Sunday, February 27, 2011

why I am happy to do a teenager's laundry

When Max was starting high school, I was looking forward to his doing more to help around the house. I grew up with a housekeeper picking up after me and I went off to college a spoiled slob, and I wanted to prepare Max differently. Two and a half years later, I take full repsonsibility for the fact that his activities have gone in a different direction than domestic. It took me a while to work through some disappointment and even resentment of the fact that I was still his maid, but eventually, I realized that if he stopped to do his own laundry, put away his clothes, to clean up his room, even to set the table, he would have less time to do the countless and truly awesome array of wonderful things that he does do. And while I imagine there are many of you who will disagree with me and say I am spoiling my child, I am now strong enough in my convicton to able to defend my continuing to pick up after him and generally be as helpful as I possibly can.

I was just in Max's room, straightening up, making his bed, picking up bits of trash and loose change from the carpet, when I came across an email which reminded me all over again why I so cheerfully continue to act as his maid, cook, laundress and butler, even after being dismissed as his driver.

The email subject was "Ideas for Max" and it was written by the woman to whom Max reports at his volunteer job at The Drake Center, a rehabilatation facility where Paul is a salaried employee.

For the next couple of days, she writes, it would be great if Max could go from room to room and play for the following residents for 15 minutes a piece. She then lists some patients for Max to visit, 4 for Wednesday and 4 for Thursday, and describes them and their bed location to prepare Max for each encounter:

1. alert, oriented and verbal, but difficult to understand at times

2. nonverbal, enjoys music, at times will swing elbows

3. nonverbal

4. repetitive verbalization, will sometimes yell out

Wow. Not your typical audience for live music; not by a long shot. Many teens with Max's musical gifts would use them merely to get attention from their peers, to become popular, or a "chick magnet". Max is very familiar with the power of his musical performance to command the attention of his peers, but he chooses to do so much more with his talent, and I could not be more proud.

Max gets up early almost every Sunday, drives to temple with his guitar and spends the morning teaching small children to sing Hebrew songs, for just $15 before taxes are withheld. He leads religious services at temple and at home, with me (his mother) and on youth retreats. And now, he plays and sings, four afternoons a week, for people living in a rehab center, some of whom are nonresponsive.

I will wrap this up now, hopefully before it has become a disgusting brag fest. As I said recently, when Max acted in Brighton Beach Memoirs and people called him a star on my facebook page, it is terrific to win over an audience and to garner critical acclaim, but it so much more important to me that he be a mensch. I'm going to run back upstairs and finish putting Max's clothes away. When he returns later from the Latin Convention he's been attending all weekend in Columbus, I wnat him to have a nice, tidy room to collapse in; or, more likely, to stay up late and finish his homework in.

OK, here I go...

Friday, February 25, 2011

Opening The Throat Chakra

I find there are very few true coincedences in life, but they are all worth paying attention to. When you notice what you think is a coincedence, it is usually the "universe" sending you a message. People often find there is a particular place where they tend to receive these messages most easily and consistently. For some, it can be as simple as sitting on a tufted cushion in their own private meditation room. I have not yet managed to develop a disciplined meditation practice, but I have been fortunate enough to locate several places where I feel really supported in my connection to the divine, to my spirit guides, or to whatever you want to call the Source of inspired thoughts.

I just returned home from my favorite yoga class at one of these special places: Shine, in Hyde Park. As she did last year at the same time, Shine owner and yoga teacher Wendy Anderson is guiding us through the chakras, ninety minutes at a time, week by week. Last week, we focused our practice on the heart chakra, and the class happened to follow right on the heels of two lovely days of mild, sunny weather in the middle of winter, so we were all feeling the love.

Today, our practice was dedicated to opening the throat chakra, which enables us to speak our truth more fully and freely. Wendy reminded us, as we sat in preparation to begin, that we should keep part of our awareness on our root chakra, because we are not working to open our throat chakra merely to talk more freely. We want to open it in such a way as to express truths that are rooted in the core of our being. I was very amused by her articulating this connection, which I did not recall her doing last year, but not because what she was saying was inherently funny. I was smiling as I listened to Wendy make this very valid point because only the day before I had found the courage to give voice to the truth specifically about my experiences in the pelvic region, which also happens to be the locus of the root chakra.

To that end, so to speak, I created a new blog yesterday called Vaginologue. In my previous post, below, I wondered whether I should share the story of some particularly female experiences here, or whether they were better kept private. I also considered whethr there might be some other, more appropriate forum for such a conversation. I decided the last choice was best, so I created a separate blog devoted completely to the experience of being a woman. I recognize that I am in my essence a writer, and not a very private one; I am a memoirist more than a journalist. I write for a number of reasons, including to process some of my experiences and to heal from them, as well as to entertain and inform. I also believe in creating a community through writing, and I find blogging to be a wonderful way of reaching out, sharing stories as a means of connecting with other people. Some people believe memoir to be an immature, self indulgent, or narcissistic form of writing. I disagree, believing it to be in some ways the most courageous and valuable writing a person can provide for their readers. My first day of feedback on Vaginologue indicates that many of you agree with me.

