'I bought a piano' I told my parents.
Mother immediately provided me with such an amount of good advice that I fervently wished I had not bought the piano at all or at least that I had had the presence of mind not to tell my parents about it.
Father said not to worry, that it was like riding a bike - one did not forget and it came back quickly.
Well, not really.
Not after twenty years (NB. saying this makes me slightly alarmed. I actually had not played the piano for twenty years. I am old enough to not have done something for twenty years. Not sure what to do with this).
Still, the piano has been bought and now is standing in my living room, like a wild animal that I have to tame knowing very well that it is not going to help me (might have something to do with lots of white 'teeth' staring at me as soon as I enter the room).
I am going to try though, as being able to play the Moonlight Sonata has been on my bucket list long enough and it's time I learnt it. Especially now that I have paid stupid money for a piano... (it reassures me that I am not likely to actually kick the bucket any time soon as it will take a lot of time to learn the stupid thing. That and a surgery enlarging the span of my fingers!)
Showing posts with label music. Show all posts
Showing posts with label music. Show all posts
Tuesday, 8 February 2011
Friday, 7 January 2011
On Elvis
Whenever I watched footages from concerts, or other events involving the presence of stars, I would sigh with lack of understanding and a feeling of certain perplexity at the teenagers and no-longer-teenagers waving frantically at their idol(s) and screaming their hearts out in an almost religious trance. Do not get, do not approve, get a life.
And then I watched Elvis with Jannick. And there we were, two mature women in their 30ies, otherwise mostly reasonable and calm, crying and screaming at the telly, pressing our hands to our lips with emotion as if trying to contain the squeeky noises that were forcing themselves out of our throats (but failing miserably).
(Other people present retreated to the conservatory for the duration of the concert.
Paul, me thinks, had a hard time getting to grips with what was happening to his normally rather much less noisy girlfriend.)
But still, it was Jannick and me and lots of wine and Elvis. Not Westlife or the likes.
Yet, I now know from which part of one's insides those screams emerge and that it is not possible to contain them.
So I no longer judge.
NB. I was told later on that it was rude of us to watch Elvis instead of all of us doing something together. Maybe so. But then I remember another social gathering during which people put on football that some of us had no desire to watch and that was ok. I sometimes get a paranoid feeling that if someone else does it, it's ok, but when I do it, it's rude...
And then I watched Elvis with Jannick. And there we were, two mature women in their 30ies, otherwise mostly reasonable and calm, crying and screaming at the telly, pressing our hands to our lips with emotion as if trying to contain the squeeky noises that were forcing themselves out of our throats (but failing miserably).
(Other people present retreated to the conservatory for the duration of the concert.
Paul, me thinks, had a hard time getting to grips with what was happening to his normally rather much less noisy girlfriend.)
But still, it was Jannick and me and lots of wine and Elvis. Not Westlife or the likes.
Yet, I now know from which part of one's insides those screams emerge and that it is not possible to contain them.
So I no longer judge.
NB. I was told later on that it was rude of us to watch Elvis instead of all of us doing something together. Maybe so. But then I remember another social gathering during which people put on football that some of us had no desire to watch and that was ok. I sometimes get a paranoid feeling that if someone else does it, it's ok, but when I do it, it's rude...
Sunday, 27 June 2010
On wonders
We went to see Stevie Wonder in the Hyde Park yesterday and my God was it great!
The man is absolutely beautiful - the joy in his face as he plays the music would be enough for ten people or more.
Made me seriously happy.
What a brilliant day.
The man is absolutely beautiful - the joy in his face as he plays the music would be enough for ten people or more.
Made me seriously happy.
What a brilliant day.
Friday, 13 February 2009
Ray
What do you do at the end of a last week of half-term, a week where you got hurt by your best friend, you got assaulted by your student, had an interview in that perfect school with students who don’t assault you and don’t throw things out of windows but actually let you teach them, in that cute little village where you could have had a little house with a piano in it and maybe even a cat, but didn’t get the job, and you’re just so tired of it all?
