Violinista

I have played the violin since 4^th grade. My father taught orchestra in the schools and I got no preferential treatment. I didn’t even really care for playing an instrument, to be honest. I just copied whatever Jenny did. She was the girl who sat next to me in class. And playing in orchestra was not an option, it was just what we did. The end. No discussion. I didn’t even know that people got to choose whether they played instruments or not.

So throughout my years in school, I played in orchestra with Dad as conductor. In middle school, I branched out to the bass, because there wasn’t one in the orchestra and I wanted to try something really new and exciting. It was so easy, and I got a lot of attention whenever I’d carry the bass around. I didn’t really like standing out like that, but it sort of goes with the territory when you play the biggest instrument in town.

In eighth grade, I discovered competition. I went back to the violin because I wanted a smaller instrument again. It wasn’t important to me to sit in first chair, though for some weird reason I was always there. It wasn’t a priority for me to practice and I rarely did, when I couldn’t find a good book to read. But there was a Korean boy who had skipped a grade or two, and he could play beautifully. I know he spent a good chunk of his days practicing the violin, and it seemed to him almost disgusting to have to play in a group with other kids. He had amazing intonation but absolutely no expression, like he was a machine spitting out the data he read on the sheetmusic page. There was no way I was letting this punk be concertmaster. Somewhere inside me I felt a motherly, protective irritation towards him. The rest of the kids in the class needed someone older and wiser to be their example, not someone who didn’t even care to be their friend. I’m no great leader, but the quiet example of someone with respect to the rules is something that inspires me. So I practiced and practiced and practiced the piece we were going to play to compete for concertmaster and got that song down so perfectly that I almost felt sorry for my competitor when he lost. I could clearly see his disappointment, because he genuinely felt like he was far above everyone else in skill. As for me, there was no feeling of victory or smugness, I just felt lame. I felt like I had pushed a member of the group away in order for me to rise to the top. Competition stinks.

In high school, I was happy to go to the bottom of the totem pole. A few older musicians were very talented and inspired me to practice more than I had ever done before. Not that it was very often, but it was still better. By the time I reached my senior year, I was the only senior in orchestra. No competition!

There was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity that I can’t believe I saw happen to me that year. The Seattle Symphony did a program where they traveled to different areas and performed with one musician selected from high schools in that area. I was chosen from our school! I was given some impossible music to play along with them, a practice or two in their rehearsal room in Seattle, and a final performance at the college concert hall in Aberdeen. I will never forget that experience. I was surrounded by the most perfect music imaginable. The musicians were ONE. They blended and moved together without a blemish. I played quietly so as to keep the perfection as intact as possible in order to experience the moment as long as I could. I honestly think the Lord made it possible for me to be there as a sparkle of hope, so that I could visualize Heavenly music at a dreary time in my life when the future was hazy. I wasn’t taking my life seriously. I didn’t know what I was doing or what I would be doing after high school. Nobody sat me down and had a talk with me about my future. It didn’t seem like anyone really cared very much about my life or how I should be spending my time. But this moment was unreal. I didn’t fully grasp its significance at the time, but it meant a lot to me then.

Throughout my time at home, I played in quartets or groups put together by my dad. Sometimes we made money, sometimes we just played, sometimes we played too long and annoyed people. It was all good, character-building, experience-enhancing fun.

In college, I (miraculously) passed an audition to get into the symphony. We played some challenging pieces and some hauntingly beautiful ones. I realized that my practice habits put me farther back in the second violin section than I had ever been before. But hey, when you’re not in front, you can scope out the babes or goof around with your stand partner without notice! Awesome! We played a special concert for the prophet in the Tabernacle. My stand partner ran into President Hinckley, but I missed him. Too much primping in the mirror – vanity ruined my day.

For a while here in La Grande, I had a music group called New Vintage, and it was a beautiful gal named Lisa and me who both sang, she played the piano, and I played violin. We would meet at her house once a week and go through music and mostly chat. She was one of the closest friends I’ve ever had. We played for a wedding and a local business show, but we didn’t get many gigs. We blended well together. She was far more talented than she realized. I think we both benefited from the girl time we spent, using New Vintage as an excuse for it. When she moved away, I stopped playing the violin for a while. I play in church a couple times a year, but that’s about it.

