An audition day is a great and terrible thing. All of the practicing you have done is about to come to a head. Everything you have worked for comes down to ten minutes in front of five people. It is the best day and the worst day of your life.
You wake up groggily, having often spent a sleepless night tossing and turning in your hard bed. A great deal of pillow-punching often occurs, as do wild thoughts of hopping a train to Alberquerque.
Breakfast awaits in the form of soggy cereal and curdled milk. After ironing your wrinkled dress shirt, and wrestling on your pantyhose (a bout that ends in a knockout after three minutes), you open up your instrument case. Just as you are about to play the first note, your parent bellows up the stairs, "Time to gooooo!!" You carefully pack up your instrument, then start downstairs only to trip over your high heels and end up with a run in your stocking.
In the car, your parent misreads the directions and turns left when he/she should have turned right. You arrive at the audition exactly four minutes before your warm-up time, and throw yourself out of the car before it has stopped. Your hair elastic breaks.
Squinting at the directional signs (which all appear to be written in some combination of Swahili and pig-latin), you locate the registration room, feverishly sign your name and then look about for a ladies room. The only one in the building turns out to be three flights of stairs up, so you gather up your things and slog up the stairs. Apparently fifty other girls have had the same idea, and there is a traffic jam in the bathroom. After a good deal of pinching and scratching, you fight your way to a mirror and quickly repair the damage. It is all broken again on the way out of the door, but at this point you have about eight minutes left of your warm-up time.
The practice rooms send out a din to equal three herds of cattle stampeding, but you find the one room that is empty. It is located between a screeching soprano and a groaning clarinet. You quickly unpack, and run through the most difficult spots in your piece. There is an air-conditioning vent blowing ice-cold air (in December?!?), so you have to keep re-tuning.
Two minutes before your audition time arrives, you pack up and head out the door. The building is a labrynth, and your walk turns into a trot and then a full-speed-ahead gallop as you race to the audition room. You arrive panting, hair streaming and skirt flapping, only to find that three people are standing outside the door as calm and collected as caterpillars. They eye you coldly. You ask if the judges are running late, and three heads condescend to nod to you. Subdued, you find the nearest available corner and stand in it, running through your piece in your head.
An unidentified person leaves the audition room, and Caterpillar A goes in. Strains of an impossibly difficult concerto come through the door. Caterpillar A comes out, smiling smugly. Your heart sinks. Caterpillar B disappears through the door. One of the most complex pieces known to man is heard through the door. You swallow convulsively. Positive thoughts, you tell yourself. Caterpillar B smiles smugly as he exits. Caterpillar C is lost from sight, and shortly you hear an impossibly difficult concerto and one of the most complex pieces known to man. You stagger and reel. Caterpillar C has left, and it is now your turn.
The door creaks as you enter. The room is small, filled with many august personages who sit staring at you through pince-nez. They inquire your name. You reply, and announce your piece. They nod graciously, and you wipe your sweaty palms on your skirt. You take a deep breath, and begin. Your sound is thin and wavering, you screech appallingly on the high notes and miss most of the difficult parts. The piece seems to drag and rush by turns. Finally you are finished. The August Personages nod again, and you leave the room.
Greatly in need of comfort and refreshment, you head toward the spot where you last saw your parent. You find instead a being with clenched jaws and bloodshot eyes. It greets you with sighs of relief, and immediately pounces with a million questions of "How did it go? Did the part in measure so-and-so go right? Did you remember blah-de-blah in measure thingummy? Who was before you? What did they play? I've been sweating it out here waiting for you, I'll tell you that much!" Somehow you survive the grilling.
You head home, and collapse on the bed falling into an exhausted sleep. And you know what? The worst part is yet to come. Waiting and waiting and waiting.
To be truthful I must confess that what I have written above is not at all accurate. Mostly. Everyone at the auditions was so helpful and friendly--it was way less scary than I was expecting. And I know that the Lord will have me wherever He wants me and wherever I will give glory to Him. And that's all I need. :)
Showing posts with label Life Events. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Life Events. Show all posts
December 6, 2011
May 9, 2011
Survival of the SAT
Scene 1: A Dark and Dreary Saturday Morning
The alarm blares at 6:05, and my hand gropes its way out of the blankets to shut it off. I roll out of bed, rubbing my eyes and grumbling under my breath. I am not an early morning person. The sun hasn't come up yet, and I'm too tired to turn on a light, so I dress in the dark. Rizzo whines, and I let him out the door. I stumble to the bathroom and flick the light switch, yawning as I pop my contacts in. After I brush my hair and take the shine off my nose, I head upstairs to eat.
Mom greets me with an equation: a triangle's area is 1/2 base times height. I nod, and bite into a muffin. As I sip my milk, she regales me with the fact that the area of a circle is pi times r squared, while the circumference is two times pi times r. Three number two pencils sit atop my admission ticket on the table, hugging my calculator. The calculator will be my greatest ally in math. The clock says 6:43, so I shove my shoes on and head out to the car, audible equations following me. As I turn the key I remember that "Mozart makes babies smarter"; why not me? so I run in and grab my Mozart Piano Concertos CD. If anything it'll relax me.