You go to see Ray. And Ray’s voice makes you cry like a baby all through the first part of the concert and then lifts you up, soothes you and rocks you into serenity. And then you move on. You forgive your friend, you write and incident report, you fill in another job application. And you hope for the best.
You go to see Ray. And Ray’s voice makes you cry like a baby all through the first part of the concert and then lifts you up, soothes you and rocks you into serenity. And then you move on. You forgive your friend, you write and incident report, you fill in another job application. And you hope for the best.
Monday, 12 January 2009
Piano
‘Can you remember what you were dreaming about just now?’ asks Paul.
‘Yes, why?’
‘Were you playing the piano?’
‘How do you know?!’
‘Cause you were moving your fingers like this’ he demonstrates on my arm.
I laugh and turn onto my other side.
‘So was it at your parents’ place?’
‘No’
‘Where was it then?’
‘I don’t know. In a house. I was playing and you came in and said something about dinner, and I said okay and went back to playing.’
‘Was it our house?’
‘Possibly.’
‘I like that dream’ he says and pulls me closer in.
I think I might see if there’s a piano at school I could play.
I think it’s time.
Cause this time it’s all about me. And the piano, of course.
Wednesday, 5 November 2008
Post-holiday mess
As much as I enjoyed having Monday off, on Tuesday I started to feel restless and ended up feeling pretty miserable by the evening. A nice portion of ice cream took care of that, this morning however I felt even worse. It didn’t matter all that much, I told myself, it was going to go away as soon as I got into a classroom. But that didn’t happen – my agent had forgotten to mention I needed to have my CRB (criminal record check) on me so they sent me back home.
By the time I got home, I had figured it all out: I was feeling lonely. I had just spent a week among people who know me and love me, and I’m back here now, reduced to stuffed animals looking at me sympathetically as I’m reading in bed while Paul gets to see his friends (which is good for him, really, it just doesn’t make me feel better). So I decided to do something about it. However, there is only so much you can do when all your local friends had moved away or are in their first year of teaching and overwhelmed by it.
By then it was crying it out or sweating it out, and as the latter seemed more productive I set off to the gym. Once there, I decided to hook my headphones to the news channel thinking that images of people celebrating Obama’s victory would help the process. Unfortunately I was rather emotionally challenged at that point so it only made me cry, and more it made me cry, more purposefully I marched on my treadmill, which did the trick: 10 bloody kilometres and buckets of sweat later, I was feeling much better.
Only it didn’t last.
So the only solution I had left at that point was to get myself a drink and dig out my long forgotten Tori Amos cds. And I find it both disturbing and comforting how I still know all the lyrics.
By the time I got home, I had figured it all out: I was feeling lonely. I had just spent a week among people who know me and love me, and I’m back here now, reduced to stuffed animals looking at me sympathetically as I’m reading in bed while Paul gets to see his friends (which is good for him, really, it just doesn’t make me feel better). So I decided to do something about it. However, there is only so much you can do when all your local friends had moved away or are in their first year of teaching and overwhelmed by it.
By then it was crying it out or sweating it out, and as the latter seemed more productive I set off to the gym. Once there, I decided to hook my headphones to the news channel thinking that images of people celebrating Obama’s victory would help the process. Unfortunately I was rather emotionally challenged at that point so it only made me cry, and more it made me cry, more purposefully I marched on my treadmill, which did the trick: 10 bloody kilometres and buckets of sweat later, I was feeling much better.
Only it didn’t last.
So the only solution I had left at that point was to get myself a drink and dig out my long forgotten Tori Amos cds. And I find it both disturbing and comforting how I still know all the lyrics.
Friday, 26 September 2008
Thursday
1.
