Here Comes the Fudge

"Southern psychiatry: Pet some goats, buy some junk, scribble a story, and eat homemade fudge. By late tomorrow afternoon, I should be cured."

- Monda at 'No Telling'

Monda is a blog writer I'm following, and one of my favorites. She's a creative writing instructor and baby boomer living in the American South: encouraging, honest, funny as hell. Obviously, I've been a little short on inspiration, let alone time this month. A read through Monda's latest few posts, though, and I'm good to go again. Witness the quote at the top of the page. She shrinks down life's stesses so that they are more-or-less about as scary as dust bunnies.

Lately I've been having problems with an after-school care program where I'm supposed to do a music session. Admittedly, I didn't know what to expect going in, but now that I'm in the middle, it's got me, well, wound up. The after-school program has been launched there (and at a few other schools) to give the kids an alternative to going home to an empty house or wandering the streets or malls. Right after classes there's a homework club, and later, they can choose from other activities, which differ from day to day.

The school is sports-oriented, so the majority of the kids pick basketball or volleyball. But there are only so many spots available. The few remaining kids, or the ones that don't sign up quick enough, can choose from 'Junior Chefs' or my 'Music' program. Originally it was supposed to be 'Choir', but that didn't last long. The kids were either painfully shy, or borderline ADHD, bouncing off the walls like India-rubber balls. After much trial and error, and a regrettable session which has gone down in history as the "Gong Show", I conceded to the wisdom of the organiser and planned some games.

Now, I can do that stuff: the camp counselor-, boy scouts-, girl guides-,type stuff, but it doesn't teach them much about music. I run a similar program at a second school, but I've managed to set it up so it's closer to what I was hired for, namely to run a choir program. However, at the second school it's all girls, they're a bit more cooperative, and they have proven they can sit still for more than 2 minutes at a stretch. They're only doing rounds and canons, but at least they're actually singing.

I'm not sure whether to give up on this first school or stubbornly hang on. They're disadvantaged kids, so a part of me wants to give in to the Hollywood cliche: dedicated teacher overcomes adversity and inspires her students to lofty goals, punches a fist in the air in the triumphant final moments of the brilliant concert which leads to a standing ovation and swelling orchestral soundtrack, composed by John Williams. Cue the eye-rolling and derisive laughter. I don't have the time or the resources or even the space -- they stuck me in the freakin' library, for the love of St. Cecilia.

I'll stick it out for a while longer. I'm actually on hiatus soon, owing to my upcoming opera contract. I'm wooing a potential replacement; a guy who may well be many times more qualified to lead this particular rag-tag bunch down the path to Technicolor glory. Maybe it will, indeed, result in a better world for everyone. Or at least a few less ulcers for me. Fingers crossed! Cue the homemade (Canadian maple) fudge!!