Mollified.

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Now that’s more like it. A temporary reprieve; a calm before the tornado hits. Relief.

Orchestra rehearsal yesterday — even with the missing 2nd trumpet player, the bass player having to leave to help with preparations for his grandfather’s funeral, and the drummer turning around en route in order to take his daughter to the emergency room — was fantastic. I told Lars on the way home that I don’t know why I always worry about this particular day, since the players are wonderful (who else do you know who can sight-read an entire Broadway book, while at the same time dealing effortlessly with my maniacal cuts in the score?) and everyone is just Nice People. Best of all: I received a text message from my drummer saying that his daughter is going to be OK.

Seamus’s feast was downright dandy. It is surreal to me that he is entering his 30th year, when it seems like yesterday that I was rocking him to sleep, reading to him, playing cars with him…tempus fugit. I want to give a huge public thank-you to my most awesomely awesome sister, Mavis — she took on the lion’s share of the prep work yesterday while I was out playing around on the piano. She made sure it was another boffo event at the Finkhouse. Great fun!

And now, alas, it is Monday. I cannot phreeking believe it.

Phink out.

Tetchy.

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So I’m on my sixth trumpet player already. No, no, sorry no, and no, sorry. That’s all I’ve heard since my guy bailed (via a message through someone else) yesterday. It’s amazing how one domino in the line — one stone thrown in the pond — can affect everything else. I could just scream. I mean, really. So I call the guy, and he says, “I can play the show; I just can’t play on Saturday.”

*cricket*   *cricket*

So if any of you could fly out to Finkville on Saturday, 7 November, to play our 2:00 show, that would be outstanding. I have the other 3 shows covered by someone else (thank the Lord for him), but he cannot make the matinee. Come on, Suzanne. You’re a trumpet player. What’s the airfare from Amsterdam to Cleveland? Couldn’t be more’n a couple-a grand. Help a sister out here.

I’m just a bit tetchy today. Up since 4, battling that which I cannot control. I hate not having control of my stuff, you know? Ah well, no matter. I will see some good fiends today. I’ll also see baby boy Lars when he comes to pick me up to go to rehearsal. Haven’t seen him in a couple of weeks, and we live on the same flippin’ street. Life is crazy, I tell ya.

I guess I shouldn’t be so hard on my erstwhile 2nd trumpet player. He’s a really nice young man; a stand-up guy who didn’t see a conflict coming. I suppose if I simply went without a 2nd player in the matinee, the world would still spin and we’d make it to the end of the afternoon alive. It’s just that I really hate that idea.

Tetchy. It’s the word o’ the week. Good mouth feel. Sounds like a swear word, but isn’t, so it’s a good value for your anger buck. Thumbs up.

FO

Skeevy.

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That’s how I feel today. Just a lil skeevy. But I think it’s good for me. Stress keeps me paying attention.

I think sometimes that I allow things to stress me because I’m disorganized. Er…I mean, my disorganization causes me stress. Anyway, you get it. The Thriller has long known this about me, and has, on occasion, tried to change my behavior to decrease the likelihood of a massive flipout.

He’s still working on it. :-)

He is a list maker (as is sister Mavis). I’ve made lists before, but then I lose them. Or they just sit on my desk/in my pocket, and are eventually buried underneath some new thing or list or printed-out journal article; or I pull a list out of my pocket and say, “Hm, that’s old,” and throw it away. Why is that?

It frustrates me that I have the intellectual wherewithal to devise a list of important tasks, but not to execute one. Actually, it’s probably not so much intellect as discipline. Arg, the D word. I hate it.

I’m going to take one last shot at it, just to prove I can do it. Here goes. In the interest of accountability, here is my list for the weekend:

UPDATE 5:13 p.m.

3, 4, 5, 6 and 8 are done. How bout that.

  1. Copy horn parts for tomorrow’s rehearsal.
  2. Finish introductory stuff on thesis.
  3. Go to the grocery for Seamus’s birthday feast.
  4. Make score edits before rehearsal at 2 today.
  5. Go to Wally to buy the rest of a birthday gift or two.
  6. Text orchestra members to remind them about tomorrow.
  7. Clean the upstairs bathroom.
  8. Call DQ to order the ice cream cake.
  9. Drop off bakery order for next week’s tech rehearsal. (NEXT WEEK IS TECH REHEARSAL. Oh dear.)

That’s it so far. What’s on your list for today? Do you make lists? Do they do any good? I’m still waiting for the magic to happen here.

Nothing so far. Feh.

Happy Saturday!

FO

La marche de temps

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Tomorrow, my son will be 29 years old. Never thought I’d see the day. I was telling someone yesterday how easy it is for me to “see” my sons as babies; how much detail I remember of their faces, their voices…it’s like it was all last week instead of the early 80s.

And now look. Seamus is 29 tomorrow, and Lars will be 26 in December. The march of time…

It’s funny. When I was 21, life couldn’t happen fast enough. I blew through minutes and hours like there was no tomorrow, throwing them away without a thought. The marche de temps never bothered me. But now, I’m much more careful with those moments. I want to save them — savor them. I want time to s-l-o-w down. I want the physical effects of aging to slow down without me personally underwriting the Dermitage and Reservatrol product lines.

When I was 21, I didn’t listen when my parents/grandparents/older friends told me, “Savor every moment.” I wish I had. I wish I’d taken more pictures, splurged on that honking huge 20-lb. video camera back in 1981, not been in such a hurry, taught my sons more about more. In other words, I know what the old peeps meant, now that I’m an old peep myself.

To the teenagers and twenty- and thirty-somethings who visit RtB, I say: Listen to the 50-and-over crowd when they tell you that life is indeed short, and that fleeting, seemingly unimportant moments will one day be quite dear in retrospect. Wring every possible ounce of joy out of stuff right now, and make it a habit from here on out. “Make every moment count” is no longer a tired cliché — not to me, anyway. I’ve mentioned to several of my fiends that the Thriller and I have adopted a new life goal: fun. Everything we do will be in some way related to having fun. Whether it’s spending time with grandchildren, planning vacations (wahooty hoo), going on weekend jaunts, having family and friends over for coffee or dinner — it’s all about having fun in the years we have left. Why not start that trip early? Like now, for instance?

Happy weekend  — yay!

Philosofink

Dialing down the suck-o-meter

12 Replies

And there was…life.

We rounded a bend in rehearsals last night. Not saying we went totally around the corner, but we’re navigating the curve. OK, enough euphemisms for “we might finally be getting it right.” Dial down the suck to “moderate.”

Our singers/actors are an interesting bunch. Last night, Stein came to rehearsal (I bribed him with dinner) and used my Flip Video recorder to capture the production numbers for me to view later (and to show the kids themselves), since I’m playing piano all the time and it’s hard for me to watch choreography & staging. It apparently ended up being one big experiment in the Hawthorne effect.

Hey, whatever works. There were actually some places where Stoney and I smiled a couple of times. Progress.

I must say that I marvel at how these kids handle the stress. Many of them are athletes, so they go to school all day, go right to football/volleyball practice, take a quick shower, run to the theater, wolf down a packed lunch their mom dropped off, and rehearse till 8:30, all the while cramming in bits of homework when they’re not onstage. I gotta hand it to them: it’s impressive. I thought I had a busy life when I was a teenager involved in shows; and I was only involved in shows. Even the kids not involved in sports are busy, in that, unlike Stoney and myself, they have lives.

I’ma get me one of those one day. Like, after the first of December. Yeah. I like that idea.

I can see Finkday in the distance. And all the people said…