A Day in the Life of a Music Teacher

Well, today was quite interesting.

After a late night at my parents' (didn't get home until 2am), I awoke early this morning to be ready for my first round of voice students at my new teaching job. I'm now teaching at two music schools, and the second school very promptly filled up my Saturday schedule. Hooray for income!

So, it was to this school that I directed myself at 9:30. My first student was at 10am, but I wanted enough time to settle into the new studio before having to run scales with my newest vic-- erm... I mean, student.

Before I left the house, I very prudently grabbed all of my vocal music, not knowing what my students might want to study, or even if they had books of their own.

At 9:45, I arrived at the studio, my messenger bag filled with books, and a staggeringly large stack of Broadway rep in my arms as well. It was all I could do to pull the door open without falling over.

As I walked in, a nice looking gentleman exclaimed to his young daughter, "Look! Here's your teacher now!"

I smiled brightly over my stack of books and asked, "Voice lessons?"

"Oh, no. Piano."

"Not me, then," I replied cheerily, moving towards the front counter to collect my list of students for the day.

"Hey!" the owner greeted, looking up and brushing back his long, blonde, hippie-like hair. "Your first student is here."

"Oh, awesome!" I looked about, but saw no one besides the little girl and her parents. A nervous flutter started, which I promptly pushed down.

"Yeah," the owner agreed. "Hey, Di! Here's your piano teacher!"

It took everything I had not to show the surprise on my face. "Oh! I forgot my first student was for piano!" I exclaimed, laughing. "Hi, Di! I'm your new piano teacher!"

The seven-year-old girl smiled cutely and gave a little skip of excitement. I grinned, but was feeling very uncertain all of a sudden, especially as the owner happily announced, "All your students today are for piano. Didn't my wife tell you?"

I smiled brightly. "No, but that's okay! Come on, Di! Let's get you to a piano!"

Inwardly I was freaking out a little-- I wasn't expecting to teach piano, I had no method books with me, and how in the world was I supposed to fill 30 minutes in a way that would keep a seven-year-old occupied and interested???

Thanks be to God that I was inspired and I suddenly remembered-- in ridiculous clarity-- my very first piano lesson. So, for 30 minutes, Di and I numbered our fingers, found notes on the keyboard, practiced arching our hands, playing with our fingers independently, and I taught her two rote songs called C-D-E and C-B-A (If anyone ever used the Lila Fletcher piano method books, they'll remember those songs instantly).

At the end of the half-hour, Di blithely skipped upstairs and announced to her Dad that, "Piano is fun!"

One student down, three to go...

Student two turned out to be a 10-year-old boy named Tony, with startlingly vivid blue eyes. He had been playing for awhile, and we had fun reading through a simplified version of Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata, while talking about chord inversions and how to finger them properly. (Thank you, Keyboard Harmony class!!)

Feeling a bit more confident, I returned Tony to his mom, and happily went out for a cup of tea. I had an hour until my next student, so I walked a few blocks to the awesome independent cafe on the square. Saturday mornings are blissfully low-key at the cafe, which is a nice change from it's night scene. The cafe regularly hosts independent musicians, and artists always have their work on display. Most nights, Friday's especially, the cafe is jammed with people and it's hard enough to order your coffee, let alone find a place to sit.

Today, there were a few students listening to their iPods while studying quietly and sipping on their caffeinated beverage of choice. In one corner, nestled into the plush couches, an elderly couple quietly enjoyed each other's company by drinking tea and reading. Outside on the patio, a black garbed young man alternately took a drag of his cigarette and sipped his espresso, all the while scribbling thoughtfully in a notebook.

Feeling at home amidst this quiet, cheery, Bohemian atmosphere, I approached the counter and ordered a cup of their Organic Irish Breakfast tea and a coffee cake. The dude serving me (and yes, he was a 'dude' in every sense of the word) commented on my name when he took my credit card.

"Hey!" he exclaimed, grinning. "This is going to seem, like, totally random, and unrelated, but your name reminded me of a YouTube video I just saw!"

I laughed. "Really?"

"Yeah," he said, handing me my tea. "Get online and check out Marcel the Shell with Shoes On! It's this awesome and cute stop-action animation video about a shell... named Marcel." Very obligingly he wrote the name of the video on my receipt, and I promised him I would check it out.

I enjoyed my little break at the coffee shop. The coffee cake was very good, but unfortunately, my tea refused to cool off, and I was impatient, so I burnt my tongue taking a sip. Despite that, the tea was still very good. I really like the blend, and I'll definitely be back for more.

11:50 came much too soon, and so I had to walk back to the music school for my last two lessons. The weather was beautiful and very warm for this time of the year, and I enjoyed letting the sun warm my face as I navigated the quiet streets.

