The Plans of Mice and Men

And high school girls.

I received an email today from the music department of one of the other colleges I applied to, which also happens to be in my Top Two.


Dear Nina,

As the piano professor at the department of music ...blah blah blah...Unfortunately, due to the growth of the piano program and the music department in general, we are not accepting any piano minors at this time.

...

All the best and happy new year!

Assistant Professor of Piano


I think it's a sign. I am not meant to minor in piano. Maybe I'm just not meant to go away for college. It'd sure be a whole lot easier to stay here. I could go back to working at the grocery store, make a career out of that. I could get my associates degree at the community college here, maybe find a slot in management. The hours are brutal, but the pay is good, I hear.

I'm disappointed. I still want to pursue piano, to learn and progress and improve. I am not finished! So I still don't know what I'm going to do, but I guess nothing much has changed then, has it?

Divenire

So today I woke up at 5:45 and dragged myself out from under the four layers of blankets I was huddled beneath. I washed my face and fought with my hair to get it under control. I made some coffee and ate a little breakfast. I slapped some makeup on my face and gathered all my books and papers and walked out the door to go to the dreaded School.

The first five minutes or so were fun, greeting everyone I hadn't seen in two weeks or so. The day wasn't as bad as it could have been, not as monotonous or boring, stressful or draining as many others have been. So all in all, I count it as a successful day. I found the exhaustion set in once I sat down to do my homework. I battled through a little bit of it and then gave up. I wrote after that.

So this is the week where Maria and I will journey to Tampa for our grand All-State Choir adventure! I am very excited about the trip. We will miss three days of school, to sing. What better trade-off can you get? A long drive with one of your best friends, and music music music. I can't wait until the concerts, though. We are singing in separate choirs and so, if all goes well, I should be able to see her concert and she mine.

Speaking of music, I have a confession to make. I am absolutely mortified and appalled at my own lack of preparation, my failure to execute, my oversight. I think I have settled on a major (English) but for a while now, I've also been saying I would like to minor in music performance on the piano. Well, I missed the music department's deadline to apply and schedule an audition at one of my top colleges. It was December 31. And I feel like such a fool because I didn't even check when the date was until I got back from my New Years trip. As Maria and my mother pointed out, it isn't the end of the world because I don't necessarily have to minor my first year. I can always apply second semester or jump in the next year. I don't have to minor in anything at all. I don't even know which college I want to go to! (By the way, the other two choices have upcoming deadlines this month and next month. This one college is just much more demanding). I still feel awful.

I'm really nervous about auditions, actually. I will be asked to play all major and minor scales, two octaves, hands together. I can easily do two octaves hands together on most of the major scales, but I really need to polish quite a few of them, and my minor scales are atrocious. I don't like minor scales. It thrills me to play in minor keys, but I do not like the scales. I also have to sight-read, which is not something I have ever practiced on the piano. Anyway, it's yet another point of worry that is currently camping out in the back of my mind, crowding in with the need for scholarships, with the hazy future, with the guilt of things left undone. But I guess, again, it isn't that big of a deal. I don't have to minor my first year. I can reapply if I don't get in the first time. Right?

Dawn

I welcomed the New Year at my grandparents' house with my mother's two brothers, with my grandparents and my great-grandmother, with one uncle's family and the other uncle's dog. It was a lot of fun, but it was incredibly crowded, which seems to stress me out a touch.

We discovered that my dog has an affinity for champagne. She stole the cork when my uncle opened the bottle. I found her gnawing on it in one of the bedroom's and she was viciously protective of her little treasure. Then my grandfather got a little over-enthusiastic in a card game and happened to knock his champagne completely over. It was a total mess, but the puddle on the floor was hastily lapped up by my puppy, much to our amusement.

I really hate champagne. It tastes awful. It smells awful. It's so vigorously bubbly that it's painful to drink. I've only ever sampled it a couple times. Once at a wedding. And then a couple new year's eves with my parents. I keep trying it, thinking it's an acquired taste, and I keep regretting that I tried it. Blegh.

So my uncles have a rather interesting taste in movies and they were about to sit down and watch one just as all the grandchildren were being herded into beds. There was a big fuss because my cousins and my sister were interested in watching this movie, which happened to be rated R and was therefore forbidden. They were all in the living room arguing but I had already settled in my sleeping bag in the room where we were staying. For about ten minutes, I stared at the ceiling and listened to the debate.

