Musical Matters

I had my last piano lesson this week. And what a ride it's been! Before leaving, my music instructor allowed me to snap a picture of her. Say hello to Mrs. Stem.

While I won't be continuing with private piano lessons, I will still be learning and practicing at home. I've really come so far in just 8 weeks--I'm seeing a lot of potential in myself. Am I being too optimistic? Am I fooling myself into thinking I've come so far, when really I've only memorized little tid bits? Either way, I think it would be foolish of me not to continue in some form. So I'll be continuing in the work book I have at home. But the overall reason I haven't signed up for another semester of piano lessons is because I've signed up for voice lessons instead!

Two weeks into piano, I found myself asking Mrs. Stem for vocal tips. "Am I damaging my voice by singing this way," or "how do I increase my range?" And pretty soon, we were talking about voice lessons. I asked Sam about it, and with his full encouragement, I signed up! Every Monday after piano lessons, a 30 minute voice lesson followed. 

And I must say, while I have been eager to learn piano, I am only that much more eager in voice. I've never had voice lessons before, but the older I get and the more I sing, the more unsure I am if I'm "doing it right." Sometimes, I don't know if it's just a matter of tone of voice--simply put, that's just how I sound--or if it's about the technicalities of singing. And just what are they?

Not quite sure...but I'm learning.

I'm realizing that I've always sung (is that the right verbiage, "sung?") with a chest voice. Of course, choir calls for the "operatic" voice, but otherwise, it's all chest. And all these years that I've been singing in my chest voice, I haven't been singing with my head voice.

While that statement seems redundant, the implication is that I haven't been practicing with my head voice at all. So not only do I not really know how, but I have no control over it either. I am all over the place! Sure, I can hit some high notes, but that doesn't mean anything if I can't control them. And boy oh boy has it shown in every single lesson!

I'm also finding out that I'm so unnecessarily tense, resulting in a lot of strain on my voice. When I'm alone in the house, I could be singing freely (with a head-voice), not thinking anything about it, but if I were to notice a fly watching me, or should a squirrel outside the window pay me any attention, I immediately get tense and try reverting back into my chest voice. I know, I don't understand myself either. How do I overcome that? That's a question for anyone to answer. I'm open to all suggestions.

Voice lessons for the fall semester will begin August 13th. Booyah.

In the meantime, while I continue to practice piano and work through my frustrations at home, there are some questions I have that go unanswered. And for a while now, I've had this one specific question that I can't seem to shake. The question is: Why do the bass and treble clefs read differently? Or rather, couldn't we make them read the same? There are five lines in each clef, and four spaces. The treble reads E, F, G, A, B, C, D, E, F. The bass reads G, A, B, C, D, E, F, G, A. Wouldn't it be a lot easier if they were the same? .

Every time I get stumped with something, I write it out on paper--it usually helps me to see things more clearly. So that's just what I did. And just when I thought I convinced myself that my theory couldn't work, I suddenly found a way that it could!

These are my scribblings that led to a new idea...

So, the notes on sheet music read like this: 

But all you musicians out there, get ready for the next big thing! What I am proposing could revolutionize the music industry! The new scale:

So instead of having Middle C by itself, it is joined by "Middle A." Result? Both clefs now read the same way.

So, while the original scale has worked for many, many years, wouldn't this be a whole lot easier to READ. I didn't change the notes (because that would go against math, science, and music!). My proposal wouldn't even change the way music is written. It would only change the way music is read.

You may be wondering what the reason is for all this. Beethoven didn't seem to have any issues with it. None of the Greats did. In fact, none of the not-so-greats had any qualms about it either.
So am I the first one to have proposed an idea like this? It seems such an easy solution. An easy solution to what? you say. Any easy solution to the strain on my brain; so instead of having to learn two different clefs, they would read the same.

But while I've invested much time and effort into wondering why things are the way they are, and even gone so far as to propose a new method to change it, I seem to be okay with the answer, "that's just the way it is." However, if there is another reason out there, if there is a fable of why the originator of the bass and treble clef wrote the sheet music to look the way it does, choosing one way over the other, I'd love to hear about it. Perhaps it was a matter of space of paper vs ease of reading. Perhaps the originator was such a genius, he didn't even think about it!

In the meantime, I'll just learn the bass clef too, and soon this whole thing will be no big deal.

Sometimes Problems Aren't As Problematic As They Seem

Over a year ago, when I got Ginny (my German car), I noticed that many of the gadgets were in odd places--at least compared to what you might find in an American vehicle.  For example, the window controls: instead of being on the door, they are where my armrest and automatic shifter are. And instead of reading "A/C," the cars' air button reads "EC." And all the gadgets on my window wiper and blinker knobs are backwards, and the dials on my dash are in some foreign scale. So it was quite an adjustment to get used to (and still is).

