Mika-Squid

Giving birth to Mika last August felt a lot like having a long, rubbery squid pulled out of my body. Since that day, nine months have quickly passed by--and although she has grown considerably, she is still my long, rubbery squid-baby. At her doctor's check-ups, she has always measured around the 95th percentile for length, 25th-35th percentile for weight, and 85th-95th percentile for head size. This body stature has been less than ideal for her ability to sit up, pull up, and crawl, (head = orange on a toothpick) but she is making progress. Today I found her doing this:

 Oh, and another day I found her doing this:

 

Those long arms are definitely figuring out how to reach things they could not get to before.

Little Mika still looks wobbly when she sits up on her own, can only pull up in a kneeling position, and still hasn't figured out how to crawl forward (backwards is her direction of choice) but when it comes to smiles she is certainly not lacking. Her whole 18-inch head circumference seems to light up every time she grins. We love you, Mika-squid.

Five Years of Forever

Marriage makes life interesting. It takes two flavors of person and mixes them up like a high-speed blender for as long as the two stay on board. It provides an experience that is more complicated and more meaningful than they would have otherwise had on their own. Five years of that may not seem like much to an outside observer, but it has been life-changing for me. It's given me two baby girls and a graduate degree. It's brought me from moist, green Illinois to the wild west of Colorado. It's taught me a lot of gushy, sentimental things that don't really belong on this blog. But at the risk of gushing, I will say these five years have given me a taste of Forever--specifically, Forever with Forest--and I've decided that isn't such a bad thing. (Read: It's awesome.) I'm staying on board.

Orchestra Nerd

On Wednesday of last week I met with a couple of string players (both of them 70+) and played violin. We sightread some easy ensemble music that we would never perform anywhere. Why in the world would someone do that?

On Thursday of last week I volunteered in a 7th grade orchestra class, then played double bass with the group in the concert that night. Really?

On Friday of last week I sat next to a pile of brochures in a local art gallery and played background music on the cello to promote the Loveland Orchestra. Okay, that sounds a little more normal, but . . .


Explanation #1: I am a wannabe orchestra teacher. I suffer from the fear that I will forget how to play my secondary instruments if I don't practice them periodically. I sometimes end up in middle school classrooms, tuning instruments and pulling students out for sectionals. I don't wince at the notes played by a beginner violinist--they actually sound kind of sweet to me, sort of like infants babbling or toddlers learning to talk.

Explanation #2: Since the Loveland Orchestra closed out its 2011-2012 season and won't start up the next season until Fall, I miss our performances and our weekly rehearsals. Perhaps to fill this void, I seek out other opportunities to play music, even if it is playing the Mission Impossible Theme on a double bass in a middle school cafetorium.

With that said, I feel incredibly lucky to have been able to perform this past year--the three concerts I played were unforgettable.

The Mozart concert in January: First orchestra concert I played since May 2010. As I excitedly unpacked my cello to warm up, I saw that all four strings and the tailpiece were loose on the instrument and the bridge had completely popped off. Poor cello was still getting used to Colorado climate, I guess. There were about 15 minutes before I was supposed to be on stage, and the thought crossed my mind that I may not be able to play this concert after all. Thankfully, the sound post hadn't tipped over, so I carefully laid my instrument on the floor, tightened up the strings, set the bridge, tuned it up, and walked on stage in time for the overture to La Clemenza.

The Czech concert in March: First time playing the Moldau--a piece that has always sounded magical to me. Coincidentally, this concert was scheduled on Smetana's birthday, which made playing the piece even more special somehow. Although there were no "exploding cellos" like in the previous concert, my stand partner's bow experienced an explosion of sorts right at the end of the Moldau, so sadly, he didn't get to finish out the piece. I've never seen someone's bow hairs all pop out during a concert--I guess he was really "shredding" it.

The Brahms concert in April: Second time playing the Academic Festival Overture--I believe the first time was in 10th grade at a district orchestra event. The music seemed SO much harder then. First time playing Symphony Four--my favorite symphony of all time. The symphony I intended to have on during labor with Mika, but she just came out too fast. Maybe we would have had time for a Haydn Symphony.

So far, Colorado has not offered me any of my own cello students, (which may have contributed to the aforementioned outbreaks of wannabe orchestra teacher syndrome) but I have already had more performance opportunities than I imagined. Perhaps reminding myself of this fact will keep me from doing anything too rash over the summer--like trying to teach my 3-year old how to play the cello. We'll see.