Scene 2: A Dark and Dreary Test Center
It was an hour drive, maybe a little more. Fortunately there was no traffic, except around the fallen tree on the city street. I found the test center after getting upset at Google Maps for saying it was the first right, instead of the third. I found a parking lot, and was unpleasantly surprised by the sight of meters in it (how many quarters for 4 hours?), and then pleasantly surprised by a little sign on the meter that said "Monday-Friday". Sweet, now instead of spending my entire worldly goods on a meter I might have enough for an ice cream later, if I survive. I notified my parents I had arrived, and walked through the door.
There was a green sign: "SAT Reasoning Test This Way", with an arrow that pointed straight to a man sitting at a desk. I stood in line, and waited my turn.
He got to me and barked "Name?"
"Elizabeth Karako."
He thumbed through his lists. "Start with a C?"
"K, please."
He found it, and made a check. "Room 434, take the elevator to the 4th floor and exit to the right. Haveaniceday." Was he being funny?
Scene 3: A Big and Scary Test
I found the room just as the man said. I opened the door and found myself confronting 23 pairs of eyes, at 23 desks. (Identified SAT test-takers, all in same boat.) The only pair of eyes that wasn't looking at me was messing with something at a podium. (Identified SAT test-proctor, may or may not be friendly. Exercise caution.) There was one table left, in the back corner, so I headed there as quietly and as quickly as possible. I shoved my provisions box and my purse under the desk, and sat down, breathing hard. It was as quiet as a hearse in there. I tried to breathe more quietly, and silently unpacked my pencils, calculator and admission ticket. Hmm, wonder why the guy downstairs didn't want this? I surveyed the room, and noticed one brave soul was wearing a Steelers jersey. Ah, a fellow fan. Thank goodness for some light in this dark place. Glancing down, I noticed that my provisions box was halfway out in the aisle, so I got up to fix it and promptly tripped over my own feet. I hit the floor with a thud to wake the dead, and 23 heads swiveled towards my direction. The proctor must have been deaf. Pretending I was unaware of 23 burning gazes, I nonchalantly picked up my box and sat down. Silence reigned for 2 minutes, then the proctor seemed to notice that the time was 7:43, two minutes before the start of testing.
"Has anyone here not checked in?"
A long arm clothed in black and gold stretched its full length and silently pointed at me. 22 heads swiveled my way, again. Mr. Steelers fan, you are no friend of mine.
"Have you checked in?"
"Um, not up here. Was I supposed to?"
"Yes dear, please bring your admission ticket to me."
I fumbled it off of the desk and walked the long road up to the podium.
"Your ID please?"
I turned around, trudged back and obtained my driver's license, then slogged the weary miles to the podium. 23 pairs of eyes followed me the whole long way. I swear that aisle was longer than going to the moon and back.
Formalities completed, I collected my paperwork and marched back to my seat. I collapsed in my chair and had just enough time to take three deep breaths when Mr. Proctor started his SAT speech.
As a result of that speech, I can't tell you any more of what happened that day, or I will be hunted down and arrested by the ETS. Suffice it to say, those were the worst 4 1/2 hours I have ever been through in my life, and I am being propped up by life-saving machines as we speak. But, I survived.
The alarm blares at 6:05, and my hand gropes its way out of the blankets to shut it off. I roll out of bed, rubbing my eyes and grumbling under my breath. I am not an early morning person. The sun hasn't come up yet, and I'm too tired to turn on a light, so I dress in the dark. Rizzo whines, and I let him out the door. I stumble to the bathroom and flick the light switch, yawning as I pop my contacts in. After I brush my hair and take the shine off my nose, I head upstairs to eat.
Mom greets me with an equation: a triangle's area is 1/2 base times height. I nod, and bite into a muffin. As I sip my milk, she regales me with the fact that the area of a circle is pi times r squared, while the circumference is two times pi times r. Three number two pencils sit atop my admission ticket on the table, hugging my calculator. The calculator will be my greatest ally in math. The clock says 6:43, so I shove my shoes on and head out to the car, audible equations following me. As I turn the key I remember that "Mozart makes babies smarter"; why not me? so I run in and grab my Mozart Piano Concertos CD. If anything it'll relax me.
Scene 2: A Dark and Dreary Test Center
It was an hour drive, maybe a little more. Fortunately there was no traffic, except around the fallen tree on the city street. I found the test center after getting upset at Google Maps for saying it was the first right, instead of the third. I found a parking lot, and was unpleasantly surprised by the sight of meters in it (how many quarters for 4 hours?), and then pleasantly surprised by a little sign on the meter that said "Monday-Friday". Sweet, now instead of spending my entire worldly goods on a meter I might have enough for an ice cream later, if I survive. I notified my parents I had arrived, and walked through the door.
There was a green sign: "SAT Reasoning Test This Way", with an arrow that pointed straight to a man sitting at a desk. I stood in line, and waited my turn.
He got to me and barked "Name?"
"Elizabeth Karako."
He thumbed through his lists. "Start with a C?"
"K, please."
He found it, and made a check. "Room 434, take the elevator to the 4th floor and exit to the right. Haveaniceday." Was he being funny?
