The sun may come out...

So I'm playing for a show soon, let's say it's Annie. Just so happens one of my students has a younger sibling by that name. Said sibling was having a rough time being quiet and listening to mom at a recent lesson. When they left, this exchange occurred:

Mom, to me: Good luck with Annie!
Me: Thanks! *looks at sibling* You too!
Mom: *sighs* Yeah.

Maybe ask someone else...

No, I don't mind that you interrupt my playing to ask a question. Yes, I live here. Um...hm. No, I don't know where to eat around here, especially if you don't want to eat at Cheers. There's a place across the Garden, about halfway down the block, with good sandwiches, but I don't remember what it's called. I eat at Starbucks, mostly. Sometimes at the ice cream truck. Sorry. Enjoy your stay in Boston!

Sentence unlikely to be heard outside a violin lesson...

"Mom, can you fix my Kun* while I tighten my frog?"

*pronounced "koon"

From out and about

I was walking past a preschool in my neighborhood. An older woman was walking behind me. A young man who works at the preschool had two toddlers in hand.

Relevant information: The toddlers were very dark skinned. The woman behind me was somewhat lighter than they were. I am as white as white can be...I do have a tan from being outside, but still.

Toddler 1, upon seeing me: That's my mommy!
Toddler 2: No, that's MY mommy!
1: NO, that's MY mommy!
2: NOOOO, that's MY mommy!

They pass me. From behind me, I hear:

1: That's not my mommy.
2: No, that's not MY mommy!

Then they see the woman behind me....

1: That's my mommy!
2: No, that's MY mommy!

Neither she nor I were, in fact, either of these children's mommies. But they were oh so very cute.

Again not musical

I was on the bus the other day, and a boy who appeared to be around eight or nine had clutched in his fist a sheaf of papers, on the top of which was written in eight- or nine-year-old boy writing:

"AVETAR: The Last Ear Bender"

Close enough for me.

Nowt to do with music...

...summat to do with Boston.

I was sitting at the bus stop, engrossed in Sudoku, when a woman came up and asked if she could ask me a question.

I won't do a verbatim transcription, but I will say: Asking me for money is one thing. When I say I don't have any cash, asking if we can't go to the bank is quite another.

Also, don't touch me.

Awwww

From a four-year-old student: "I have a really good remembory."

I love kids' brains sometimes...

The following conversation took place with one of my students who is disturbingly smart, but occasionally lacks a bit in the common sense department. (Note: I'm the same way, only she's smarter than I've ever been.)

Student: The music's hard to read.
Fiddler: Yes, I think there's a reason for that.
S: I don't know what that reason is.
F: Well...think about it.
S: Hm...the music's kind of curved, so it's at a weird angle.
F: True, but that's not the current problem.
S: I don't know.
F: What are some reasons that people sometimes can't see things?
S: Sometimes things are too far away, but I'm really close to the music.
F: Right. What else?
S: Some people have poor eyesight, but my vision is perfect, so it's not that.
F: Also right. What else?
S: *ponders extensively* I just don't know.
F: What time of day is it?
S: OH! It's DARK in here! Maybe I should turn on the light!
F: Maybe you should.

*cue blinking as eyes try to adjust to sudden flood of light*

Too Darn Hot...

I've hardly been busking at all, what with the ridiculous temperatures (whaddya think this is, summer or something?) and the failure of whatever rain we do get to ameliorate said temperatures or humidity.

Exhibit A: Melted cats (note: we do have an air conditioned room. They do not generally choose to stay in it. I occasionally open the door and yell, "You're all stupid!" at them.)
















However, I think this is relevant, since I do much of my summer busking near the Make Way for Ducklings statue. (found via Universal Hub)

That was different

So I'd intended to write a post about how I'm busking again, and how lovely, if hot, the Public Garden was the other day, and how I'd actually missed it, but then...

I was waiting for the T at an above-ground Green Line stop, reading a book, when a largeish middle-aged Russian man came up and started talking to me.

"You play wiolin?"
"Yes..."
"I have kvestchun for you."

He asked why it is that violinists don't sing and play at the same time, like guitarists and pianists do. He hypothesized that it's because the violin presses on the vocal cords, so we can't. He suggested maybe if we held the violin differently, like putting it on a table, then we could.

I suggested that it might also be because it's much more difficult to play chords on the violin than on either guitar or piano, both of which are designed for such things. (In my case, it's because I'm not that coordinated, but that's a personal problem.) He blinked at me and then continued, at which point I realized this was not destined to be a conversation per se. So I kept nodding and smiling.

Eventually, he went away, and I watched him wander across the parking lot.

Five minutes later, he came back and informed me that I needed to be careful, because so many famous violinists had died young of throat cancer because of the violin pressing against their necks. He specifically cited Paganini and David Oistrakh as examples. Then he went away again.

Blessedly, the train appeared at that point. Of course, I needed to know what he was talking about, so I pulled out my trusty iPhone to check somewhat-less-trusty-but-generally-reasonably-accurate-about-such-matters-Wikipedia.

Niccolo Paganini lived from 1782-1840 and died at the age of 57 from general poor health, now thought to have been correlated with Marfan syndrome. OK, The Google, blessed be it, shows that Paganini's Facebook page does say he died of throat cancer, as do a few other hits, but I never think Yahoo! Answers is the place to go for reliability. Entertainment, sure.

David Oistrakh lived from 1908-1974 and died at the age of 66 from a heart attack.

Regardless of the facts, it was rather surreal to be warned that I might get throat cancer from my violin.

