A few weeks ago, Mother's Day, to be exact, XX auditioned for a pre-college music conservatory program.
She worked hard, as always, on the requirements, then slipped her violin charm, a gift from her precious Aunt Joy, into her pocket, counting on some extra "magic."
She's been admitted as a "violin major." For some reason, this both amuses and frightens me: my nine-year old has a major.
There are still ensemble auditions and placement exams to get through, but then her schedule will be set over the summer. She'll start in the fall. It's only, or rather, mostly on Saturdays, but I'm told, they will be full, full days. Plus we have to drive two hours each way and there will be occasional extra nights for performances and/or classes. Long weekends ahead.
At that point, in addition to her regular violin teacher, she will have a teacher from the Conservatory. There will be classes in theory,
history, solfège, ensemble work, composition, improvisation and perhaps even conducting.
XX has been working hard on her playing and her theory. "It's like school, Mama, but it's music!" She's eating it all up.
A little hard work can create Magic.