Scene 3: A Big and Scary Test
I found the room just as the man said. I opened the door and found myself confronting 23 pairs of eyes, at 23 desks. (Identified SAT test-takers, all in same boat.) The only pair of eyes that wasn't looking at me was messing with something at a podium. (Identified SAT test-proctor, may or may not be friendly. Exercise caution.) There was one table left, in the back corner, so I headed there as quietly and as quickly as possible. I shoved my provisions box and my purse under the desk, and sat down, breathing hard. It was as quiet as a hearse in there. I tried to breathe more quietly, and silently unpacked my pencils, calculator and admission ticket. Hmm, wonder why the guy downstairs didn't want this? I surveyed the room, and noticed one brave soul was wearing a Steelers jersey. Ah, a fellow fan. Thank goodness for some light in this dark place. Glancing down, I noticed that my provisions box was halfway out in the aisle, so I got up to fix it and promptly tripped over my own feet. I hit the floor with a thud to wake the dead, and 23 heads swiveled towards my direction. The proctor must have been deaf. Pretending I was unaware of 23 burning gazes, I nonchalantly picked up my box and sat down. Silence reigned for 2 minutes, then the proctor seemed to notice that the time was 7:43, two minutes before the start of testing.
"Has anyone here not checked in?"
A long arm clothed in black and gold stretched its full length and silently pointed at me. 22 heads swiveled my way, again. Mr. Steelers fan, you are no friend of mine.
"Have you checked in?"
"Um, not up here. Was I supposed to?"
"Yes dear, please bring your admission ticket to me."
I fumbled it off of the desk and walked the long road up to the podium.
"Your ID please?"
I turned around, trudged back and obtained my driver's license, then slogged the weary miles to the podium. 23 pairs of eyes followed me the whole long way. I swear that aisle was longer than going to the moon and back.
Formalities completed, I collected my paperwork and marched back to my seat. I collapsed in my chair and had just enough time to take three deep breaths when Mr. Proctor started his SAT speech.
As a result of that speech, I can't tell you any more of what happened that day, or I will be hunted down and arrested by the ETS. Suffice it to say, those were the worst 4 1/2 hours I have ever been through in my life, and I am being propped up by life-saving machines as we speak. But, I survived.
October 2, 2010
August 17, 2010
Institute
So, last week (August 8-14) I went to my favorite place in the whole wide world: The American Suzuki Institute!! Located in Stevens Point, Wisconsin, the Institute is the largest "Suzuki camp" in the U.S and lasts for two one-week sessions. Usually over 2000 people go there, but the economy has taken a toll the past few years, so attendance has been down quite a bit. It is a magical place, filled with music and laughter. My violin teacher, Kami, and I drove up for one week along with her sister, Korinne, and three of Korinne's students: Kristina, Elizabeth, and Aaron. We had a blast that whole week, and are counting down the days until next year.
Here is a small taste of my 'average' day--although up there you can't really count anything average, it's all different! But here are the bare bones of it, I guess....
7 AM--Wake up, stuff some yogurt and Cheerios down my throat, get dressed, and walk over to the Noel Fine Arts Center (NFAC) for repertoire class. Several mornings Kami sent me away from the dorm with a "Be good, children! Oh my goodness, I sound like a mom!". Our dorm was the closest to the buildings, but even so it took us 5-10 minutes walking to get there.
8 AM--Repertoire class with Kathy Rollings. In this class we worked on whole pieces, and playing them together as a group the way the teacher wanted them. It was a fun class to wake up to, as Ms. Rollings was full of dry humor and made me giggle constantly. It was in a big room (I think it was used as a dance studio) with a purple floor and black walls.
9 AM--Walk up two flights of stairs to the practice rooms; I usually had forgotten to sign up for one the day before, so some days I ended up walking back down and outside to practice. It was super fun walking down the hallways with music pouring out all around me. I would usually practice my orchestra music since it was next.
10 AM--Orchestra with Terry Durbin. Sooo much fun!! He was big about finding stories in pieces, and would have the entire string orchestra rolling in their seats with the images he created. His conducting was always expressive of the mood he wanted us to convey. I laughed more in that hour than I did the whole day!
11 AM--I would pack up my violin and run back to the dorm for the time-honored classic of PBJ, and then back to the practice rooms. One day we went out for lunch to the Wooden Chair; a wonderful breakfast/lunch place. Or there would be a play-in somewhere, and I would go to that. Play-ins are one of my favorite parts of Insitute; basically you show up with your instrument, and the leader starts playing pieces and you join in when you know one. Or we'll do variations on old pieces, or take them different tempos, or play rounds--lots of fun stuff!
1 PM--I toddle over to technique class (in the CCC building) with Janis Wittrig. She's a very solid instructor, and had lots of good stuff for us to do. This was a smaller class, with only about 12 kids in it. By the end of the week, everybody knew each other pretty well.
2 PM--Back to the practice rooms, this time to practice intonation drills for masterclass. If I had forgotten to sign up for a room, I would find one that was empty, and stay in it until the occupant showed up, and then walk over to another room.
3 PM--Masterclass with Carol Dallinger!! She was an absolute darling, and I loved her. Especially after she told me that good intonation is not a secret mystery! Every day she showed me a new trick or drill that would help me, and I would practice it on my Haydn concerto. She was such fun to watch, so cosey and yet always knowing what she wanted to do. One time I was playing a single note for her, to see if it was in tune. I play it for 20 seconds, and she looks over at me and asks if I'm waiting for her to approve it. Yes, I reply, and she shoots back "Well, I'm not gonna." The whole room giggled, and I moved on to the next note. :-)
4 PM--Every day except Wednesday and Friday there were Solo Recitals in Michelson Hall. In these recitals the very best kids at all levels were chosen to play with Linda Perry (the most amazing piano player ever) in the fancy recital hall. I was picked last year, and it was truly a memorable experience. The sound rises so beautifully, and bounces back so you can hear every note crystal clear.....'swonderful. I would sneak in, because masterclass always went a little over, find a seat and just let it all sink in. That was a fun hour.
