Sacrifice

Seven months later it's a snow-day, and I am finally attempting to put this experience into words. It exhausted more sighs, tears and prayers than any other physical experience I've lived through so far. I smiled through much of it, laughed at myself, learned many lessons, kept confidence in its healing (according to God's will), and just kept going... but it's been 7 months; I am still recovering, hoping for the best, still learning lessons, still praying for relief and remembering pain. 

I smile through everything. I am optimistic, think the best of people to a fault, laugh through my struggles, and generally heal quickly. I also have a very high tolerance for pain (maybe a redhead thing?). And when I do feel pain, I don't always know what to do with it. I'll unconsciously ignore it, or mask it, remind myself how many have it worse than I, wrestle through it, count my blessings, and then I move past it. I just wait it out and things work out. It in this case being an overuse injury, tendonitis, some ulna tunnel, definitely damaged muscles, inflamed tendons and irritated nerves.

 

The pain erupted to the point where I could no longer play a note on the piano. I flew home, and in one of my more desperate prayers, I received confirmation and comfort that God knew exactly what I was going through, that this ailment might not be text book, but that it was specifically given to me and that it would help me learn. That it would teach more patience, help relationships, and let me grow. I believed that, and still do, with all my hope and all my heart.

Three weeks into it, I was alone in the Chalet, sitting in a steaming bath full of epsom salts, essential oils, and my own tears, unable to lift my hands to wipe my face pr move a strand of hair ... or really do anything but sit in silence. There were so many books close by I wanted to study, phone calls I wished I could make, emotions to fill a whole journal I was dying to write, music I longed to prepare and practice, or at least a social media website I could browse! But physically, I couldn't. 

Muscles hold memories, and most every day for the last 20 years has been composed of practicing the piano, harp, violin, conducting, teaching from the piano, coaching, typing, writing, and working. Even though I'd never felt real pain while playing piano or conducting, it really shouldn't have been so surprising to receive an injury. Honestly, it was long overdue--I'd never broken a bone, and never had an injury worse than bad knees and mosquito bites. 

Each week that passed I would tell those who inquired after me how it was getting better, how I'd be playing again soon, how I could start my conducting doctorate program without delay. I felt directed from the Lord to continue with my plans to move and to continue with my schooling, so I also expected healing ... in whichever way the Lord had in mind. 

The weeks quickly turned to months, and the ailment moved and morphed through different phases. I always needed help, and tried to ask for it, although even asking requires movement from your arms. I didn't look like I needed help, there was no cast, and I could always force movement when I needed. I somehow completed the move across the country (with a lot of help from close family), and started seeing new doctors more regularly. The excruciating reminders came less frequently as healing continued to happen, and I tried to incorporate better habits into my new lifestyle. 

I'm still taking it easy-- lifting as little as possible, practicing only in short spurts, using heat and ice, sleeping with splints, and still praying. The pain no longer bothers me, and most of the therapy is over (although I have said that for months). There might be more help I can get, and it will take a long time to regain the strength I had, but I am doing well, and mostly I consider it a thing of the past. 

Whether it was the 'would-you-rather' question game or simply empathizing with my heroes, as a child I had forced myself to imagine how I might live were I to go blind, deaf, or even loose my legs. And I had come to terms with each situation. I could live a happy life in any of those situations. For some reason, I never even imagined a situation where I might loose my arms. I didn't think that could happen. My arms symbolized everything God had given me-- the ability to touch, nurture, write a note, compose a song, make music, act, bless, decorate, help and create beauty. 

To give up the thing with which God specifically blessed you is part of my story. Moriah, the sacred place upon which Abraham promised to give up his biggest blessing. And where he, in beginning to enact that promise, was finally able to fully receive that blessing. I promised God a long time ago that I would sacrifice and dedicate all I had to His kingdom. But promising that in my heart was different than actually enacting that promise. But part of that promise was put to the test, or enacted upon me, to a small degree these past 7 months. And as I continue to re-deserve, relearn and regain strength, I now have renewed desire to thank God for my gifts, to treasure all I am given, and to sacrifice to receive the blessings of Heaven.