As it happens, all summer long I thought my car was just "out of a/c" (as though the solution was as simple as adding fuel or something).

Maybe there was a problem with a hose somewhere. Or maybe a fuse was out. For all I knew, there could even be some kind of separate battery just for the a/c. That's how little I know about cars and their complex functions.  "Or maybe," Sam suggested, "you just need some freon!"

Well, it's not like I'm the kind of person that thinks I'm going to die without a/c. And whether I'm just being lazy, cheap, or just plain silly, it wouldn't hurt my feelings if we didn't fix the problem. I mean, it's definitely nice to have the a/c, but it's a luxury that I don't mind living without (in my car! AC in the house is completely different). Of course, should I use the car more than once or twice a week, I might have a different opinion. :)

But because Sam always wants the best for me and because he just couldn't imagine me driving around in this crazy heat with no a/c, he had me purchase this thing called A/CPro (NOT CHEAP!); and so I did.

Now, typically, I'm not one to read directions.

"LET ME GUESS: STEP 2, ADD SAND."

But because cars and mechanics aren't my strongest subject, I really needed a starting point and some guidance on how to use the stuff--I'd think something like this really deserves some attention given to instructions. So I began with the directions and found that, not only is there a service port that you're supposed to hook the end of the hose to, there's a service port that you "must NOT" hook it up to--or explosion could be your result. I stopped. Perhaps I shouldn't be messing with this... See, it's no wonder I skip the directions. They just make things even MORE confusing. I was to hook the hose up to some low side service port. Obviously, they didn't write these instructions with me in mind. "Low side?" Okay.....? "Low" in regards to what? Do I need to crawl under the car? Just where do I find this port? Next to the compressor. What's that? Google came in handy, but YouTube was even more helpful--they have some pretty cool DIY videos on there (I may just start doing my own car maintenance from now on with the aid of YouTube tutorials! BAH!).

 

So after finding the right service port and checking the pressure, the gauge told me that all was good and I didn't need to add the ACPro after all. All the effort I'd put into learning about this service port and system...and it wasn't the problem?

Yeah, just a little disappointing. If it wasn't something a little ACPro could fix...it had to be something major!

A couple days later, I drove Sam up to the shop to pick up his bike. On our way, windows down, heat closing in on us, Sam said, "well let's at least turn the vent on!" So instead of pushing the EC button, he pushed one of the others.

This is what the controls look like. Go figure, right!?

We noticed the air suddenly turned cool...then cold....


Who would have thought to look up what EC really means? Yeah. It means "economy." Which of course, does NOT mean AC! Oh, if only I were a blond--what a good cover I'd have! There's always someone or something else to pin things like this on, but alas, in this case, I'm afraid I'm just a true dunce. And while I feel a little (...okay, A LOT) silly about the whole thing, I've just gotta laugh and be thankful that the poblem wasn't as problematic as I thought!

Too Busy to Blog

It took me a couple years to catch on to what "scattered showers" really meant here in Tennessee...
                             

Where I grew up, the radius for rain was a little larger. But on this planet, one side of town can get soaked, while the other side is dry and clueless. I guess rain clouds out here are a little smaller.

Life must be boring if I'm talking about weather, right? 5 years ago, I would have thought the same thing.

But when Sam and I were dating, I couldn't help but notice that he talked about the weather a lot. One day, I finally asked, "Am I that boring that we're talking about the weather again?" So he explained, being in the roofing business, the weather is a huge part of his daily schedule. So everything I knew about "weather talk" being one of those telltale clues that shout "BORING!" went right out the window! And ever since, it's been part of our daily chats.

Speaking of weather and rain, it's been raining all week long. And when it lets up, it's still wet, grey and muggy. It's not very pleasant weather for riding the two-wheeler.

But it's the perfect kind of weather to curl up in a ball, snuggle under a blanket together, and let the one-eyed-monster suck our brains out. Since it hadn't rained in forever a month, we decided to do just that! Sam was so kind to sacrifice his space thriller for one of my "girly" movies: "Mirror Mirror."


My review: "It's pretty good."
Sam's review: "Not so much."

So if you were debating on watching the movie, that should help! BAH!

Other than the weather, there's been plenty going on--I just haven't taken the time to blog about it. There's been the weekly piano lessons (they're always a trip!),  voice lessons (that's right--did I forget to tell you about them?), discovering products like stain remover (one that actually works) and "Liquid Plumr" (to make life a little easier), working on building a better wardrobe, and purchasing a new motorcycle for Sam (I have yet to post about that one!).

