challenging – but, if one were to make a sweeping judgment, that’s what it would be.
It was audition time and I had hardly done the preparation I needed to. Why was it necessary?! I was a freshman who had made it into the youth symphony – I must be awesome, right?? So awesome I didn’t really need to practice that horrid part of music that required me to play crazy scales super fast complete with awkward bowing. Nope. Not me.
Heh.
Results were in and guess where Val was sitting? Second to last chair second violin.
No words.
Did I mention that this was the evening they were taking the season photos for the youth symphony as well? Yes, it’s true. I have that great accomplishment of mine documented for years to come. It’s priceless actually to see me hunched over in the back – clearly defeated and red in the face from bawling for 30 minutes prior to the photo. I’m glad that moment is captured for all the other 80+ participants to have for the rest of their lives too. I’m not the only disappointed-looking musician…third to last chair probably wasn’t feeling much better, nor the last viola, or last cello. Wait…that’s right…at least I wasn’t LAST chair!
So, who was?
Apparently the last chair second violinist was so humiliated at their position that they stormed out, bawling no doubt, and crushed at the thought of being pegged the worst auditioner of the night. Sheesh, that would be tough…second to last was bad enough…but last??
The next week at practice we were all getting acclimated to our newly assigned seats and stand partners. I was eagerly awaiting the arrival of mine…when just then, he walked up: a seriously cute, younger version of George Clooney with a big smile on his face…with no sign of disappointment or grief. He sat down next to me, introduced himself and we played next to each other that season…chatting, joking and me being even more distracted than I was already…only to realize later that the guy sitting next to me the whole time was one of the best violinists in the Spokane region.
These things only happen to me.
Dear George Clooney Jr. (You’re my FB friend so we’re just keeping it to this),
You had me fooled. For a short time I thought I had escaped being the worst violinist in the symphony – it was supposed to be you.
In reality, something prevented you from being able to attend the auditions that night; as a result you were forced to take the last seat…next to me…only to later become concert master of the youth symphony for many years to come, as well as go on to be a highly acclaimed violinist. So, it was me all along – I was the worst that night.
But you know what, we had a lot of fun back there…and I think I secretly knew you weren’t supposed to be there – you played too ridiculously well. And…despite my constant talking throughout rehearsals, I think you knew I didn’t really belong back there either.
Yes, we both left that stand – improving our chair placement…you definitely more than me – leaving it open for another sorry pair. But, what started out to be a crushing blow to the ego for me, turned into a pretty funny and fond memory of mine to this day.
Thanks for humoring me and being my stand partner,
Valerie
p.s. – that may have been the name written on my sheet music, but please, call me val
From this vantage point, the conductor seems but a blur making sudden movements…but, from where you’re sitting it doesn’t really matter because you can’t see anyway. It’s as if the worst of the worst are sent to the back, not only because everyone else is better than you, but because it wouldn’t matter if you were close enough to see the conductor’s signals…you weren’t going to follow him accurately anyway.
At least that’s how it feels.
How do I know that feeling so well? That was me, freshman year of high school. I had auditioned the year before to become a part of the competitive Youth Symphony in my hometown.
Once you were “in” the symphony…there would need to be a way of determining the pecking…I mean…seating order, especially in a sea of violinists. Every orchestra has a section of first violinists and section of second violinists. Most people tend to say the first violinists – on whole- are better, since many pieces have a challenging melody (which they play), whereas, the second violinists take on the harmony…usually resided in the lower octaves and thus, being easier. In actuality, both parts can be equally challenging – but, if one were to make a sweeping judgment, that’s what it would be.
It was audition time and I had hardly done the preparation I needed to. Why was it necessary?! I was a freshman who had made it into the youth symphony – I must be awesome, right?? So awesome I didn’t really need to practice that horrid part of music that required me to play crazy scales super fast complete with awkward bowing. Nope. Not me.
Heh.
Results were in and guess where Val was sitting? Second to last chair second violin.
No words.
