Misunderstood (Babble)

Misunderstandings are the fuel for most sitcoms.  As a child of the 70’s and early 80’s, I remember the point when I figured out that any episode of Three’s Company could be summed up by saying, “It was a misunderstanding!”  People not quite in sync with one another and not interpreting each others’ meaning on any kind of stage can be funny.  And if it accidentally makes any of the characters emotional it can be downright hilarious.  But some of that urge to laugh I think is a release of nervous tension connected to a personal place.  Because in real life few things are more painful than being misunderstood.

I’ve bumped into this truth uncomfortably a few times in the past several weeks.  It’s something I don’t think comes up as a typical parenting topic, but once you focus on it, it’s pervasive.  I’ve written before that I think the root of most of what gets labeled ‘the mommy wars’ has to do with our own vulnerabilities, but being misunderstood is close kin to that.  When people start arguing about knee jerk parenting topics they often stop listening.  It can be easy to get drawn in, but then become frustrated if you don’t feel you are being heard.  Worse is when someone else hears what you say in a manner you didn’t intend at all.

One of my favorite authors is Deborah Tannen, who writes books about misunderstandings from a linguistics point of view.  Her work was a revelation to me about giving people the benefit of the doubt.  She seems to start from the assumption that in most cases everyone has good intentions, but subtle differences in communication can lead to problems.  It’s a gracious way of looking at how people interact that I remind myself to employ as often as I can.  I try not to jump to the conclusion that people are trying to be offensive most of the time, and if they have rubbed me the wrong way I try to see from what angle they thought they were being nice.  I hope people do the same for me.

In business the problem of being misunderstood can be very tricky.  I know my words are weighted differently in my store when it comes to particular topics.  I like selling violins, but I don’t want to talk someone into buying the wrong violin.  If I think they will like the selection someone else has better, I send them there.  It really is more important to me that a player have the right instrument than that I make a sale, but why would someone who doesn’t know me believe that?  I lack credibility in some ways when I give an opinion because there is a perceived conflict of interest.  When I say to a customer, “I think you deserve a more expensive bow” I worry that they hear, “I want your money for my kids’ college fund.”  (Or worse yet imagine I have some kind of boat payment due.)  I hope they don’t think I’m doing some typical salesman routine, but I can’t be sure.

But everything has to do with context, much of which we are not privy to.  We can’t help but judge things from our own frame of reference.  I remember once in college making a comment about a silly thing my dad said and I meant it as an example of something endearing, but the person I was talking to frowned in sympathy and replied with a statement about how difficult family can be.  From her frame of reference, silly words from fathers were not endearing at all.  My brother once turned down the chance to go camping with a friend because, he explained, he had a get together planned already with his cousins.  The friend asked, “Plans with cousins?  Is that a good thing, or a bad thing?”  Particularly with family, one can never make assumptions about the context.  There are no universal frames of reference for something so complicated, but we often make the mistake of believing there are.

And of course online text interactions are rife with the opportunity to be misunderstood because tone of voice and gestures are absent.  I’m impressed as I use Facebook more how civil people make an effort to be, despite wildly differing views, but that is still an easy forum to accidentally step on virtual toes.  Aside from the usual problems, there are individual quirks that can get in the way of being correctly understood.  I’ve noticed that if I use an exclamation point some people take it to mean a vehemence that is not what I was aiming for.  I tend to use exclamation points when I’m being less than serious, and I forget that other people use them to provide emphasis.  I never use an exclamation point when I am making a real point because I think they look too hysterical.  That’s an easy way to get misunderstood.

With my children, when we experience a misunderstanding we try to talk it through.  When they were smaller it was almost comical how often certain problems had to do with them not knowing particular words yet.  I once gave a whole lecture about responsibility and how disappointed I was that they weren’t living up to theirs, and after listening patiently to the whole thing Aden finally said, “What’s re-spon-si-bi-li-ty?”  A few months ago when Quinn was sick I asked him about half a dozen times if he thought he might throw up again before I let him have the cereal he wanted, and he kept saying, “No” and after he started eating he asked, “What does throw up mean?”  Their idea of what I expect when I say “Put your clothes away” is not the same one I have in my head, and everyone is upset because I think they’ve ignored me and they think they’ve done what I asked and didn’t get credit. 