Yes, it's good to be busy! But I'm pretty determined that no matter how busy we get, I'll stop in to make a post (still shooting for that once-a-week goal).

So until next time, happy trails! And here's my quote of the week, for all those who may get caught up in the stress of life and perhaps wonder why every day the remote seems to be on repeat:

Taking a Moment to Appreciate the Differences

I've always thought that the differences between a married couple are very healthy for the relationship. It's what shapes us into better individuals and a stronger unit as we see through the other's eyes; changing for the better or just accepting the strange and cockamamie differneces (I'm forever using that word now!). Or, as Mr. Malone so nicely put it a few weeks ago, it's our differences that complement each other.

Of course, you have "rights" and "wrongs" in your principles; in which case there should be no compromise.

But then you have these things called "preferences." One is not right over the other. There isn't just one right way to fold laundry, replace the toilet paper on the dispenser, how to leave your toothpaste tube at the sink, pattern in mowing the lawn, styling your hair, way to drink coffee. And the list goes on.

This probably won't sound too foreign to other married couples, and perhaps those of you who have surpassed our 4 year mark can laugh out loud here knowing all too well. Yes, sometimes we remain stubborn about our preferences.

And sometimes, we just have different methods of getting things done....

Sometimes we struggle trying to see things from the other's perspective.

And communication is important; in our marriage counseling, a whole chapter was devoted to it. Well, we're not always perfect at that....

And then there's the silent way of expressing when someone's upset...

 

But overall, when I see the BIG picutre--as in, beyond the "I'm right and you're wrong" mentality--I'm so glad that we are different. Not only have we grown individually by working through our differences, but we've grown together coming to appreciate them rather than resent them.

Patience, love and joy have been the most productive outcomes of our differences--and I wouldn't trade that for anything. So while at times, we can look at each other like the other is the weird one,

with some patience and love, we eventually come around.  





From the Back Seat...

The other day, Sam asked, "what do you think about going out to dinner tonight? Give you a break from cooking...?" I always appreciate those gestures....

Had it been during our first year of marriage, I probably would have accused him of implying my cooking was something other than wonderful. But after four years, the anticipation to impress him with what I cook for every meal is limited to "every now and then" and his delight in being surprised is too.

But seriously, I appreciate that Sam keeps dating me. It's nice to get out of the house every now and then, and he always manages to time it just right.

So....
He handed me my helmet and said, "let's go!"

Oh....he wants to take the bike...

Clicking the strap to the helmet, I straddled the back of the bike, ready to vroom-vroom into the sunset! Romantic? If it is, it's definitely a different kind of romantic than coffee on the front porch, or walking on the beach, or reading next to a fire, or just staring at each other with oogling eyes.

Since we were only going a little ways, I wore my sunglasses for eye-protection. Thankfully, I wasn't the driver. As the "vroom" got louder and the bugs hit harder, I went from wide eyes, to squinty eyes, to slitted eyes, to shut for three seconds and open for one. It felt like my eyelashes were being peeled off.

They actually make specific goggles to prevent all this.

Stubborn as I am, I'll probably stick with my sunglasses and tolerate the wind.

Heat coming up off the pavement already makes it hard to breathe. But have you ever seen the reaction of a baby when you blow in his face? Multiply that by 100, with the extra heat, and I was gasping for air! For a while, it was fun to let my mouth hang open and let the wind catch it--no wonder dogs look so happy hanging their head out the window! But after noticing my reflection through a passing car, I decided to let the dogs have all the fun.

Have you ever been on a horse when it suddenly decides to buck-up? You start to squeeze the horse with your legs to keep from falling off. So with a motorcycle, you never know when there's going to be a slight bump in the road or a sudden "speed up" impusle come over the driver, and so the whole time, your legs are squeezing the bike. Quite the work out.

And it's not a bike if it's not vibrating--I mean, you're practically sitting on the motor. So unless I'm planting my feet into the foot pegs, they're slowly being jolted off into mid-air.

And yet, through the discomfort--like clockwork--when we roll up to a stop light coming side to side with a Cadillac, somehow, I pull it together, put on my "bad" face and act all like, don't you wish you were me! Slowly look at them, give the Elvis snarl--all in just enough time for the light to switch to green--and then comes the final look: yeah, I'm gonna beat you accross this light. 

But by the time we got off the bike, I felt like I'd been beat up. My legs were sore, my eyes were dried out, and even my neck was sore from fighting against the wind.