So, as was also true last year at this time, my throat chakra is wide open. My neck is as long as it can be, and my head is held high and in proper alignment with the rest of my spine. I speak my truth fully and freely when people ask my advice or opinion. I tell people when I find what they are doing to be exceptional and praiseworthy. I also speak up when I think something is not right, whether I have been invited to or not. I try always to be respectful, but I am also as genuine and honest as courtesy allows.

All sorts of readers are welcome to read either or both of my blogs. I will continue to post to Unburied Treasure about my general adventures and random reflections. I reserve Vaginologue as a space in which I share my own story of being female, and invite readers in turn to share as much as they are comfortable doing, because I believe that each of us sharing our story can do a great deal of good. By exchanging stories of our unique personal experiences, in community, we can discover a commonality we never knew existed.

Wednesday, February 23, 2011

self criticism (examining my virtual navel)

I truly love myself. I don't want to be anybody else but me. I am living an incredibly blessed life. This blog, with its positive name, very intentionally reflects that positive aspect of my reality, partially because it helps me to dwell in that space more than I might without the exercise of grounding myself in it by consciously writing about being in it. In a sense, blogging is a form of meditation for me. But as a resuly, I realize that this blog does not reflect my life accurately. Nobody's blog can, of course, so this is an example of my being self critical, I suppose. But an episode of the television show "House" brought the issue of self-censorship to my attention recently. There was a patient who blogged incessantly. She had a large, devoted following and she believed it was dishonest to withhold anything significant in her life from her readers. She went way outside her comfort zone in the name of blogging integrity, sharing things with her readers when she would have much preferred the luxury and comfort of keeping them private.

I do not operate this way, but I have lately wondered if some difficult things I am dealing with in my life belong on my blog or not. I generally do not want to air other people's dirty laundry on my blog, so my interpersonal stuff mainly stays out of this zone, with occasional exceptions. But I do wonder whether I am delivering maximum value to you, the reader, by staying - not at a superficial level, exactly - but closer to the surface than I sometimes might. I had to ask myself, after watching that episode of "House", whether I consciously edit what I share here in order to preserve a certain image of myself in your eyes. Or, would it be strange to share more here than I do in my sidewalk life, where I run into people in the flesh, seem to share so much, am considered extremely open, and yet still, hold so many things back?

For example, I am about to run out to a medical appointment for a condition many women suffer from in silence. I wonder whether I should be sharing my journey here about something I have denied and neglected for years. On the other hand, this is not a medical blog, and not just for women, either. So, that is a quandary I'm facing today as I head off to begin taking care of myself in a new way. I wonder whether to share and then I examine my impulse to hold back. Many questions arise: What is at the root of my fear? What is my purpose in blogging? From what aspect of my blogging do my readers currently derive the greatest value? Why blog if I am creating a fictional character of myself by doing so and at what point does editing (i.e. withholding) part of my truth make my blogging dishonest?

I would welcome your feedback.

Thursday, February 17, 2011

12 hours in my life (7am-7pm today)