There’s also the way Mona seems to channel every kind of emotional upset into something that from my end looks like anger, but I don’t always read it correctly.  When I figure out it’s embarrassment, or shame, or frustration, it changes drastically how I interact with her, but only if I understand what’s going on.  I have already started talking to Aden about the ins and outs of how easily misunderstandings among girls at school can lead to hurt feelings.  I’m hoping by getting her to consider asking people directly about things, rather than relying on the weird form of rumor communication many girls tend to resort to, that she can avoid some of the misunderstandings and pain that that can cause in school.  I don’t know how much hope there is for averting some of that angst, but it’s worth a try.

The times in my life when I have felt most desperately unhappy were when I felt I was being misinterpreted or dismissed.  There is nothing like knowing people believe something about you that isn’t true.  The injustice of being viewed unfairly hurts.  I hate being in a position where I can’t defend myself, or try to set the record straight.
I thought about that a lot during my kids’ toddler years, because I bet a lot of the acting out they do at that age has to do with feeling misunderstood when you think you are being clear.  It has to be confusing and disturbing to finally figure out how to say what you want and still have the answer be no.

There is a wide range of responses to being misunderstood.  In some cases it’s worth the fight to try to be heard.  In others it’s best to let it go.  Sometimes an apology is enough.  Sometimes an apology signals the end.  I recently emailed a friend a response to something about her child that came across to her as flippant and she was hurt.  She felt the need to point it out and I appreciated it.  I had phrased my words the way I had to suggest that the concern at hand was unlikely, not that I didn’t take it seriously.  In this particular case the topic was one I could appreciate the gravity of.  I was glad my friend felt comfortable enough with me to let me know. 

In another instance a couple of years ago I wrote a mass email where a particular line offended someone, and in that case when the aggrieved party spoke up I did not take kindly to it.  In that case the seriousness with which the topic was being perceived I could not relate to, and I was offended that my intentions could not be clearly discerned.  I found it simpler to cut off further communication rather than risk being misunderstood again, which seemed likely.  Sometimes it’s hard to sort out what is the right thing to do.  I’m sure I’m often wrong.

I remind myself as I observe my children that, as much as I love them and adore them and take in every quirk and motion and giggle and sob, I don’t know them the way I think I do.  We are each of us fixed in one body from which to view the world and we are only guessing at what others see and know.  We are all misunderstood.  All I ask is for the occasional benefit of the doubt, and that however they hear what I’m saying, my kids know it comes from a place of sincerest love.

Mulit-Cultural Fair (Babble)

First, I need to take a moment to complain that it is mid-May and here in Milwaukee it is freezing.  Like, winter coat wearing rainy grey windy wet nasty stay in the house and drink cocoa weather, which in May is becoming unacceptable.  On some level cold weather feels like jail, and I want to be free!  Free I say!

Second, I need to quickly jot down a Mona story, because if I don’t I will forget it.  When my kids and I snuggle at night before they go to bed sometimes we play “three questions,” which just means I get to ask each of them three questions, and then they get to ask me three questions.  I usually want updates on what they want to be when they grow up, etc., but tonight my last question to Mona was: “Of all the people in the world that you know about but have never met, who would you like to meet?”  I expected her to say something along the lines of the Kratt brothers from the PBS nature shows she likes, but instead she answered, “Well, there was this one time I played with these two girls at the park back when I didn’t like spiders, and now I just don’t really like spiders if they are close to me, and we were playing with this spider and we accidentally squished it so we made it a grave.”  I’m not sure how that went with my question but I was glad to have heard the tale.

Anyway, the big event this past week at my kids’ school was the annual Multi-Cultural Fair.  It’s always crowded and there is never enough time to get to all of it, but it’s fun.  Each class picks a theme to research and puts together a presentation in their room or the hallway.  Some things are always the same, like Mona’s old kindergarten teacher does a display about Alaska which includes a little area where kids can pan for “gold.”  There is another room that always seems to do Hawaii, and Ireland and Mexico always get representation.  Last year the weirdest thing was a room that did both New Orleans and India as part of the same project, which I didn’t understand, but I enjoyed the food samples they served. 