My next two students were two, very cute, Chinese sisters. I never did get the name of the older sister come to think of it... *headdesk*

Thankfully, they used a method book I was familiar with, but it is going to be a challenge teaching them. Their father drops them off at the school, and the sisters sit in on each other's lesson. They are very quiet children, so I didn't have any trouble with disruption. However, the younger sister is significantly more adept at playing the keyboard than the elder one. The older sister doesn't seem to mind this, but already I'm foreseeing potential problems, being that they witness each other's lessons. The younger girl can read notes and rhythm, and is a much quicker learner. It was easy to cover a great deal of material with her in the half hour. Her sister, however, struggles to remember note names, and overall, seems very uncomfortable at the instrument.  Perhaps she was nervous, but I didn't get that vibe from her... The situation is going to require some thought... I really don't want the older girl to get frustrated because she sees her younger sister excelling and moving beyond her, and I don't want the younger sister to feel 'superior' over her older sister, because she's watching her sister struggle with things that come easily to her.

*sigh* St. Cecilia? Help, please?

In any case, I survived my first day as a (surprised and unprepared) piano teacher, and at 1pm I lugged myself and all my books back home. Happily, I'm $50 richer than when I started, and I was informed before I left that I would, indeed, have one voice student next week.

For now, I'm going to try and enjoy the rest of the weekend, and finish the tea that had very unkindly scalded my mouth.

Dealing with Disappointment

What is it about disappointment? Why does it sometimes roll off of you and other times blast a hole in your heart? And why is it that, even when we're intellectually determined to just let something go, the sting of disappointment still brings tears to your eyes?

Is it because you're being selfish? You can't have what you want and so your selfish heart rebels?

Or is it because you're being selfless? You place your trust and hope in another person, build them up, encourage them, and your heart just aches because you can't stand to see them hurting when all the preparations come to naught?

I don't know. I suppose there are, indeed, two sides to why disappointment can hurt so much.

How about when you've been repeatedly disappointed about the same thing for months on end, and each time you reply with a smile and reassure yourself that it'll be better next time? You keep your chin up time after time, and then one day, you just can't take it anymore. You can't pick yourself up again, and, try as you might, you can't fight the inner anguish that threatens to tear you apart.

What then? What was it that was the final straw? Why was it this time that the disappointment finally dragged you down?

I can't figure it out, honestly. Maybe I'm not supposed to.

But today I learned something about disappointment.

I was driving to work, after having been disappointed over a silly, trivial little thing. I was trying to fight the cold bitterness I was feeling and trying to hold back the tears that welled in my eyes. It was complete nonsense, of course, but it still hurt. A lot. It was almost ridiculous how much I was bothered by what had happened.

I was frustrated with myself for feeling this way; for being, despite my best efforts, a slave to the hormonal surges and emotions that were threatening to reduce me to an irrational, blubbering mess, smeared mascara and all.

And then, like a ray of sunshine, a thought came to me (Thanks be to God!) that almost instantly replaced my feelings of hurt and disappointment with those of proper guilt and penitence.

For you see, by grace alone, I began to think of my disappointment in a different way. Yes, I was hurting and hurt, but how much more acute is the disappointment that the Sacred Heart and the Immaculate Heart feels on my behalf?

How many times have I entered the confessional, confessed my sins, promised to amend my life, promised to do better, not to sin again, to work harder at rooting out the tendencies that draw me away from Christ? And how many times have I come back the very next week, only to confess the same sins over again, having not really made a true effort at amending my life?

How pained is His Most Sacred Heart by this? More than words can describe, for our verbal description of His Passion and death upon the Cross is but a pale representation of how truly He suffered for and because of us. Every day His Sacrifice is renewed on the altar for me, for my salvation. And still, I go on disappointing Him.

But Our Lord doesn't give up on us. He keeps forgiving us; He continues to encourage us and gives us tools to aid us in our struggle to be more like Him.

My suffering is nothing compared to His, and instead of being disappointed, I should be focusing on not being disappointing. He has already suffered too much on my behalf.

This week was the Feast of Our Lady of Sorrows, and so I beg of Her to aid me, to bring me closer to Her Son, to help me to bear my minute sufferings, and to, in all things, seek and find Christ.

*Headdesk*

Gah! I have been horribly remiss about this blog. After all my AugBlogWriMo-ing, September comes and the Blog falls to the wayside.

*sigh*

Such is life, I suppose.

The last two weeks have been exciting and jam-packed with things to do. School takes up most of my time, as does teaching, so I have little time for anything extracurricular.

Time management has become a very important factor in my life. This is especially true since I have four instruments to practice everyday, and I'm supposed to practice each for a minimum of twenty minutes. I'm not sure where I'm going to find said 80 minutes everyday... thus far, I've only managed to practice each instrument about 3 times a week, but I suppose that's better than not at all, right?

I suppose about now is when I should be thanking the Lord for making me a quick study...

*moment of prayer*

Speaking of prayer and faith and such, I've been following the Papal Visit to Scotland with much interest, due in part to conversation with Father Braveheart, my close friendship with Scot (who is, indeed, a Scotsman), and because I follow Seraphic's Blog on a daily basis. There's been much protesting done, rather ironically, but fitting I suppose, by the Protestants and various groups who have an axe to grind with the Holy Father and the Catholic Church in general.