5 PM--There were lectures at this hour--I only went to one which was a Q&A session--there were lots of good ones that I wanted to go to, but something usually came up. Dinner, or hanging out with the others, or practicing. On Wednesday I was in an Informal Recital, which were recitals held in different rooms all over campus, for kids that had improved a lot during the week, or showed promise. These were really fun in their own way, because you could move from recital to recital and see what you wanted. People were always walking in and out, and it was more like a fun jam session than a recital. It was also slightly scary, because there was no rehearsal with the accompanist beforehand, so neither of us knew quite what the other was going to do; but it was a good chalk-up to experience.
7 PM--On Monday and Tuesday night were the Guest Artist and Faculty recitals over in Sentry Theater. It was about 2 minutes across town, and larger than Michelson, but very intimate-feeling. On Monday night Karen Basrak played the cello, and it was marvellous. Tuesday night all the faculty played in ensembles, and soloed, and in an orchestra. It was always fun to look forward to those nights. Wednesday night was the Talent Show, where our group did a pantomime of the Three Billy Goats Gruff with theme music played on our violins. Thursday night the chamber music kids performed in their orchestra, and in quartets. Friday night was the Festival Concert in the gym, when every single violin student stood up and played.
9 PM--Back to the practice rooms in the NFAC. This was my favorite time to go, because almost nobody was there; and you could leave the doors open, or practice in the hallway, or take a break to walk around without worrying about your stuff being taken. Not to mention it's a lot cooler, and easier to concentrate with all the quiet. One night Kristina and I were practicing our orchestra music together, and we were having so much fun that Kami shocked us by coming over and telling us it was 11:30. Often the only clue we would have as to what time it was was when the custodian came over and turned the main lights off in the hallways. I've always been a good night person. :-)
11 PM--Bedtime! We would get back to the dorm, drop our stuff on the floor, and collapse into bed. By the end of the week the dorm looked like my little brother's room, but literally all we did there was sleep, or run in to exchange stuff and run right back out.
It was a fabulous week, with music everywhere from sun-up to sun-down, friends to share it with, and amazing teachers! I loved every minute of it, and can't wait until next year! I'm aiming for chamber music camp, which lasts for two weeks, has normal classes plus quartets and a chamber orchestra. Going to Institute has strenthened my resolve to get better at my chosen craft, and to use it for the glory of the Lord. Without Him, I would be nothing.
I will give thanks to the Lord with all my heart;
I will tell of all Your wonders.
I will be glad and exult in You;
I will sing praise to Your name, O Most High.
Psalm 9:1-2
Pictures (and possibly video) are coming soon!!
Here is a small taste of my 'average' day--although up there you can't really count anything average, it's all different! But here are the bare bones of it, I guess....
7 AM--Wake up, stuff some yogurt and Cheerios down my throat, get dressed, and walk over to the Noel Fine Arts Center (NFAC) for repertoire class. Several mornings Kami sent me away from the dorm with a "Be good, children! Oh my goodness, I sound like a mom!". Our dorm was the closest to the buildings, but even so it took us 5-10 minutes walking to get there.
8 AM--Repertoire class with Kathy Rollings. In this class we worked on whole pieces, and playing them together as a group the way the teacher wanted them. It was a fun class to wake up to, as Ms. Rollings was full of dry humor and made me giggle constantly. It was in a big room (I think it was used as a dance studio) with a purple floor and black walls.
9 AM--Walk up two flights of stairs to the practice rooms; I usually had forgotten to sign up for one the day before, so some days I ended up walking back down and outside to practice. It was super fun walking down the hallways with music pouring out all around me. I would usually practice my orchestra music since it was next.
10 AM--Orchestra with Terry Durbin. Sooo much fun!! He was big about finding stories in pieces, and would have the entire string orchestra rolling in their seats with the images he created. His conducting was always expressive of the mood he wanted us to convey. I laughed more in that hour than I did the whole day!
11 AM--I would pack up my violin and run back to the dorm for the time-honored classic of PBJ, and then back to the practice rooms. One day we went out for lunch to the Wooden Chair; a wonderful breakfast/lunch place. Or there would be a play-in somewhere, and I would go to that. Play-ins are one of my favorite parts of Insitute; basically you show up with your instrument, and the leader starts playing pieces and you join in when you know one. Or we'll do variations on old pieces, or take them different tempos, or play rounds--lots of fun stuff!
1 PM--I toddle over to technique class (in the CCC building) with Janis Wittrig. She's a very solid instructor, and had lots of good stuff for us to do. This was a smaller class, with only about 12 kids in it. By the end of the week, everybody knew each other pretty well.
2 PM--Back to the practice rooms, this time to practice intonation drills for masterclass. If I had forgotten to sign up for a room, I would find one that was empty, and stay in it until the occupant showed up, and then walk over to another room.