I wake up to the sound of someone talking on NPR, and after a while, I remove my flannel-lined satin sleep mask.
I jump out of bed, walk across the sun drenched house and wake my boys with the news that it is going to be a glorious day, that the birds are singing and the air is alive with energy.
I go outside with my iPhone into backyard and photograph the sun rising bright pink over the edge of the backyard.
The coffee I set up last night is now brewing....drip, drip, mmmm...
I bring some recyclables down to the end of the driveway, noticing for the second time today that I am barefoot outside on a February morning and it is not unpleasant....I feel very happy about this.
I cook two portions of steel cut oatmeal with flax seed, raisins, vanilla extract, cinnamon, sea salt and organic brown sugar
I open the dishwasher and put away clean dishes, and rinse the tea cups that were waiting in the sink overnight
I open the washer and dryer, put clean wet clothes into dryer, and stuff another load into the wash.
I serve the boys bowls of cold cereal, warm croissants with nutella, soy milk, and vitamins. No smoothies today; we are running a bit late.
I eat some of the oatmeal, drink some coffee, pound some vitamins.
I advise the boys on wardrobe and general readiness for school, help them find their lunch boxes and fill them with good things to eat - fruit and juice, water crackers, tuna salad and string cheese...
I drive the boys to school, with the dog in the back seat by their feet.
At school, we all pile out but almost immediately, I have to make the dog get right back into the van. We drive back home swiftly to retrieve Sam's viola, which was accidentally left in the middle of the kitchen floor.
I drive to school a second time, arriving in the hallway just in time for music class to begin.
I give my hairstylist's card to a mom outside school who compliments my do - she is at school delivering the musical instrument her daughter left at home this morning
I drive back past our street and pick up my ADHD meds at the Kroger pharmacy
Then, I buy gas at Kroger with my 20 cent per gallon discount, earned with the purchase I just made inside at the pharmacy.
I withdraw cash for Marcy, the friend whom I pay to help clean my house with me every other Thursday.
I return home and walk the dog alongside my neighbor, Maryann, and her dog, Sadie.
Marcy arrives early and I ask her to start without me, promising that I will be back to clean with her after a very short workout - one of a dozen offered for $39 (TOTAL) on livingsocial.com
While chatting with my friend Susan, who can't work out with me today because her daughter has a fever, I drive across town to meet with a personal trainer to target glutes and abs. Ouch!
Afterwards, I sit in the parking lot just long enough to respond to an urgent email: I must compose and send off a new musician bio for the program of my upcoming quartet concert.
I drive home and clean house with Marcy, strip beds, put away finished laundry, make beds, then edit my bio, and resend the new version while eating granola and berries mixed into Greek yogurt.
I change my clothes to attend a 90 minute design meeting at a local architect's office, proposing some mural ideas for the future gelateria and coffee/tea house coming to our neighborhood.
I return home while chatting on phone with my friend, Alison.
I read my new email, look for images for mural on line, update my facebook status, correspond with Paul and CCM prep about a conflict between a basketball play off game and a theatre rehearsal for Isaac. The theatre reheasal wins out.
I briefly visit with Max until it is time to return to school to pick up the boys.
I chat on phone with my friend Gina as I drive to the neighborhood elementary school for the third time today.
As I get out of my car, I look up at the sky and spread my arms wide as if to embrace the sun. I then literally embrace and also briefly visit with friends on the sidewalk outside school, setting up a conditional coffee date with one for 2pm tomorrow, if I can be ready by then...it will be a much busier day than today.
I drive the boys home, work on typing up lyrics sheets for tomorrow night's Debbie Friedman tribute service, to be held in our living room.
I rearrange the living room furniture for the service, and continue cleaning the house, doing the laundry.
I practice the cello with Isaac, which is interrupted by the realization that I forgot to give everyone their afternoon snack. Pear are sliced and consumed, and then practice resumes.
I field a call about tonight's rehearsal as Isaac runs outside to join the family game of frisbee.
I put two frozen Kirkland cheese pizzas in the oven, after first smearing one with fresh pesto sauce and sprinkling it with fresh basil leaves
I blog about it
From the top of the stairs I hear "BEEP!!
and then, BEEEEEPPPP!!!!!
OK, OK, so, this blogging took more than 11 minutes, and consequently I've burnt the basil pizza. Slightly. To be safe, I "make" another one and pop it in the already hot oven.
Paul walks in the door just as it is done baking. I serve all three pizzas and tall glasses of orange juice and, thanks to spring fever and the increased activity of everyone around the table, the food rapidly disappears.
It is decided that Isaac and I will run out to Kroger and buy several different flavors of ice cream, like Eugene and his cousin did in Brighton Beach Memoirs. The five of us then sit at the table and eat ice cream together and it is very, very good.

Wednesday, February 16, 2011

the Quietly Gay song, a preview

There are couples at weddings;
folks bring guests to bar mitzvahs;
but I always mark one on my reply

For my work, thank G-d,
there's no company picnic;
I'll be quietly gay 'til I die

from The Dark Side of Debbie Friedman:
Why Just Kvetch When You Can Sing?
copyright Nancy Illman 2011

Why just kvetch when you can sing?

The Laundry Song

Well, the old may have pains,
and the young may have pimples,
but housework's for all of your days

You may do laundry now,
you may do laundry later,
you may do laundry all of your life

You might hire a maid,
you might hire a butler,
but if you're in debt, you may not

You must mop your own floors,
you must scrub your own bathtubs,
you must do laundry all of your life

(from "The Dark Side of Debbie Friedman:
why just kvetch when you can sing?"
copyright Nancy Illman 2011)

Sunday, February 13, 2011

Letter to the Universe, from Brava Music

My talented friend, Gina Weathersby, took wonderful photographs of a couple of my friends and me a few weeks ago. I was planning to use them in a brochure, where I would also list some musical repertoire, prices, and our musician bios. I was going to hand over these brochures, along with a rather big check, to David's Bridal so that our chamber music ensemble, Brava Music, would become their "merchant partner". This means that the store would include the brochure in a goodie bag given to all customers who purchase a gown and/or bridesmaids dresses, and we would then wait, hoping to hear from some of these customers about providing music for their weddings.

At a brainstorming session after the photo shoot, I decided this was perhaps not the ideal way to inform brides - or their parents - about our ensemble's availibility to provide music for their event. So, today, that's one more check I still have in my checkbook, available to be used for a babysitter, piano or cello teacher, veterinarian, tree trimmer or chimney sweep.

