Dear reader, a medieval plague swept through our house over the weekend, but that didn't change the fact there was no time to be sick. Izzy had a music competition Saturday morning, so I plied us both with fever reducing remedies and drove off in the general direction of the event, a place I have been to many times, yet still managed to go the wrong way.
Izzy, too, was demonstrating her own signs of delerium.
"I'm just so excited, Mum!," she kept saying, her eyes queer and glassy, her shoulders hunched.
I don't know why I'm bothering to mention the illness aspect of the situation, except that I blame it for causing me to foul up the video taping of Izzy's performance, which was truly sublime. My husband examined the camera afterward and deemed it operator error.
Please don't say that, I whispered, turning my face to the wall. What horrible words to hear when you are on death's doorstep.
On the drive home, I suggested a trip to the French bakery in celebration. We raved at the thought until we were actually in the vicinity of the bakery, at which point we were too limp and lifeless to follow through...leaving my husband to make a selection of macaroons for Izzy later that day, when everyone knows the whole point of macaroons is selecting them yourself!
{Forgive me, dear reader, but as I write this I do believe the fever is still talking...}
At any rate, Izzy was invited back the following evening to participate in a concert of the finalists. This time my husband came along to ensure no one could accidentally confuse the pause and record buttons (I didn't!). And with him at the wheel, Izzy kept remarking how much faster the trip seemed as opposed to the day before (okay, that was my fault).
Someone once asked me how I fare when Izzy performs. Am I nervous? Am I apprehensive? My answer: quite the opposite. I certainly remember feeling that way back when she was younger, but something has happened in the past few years between Izzy and her violin: she has fallen in love.
She loves the entire process. She loves the music, she loves her teacher, she loves her lessons, she loves her musical friends, she even (for the most part) loves to practice.
You should hear her practice. Sometimes I practically smell traces of smoke in the house, that's how hard she is whaling on those strings. And because her work inspires confidence, she loves to perform. I do believe she is still nervous, but in a good way.
And because I know how ready she is for that moment, because I have heard her repeatedly dissect the passages of her piece on a near microscopic level, I am at peace. I'm filled with nothing but joyful awe to watch her wander onto the stage looking something like a timid deer, a timid deer who is about to start a forest fire with her scrawny bow and fiddle.