Since getting older, I’m starting to get braver, caring less and less about others’ opinions. I’m not going to let it get out of control, as I’ve seen with other people caring not at all about others’ opinions, but let’s just say it’s a necessary part of my self esteem. Last year I was brave enough to try out my first fiddle competition, which was so much fun because of my cheering section! I love my family! And last night I tried playing in the pit for “Sound of Music.” That was nerve-wracking. I did fine, but I think I’ll have last night be the last of it.

So, I’m a violinist with little ambition. It’s fun to play in church or in small groups, familiar music without having to branch out too much. I don’t like to compete. I don’t like to practice a lot. I don’t like learning new fingerings or tricks. Traditionally, I’m not the typical violinist. I didn’t even start out with a passion for it. Even so, the experiences I’ve had as a result of learning the basics and using them for 23 years have been amazing. I’m no Itzhak Perlman, but I love my beautiful violin (with the Pirastro Obligato strings and rosin – thank you, Sam!) and we’re a great team when we do nice, quiet, unassuming stuff together.

Twilight

So, at the recommendation of cousin Marie Orton, who is in my ward, I read the first vampire book by Stephenie Meyer. Actually, Sam made me do it. He sent the book to me via e-mail, and he knows that once I start a book, it's difficult to put down. This one was no different.

It's set in Forks, Washingon, which is an actual town near where I spent nine years of my boring life. The main character, Bella, has brown eyes and brown hair and is pretty much a boring person like me. She's in high school. She meets up with a remarkably talented, handsome, and mysterious guy who happens to be a vampire, and they are drawn to each other by more than the average chemistry. Edward reminds me in many ways of Sam. For these reasons alone, it was difficult to stop myself from reading the book from cover to cover in a day's time.

The second, third, and fourth books were brought over to me by Marie on Thursday, a week ago. I figured that I would eventually get to them, but I started the next book on Friday...well, I finished them all by Monday night late. The second book references "Romeo and Juliet" and is loosely based on that play. The third book references "Wuthering Heights" and is loosely based on that book. (I hated that book, but this novel made some interesting references that helped me to better understand the point of the original story.)

Those three would be complete, in my opinion. I started reading the fourth book and immediately regretted it. When Bella was just about to drink some blood, I put the book down and told Sam I was done. He told me to just keep reading and see if it got better. The book was just a weird, unnecessary addition. Maybe some of the romance novel innuendos and graphic violence could have been cut out and I'd have liked it much better.

Anyway, now I see that they're making a movie of the books. It sort of made me sad to see the cast and how different they are from who I imagined. Aside from "Harry Potter," this is the first time I've read the book and then seen the movie. I can see that I'll be disappointed in the Hollywood version of the books, but isn't that the point of Hollywood? Moneymoneymoney. Regardless of the good original, things must be changed in order to appease a larger audience. It sickens me. I would much rather see BBC's "Pride and Prejudice" than the trite new Hollywood version, even though it lasts much longer. I want to see a full story with realistic characters. That makes for a movie I want to watch again and again. That's what I love about reading. It gives me a fuller view of the thoughts and motivations of each character and lets me take my time mulling it over as to what it means.

As for the Twilight series, it's an interesting concept, but I'm not sure I'll ever read it again. Bella is so stinkin' selfish, and she doesn't deserve what Edward has to offer her. Very romantic and everything, but I'm surprised to hear myself say that what I've got is much more romantic!

As a matter of fact, the name of my blog, "Paige of Pearls," stems from the jewelry. A few years ago, I was encouraged to start selling jewelry. Pictures were taken of my favorite sets and posted on eBay to sell. I had to come up with a name for a store on eBay, so Paige of Pearls was chosen. My favorite stones are pearls, and I used sterling silver findings exclusively (which, by the way, is somewhat foolish, given the tarnish that silver gets after a while...but it is beautiful). The logo seen on the top of the front page of this blog is the logo I made for the store. Unfortunately, after listing the items a few times, I got no bids and few interested customers. So I figured that most people aren't as excited about it as I am.