3 PM--Masterclass with Carol Dallinger!! She was an absolute darling, and I loved her. Especially after she told me that good intonation is not a secret mystery! Every day she showed me a new trick or drill that would help me, and I would practice it on my Haydn concerto. She was such fun to watch, so cosey and yet always knowing what she wanted to do. One time I was playing a single note for her, to see if it was in tune. I play it for 20 seconds, and she looks over at me and asks if I'm waiting for her to approve it. Yes, I reply, and she shoots back "Well, I'm not gonna." The whole room giggled, and I moved on to the next note. :-)
4 PM--Every day except Wednesday and Friday there were Solo Recitals in Michelson Hall. In these recitals the very best kids at all levels were chosen to play with Linda Perry (the most amazing piano player ever) in the fancy recital hall. I was picked last year, and it was truly a memorable experience. The sound rises so beautifully, and bounces back so you can hear every note crystal clear.....'swonderful. I would sneak in, because masterclass always went a little over, find a seat and just let it all sink in. That was a fun hour.
5 PM--There were lectures at this hour--I only went to one which was a Q&A session--there were lots of good ones that I wanted to go to, but something usually came up. Dinner, or hanging out with the others, or practicing. On Wednesday I was in an Informal Recital, which were recitals held in different rooms all over campus, for kids that had improved a lot during the week, or showed promise. These were really fun in their own way, because you could move from recital to recital and see what you wanted. People were always walking in and out, and it was more like a fun jam session than a recital. It was also slightly scary, because there was no rehearsal with the accompanist beforehand, so neither of us knew quite what the other was going to do; but it was a good chalk-up to experience.
7 PM--On Monday and Tuesday night were the Guest Artist and Faculty recitals over in Sentry Theater. It was about 2 minutes across town, and larger than Michelson, but very intimate-feeling. On Monday night Karen Basrak played the cello, and it was marvellous. Tuesday night all the faculty played in ensembles, and soloed, and in an orchestra. It was always fun to look forward to those nights. Wednesday night was the Talent Show, where our group did a pantomime of the Three Billy Goats Gruff with theme music played on our violins. Thursday night the chamber music kids performed in their orchestra, and in quartets. Friday night was the Festival Concert in the gym, when every single violin student stood up and played.
9 PM--Back to the practice rooms in the NFAC. This was my favorite time to go, because almost nobody was there; and you could leave the doors open, or practice in the hallway, or take a break to walk around without worrying about your stuff being taken. Not to mention it's a lot cooler, and easier to concentrate with all the quiet. One night Kristina and I were practicing our orchestra music together, and we were having so much fun that Kami shocked us by coming over and telling us it was 11:30. Often the only clue we would have as to what time it was was when the custodian came over and turned the main lights off in the hallways. I've always been a good night person. :-)
11 PM--Bedtime! We would get back to the dorm, drop our stuff on the floor, and collapse into bed. By the end of the week the dorm looked like my little brother's room, but literally all we did there was sleep, or run in to exchange stuff and run right back out.
It was a fabulous week, with music everywhere from sun-up to sun-down, friends to share it with, and amazing teachers! I loved every minute of it, and can't wait until next year! I'm aiming for chamber music camp, which lasts for two weeks, has normal classes plus quartets and a chamber orchestra. Going to Institute has strenthened my resolve to get better at my chosen craft, and to use it for the glory of the Lord. Without Him, I would be nothing.
I will give thanks to the Lord with all my heart;
I will tell of all Your wonders.
I will be glad and exult in You;
I will sing praise to Your name, O Most High.
Psalm 9:1-2
Pictures (and possibly video) are coming soon!!
June 18, 2010
Street-Performing
So, I needed to raise five hundred dollars for Suzuki camp in August. Although babysitting is lots of fun, it wasn't bringing in enough money fast enough. Several fellow violin students had gone downtown to play their violins and made some good money. I will confess it took me six months to get up the courage to try it (For three months the snowy weather was a good excuse, however). Finally, after talking to several people about it, I decided to try playing for just one, tiny hour.
Mom dropped me off at the corner, and I walked up the street to where my friends had told me was the best place. Phew, there was a bench open, so I set my case on it and got out my violin. Better start with something super easy, yet cheerful, I thought. So the clear strains of Minuet 2 floated out into the air. My teacher had told me to smile, so I tried but ended up with some sort of weird lip-stretching. I licked them, and tried again, this time achieving a small grin. The piece ended, and I quickly started Musette. I kept trying to smile, and finally after my fifth piece I could do it without appearing to be an escapee from an insane asylum. I was starting to relax. Several people had smiled back at me. Well, even if I don't make any money, at least I've made people smile today.
Then, wonder of wonders, a man walking up the street dropped three quarters into my case. Bless you! I cried silently. My playing took on new zest as I saw those three quarters. Then a rather tough-looking man came by and dropped a few dollar bills in. "Keep music in your life," he told me, and walked on. Soon people were getting the idea, and dollar bills started filling up my case. I played piece after piece, repeating my favorite ones over, and smiling as wide as I could.
Eventually someone came up to me, and told me I better do something before my money started blowing away. I looked down at my case, and to my surprise, I couldn't see the bottom! Rummaging through the compartments, I found a few cases of old rosin, and I threw those in to weigh the money down. Before enough time had passed to seem an hour, I saw Mom driving down the road. I finished my piece, and packed up. Counting my money in the car, I had made forty-three dollars!
As of today, I am about two hundred dollars closer to my goal. Now all I have to worry about is practicing! God is so good!