While my steadfastly Catholic heart trembles in indignation at some of the things that have been said against the Pope, I can't help but to stop and think. Perhaps it's not so bad that all this nonsense is going on... I mean, certainly, they shouldn't be so darned demeaning and just... childish... but I guess we know who our friends are? Better to have the Protestants protesting, than to have them pretending to be nice-nice only to try and water us down later on.

I can't help but to laugh as I wonder where their sense of ecumenism is?

But to get back to my point...

All of the clap-trap is only bringing more attention to the Holy Father and his visit to the UK. More will be listening in when he speaks, and (God willing) that means that more hearts will be open to Christ, either now, or eventually. Yes, the rabble-raisers will probably be pretty closed off to what Benedict has to say, but you have to admit that they always draw a crowd of curious on-lookers, some of whom may be fertile ground for the seed of the Faith.

That is my hope, and prayer, on the eve of the Holy Father's arrival in Scotland. Sometimes, there really is no such thing as "bad publicity"

All of this reminds me of St. Paul writing to Timothy, "And all that will live godly in Christ Jesus, shall suffer persecution." (2 Tim. 3:12- indeed the whole 3rd chapter is a fitting reading, in light of these recent events).

Even Our Lord said, "If the world hate you, know ye, that it hath hated me before you. If you had been of the world, the world would love its own: but because you are not of the world, but I have chose you out of the world, therefore the world hateth you. Remember my word that I said to you: The servants if not greater than his master. If they have persecuted me, they will also persecute you." (John 15:18-20)

And finally, a voice of reason, amidst the clamour of dissent: BRILLIANT article from 'The Telegraph'

*Big Yawn*

This week has been amazing... and sorrowful... and stressful... and draining.

The first week of classes practically flew by, and I must say, despite the craziness, that I'm glad to be back. The orderliness of knowing where you have to be and what you have to be doing is positively wonderful. This is especially true for someone like me who procrastinates quite regularly. This orderliness means that I have no choice except to manage my time wisely.

Wednesday night was probably the highlight of the week. This semester I've joined the University Wind Ensemble, despite having not played my clarinet in over 6 years. I'm starting to think that I'm being a bit crazy for attempting this, but our Band Director is so pleasantly cheerful and irrepressibly optimistic that I couldn't turn him down. So, Wednesday night I filed into the band room with my clarinet, and timidly took my place amongst the 3rd/4th Clarinets.

The best part of this is that my stand partner is my younger brother, Ravioli. Ravioli is only in his early teens, and has been taking clarinet lessons for a year and a half, but he's utterly amazing. I convinced my mom to let him join, because I knew that if he didn't have any performance opportunities, Ravioli would grow bored with his instrument, and he would let his incredible talent wither away. (I know this from experience...)

You see, being home schooled can really stink sometimes, especially when you're in a school district that is none too friendly towards homeschoolers. Legally, the school districts are supposed to let homeschoolers participate in school activities, but our particular school district doesn't like kids who don't attend the schools on a daily basis. So, we're excluded from swim team and chorus and band and orchestra and soccer and basketball and cheerleading and the list goes on and on. Basically, if it's in any way affiliated with the school district, we can't take part.

And, even if they did let us join, there is the great controlling factor known as "Mom." My mother, God bless her, is an extremely firm believer in homeschooling, and therefore the one constant whenever she's considering allowing her children to do anything is whether or not her children will have any contact with "public school kids." She is very wary of said "public school kids," and I can see her point. She's worked very hard to protect her children from all the influences of the culture of death, and the last thing she wants is her 13-year-old coming home and asking, "Mom, what's a *insert shocking word here* ?"

So, when I fielded my Mom about Wind Ensemble for Ravioli, I was very sure to mention that he'd be next to me the whole time, it's a very professional band (which it is), and rehearsal time is rehearsal time, not social hour, so he won't have to speak to any "questionable" people. He'll just have to talk to his half-crazy, stressed-out sister. 

Let me tell you, after the first rehearsal I was so glad that Mom said Ravioli could join. He is the most amazing sight-reader ever! I was getting lost-- me the college student taking Advanced Music Theory and Education Methods classes-- and my kid brother was just chugging right along. It was very impressive.

Aside from that, he was really handy as a stand partner. For instance:

Band Director counts us in at an insane tempo for a piece the ensemble is just sight-reading.

I look at the key signature, as I put my lips to the mouthpiece. A muffled "Eep!" is heard.

Ravioli looks at me, half his attention on the Director. "What?" he whispers.

Then we begin.

--A page and a half later during a 16 measure break and I had managed only to get out 25% of the notes on the page--

"Ravioli," I hiss, ducking my head behind the music stand.

"What?" he hisses back.

I grin sheepishly. "How do you finger A-flat?"

"High A-flat? Like this..." His fingers rapidly move to the appropriate position.

"No, not high A-flat. Just normal A-flat. You know, the one above middle C?"

"What? Really?" Ravioli squeaks, revealing that his voice hasn't finished changing just quite yet...

"Yes,"  I respond wryly.

"Oh. Like this."

Ravioli shows me the proper fingering and I nod my thanks as we take off once again.

Oh yes, he was quite handy, indeed... Now, where is that clarinet fingering chart...?