I told a good friend about the jewelry and she wanted to look at it. When she saw the mauve pearls, she said, "Oh, those are pretty beads. They're heavier than I thought they'd be." I was sort of sad that she didn't recognize them as actual pearls, and I understood then that I am and never will be a salesman. I enjoy making beautiful things and to me they are worth far more than money. I will never be able to crochet or knit clothes or creations like my sisters can (and I wish I could!), but I can whip up a set of earrings just before church to match my mood or my outfit. It's pretty exciting!

Old School

Just a couple of days ago, I joined up with Facebook. Basically, it's a minimal information site, like a picture book of people one may or may not know from the past. I was encouraged to join by my sister, who mentioned that another of our sisters had already joined. With two of my sisters and (unbeknownst to me at the time) my husband and brother already members of this site, I decided to join.

I entered in the information for my high school and colleges. On the first page popped up a bunch of pictures of people I may already know. One of the pictures was of a friend of mine from high school, a girl named Noelle. It was very exciting to see her again after fourteen years! And back to my mind rushed memories of times we hung out together.

In sophomore English, we had class on the first floor of the oldest building of the school. It was my favorite building, in fact, the only one I felt at home inside. I hated high school with a passion, but I didn't mind it when my classes were in the Weatherwax Building. The ceilings were so high, the windows were large and ancient, and the glass was thicker at the bottom of the panes. The stairs were worn in the middle and looked as though they sagged, and I could imagine how many students and educators walked on them. It gave me a feeling of belonging, knowing that I was one of the historical people walking the halls in this great old place. The library was my favorite place in the world. So many books, so much room to study, and the massive windows and high, inlaid ceiling made it seem like a world all its own. I loved that building.

Our English class was only made bearable by the fact that it was in that building and that many of my friends were there with me. We all dreaded Mrs. Bennett's lectures. She used a phrase so many times that it was immensely distracting. "Very definitely," she would say. We, being in an English class, would be critical of anything our teacher said that might be bad English. "Definitely" was already a pretty solid word, but using "very" with it seemed ridiculous. Mrs. Bennett would get after us for being redundant, and we would use this against her - behind her back, of course. English had to be somewhat exciting for us! And since we were all nice kids, we wouldn't badmouth our teacher while she knew about it. Oh, the rebelliousness in us!

I remember hanging out in front of the Weatherwax building just before class one day, and Noelle complimented me on my clear complexion. I was baffled, because my face has suffered from acne since I was thirteen. I thought I must be doing something right with my makeup application!

That same year, my friend Joann and I would mosey around the block and just chat during lunch. One day, while we were in front of the Weatherwax Building, we saw some unfamiliar kids driving up. We realized they were kids from Hoquiam, a rival school. They began to throw eggs at MY BUILDING. I was so upset that I could barely think, but Joann and I called for help. I don't remember everything that happened, but somehow my brother Aaron (a senior then) showed up and chased down one guy who subsequently gave him a black eye, which he proudly wore as a badge of war.

I also remember that a couple of my friends had a crush on one boy a couple of years later, when I had senior English in a classroom two floors above Mrs. Bennett's classroom. Our teacher was Dr. Carter, a unique man with curious views who I respected very much. The boy in question was a new boy to our school, and he was obviously one who fit in well with our "nice girl" group. When I first met him, I liked him, too, but I didn't say anything about it to the other girls. They proceeded to take turns dating him. One day, as I was sitting outside the building and this boy walked by, I thought, "boy, is he cute." And I realized that he was trouble. He was deliberately playing my friends against each other. They were so taken in by what he looked like that they didn't see who he really was and what his motives were. I wrote my thoughts into a journal that I kept for English class. Each student was assigned to write a certain amount of entries in it for Doc to get to know us better as well as see how we write without a subject. Doc gave me some relationship advice and asked me some questions (via comments in the journal) that helped me to think about how I could be a better friend. What he said was so simple and objective. I think that he was the influence I needed at the time.

Some time ago, and I'm not sure when, some kids broke into the school and burned down my building. I nearly cried when I saw the ashes. The memories and the history cannot be rebuilt. Structures are not built in the fashion of the Weatherwax Building anymore. Only time can make it what it became by the time I got there. But I'm happy that I could walk those halls and sometimes at night dream of climbing the stairs and feel that some old contented spirit was following me around. And I'm happy that I will never have to relive high school ever again.