Each of us - violinist, flutist, cellist - chose our favorite pose from the shoot and then Gina got to work processing the photographs. Today, we received the beautiful images by email....you can see mine right below. Here is the good news: I already have use for them that I did not have at the time of the photo shoot: they will be featured in the programs and promotional materials mailed out to promote a concert our piano trio has been hired to play at Ohio University. Our flute and string quartet also has a concert coming up, but the church we are perfoming in doesn't use artist photos in its program.

I do hope that our lovely new photos will be useful in helping us find more opportunities to perform. Strangely enough, though, it almost seems like just by having had the photos taken, by taking that step towards really putting ourselves out there, the universe has already responded. And not with a little wedding gig, either, although we still want those and hope to get them. We are booked for a real concert, in a subscription series, complete with programs, fliers and posters and a written legal contract that includes requirements and benefits. We will also receive more monetary compensation for giving this concert than we would charge for being somewhat overlooked at a wedding, where it is considered perfectly polite to talk to your neighbor while the musicians are playing. Plus, we will get applause, and maybe, if we do really well, even get to hear our name in the air: "Brava!"

I would like to say, now that I have discarded my expensive and possibly quite inefficient idea of "partnering" with David's Bridal, that I will still make the brochure and that I will then call and make appointments around town, distributing brochures to select church musical directors and wedding planners, but first, I'm afraid, I still have to purchase a new laptop on which to create said brochure. So, in the meantime, I am just going to put this out into the universe in other less costly, complicated ways. Hence the following letter, posted into the blogosphere:

Dear Universe,

Thank you for the two paying concert gigs we have coming up. We are currently working on programs including works by Beethoven, Boccherini, Brahms, Lidarti, Telemann, Hindemith, a Sephardic Jewish melody, and Bach. We are really excited and will work long and hard to meet everyone's expectations of us.

If anyone out there wants to manage a group of classical musicians in our quest to find more concert venues, please let me know! Because honestly, none of us want anything to the business of getting these jobs. We just want to plan the program, practice our parts, get together to rehearse, and then show up on time, looking as neat and tidy as we can, to do our thing to make a special day that much more magical with our music, whether that's in a concert hall, or a church, or out on a farm with little white lights strung in the tree branches.

With deep appreciation,

the Women of Brava Music

Photogenic Fiddler seeks Gigs

Animation can now help us learn Torah

I was invited to attend Sunday School today with my 8 year old today, Isaac. Isaac's teacher, Ari, is from Wantagh, Long Island, just a couple of stops away from my hometown of Massapequa on the Babylon Line of the LIRR (Long Island Railroad). Anyway, Ari told me about this awesome new site called G-DCAST where you can watch 4 minute long animated lessons about each of the portions of the Torah. They got different rabbis to do different portions. I just watched Lawrence Kushner's take on Bereshit, which was BRILLIANT. I also thought, while I was watching it, that all my yogi friends, but especially those from Shine Yoga Studio, would really appreciate the rabbi's take on the creation story. It is just wonderful, and I must believe, universally appealing. I chose this portion because I just painted a Bar Mitzvah gift today for a boy who chanted part of this story at his Bar Mitzvah last fall. I think it turned out great, and I hope that (1) it survives firing in the kiln and (2) he and his parents will forgive my lateness with the present. My eldest son chanted Bereshit at his own Bar Mitzvah back in 2007. Back then, we visited the Creation Museum to ponder a different way of interpreting the story. I like Rabbi Kushner's SO much better. What do you think of it?

www.G-DCAST.com

Friday, February 11, 2011

BCG attends a Bar Mitzvah...and really, really likes it!

My friend, Trina, a self-proclaimed Bad Catholic Girl, reads this blog regularly, corresponds with me frequently, and enjoys learning a bit about Judaism from what I share here. As Trina's "go-to Jew", I was recently tapped for any advice that might help her and her family be ideal guests at an upcoming Bar Mitzvah, their first! Trina uses yiddush so adroitly that I was frankly a bit surprised that she had never before attended a Bar Mitzvah. Flattered by her request, I mentioned a few things I thought she might like to know and then, promptly forgot about it.

Then, the other day, Trina sent a Bar Mitzvah report that brought tears to my eyes. I was so moved by her observations that I asked for and obtained permission to share it with all of you.

For those who do not know, Bar Mitzvah means Son of the Commandments, and "Bat" Mitzvah is a variation that refers to a daughter. Once a Jewish child reaches the age of thirteen (twelve, for a girl) he/she is counted as an adult member of his/her congregation, and as such, assumes responsibility for following the laws of our religion, also known as commandments. In many cases, this milestone is marked with a celebration, which typically features the Bar/Bat Mitzvah reading from the Torah at synagogue, and addressing everyone in attendance. Whether you may be preparing to host, star in, or attend such an event, (which, like the celebrant, is also known as a Bar/Bat Mitzvah) or you are merely curious about it, I hope you will enjoy Trina's report:

Now for my first Bar Mitzvah update: It was fantastic.