San Francisco

Concert Series at the Presidio, San Francisco Debut


Debussy:
l'Isle joyeuse
Reflets dans l'eau

Poulenc:
Napoli Suite
Barcarolle
Nocturne
Italian Caprice (intermission)

Ravel: Ondine
Chopin: Nocturne Op. 27.2
Prokofiev: Sonata #1

The clapping was enthusiastic at the end of the Prokofiev both nights, and many were standing. On Friday night, an older gentleman in the audience ran up to present me with a handful of beautiful wildflowers! So, I gave an encore:

Marciack
Île St. Louis from Impressions de Paris

This was the last piece that I studied with Monsieur Marciack in Paris. He composed two books of "Impressions de Paris" for his students to play. He cried at one of the last performances I gave while studying with him, and I wondered, 'why would someone cry to music?' Although I studied another one or two of his works with Christina Van Dohm in Antwerp, I put the books away when I moved to Wisconsin. For some reason, I packed them with me when I went off to College (not sure what I was thinking) and found them again when I was living with my Grandmother during the Spring term.

I looked through the pieces, and was reminded of many early musical memories associated with Monsieur Marciack, his handwriting, his music, his mannerisms, his laugh, his love for me... and then I played through the Île St Louis. I started to cry at the end of the first line and cried during the whole piece. It reminded me of everything that was Paris, everything that I learned musically there, every pain I had felt leaving, and every pain I had felt there. I was reminded of how many 'weird' things I did that were simply cross-culture conflicts and how much I loved Paris, Music, Monsieur Marciack, and how blessed I was to have all of those things.

After each performance, the audience greeted and congratulated me in the foyer and to my surprise, I noted accents (especially European) from the majority of the audience members. They thought that Marian Marciack might have been a famous French folk song, Schumann, a Song without Words, MacDowell or Gottschalk... he would be flattered. Others told me they felt it was my prayer. It was.

Liz Olson, my best friend from High School surprised me by attending both concerts and took me out to see her favorite spots in San Francisco, favorite roads, favorite ice cream place, and favorite real San Fransiscan restaurant. She and many other audience members asked when I would be coming back? soon in any case. If this was a 'debut,' that simply means 'beginning' (it's french, of course). So I will return. with friends. and perhaps more musical instruments. ;) see you then.

the story of my FAZIOLI

Shortly after returning from serving a mission, my parents asked me to start looking for a grand piano to complete their house in the mountains. There was also talk that this might be 'my' piano some day.

I slowly started contacting all piano dealers in the area and playing many different makes in my ideal size: 7 feet. It wasn't very long before I played on a Fazioli. I had first become acquainted with them when I was at the World Piano Pedagogy Conference in Las Vegas but I hadn't had a chance to get to know them. I sensed, heard, saw, and felt such a difference immediately. The keys knew what I was thinking. The softs were more delicate than any piano I'd tried and yet the power in the fortes was still strong. The keys were completely even all the way up and down the keyboard. I was in love.

After a few months of figuring out my top picks at each price level, I asked for a price range. Well, perhaps I could find a used steinway, or perhaps something smaller. But it was a reasonable price range. My parents came up for a weekend, and I showed them several different pianos in our price range. And then I had to play the Fazioli for them--just for fun. Yes, they were impressed.

I started looking outside of Utah as I was not falling in love with anything at that price level. I kept on running into Fazioli pianos among the used pianos of every other make. Each time, I would play and be in heaven for a moment. The piano dealer in Oakland showed me the wood on the inside--from the same forest in Italy as the wood that Stradivarius used. He had no idea how many books I've read on the Strad's. But the Faziolis in California were even further out of my price range.

Truthfully, I would be happy with any grand piano. I would be so grateful in any case. But I needed to research fully, make a smart decision, and find something I loved. I had found two pianos that I would be very happy with in our price rangem but did not want to make a decision quite yet. I asked every piano dealer if they'd heard of any used Fazioli pianos. They never had. Faziolis are new in America, and the factory in Italy only puts out a hundred per year or so. Mr. Fazioli likes to play each one until he knows he cannot improve it any more.