I got fed up with not knowing when the deadline for submitting my PhD for publication was, nor what other documents I had to provide and fed up with waiting for answers, so I decided to nag. This time the university press did reply (miracle!) and provided all information required, which I read with great care and attention and decided that was that. The deadline was on the 30th (that’s bloody Tuesday!), and yes, my edited text could be ready by then (if I didn’t do anything else until, but that was not going to happen) but they also needed a presentation of its academic values (which also could be done, even if I had no idea what I was supposed to write) and the endorsement of the Head of Faculty on the application letter. And there is no way in the world that one could be done within three working days I had left.
So that was that. I had blown it. I should have worked more. I should have nagged earlier. Now it was too late.
So I went down to the lounge, put the TV on and watched two episodes of Scrubs in total dumbness and resignation.
Then I went back upstairs and managed to get hold of my supervisor… who told me not to worry, she was going to take her copy of my PhD to the publishing committee’s meeting, fill in an application form and get the Head of Faculty to sign it.
“Oh…” I gasped with cautious half-relief “but your copy is not edited!”
“Don’t worry, you’ll do that once they’ve decided to publish.”
WHAT?! All these hours spent trying to make it on time, hard work, stress and all?! WHAT?!
“But, but… it’s more than 300 pages, you said 300…”
“You’ll just have to cut it down slightly to some 350 pages.” she said in the same time.
WHAT?! All those things I have already cut out with bleeding heart to get it under 300 pages, why? It already IS under 350 pages! WHAT?!
Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful. And relieved. Because after all I haven’t blown it. Because it’s still all on. But still. Seriously!
Anyway.
2.
After all that I was relieved but still shaky and there was no way I was getting back to work, not with all that information, and I needed to calm down first anyway, so I started surfing on the Internet, which eventually led me to the Times Educational Supplement website, where they publish all the job ads for teachers. I put in all my criteria without much hope, after all I had checked it the day before, and there it was: “French Teacher, permanent contract, secondary school… Milton Keynes.”
I had always thought that at one point I might have to consider moving to MK, I also said I was going to let life decide – apply for jobs both here and there and see what I get first.
But this made it real. There is a job running, I am of course going to apply, and then I might get it, and then I will have to move, to a place where Paul is the only person I know, and I’m not scared of turning my life upside down for my own fantasy, been there, done that, was fun, but this, this is scary!
At that point I could distinctly feel an impending panic crisis come down on me, so I went out, got a bottle of wine, poured myself a huge glass and just sat there waiting for Susanne to come around so that I could properly vent.
3.
Susanne was coming around cause we were going to the Yardbird for a jazz gig as part of my birthday celebrations. We had some dinner (I had forgotten lunch in all that upheaval), I had another glass of wine and we sat there talking, or rather I was talking, and gradually calming myself down. By 7.30 we were all ready to go and just waiting for a friend of mine who was going to give us a ride, and I had just decreed that if I had not had a heart attack today, I was probably safe for ever after, when the knock on the door came. So I went to open… and there stood Paul.
Apparently, my first reaction to my boyfriend’s surprise appearance was: “Oh fuck!”.
But it really was all about the tone of voice. Really.
4.
At the Yardbird I’ve managed to get drunk on two pints of beer.
After we got home I cried a bit and then had a full blown głupawka (which is that state where you get into fits of uncontrollable laughter over things that really are not that funny at all – no other language has a good word for it).
And then I lay sleepless next to my snoring boyfriend and tried not to start freaking out again.
But all is good.
Life knows what it’s doing.
At least I hope so.
I got fed up with not knowing when the deadline for submitting my PhD for publication was, nor what other documents I had to provide and fed up with waiting for answers, so I decided to nag. This time the university press did reply (miracle!) and provided all information required, which I read with great care and attention and decided that was that. The deadline was on the 30th (that’s bloody Tuesday!), and yes, my edited text could be ready by then (if I didn’t do anything else until, but that was not going to happen) but they also needed a presentation of its academic values (which also could be done, even if I had no idea what I was supposed to write) and the endorsement of the Head of Faculty on the application letter. And there is no way in the world that one could be done within three working days I had left.
