It's all in the details

So much of my life is thinking about the big picture. 

Getting us all out the door with clean underwear on.

Mapping out the week's dinners.

Making sure the house is running smoothly.

Staying on top of my students' repertoire and performances.

This week I've been reminded that the quality of life is in the details.

For example, right now I'm drinking a glass of wine and listening to jazz while boiling noodles for our pasta dinner tonight.

I'm as happy as a clam.

Or as content as a baby tightly swaddled with a full belly. (A lot of our friends are having babies right now. Happy happy)

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On Tuesdays and Thursdays my alarm goes off at 5 am. I stretch and rub my eyes. I grab my phone and scroll through social media for 4 minutes, trying to let as little light as possible enter my eyes. I spend those 4 minutes convincing myself to get up. That I might as well get up since I won't be able to go back to sleep. That I'm already awake.

Inevitably, when I get home at 7 and I've got a cup of coffee in my hands, I'm glad that I've gotten up have checked an item off my to-do list.

When I first started going to Masters swim, just the thought of Al (swim teacher?coach?) standing beside the pool, would propel me out of bed and to the gym. This oldest child-people pleaser doesn't want to let anyone down. And then I missed one morning and realized it wasn't the end of the world and Al doesn't really care that much if I come or not and suddenly my 4 minute pep talks were turning into 6 minutes.

The gym opens at 4:45 and while I'm mortified by my early alarm, there are people leaving the gym as I head in. And we can't forget the staff who must be there before everyone else.

The front desk personnel changes periodically and one of these changes happened about 2 months into my new routine. There was a staff worker, now on the morning shift, that I'd recognized from previous weekend visits.

At first it was just kind of mumbled, under his breath, before I logged in. "Hi Emily."

But the next week, it was a little louder and more confident and I was sure that he was talking to me.

It's not totally weird that he would know my name, since when I log in, my picture pops up on the screen, but he remembered it from previous visits and now it's this whole thing. Like, I don't know his name so do I ask? And it's been a month now, of him saying hi to me and I haven't asked yet, so is it weird to suddenly say, "hey, by the way, what's your name?"

And while, it's a little awkward, in reality, it's actually really nice, to know that someone has noticed you and makes an effort to say hi to you by name. Especially at 5:30 in the morning.

In fact, when I want to skip my early morning swim, I'm motivated by the thought that he might notice I've missed.

Little things.

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We had a wonderful Easter. The highlight of the day was listening to some of our friends play Peter and the Wolf in the most delightful setting.

{photo by Douglas Hahn}

It was a full day, with lots of little details that added to its loveliness.

Vintage light up signs that point to the stage.

1910 pianos placed in the bed of a model T.

Charming conductors.
{photo by Douglas Hahn}

Musicians in costume.

{photo by Douglas Hahn}

The simplest pleasure of sitting outside, listening to good music filled me with gratitude.

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Spring has arrived in Wichita.

With the blooming of daffodils and tulips come the inherent spring winds. While I grew up with foggy Bay Area mornings, my girls will associate their childhoods with wind howling outside the house.

The trees are full of white and purple flowers. Everything is growing and pushing through the soil, little buds whose mettle is proved against the fierce wind. Growing especially enthusiastically is our grass. In fact, we basically had a meadow in our front yard this weekend. It was kind of pretty, but also kind of embarrassing because last Saturday EVERYONE ELSE in the world was mowing their lawn and there we were, wild and untamed.

And we would have been EVERYONE ELSE, if our lawn mower wasn't broken. It broke at the end of the fall and due to a series of events, it has been near impossible to fix. It's fixable, it just appears that the process in which it can be fixed is very convoluted and time consuming.

Every time I pulled up to my house and saw the deer frolicking and bunnies hopping in the tall, gently swaying grass, I would feel anxious and stressed. (Ok, I'm exaggerating. No deer, but definitely bunnies.)

Until Tuesday. When I came home and was greeted by the sight of a beautifully edged and newly sheared lawn.

It's such a small thing, yet the sight of a well tended lawn brings such peace and comfort.

Our lawn mower is still broken by the way.

And I want to tell you, that a not-so-small act of love and graciousness and kindness is responsible for our manicured lawn and consequently my lowered stress level.

You see, I've got this student, who is remarkable and special in his own right  and comes from some truly extraordinary people.

Miss Alicia, or Malicia as Ruby likes to call her, listened to my apologies for their trek through the over grown terrain to the front door, and story about our lawn during her son's lesson on Tuesday.

Later that day while I was teaching, I got this text:

I was gobsmacked.

And humbled.

And speechless.

And deeply touched.

It's still hard for me to find words to describe what how this not-so-little gesture made me feel.

If you ever come across people like this in your life, hold on to them. Not because they do things for you, but because they listen and care and make this world a better place.

