Tag Archives: strings

The Makings of a Leader-Jacqueline Du Pré, Cellist.

 “The signs of outstanding leadership appear primarily among the followers. Are the followers reaching their potential? Are they learning? Serving? Do they achieve the required results? Do they change with grace? Manage conflict?”

-Jacqueline Du Pré, Cellist.

Photo: Jacqueline du Pré, cello. Swedish Radio Symphony Orchestra, Sergiu Сеlibidache, conductor 1967

 

Silent Strings…Friday Fictioneers.

The ecstasy was intense. She knew exactly how to play his strings and  the notes wafted out their bedroom window, mingling with the moonlight. A fusion of souls, together they painted stars across the universe…pure magic.

But then his eyes opened.

She was gone but his arms were wrapped around her cello’s wooden curves…a grief on the brink of madness.

He shoved the imposter back in the corner… a ghostly statue he would no longer embrace, but couldn’t throw away.

How could she be gone, now when he needed her most?

Yet, there was no reply.

Only silence.

………………………………………………………..

This has been part of Friday Fictioneers

xx Rowena

PHOTO PROMPT © Björn Rudberg

Getting to Sydney Opera House.

There’s an old joke about the Sydney Opera House:

Q: How do you get to the Sydney Opera House?

A: You practice! Practice! Practice!

However, as much as kids might practice and dream of performing at the Sydney Opera House, they also need transport…the wind beneath their wings. That takes a dedicated support crew: teachers, parents, grandparents or perhaps they could also phone a friend.

Perhaps, even all of the above.

It also takes considerable organisation and project management skills and, of course, a capable Project Manager. Ideally, you’re child would be consulting a recruitment agency to find a suitable candidate. Someone willing to drive them all over the known universe for nothing, while organising their tight schedule and performance requirements… again, free of charge.  However, unless your child’s robbed a bank or is dealing in drugs, they’ll have to take their chances with Mum and Dad.

recruitment.jpg

That’s how I ended up in charge  of our daughter’s  Sydney Opera House Violin Campaign. If you’ve read about  my trials and tribulations driving her to rehearsal in Newcastle Newcastle, you’d know that love doesn’t conquer all. That no matter how much someone loves you, they can’t always pull a rabbit out of a hat.That said, where there’s a will there’s a way, and with needing to get the four of us and my parents to the Opera House, I drew up a minute by minute schedule and from the 6 corners of the globe, I managed to get all of us there early with everyone where they were meant to be.

This was no mean feat.

Our son had to be dropped off at school. Then, I swung back home and helped Miss get ready. Made sure the violin and bow were in their case. Shoes polished. Nail polish gone. Lunch and water packed. While none of these details had anything to do with her playing abilities, they were almost as important.

Meanwhile, the phone rang. Our son had left his PE gear at home. Could I drop it off? So, on the way to the station, I detoured via  the school. No dramas. I can drive all over the countryside. I only have a child performing at the Sydney Opera House with her teacher waiting in the second carriage on the train. No doubt, they’d have to keep going if we weren’t there. However, with 45 minutes allocated for a 15 minute drive, I was prepared. I could be Super Mum dropping off PE gear in a single bound. I could take on the world!

Finally, Miss and her violin were on the way to the Opera House. Everything else was secondary.

I barely had time to walk in the door, when I was back out again to pick our son up from school. At least, he managed two classes and what with the very late night, I doubted he’d be at school the next day. Not knowing where to park the car near the station so late in the day, we decided to walk around the corner and catch the bus. I hate catching anything that isn’t on rails. I figure if you’ve got a track, something has to turn up some time but a bus just seems a little too open to possibilities, even though my husband catches the bus every day and swears they’re on time.

Yet, while my son and I are waiting, a bus pulls up a short distance from our stop, parks and then posts a “Not In Service” sign. We were early, so I figured the driver was having a short break. However, then he steps out. Lights a cigarette and seems to be thinking about the future of the human race as he takes his time puffing away. Then, he pulls out a thermos and is slowly sipping away on goodness knows what. By this stage, all my nonchalance is gone. I’m checking my watch every second and this is when my son asks which bus number where catching and the details are on my schedule in my bag but I hadn’t planned on this bus to nowhere turning up, throwing a spanner in the works. The bus was meant to turn the corner and stop after we’d enthusiastically flagged it down. I started hoping there would be another bus. There had to be. The driver had now pulled out a sandwich and looked like he was having a Sunday picnic. I was so tense I could’ve  snapped into tiny bits and pieces of anxious terror. I started thinking about driving instead, but checked my schedule. The bus was due in two minutes. This is what happens when you’re early. You totally panic and freak yourself out.