Everyone gets a program to the event that includes a passport section where you can get a stamp from each place you visit as you travel around the school, and at the end of the evening there are a few performances in the auditorium.



Quinn’s room did China.  When I asked him about it all he would say is that sometimes the map of China is on the wall, and sometimes it isn’t.  So that was China.  He didn’t really want to stick around his own room while visiting the school after hours, and Poland down the hall had some really delicious pastries so I got dragged away before China got much of a chance.  (The one room he wanted nothing to do with was Brazil.  It was a big party of confetti and drumming with upper elementary kids smiling and saying, “Come to Brazil!” and Quinn just gripped my hand and slowly backed away.)

Aden’s room did salt.  Yes, salt.  I didn’t know what that meant either the first time she said it, because salt is neither a place nor a culture, but it turned out to be very interesting.  They studied the history of salt in the ancient world and what it meant to the Roman, Celtic and Egyptian peoples.  Aden learned that the word ‘salary’ is derived from salt, and that salt was a very valuable commodity.  She was supposed to dress as an ancient Egyptian (and of course waited until we only had half an hour to tell me we had to make her costume but that’s a whole separate story of frustration).  I was amazed by how much information she was able to rattle off when I found her at her display.  The food sample at her table was some way over-salted cucumber slices.  She talked about salt being used in the preservation of mummies before Quinn dragged me away again.

We were most personally involved in the events of Mona’s room this year.  Her teacher is new and doesn’t have as many supplies or entrenched routines for navigating Fernwood Montessori’s many events as some of the other rooms.  I offered after the Christmas concert to help if they ever needed music again, and Mona’s teacher took me up on it.  (I was impressed, to tell you the truth, because it’s not always easy when you are the one in charge to admit there is something you don’t know and ask for assistance.  I don’t pretend for a minute I could do her job, but kids and music?  That I know, and I was glad to help.)

Mona’s class studied the Andean region of South America, including Peru.  I gave that some thought and decided it would be fun for the kids to make their own pan pipes.  We picked up some small PVC pipe and different colors of duct tape, and then (thank Google) I cut the pipes to the right lengths to form different chords.  I figured if each kid had a set of pipes that played a specific chord, when it was that kid’s turn to play he or she could blow on any note and it would fit.  We made sure the kids assembling the pipes were using the right color of duct tape for their chord so they would be easier to organize.  (Red for A-minor, green for C-Major, and black for F-Major.)  The kids loved making the pan pipes, they loved decorating them with stickers, they loved that they got to keep them, and some of the kids got really good at playing them.  It was fun going to Mona’s class and helping organize a little pan pipe sweatshop.

The bigger challenge was putting together the musical piece.  I need to research what other parents from Mona’s class have any musical experience for future performances because there is only so much I can do and backup is nice.  For this event we didn’t have a lot of time so I had to work with the people I know, which would be my husband and my kids.  Ian got a crash course in guitar, and Aden got an even crashier course in autoharp because I needed chords under all those pipes. 

You know what’s lovely about Aden, though?  At nine, she is already a reliable musician.  She can keep a steady beat, she could follow the music, and her phrasing instincts are very good.  I put her on autoharp the day of the performance because Ian couldn’t make the rehearsal and I needed help.  She was so good I asked if she would mind being on stage that night and she was happy to oblige.

The tune we did was El Condor Passa, which was written in Peru in the early 20th century and made famous by Simon and Garfunkle.  (Think “I’d rather be a sparrow than a snail, yes I would…”)  I played the melody on violin and the teacher conducted the kids to switch between chords on their pan pipes.  The kids wore tee-shirts in red and white to match the Peruvian flag, there was a rain stick, and a couple of people on drums.  Was it the most polished thing ever?  No.  But!  Things I have learned from being in the audience at so many school concerts that make for a successful kids’ number are:  Look coordinated (matching shirts), familiar is good (a tune people recognize), and for the love of all that is holy keep it short.  The cute factor only lasts so long when the kids on stage are not yours.  So by those measures I think it went well.  By the measure of Mona’s class enjoying themselves it was definitely a success, so I’m happy.