And somehow, Sam calls all this: therapy. He finds it relaxing--time to clear his head and just riiiiiiiiiiide! What am I doing wrong that I find it strenuous, and exhausting?

Anyway, when we got to the restaurant, I craved nothing more than a burger and fries--and that's just what I got. Scrumptious.

Despite all the strain from the ride, it was so nice to be able to hang on to Sam and be behind him. And being able to wrap my arms around him for extra security--I'm adding that to my list of romantic occasions. 

A Ripe Age

I've always been told I look younger than I am...except for maybe at birth.

Before two weeks ago, I had never been able to purchase alcohol without being carded; whether at a grocery store, liquor store, or in a restaurant. No matter how alcohol savvy I try to act, it seems never enough to forgo the age-check.

Still, while sometimes it's a little embarrassing that I'm the only one in a group of people who gets carded, perhaps it's all about perspective.

So I look young. This will be a good thing a few years down the road.

But finally, at my ripe old age, I walked into the liquor store to purchase a bottle of wine (for those who are interested, "Apothic Red"--very yummy for a red wine). As habit would have it, I was reaching for my I.D. when the lady said, "that'll be $12.44." I paused. No way! I had to wonder why she went straight to the price and not the I.D. She was a new cashier--so it's not like she'd seen me in there before. I looked at what I was wearing: nothing super mature--flip flops, baggy shorts and a t-shirt. Okay, not mature at all. Hmmmm...Did I say something real mature?..Ha! Yeah right! Not able to figure it out, I still had to revel in the moment--internally because I didn't want to give her a reason to be suspicious.

When I got home, I told Sam about the big event. He said, "She probably saw your grey hair."

Of course he was joking--weren't you honey! However, there is some bit of truth to that. I had grey hair when I was 13--a boy at camp told me so--and once again, they've suddenly sprouted another appearance. Although this time, I think they're here to stay. Unless.....

Music Therapy 101

So, I went into my first piano lesson session with guns blazing! I was ready to take the bull by the horns and learn something.

And I had it all figured out. I decided that, right off the bat, if I told my instructor what my problems are, she could give the solution at the beginning of the 8 weeks, avoiding any future delays because of the problems. However, I left feeling like it was a therapy session bearing little musical fruit.

"Tell me about yourself and your history with music," she said.

I took probably three minutes to explain.
And then another ten minutes was spent telling her what I felt my problems were and my excuses for them: I'm sure I have a lack of self discipline: I just don't practice. But that's because I get so frustrated and overwhelmed. And I can't seem to read the notes fluently. So of course, I can't play them either. And because I anticipate certain notes, I guess at them. Instead of reading the note, I look to see if the note is higher or lower and by how many--so I'm not really reading the note...just counting. I've been writing out the notes, but I think that's cheating because I'm no longer reading the note itself, rather the letter I've marked it to be.

And in another ten minutes, I summed up what I wanted out of these lessons: I want to read music effortlessly. And I want to play what I read just as easily. I want to be able to process all those different notes at once--and with both hands. I'd like to be able to transpose a piece of music...and while we're at it, I want to sing while I play.

With seven minutes left in our session, I stared at her waiting for some life-altering revelation--something that would magically solve my frustrations at the piano and transform this dull pumpkin into that piano-playing genius I envisioned.

Instead, she said, "I think we can accomplish some of that."

I really don't know what I was expecting....but for sure, something with a little more "hoo-rah!" than that. So with the remaining time we had, she placed my fingers on the keys, beginning with middle C, counted the number for each finger, played three notes, and proceeded to issue my first assignment: "Practice page 6 and read page 7."

That's it?

"So, where do you see me in 8 weeks?" I asked. Yes, I felt funny asking the question. But, after throwing all my issues out there--and although optimistic--I wanted to be realistic about it! I mean, if there's no hope for me here, just tell me now!

"Well, it depends on how fast you learn, and how much you practice. We'll just have to give it some  time to see."

She's making me work for it!

But she did offer a few encouraging words, and before anything could damper them, I was on my merry way. And when I got home, I practiced. And practiced. And practiced.

The noise I was making wasn't sounding like much, which was frustrating and a little discouraging at times, but day after day, the more I practice, the more I solidify the notes and key strokes into my brain. 

For my second lesson, I decided not to open my mouth--only to breathe a little--because I wanted to learn as much as I could.

It's amazing how much you can learn when you just BE QUIET. So instead of laying my brain on the table and dissecting it with her, this time I just asked questions, picking her brain a little.

I've only had two lessons so far, with only one and a half weeks of practice under my belt. But I can already feel the benefits of practice. Amazing to think, all these years, all I needed was guidance.