The language in the movie was horrible, but the language in schools is surely just as bad.
There were some inappropriate topics, but the kids had all been exposed to jokes of that nature at school.
It was really late (past midnight) but we were on break and could sleep in the next day.
But the language was just really bad. The moms wouldn't want them to watch the movie.

It was at this point I decided to add my two cents by pointing out we could hear everything anyway in our doorless room right by the living room. To further emphasize my statement, I yelled it from my warm sleeping bag rather than get up.

Of course, the adults won the argument, as adults tend to do. The children were issued ear plugs for the night.

School starts back up tomorrow. I am not looking forward to it. But we're halfway there now. It's 2010, our graduating year. It still hasn't sunk in yet.

Realism

Unfortunately, I am not completely out of touch with reality. I just can't seem to get away from it, no matter how hard I try.

It caught up to me before Christmas even got here, when we were visiting my grandmother on my father's side. My aunt asked me about my college plans (which are currently limited to the fact that I'm going.) I got so stressed out just talking about it. My throat started getting really tight, and I almost started crying.

I don't know! I don't know where I'm going or how I'm getting there or what I'm doing once I get there! I have no idea! I'm not there yet. I'm here. But There keeps haunting me here. It won't go away.

Shoo, College, it's not your turn yet.

So later on, my sister and I were chatting with one of my father's cousins from Germany, who is this really smart professor type and happens to be quite knowledgeable. He asked us what we thought of certain recent global events, which we happened to have heard nothing about. Needless to say, we didn't have much to say on the matter. Anyway, he was really encouraging us to read the newspaper or subscribe to email updates on this stuff.

But I don't really want to know. That might be horrible and immature, but I don't want to hear about wars and rumors of wars, of politics and destruction and terror. I don't want to know what is going on in the rest of the world or even in the rest of my country, because I'm safe right here. I want to curl up in a little ball and shut my eyes and plug my ears and pretend that everything is fine. I want to live in blissful ignorance, because in my little corner of the world it is bright and sunny. There might be rain coming, but I don't want to hear about it now. I'll deal with it when it comes. In the meantime, why should I wring my hands and count clouds?

My father's cousin said it had always surprised him that Christians were not more active in certain charities. Shouldn't our beliefs give us more urgency?

As far as charity goes, I don't do much. I do not volunteer anymore outside of my church and my school. I don't always tithe like I should. I co-sponsor a little boy through World Vision, with a friend from church. His name is Alex and he lives in El Salvador. Reality is, though, I should do more. I should write him more letters, send him pictures. I should give more of myself, my time.

And then there is reality on a much smaller scale: homework. Yes, homework over Christmas break. Gee, thanks. Merry Christmas to you too, teachers. Anyway, I haven't finished and I won't be finished when school starts back. I'll be behind before I ever go to class. (I sort've left a textbook necessary for one of the assignments in my locker...oops...)

Rather than blogging about reality and how much I hate it, it would make much more sense to pick a side. If I'm really hiding from it, I shouldn't be acknowledging it like this, right? But if I've decided to face reality, shouldn't I be doing something about it? Either way, this post should end right...

Here.

Feliz Navidad!!!

This season is always an interesting one for me, being involved in various choirs and such. Life seems to crescendo around Christmas. Usually, exams at school fall right before Christmas break. The year wraps itself up like another present under the tree and families gather around tables of food. Traditions are upheld. Everyone takes a deep breath. And then we hold it as we watch the clock. Everyone cheers and toasts to another year.

Well, right now I'm at the 'taking a deep breath' step. I love Christmas. I love the music, the rush of activity, the decorations, the air! Christmas air is definitely different than regular air. I love the lights. Mateo recently hosted a lovely little party the night before Christmas Eve at this adorable little village-of-sorts on the beach. It was so beautiful there. The beach, the night, the lights, the streets, the houses, the fountain. There was a little gathering of trees all wrapped in pure white lights with luscious green grass and a little brick pathway and benches. There was a tall Christmas tree with sparkling ornaments in front of a bell-tower. There was a glistening sea on the other side of a stretch of cold white sand, all under a clear and calm sky. Everything was picturesque (except the random glimpse of Winn-Dixie in between two houses...I pretended it wasn't there).

Christmas Eve, I played! I played the organ with a little ensemble of a cello, a violinist, three sopranos, and a bass. I messed up so much, but it was just incredible. I love playing with other people. There's just something magical about the way it all comes together. About the way the music shifts and changes when you layer it like that. About the way each part sounds so simple on its own, but is vital to the whole. The service was long, and somewhat foreign. Lutheran churches have a different fiber than Baptist churches, but the heart is the same. It was raining when I left. I had to run through a curtain of diamond raindrops to get to my vehicle.