(Being a Bad Catholic Girl, I am used to long drawn-out services with a lot of up and down; but guess what?? The Jews don't kneel!!)

It was a 3-hour affair, with people walking in and out, kibbitzing in the pews, davening, chiming in with the call-and-response - or not - more like the African Methodist Episcopal tradition than the rigors of the Mass (which clearly was stolen from The People).

(The cantor had a voice like a Russian opera star. Be still, my heart. Turns out he was from Argentina.)

Each boy gave a talk on his portion of the Torah, and related that to his community service project. One little guy (with a voice like an angel) told about volunteering at a nursing home for people with MS/ALS. He sang to them! Requests! Whatever they wanted! Lady Gaga!

The rabbi blessed each boy with personal acknowledgment of his particular gifts and talents - and said, "The next time we welcome you here, it will be under the chuppah [Jewish wedding canopy] with your beloved."

The younger brothers of the Bar Mitzvahs then circulated with baskets. Being a BCG, I naturally assume that when a basket comes by, you put money into it; but no; the baskets were filled with lovely candies, which we tossed at the boys to shower them with sweetness.

Fun! They thought of everything!

(We got the bishop slapping us on the cheek and informing us that we were Soldiers of Christ...)

All the families read and chanted; then at the end, the rabbi welcomed all the little kids up to the bimah [like a pulpit] - they raced up in a mad dash and sang the final prayer. It was terrific.

Then there was kiddush in the party room; then we all went back to our hotel, and swam and hot-tubbed till it was time for cocktails and dinner, with hot music, and a birthday party for our young friend (whose actual birthday was the very day of his Bar Mitzvah).

He stood up yet again, and publicly acknowledged his friends and family, inviting us to come and light a candle, as the DJ cued songs he'd selected for each party (he's a guitarist and loves music - He played "Empire State of Mind" for his grandma from New York). It was very cool.

I now see that all American children should be required to prepare for adolescence in this way - not by being stuck with the 'teenager' label, but by being welcomed to adulthood; to achieve literacy in an obscure and difficult language; to sing and chant in it; to perform meaningful community service; to articulate this experience in public; to have tasks and expectations, with the bar set high; and to be advised before the congregation to start thinking intelligently about whom they are going to hook up with permanently.

Then dance the night away!

His mother - a wise woman - told me later that she'd required him to help with every aspect of the event (which was as complicated as a wedding) - another skill set which should be honed in young people (so they will know what to do for their parents' golden anniversaries, etc.).

Walt said that the yarmulke covered his bald spot perfectly. (I was surprised at all the women wearing yarmulkes, but not prayer shawls).

We had a ball (and people loved it when we tossed out 'Yasher Ko'ach'). I remembered the multiples of 18; and some inner voice prompted me to wrap the present in blue, which turned out to be exactly right. It was a fabulous experience and we feel blessed to have participated.

xox b'shalom!

Wednesday, February 9, 2011

Secret Cello Thrill

I have taken a very long and circuitous route to becoming a cello player.

The viola was my favorite instrument as a very little girl, but when finally, after years of begging for viola lessons, I was taken to the rental store to be fitted for my first instrument, I was so impatient to bring it home that I took the 1/2 size fiddle home as is, with violin strings, rather than wait five minutes to let the man restring it as a viola. Thus was an accidental violinist was born.

By junior year of high school, I became aware of harboring a deep envy toward the cellists in my orchestras and chamber ensembles, and that while I liked carrying the melody, and being the concertmaster, I longed to make the rich, sweet sound that only a cello has. I was encouraged to learn the viola, a relatively easy crossover, but at that time, I found had lost interest in it.

Years passed. In 1994, I moved away from all my musician friends and had a baby. I stopped playing the violin altogether.

As a devoted mother, I found myself gradually developing a list of places I would visit and things I would do when the children up and left me someday. More than resuming violin playing, learning to play the cello topped my list.

When my sister-in-law learned of this several years ago, she said "life is short, carpe diem, get a cello already!"

For a brief moment, this made sense. Isaac, my youngest, was still just one, but I went out and bought a cello, hired a sitter so that I could take a weekly lesson, and hired the sitter to return so that I might go to the basement and practice.
Eventually, I decided that it made more sense to wait and see if any of my boys wanted to study cello and would let me learn along with them. That has finally happened, with Isaac, and I am so happy!

I have lately become active as a violinist again, performing regularly in an orchestra and two chamber ensembles as well as my temple band. I'm a pretty skilled musician. But Isaac's cello teacher had never heard me play on either instrument until yesterday, and even though I have claimed to be a violinist, she assumes nothing.