Did I mention that this was the evening they were taking the season photos for the youth symphony as well? Yes, it’s true. I have that great accomplishment of mine documented for years to come. It’s priceless actually to see me hunched over in the back – clearly defeated and red in the face from bawling for 30 minutes prior to the photo. I’m glad that moment is captured for all the other 80+ participants to have for the rest of their lives too. I’m not the only disappointed-looking musician…third to last chair probably wasn’t feeling much better, nor the last viola, or last cello. Wait…that’s right…at least I wasn’t LAST chair!
So, who was?
Apparently the last chair second violinist was so humiliated at their position that they stormed out, bawling no doubt, and crushed at the thought of being pegged the worst auditioner of the night. Sheesh, that would be tough…second to last was bad enough…but last??
The next week at practice we were all getting acclimated to our newly assigned seats and stand partners. I was eagerly awaiting the arrival of mine…when just then, he walked up: a seriously cute, younger version of George Clooney with a big smile on his face…with no sign of disappointment or grief. He sat down next to me, introduced himself and we played next to each other that season…chatting, joking and me being even more distracted than I was already…only to realize later that the guy sitting next to me the whole time was one of the best violinists in the Spokane region.
These things only happen to me.
Dear George Clooney Jr. (You’re my FB friend so we’re just keeping it to this),
You had me fooled. For a short time I thought I had escaped being the worst violinist in the symphony – it was supposed to be you.
In reality, something prevented you from being able to attend the auditions that night; as a result you were forced to take the last seat…next to me…only to later become concert master of the youth symphony for many years to come, as well as go on to be a highly acclaimed violinist. So, it was me all along – I was the worst that night.
But you know what, we had a lot of fun back there…and I think I secretly knew you weren’t supposed to be there – you played too ridiculously well. And…despite my constant talking throughout rehearsals, I think you knew I didn’t really belong back there either.
Yes, we both left that stand – improving our chair placement…you definitely more than me – leaving it open for another sorry pair. But, what started out to be a crushing blow to the ego for me, turned into a pretty funny and fond memory of mine to this day.
Thanks for humoring me and being my stand partner,
Valerie
p.s. – that may have been the name written on my sheet music, but please, call me val
Sunday, October 16, 2011
Lady in Waiting...err...Training
I was privileged enough to have the opportunity of being raised by not only a classy mother, but a classy set of grandparents throughout my adolescence and young adult years. I’m sure there were moments that I wished things had been different – I’m sure the feelings were returned…but, I have come to understand what a blessing it was to be raised by two generations of thought which stressed the need for me to be proper, civilized, well-mannered and gracious.
These characteristics were of course expected, not only for my own good, but because those were the very attributes exercised by my family. From grandpa I learned that “waste not, want not” was the motto to live by each and every day…as well as the need to be self-reliant; no need to ask for help, when you can do it yourself…even if it means engaging in the activity much longer than necessary. From grandma I learned the appreciation of British television, not over-staying my welcome, sending thank you notes, literature, not over-sharing my life story with just anyone and everyone and a well-stocked kitchen for visitors. From my mom, a keen sense of pulling myself together, having a spotless home, and an overall appreciation for culture and fine things. This of course skims the surface of what I’ve learned from each of them…but, I think you understand…you’d think I was fit to be besties with Kate, Duchess of Cambridge.
However, as many know me today - while I certainly cherish and appreciate the upbringing that I was given - I unfortunately hardly do it the justice that it deserves…and flunk in quite a few areas. Like any diamond in the rough story, I had the all-star grooming team with all the makings of being a true lady…but unfortunately there is at least one characteristic (many actually) that to this day has proved to be a buffer to all the good invested in me…
Stubborn impulsiveness.
I’d like to think a certain amount of class has withstood the effects of this horrible, yet intrinsically-Val characteristic. I was reminded recently however, that my lady-in-waiting status is very much a lady-in-training status to this day.
[Enter Aircraft Interiors Expo – Seattle, WA]
Two very large airline exposition conferences were being held at the downtown conference center recently. My company was a part of the conference focused in airline onboard entertainment; think: Paramount Pictures, Disney, Sony, Boeing, Airbus, Panasonic, etc. Adjacent to our conference was the Aircraft Interiors Expo which focused on the luxuries of reclining lazy-boy seats, electric blankets, feather pillows and FOOD.
