New family member

Her name is Zorah. She's classy, black & driven. She came to our home last night. After a good night's sleep, we got to know each other a bit. She agreed to wear Ohio State regalia, in limited quantities, but not Mardi Gras beads. I agreed to learn to use her electronics, in limited quantities, but not much of her computer. Zorah brings sunshine & fresh air to my life and an unheard-of degree of comfort and elegance. I love my new car.

For the love of armadillos

She snuggled close in a pre-dawn hour. Sighing happily, she murmured "You're so soft. Not like an armadillo." Lovers should have immunity before coffee.

The thrill of victory, the agony of de feet

A quiet living room, a comfortable chair, a sleeping cat and a glass of red wine. I just came home from producing the first school concert of the year, which was also the first ever at this school. No pressure. Let me pour more wine.

55 of the 70 students on stage were complete rookies with less than 3 months experience on their instruments. The other 15, only second and third year players, were grossly outnumbered, but lent a sense of security to the newbies surrounding them.

They came, they did, they conquered. It was good, their parents loved them, my boss was impressed. I was pleased and relieved and happy. Now every muscle and bone I own aches. My ankles are twice their normal sizes. Can I walk again before vacation begins Friday afternoon?? Doctor, will I be able to play the violin?

As student shows go, I held up better than usual. I only had a single meltdown – last period today, with great provocation – and I slept through last night. I mostly stayed calm, mostly stayed sane, mostly stayed organized. Yet here I sit with a giant knot in my chest, waiting for the tension to be released into history. I survived another one. I really don’t enjoy this process at all, but it was good, appreciated and…..over.

I tried all last year to find another line of work, one without bi- or tri-annual dementia. As school band jobs go, this one is great. It’s just that I hate to be in charge of big events. I worry way too much. I lose sleep. I get ill, snappy, tired. Very, very tired.

So I sit here and try to explain to my feet just why I ran all day, and all night in heels. I ask the site of my very recently recovered plantar fascilitis to forgive the overuse, that it won’t happen again for several months, that tomorrow they are only required to transport me to and from comfy chairs. Chairs that won’t be far apart. That children will sort & file music, that children will unload a church bus returning our big instruments, that children will run errands, that children will be proud of themselves. That I don’t have to do these things, that I’ve done too much already.

And that it all paid off. May the next four days fly, and the vacation pass slowly. Not the other way around, please.

Question of the week:

I don't have fingernails. What am I hanging on by?