The Mulit-Cultural Fair is the last big school-wide event of the year, which means we are within a stone’s throw of summer vacation now.  Not that it feels remotely like summer is coming, but regardless of the weather it will be nice to switch gears for awhile.  I’m ready to not have to rush out of the house with the kids by a certain time in the mornings, or to have to check backpacks for information, or throw together costumes or bag lunches or snacks on short notice.  Summer will be nice, even if we’re still in our winter coats.

Over and Out (Babble)

The final, last little bits of shutting down the Arnold Klein Gallery finally took place this week.  My poor mom has been working for months at the Sisyphean task of clearing out thousands of books and pieces of art and the countless odds and ends that went into 40 years of running an art gallery.  The big closing day show and party was back on Valentine’s Day, but between the amount of stuff that needed to be organized and moved and my father’s illness it’s taken until now to finally be done.  I’m still not sure how my mom managed it, but my mom is amazing like that.

So as one final tribute to my parents and all their decades of hard work running an art gallery in a city that did not make that easy, here is the short film my brother, Barrett, made that we viewed at the closing party.  My mom is great, and how adorable is my dad?  At the party most of the things my mom said in the film were hard to hear because they usually followed some funny gesture of my dad’s that made everyone laugh.  I love my parents.  And I’m proud of them.  If you have a few minutes this little movie is totally worth your time.


And I have been trying for days to embed this video and it won’t stick to my blog for some reason, so just click this little link and you will be in YouTube land watching which is just as easy as clicking the play button on an embedded video, so don’t miss out just because it’s a link!  Click!  Enjoy!
Arnold Klein Gallery turns 40!

Just when you think you know your kids... (Babble)

I spent Mothers’ Day this year under a big heap of kids.  It was an especially clingy day, which was fine, except that my hope for the day was to get one thing done.  Anything.  I have so many projects lying unfinished everywhere it gets me depressed if I think about them, so I thought picking one and seeing it to completion would be great.  But no, that was not meant to be.  (But I suppose the same way I tend to work on Labor Day, being in total mom mode on Mothers’ Day rather than getting a break seems about right.)

That small issue aside, it was a lovely day.  Aden brought me breakfast in bed, which we shared.  (Toast, omelet, and water, plus a flower in a vase–that girl has gotten good at this!)  Then an hour later I got another breakfast in bed because Ian made waffles, so that was nice too.  The girls curled up with me for awhile to listen to a few more chapters of The Wonderful Wizard of Oz which we are trying to finish up in time for book club.  Then we did about a dozen trips around the block on bikes and a scooter.  I tried to follow Quinn because age four seems a bit young to keep pedaling out of sight, so I kept cutting through the alley in the middle of our block to head him off and keep track of where he was.  It was beautiful out, and a good day for kids to be essentially rolling along in circles (or, I guess technically squares).

(Kids pausing just long enough for me to snap a slightly blurry photo.)

I also pushed Quinn on the swing for awhile, which he will happily do forever if you are up to it.  You can push him until he literally falls asleep in the swing.  Anyway, the funny thing about our swing set is that last year when we put it in, we installed it on top of a spot where there used to be a garden.  I had someone move all the bulbs to a different area of the yard, but apparently he missed, well, LOTS, so until the tulips are done we are down one swing because the kids don’t want to hurt the flowers.

Anyway, the big event on Mothers’ Day was my girls had a violin recital.  I would have sworn to you last week that I could have written the post about it ahead of time and just scheduled it to run on the day.  They’ve had two violin recitals in the past and they both went the same way.  Aden gets nervous but overall does fine.  She usually makes some odd mistake, but after a pause plugs ahead, finishes her song, and takes her bow.  And for Aden that was pretty much how it went this time too, except that instead of fretting about having made a mistake, she saw that others also made mistakes and didn’t beat herself up about it afterward, which is good.

But Mona’s experience was new, and I never could have predicted it.  In the past Mona was the first player on the program.  She would get in front of the audience wearing her velvet dress and shuffling along carefully in her high heel shoes.  She would beam at everyone, play her song, not care if she made mistakes, smile and bow….  Mona is charming on stage and always took recitals in stride. 

