I pulled up to the Bristol State House in the dark like I've been doing the past five Wednesday evenings. This time, I had skipped out of the house with my violin case and a surge of energy I didn't think possible after the first half of the week - which always seems especially stacked with life.
Coming down the old wooden stairs of a building that quite possibly predates the Declaration of Independence was the Beginner Adult class - a dozen or so women whose conversation poured down the bannisters and still filled the rafters of the large gathering room at the top. My group, Intermediate, would be much smaller and more reserved - but kind, welcoming, and accepting of each other's mistakes. They'd been together for a while and were still getting used to me.
I had followed Bill and his cello up the stairs, and when he removed his coat I was satisfied in my prediction that he'd have suspenders on underneath. Scott, a fellow violinist, had returned from a ski trip without hurting himself and we all congratulated him. Glen was still out which left us without a bassist. Surely Pam would turn up and share her pencil with me since I always forgot mine. I'm the youngest in this group by at least 10 years, and I admire everyone's dedication and seeming gratitude just to be part of a learning environment ... and a place where sometimes we make something beautiful.
Then... who is this guy? Our pink-haired teacher was nowhere to be found, which was slightly disappointing since I'd been asking her about a different tattoo each week. Each piece of art made her eyes sparkle with a different story, and it always brought me joy to watch her go to each of these places.
Carlos approached me with the wisdom of an elder and a demeanor that I often associate with a massage therapist. He asked how long I'd been playing. "Violin? Coming up on two years. ...Music? Since I was a kid." He proceeded to the next uncomfortable adult fumbling with rosin and sheet music.
Looks like we have a substitute teacher on our hands here, people!
I'd worked hard on the two-octave F scale this week since 5th position was new to me. This did not matter. Carlos fumbled through our usual teacher's notes with the aptitude of a ballet teacher at a NASCAR race. Turns out he was exactly what we needed.
1- We needed to not take ourselves so seriously. Under our sub's direction, and his hit-or-miss conductor's beat, we tackled the B-flat scale at a pace we'd never had the audacity to play. The cacophony of screech and pitch would have made my dog's ears bleed and sent him running from the room. But we just started giggling.
And then we did it again. More torture. More giggling. Until Pam and I needed "a minute" to get ourselves together. Pam: "I think I started on the wrong string." Me: "This is exactly what my husband thinks we do on Wednesday nights."
It was okay to need a minute. Carlos gave us plenty of these as he ambled through storytelling and philosophizing about the notes on the page.
2- He forced us to work together. We tried "Moon River" and destroyed it (not in a good way) with no one really keeping the beat and our cellist carrying the harmony alone. Carlos suggested that the cellist kick it up a notch volume-wise so he wasn't drowned out by the three screeching violins and their wild guesses at finger positions (my words, not his).
What happened on that second try is that the cellist became the metronome and we stayed together until the end of the song.
I'm a strong believer that in every group there must be a leader -- and without anyone conducting, we turned to the most strong and steady sound.
Carlos was thrilled to hear this come together. He began to articulate a life lesson that has a true metaphor in an ensemble: If the metronome is off, don't just keep playing to the correct beat on the page -- play to the metronome for the sake of keeping the song together.
It's more important for the team to get it right than to be the one who's right.
It's no surprise that my evenings at the statehouse inspire me to put words on a page. Art has a way ... of inspiring, connecting, and sprinkling in reminders of life's truths.