The purpose of having the expos at the same time was to be a convenience factor for all the airlines that were in attendance, both domestic and international; exhibitors at either expo were allowed to enter the other. Aside from larger-than-life booths – complete with a mini replica of the Paramount Picture arch - my conference was hardly a draw compared to what sounded like a feast happening over at the Aircraft Interiors expo. All day long friends in the industry, as well as booth neighbors dropped by telling me I HAD to head over to the other expo for all the amazing food samples being practically thrown at them. By the time 3pm came along, I decided to take a break and check out what everyone had been raving about.
Yes, it was true. There were literally mountains of packaged goodies piled high in each booth in a room that housed at least 100 booths. It was Costco meets Dean & Deluca times 100. People were walking around with bags stuffed full of foods that I had never seen on any of my flights – where have I been traveling and on what airline?! Wine was flowing, packaged gourmet desserts and fancy nuts were being tossed, and platters of quiche and fine cheeses were being sampled as though we were at some VIP party.
I felt a little embarrassed, I mean…I walked in and while everything seemed to be piled so high that food avalanches were inevitable…there was still a sense of each booth being unapproachable. The mere fact that I was there for FREE anything, let alone food, caused me to check any class I had at the door. I had no real purpose there other than to eat. Would Kate do that? …. Strike number one “Ms. Lady in Waiting...I mean...Training.”
I had been sent on a hunter and gatherer mission…but, I didn’t need a bag full of food, I just wanted a couple of samples and return a couple of goodies to my fellow exhibitor. It took me a good 5 minutes of just staring at booths and feeling awkward before I made my first move. I couldn’t get over the feeling as though I were some poor peasant looking to steal a loaf of bread…while so many around me, without hesitation, walked right up and practically bulldozed treats into their bags.
It was some German dessert vendor that I finally strolled up to. It appeared to be empty – no exhibitor in sight who I would need to awkwardly try to avoid eye-contact with while taking a food sample. Nope, I was free and clear… so I strolled up to a large display of tarts, cookies, brownies and miniature pies evaluating whether I wanted carrot cake or pecan pie and whether my co-worker would prefer chocolate mousse or an apple tart.
It hadn’t been but 30 seconds, when from the back right corner of where I was standing I hear snickering followed by a thick accent muttering, “ohhh, just another American here for free samples.” In that moment I immediately feel my temperature rise sparked by an initial jolt of embarrassment followed by spite towards this gentleman, who couldn’t have been 5 years my senior.
I sensed him getting up from a table I had not even noticed and coming toward me in an obligated manner when I immediately turn around and quip, “actually, I'm not here for free food…” [LIE] “…I was looking to learn more about your offerings.” [LIE] Would Kate do that? Strike number two.
Now, we were both uncomfortable. “Good” I thought…misery likes company. This guy was clearly taken aback by the fact that 1) I had heard him mutter under his breath to his colleagues and 2) I had put him on the spot to essentially give me the classic 30-second elevator pitch....which I actually prolonged for a good 10 minutes with a string of meaningless questions torturing both of us just to spite him.
I walked out of that expo with a measly pack of nuts, a packaged brownie and brochure that was forced upon me while pretending to care about European airline dessert offerings. The brochure went straight in the trash on my way out and the brownie went to my colleague…sparing him the details.
Dear Kate,
It appears our bestie status might be on hold.
Despite my family’s best efforts, my love of food and stubborn impulsive behavior has gotten in the way of me being a true, well-groomed lady.
It’s true, if I were a lady, 1) I wouldn’t have sought out free food to begin with and 2) I would not have reiterated multiple times throughout my self-inflicted conversation that I was not there for free samples – even though I was – just to spite the vendor and to watch him stammer uncomfortably.
It’s all very disappointing really…I know Steve and William would get along smashingly. Give me a little more time though, I hope not to disappoint.