On Christmas day, my little sister was ecstatic. I had opened all my important presents the night before. Santa only brings me candy these days (he threw in a flash drive and a Starbucks gift card to pacify me). But I had more music. My mother bought me the cd's I have been begging her for. This Italian composer, Ludovico Einaudi: I am obsessed with his work right now. We listened to it on the way to my grandmother's house. The route itself is actually quite beautiful. I was driving, and taking in the view, and listening to Einaudi. I had a grey Christmas, full of barren trees and empty fields, of grazing cows and narrow, winding roads. Of piano music and a warm kitchen and family games. It was grey, but it was gorgeous.

So I'm a little starry-eyed right now. Go listen to some Einaudi. Divenire is one of my favorites, I think. You'll see why.

Little Girls are Brutal

My youngest sister had a party today. She and six of her second grade friends governed our house for two hours, and the rest of us barely survived. Squealing, screaming, bouncing, yelling, jumping, skipping, running. Thankfully, nobody broke anything and none of the little girls got their feelings hurt. I was on edge the whole time, though.

They were supposed to be scrapbooking. "Ew, Christian. Look, guys, Christian is in this picture." "I don't want him in my picture!" "Where is he?" "Right here, in the front." "I'm going to cut him out." "No way! Really? Are you really?"

She did. She cut the little boy out of the picture. Then she shredded the exert and threw it away. "Look, Mrs. Cabrera, I cut Christian out of my picture!" Laughing. So proud of herself.

"Poor Christian," my mom said.

After the cake, they ran wildly about, chasing each other, screaming. My grandfather turned his hearing aids off.

Watch out for the lamp!

Watch out for the Christmas tree!

Watch out for the dog!

One girl, bored and disatisfied, announced, "I'm going to play in your room." Now, my little sister inherited some American Girl Dolls from the two of us older sisters, and she has one of her own. I made it a point to tell the girls one of those was mine. I thought the idea of Big Sister's things might would scare some respect into them. (They play rough!) It didn't do any good, though.

My mom suggested we just remove the dolls. So when they started screaming and chasing each other again, I sneaked in and scooped up the trio. However, before I could escape, they flooded back in.

I felt like the Grinch. I was cornered, caught red-handed, and the girls were staring at me with wide eyes. "Why are you taking the dolls?" "Uh, I'm just going to put them away. To be safe." "Where?" "Aw...you mean we can't play with 'em?"

No. No, you cannot.

At one point, to be funny, one of the girls decided she'd lost her thumbs. She tucked them under her other fingers to make fists, shoving them in the others' faces and yelling, "Look! I don't have any thumbs!"

"Me either! Mine fell off!" "Oh no, I lost my thumbs!" "We don't have thumbs. Waaaa!" And then one of them threw out a word heard in this context, though I'm sure none of them understood. "We don't have opposable thumbs!" "No opposable thumbs!"

How appropriate, because you're all animals!

I was absolutely thrilled to see the parents at three o'clock.

Confession...

I am not green.

When I go to the grocery store, I use plastic bags. I do not recycle them. I am not on a mission to save the planet. I was totally disgusted when the fourth Maximum Ride book turned out to be Global Warming propaganda. I didn't like Wall-E for the same reason. It gets under my skin when the green agenda manifests itself everywhere.

The prompt for our Spanish essay went something like this:

"Imagine that you are a fish, bird, or whichever other animal and that one day human beings arrived to the region where you were happily living in a perfect habitat. Narrate how they arrived, what they did, with what they experimented or what they constructed, how it affected your habitat and what you did in order to survive."

Is it just me, or is that prompt a little skewed? I felt like words were being forced down my throat for me to cough back up on cue. Now, it's not like I hate the planet or don't acknowledge that, yes, we've made a mess of things. We're human; we mess up. It's what we do. Sure, I think we should do the best with what we've got and take care of the world we've been blessed with. But we're not going to save it. This life, this world, is temporary. We have to quit pretending we're in control.

Besides, I think most of the media that supports everything green has their own secret agenda, motivated by money.

I made the mistake of telling my Spanish teacher I felt like I was being brainwashed. She was very offended and swore up and down that she would never brainwash us (which, I really don't believe she would. She's very nice and has our best interests at heart, but that doesn't mean she's always right). And Mateo, who was present, said, "That's exactly what a brainwasher would tell us!"

She walked away.

I wrote about sheep, who had a shepherd, who saved them from wolves.