The Piano Recital

Certain events envelop you in the spirit of Christmas, and last night's piano recital was one.

It was a perfect wintry night, crunchy snow, and -23 degrees as we approached the white farm house (my piano teacher's home) with its wraparound verandah. Old and young entered, breath steaming, stamping their boots, to be warmly welcomed by our teacher and D, her mother, and the four wide-eyed little girls each one head taller than the other, taking in each person as they arrived.

Ushered through the kitchen warmed by an incredible stove that looked from another era, we deposited the goodies we'd made to contribute to the festivities on a huge, long kitchen table.

Their giant Christmas tree resided in front of the bay window, obliterating it with its lights and decorations. Kids abounded, all pressed and shiney, girls and boys in bright colours, all eager to listen or play the piano which sat in Christmas splendor for it too was dressed up in a swag topped with red ribbon. Moms, dads, siblings, grandparents, aunts and uncles and in my case, a husband, found themselves spots in comfy chairs and sofas. The kids sat here and there on the floor making happy the huge grey barn cat which circulated amongst the many little bodies and hands reaching out to him. I'd met him earlier in the year, trying hard to squeeze by me at the door when I'd enter, but he's not allowed in until mid-November.

A colourful fruitpunch loaded with summer berries found its way to my hand, thanks to B's father. C, her brother, in his bright red shirt, black pants and suspenders also welcomed us. The show began. Our young teacher, B, looked like a Victorian beauty: her long hair pinned up to fall freely down her back to her waist, a pretty white blouse and vibrant full length skirt layered in reds swayed over her shiney black boots. She outlined the proceedings: she would draw a name, that student would play, then in turn s/he would take a lollipop, draw another name and so on. I felt nervous and wondered if the kids did too. No one looked it. B herself was the first to play. She made a few mistakes which she said were on purposed to relax the rest of us. It worked. And so the evening progressed, little voices announcing the next player, little players tackling their tunes, some shyly, some with great gusto, other with determination. Some with legs hanging over the edge of the piano bench, some with their toes barely touching the pedals and one (me) having to push the seat back to accommodate my height in this concert of Lilliputians. It was wonderful. We even learned a little anecdotal music history!

People beside me commented on the progress made by the students since last year. I was told I'd be amazed at my own progress by next year. I certainly hope they're right. It seemed my name would never be called but then it was. My cold hands shook; I was surprised at being so nervous. B introduced me as her first and only adult student. I hoped I wouldn't be her last. I also hoped no one had great expectations. I sat, caressed the keys and began. "Still, still, still" became shrill, shrill, shrill as my fingers found some wrong notes but I persevered. As luck would have it, the name I drew was my own so I had to play again. By this time, the nerves had dissapated and I aced it. The applause felt warmer for the second time.

The other students ranged from about 4 or 5 years old to 13 or 14, I guessed. Their diligence and hard work was evident. Little J, a very neat and self-possessed little boy, kept patting his shirt pocket where he'd amassed four lollipops, one for each of his performances. I couldn't keep my eyes from B's little sisters, four little stepping stones sitting almost at my feet. All were dressed in lovely Christmassy dresses with big sashes and bows, leotards and tidy little shoes, their hair as shiney as their bright eyes. They whispered amongst each other, pointed, laughed, petted the cat, gave each other little kisses and hugs, having a fine time. One could crawl up to Granny's lap from time to time for a better view. I had to step carefully through these delightful little girls to wend my way to the piano.

Before you knew it, our concert had come to an end. We trooped into the warm kitchen, working our way around the table laden with goodies then socialized in the large living room. I met a man who'd help create the Highlands golf course back in 1952. I didn't dare tell him that was the year I was born. He still golfs 4 times a week and his wife nodded knowingly when I told her I knew what it was like to be a golf widow. They were there supporting their lovely teenaged granddaughter who'd played one of her pieces by memory.

I also met B's grandmother whose mother had been a concert pianist. She herself, now in her 70's, did play as well but no longer. Gave away her piano, she said. I told her I'd learned that to master anything, one must devote at least 10,000 hours to it. At that rate, I told her, I'd be in my 80's. At that, she expressed regret she'd ever stopped playing. I hope I never do.

We left the farm embued with a wonderful sense of fellowship and warmth, happy and grateful for the open hands, hearts and minds we'd just spent time with. The Christmas spirit is truly alive and well and living in Kinburn. I look forward already to next year's recital.

Merry Christmas - 2008 - Happy New Year!

Christmas is a comin',

our snowshoes are on the rack.

We'll soon be wearing golf shoes,

& we ain't a lookin' back!

So when the temp hits 80, we will think of you with cheer!
We'll both sit back, some beer we'll crack.

...Hope you have a great New Year!

Cheers,
W & D!

Road Rage

It's always a joy running the four lane route from the city to the lake.

Hubby's rolling along not so fast in the fast lane.

Lights illuminate the backs of our heads. A truck is almost glued to our license plate.

Uh, hon, you might want to get in the middle lane...?

What for?

Well...that truck looks like he's gonna run us over. It might be prudent...?

If he wants to get ahead, he can go around us!

Well...how 'bout you pull over one lane, let him through....?

I'm driving in this lane cuz the middle lane closes down up ahead.

[yeah, in 3 or 4 kilometers...the truck careens around us on the right as we lollygag in the fast lane. I'm sure a saw a finger behind the muddy windshield]

Well...if he'd been doing this to you, you'd probably be mad as Hell. You hate people who do what you're doing. You were probably giving that trucker road rage...

Why the Hell do you always criticize my driving?

I'm not criticizing. I'm just asking. You'd do the same to me if our seats were reversed.

Silence reigns as the radio plays "Joy to the World!"

I Am Harper

Sung to the tune of "I am Woman"
-Words and Music (and apologies to) by Helen Reddy and Ray Burton

I am Harper, hear me roar
My seats? Too many to ignore!
And I know too much to go back and pretend
cause I've heard it all before
Down there on the Commons floor
No one's ever gonna try to take me down again

CHORUS:
Oh yes I am wise
But it's wisdom born of pain
So Canada's paid the price
But I'd do it all again
If I have to, I can do anything
I am bilingue (bilingue); I am très partisan (partisan); I am Harper

You can bend but never break me
'cause it only serves to make me
More determined to achieve my final goal
To stay in power long, yes longer!
Still a bully, but less stronger
since coalition's burnt a hole deep in my soul

Oh yes I've screwed up big
But it never was my fault
Yes, Canuck's'll pay the price
But look how much I gained
Cuz I have to, I can face anything
I'm getting grey (grey); I wear my sweater (vest); I am Harper

CHORUS
I am Harper, watch me grow
See me standing toe to toe
With Steph, Jack, Gilles and good old Mike Ignatieff
But I still run the PMO
With a long long way to go
Until I make Canadians understand


While the economy goes to Hell
I will quit, my dear Michaelle
If you don't prorogue the Commons when I say
I've bought time til January
When things will get even more scarey...
No, I'm not wrong (wrong); I'm not Obama (Obama); I am Harper!