Alicia and Jed and Carson, thank you for your kindness to our family. You are such special people.

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So here I am, at the end of the semester. A time in which I typically find myself exasperated and irritated with everyone.

But instead, I'm finding small (and large) reminders that life is good. That there is much to be grateful for. 

Evening light.

Spring temperatures.

Intentional hellos.

Friends who listen and care.

Good food and drink.

Antique quilts.

Music.

I am reminded that if I care about the quality of the details, the big picture is going to look pretty great.

It takes a village...

Party prep went really smoothly.

So smoothly, in fact, that I was able to attend a rehearsal I had originally planned on missing.

My cupcakes even looked like the ones I had seen on Pinterest.

We had confirmed the bounce house delivery the night before.

They would arrive at 12:30 and the party started at 3.

Womp, womp.

They never came.

We knew that one of Maia's friends had a small bounce house, so Aleks called and asked if they could bring it with them.

It was the warmest day we've had yet and in typical Kansas fashion, was incredibly windy.

*Lots of little girl screams*

It's a grasshopper!

And when I got there, my little girly girl was holding that sucker in her hand.

Another family arrived, heard the story, and just happened to have a bounce house as well.

They graciously offered to run home and get it for us.

I often hear Maia say "this is not how I planned!" when she's frustrated.

I most definitely felt like throwing a tantrum when it became apparent our main party feature wasn't going to happen.

But it was also a really good teaching moment for our girls.

When we told Maia the bounce house wasn't coming, she did say "This is the worst birthday ever!"

But I also heard her later say "the Sternfeld-Dunns can fix anything."

Pink cheeked and wind blown.

It all turned out ok.

It was a good lesson for me as well.

Sometimes thing don't go the way I planned and I've got to swallow my pride and ask for help.

I really hate asking for help.

I'm deeply grateful for the little village of friends we have around us.

People who step in to help out and are willing to roll with the punches.

 I think all the kiddos slept well last night.

I know ours did!

Emily is having a birthday

Hi Everyone,

This is Emily's husband Aleks and she doesn't know it yet but I have hijacked her blog. You see in just two hours it will officialy be her birthday. Typically when one of our family members has a birthday Emily will do a blog where she lists as many special things about them as they are old. Like this one for instance.

Well I could do that and list all the usual things (which you already know). She's thoughtful, beautiful, kind, smart, talented, an amazing mother, an amazing wife, etc. but the more and more I thought about it the more and more it all came down to one word. The one word that describes my wife better than another is…Powerful.

The definition of powerful according to Google is:

pow·er·ful
ˈpou(-ə)rfəl/Submit
adjective

1.having great power or strength.

Sometimes I wonder if Emily knows just how powerful and strong she really is. I watch her as she handles the everyday stresses of life, teaching, kids, marriage and how she takes on every challenge with resolute determination and never giving up. I've never seen her back down from a challenge, never seen her quit. When she see's a problem she doesn't wait she just fixes it.

I think about the time we lived in Connecticut and there was no real opera scene for young artists in Hartford. Where some would get discouraged and give up her solution was to team up with a friend (and then a few more friends) and start her own opera company, Hartford Opera Theater or H.O.T. With zero money, administration experience, or resources she just decided to do it. At one point she actually built a stage in our basement. Now that company has a strong reputation and presence in Hartford, non-profit status, a board of directors and she was the one who started that.

This is why I married her. This is why I'm attracted to her. This is why I love her.

I am fortunate that I have had powerful and strong women in my life. My mother, my grandmothers, my aunt and this is why I was drawn to Emily. No weak kneed woman for me.
The best part is she will be a role model of strength and power to my daughters.

As a parent I think we always worry about what our children will grow into but I feel confidant that growing up with their mother they will know their own self worth and know how to find their own inner strength.

Emily, I love you and like many I admire the human being that you are. I know this next year has many magical things in store for you. Happy Birthday!

P.S. I hope that our girls also get your writing skills and not mine.

Five

Today Maia Lee turns 5.

In honor of this monumental occasion, here are five things that I love about my oldest daughter.

1. The happiness and sweetness she brings to all who know her.

She has an inner light that radiates from her face. I'll never get tired of it.

2. Her appetite for life. Girlfriend isn't afraid to dive in headfirst.

3. Her flair for drama and the way she articulates herself. I could watch these kids play for hours.

4. Her imagination.

5. How loving and compassionate she is toward Ruby. I hope they stay best friends forever.

Happy Birthday my sweetest girl.

The world is a better place because you're in it.

Boxes

At the Presbyterian church where I sing, a new pastor was installed on Sunday. There was a small orchestra, one service, and blended worship. It was a big deal for this church who has been without a leader for 3 years.