Yesterday was our sixth cello lesson. With the Suzuki method, you learn the music first by listening to it, moving to it and singing with it before you try to play. So, in terms of playing, we have progressed to the point of plucking a three or four note song. Meanwhile, Isaac's working hard to develop his intonation so that he is able to sing on key. To help him learn the melody of a song he has been assigned to sing daily since Day One, his teacher, Miss Nadine, suggested that when we practice every day at home, I should play the song on my violin.

Since we already both have our cellos out for practice sessions, it is actually easier for me (and I would like to think, more inspiring for him) to accompany Isaac on my cello when he sings. I have done this every day with him for a couple of weeks, but then, let him sing the song a capella at his lesson, at which point he has struggled to remember the melody in front of Miss Nadine. She is the kind of teacher who can make a person very nervous...enough that you might forget a song you sang perfectly well on the car ride over.

At yesterday's lesson, when it was time for Isaac to sing, I said to the teacher "please don't watch my technique, I'm just going to accompany Isaac on this", and then I proceeded to play the melody as he sang. Because Miss Nadine is very critical, I tried very hard to play in tune and with a clear, pretty tone.

When we were done, she said to me "Well, clearly you picked the wrong instrument!"

My immediate reaction was to become defensive about my violin skills, but Miss Nadine interrupted me. "I just paid you a big compliment," she said.

"Thank you," I said, chastened.

Miss Nadine is very strict as much about manners as she is about practicing. In both respects, I am supposed to be Isaac's teacher and role model. Try as I might to meet her high expectations, Miss Nadine has found something legitimately to criticize me for at every single lesson, even as she delights in Isaac's dedication and preparedness.

Yesterday, as she went on to compliment my "very lovely" tone, even though I was secretly thrilled, I found it difficult to accept the compliment, attributing the sound quality to my wonderful instrument. So, I suppose that is why I am telling you here, ever so secretly, that I am beyond thrilled to have my son's strict and demanding teacher compliment my cello playing so earnestly. I desperately hope that I may continue to earn her praise.

Thursday, February 3, 2011

old fashioned courtesy in a high tech world

Many people say that texting, facebook and twitter are creating a new generation of anti-social people. I tend to find most of the criticism I have heard to be rooted in oversimplification. I believe that many parents give too much weight to social media, as opposed to acknowledging the potentially much greater power and influence of parents and teachers. It's the same with TV. It is not inherently evil, as some parents claim, a toxic thing I should keep my children away from. It is actually a great resource and a wonderful learning tool, but it must be used in the right way, with parental supervision and involvement. The same argument applies to video games.

Actually, it's a bit like the gun control argument. Guns don't kill people; people kill people. If you are a gregarious person, a kind and considerate person, if your parents taught you manners and to value social graces, then using facebook should not make you regress in the way you interact with people.

I can't deny the observations of veteran teachers who describe significant differences in how their students conduct themselves since the onset of new social media. A professor told me recently that she has had doctoral students submit work with the letter "u" used as a stand in for the word "you", based on conventional text spelling, where expedience is of the essence and many words have been boiled down to the lowest possible number of characters. Voice coaches and acting coaches have shared that their current students no longer know how to look a person, whether judge or audience member, in the eye, or how to have what they used to consider a "normal" conversation.

I have only one son who is old enough to text and use facebook. We let him set up a facebook account when he was 14, and he uses it a great deal to keep in touch with hundreds of kids he knows from camp and overseas trips who live all over the country. I am happy to say that I do not discern any antisocial tendencies in him at all, although there was a time when I did need to address a certain lack of filtering in his online communications. In terms of it being a time suck, well, so is talking on the phone with friends, which I did for hours in high school. If his grades were slipping, facebook would be the first privilege taken away, but his grades are not an issue. As for socialization, well, his idea of what is appropriate behavior is my responsibility. Just as it is my responsibility how he speaks to anyone, but especially to adults, as well as the pride he takes in his any schoolwork he has ever handed in to a teacher. My son can text to beat the band, but this skill does not negatively impact him either in terms of spelling or in acquiring and using an extensive vocabulary. Just as he knows how to discriminate between real life and the pretend world of the movies, he knows the difference. He knows what is appropriate behavior, syntax, spelling and vocabulary in each context -whether that is texting, facebook, school, temple, extra curricular activities, his job or summer camp. So I'm not worried about what facebook is "doing" to his generation. I'm much more worried about what parents are doing...or rather, not doing. But that's for another blogpost, another day.

Getting back to facebook, let me say that I really only interact with adults on the site, not with my son or his friends, although they are among my list of friends so that I can stay current with them. This is reflective of my real life, which seems appropriate. I want to be accessible to and in touch with my teenager without interfering in his separate teenager world. So, observing just the behavior of adults then, I have noticed certain social phenomena during my few years interacting on facebook. I joined but then quickly abandoned twitter, realizing that I am far too inclined to long sentences and strings of paragraphs for that format to work for me.

