Let. It. Go.

Yesterday was rough. We had a district-wide staff meeting about budget cuts (and possibly — likely, actually — staff cuts). Hard to hear that people and programs might have to go. And I’d be lying if I said that I didn’t think about the fact that the arts are often the first thing to get the old heave-ho.

Then, on Facebook last night, a well-meaning parent posted a link to all of our salaries, and I noticed that a couple of the listings (including mine) on this non-district-affiliated website were wrong.

Say something? Let it go?

B. Definitely B.

It was an unpleasant meeting yesterday, for both administration and staff. People came away more confused and worried. And now we wait until the board of education makes its decisions. We’re looking at about a month-long wait, if not longer, which bothers me, because it’s the months of March and April when many jobs come open due to plans for retirement. Those tend to be the better jobs, and they’re scooped up right away. If I’m on the chopping block, I want to know as soon as possible.

It’s not a good time for us (and many school districts) right now.

But…I need to let it go. I am neither the first nor the last person to face the possibility of a reduction in force, and just like the millions of others before me, if it happens, I will deal with it. And there’s no sense in packin’ it in when there might not be a need for it.

So today, I let it go. I resolve to stay true to my 2013 motto, and while keeping a watchful eye on my future, I won’t add needless stress.

Cripes, I’m doing a show right now — I got that in spades.

Thoughts for a Thursday…

Someone just posted that on Facebook. “Happy 100th day of school!”

This crept up on me. Usually, elementary school students have some kind of fun, commemorative lesson on the 100th day, having to do with the number 100, or some other activity. What it means to me is we’re on the home stretch. I just hadn’t realized that today was the day. Eighty-three days left, and so much to do.

You know, if you’re in the area on 22-23 March, you should consider yourself invited to our production of Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat. I had a “brothers” rehearsal last night, and I must say they are going to be fine. Fun show, great music, short! (just a little over an hour in length).

The interesting thing about Joseph is that it’s very much like an opera. Well, it actually is an opera, in that there are no spoken lines. All “dialogue” is sung, and the plot moves forward through the songs themselves, and each new scene is set up by the singing narrator (in our case, we have two: a couple of gals with wonderful voices). It is a very different format for our students, as all of our musicals in the past have been standard-issue, learn-your-lines Broadway.

Anyway, back to 100. Bring on the springtime!

FO

When the worry and the insanity preceding a performance is over (imagine 113  middle school singers, a packed hallway full of audience members filing into the theater, and me), it’s hard to describe the feeling of relief, happiness, and in this case, satisfaction because the kids really sang well.

That, and nobody did a triple gainer off the top riser.

When I hear my two favorite comments, I know we made a happy audience:

1. The kids look SO nice all dressed up; it was really classy.
2. I wanted to hear more!

Not that I have the be-all, end-all of middle school choral programs (I certainly don’t; we have a long way to go to reach any kind of excellence this year), but it is wonderful to see 28 terrified 11-year-olds get up and deliver the performance of the semester in front of a packed house of appreciative listeners, then watch the happy on their faces as they leave the risers. And cute — don’t forget they were cute.

The 7th and 8th grade take great pride in their huge sound; they fear nothing, and as a choral director, that is like straw spun into gold. Now to control it, perfect it, refine it…therein lies the challenge I still face.

Why all this heavy introspection, you ask? After all, it’s just school chorus. Yeah, true. But there’s something about seeing kids recognize beauty, work together for a common goal, show passion, and most importantly, bless people for a little while that jacks me right up. It doesn’t have to be Robert Shaw; it just has to be wonderful at the moment.

Which it was. 

And with that, my holiday begins, even though I have six more days of school to go. That’s OK — we get a jump start on spring music, which ought to thrill the heck out of my ensembles. Heh. Welllll maybe not.

FO

Here we go.

For those of us in the performance ensemble racket, today begins two weeks of what many call…well, let’s just say it’s a busy time. It’s the morning of a Christmas concert, and there is much trepidation. My nervousness comes not from worries that my students won’t sing well, because they do. Rather, it’s all the other factors: my piano playing, technical issues, and the ubiquitous fear that someone will do a swan dive off the risers. It doesn’t happen often, but it has happened recently. It’s in my brain, I can’t lie.

I have many athletes in my choir who come to the concert directly from various practices. They’re tired and winded, and in spite of my instructions and their best intentions, many of them don’t eat or drink before they go onstage, so they’re weak, and sometimes dehydrated. Bad combo. My concerts are not lengthy — an hour at the most; often shorter and never longer — but standing under hot lights for twenty minutes is sometimes too much for some singers (and in case you’re wondering, it has historically been only male students who pass out at my concerts…weird). Thankfully, Greg runs the lights a little cooler, and I have resorted to installing fans offstage.

I refuse to go without robes, although it’s been suggested. I dunno…to me, that would be giving into the insanity; being controlled by it. Ain’t going there.

Still, when it’s all over with, I always say, “Hm, that was nice. Not so bad after all.” It’s the lead-up that’s the killer. I hate those hours, and they start now.

Go!