I could see the new pastor's family sitting in the front pew, their youngest daughter in high school, soon to face a new school, far from her home by the ocean. One of their adult sons was singing in the choir with us, handsome and wearing a suit underneath his choir robe.

The whole day was so familiar. I can distinctly remember being that girl, feeling curious eyes on the back of my head, thrust into the spotlight by default.

I don't usually write about things like this, mostly because it's not anyone's business, but also because I'm unwilling to draw any lines in the sand.
But lately things in my life seem to be circling around and coming back to the same place over and over.

As I sat and listened, during the two services that day, certain phrases jumped out at me as if they were in all caps and bright red. Sermons have a way of presenting themselves to me in this way. Mostly I've stopped listening because those loud, bright phrases have a way of getting under my skin.

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At the last board meeting, we were asked to give a word which we think best represents the company. As I am new to this arts organization, I could only offer what I hoped would be a fundamental principal: interesting.

It was a telling assignment for me. What do I value enough to give some of my precious time?

Other words were offered: integrity…education... audience outreach… education… history... education again.

I always say that I became a musician because it's the family trade. I come from a long line of musicians, my parents, my maternal grandparents, and my grandmother's mother all maintain/ed a professional level of musical skill.

As I graduated high school and faced that popular question "what's your major?" my path clearly stretched out in front of me. How could it not, when on road trips as a child your family would sing rounds or dissect the orchestration of the symphony playing on the radio? Many freshman in college struggle with the very concepts that I had been taught at an early age.

I didn't have to work very hard to be near the top of my classes.

And yet, while music is in the very fiber of my being, I've always felt that I lacked the emotional connection that draws most people down a serious musical path.

But I don't know anything else. And what a shame it would be, to disregard the lineage of musicians from which I come.

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I've always been a little different, late to trends, slow to jump on the bandwagon.

I've never been thin, and that combined with tight finances lent itself to a fairly bland and unfashionable wardrobe throughout my youth. I was smart, but usually hovered below the top 10%. I played sports, but wasn't committed enough during the off season to be considered one of the jocks. I was in school plays, never in a leading role, usually in the chorus or as a cast member with a few lines or a short solo. In high school, my friends were popular, but I wasn't. Even now, as a classical singer, it's hard to categorize my voice, not one of the fachs fit particularly well.

I suppose we all feel like this. And as I get older, I'm starting to think that just maybe, those boxes/categories/groups are not reality.

Amanda Magee, whose blog I recently discovered, wrote:

As I think about it now, I realize that rarely do drop down menus or quiz results truly capture who we are, partly because they are too limiting, but mostly because every day we can slip outside of one set of lines and start leaping in and out of another.

Maybe being a misfit is the best fit.

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Next week I'm having a birthday. I'll be turning 33, and things have been swirling around in my brain, stirring up memories and emotions that I haven't had time for with two young children.

For so much of my life, as an oldest child who likes to please, I've struggled with wanting to fit in, yet disagreeing with much of what I see and hear. All the while watching the majority nod their heads in agreement, like sheep mindlessly following whomever has the biggest staff.

Those people who know me as Pastor Peter's daughter will be surprised to learn that I believe in gay rights and am pro-choice and a feminist. Those of you who have known me in my adult years, might be surprised to know that I believe in God and have a deep faith in the foundational truths of Christianity.

Is there even a box for someone like me?

However, I'm beginning to understand that this feeling of being a misfit, is actually something of which to be quite proud. Here in the midwest, there is a lot of categorizing. It matters which church you go to, what neighborhood you live in, where your kids go to school.

I've also come to understand that performing is the way I can encourage people to think for themselves. During my work at the Hartt School, I came to this realization:

As a performer, our calling is to give the audience permission to look at our lives and as a result, glimpse for just a moment in time, some truth of humanity. 

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For the longest time I didn't want any princess toys or paraphernalia in my house. I felt strongly that I wanted my daughters to be more interesting than princesses. And then slowly the books trickled in, which gave way to the princess dresses, which lead to the Fisher Price princess castle, and basically we are now princess central, especially since seeing Frozen.

Then Maia went to school this year and made a best friend. And this best friend doesn't like princesses and instead loves lions.

Soon I heard things like "I don't like princesses anymore" and "princesses wear diapers" and sure enough, we're having a lion themed birthday party next weekend.

I find myself offering to play princess, the very thing I had so despised just months earlier.

The thing is, it's not that I want Maia to love princesses again, but rather that I hate to see her conforming to outside influences.

I've got to give my parents credit. Despite what could have been a very rigid upbringing under the scrutiny of the church, they found a way to encourage us to be creative, to have our own opinions, and to be true to our convictions.

I'm grateful that my girls come from such a rich lineage of people who are interesting and different.

To be yourself in a world that is constantly trying to make you something else is the greatest accomplishment.

-Ralph Waldo Emerson

Cheers to all you other misfits.