It's been a while since the Maestro had a lesson. Two weeks ago, he didn't have a lesson because Riley and Hildr took the car into the City to pick up Riley's sister Smiley, and her two girls at the airport. The Maestro and I were homebound, except for the short bike ride we took down to the creek. The Maestro practiced crawling across the log that hung over the creek. I mucked about with a stick trying to get leaves and sticks to make a damn. We had good fun doing the things that Riley wouldn't let us do if she was home. So, we had no lesson.
Smiley and her family were here for almost a week, and the girls had lots of fun playing with the Maestro and Hildr. Everyone did really well, and handled the change in routine admirably. They went home the morning of the next week's lesson day, and the Maestro has spent the next four days recovering from having other kids at our house. No one was surprised when the afternoon they left the Maestro was too tired to concentrate at a lesson. No one has told me how the lesson didn't happen; it just didn't.
Late this past week, the Maestro started composing symphonies. I think it was Thursday that I got home and he was filling a paper with quarter notes, all stem up, along a one bar staff. In spite of there only being one bar on the staff, the notes did go up and down, and when Hildegard came over for dinner, he sang to her how his first two symphonies went, complete with crazy composer hand waving. The first one was relatively low, with lots of staccato and cymbal crashes. The second one was higher, with more legato. Towards the end, it started to sound a lot like the Overture to the opera Carmen, by Bizet. Since then, he has decided that his first symphony is actually "Punkin' Circumstance", which some of you might think is by Elgar. It isn't. It was composed by The Maestro in my kitchen this past Thursday. His third symphony is quite reminiscent of that Grieg piece that ends up in all the cartoons.
The interesting thing about all of this, aside from his renewed interest in conducting along to a CD of Punkin' Circumstance, is his willingness to sing. You may remember several months back the concern we had that he might never sing to Hildegard. It was a monumental day when he first got out a couple of Tuck-a's in her office on campus. This week he didn't need any coaxing to sing for what seemed like five minutes the music he had composed. Part of this is his increased comfort with Hildegard; I'm sure he wouldn't be quite so forthcoming with most other people. I think though, that he has grown considerably in his confidence to perform.
Last Sunday, Smiley's husband, Uncle 'Fredo, arrived. He had had to work, so he came on a later flight. Through a variety of circumstances, he and the Maestro and I ended up visiting, just us three. The Maestro wasn't comfortable yet talking to Uncle 'Fredo and insisted on whispering in my ear everything that he wanted me to tell 'Fredo on his behalf. In spite of his unease, the Maestro did decide that he wanted to give a concert for his uncle. He told us all the parts of the cello, and demonstrated how to adjust the bow hair tension. Then he sat and played two or three songs that he has put together. Performing for a new audience has to some extent become easier for him than meeting new people.
We should be able to get a good lesson in this week, as far as I can see. The Maestro is excited to go on a field trip to the woods tomorrow, and he has no school on Tuesday, so he should be in a good state of mind Wednesday.
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