Skip to main content

Arrival of the Queen

...and how some music affected my mood.

Saturday evening, Husband and I drove up to Eustacia's college near Cleveland to hear her band concert. She plays trumpet in a concert band made up of students from all majors. Her college is known for its conservatory, and her band is for students who aren't going to make music their occupation. They just love to play.

We battled the weather on our way up there (a drive of about an hour and a half) because it's Winter 2010, and you can't go anywhere without battling the weather on some level. We had a quick dinner at our hotel, and then rushed over to the concert hall. We parked about a block away and then trudged through the elements. We stomped the snow off of our shoes as we entered the lobby, shook off our coats, sat down and took big deep breaths. We're in.

I can't say my heart was racing, but I certainly was not calm or in the right frame of mind for a concert. But then the first batch of students came on stage, a 12-piece trumpet ensemble (not including Eustacia). Some sat and some stood, some played B-flat horns and some played E-flat horns. And they launched into Handel's "Arrival of the Queen of Sheba" to beat the band. Sorry, but that phrase makes me giggle.

As they played, I felt my shoulders relax and my breathing slow down. In their quieter moments, I think I may have leaned in to hear, and in their more powerful moments, my eyes watered a little bit.

The group was followed by a brass quintet and then a brass choir. And then the entire band took the stage and played fun things like Lassus Trombone, sweet things like a Percy Granger number, and interesting things like Variations on a Korean Folk Song.

It didn't matter the least bit that I wasn't in concert-mode when I first sat down because the music took care of that. I didn't have to show up ready for anything because music has a way of reshaping your mood, and all you have to do is be there and take it in.

Comments

savannah said…
isn't it wonder? letting the music envelop you is the major reason i miss our club! it was hard non-glamorous work during the day, but the nights so made up for it. your night sounded perfect! xoxoxo
dive said…
Hoorah for live music, Robyn.
You describe its effects perfectly.

Popular posts from this blog

Am I Stupid, or What?

In two weeks, I will climb up into a charter bus, take my assigned seat, and ride 22 hours straight to Orlando, Florida. I will be a chaperon with the high school marching band, which will perform at Disney's Magic Kingdom--me and 180 people on four big buses for seven days. We will travel together, eat together, play together, fall down exhausted together--and after 22 hours, I suspect stink to high heaven together. Because of the crazy schedule, we will leave Ohio at 6 pm, travel all night and most of the next day, and spend several hours at MGM Studios before ending up at the hotel sometime after 7 pm. After I check in with the eight girls I am to supervise, I intend to shower and shower and shower. I intend to wear clean clothes and socks and brush my teeth until my toothbrush wears out. Of all the things I could be concerned about on this trip, being dirty seems to weigh heaviest on my mind. One of my eight charges could run off and do bad things with her boyfriend, but I'...

No More Mr. Nice Guy

It's good to be a nice person--to say nice things, to do nice things, to write nice things--but I declare an end to the use of the word nice. Nice is what you say when you can't think of any other adjective. Someone shows you a picture of their back yard--that's nice. Someone tells you about their afternoon adventure--that's nice. Or someone describes their childhood in great detail and sometimes with painstaking effort--that's nice. It's a lazy word, and it's non-descriptive. Nice is like mashed potatoes with noodles and chicken gravy all in a big pile on one plate with some canned corn for garnish. Everything is the same color and texture and base substance--starch (this is a favorite Amish dish). Nice is like a partly cloudy day in April when outside feels like inside, and you can't tell a difference between the lighting and the temperature of your living room and the lighting and temperature of your front yard. Nice is a glass of lukewarm water. ...

An Offending Pile

So, I'm standing in my living room letting my mind wander for a minute or two as I stare out the window and watch the day go by, and I see my neighbors walking their dogs down the street. They are nice neighbors who are always friendly and responsible with their property. That is to say they aren't like the other neighbors who heap rubbish behind their house like Ma and Pa Kettle and let their dogs bark for thirty minutes at a time . Anyway, I see the nice people walking their dogs, a big golden retriever who is as sweet as can be and as dumb as a post—he once ate a sock and nearly died before it was surgically removed—and a new golden retriever puppy. Then I see Neighbor Wife suddenly run down the street with the big dog. Then I see Neighbor Husband stopped in front of my house with the puppy on its leash. And then I see the puppy taking a huge dump in my grass. Let me tell you, that is not done in this town unless the dog owner has a plastic bag handy and is ready to pick up ...