There does seem to be a diminished sense of filtering among adults on facebook, that is to say, a failure to limit oneself to writing only that which we would say face to face. This is a well established phenomenon in all online communication, whether you compare email versus "real letter" communication or text versus phone, and we can certainly see evidence of it on facebook. I find it particularly interesting to see what happens when people who have never met encounter each other on a mutual friend's facebook wall and voice their opposing views.

My friend, Patricia, whom I only met on facebook and never in person, is a writer. She has her own page on facebook where people who have never met regularly disagree. She finds that generally they are courteous and willing to learn from each other's different persepctives. Patricia's rule for facebook is this: if people don't behave as well as she would expect them to in her living room, then they are given "a dressing down" or their comments are removed. This makes sense to me.

Another peculiarity of facebook conversations is that there is no "tone", which of course is a liability in texting and email communication as well. Just last night, my orchestra conductor and I had a misunderstanding when I texted him to say I was taking a mental health absence and staying home to drink wine, rather than attending that evening's rehearsal. He thought I was joking, but from his response I thought he understood me, until he texted me today to ask what I had thought of the rehearsal. (He had been unable to attend due to extreme weather conditions where he lives) Very often people who do not know me well tend to mistake my tone for sincerity when I am being sarcastic or facetious. At the same time, I really am a very earnest and dedicated person, so the idea of my joking about skipping rehearsal seemed unthinkable to me. And yet, due in part to the nature of the medium, and in part to my casual "ironic" use of it, I was misunderstood without realizing it.

Earlier in the day, I had posted a Jewish joke, which I borrowed from the facebook wall of an orthodox rabbi. The joke went viral during the course of the day, but at that point I had only seen it on the rabbi's wall and I wanted to share it. This was a few hours before anyone was killed in the protests in Egypt, which of course have subsequently turned quite bloody and chaotic. The joke went as follows:

Dear Egyptian rioters,

Please don't damage the pyramids. We will not rebuild. Thank you.

The Jewish People

I think it is fair to say that at that point, just about every Jew in America was somewhat to deeply concerned about the impact the impending regime change would have on Israel and all of the middle east and our relationships there. Roughly half of my facebook froends are Jewish. Many welcomed the chance to laugh during a tense situation, which is what I believe accounts for the universal popularity enjoyed by the joke throughout the day. Some of my close friends and relatives posted responses indicating that they found the joke hilarious. One person, though, a Jewish man whom I have never met, scolded me for making fun of the Egyptians. He then went on to challenge me to consider how I would react if someone made fun of women's rights, or gays and lesbians.

I do have to wonder if would have said such a misguided thing had he been sitting in my living room, instead of snowed in and about to shovel his driveway for the umpteenth day in a row. First of all, if he were in my living room, he would probably have gotten to know me better than he evidently had managed to do on facebook. But I have to say that I was surprised that he had such a distorted view of who I am, that is, who I perceive myself to be and who my "real" friends reflect back to me. As Patricia observed, after witnessing his behavior, and knowing I was upset by it, "it usually has very little to do with you and much more to do with them."

On the other hand, I responded to him just as I would have on the phone or in my living room. I stood up for myself, clarified and defended my position, but tried to maintain a civil tone in doing so. I was frankly overwhelmed and touched by the amount of support I received, both privately and on my wall. People vouched for my positive intentions, for my sensitivity, humanism, humor, and political awareness. That was all great. One of my "friends" sniped at me, rather irrrationally, in defense of my critic, to whom she clearly feels a stronger allegiance. The two people who took shots at me both hurt my feelings. But I have to admit I was a bit taken aback at some of the hostile remarks that were written on my wall in defense of the joke, in support of my position, and criticizing my critic.

Two people offered him a one way ticket to Cairo, where they predicted he would be stomped on, or have his heart cut out, by the Egyptians he was protecting from my joke, as soon as they discovered his Jewish identity. Several people called him nasty names and said disparaging things, said "good riddance" after he withdrew himself from my facebook circle. Perhaps they would have said exactly the same things to him were they all sitting together in my living room. Some of what was fired at him, like "intellectually lazy", seems living room appropriate. But if actual face to face name calling were to start up in my home, or if violent death wishes were expressed, I have to beleive that I would either change the subject, and if that failed, that I would ask everyone to go home. I have to ask myself why I did so little to intervene when remarks went beyond a point I felt appropriate. The main reason I think is that it seemed harmless venting since the target was no longer present. But if my facebook wall is my virtual living room, then I have to admit that I took some satisfaction in letting my friends assault my attacker while I stood licking my wounds in the virtual corner of that room.

Communication on line is fast and furious. Yesterday, I wrote about how grateful I am that technology makes it possible for us to be connected to each other in ways that our ancestors could only dream of. But it is also important to be courteous, and to be sensitive to each others' feelings, even while communicating nearly at the speed of light. This is something our ancestors valued a bit more highly than we seem to do. This does not seem to me to be something we should blame on technology. We need to teach our children, and adjust our own behavior, to use new communication technologies in the best possible way.