Once we were on the bus, I was fine. It was going to meet up seamlessly with our train. My ever-reliable father was going to be waiting at the station wearing his bright yellow yachting jacket and be exactly where he’s meant to be when he’s meant to be there and I would keep choofing onto Circular Quay, arriving a good 1.5 hours before picking up our daughter for her dinner break.Once again, I was prepared and had allocated a good buffer to allow for contingencies.

At the same time, I don’t like these fly-by arrangements. Meeting people on station platforms, leaning out of a particular carriage, is so tenuous and there’s that fleeting, split-second timing you have to get right. What are you going to do if even a single second intervenes and screws everything up? Get off the train? Keep going? Oh! The angst of it all! How it builds up like Vesuvius in my head and then the drama’s over. It all works like clockwork and all that steam and lava go into reverse, without so much as a ripple on the surface.

Of course, my Dad was there. He’s always there.

Meanwhile, my husband had a busy day at work. Instead of catching his train, he’d driven down to work in Sydney. His next job was to drive into the Opera House so he could drive us all home. So, this is where the story shifts gears and the family car becomes  “Dad’s Taxi”.

DSC_2965

Driving in to park at the Sydney Opera House

Geoff isn’t familiar with driving in the city. Moreover, just to complicate matters further, we needed to find somewhere he could stop in Macquarie Street. Even though I’d caught the train in, I needed to be in the car for us to access the disabled parking at the Opera House. After parking the car, he had to get me into the wheelchair, drop our daughter back to her teacher, leaving me sitting in my new found wheelchair thankful he didn’t leave me parked with my nose up against the wall.

DSC_2966.JPG

VIP Accessible Parking at the Sydney Opera House.

I don’t know where this hyper-organised person came from, but she did a great job posing as me and all that deep breathing was worth it!

We went through all of these torturous arrangements just so our daughter could play her violin at the Sydney Opera House. Not knowing whether this is the beginning of a longer, more extended journey or just a full stop. But, you have to be there.Take the opportunities as they come.

After all, the sky’s the limit now she’s played at the Sydney Opera House.

DSC_3012

BTW, Geoff took this photo of Miss after her performance. I know I keep rubbing in how mild our Sydney Winters are, but we had 1-2 days of dreadful weather coinciding right with her performance. This meant that we couldn’t get any photos of her standing on the Opera House steps with her violin. However,  we managed to get a couple standing in the freezing cold afterwards just to prove she was there. That she really did play her violin at the Sydney Opera House.

xx Rowena

 

Sydney Opera House…One More Sleep!

Tomorrow night,  our daughter will be performing at the Sydney Opera House at the Acacia Concert, a instrumental performance for NSW public schools.

I am so excited. She is so nervous. It’s such a big thing for anyone to perform at the Sydney Opera House, but what a mix of thrill and nervous torment for a kid.

Moreover, as much as you try to get it right. Be Perfect. I can tell you from personal experience, that violins are notoriously temperamental. Love to be difficult!! When you need to play one string, you play two and vice versa and getting those fingers in the exact spot can be tricky too. Just to make things even more difficult, the kids are performing without music. Yikes!

Fortunately, there’s safety in numbers. She’s playing with a few errors but she’s pretty much nailed it. Nailed the playing. Hopefully, the nerves won’t get to her. Must remind her to enjoy herself and have fun.

I’ll be meeting her for afternoon tea, so I can give her a pep talk then…along with taking her to Starbucks. She loves Starbucks and it’s a real novelty in Australia. I don’t think I’ve ever been. I prefer local cafes.

Anyway, on the eve of her big adventure, I thought I’d share this photo of her when she first took up the violin as a 5 year old. She was so cute!

Sydney Opera House

Sydney Opera House

Stay tuned. I can’t wait to see her perform and to get my photo of her standing on the Opera House steps. This is so incredibly exciting…yet all the organisation is quite overwhelming and we have such a detailed running sheet. Scary stuff.

On that note, I’d better get back to it.

Wish us all luck. She just needs to perform…the support crew will be madly paddling our feet behind the scenes, like a duck’s feet underwater. It feels like I’m juggling a dozen raw eggs and disaster can strike at any time. Not that I’m catastrophising. Turning a mole hill into a mountain. Definitely not!

