Please Don't Stop the Music

I realized that I should not have survived these past 2 years of college. With 40 hour work weeks, balancing some 4-odd jobs at times, along with 17-18 credits freshman year and an under-the-table 21 credits sophomore year, I should have passed out from exhaustion and my heart should have stopped after the first month. But I realize, now that it's gone, what saved me from my mortality and human limitations: my violin.

For the past 11 years of my life I have been playing in an orchestra. In short, I can't remember a life without it. It was my sanctuary from the hectic and ever-present cloud of deadlines and stress that shrouded my head. As Nancia D'Alimonte, our fearless maestra of the GW orchestra said, "Leave your baggage at the door." And I did. I left all my work, tears, and mania at the door and could finally focus on one thing instead of 12--one thing into which I channeled all my energy. The music wasn't always wonderful, but it was a collection of focused spirit. It took the weight of the world off my shoulders, and instead we held it as a collective. Maybe that mentality explains my attraction to Russia's коллектив. Those 2 hours each Monday and Wednesday saved my sanity. While orchestra added to my overall workload and decreased my amount of free time, it was a priceless gift. Ironically, because in two years I never received credit for the class but instead audited it, it was the class I attended most frequently; I've only missed 4 classes in two years.

The same went for practicing my violin. The most emotionally trying periods of my life have been resolved while slogging away in a practice room. The basement underneath Phillips Hall is speckled with little havens where I can go and lock myself away. It is a place of expression and release. Like orchestra, practicing gives all my energy and emotions a treadmill on which to exhaust themselves. Repeating a 4 measure excerpt for 3 hours sucks every thought into those 32-64 notes.

And then that release valve was shut. I thought taking Leopold to Russia would be a mistake; it'd get stolen, broken, ruined by the weather, and would be a hassle to get through migration. I'd have to insure it, as well as possibly get my violin its own visa. So it's sleeping soundly in a room in Fredericksburg, while I'm pining away in Moscow. I'd be fine--how long can a semester really be? Now I've gone four weeks without orchestra or practicing, and my mental stability is fraying. I'm going to school and working 8-8 or 8-9 each day, and I'm mentally fatigued from speaking Russian all day. It's amazing how draining it is to have to mentally prepare and stumble over every single word or thought.

The worst is when I torture myself with Tchaikovsky. I've been listening to Tchaikovsky's 2nd Symphony "Little Russian" constantly, reliving my glory days when we played it in orchestra. I recognize if I've played songs by bowings: If I think "down up up down up up down down down down" when I hear it, I've played it. The more I listen, the more my hands itch for a bow and notes. My bones are shifting in my skin, and you, my love, are gone. Everything is slightly skewed in my world. Music class is awful too. As soon as our professor sits at the piano and starts moving his hands across an instrument that he loves, I feel a jealous pang and have to hold back an explosion of god-knows-what-kind-of-crazy. And the ancient recordings of forgotten songs nearly move me to tears.

But alas! All is not in vain! I've decided to hound every Russian I know, until I get an answer. "Where can I rent or borrow a violin? Is there an orchestra somewhere that I can join once I obtain a violin?" I've hit a lot of walls but finally I found someone who can help today. One of the Russians who frequently attends our (mandatory for us) American-Russian Club because he wants to work on his English has given me a solution. His sister plays the violin, and he thinks she has two! Or at least she would know how to get one. Also, she used to play in an orchestra at a music school for kids. He said they usually take anyone who wants to play, and they meet Sunday nights. I nearly melted with joy! Finally, I can find my release once again. Not only will I be able to again pursue my passion, but I'll also meet more Russians, learn vocab that I'd find nowhere else, and learn about the Russian music-teaching strategies. It's an experience I cannot miss!

I was babysitting (this summer. Not Russian kiddies, but shmadorablies in DC). We were making clay things. I was feeling inspired.

I promise to return to my normal rantings next post. We're going to a school tomorrow to see what the Russian elementary school system is like. I can't wait to be shamed by 5 year olds; it will provide excellent blog-fodder.