Am I turning into Pollyanna? I was describing my coming-of-age revelations to my daughter Anna a couple of days ago, telling her life is good. Anna, by the way, gleans obvious satisfaction from tormenting us mercilessly with her own blog: Life With My Parents Seen through Anna's lens, I suppose we're characters. She refers to Ilkka and me as Ma and Pa Raisin.
Over twenty years ago, when Anna was a baby of four months, she looked up at us from her baby swing—as if to study our faces—and burst into peels of laughter. Nowadays, my Anna jots one-liners and keeps a note-pad handy at all times. Every so often, when I'm on the phone with that college girl of mine (in a Masters in Education in Student Affairs Administration, GPA 4.0, no less) she'll stop me mid-sentence. "That's it, Ma. Thanks for the material." And I'm left with a dial tone wondering what she's about to publish.
I have to admit—I love life. The Seattle Post-Intelligencer is about to become The Past-Intelligencer, and critics are from the days of yore. Collective bargaining agreements between managements and players have indicated fermatas, or in some cases, tacet signs. As Blair Tindall eloquently states in "Mozart in the Jungle": The classical music business is experiencing a kind of market correction. If seen in a positive light, by a Pollyanna, this opens a whole new vista for artists, opportunities for innovation, and collaborative creativity. An orchestra player should enjoy an active role, not passive. If you check Daily Observations you'll see what I mean.
Which brings me back to Bildungsroman: As I play among enthusiastic music lovers at Rainier Symphony, cradle my late mother's violin, and nourish myself with friends, students and family, my faith in this journey is being restored.
Photo of Anna Talvi by Ilkka Talvi 12-08