Performing at the Sydney Opera House…that’s definitely the top of the mountain. At least, a Kosciusko of a mountain!

Not that I’m about to hit the panic button.

Oh no! The most important role of all for the support crew is to keep calm at all times. Smooth the waves.

Keep Calm and violin on!

Have you ever performed at an intimidating venue and how did it go? Or, have you been the support crew? I’d love to hear how it all went!

xx Rowena

Weekend Coffee Share August 20, 2016.

If we were having coffee today, I’d throw you a cushion and invite you to join me on the couch for some home made banana muffins. I almost didn’t mention the home made bit. Or, that I made them from scratch. After all, that goes without saying. I don’t know how to make banana cake without real bananas, and I don’t want to find out.

How has your week been? I hope you’ve had a good one.

Have you been watching the Olympics? I’ve been winning heaps of Gold Medals from the couch. Don’t you love it? After starting at the top of the medal tally, Australia is now 8th…not bad given our smaller population. Obviously, my use of the remote has made all the difference!

DSC_2859b

Glebe Street, The Junction, Newcastle.

The highlight this week was driving my daughter to her violin rehearsal in Newcastle. It was held at The Junction Public School, which is in an older boutique part of town and is absolutely delightful. I love the quaintly painted timber cottages with their picket fences and frangipani  trees, which are currently naked and undressed. I’d love to come back and see them in full bloom. They’d be stunning. Not that they weren’t photogenic as they are.

DSC_2858

Talulah Bar, The Junction, Newcastle.

With three hours up my sleeve, I parked myself at Talulah Bar, a fabulous Cafe/restaurant/writer’s retreat.  After feeling  lost in Newcastle driving into Newcastle, I felt I’d  found myself here. Before your mind start wondering and you’re picturing me downing cocktails at 10.00 am, I was strictly on the caffeine and nothing else. In fact, I didn’t even think of alcohol. I’d had enough trouble finding my way around Newcastle sober and I definitely don’t drink and drive. Nothing like a rustic cafe to pull out your writer’s notebook and feel inspired. I was particularly inspired by an antique piano in the corner which had those old brass candle sticks stick onto the front. It seemed strangely haunting and I started writing a short story. I might have to turn it into a piece of flash fiction so I can get something finished and come back to it later. Anyway, I ordered sweet potato falafel for lunch, which was a fabulous twist on an old fave and that 3 hours flew by and I was needing to get back to the school without dessert…damn!

On the way home, we went on what proved to be a huge detour via the Bloch’s Dance shop in Charlestown, on the Sydney side of Newcastle. Again, we got thoroughly lost but found it eventually and I managed to try on my beautiful pink satin ballet slippers, matching pink tights and dance leggings…all but a leotard. Definitely no leotards! I was in seventh heaven, even though I wondered whether I was too “mature” for all of this. I didn’t care. If I was going to do ballet properly, I needed those pink satin shoes. They had to be satin. You can read more about it here.

Speaking of ballet shoes, I suspect these could be my mid-life crisis vehicles and in my defense, a pair of pink satin ballet shoes is much cheaper than a new red Porsche!

DSC_2842

Thursday night, I had my second adult ballet class and headed off wearing my new shoes, stockings and black leggings. I think I’d probably look like a basketballer next to a real dancer but I didn’t care. My shoes were a hit, although my ballet teacher showed me how to do up my ribbons properly at the end. I should’ve known you don’t have huge pink bows out the front, looking very much like clown feet on an adult. Rather, you tie them in an elegant knot on the side of your foot and tuck the ends in. So, I guess next week, I’ll at least look like a real ballet dancer. Or, will have the shoes done up properly. You can’t become a ballerina overnight, even with those years of ballet as a child.

Margot Fonteyne

Dame Margot Fonteyn…what dreams are made of!

In between what felt like driving somewhere over the rainbow this week, I also finished reading a great book…Liane Moriarty’s Big Little Lies. Have you heard of her? She’s an Australian author. This book is about a murder at a school function. Right from the start, we know there’s been a murder but we don’t know who is murdered or who done it. So instead of the story starting off with a body, we’re drawn into a tangled social web and we know all the players and I certainly knew these people. By the way, I should mention that she even had a “Rowena” on the P & C (Parents and Citizens)…just like me. that intrigued me as there are very few Rowena’s around and it’s very much MY name. Thief!