*sigh*

Dear Parents of My Students,

I always feel just terrible when I give my students a lecture or "that look" for not having practiced/acquired/learned something, and then I find out it's because the adult didn't write down the assignment/get the book/reviewed the material. Especially when the parent isn't in the room. Granted, especially with kids who can read, I don't accept much of the "my mom didn't tell me to" when I know the assignment was written down...particularly when I'm the one who wrote it*...but it makes my job easier and less guilt-inducing if you can follow through.

Or if you don't, let me know. I'm fairly forgiving, because I can barely keep track of my own stuff and I don't have kids, but when I've been assigning preview listening for three months, the student has no idea what I'm talking about, I lecture kid, and THEN I find out the CD was never gotten, and it's at the point where we really need it now...I don't really enjoy making children cry.**

Love,

The Violin Teacher

*My handwriting is admittedly atrocious, but everyone has my e-mail address for clarification.

**Much.

That was a little disturbing

Oft of an evening, by the time I get myself to Brookline Village, I decide I'm too tired to walk or bus the rest of the way home, and I catch a cab.

Usually, everything's fine, but last time...

I headed over to the cab stand and got in the first cab I saw*, told the driver where I was headed and then noticed that there had been a cab in front of the one I entered, but all its lights were off, so I didn't see it. I am aware of cab etiquette as far as choosing the frontmost cab at a cab stand, but that cab was mostly invisible at the time.

So "my" cabbie started driving, and suddenly the frontmost cab started honking and swerved in front of him cutting him off. That cabbie was yelling in a language I don't understand, but my cabbie did. My cabbie first told me to go to the other cab, but as I was reaching for the door handle, the other cabbie kept yelling louder and bringing his cab closer, and then my cabbie told me to stay in the cab and he'd take me anyway.

I'm glad he did; even if I had gotten out of the cab, I wasn't about to get in the other one, with that driver so angry. I made an honest mistake, and my cabbie did tell me to get into his cab, and I was afraid of the other driver. What I found most interesting is that both cabs were from Town Taxi. (Ah, a quick search of The Google, blessed be it, shows that Town Taxi is an independent dispatcher.)

Lately, I only like getting cabs from Veteran's Taxi in Newton; with one exception of a cabbie listening to conservative talk radio in which Jay Severin claimed that nobody's ever died from not having health insurance (no really, WHAT?), I've never felt uncomfortable in a Veteran's cab; they're clean, and their credit card machines always work. This doesn't help me get home at night, however.

Now that the weather's improving, I'm more fine with walking through Mission Hill than getting a Brookline cab. Although, I am quite fond of the Scion xB Hello Taxis, although I've never taken one. They're just so cute.

*Incidentally, I'm not originally from a Major City, and I still don't understand if a cab's light on the roof being on means it's available or not. Anyone?

Oh, happy day

One major benefit of teaching young'uns is that some of them are Girl Scouts, so I can get my Thin Mint fix without having to check all the train stations and grocery stores in the Greater Boston Metro Area.

I mean, sure, there's a web site for booth locations, but I have to remember to 1) look, 2) go there and 3) have money with me. One of my students yesterday just happened to have boxes on hand at her house, so even though SOME members of this household don't understand why one might need emergency backup Thin Mints, I have two boxes in the freezer.

It's a long time from one Girl Scout Cookie time to the next, and if I'm careful, I can hoard oh, eleven or sixty-eight boxes in the freezer without being detected.

Except that said household member reads this. Hm.

Wait, what?

Me: So it seems like you're counting to five fine, but try to get to eight.
4-year-old student: I'll count to five your HEAD.
Me: That...didn't even make sense.
Student: Oh.

Lack of safety in numbers...

...for me, anyway.

I had my younger violin group the other day, who are all in the seven-ish age range. One of their favorite activities at the moment is to play pieces while lying down. Last group, the conversation went something like this (and it doesn't really matter who's speaking, just picture a swarm of four seven-year-olds. Oh my, can they swarm):

"Next time, can we play standing on our heads?"
Me: That doesn't sound particularly safe...
"Someone could do that though if they were a really good acrobat."
"A really good acrobat could play violin on a tightrope!"
"On a bicycle on a tightrope!"
"There could be a horse under the tightrope and they could jump off the bicycle and land on the horse and keep playing the violin!"


I hereby disavow any and all responsibility for any violin-tightrope-bicycle-horse-related incidents. Ever.

Student memory

This happened when one of my now-eight-year-old students was five or six. (I can't believe I've had some kids that long...this is the longest I've been in one place to teach.)

During his lesson, he started chatting away in an almost Joyceian stream-of-consciousness.

Me: OK, can we get back to violin now?
Him: I'm just telling you things I know!
Me: Yes, but you're telling me everything you know.

Whadaya know about that?

Turns out they actually do sweep the train cars out during the day, at least occasionally. I had no idea.

Not mine, but still

One of my colleagues told me that, during a four-year-old's lesson, he looked at her and said, "You have the biggest teeth ever!"

She just sighed and continued the lesson.

Observed on the T

I freely admit to being far too Midwestern and white to get the extremely-low-pants thing, but...

When you're sitting down, and your belt is horizontal across your thighs? Your pants might be a little too low.

Silent type

After a 12-year-old's lesson, I was talking to his mother before he finished packing up and came out of the room, and I was praising his newly found attention to detail (12-year-old boys + detail work usually = something that doesn't happen).

He came out, and I told him I was saying nice things. His mother said, "She says you're doing really well with detail work, is that right?"

Student: *grins and blushes and shrugs*
Mom: A man of few words.
Student: Mmhmm.