Wednesday, February 2, 2011

Groundhog's Day

Well, I will try to make this a day I would want to repeat, but so far it is not promising to be. On the other hand, it is better than yesterday, which found me quarantined in my house with a sick dog.

This morning, as soon as the boys were on the school bus, Suki and I visited the vet, adding a $311 checkup and vaccination bill to the $287 spent Monday on the emergency carpet cleaning necessitated by her illness. Pets are expensive, but they are worth it. Aren't they? We put up with destructive behavior, inconvenience, the mess and the expense because we get so much gratification from having a pet in our household.

At home all day, it is difficult not to listen to the news, although lately I have eschewed news coverage in favor of classical music or a book on tape. Reporting of the riots in Egypt is generally superficial. I know our government is walking a political tightrope as we wait for an outcome, and Israel's is sweating bullets. The more I listen, the more concerned and helpless I feel, so I shut it off and turn instead to matters that affect me more directly, more immediately.

You might think my house would be quite clean after my being trapped inside it for an entire day, but today you would be wrong. Having scrubbed a particular section of carpet three times in less than 24 hours, I was in no mood to clean the rest of house.

Instead, I added some bling to a pair of fancynancypants, email photos of recent sewing work to a friend with a celebrity connection on the West Coast. I practice Saint-Saens, Bach and Boccherini, and fill out a fitness profile for a personal trainer a friend and I are going to meet tomorrow. I do the dishes, and half heartedly move the laundry along. I think about how easy it is for me to feel connected to people even when quarantined for the day, and how different it used to be for my historical counterparts, before all this technology transformed our lives.

Even without blogging or exploring facebook, I feel very connected to people yesterday during my day of solitude, in so many ways. Let's take a look at six and a half hours in my life, home alone...

From early in the morning, I am engaged in an extended email conversation about our orchestra's next concert program. Also by email, I coordinate an upcoming chamber music recital, and contact my photographer about publicity shots she recently took of me and two of my musical colleagues.

My sister sends me a long, wonderful text message so that I know she is doing well and this brings a big smile to my face. A friend calls to inform me that the aforementioned email conversation is actually a group thread, something I had not surmised from the limited information displayed on my iPhone screen.

I telephone my mother, who is on Long Island supervising three moving men packing up the contents of my late grandmother's apartment. I listen to her explain why she has just decided not to send me any of my grandparents' things, despite our earlier conversations to the contrary, despite conversations I had with my grandmother about things she would like me to have. I decide not to react when she tells me that the cost of send furniture to Ohio is prohibitive, and in the next breath, that she is sending it to Florida instead and if she can't use it in her (fully furnished) home, she'll take it to consignment stores, because it is so much easier to get rid of stuff down there.

I decide not to let this hurt me. I tell myself I don't need more stuff in order to remember my grandparents. I remind myself of all the jewelry my grandmother gave me when she was alive. I look to my kitchen windowsill, at one of the pictures I keep of Mama, smiling and holding one of my babies, and I remember some helpful things she told me to get through situations like this.

Next, I call my aunt in New York City, thinking she might want to talk about this emotional milestone in her life. Instead, I listen to her tell me about her last dinner out with my sister, Sunday night, and how much she wishes she could see her even more often, and how much she misses my sister's kids, who live on the other side of Manhattan. When she tells me to say "hi" to my kids for her, or no, better yet, to give them hugs from her, I pretend that I will.

I remember more things my grandmother told me so that I do not get upset, but still, I do feel annoyed as I think of how many years it has been since my aunt has visited us. Then, I remember that my in-laws are arriving on Friday and I think of how much fun it will be to share the weekend with them, how strongly and lovingly connected they are to my children. I feel better immediately.

A friend calls from Long Island to talk about his son, who, in addition to having become a Bar Mitzvah last weekend, plays the double bass, and is preparing to play a solo for a competition I once took part in. He wants my advice, and I enjoy sharing my opinions, memories and even current information that, strangely enough, I happen to have, on options for string students in the New York area. We reminisce about my first marriage, which this friend gives himself credit for propelling me out of, and I remember aloud how blessed in friendship I am and have been for some time. I feel very fortunate indeed.

Today, the ground is littered with tree branches that fell off in last night's ice storm and the Groundhog has predicted an early Spring. My dog is feeling better; the carpet is unsoiled. The house is still waiting to be cleaned, the laundry, to be put away. Music is waiting to be practiced; we have orchestra rehearsal tonight. A concert contract is waiting to be signed and returned, more photos are needed for its program. More fancynancypants photos need to be organized and sent. The elliptical training machine, I know, would also like some attention. A friend across town breaks months of silence to inform me by email that she has breast cancer.

It is time for me to get moving. Thanks to those of you out there, who read this blog and reach back to me, reminding me that indeed, we are all connected.