DSC_2417

The final countdown is on for my daughter’s performance at Sydney Opera House on Monday night. She’s playing in a huge multi-school string ensemble with her school. Even though she’ll be a speck in the crowd, for us, she’s a star and might as well be playing solo. She has essentially picked up the violin this year and they’re playing at about a grade 1-2 level and so I’m really proud of her and myself. I drive her up to her lesson every week and as most parents testify, their kids don’t practice with a bit of “encouragement”. It might not be the Olympics but it’s a huge effort.

To that effort, I’d just like to point out that while she might be swanning off to the Opera House, you wouldn’t believe the organisation involved in getting her to the Opera House with the school and then get my son, husband and parents organised. I have a disabled parking permit so we can get free parking at the Opera House, which is great. I also have a companion card and I requested disabled seating and the only spot they had left was a wheelchair spot so they’re providing me with a wheelchair. This all feels a bit fake but I wasn’t doing so well when I booked the tickets and what with crowds and stairs to contend with, I chose to play it safe. I’ve also had to sew up the hem on her skirt, which was a bit tough with my bad eyesight. That’s what it means to be a real stage Mum.

Hope you’ve had a good week and I look forward to hearing from you!

This has been part of the Weekend Coffee Share hosted by Diana at Part-Time Monster. You can click the Linky  to read the other posts.

xx Rowena

 

 

Driving to Newcastle …Mum’s Taxi Seeks Gold!

Shame I didn’t have the meter running yesterday. Mum’s Taxi clocked up some serious K’s (kilometers) driving to Newcastle for my daughter’s violin rehearsal, especially returning via the “scenic” route. However, being only ten years old, of course, she couldn’t pay the fare.Perhaps, she could find me a gold medal? I certainly deserved it!

Milly Violin

Before I delve into our travels, I should clarify that I was driving to Newcastle, Australia and NOT Newcastle in the UK… or anywhere else for that matter. Although I can get catastrophically lost, the last time I checked, the car can’t fly or swim. So, no matter how badly we got lost, we were still confined to the Australian continent! Phew! That’s a relief. Wandering into another country can get dangerous, and I’d hate to cause an international incident in addition to the usual road rage.

Newcastle is 168km North of the Sydney CBD and 110 KM up the freeway from home. As we have family in Newcastle, I’ve been up there quite a few times, but usually as a passenger. We were actually on the outskirts of Newcastle on the weekend, but that didn’t prepare me for finding yesterday’s rehearsal at The Junction, near Newcastle’s CBD.

All went well until we took the Newcastle turn off from the freeway and we pulled over at a servo (petrol station) to consult the map. My daughter had been on her iPad so far, which of course, does nothing to hone your map reading or navigational skills. I wrote out a list of streets for her to find and walked her through the route on the map. For some reason, I’d assumed she’d inherited her father’s sensational spatial skills and not my Blindis Mappis, or map blindness.

Big mistake. We’re driving along in very unfamiliar territory when she tells me she can’t read maps. That she couldn’t find where we were, where we were going or the all important Crudace Street where we need to turn right.

Meanwhile, I was peering through the windscreen trying to read street signs needing a magnifying glass. Of course, I only picked up the street names too late. Don’t you hate that?!

U-turn-permitted-cropped

Mind you, that’s why the U-Turn was invented. Indeed, my husband’s done quite a few U-turns over the years thanks to my navigation and I’m not mentioning a certain trip to Canberra, which nearly ended in divorce!

But, as I’m sure you can appreciate, the U-turn is a last resort. Missing your street can be incredibly stressful, especially when you’re on a main road. Moreover, although the sign should have been bigger, a miss always feels like a personal fail…a mistake. Nobody likes making mistakes, even when you’re used to it.

Abandoning the map, I get my daughter reading street signs. We never found Crudace Street but instead, she’s calling out names of streets further down our list. I don’t know what’s going on but Newcastle’s on the coast and we’re running out of road. Surely, we’re not going to drive into the sea looking for this !@#$% street??!!! Suddenly, I see our destination, Union Street, out the window. It wasn’t the route we’d planned, but we’re there.

I don’t know whether I was being too hard on Newcastle’s signage. However, despite The Junction’s popularity, I was surprised not to see one sign for the place. Isn’t that strange? Or, with my fixation on street signs, I might have missed them. Quite aside from the usual street signs and directions, I’d also been expecting a bit of a welcome. Wasn’t Newcastle expecting us? Hadn’t the Mayor stuck up a few extra signs for us, preferably in neon…such as: “Ro, turn here!..Left…right etc”

Apparently NOT!

