Yesterday I hit the finish line at 9:33 AM. Today it's 12:06PM. A significant improvement, even though most of the work this morning was created at the expense of a sick co-worker. So now the office is quiet, my compadre in the cube is on her lunch, and I await my break shortly.
I've quickly realized that an office job is not something I can stomach for the long-term. I miss my instruments and the joy of rehearsing, performing, and teaching. Within 3 days of work I was eating lunch at my desk and using my hour break for practicing. My old haunt, Cox Hall, is a one minute walk away and the memories that come from those beloved practice rooms are, for the most part, very happy ones.
Like when I was a freshman and high-pitched screams came from the room in the corner near the upstairs lounge. It was Kristin, a senior flute player who embodied the term "flautist." Very hard-working gal (graduated with a degree in music ed in 3 years--next to impossible!), but also pretty flaky. "Ohhh...look at this painting---feel the texture." (At the National Museum of Art.) Anyhoo, she comes tearing out of her room, pale as a ghost. The reason for her terror? A small insect of some degree was discovered on a window, rendering her practice session impossible until it was annihilated. Yours truly, who is NOT a 'flautist' (I prefer 'flutist' if you absolutely have to put me in a box.) took care of the problem with me, myself, and a New Balance sneaker.
Or when that same unfortunate flautist was the prime target for a snowball ambush on a cold February night. Two male friends were accompanying me to my dorm when we walked by Cox and saw Kristin practicing in a top-floor room. The boys quickly decided that in order to demonstrate their manly strength they would throw snowballs and see if they could hit her window. Several valiant attempts later, all they had to show for their efforts were frozen hands. I reluctantly (...yeah, right) scooped together my own orb of slush and pitched it up, hitting the window square on the first shot. The men looked at me, hung their heads, and I walked a little taller the rest of the way home.
There's a particularly large practice room in the basement where small ensembles sometimes met. I walked in for my first woodwind quintet rehearsal (totally honored to be asked as a freshman) and heard this girl complaining to the professor about how much she hated Roberts and didn't understand why she had to be there. Turns out that this girl lived close to the school all her life, went to another college purposely to get away from it, and was sucked back when she changed majors. Her apathy towards the school I was so completely thrilled to be at was unnerving. Well, quintet rehearsals turned into performances. Performances into dinners out with friends. Dinners to hanging out in the dorms. Ultimately, that unhappy girl in the practice room became my maid of honor and dearest friend.
I loved to practice in the auditorium in Cox, a coveted spot for its larger space and hall-like qualities. It was difficult to reserve, but there were occasional times during the day when I could sneak in for an hour. I've had a shouting match in the auditorium with a dear friend (I can't remember why), sobbed on a professor's shoulder when the stresses of life were overwhelming, prayed with friends, poked fun at faculty during annual "Unrecitals" (basically the musicians' best effort at mimicking Saturday Night Live/Whose Line is it Anyway), and enjoyed folk dances. We've even played dodge ball in that auditorium on rolley chairs and a small ball.
How about various rooms on the third floor, where late-night practice sessions were often held? Over my sophomore year a particular individual kept poking his head in, asking questions that inevitably led into lengthy conversations. These interruptions became a daily occurance. Practice rooms equaled practicing for a while, but really talking with this guy, who was cute, extremely funny, and uber intelligent. Those practice room conversations led to a first date. The dates led to my first kiss on our wedding day. You know the cute, funny, smart guy as my VWH.
Yes indeed, very good memories. :)
No comments:
Post a Comment