Daily Archives: June 19, 2002

War Wounds

One of the good things about teaching workshops is that suddenly you have money again, despite the infrequency of the payment, and despite how the total is dependent upon how many students register. Last night’s gain went immediately to bills, of course, just like that last few have, but the next one I’m reserving to have my fingerboard restained and my bridge replaced. I took a good look at it today and saw to my dismay that not only was it warping (the wood piece holding the strings off the belly of the instrument is curving over), it’s twisting as well (i.e., it’s warping to the side as well as horizontally, meaning that as a result the pressure on it is more uneven than usual) thereby increasing the possibility that the bridge could collapse, or slip and slam my strings down on the cello proper, creating cracks and gashes and even holes. No need to explain how that can (a) bring down the value of the instrument, or (b) really reduce the playability and sound quality. A cello with a hole in it is just a piece of wood. Not to mention a huge knife in a cellist’s heart. I believe this is the original bridge, and since my cello is approximately as old as I am, that’s quite the life for a bit of wood about five inches by four inches.

So, next month, I’ll take my baby in to the luthier and leave her overnight, then bring her home to get used to the new bridge which should be good for at least another ten years or so, depending on how extreme our weather gets (wood responds to everything!). This fall before orchestra begins again, I should think about replacing the strings again too; it will have been about three years since this set was put on, and strings stretch and lose their tension after a while. They probably should have been replaced before (once a year is proper maintenance), but strings are like socks – I wear them out, and in my mind they should last longer than they do.

Bits

I’m having a lovely taste of what this summer might be like. I have today off, since I took a co-worker’s shift on Monday. It’s sunny; I have all the windows open. I read a whole book. (Witch Boy, by Russell Moon. Odd.) I doodled about on my laptop. I played my cello for two hours straight. (Much black stuff came off onto my fingertips. Ew. But wow, what a workout. I’m looking forward to keeping this up.) I walked to the pharmacy and did some postal stuff I’d been meaning to do.

I feel fantastic. And I still have a couple of hours before orchestra.

I also moved the coffee table out of the middle of the living room. It just seemed like the thing to do. It’s almost as if with more room in here, I’m in a better mood. No, it doesn’t make sense. Without the table, though, I feel more relaxed, less stressed, less shut in, I suppose. And there’s room for me to lie down on the floor with the laptop, or to set up my cello without moving a bunch of stuff around. When I was a teenager I used to move my room around when I felt like it; it gave me a sense of control over my environment and the freedom to move physical furniture around to reflect my mental furniture. It’s amazing how different life can seem just because you’ve switched the positioning of things around you.

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So I’m brushing my hair last night, and I looked in the mirror, and – hey, when did my hair get so long? It was only a month or so ago that I was moaning about how I wanted Pre-Raphaelite locks cascading down my back, and I was all mopy about how it would never happen. Looking over my shoulder into the mirror, I can see I’m mostly there all of a sudden.

My hair is acting in a peculiar fashion. I decided a while ago to put an end to the never-ending cycle of chromatic experiments that I’d been doing for the past couple of years, and to put a seal on it I resolved to henna my hair, which is the kiss of death if you ever want to use chemical colour again. Natural herbal colour and chemical colour don’t mix well at all. (Think of that scene in Anne of Green Gables where her hair turns green, and you’ve pretty much got it.) So I did my research, ordered some brown henna, and did the deed last weekend. Now my hair is more like I remember it: thicker, wavy, even. And, apparently, longer. I cringe when I think about the chemical damage I must have done. Henna is a natural conditioner that’s great for your hair and scalp, and heaven knows I needed help. Maybe my hair is rewarding me.

It’s a beautiful day today – more like what we expect from late June in Montreal. Sunny, a bit humid. I never cease to be amazed at how much of an effect the weather has on my mood.

I taught another class last night. At the end of a workshop I always ask if there was something the students would have liked to seen more of, less of, explained differently. Last night when I asked, all they did was thank me for being clear, concise, unbiased, and dynamic. I even got a round of applause. Not only that, they all decided to come back for my next workshop in two weeks as well. I think I must have hit on something, here. I’m always surprised when people enjoy my workshops – not because I think they’re bad (I work too hard on them for them to be anything but good!), but because I think those attending will be left rather neutral towards me and the material. All I’m doing is giving them information, after all, or guiding them though an exploration process where they discover their own answers. I keep forgetting that while I’ve known this material for a while, they’re all new to it, so it’s two solid hours of discovery and communion with others of like mind, where as individuals they often think they’re alone in their interests. The newness of it all, plus the bonus of meeting others, has to be exciting. I must be facilitating this excitement and discovery is some sort of constructive fashion. As much as I think I’m not a people person, a friend pointed out to me the other day that I care about others, which automatically makes me a people person whether I like it or not. If I didn’t care, I wouldn’t be as approachable. Which makes sense, in an irritating sort of way. The reason people like being with me and seek me out is because I’m a decent human being, even if I’d prefer to be alone a lot of the time. Seems contradictory, but it isn’t. Alas.