Nobody Knows

Hey, nobody reads this blog anyhow, so I'm going to just forget about what I thought anyone thinks. I did originally make this page so that people could catch up on what's going on with me, but it doesn't really matter. Let's face it: nobody really cares what's going on with me. So I'm going to make this blog a fun thing for ME to read. Yeah.

There aren't too many things I like very much about my body right now. But I, most of the time, like my eyes. I didn't always, but I'm kind of getting narrowed down for likeable areas. They are brown. They are tiger eye (the semi-precious stone) color in the light. In high school, I liked to wear dark colors to bring out their darkness and to contrast my pale skin. I called my eyes "cow brown" or "poop brown," but now I realize that they shouldn't be compared to such yucky things. They see nearly clearly, and the whites stay white most of the time.

If I didn't have eyes, I couldn't see my children smile. That's something I didn't appreciate in high school, but it makes me grateful now. I can see the beautiful colors of spring, a welcome sight after the gloom of winter. I can see music on a page. I can see words in books and in letters. I can see the emerging writing scrawls on paper and pictures my children draw.

Eyes are windows to the soul, they say. One can read a person's intentions by gazing into those eyes. The best eyes to see are those of innocent children. Sometimes it's heartbreaking to see innocence and realize that someday it will change and the children will have to learn hard truths. When one holds onto youth for too long, eventually one's heart breaks and cold reality sets in. But seeing that innocence in young eyes does bring back goodness.

On our trip to Mexico last year, we came upon a truckful of Mexican army men in downtown traffic. As I looked into one of the men's eyes, I saw something I've never seen before. I smiled at him, and his gaze deepened. I realized something: a young man, no older than 20, sat ten feet from me and my family with a rifle in his hands and murder in his eyes. It was a very frightening realization to me. In contrast to this man, I deal daily with five young children who have never had any thoughts of that sort in their minds, and I'm sure that army man began life the same way. To go from one point of the spectrum to the other in only a few short years seems impossible, but there it was.

As usual, I'm rambly, but it all comes down to eyes. They're my favorite thing about myself, and they are the first thing I notice about people because they are so telling. Since this is my first real blog here, I'd like to welcome myself to this blog and thank myself for putting such relevant input onto this page. Also, I'd like to shake my hand and tell myself to sit down and shut up.

The Mexican Cruise

At the beginning of December, we took a cruise to Mexico with Sam's parents. They were so generous and kind! We saw Acapulco, Xijuatinejo, Cabo San Lucas, and Puerto Vallarta. What a fun adventure! It was an eye-opener to our blessings. We are grateful that we have all that we have. We have a lovely home, a country in which we can worship, time to do whatsoever we choose, schools that our children can attend, churches that teach goodness and truth, wonderful children and parents, and technology to enrich our intelligence. These are only a few of the blessings we realized while we were there, without phones and internet, being served constantly by happy people who treated us like kings. We enjoyed the experience so much! And now we're happy to be back, relaxed and enjoying life so much more. Now that we have had a real vacation, we will have to have one every year. I think everyone would benefit from this type of experience!

Shrewsbury Ren Faire

Here are a few pictures of our Ren Faire expedition to King's Valley, Oregon last September. This is a family tradition that we all enjoy doing together, but our first journey to Shrewsbury. Planning out and making the garb for everyone is a time-consuming but exciting chore for me to accomplish, and I am even more joyful when the family is appreciative of their clothing (which they always are!).
This year, we convinced Sam's brother Frank and his family to accompany us to the Faire. Emma is shown in the picture with Cambria and Eliza. Their face-painting experience was positive. The artist was very child-friendly, which came in handy with Eliza. She was as grumpy as could be when we got there (we'd traveled for a lot longer than anticipated), but when the face-painting lady kindly asked her to sit on her chair and choose a design, she sat like a statue and then admired herself in every reflective object for the rest of the day.
We saw the knights doing battle in their arena, we saw singers, actors, and all sorts of off-their-rocker people who just came to fit in (?). We bought toys, jewels, and musical instruments. The children were admired by people young and old, and given gifts by a few vendors who adored them. I was addressed as "m'lady." It was just too fun! This is a tradition which we will continue forever.