Practice Records

Back in Jr. High School, my instructor used to make us keep practice records signed by our parents weekly.  Part of your credit in class was filling out those silly records, having Mom or Dad sign them and then turning them in.  No matter how good you were, you could not get an "A" in band without turning them in.  I hated them.

I had no problem with practicing.  Practicing was my place to go and hide from reality.  I'd go to our basement, curl up behind my Manhasset and the next thing you know in my mind's eye I was playing with the Detroit Symphony Orchestra or performing a solo in front of my own band at a concert.  I'd emerge from the basement hours later when Mom would call to inform me that dinner was ready, it was time for bed or my personal favorite, "Dad has a headache and would REALLY like you to stop for today, please!"  I suspect it was never my father who had the headache but my mother who was tired of hearing me woodshed a particular phrase.

What was particularly strange about those days is that I would lie on my practice records. I would put down 30 minutes to an hour of practice every day instead of the multiple hours I was really doing.  I would plop my practice record down at the end of the week for my mother to sign and see the 5 hours I logged for the week - not just what I did on Monday.  She would ask why.  Every week I told her, "The Director wouldn't believe me if I told the truth."  My mother would grudgingly sign it - right up until I learned how to forge her signature.  It was an ugly day when she found out that I was doing that.

Now as I return after my tooth-ridden-hiatus to the chanter, I want a practice record.  Though this isn't something I have to turn in for a grade, I want something that keeps me on task, forces consistency and asks me to explain days that I miss.  Something to prove to my own self what I am doing to accomplish this goal.  I'm still far from being a piping addict, seeing myself in kilt performing in front of Ren-Festers galore.  I'm just a girl with a practice chanter attempting to not slaughter the pass between right hand and left who needs to put the time in to get better at this.  Practicing with purpose will help me attain that goal.  I created one, in Excel, that is effectively a practice diary.

So tonight was 30 minutes of the scale - low G to high A at a 4 point note at 60 beats per minute.  Over and over and over again.  I logged my time start and logged my finish time.

Even though it was only 30 minutes I felt like I accomplished something. 

And maybe, just maybe my Jr. High School Director had a method to her madness.

Who knew?