I’ll be giving Pippa a call for some pointers in being a true, lady-in-waiting -
Valerie
p.s. I know it’s terribly informal, but please, call me val
These characteristics were of course expected, not only for my own good, but because those were the very attributes exercised by my family. From grandpa I learned that “waste not, want not” was the motto to live by each and every day…as well as the need to be self-reliant; no need to ask for help, when you can do it yourself…even if it means engaging in the activity much longer than necessary. From grandma I learned the appreciation of British television, not over-staying my welcome, sending thank you notes, literature, not over-sharing my life story with just anyone and everyone and a well-stocked kitchen for visitors. From my mom, a keen sense of pulling myself together, having a spotless home, and an overall appreciation for culture and fine things. This of course skims the surface of what I’ve learned from each of them…but, I think you understand…you’d think I was fit to be besties with Kate, Duchess of Cambridge.
However, as many know me today - while I certainly cherish and appreciate the upbringing that I was given - I unfortunately hardly do it the justice that it deserves…and flunk in quite a few areas. Like any diamond in the rough story, I had the all-star grooming team with all the makings of being a true lady…but unfortunately there is at least one characteristic (many actually) that to this day has proved to be a buffer to all the good invested in me…
Stubborn impulsiveness.
I’d like to think a certain amount of class has withstood the effects of this horrible, yet intrinsically-Val characteristic. I was reminded recently however, that my lady-in-waiting status is very much a lady-in-training status to this day.
[Enter Aircraft Interiors Expo – Seattle, WA]
Two very large airline exposition conferences were being held at the downtown conference center recently. My company was a part of the conference focused in airline onboard entertainment; think: Paramount Pictures, Disney, Sony, Boeing, Airbus, Panasonic, etc. Adjacent to our conference was the Aircraft Interiors Expo which focused on the luxuries of reclining lazy-boy seats, electric blankets, feather pillows and FOOD.
The purpose of having the expos at the same time was to be a convenience factor for all the airlines that were in attendance, both domestic and international; exhibitors at either expo were allowed to enter the other. Aside from larger-than-life booths – complete with a mini replica of the Paramount Picture arch - my conference was hardly a draw compared to what sounded like a feast happening over at the Aircraft Interiors expo. All day long friends in the industry, as well as booth neighbors dropped by telling me I HAD to head over to the other expo for all the amazing food samples being practically thrown at them. By the time 3pm came along, I decided to take a break and check out what everyone had been raving about.
Yes, it was true. There were literally mountains of packaged goodies piled high in each booth in a room that housed at least 100 booths. It was Costco meets Dean & Deluca times 100. People were walking around with bags stuffed full of foods that I had never seen on any of my flights – where have I been traveling and on what airline?! Wine was flowing, packaged gourmet desserts and fancy nuts were being tossed, and platters of quiche and fine cheeses were being sampled as though we were at some VIP party.
I felt a little embarrassed, I mean…I walked in and while everything seemed to be piled so high that food avalanches were inevitable…there was still a sense of each booth being unapproachable. The mere fact that I was there for FREE anything, let alone food, caused me to check any class I had at the door. I had no real purpose there other than to eat. Would Kate do that? …. Strike number one “Ms. Lady in Waiting...I mean...Training.”
I had been sent on a hunter and gatherer mission…but, I didn’t need a bag full of food, I just wanted a couple of samples and return a couple of goodies to my fellow exhibitor. It took me a good 5 minutes of just staring at booths and feeling awkward before I made my first move. I couldn’t get over the feeling as though I were some poor peasant looking to steal a loaf of bread…while so many around me, without hesitation, walked right up and practically bulldozed treats into their bags.
It was some German dessert vendor that I finally strolled up to. It appeared to be empty – no exhibitor in sight who I would need to awkwardly try to avoid eye-contact with while taking a food sample. Nope, I was free and clear… so I strolled up to a large display of tarts, cookies, brownies and miniature pies evaluating whether I wanted carrot cake or pecan pie and whether my co-worker would prefer chocolate mousse or an apple tart.
