One of my very favorite things about living near to Madison, and one of the most difficult things to say goodbye to, was the Suzuki Strings program there. We were fortunate enough to somewhat accidentally arrive into the program during our first year in the area. Maple wanted to take violin lessons and after a playground convo with a mother of a child in Eider’s preschool class who happened to be a violin teacher, we found ourselves in a surprisingly rigorous pre-enrollment gauntlet of observing four private lessons and four group classes. Eider was not quite four at the time so of course, he was lugged everywhere with us, and by the end of these weeks of observation, it was clear that Maple was gonna be lukewarm on the whole thing and that Eider was 100% enrolling. It turned out they both did with Maple only lasted about six months. Ten years later, the violin continues to be an important and committed part of Eider’s life.
There are endless ways that parents are making and keeping long lists of the pros and the cons of where is best to live for their charges. Town v City; Urban v Rural; and on and on. I knew that moving to Northern Vermont would mean leaving the big, established, vital music opportunities that Eid was having in South Central Wisconsin. But I also had heard that Violin and especially Traditional Fiddle programs are vibrant here, I just thought they would be a little more in range. After some misses we found a great Suzuki teacher locally, and he began playing in the Green Mountain Youth Symphony our first fall here. I was sad to not have access to any Suzuki Group Classes nearby, but with the arrival of Wilfred and all of the adjustments we were making in our new home, I figured it wouldn’t hurt for it to wait a season or so.
Then, of course, Covid. And the derailing of all things. He kept his weekly lessons up during that two-year dead zone via zoom, which I am thankful for. Music programs across the country have reported that they have experienced enormous attrition over the pandemic; so many kids stopped playing. And I really get that. It was fucking hard to keep up interest in practice when you only ever had yourself to play with. Music is, in my mind, in big part meant to be made together. It is a unifying force. Music joins and connects and moves us, together, through the darkness and into the light. Tragically, it seems that perhaps the darkness was too long and too deep to carry everyone through.
I kept up some communication with the director of the Burlington Suzuki program during the pandemic, planning our return to group classes once things opened up again and Wilfred was bigger - and ready to begin his adventure into the brilliance of Dalcroze himself. And when we were planning for this year’s activities, I was excited to have this one penciled in along with lacrosse and orchestra, skiing and mtb. I have shared time and again over the past few years how hard it has been to get life here to work for our Eider Bear, it has been difficult on repeat and it is his resilience, far more than my own, that has made it possible to not lose all sense of optimism. Making plans for activities ((for belonging)) that might take hold has been a cornerstone of my personal survival strategy. I have missed and also longed for the sense of connection and belonging that we all found in the Suzuki Strings of Madison. So getting back in the mix was something that I had been approaching with anticipation and thrill.
And then a couple of things happened. Mostly inside of myself, but even so. Once I knew the date and the time that group classes would fall this year, I began to make some familiar internal bargains with myself. Classes would be in Burlington on Mondays after school. And it would be just for Eider; Wilfred is just a little too young yet for group classes. But one of my buds in town has been offering a fantastic 26+2 in a perfectly hot space in Stowe, also on Mondays, and I had made a rhythm of attending every week I was around over the course of the summer. It was the first time in years that I was taking a class with any regularity and I gotta say, I wasn’t excited to give it up. I knew that I would anyway, without even considering it a choice, because that is what I have always done. I mold myself around my children and the contents of their lives. And in many ways, I think that is the right call as a caregiver. I made the decision long ago to raise these people and support them in living the very best childhoods I could make available for them. I try to follow their lead and affirm their interests and make it possible for them to explore their passions. Most of this approach involves cueing off of them. Which can be the tricky bit.
