It all Happened in the Violin Studio

The wind is whistling through the garden scattering the last of the wild flower seeds and rising upward to stir the limbs of the fir trees keeping vigil by the trellis gate. The studio is warm and cozy even though the big bay window makes it feel like I am sitting in the cold wind blown garden.

I am surrounded by a cheery white room with yellow floral couches and rows and rows of books on famous musicians. The violin shaped clock on the wall marks the time while I chat with the music teacher. Her pen with a wire on top formed to a violin keeps a scratchy rhythm with the whistle of the wind outdoors. The impossibly tiny wood stove casts its cheery glow into the room.

Here we sit the two of us each operating a business and each picking the others brain. Admittedly I am doing more picking of hers than she is of mine. She asks me about the economy in the town. She is from Finland and is just starting up her studio here. She speaks seven different languages and teaches, violin, viola, cello, fiddle, and Finnish table harp.

Her voice is low and heavily accented as she tells me that I must not lower my prices regardless of the parents who think it is too much. "There is always a population in any town that can afford to pay the price you ask as long as it is fair and equitable."

The long grasses outside the window scrape against the glass. The fire cracks and a log readjusts itself momentarily sending a flash of light into the room. The two of us talk of calendars, of filing, and of organizing. She tells me I must integrate all four of my calenders to one big one. I agree. She explains that she keeps all her little calenders running but then sits down every Sunday and re-enters the information on a central calender that hangs by her phone.

I listen intently. I love learning from women older than myself or women who have had more experience in business and all that it entails. Together we form a plan that will better help me keep all my students papers and children's classes organized. She showed me how she uses a different color for every school so she can tell at a glance what school she is suppose to be at for that particular appointment. I am juggling five different schools counting the two studios the children are involved in.

She assures me that my kids are doing well in lessons. I ask her about Peter. I think he may have ADD but I'm not sure. She laughs softly and then very quietly says, "I think he does have ADD. I have a son and a daughter with ADHD and I have thought often that Peter has it." I about fell out of my chair!

The violin clock kept it's slow rhythm on the wall. The wind whooshed against the studio window and down the chimney. A tiny puff of smoke escaped through the stove door. "There's many effective ways to work with this," she was saying in her soft
Finnish accent. "He is a very smart boy but as a result he is easily bored. He needs classes to move faster because he catches on the very first time something is told to him. He then gets impatient with the repetition needed for the other students."

So I have been right. I have thought this for a couple of years now. I wont do anything about it as far as getting professional help. Its not to that level but it does help to know what I am looking at in regards to him and his daily assignments. I know she isn't a doctor but she is a mom and a teacher with lots of experience. I respect her opinion. I'm not a doctor either but I do think she is right.

Strangely I left the little studio that day feeling recharged and ready to face the week ahead. I have work to do and filing to do and calenders to organize. I have a new focus for my son. That cozy hour in the studio was a boon to my spirit. Oh, for more studio hours in my life! There is just nothing like a heart to heart talk with someone who can relate; someone who has walked the road before!