But this year was different, and I’m kicking myself for not being better prepared, both as a mom and a violin teacher.  I did not grab her book before we left the house because she could not have had her piece better memorized.  She has been working on it for weeks and playing it up to 20 times a day in anticipation, but I should have known better and just brought the book along.  The other thing was I had Aden run through her piece outside before the concert to help her warm up, and I should have done the same with Mona.  But since Mona has never been nervous about performing before it didn’t occur to me.

This year Mona was third on the program.  When it was her turn to take the stage, she shuffled up in her high heels, faced the audience, and froze.  I could see it all over her face that she blanked on how the song went.  If I’d been sitting closer I would have offered her, “A, A, one, one….?”  But I couldn’t help her.  Her teacher asked if she’d like the book, but it was not the copy Mona was used to and had none of the pencil markings in it that would have jogged her memory.  She looked sadly at the book with her instrument under her chin, but didn’t know what to play.  My heart broke for her.

Her teacher kindly ushered Mona back toward her seat and announced we would try Mona’s part of the recital later in the program.  Mona took her seat between her sister and me, and pressed her mouth against my shoulder to muffle her sobs.  My poor sweet girl.
After Mona’s tears were done, I detached myself from Quinn.  Quinn is usually well behaved in public settings like concerts.  He sits still and claps politely, but at this recital he just flopped all over me and kept repeating, “This is long.  Why is this so long?”  What happened to my cooperative little guy?  In any case, after managing to convince Mona to ditch her high heels for a minute so we could more easily slip out of the hall together, we ducked out back.

I hugged her and told her it was okay.  I put her tiny violin on my shoulder and played her song so she could remember how it was supposed to go.  As soon as she heard the notes her face lit up in recognition and she said, “Can I try it now?”  I handed over the violin and she played through her song perfectly.  Just like she’s been doing at home for weeks.  I asked her if she was ready to go back in.  She nodded, hugged me, and said, “Thanks mom.”  We quietly took our places in the audience again.

At the very end of the program Mona was ready to give her song another shot.  Her teacher invited her back on stage, and again when Mona faced the audience she froze and asked for the book.  But this time she pushed ahead.  She made a couple of false starts, but then with quiet, even tone and nicely in tune, she played her piece.  She bowed.  She looked happy.  She helped herself to many snacks at the reception.
When I think of Mona I think of her like this:

She can certainly be shy, but she’s often front and center.  She’s not usually concerned about what other people think, and although she’s flamboyant in her taste and expression, she does not seek drama.  Mona at one time was terrifyingly fearless, but she’s changed as she’s gotten older.  It’s hard to let go of old notions about people, even people you see every day who show you how they’ve evolved.  The Mona at the recital was not the front and center Mona.  She was a girl who wanted to be at the end of the line for receiving little ribbons to commemorate the event.  She wanted to blend into the background.  She was ready to take off her high heels when the performance was over. 

I’m so proud of Mona for hitting that stage again.  If she had left the hall without ever playing her piece I fear that experience could have stayed with her in a negative light for a long time to come.  Emotional events like that can be hard to shake, especially in a area like music performance.  But Mona played her piece all the way through and simply said, “Thank you” when people complimented her afterward. 

 

My little girl’s growing up, and I’m glad every day that I’m around to see it.  Best Mothers’ Day ever.  (Even if none of my stuff got done.)

On Target (Babble)

(I suppose a brief disclaimer is in order to mention that Target doesn’t know I exist beyond what shopping I do there, and I am not mentioning a specific store as some kind of promotion for it.  It just happens to be the store in our neighborhood and we like it.  But if Target sees this and wants to send me gift cards I won’t say no.)

We have a Target store two blocks from our house.  We are there way too often but it is literally our corner store.  It’s hard to think of something handier to have just down the street, frankly (aside from maybe my kids’ grandparents, which is something I dream about some days).