When I was sitting back and considering letting go of this hot class and taking Eid into the big city every week for some group music, I realized I needed to reconsider the cues. He was excited about the classes, but in the way where maybe he is excited because I am or because he thinks that that is what I want for him. He does have the lived experience of knowing that the group classes are amazing and that playing, especially playing the repertoire that he is working on with his private teacher, with other young musicians is priceless. And yet, his life is by all measure so much more full than it has been since we moved here, with school and mountain biking and orchestra and lacrosse. He doesn’t have the big empty spaces that he has been carrying for the past three years. Perhaps, this choice between the strings program and a sweet and sweaty class for me, was actually mine to make, and not his.
So that is what I did. I made the call and chose class for me over class for Eid. And he is fine and I am psyched. He will help with Freddy so that I can leave the house on my own and fill my own cup all on my own versus vicariously through my kiddo. It is a little sad, especially when I pull on the thread of “what we lost”, but I am also overly sentimental in all ways, and letting go of an era is fucking painful. Plus I am being dramatic. No doubt. There is music still in our lives and there will continue to be. It just looks different than it once did and it will continue to evolve. As it should. As it was designed to do. And I get this sweet little piece for me right now which means a ton, especially without the moments of Freddy in preschool that I had been counting on.
This is some practiced discernment though. It is an imperfect equation at its very best. I have to get out of my way enough to see my kids as they are which is nearly impossible when they are so easily distorted by the view through my own lens. Recently, we were pressed with a similar decision that went the opposite way.
I was pretty pumped to see that Christina Sell and Desiree Rumbaugh are teaming up to teach together for a weekend next Spring. They are my original teachers and some of my most long-term influences, in yoga and also in life. And as far as I know, it has been years (maybe a decade?) since they teamed up to offer something to their very overlapping communities. So, obviously, I am there. Right? Even Chris was like 100% we gotta make this happen for you meggy. I mean, it is a total dream to think of a weekend with them and so many other folks that I have shared this long yoga story with for over two decades.
However, when I looked at the calendar to block out the dates, I realized that something was already penciled into that place. On our most recent trip back to the midwest the big kids and I agreed that visiting in the summer is so tight and busy; every place we love to be, we love to be in summer. This makes for a hectic season to say the least. So we began to discuss using the latter of the two spring breaks and take the time to visit the places and our people in the parts of the Upper Midwest that are hard to reach on our quick flights into and out of Southeastern Wisconsin. A road trip to Minneapolis and Viroqua began to take shape in our minds’ eyes, to visit our dear hearts, family by blood, and family by choice that reside in those harder-to-reach locales. Maple and Eider, my long-time ride-or-die road trippers, both responded to the barely hatched plan with an enthusiasm and optimism that made this plan as firm as it can be seven months out. We also reminisced on the big road trips the three of us would take together when we lived in the middle of the country. It has just been back and forth to MDI for us for the past three years.
And here is the real deal: when your almost 17-year-old daughter, who is less than two years away from her explosion into her own wide world, wants to take a road trip with her ‘ol ma and her two bb brothers, the answer is yes my buds. It is yes and it is yes and it is yes 1000x over. My priorities are clear in this domain and they probably always will be. It was the very same this summer when Maple was planning on an entire summer on Islesford and said she would prefer that I be there with her as much as I was able. I make and will continue to make, that shit happen for as long as my girl, or any one of my children, asks. That is just how it is. I sure as shit didn’t want extra time with my mom when I was her age; I am acutely aware of the contrast. So I make my choice even when it means missing a “once in a lifetime collab” with some of my very favorite yoga teachers. And honestly, when I parse it all out, I think that is probably a value I acquired by virtue of their teachings and a lifetime of practice. So it goes.
So late next April, I won’t be in Bellingham, I will be on the road to or from or landed in the Upper Midwest with my little duckies all in tow. Making memories together and reminiscing the ones made in those same places and with those old friends ages and ages ago. And on Mondays for the foreseeable future, you won’t find me sitting on the floor in a corner of a music room with knitting in hand. I’ll be in the hot room wearing next to nothing, sweating and staring down my reflection in the mirror all while doing the good and never-ending work of getting right with myself and reaffirming my priorities. That’s how it goes. Onward my dears.