"Bless the Lord, O my soul,
And all that is within me, bless His holy name." Psalm 103:1
Mom dropped me off at the corner, and I walked up the street to where my friends had told me was the best place. Phew, there was a bench open, so I set my case on it and got out my violin. Better start with something super easy, yet cheerful, I thought. So the clear strains of Minuet 2 floated out into the air. My teacher had told me to smile, so I tried but ended up with some sort of weird lip-stretching. I licked them, and tried again, this time achieving a small grin. The piece ended, and I quickly started Musette. I kept trying to smile, and finally after my fifth piece I could do it without appearing to be an escapee from an insane asylum. I was starting to relax. Several people had smiled back at me. Well, even if I don't make any money, at least I've made people smile today.
Then, wonder of wonders, a man walking up the street dropped three quarters into my case. Bless you! I cried silently. My playing took on new zest as I saw those three quarters. Then a rather tough-looking man came by and dropped a few dollar bills in. "Keep music in your life," he told me, and walked on. Soon people were getting the idea, and dollar bills started filling up my case. I played piece after piece, repeating my favorite ones over, and smiling as wide as I could.
Eventually someone came up to me, and told me I better do something before my money started blowing away. I looked down at my case, and to my surprise, I couldn't see the bottom! Rummaging through the compartments, I found a few cases of old rosin, and I threw those in to weigh the money down. Before enough time had passed to seem an hour, I saw Mom driving down the road. I finished my piece, and packed up. Counting my money in the car, I had made forty-three dollars!
As of today, I am about two hundred dollars closer to my goal. Now all I have to worry about is practicing! God is so good!
"Bless the Lord, O my soul,
And all that is within me, bless His holy name." Psalm 103:1
January 17, 2010
A Day in the Life of Snickers
One day I was with all of my brothers and sisters, happily playing away, when this strange lady walked into my home. She carried a cardboard box with a towel in it, and I sniffed it. It smelled like nothing I had ever smelled before. After exchanging greetings with my family and our masters, she picked me up and put me in the strange box. I was too busy sniffing the inside of the box to know that I was being carried away from my home. By the time I had found all of the smells in the box, I realized I was in a strange moving thing. It scared me, so I lifted up my nose and howled. I howled for a long time before the moving thing stopped. Then the strange lady picked up my box, and carried me into a strange place. Four other small people were in the strange place, and they picked me up and cuddled me. I liked that. I licked their faces, and the strange lady's face too. The strange lady buckled a red collar on me. It is very pretty, and I look very nice. Then the small people put me in a wire house. There was a pink rope in it, and a small bone. I was very happy. Then, the Beast came!
The Beast was a large dog, like my mother, only bigger. At first he did not know who I was, and so he growled at me. I was scared, so I howled. The strange lady got very mad at him, and I was quiet, knowing that I was protected. The Beast was very penitent, and sniffed me very meekly. I snapped at him, because I did not want him to growl at me again. He licked me, and then we were friends.
Since then I have learned that the strange lady's name is Mom. Four of the small people are called Brittany, Chrissy, John and Suzy. A few days after I came to this strange place, a medium person came. Her name is Betsey. She is very nice, too. I am also hearing talk about another person, whose name is Daddy. How many people are in this family? Every day as soon as I wake up, one of the small people takes me outside. Then I come back in, and chomp on my breakfast. I get to go outside lots every day, and sometimes I am allowed to go see the strange birds that are fat and make funny noises. I am glad that I am not a bird. 
One of my favorite games used to be that I would pick up my water bowl by the side, and drag it all over the floor. It made a big mess, and was very fun. Then the medium person gave me a shiny bowl that can't tip. It is not so fun, in fact I do not like it.
I have learned that the Beast is called Rizzo. He and I are great friends. He lets me climb on top of him, and jump on his side, and run with him. His nose is an excellent chew toy. He likes to steal my toys out of my mouth, but it is only because I am tired of them. Everywhere we go, Rizzo and I wrestle together.
I dearly love to chew, but the people do not like it as well as I do. There is a delicious piano leg that is my favorite, but every time I chew it, my people get very mad at me. So I think I will stop. I also like to practice my howl. It is coming along very nicely. My people do not like it very much, so I try to howl quietly.
I have learned that the Beast is called Rizzo. He and I are great friends. He lets me climb on top of him, and jump on his side, and run with him. His nose is an excellent chew toy. He likes to steal my toys out of my mouth, but it is only because I am tired of them. Everywhere we go, Rizzo and I wrestle together.
I dearly love to chew, but the people do not like it as well as I do. There is a delicious piano leg that is my favorite, but every time I chew it, my people get very mad at me. So I think I will stop. I also like to practice my howl. It is coming along very nicely. My people do not like it very much, so I try to howl quietly.
This is my life so far, and I love it. There are big hills in the back of my house, with lot of trees and promising smells. My people say that when I get bigger, I can go there, so I am growing just as fast as I can. Oh my goodness, Rizzo is here! I must go now. Bye!
January 1, 2010
Adventure with Contacts
"So, young lady, how are you with sticking stuff into your eyes?" asked the doctor.
"Uuuuuum, I'm not really sure," I answered nervously.
"Well, I think you're gonna love them." He ushered me into a tiny room, more of a closet really, and pointed to the sink in the corner.
"Wash your hands."
While I busily swished and scrubbed, lathered and rinsed, he pulled down flat trays, thumbing through little blue-and-white packages. Apparently what he was looking for was there, for he tossed two little blue-and-white packages on the counter.
"Here you are, and the ladies will be right in to help you with those," the doctor said.