When we first moved into our house, Target was our source for a lot of the new household goods we needed.  When I had my first baby I used to walk her there a lot.  Ian was in school most days, and hanging out at home with tiny Aden got claustrophobic sometimes and two blocks to Target was easy and fun, and usually necessary because we always needed diapers or wipes or something.  We only had one car, and if Ian took it on weekend drills with the Army, being able to walk to Target with the baby for something was a godsend.  In the winter it was a place to go that was heated, and in the summer it’s air conditioned.  Two blocks isn’t hard on tiny legs, and to be able to walk someplace with bathrooms and a changing station that kept the kids entertained and also allowed me to get some basic errands accomplished at the same time has been great.  To say it’s been convenient is an understatement.  There’s a snack counter, a pharmacy, and a photo lab.  I’ve breastfed my babies at Target, I’ve suffered a few impressive tantrums there, and we’ve had many an amusing lunch while playing I Spy and sipping Icees.  I know that store like the back of my hand.

Or, at least I did.  Recently the kids and I noticed a number of truck-sized containers taking up the south end of the parking lot.  We speculated about what they were for.  My kids were hoping for a carnival of some sort, just waiting to be unpacked and spread out in a dazzling display across the whole parking lot, but instead, the next time we went we discovered that the store is being remodeled.  They are doing it in little sections and I suspect mostly at night so that the store remains functional during the process.

It’s weird.  I hadn’t really thought about just how much time we’ve spent at this one store until they started messing with it, and it’s kind of unsettling, more so than it should be.  My kids don’t like change anyway, and outside of home, school, and the violin store, I would wager that Target is the other place they know best, so it’s awkward to have it transform into something unfamiliar.  That probably sounds sad to some people to say my kids and I are attached to a big chain store, but our neighborhood Target has always felt personal to us.  We’ve known the same employees there for years.  I’ve talked to people on our block who have lived here for decades and remember when the neighborhood protested the building of the Target store just up the street, and they all say once it opened everyone loved it.  It’s where we run into our neighbors and buy our school supplies and get medicine when we are sick.  It’s a place where we have fun while getting stuff we need.  Or don’t need (if it’s on sale):

(Mona at age 5 trying on high heels.  She still has them, and someday down the line they will be the right size.)

I was there the other night with Quinn because he needed pants.  Most of the pants he has have snaps on them, and he can’t do/doesn’t like snaps, so he keeps re-wearing the same pair of sweatpants over and over.  I figured we’d just pop in and find a couple of 5T pants without snaps and life would be good.  But Target has an insane habit of always stocking things way in advance for the upcoming season and seldom things that apply to the moment, so there were no boys’ pants, only swimsuits and shorts.  So we went ahead and bought some shorts because by the time it’s hot enough that he’ll need them Target will be on to parkas, so we grab what we can when we have the chance.  We eventually found one pair of pants the right size without snaps hidden deep in a clearance rack, so at least there are two pairs of something he can wear until Milwaukee warms up enough to break out the shorts (which could be July–that’s not a joke.  My mom still brings up the time she came to visit for Independence Day and we watched the fireworks in the park in winter coats.)

In any case, before we could find pants we had to find the boys’ section in general.  But the boys’ clothes area is now camping gear.  Camping gear is now bikes.  Next to bikes is going to be a small grocery store, which is new and is going to be great to have down the street, but my kids are wary of this idea because they don’t associate Target with bananas.  The fitting rooms have been blocked off for remodeling and in their place is a temporary structure to use.  The walls in the entry and photo areas are now red.  We’ve been to Target three days in a row this past week and each time there have been large noticeable changes.  Who knows how fast it will all be switched around?

So I took a moment to photograph my favorite quirk about our Target before it possibly gets removed:

I’ve always found it amusing that there is an express lane for people who like colloquialisms and one for grammar nerds.  That I even noticed puts me in the latter category, obviously.  All things being equal I try to use the “10 items or fewer” lane.

Anyway, I was sort of surprised when I started looking for photos on my computer that these were the only ones I have of us in Target.  I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised, because we don’t tend to document the most ordinary aspects of our lives.  Trips to Target for us are as ordinary as it gets. 