It hadn’t been but 30 seconds, when from the back right corner of where I was standing I hear snickering followed by a thick accent muttering, “ohhh, just another American here for free samples.” In that moment I immediately feel my temperature rise sparked by an initial jolt of embarrassment followed by spite towards this gentleman, who couldn’t have been 5 years my senior.
I sensed him getting up from a table I had not even noticed and coming toward me in an obligated manner when I immediately turn around and quip, “actually, I'm not here for free food…” [LIE] “…I was looking to learn more about your offerings.” [LIE] Would Kate do that? Strike number two.
Now, we were both uncomfortable. “Good” I thought…misery likes company. This guy was clearly taken aback by the fact that 1) I had heard him mutter under his breath to his colleagues and 2) I had put him on the spot to essentially give me the classic 30-second elevator pitch....which I actually prolonged for a good 10 minutes with a string of meaningless questions torturing both of us just to spite him.
I walked out of that expo with a measly pack of nuts, a packaged brownie and brochure that was forced upon me while pretending to care about European airline dessert offerings. The brochure went straight in the trash on my way out and the brownie went to my colleague…sparing him the details.
Dear Kate,
It appears our bestie status might be on hold.
Despite my family’s best efforts, my love of food and stubborn impulsive behavior has gotten in the way of me being a true, well-groomed lady.
It’s true, if I were a lady, 1) I wouldn’t have sought out free food to begin with and 2) I would not have reiterated multiple times throughout my self-inflicted conversation that I was not there for free samples – even though I was – just to spite the vendor and to watch him stammer uncomfortably.
It’s all very disappointing really…I know Steve and William would get along smashingly. Give me a little more time though, I hope not to disappoint.
I’ll be giving Pippa a call for some pointers in being a true, lady-in-waiting -
Valerie
p.s. I know it’s terribly informal, but please, call me val
Monday, October 10, 2011
It's Not You, It's Me
I’ve been both the bearer and recipient of this phrase multiple times in my life. Most people know that, “it’s not you, it’s me” most of the time means “it’s actually you.”
[Enter Long-time Love - Washington]
For the last couple of years my restlessness of living in Washington has increased more and more. Washington is nice; I’ve traversed it from East to West, West to East, then East to West. Yes, I’d say I’m quite the expert on Washington and could list off all the random exits on I-90 from Spokane to Seattle, spout off the number of windmills on the plateau overlooking the Columbia River, tell you the best place to stop for gas in Ellensburg, as well as where the cops like to ticket best.
Like any long, well-established relationship…Washington has become comfortable for me. Most of our family resides here. History and memories have been created here. And arguably, Washington is one of the more beautiful states in the country. But.
But. This one-syllable word seems to disrupt complete satisfaction after a lineup of several amazing attributes.
[Enter New Love Interest – Charleston, SC]
In the effort to escape rain, high cost of living and the our status quo life in Seattle, Steve and I began a search to move elsewhere and start over with new jobs, people, places, etc. Such a romantic idea – it would be the solution to financial woes, sub-par weather, and an overall restlessness. So when we were offered the chance to move to Charleston, SC this summer it seemed it would be a no-brainer. Beach, sun, amazing history, charm, just hours from amazing locations...it was the perfect pair of shoes spotted in the department store. Even Travel & Leisure validated what a grand trade-in we’d be making from Seattle to Charleston. In 2010, Charleston was their number one city on The Favorite US Cities list…Seattle came in toward the bottom of the list. Charleston was the clear winner…the date to have at the prom above everyone else. I was so in love and ready to commit, I had a FB status prepared and ready to proclaim that commitment (that’s when you know things are for real, right?) It would have read: “Uh oh. Looks like the Payettes need to head to reform school – they’re moving to the “Most Mannerly City” in the US.”
But. There’s that word again. Like the perfect shoes spotted in the department store – in order for it to be the perfect purchase, the perfect fit, it needed to be a size 9…and unfortunately it was 8.5. So close, but not the right fit – miserable in fact if stubbornly bought and worn (I’ve done it).