Not unsurprisingly, as soon as we pulled up outside the school, I parked the car and wasn’t driving anywhere. I had 3 hours up my sleeve and set out to find a cafe on foot where I could write, read and chill out without getting lost.

DSC_2858

Hello Talulah. You wouldn’t believe I’d stumbled into Mum’s cousin’s restaurant. Unfortunately, he wasn’t there. Had lunch and wrote a short story and arrived back at the school in time to hear a full run through of their concert repertoire. It sounded heavenly en masse and I can’t wait…Sydney Opera House here we come! Thank goodness we know where that is! No navigation required.

Now that we’re back in the car, I can hear you pleading with me to drive straight home. Get out of there before we’re in a major accident, as our drive-by-feel tour of Newcastle continues. In that case, driving home would have been a no brainer. I just had to turn the car around, and drive out the way we came in. Simple Simon…even I could do that!

Except…(and as we know if there wasn’t an except, there wouldn’t be a story. I don’t need to write fiction to come up with plenty of complications!)

I wanted to buy myself a pair of ballet shoes and there was a Bloch’s store conveniently located in nearby Charlestown. We don’t have a local dance shop. So, you could say “it seemed like a good idea at the time”. However, this little excursion meant that we weren’t going back the way we came and trouble was looming. Just how lost could we get in one day?

You’d be surprised!

Spotting a huge Westfield Shoppingtown out the window, I didn’t even question whether we were at the right place and was very unimpressed to find out we were in the wrong suburb and Charlestown was still out there somewhere…lost.

Or, was it us?

By this stage, I was starting to wonder whether the ballet shoes were worth it. Somehow, I’d managed to live 36 years without a pair of ballet shoes. Yet, suddenly I had to get these shoes. There was such an urgency, a determination. I yearned to have my daughter with me when I bought them so we could do it together…the same way my mother came with me to try on my wedding dress. I wanted Miss to see me slip my huge clodhoppers into those dainty pink ballet shoes, pointing my toes and dancing away. Forget that I haven’t done ballet in 36 years. I had changed.

Charlestown Square

Finally found Charlestown Square shopping Centre.

Finally, we found Charlestown. Found Bloch’s and bought my shoes, satin ribbons, pink tights and some black dance pants. I was a real dancer and it was time to drive home.

Oh! If only I could slip into those same precious ballet shoes and tap my heels together saying: “there’s no place like home” and suddenly find us parked in the driveway at home.

Alas, no such luck! More caffeine required!

Worse still, we were on the slow road home, via the scenic route…the Old Pacific Highway. What with driving through 60kph zones, stop-start traffic lights and peak hour crawls, an hour’s journey stretched into two without even stopping to photograph the sunset over Lake Macquarie.

After all of this, I almost fell through the front door when we arrived home…a marathon driver falling over the finish line, dry retching and completely spent. While nobody would expect a marathoner to cook dinner straight away, I could forget that! Should’ve ordered takeaway. What with all these medals in Rio, surely they could spare a weenie gold medal for me?

I deserve it.

However, unfortunately driving Mum’s Taxi hasn’t become an Olympic sport.

Meanwhile, thanks to my daughter’s teacher, I at least had a thank you box of chocolates.

It was great to be appreciated!

Do you have any good getting lost stories? Of course, getting lost is an important part of travel and so many travel stories simply wouldn’t exist if we directly went from A to B!

xx Rowena

 

 

 

Violin…At last! You Make My Heart Sing!

A few weeks ago, I was starting to wonder whether I’d be playing air-violin at Sunday’s violin concert.

My fingers just couldn’t move fast enough and it’s been so hard to keep up the practice, that it’s felt like some kind of conspiracy. That someone or something doesn’t want me to practice and keeps sabotaging my best efforts.

Of course, we’ve all been there and know that familiar poltergeist!

Well, finally after considerable soul-searching as you do at the end of another year, my violin and I are talking again and our lover’s tiff is over.My violin might not be singing like a lark but it’s no longer a cockatoo and as long as I simply blend in with the group, I’ll be happy.

When it comes to the difficulties of mastering and even taming the violin, I’m hardly unique. The violin is notoriously difficult and renowned for sounding like a scolded cat. Indeed, it more than deserves its bad reputation and I have no idea how it could ever sound sweet and intensely beautiful let alone spiritual.

I guess like so many things, you have to go through the rough before you can reach the green.