But when I think back on my own life, I wish I had more photos of really ordinary things.  I wish I had a picture of the Red Barn restaurant where we used to eat before it became a video arcade and eventually was torn down to make room for 696.  I wish I had a picture of the giant slide from my old school playground before they tore out all the play equipment for a parking lot.  I wish we had more pictures of our house before the addition was put on.  Places where you make nice memories are special, even if they happen to be part of a big chain or look impersonal at a glance. 

I have watched my kids grow up in that store, the passage of time marked in changing shoe sizes and new backpacks and little toys bought at night to put under pillows from the tooth fairy.  So is it silly to be attached to Target?  I don’t think so.  It’s not as lofty as wishing my kids knew our local art museum as well as they know the toy aisles at the back of that store, but it’s part of their regular life.  It’s certainly American.  For most people on this planet our daily experience is not ordinary looking at all, which I think makes it interesting in it’s own way.

So we will continue to watch with interest the developments of our corner store.  And after July we can also pick up bananas there.

A steal at only $1.02 (Babble)

My kids’ school recently had an arts and crafts fair to help raise money for the art program next year.  It’s always a nice event, with a silent auction and food, a craft area for kids to make things themselves, and lots of talented local people with pottery or jewelry or photography or other things for sale.

This year I volunteered to play viola for awhile by the makeshift cafe set up outside the food room.  I’m glad I went first, because the acts that followed were far more fun.  Solo viola music is just always going to be more somber than an accordion even if I wore sparklers in my hair during my performance, but hey, I can only do what I do, and it lent variety.  I will say, though, that I am always impressed by how many small children plunk themselves down in front of me when I play, happy to listen to Bach no matter how serious it is.  It’s always the parents who shoo them along at some point, never the kids who want to leave, which is interesting.

Anyway, I didn’t discover until I got to the fair that Mona’s class had made jewelry for it.  Her teacher had shown everyone how to make little things out of beads and wire, and the kids priced their work themselves and mounted them on display cards.  As soon as I heard about it I sought out the right table and looked for Mona’s contribution.

Took me a moment to find, but here it is:

I laughed when I saw it because $1.02?  How did Mona come up with $1.02? 

 

I don’t have pierced ears, rings and bracelets always end up bothering me, so pretty much all the jewelry I own is in necklace form.  I was glad to see Mona made a necklace and I happily handed over my money.  When I brought it to the craft area where Mona and Quinn were busy decorating toy snakes (because what we lack in our house is more toy snakes) I showed it to Mona and said, “Look at the beautiful necklace I just bought!”  Her eyes got very wide and she smiled and looked at me saying, “Mom!  I made that!”  She was so pleased I liked it enough to shell out $1.02.

Silly Mona.  For that smile I’d have gone as high as $12.50.

History In Your Hands (Babble)

Okay, I know this is a parenting website and not a forum about violins.  But not every parenting lesson comes directly from dealing with your kids.  Parents have identities beyond that one label, and I’m proud that when I ask my kids what they want to be when they grow up they have lists of things they want to do, which include being a parent.  My daughters always say, “Well, I want to be a mom of course, but also….” and words like scientist and singer and teacher roll off their tongues.  I feel that my job and my life outside the walls of our home shapes their sense of the possibilities out there.  That makes me happy.  I miss my children when I can’t be with them all the time, but I have no guilt about working.  And my work is all about violins.

Violins are complicated objects.  They are functional, but good ones have an artistic component.  They are delicate sculptures that are meant to be touched and performed with.  They have stories.  Many cheap violins lead short, tragic lives.  Some are hundreds of years old and are more famous than the people who play them.  Each violin is as unique as the trees that were cut to build them.  There are violins that are abused or forgotten, but many that are cherished and handed down for generations.  I work on violins in my store every day that are worth little in the general marketplace, but that were loved and used by someone’s grandmother or favorite uncle or dad, and that makes them priceless.  Violins are dependent upon their relationship and interaction with their owners for them to have any meaning.  They have a voice.

When I was in New York with my family over spring break I had the opportunity to look through dozens of violins that were coming up for auction at Christie’s.  My sister-in-law, Deepanjana, who is a specialist in Asian art there (although her official long title is Specialist  Head of Sale/AVP South Asian Modern + Contemporary Art–whew that wears me out as much as it impresses me), was able to get me in for a viewing a few days before the public showing so I could take my time and look at things quietly.