So. We’re back to the drawing board, but it seems as though Washington may be the relationship of choice…for now. But, how does Washington feel about that? How do I feel about that? I guess we’ve got a Determine-The-Relationship (DTR) on the horizon...
Dear Washington,
It’s not you, it’s me. So many are in love with you and yet, I’ve lost that lovin’ feeling. However, there’s something you must have in store for me, a nugget of self-exploration that has yet to reveal itself. I trust that, like in all established relationships, we’ll work through our differences and come out better for it.
The truth is you’re my black flats; the ones I wear day-in and day-out. Comfortable and stylish enough – they go with just about everything. I haven’t been able to part with them. But. Yep, but…they’re starting to show wear and tear and soon enough, polish won’t be enough to cover the clear indication that a replacement will be necessary…and probably not with the same pair…I just don’t know what those replacements will be yet.
So while many times that phrase has been uttered meaning the opposite...I’m beginning to believe that this time around, it really is me and not you.
Valerie
p.s. - you’re right…call me, Valerie? That’s just silly…please, call me val
[Enter Long-time Love - Washington]
For the last couple of years my restlessness of living in Washington has increased more and more. Washington is nice; I’ve traversed it from East to West, West to East, then East to West. Yes, I’d say I’m quite the expert on Washington and could list off all the random exits on I-90 from Spokane to Seattle, spout off the number of windmills on the plateau overlooking the Columbia River, tell you the best place to stop for gas in Ellensburg, as well as where the cops like to ticket best.
Like any long, well-established relationship…Washington has become comfortable for me. Most of our family resides here. History and memories have been created here. And arguably, Washington is one of the more beautiful states in the country. But.
But. This one-syllable word seems to disrupt complete satisfaction after a lineup of several amazing attributes.
[Enter New Love Interest – Charleston, SC]
In the effort to escape rain, high cost of living and the our status quo life in Seattle, Steve and I began a search to move elsewhere and start over with new jobs, people, places, etc. Such a romantic idea – it would be the solution to financial woes, sub-par weather, and an overall restlessness. So when we were offered the chance to move to Charleston, SC this summer it seemed it would be a no-brainer. Beach, sun, amazing history, charm, just hours from amazing locations...it was the perfect pair of shoes spotted in the department store. Even Travel & Leisure validated what a grand trade-in we’d be making from Seattle to Charleston. In 2010, Charleston was their number one city on The Favorite US Cities list…Seattle came in toward the bottom of the list. Charleston was the clear winner…the date to have at the prom above everyone else. I was so in love and ready to commit, I had a FB status prepared and ready to proclaim that commitment (that’s when you know things are for real, right?) It would have read: “Uh oh. Looks like the Payettes need to head to reform school – they’re moving to the “Most Mannerly City” in the US.”
But. There’s that word again. Like the perfect shoes spotted in the department store – in order for it to be the perfect purchase, the perfect fit, it needed to be a size 9…and unfortunately it was 8.5. So close, but not the right fit – miserable in fact if stubbornly bought and worn (I’ve done it).
So. We’re back to the drawing board, but it seems as though Washington may be the relationship of choice…for now. But, how does Washington feel about that? How do I feel about that? I guess we’ve got a Determine-The-Relationship (DTR) on the horizon...
Dear Washington,
It’s not you, it’s me. So many are in love with you and yet, I’ve lost that lovin’ feeling. However, there’s something you must have in store for me, a nugget of self-exploration that has yet to reveal itself. I trust that, like in all established relationships, we’ll work through our differences and come out better for it.
The truth is you’re my black flats; the ones I wear day-in and day-out. Comfortable and stylish enough – they go with just about everything. I haven’t been able to part with them. But. Yep, but…they’re starting to show wear and tear and soon enough, polish won’t be enough to cover the clear indication that a replacement will be necessary…and probably not with the same pair…I just don’t know what those replacements will be yet.
So while many times that phrase has been uttered meaning the opposite...I’m beginning to believe that this time around, it really is me and not you.
Valerie
p.s. - you’re right…call me, Valerie? That’s just silly…please, call me val
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