After pointing me to a chair, he left the room/closet while I pulled out miles and miles of white paper towels--not real ones, just those cheap, thin excuses for paper towels--to dry my hands. I had disposed of the excuses for paper towels, and seated myself in the chair, when a lady in a white lab coat walked through the door.
After the usual pleasantries, formalities, and how-do-ye-dos, we settled down to business. She pulled up a magnifying mirror, and I took one look.
I am supposed to stare into that thing while I put contacts in? I thought. You've got to be kidding. I can see all the way up my nose! I am going to die.As it turns out, I wasn't going to die. Not yet, anyway. The lady told me to open my little blue-and-white packages. There was a little white arrow in a corner of each, which obviously meant to pull the wrapper up there. I pulled, and it wouldn't open. So I stuck my nail under the wrapper, and it still wouldn't open. Not because of the wrapper, but because of my violinist nail, which is really not a nail at all. (If that makes any sense at all.) Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, I was able to open up the package, and was staring down into a little tub of water with what seemed like the top of a jellyfish inside. The lady told me to take off my glasses, and I obeyed. Then she told me to take out the little top-of-a-jellyfish-that-was-really-a-contact and place it on the tip of my finger.
"What contact?" I asked.
"It's right in there, can't you see it?"
"No," I said.
The lady then told me to put my glasses on, take the contact and place it on the tip of my finger. I put my glasses on, so far so good. I then tried to take the contact out of the solution and place it on the tip of my finger. No go. Mr. Contact wanted to stay in the solution, and when I got him out, he wanted to stay plastered to my finger, and not raise up in a nice little bowl. Or he wanted to pretend he was a flying saucer and tilt lopsidedly all over my finger. I finally ended up giving Mr. Contact a nice little talking to, and then he settled down.
Then the lady told me to take my fingers, pull my top eyelid up, take my other hand and pull my bottom eyelid down, and place the contact in my eye, creating a gruesome spectacle.
My goodness, I thought, I've got to make myself look like that and do all those things at the same time? Oh well, the price of beauty, I guess...
So, for the price of beauty, I endeavored to make myself look like that and do all those things at the same time. And, guess what, it did not work. Big surprise! I mean, who on earth expects a person to make themselves look like that and do all those things at the same time on the first try? Absolutely no one. Except, of course, perfectionists. Who are really disillusioned people. But that's getting off subject.
So I tried again. And a third time. And a fourth. And a fifth, and a sixth, and a seventh, and an eighth, and a ninth, and so on. After about the fifteenth try, the lady suggested I try the other eye. So I did that for about twenty tries, and then switched eyes again. During this time I had received lots of helpful advice from the lady, my mom, and the eye doctor. I had also received a couple of "whoa, you look wierd"'s from my middle sister. Not to mention I had used up about fifty tissues in dabbing at my tearing eyes and running nose. I had also sprinkled about five gallons worth of contact solution all over the table, and on my face. But I was not going to give up. We Karakos may be a sinful lot, in fact we ARE a sinful lot, but we are not quitters. So I kept pulling, and poking, and blinking, and rubbing, and finally I managed to pop one contact in my eye.
"Whoa," I exclaimed. "I can SEE!!"
"All right," said the lady, "See, that wasn't so bad. Now we just have to get the other one in."
Being able to see a little bit, even if it is only out of one eye, helped a lot. I got the second contact in after about fifteen tries! New record! Fireworks, confetti, skywriting, parades, and general happiness prevailed. I was ecstatic. I could see EVERYTHING!! There was no line around my vision that dictated the boundaries of my sight. There was just clearness everywhere. I mean, sure it felt like I had flexible frisbees in my eyes, and the world was focussing like a stuck record, but I could see. That is the main point of this whole story. It's like, DUH, if I can't see, it's end of story. In fact, there would be no story.
In the midst of my celebration, I heard this voice penetrate the mists of happiness:
"Now, we just have to see you take them out."
"I'm sorry, I think I heard you incorrectly. Did you just say I had to take these OUT???"
"Mm-hm."
"But, but, but, but, but, I just worked so HARD," I wailed.
I was informed that I would still have to take them out, so it was no use pretending I was a broken boat motor. So, with a sigh, I sat back down and prepared to undo all my hard work.
And, staying with the usual trend of this story, it took about forty tries on each eye before I was able to pluck a contact out. I had received advice from everyone listed above, with the addition of a new lady, and a couple more "whoa you look wierd"s. And then I had to put it back in, so I could at least walk home without tripping over the floor. Fortunately I succeeded after about three tries that time. After I had collected my little bottle of solution, my purse, my former eyes, and all my various paraphenalia, I staggered out of the door, and into the great big world. For the first time in 10 years, I was walking in public without my glasses on, and able to see. So, doing what any normal person would do who had been unable to wear them for ten years, I headed straight for the sunglasses department. I picked out a pair of big, white, sparkly sunglasses without looking at the price tag, and bought them. Then I strutted out of the store, a new person.
And so, dear readers, the moral of my story is that if at first you don't succeed, try try again. And always remember that no matter how much it may seem to the contrary, YOU are the boss of your contacts.
The End
Note: This event occured in early August.
"Uuuuuum, I'm not really sure," I answered nervously.
"Well, I think you're gonna love them." He ushered me into a tiny room, more of a closet really, and pointed to the sink in the corner.
"Wash your hands."