(Front door of Christie’s auction house in New York)

What an incredible opportunity!  There were a few mandolins and guitars to look at, but what I spent my time looking through were the violins and the bows.  I read the catalog carefully before I got there and made two lists:  One of things in my price range that I might bid on, and one of things that were impossibly expensive but was hoping to examine in person just because.  The violins valued at under $10,000 were simply laid out on long tables:

Some of them needed a great deal of work, others were ready to play.  The one I was most interested in I actually won over the phone during the auction.  (Although, ‘winning’ in an auction means I get to pay the highest amount offered for the item, so I’ve always thought that was an odd term for it.  But, hey, whatever you call it, that instrument is now mine!)  It’s a violin built in France in the mid 19th century that I thought was just lovely:

But it does need some work.  I will have to bush the pegbox, which essentially means plugging the holes the pegs fit into and creating new ones to go with new, smaller pegs.  All old violins need this at some point because the pegs work their way through the box over time making tuning more difficult.  See how fat and stumpy the shafts of the pegs look?  Once I bush the pegbox and fit it for new pegs it’s going to look and work much better.  (Plus it needs a new soundpost and bridge and the fingerboard needs planing….  Can’t wait!)

During the auction I was also able to get a couple of really nice bows that I’m excited to have in my store.  I’m often surprised by how many musicians don’t even realize how important the bow is to their playing.  Different bows not only handle differently, but they make different sounds.  A good bow is important, and I’m glad to have a couple of new ones for players in Milwaukee to try.

The people at Christie’s were unbelievably nice.  This impressed me because the place is elegant and everyone is dressed impeccably, and I, frankly, in my rumpled yoga pants, fleece jacket and sneakers looked like I’d been sleeping on the street.  I’m not a snappy dresser anyway, because there is no point when everything I wear just gets covered with sawdust and glue (sort of like the baby spit up years when you’re just asking for trouble by putting on a nice shirt), but combine that with living out of a travel bag that week and I was not a pretty sight.  The Christie’s people pretended not to notice and still handed me some of the rarest instruments and bows on the planet to examine as long as I liked.

It’s an incredible thing to hold a piece of history in your hands.  The jewel of this particular auction (and the instrument that graced the cover of the catalog for it) was a Guadagnini violin from 1740 that wound up selling for more than half a million dollars.  They had no qualms about handing it over to me simply because I wanted to see it.  The remarkable thing is that not only do the specialists at Christie’s care for these objects, but that they so readily recognize and encourage the enthusiasm of others for them.  They didn’t just let me hold this violin, they wanted me to hold this violin, even though they were perfectly aware that I would not be bidding on it.  Here are a couple of my own photos of the Guadagnini in the viewing room:

Non-violin people out there may not be struck by it, but the grace of those curves is unusually beautiful, and that maple back makes me swoon.  I got to look at that violin closely enough to appreciate how expertly those f-holes were cut and to marvel at the elegance of the corners and to be thoroughly envious of the varnish work.  I hope its new owner loves it and gets to play it in some amazing halls.

When all is said and done, with the commission and the shipping and the labor, I don’t make almost anything on the items I pick up at auction.  I need to make sure that anything I pass along to my customers is priced fairly, so I price things enough to cover my own costs and then tack on a tiny bit more so that at least the whole thing isn’t a wash.  From a business perspective I know this is not particularly savvy, but this is not a business anyone enters in order to be rich anyway.  I don’t care about being rich.  I care about being fulfilled.  I run my business well enough that I can afford to keep doing it and that’s what matters to me.  So the thrill of acquiring these pieces has less to do with any real good it will do my violin store’s bottom line, and more to do with having really interesting things to offer people, so they can also hold a bit of history in their hands.  The violin I bought at Christie’s is beautiful and old, and I can’t wait to fix it up.  I get to be the one to make it sing and find it a home.  That’s exciting, and it makes me glad I do what I do.

And that’s the kind of feeling I hope my kids will enjoy in whatever lives they grow up to choose.