So that was that. I had blown it. I should have worked more. I should have nagged earlier. Now it was too late.
So I went down to the lounge, put the TV on and watched two episodes of Scrubs in total dumbness and resignation.
Then I went back upstairs and managed to get hold of my supervisor… who told me not to worry, she was going to take her copy of my PhD to the publishing committee’s meeting, fill in an application form and get the Head of Faculty to sign it.
“Oh…” I gasped with cautious half-relief “but your copy is not edited!”
“Don’t worry, you’ll do that once they’ve decided to publish.”
WHAT?! All these hours spent trying to make it on time, hard work, stress and all?! WHAT?!
“But, but… it’s more than 300 pages, you said 300…”
“You’ll just have to cut it down slightly to some 350 pages.” she said in the same time.
WHAT?! All those things I have already cut out with bleeding heart to get it under 300 pages, why? It already IS under 350 pages! WHAT?!
Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful. And relieved. Because after all I haven’t blown it. Because it’s still all on. But still. Seriously!
Anyway.
2.
After all that I was relieved but still shaky and there was no way I was getting back to work, not with all that information, and I needed to calm down first anyway, so I started surfing on the Internet, which eventually led me to the Times Educational Supplement website, where they publish all the job ads for teachers. I put in all my criteria without much hope, after all I had checked it the day before, and there it was: “French Teacher, permanent contract, secondary school… Milton Keynes.”
I had always thought that at one point I might have to consider moving to MK, I also said I was going to let life decide – apply for jobs both here and there and see what I get first.
But this made it real. There is a job running, I am of course going to apply, and then I might get it, and then I will have to move, to a place where Paul is the only person I know, and I’m not scared of turning my life upside down for my own fantasy, been there, done that, was fun, but this, this is scary!
At that point I could distinctly feel an impending panic crisis come down on me, so I went out, got a bottle of wine, poured myself a huge glass and just sat there waiting for Susanne to come around so that I could properly vent.
3.
Susanne was coming around cause we were going to the Yardbird for a jazz gig as part of my birthday celebrations. We had some dinner (I had forgotten lunch in all that upheaval), I had another glass of wine and we sat there talking, or rather I was talking, and gradually calming myself down. By 7.30 we were all ready to go and just waiting for a friend of mine who was going to give us a ride, and I had just decreed that if I had not had a heart attack today, I was probably safe for ever after, when the knock on the door came. So I went to open… and there stood Paul.
Apparently, my first reaction to my boyfriend’s surprise appearance was: “Oh fuck!”.
But it really was all about the tone of voice. Really.
4.
At the Yardbird I’ve managed to get drunk on two pints of beer.
After we got home I cried a bit and then had a full blown głupawka (which is that state where you get into fits of uncontrollable laughter over things that really are not that funny at all – no other language has a good word for it).
And then I lay sleepless next to my snoring boyfriend and tried not to start freaking out again.
But all is good.
Life knows what it’s doing.
At least I hope so.
Wednesday, 24 September 2008
“Debussy is a wanker”
I ruled as we were clapping vigorously at the end of the first part of the concert.
“Oh… but I love this piece.” said Paul.
“Well… he just doesn’t have enough balls” I said as if that was any better – but in my defence, I had been drinking for solid 7 hours by then, as Shell and Preet had unexpectedly started off my birthday celebrations right after noon, and we all know that if you start drinking at lunch time, the only way not to give into a severe somnolence that could make you sleep through your own birthday is to keep drinking. So I did.
Nevertheless, I was still relatively sober, not sober enough however to avoid getting seriously emotional during Rachmaninov’s 2nd Symphony, but I guess getting emotional kind of is the actual point of it all.