While I busily swished and scrubbed, lathered and rinsed, he pulled down flat trays, thumbing through little blue-and-white packages. Apparently what he was looking for was there, for he tossed two little blue-and-white packages on the counter.
"Here you are, and the ladies will be right in to help you with those," the doctor said.
After pointing me to a chair, he left the room/closet while I pulled out miles and miles of white paper towels--not real ones, just those cheap, thin excuses for paper towels--to dry my hands. I had disposed of the excuses for paper towels, and seated myself in the chair, when a lady in a white lab coat walked through the door.
After the usual pleasantries, formalities, and how-do-ye-dos, we settled down to business. She pulled up a magnifying mirror, and I took one look.
I am supposed to stare into that thing while I put contacts in? I thought. You've got to be kidding. I can see all the way up my nose! I am going to die.As it turns out, I wasn't going to die. Not yet, anyway. The lady told me to open my little blue-and-white packages. There was a little white arrow in a corner of each, which obviously meant to pull the wrapper up there. I pulled, and it wouldn't open. So I stuck my nail under the wrapper, and it still wouldn't open. Not because of the wrapper, but because of my violinist nail, which is really not a nail at all. (If that makes any sense at all.) Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, I was able to open up the package, and was staring down into a little tub of water with what seemed like the top of a jellyfish inside. The lady told me to take off my glasses, and I obeyed. Then she told me to take out the little top-of-a-jellyfish-that-was-really-a-contact and place it on the tip of my finger.
"What contact?" I asked.
"It's right in there, can't you see it?"
"No," I said.
The lady then told me to put my glasses on, take the contact and place it on the tip of my finger. I put my glasses on, so far so good. I then tried to take the contact out of the solution and place it on the tip of my finger. No go. Mr. Contact wanted to stay in the solution, and when I got him out, he wanted to stay plastered to my finger, and not raise up in a nice little bowl. Or he wanted to pretend he was a flying saucer and tilt lopsidedly all over my finger. I finally ended up giving Mr. Contact a nice little talking to, and then he settled down.
Then the lady told me to take my fingers, pull my top eyelid up, take my other hand and pull my bottom eyelid down, and place the contact in my eye, creating a gruesome spectacle.
My goodness, I thought, I've got to make myself look like that and do all those things at the same time? Oh well, the price of beauty, I guess...
So, for the price of beauty, I endeavored to make myself look like that and do all those things at the same time. And, guess what, it did not work. Big surprise! I mean, who on earth expects a person to make themselves look like that and do all those things at the same time on the first try? Absolutely no one. Except, of course, perfectionists. Who are really disillusioned people. But that's getting off subject.
So I tried again. And a third time. And a fourth. And a fifth, and a sixth, and a seventh, and an eighth, and a ninth, and so on. After about the fifteenth try, the lady suggested I try the other eye. So I did that for about twenty tries, and then switched eyes again. During this time I had received lots of helpful advice from the lady, my mom, and the eye doctor. I had also received a couple of "whoa, you look wierd"'s from my middle sister. Not to mention I had used up about fifty tissues in dabbing at my tearing eyes and running nose. I had also sprinkled about five gallons worth of contact solution all over the table, and on my face. But I was not going to give up. We Karakos may be a sinful lot, in fact we ARE a sinful lot, but we are not quitters. So I kept pulling, and poking, and blinking, and rubbing, and finally I managed to pop one contact in my eye.
"Whoa," I exclaimed. "I can SEE!!"
"All right," said the lady, "See, that wasn't so bad. Now we just have to get the other one in."
Being able to see a little bit, even if it is only out of one eye, helped a lot. I got the second contact in after about fifteen tries! New record! Fireworks, confetti, skywriting, parades, and general happiness prevailed. I was ecstatic. I could see EVERYTHING!! There was no line around my vision that dictated the boundaries of my sight. There was just clearness everywhere. I mean, sure it felt like I had flexible frisbees in my eyes, and the world was focussing like a stuck record, but I could see. That is the main point of this whole story. It's like, DUH, if I can't see, it's end of story. In fact, there would be no story.
In the midst of my celebration, I heard this voice penetrate the mists of happiness:
"Now, we just have to see you take them out."
"I'm sorry, I think I heard you incorrectly. Did you just say I had to take these OUT???"
"Mm-hm."
"But, but, but, but, but, I just worked so HARD," I wailed.
I was informed that I would still have to take them out, so it was no use pretending I was a broken boat motor. So, with a sigh, I sat back down and prepared to undo all my hard work.
And, staying with the usual trend of this story, it took about forty tries on each eye before I was able to pluck a contact out. I had received advice from everyone listed above, with the addition of a new lady, and a couple more "whoa you look wierd"s. And then I had to put it back in, so I could at least walk home without tripping over the floor. Fortunately I succeeded after about three tries that time. After I had collected my little bottle of solution, my purse, my former eyes, and all my various paraphenalia, I staggered out of the door, and into the great big world. For the first time in 10 years, I was walking in public without my glasses on, and able to see. So, doing what any normal person would do who had been unable to wear them for ten years, I headed straight for the sunglasses department. I picked out a pair of big, white, sparkly sunglasses without looking at the price tag, and bought them. Then I strutted out of the store, a new person.
And so, dear readers, the moral of my story is that if at first you don't succeed, try try again. And always remember that no matter how much it may seem to the contrary, YOU are the boss of your contacts.
The End
Note: This event occured in early August.
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