Moreover, I’ve also realised that a new level of thinking was required. That mastering anything requires more than blind persistence and not giving up. That you also need to know why you took this thing up in the first place AND why you want to keep going. This goal setting and introspection becomes particularly important once you hit the higher grades and “your thing” becomes more difficult and more demanding.

You’re no longer a dabbler. Yet, you’re not a maestro either. Indeed, you’re along way from it. Moreover, as your expertise increases, so does your awareness of the treacherous mountains which lie ahead if you’re to advance. These next steps take all those nasty qualities like perseverance, persistence, focus, long hours of practice and potentially spending buckets of money as well.

Jonathon smiling violin

Mister smiling during practice tonight. He looked so happy. He has been learning the guitar but we did a few lessons as a family.

All of this isn’t something you can just drift into. It has to be a choice. You have to sign your life away on the dotted line and buy into that decision. No backing out. You might even have to put your life on the line either figuratively or literally. There can be no turning back.

That is, if you’re wanting to be a maestro!

Violin & concert violinist music

Well, personally, I’ve decided that  I’ll never be a maestro violinist and am best putting my time and energy into my writing and photography. Yet, at the same time, I’d like to take the violin as far as I can. Do my best. I recently started learning my favourite of all favourite violin pieces: Meditation by Massinet. This is actually about a 6th Grade piece and I’m around 2nd Grade but we’re taking it slowly. Some of the notes have so many ledger lines that they look like quadruple-decker buses. I know what the notes meant to sound like and use my ears instead of my eyes to find my way around. I guess it’s the equivalent to “park by feel”…another of my specialties.

Anyway, we’ll be playing Pirates of the Caribbean for the concert. This has some really fast sections I wish I could give my fingers something like Red Bull to get them moving without affecting the rest of my body. I find it hard to move my fingers quickly but given my assorted medical problems, I know I’m lucky to be playing at all. Indeed, my neurologist was amazed. We’ll also be playing Eine Kleine Nachtmusik, which is so pretty.

My violin teacher has actually doctored my bow to help keep my fingers in place. It was an inspired idea. I have no shame using a walking stick on public transports and crowds so why not use a prop to help my fingers do their job?!!

Amelia with violin

Miss cuddling her new violin in 2011 aged 5.

By the way, you might recall that I initially took up the violin to help our daughter. That learning the violin was all her idea. I’d suggested piano but she stood her ground in typical fashion and really seemed to have a thing for it.

I do believe that everybody has their own soul song and needs to find the best way of channeling and expressing it. That there’s no one instrument fits all. The violin supposedly sounds the most like the human voice and Miss and I both sing so it’s not surprising that we would love it.

Anyway, Miss’s affair with the violin reached a tumultuous end when the cat screeching became way too much and the less she practiced, the worse it got and I finished off the term’s lessons and kept going while she went “on sabbatical”.

family playing violin

The family playing violin

That was four years ago.

While I never gave up and didn’t sell her violin, even I with my over-inflated sense of optimism, was close to calling it quits. Besides, she’s doing dancing, singing, drama, cub scouts. She also needs some spare time, especially as she’ll be traveling to school next year.

However, today miracle of miracles, she announced that she’s wanting to start learning again.Well, that might have been more of a mention than a “tell the entire world on your blog Mummy” kind of broadcast. But, she did say it.

The inspiration?

A few weeks ago we attended an orrientation day for her new school, During the talk, they mentioned that they have a string ensemble. Again, this was more of a mention than a grand announcement but to me it was more like a “sign”…just like a heaven-sent bolt of lightening, the place suddenly lit up! They could have had a band or  cheer-leader program but no! They have a violin ensemble! I know that playing in my ensemble has really supported and encouraged my playing and got me through those periods of struggle or doubt. This was meant to be, even if Miss didn’t know it yet.

Then, today…miracles or miracles, she said she wanted to learn the violin again. I was hopeful because I knew how much she loved the violin at the start. It had been her choice and I always hoped that one day, she’d find her way back.

violin birthday cake

I was quite surprised when my mum ordered me a violin cake for my birthday in 2012. It was something of a premonition! Good on you Mum!

I still haven’t taken her violin out of the cupboard. Feigned indifference is definitely the way forward here. Treat em mean, keep em keep.

Anyway, yet again I’ve written about playing the violin instead of practicing and it’s now too late.

Writing about playing the violin and also taking photos…they’re my strength!

Wish me luck for Sunday but please don’t mention anything like “break a leg”. I actually broke my foot at last year’s Christmas Carol performance and that had better be a one off…no repeats!

xx Rowena