My mother says the Faziolis' sound is like thick cream. Each piano dealer that heard me play a Fazioli, and saw how much I loved it wanted me to get one. There is simply nothing like it. Then Baldassin Pianos called from Salt Lake City saying that he had a used Fazioli for me. But I would need to be interested in buying it without having played on it, because it was owned by a family in Idaho that might trade in the piano for another Fazioli. What a gamble--I thought. The other concern was that even if the price were substantially lowered for a used instrument, it would still be out of our price range.

While in Chicago, we passed a piano store several times per day with Fazioli waving to me from the window. I took the dealer there through the whole story, and he had a few things to say. Regarding the condition of the piano there, he suggested I talk with a known technician in Utah--Rick Baldassin. He's the one trying to sell it to me! The only other advice he had for me was upstairs in his studio. He has several pianos there that were of comprable caliber ten years ago. Today, he can tell which is the better make--the Fazioli in its sturdy frame needs tuning half as much as the others.

My mother called with a brilliant idea. There was an education fund for me (I only found out about it recently) started when I was a little girl, and only usable for post-undergraduate education. Apparently, they would let me use the money for my Masters and PHD programs towards a piano... making the difference from our budget to the used Fazioli. But was it foolishness and impulsiveness that wanted me to give up education money? Even if i were to spend the money, at that budget, I could almost get a new Steinway--would that be smarter?

This piano would not devalue upon purchase as it was used. I would perform on it countless times. I could teach with this piano. and I felt good agoit it. I gave them the 'ok.' The Fazioli was sent from Idaho; Mr. Baldassin even put on special wheels for me. He had me try it out after he had tuned it up... I went up to Salt Lake and was once again in heaven.

He gave me the gold and green key to the piano. a Fazioli key. I didn't think that it was quite real. but a few weeks later, it was wrapped up, and in place for Graduation. It is beautiful. All the piano faculty at BYU reassured me, 'This is your education,' 'it will always be part of your family,' 'you will be happy with it your whole life,' 'you made the wiser choice,' ... and I carried the key in my purse for a month.

It will be years and years before I have a home for this Fazioli, but it looks so beautiful here with the mountains in the background. My first concert with the Fazioli is in two short weeks. And I can't wait.

Préfecture and Performance

I was sitting an hour ago in a room full of foreigners to France for my second rendez-vous at the Préfecture. The walls were lined with people from all over the world, of every age, size and color (don't worry, i was by far the palest and the only remotely red-headed) waiting. Waiting to see if they can become legal in France. The palpable stress and tension in the room was overpowering as each person glanced up at the blinking numbers every few seconds to see if their number would come up.

... what a great p-day ...

Last night was my french debut. I gave a free recital for the community at the Nogent ward building where they have a nice shiny grand piano. The program started with Bach in good mariah fashion--organ prelude and Debussy's Reflets dans l'eau (both resurrected from my sophomore recital), then played a flashy arrangement (well, actually an improvisation) of How Great Thou Art, Ravel's Ondine, another improv of Nearer, my God to Thee, and finale with Poulenc's Italian caprice. As I introduced each piece and tried to explain why I am on a mission here in france, the Spirit filled the room and I hope many felt my testimony through the music.

While we were all visiting afterwards, the Evèque / Bishop pulled me aside and told me that i had impressed so many that he is organizing back-to-back concerts April 26th and inviting civil authorities, mayors, and pastors and bishops from other faiths... it wasn't until halfway through is speech that i snuck in a plea to put as many hours between the concerts as possible for my ou-of-shape fingers' sake... .

So it was a success I guess. so many of the members came up to me afterwards telling me that they now had more people they could invite to the concert that would be uplifted--they'll ask them for next time. I guess they didn't trust me for this concert, but i'll keep you posted for the next.

I LOVE BEING A MISSIONARY!!!

Sœur Wilson

ps--thanks jared kelson and pamela ash for the letter/email!

