Skip to main content

Something New

I did something new yesterday.

Alliance, Ohio has a symphony orchestra, and I filled in for an unwell horn player in its most recent concert. We performed at a park in Alliance as part of its annual Carnation Festival—the town is known as Carnation City.

There is actually an interesting story behind that designation—in the 1860s, a doctor in Alliance who grew red carnations in his greenhouse ran for a congressional seat against his friend William McKinley. Before each debate, he gave McKinley one of his carnations, and McKinley wore them all the way to the White House. Now, every year on his birthday, red carnations are placed in the hands of a McKinley statue in Columbus.

Well, back to the concert. This town is about an hour from Small Town, I know because it's where I used to go for horn lessons, and I had the route emblazoned in my brain. Still, for this fill-in concert, I often found myself showing up ridiculously early for rehearsals and even the concert—more on that later. To keep myself amused, I took pictures with my iPhone and then played with them on my Instagram app.

Here is one I took of the empty rehearsal stage:

And here is one of a collection of ladders out of sight from the potential audience:

And here is me playing with pictures at the park before the concert:

So, about this showing up early business. When I first began playing horn in groups of experienced musicians, I would work myself into a froth before each event, no matter how friendly and unthreatening it all was. To me, it was all one big threat to my well-being, my self-esteem, my delicate psyche.

I have outgrown most of that, recognizing that the experience of playing with other people actually did amazing things for my well-being, my self-esteem, my delicate psyche. But here is what I still do—I over-compensate when making sure I don't arrive late. I leave my house way too early and end up sitting in the empty auditorium waiting for everyone else to arrive, taking pictures and playing Boggle. I don't do that with the local group, but I apparently do it outside of that comfortable homeland orchestra.

I also obsess over the preparation. When you get your music ahead of a rehearsal, the envelope also contains an information sheet with the personnel list, the program list, times and dates for rehearsals, time and date of the concert and instructions for what and what not to wear at show time. Locally, we aren't allowed to wear perfume or cologne, which is reasonable; and women are instructed not to wear flashy jewelry, and the manager suggests that we wear pearls instead, because everyone has pearls, she says. To that, I say make me. But regardless, I read through this list of instructions, and then I read through it again, and again. And after I am dressed and on the road headed to the concert, I will sometimes have to peek at the information sheet just to make sure I've got it right. Nuts, huh?

Well, nuts or not, I did something new. I didn't work myself into a froth over it. And I dressed appropriately.

Comments

dive said…
Yay you, Robyn! Getting to gigs early is a good habit. You have time to prep everything and then chill so you're totally ready at performance time.
How did the concert go? Fess up.
Robyn Martins said…
How did the concert go, you ask? OK, I guess. I hit the high A-flat, which was a goal, and I played where the notes go instead of on the rests. There was some weird sluggish thing going on in Stars and Stripes Forever, though, and I wished I could hear the other people with the same rhythms that I had. What's done is done, though, right?
dive said…
I'm glad you hit the high A-Flat. That's a whole lot better than hitting the high A … er … flat. A semitone is the most excruciating interval when that happens.
Sounds like a spiffy night. I wish I'd been there to cheer you on.

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 ...