Reminiscing

I've undertaken to make .pdf copies of the many, many binders full of sheet music I've collected over the years.  It's been a strange process.

On the one hand, it's incredibly rewarding to toss empty binders out of my home office that were once filled with slightly crumpled, somewhat tattered photocopies of music of almost every genre.

On the other hand, it makes me wistful.  For six out of the past seven years, I played the piano for a small-towny music festival and that is where most of these pieces of music originated for me.  Every time I scan a new song I am reminded of the time in my life when I played it.  Some I barely remember playing at all.  Some I could happily never hear again.  Some remind me of the terrible children who sang them (terribly behaved, or terrible-sounding).  Some remind me of great triumphs (my own or someone else's).

I smirked to myself when I scanned the pages of a rather challenging Christmas song sung by a pretty tipsy soprano in striped Mrs Claus stockings who skipped several pages in her song while I simultaneously turned pages like a madwoman and calmly played until I found the spot she had jumped to and kept playing.  The audience never knew any different.

I became teary when I came across the song I played at the beginning of my career as an accompanist; two cousins dedicated it to their dying grandfather when they sang it at the music festival and then bravely sang it again at his funeral.

Even the satisfaction of tossing used binders was tinged with the memory of the somewhat sadistic glee of the music teachers I worked with as they filled the binder or the wonder of some young lady's grandmother that I should learn ALL THOSE SONGS and the satisfying thunk of the binder on the music stand of the piano when I first sat down for the day.

And I wonder if I will ever come to use this music again as meaningfully as I once did.  Will my sight reading skill and my ability to not sweat it when a terrified child with a pretty voice freezes like a frightened deer and bursts into tears three words into her song ever be put to as good a use as they were in that time?

Being an accompanist was a strange combination of voyeurism and exhibitionism.  I was always performing, and yet nobody was ever there to see me.  I witnessed crazy things - friends becoming frenemies becoming enemies, miniature prima donnas and boy sopranos experiencing crushing defeat when the preteen nerves or puberty interfered with their natural talents, children growing into adults, ugly ducklings (in every sense of the word) becoming swans.  And these were the things anyone could see.  As the accompanist, I had a backstage pass as well.  I was aware when a plan went awry.  I always knew when a panicking soloist went off-book; I was the one who had to think fast to make it look natural. I was the first to realize that a struggling singer had surprised themselves with the fruits of their own hard work.

I hope I get to do it again someday.

New Things I've Done - I got a new job.  I start next month.  I also plan to add "started commuting less" to the new things I've done list.

Weird Things That Have Happened to Me - I got some dental work done last week and my whole mouth feels worse for it.  This is why I hate the dentist.

Resolutions - Drink more water.  In a fit of pique I recently tossed out all my loose leaf tea, and as it turns out, that's where most of my fluid intake comes from.  Lately, I've been waking up with hangover-type headaches, and I'm pretty sure it's from reverting back to my non-hydrating ways.