I was also not sober enough to refrain from sticking my hand under Paul’s nose claiming that this is what being at the Symphony Hall smelled like, and that I would be highly unimpressed if they put a different hand lotion in the loos. Although by that time it was all his fault, as he fed me two more glasses of wine at the concert.
He’s also already discovered that I’m ‘a little weird’, as he kindly puts it, so I guess there’s no need to worry.
“Oh… but I love this piece.” said Paul.
“Well… he just doesn’t have enough balls” I said as if that was any better – but in my defence, I had been drinking for solid 7 hours by then, as Shell and Preet had unexpectedly started off my birthday celebrations right after noon, and we all know that if you start drinking at lunch time, the only way not to give into a severe somnolence that could make you sleep through your own birthday is to keep drinking. So I did.
Nevertheless, I was still relatively sober, not sober enough however to avoid getting seriously emotional during Rachmaninov’s 2nd Symphony, but I guess getting emotional kind of is the actual point of it all.
I was also not sober enough to refrain from sticking my hand under Paul’s nose claiming that this is what being at the Symphony Hall smelled like, and that I would be highly unimpressed if they put a different hand lotion in the loos. Although by that time it was all his fault, as he fed me two more glasses of wine at the concert.
He’s also already discovered that I’m ‘a little weird’, as he kindly puts it, so I guess there’s no need to worry.
Saturday, 12 July 2008
On Shiny Saxophones
As I walked towards the Symphony Hall yesterday, I somehow knew that the One with the Shiny Saxophone would be playing. And sure enough, he was. We exchanged hello’s as the band was setting up and then he caught up with me at the bar. I have to say, we ran out of conversation pretty quickly, probably because I was not making an effort to keep one going at all.
And then once the gig started, he would take his eyes off me only when playing a solo, which both Naomi and I found highly amusing. Men are funny creatures indeed.
“I had not noticed how short he is”, I told Naomi, explaining that one of the things I liked about Paul was that I had to get up on my toes to kiss him, which I found refreshing after four years spent in a country of little people. “They’re like hobbits” said Naomi sending both of us in uncontrollable fit of giggles in the middle of a very fervent saxophone solo, which was probably intended to trigger a completely different reaction.
Saturday, 15 March 2008
'I'm so going to take it home and play with it'
I was all set for pretending I have a life last night. Plans were made, body was forced into a state of hyperactivity guaranteeing that it would not give in to an overwhelming tiredness and general desire of pillow and Dog. Shower was taken, face was put on, teaching gear was left home as was the teaching persona. I was determined to forget about being a teacher for one night and make the most of it.
Unfortunately, The One Up There (also known as TOUT, the ones among you speaking French will appreciate the implications of the acronym) had decided otherwise.
The Friday Rush Hour Blues has as much to do with jazz as I have with molecular biology. The guitarist looked as if he was in a carefully maintained state of suffering for his art, which could be explained – at least to some extent – by the fact that his guitar was something like two sizes too big for him. Must have been heavy, bless the poor little lad. Michael and Bill (Shakespeare, no, I’m not kidding), two nice gentleman befriended at the Symphony Hall over discussing the fairness of saving seats for others and promises to keep an eye on their walking sticks, retreated gracefully in the middle of a piece and half way through their pints claiming that they’d had ‘enough of that’.
Afterwards I was supposed to go for a curry with a Potentially Shaggable Friend of a Friend but the said PSFF cancelled on me because of stomach problems. So I went home, not so much disappointed as glad I could go to bed. At 8 pm. How sad is that.
Yet, once home, I was faced with Tone (my flatmate and landlord) and a visiting friend of his in a very advanced state of drunkenness – they were very cute in it, bless them, if you don’t count the visiting friend peeing all over the downstairs loo and insisting on sleeping in my bed (‘I will knock on your door when we come back’). He didn’t (from what I understood he met some bird when they were out and didn’t sleep here at all) so I did get a good night’s sleep but once again – how sad is that: there was a part of me that was sort of disappointed.
