No Weeds

The other night I pulled out one of my Allison Krauss albums for the kids in lieu of the U2 album they requested, and I realized how much I have missed listening to her the last few years.  In my teenage years in Texas, then in Ohio, and then again in Alabama, I had a room to myself, or at least many hours to myself at home, and I spent time listening to music I really loved.  In between times in New York and now in Washington, I have mostly listened to other people's music, and though there is quite a bit of overlap, I think maybe I have lost a little piece of my soul....

When I was out walking this evening with Laurel in the stroller (on a timer; I had a just-because cake baking in the oven), it suddenly occurred to me that my life motto should be pulchritudinem de micis (my best Latin stab at "beauty from scraps".)  Mind you, I haven't been searching for a life motto.  However, in the Penderwick books that Anne and I love so dearly, all of the family members have a life motto in Latin.  Mr. Penderwick is a botanist, and fluent in Latin - his language of choice when he wishes to mutter to himself in the presence of others.  This motto came to me suddenly as I rounded the bend on my 1.1 mile route and started on the uphill portion, and I could see all the possibilities.

Depending on your eyesight, you may see rather little beauty when looking around my substantial and metaphorical space.  My small home is physically chaotic.  My yard is part junk yard, part jungle, and part barren wasteland.  My wardrobe has its peculiar moments, overshadowed by yoga pants and printed T-shirts.  My music-making is only a little here, a little there.  One can discern tiny clues if one is searching, but many would miss the beauty for the scraps.  That is part of the thing.  I am a keeper, a looker for the overlooked - overlooked music, overlooked people, overlooked weeds, overlooked pieces of cloth....  I am a collector of scraps, seeing their possibilities.  Whether or not I actually create beauty, I imagine it.

As I have been working extensively in the yard and garden in the last week (powered by unexpected spring sunshine), appreciating the bits of tangled life growing there, a line from Paul Fleischman's Weslandia replays in my head: "In this type of garden there are no weeds."  Maybe that should be my life motto instead.  Anyone who knew me well at the age of twelve or so will appreciate my personal connection to this inspired children's story.

Unexpected Preparation

Just like every other American, I was not planning on collective quarantine.  I was warned about this by Near and Dear some weeks before it became a reality, and frankly before much was widely known by the average person here, but such warnings can seem abstract or far away until the time arrives. 

In our current situation, there are several things I am very thankful for.  

• After much deliberation, we decided to do homeschool with Anne this year.  I wasn't sure it was the right choice, and it has been very hard for us, but it has been so nice for her (and us!) not to have a massive disruption in her routine.
• As long as our students' families keep their jobs (and they are mostly in the brackets of people who probably will), we keep our jobs. Of course, all our teaching has moved online now.  We have reformulated our group class and won't probably be able to take new students for a bit... But still.
• Jared and I had already been teaching some online lessons for the last seven years, so this is not a huge learning curve for us.  But there is also an amazing online Suzuki teaching group which has sprung up for collective brainstorming and support, which has been lovely, too. 
• Not too long ago, Jared ran an ethernet cable out to my studio so that I'd be able to connect for internet lessons out there, rather than in the kitchen while Jared was teaching in the front bedroom and kids are crashing about the cabin.  [ In this age of teleworking, people have begun referring to family members as "coworkers." Henceforth, I shall refer to my house as "cabin". (Some of my violin students have gone up to spend quarantine at their ski cabin, which is slightly larger than my little house.) "Cabin", thus, sounds more cozy and restful, and for those who have never seen our rather small house in person, better explains why the kids and I need to lock ourselves outside if Jared happens to be teaching a Dalcroze class from the living room spinnet.🙃
• When our previous laptop had an unfortunate accident, we replaced it with a cheap laptop, AND were loaned an out-of-use laptop by a student's family who then moved to Hungary and left the laptop with us, leaving us with two computers on which to do our remote teaching rather economically.
• Minus one week of rain, the weather during quanrantine has been incredible, allowing the kids to spend most of the day in our fenced backyard (another HUGE blessing.)
• Not having to have the house clean enough for students daily and not packing/unpacking driving to Gig Harbor weekly has really added some peace into our routine.  (The cabin is NOT that clean, but it is not a struggle and worry now.)

The long shot of it is, we have more peace and less video watching and are content for now.  I wish I could pass some of that to you who are in a trickier spot through this!!!  Thinking of all of you and wishing you the best in your social and economic lives.