Days Like This

Each Saturday we make an effort to get a change in scenery. Because we spend so much time at home, we try to find a different place to be outdoors and hike or snowshoe in the company of our very happy dogs. This past weekend we headed up to the Champlain Valley. The temp was brisk so we were bundled as we started hiking. The dogs raced ahead of us breaking a much appreciated trail. It was just after noon, we had enjoyed a picnic lunch in the car on the trip up – which may not sound like much but during Covid, we’ll take it. As we walked we lifted our faces up to the sun and Paul and I both noticed that suddenly we were feeling a mid-February sun; warmer, more consistent and able to cut through the north wind that was following us. This is how it is in Vermont: beginning in December and continuing into June, there are varying levels of warmth from the changing angles of light, and periodically they strike you. This was one of those days.

With all live performances stopped during Covid, I have been determined to take this time to focus on my own music. Being part of many performing groups, my practice time is mainly spent bringing up pieces that I’m hired to play. I make sure I run some scales and try to work on a piece that is technically challenging but the majority of time is spent otherwise. Covid has allowed me to change that up a bit. I have gone back to a more focused practice that includes double stop scales, etudes and solo performance pieces often accompanied in practice by the Vienna Symphonic piano sounds.

Not long ago, I was practicing and I asked Paul to start and stop my piano for me. As I began I noticed that my scales in sixths were coming out of my cello perfectly. I was able to cross strings without a break in sound and my hands were actually doing what I was asking them to do!

I moved to my etude and found, to my delight, it was the same magic. Getting a little heady, I grabbed my Rachmaninoff and started the fourth (the most difficult) movement. My intonation was great, my hands were quiet but measured and accurate, my bowing was expressive…I felt like I could toss my hands at the fingerboard randomly and my fingers would land exactly where I wanted them to. I finished with a flourish and grinned at Paul (I think I had tears in my eyes). We both knew what was happening, this was one of those days.

Most players, at every level, experience magic at different times. It seems you cannot miss a note, you almost have to work at not being in tune and you hope (against hope) that this fairy dust that you have been sprinkled with today will never wear off.

But, at some point you are going to have to shower and wash that dust off. While working from home you might get away with the not showering for a little longer than normal but, I don’t- well, Paul doesn’t advise that we do that.

Then come the times when you cannot hit a note to save your life. On those days I feel like I not only could, but actually am tossing my hands at my fingerboard and missing it altogether. My brain will not decipher sharps from flats, A’s from E’s or in tune from out. I finish without flourish or grin, look at Paul and there really are tears in my eyes this time.

This inconsistency is not just about music. Think about your hair. This is life.

Melissa Perley