Then, to crown my sorry attempts on having a life this weekend, I overslept for ski jumping.
And now it’s time to start working again. Oh well.
But before I do – here’s the highlight of last night:
‘I’m so going to take it home and play with it’
said Naomi about her carefully assembled Kinder Surprise toy shark.
Unfortunately, The One Up There (also known as TOUT, the ones among you speaking French will appreciate the implications of the acronym) had decided otherwise.
The Friday Rush Hour Blues has as much to do with jazz as I have with molecular biology. The guitarist looked as if he was in a carefully maintained state of suffering for his art, which could be explained – at least to some extent – by the fact that his guitar was something like two sizes too big for him. Must have been heavy, bless the poor little lad. Michael and Bill (Shakespeare, no, I’m not kidding), two nice gentleman befriended at the Symphony Hall over discussing the fairness of saving seats for others and promises to keep an eye on their walking sticks, retreated gracefully in the middle of a piece and half way through their pints claiming that they’d had ‘enough of that’.
Afterwards I was supposed to go for a curry with a Potentially Shaggable Friend of a Friend but the said PSFF cancelled on me because of stomach problems. So I went home, not so much disappointed as glad I could go to bed. At 8 pm. How sad is that.
Yet, once home, I was faced with Tone (my flatmate and landlord) and a visiting friend of his in a very advanced state of drunkenness – they were very cute in it, bless them, if you don’t count the visiting friend peeing all over the downstairs loo and insisting on sleeping in my bed (‘I will knock on your door when we come back’). He didn’t (from what I understood he met some bird when they were out and didn’t sleep here at all) so I did get a good night’s sleep but once again – how sad is that: there was a part of me that was sort of disappointed.
Then, to crown my sorry attempts on having a life this weekend, I overslept for ski jumping.
And now it’s time to start working again. Oh well.
But before I do – here’s the highlight of last night:
‘I’m so going to take it home and play with it’said Naomi about her carefully assembled Kinder Surprise toy shark.
Thursday, 14 February 2008
Beauty
Jannick and I went to the Symphony Hall tonight. It was Love Classics, duh, it is Valentine’s day. So I had to sit through a few sappy, mushy, horrid pieces that others might call romantic but I won't. But then there was Tchaikovsky and there was Grieg. And as the music went up and the brass instruments joined in and grew in power, I could feel it swell in my chest and push tears out, each strike on the timpani sending violent waves through my body and I would realise that I had been holding my breath too long for my body not to protest, and I would let the breath out in a gasp as the next phrase carried me forward to the next climax, and oh God. I feel exhausted. I suppose beauty does that to you.
Friday, 1 February 2008
Flugzeuge im Bauch
I don’t think I will ever cease to be amazed by how well English girls tolerate the cold. The state of undress in which some of them walk the streets chills me to the bones. All that to save the pound on the cloakroom. That for a random thought of the day.
As for the jazz concert, well, it wasn’t a jazz concert. It was salsa, a precision he had omitted to make and I overlooked when checking the place’s web site. Don’t get me wrong, I like good salsa, but it’s not the same. He was sure I was going to enjoy it, I was sure I wasn’t going to enjoy it as much 
as last Friday’s gig. I suppose we were both right.
as last Friday’s gig. I suppose we were both right. It was fun, but… he is really gorgeous and I am really tired.
Back home, as I was falling asleep, I couldn’t help nostalgically remembering my innocence when I fell in love for the first time. The sole problem back then was ‘he likes me, he likes me not’. Now the question is how bad can he mess me up. Or rather how bad will I mess myself up over this one. And the only answer available is ‘we shall see’.
Back home, as I was falling asleep, I couldn’t help nostalgically remembering my innocence when I fell in love for the first time. The sole problem back then was ‘he likes me, he likes me not’. Now the question is how bad can he mess me up. Or rather how bad will I mess myself up over this one. And the only answer available is ‘we shall see’.
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