Mariah's farewell recital

Aunt Mary talking. Thanks for letting me post on your blog, Mariah! Here are a few pics and a video from our recent roadtrip to help send you off on your mission.
To all the rest of you out there in cyberspace, watching Mariah play the piano is a joy! There is an emotion you can feel in her countenance that reflects how much she loves music. I hope these pics convey that.


Mariah delighted many of us by performing a recital of French music the Saturday evening before leaving for the MTC. Pardon the quality of the video. It can't possibly do justice to the live performance, which was beautiful, but perhaps gives a tiny idea of the talent and hardwork it took to accomplish this. We love you, Mariah. Thank you both for your gift of music and your testimony. You'll be a wonderful blessing to those waiting for you in France.

The lovely Mariah with Dow

and with Lynne.

Born of goodly parents.

Faith to be Healed and a Senior Recital

I remember having this fantasy at age 9 or so about playing the piano in a huge concert hall when I was grown up, wearing a fancy green ball gown and wearing my long hair up in a crown of braids.  Some prince would see me playing from far away and we would get married....  I have given up on that fantasy since most of my high school career I planned on going into violin professionally and was never very self confident in my appearance in a ball gown.  and, who wants to marry a prince?!

Well, it's over.  It wasn't like my first fantasy in any way--the concert hall was considerably smaller, no elaborate European architecture, no green pouffy dress, no long hair, no braids... no proposals--but it happened.  It's strange not feeling relieved, sad or happy now that it's over.  The whole thing was just a big miracle.  

I have not been sick one day this whole semester or thanksgiving break.  Until this Monday, when my throat completely closed off.  The virus moved to my sinuses quickly and then to my head, giving me a low-grade fever Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday.  Apart from my dress rehearsal on Monday, I did not have any energy or strength to practice.  I forced myself to put in at least a half hour per day (remember this is compared to the usual 4 hours per day... 17% of my usual).

As soon as it came on, I began praying with all my might, doing good scripture study and trying to sleep.     but it didn't just float away.  I realized that the spiritual gift of having 'faith to be healed' was not a natural gift to me as it is perhaps to my little brother, Abraham.  After a particularly hard day at school, the fever had risen and taken me to the point of tears.  I realized that I would like a priesthood blessing but I felt I couldn't ask for one until my faith was strengthened.  

I read in Preach my Gospel that Faith was trust in the Lord (and the Atonement) as well as a confidence in his love for me.  If in nothing else, I could full heartedly testify to my Father in Heaven that I had this kind of faith.  I asked Him to increase it.  I had sisters and brothers praying for me, parents, aunts & uncles, and surely a few friends to add to my faith.  

The blessing did not pronounce immediate healing, but an assurance of a peace and comfort and the strength to perform.  That was all I needed.  I awoke yesterday feeling completely healed.  I jumped up and told Camille it was a miracle.  although I could feel my head still pounding, my throat and nose were clear.  I could smell.  and sing!  after a few hours at school (and turning in a final), my temperature was rising, and my strength was waning again.  I rested as well as I could until it was time to run up to perform.  

My performance was in no way my best, but the audience was packed.  I realized that they were not grading me, critiquing me, or judging me in any way.  All of them loved me and hoped for the best for me.  They each cared about me as a person--which meant it wouldn't matter whether or not I hit any notes at all.  This comfort, my increased faith, (ibuprofen fever reducer!), and adrenaline gave me strength enough to play through everything.  

As the applause died away after my closing piece, Liszt's Hungarian Rhapsody, I walked off stage and felt the weak state of my body want to collapse.  I then realized how blessed I was.  I keep thanking God.  I then took more medication before singing in the next concert.  I felt abundant power and spirit enter me as I testified and sang to the King of Kings, my Savior, Mary's babe, He in whose name all oppression shall cease.   Let all within us praise His Holy Name.  Oh fallen, Oh fearful, Oh friendless world, to you a Savior is born.  Christ is the Lord.  my healer.  His Pow'r and Glory evermore proclaim!  Hallelujah.