Thanksgiving Hope

   This weekend is Canada's official Thanksgiving- a time to reflect on one's blessings, gather with loved ones, eat a fine meal, basically living a weekend that would inspire a Hallmark card. Despite having endless things to be thankful for, Thanksgiving weekend always provides me with the glaring reminder that Beethoven's mom can't cook a turkey to save her life. Heck, with my bad back, I can't even lift a turkey and to be completely honest, I prefer  to eat vegetarian dishes. However in Canada, there seems to be a tremendous pressure associated with the ability to not only cook one of these birds but to know exactly how to dress the poor thing.

    The overwhelming guilt that my son (and the rest of my poor family) have never experienced succulent dishes (okay, so it's not JUST turkey) prepared by his mother is only matched by the sheer excitement that my dismal cooking skills could be the very thing that propels him into becoming a great chef besides a great pianist. Then, it wouldn't even matter if I didn't like to eat turkeys, I could still enjoy the festivity of the entire day of turkey preparation smiling and complimenting his delicious cooking. It would be lovely...No, it would be perfect and then like every other Canadian family, I could brag about the delicious Thanksgiving dinner I had...blah, blah, 
So, for the past couple of years, I have started to watch Beethoven carefully to see if he is exhibiting any signs of talent in the kitchen using food items and frankly, I'm starting to panic. At age 13, Christian does make terrific pancakes, a spectacular creamy Kraft dinner, and perfectly grilled hot dogs but aren't these the three go-to dishes of any bachelor??? 

So, on this beautiful Thanksgiving weekend, I am grateful that Beethoven has yet another year to hone his cooking skills so I will remain hopeful. But most of all, I am grateful that I married man who is a better cook than me...okay, he's never tackled the turkey as yet, but he does make me lovely coconut pancakes so he's the right guy for me! 




However, our family are abundantly blessed!

Beethoven may just have to figure out this Thanksgiving dinner thing by himself!

So, two years later and there have been some updates! Christian filmed a Toyata commercial with lots of enormous pumpkins (see pictures) and Beethoven Boy is significantly taller than me now and I suppose I should rightfully be calling him my Beethoven young man.


He has updated his cooking list substantially and makes the most creative smoothies, delicious pancakes and steel-cut oatmeal with just a hint of vanilla.
However, the most significant change, is that my Beethoven Boy discovered that he loved baking and the very act of baking brings him a feeling of peace...a zen like calm.

 Christian has started baking with quite a passion and in fact, is so incredibly keen to bake that sometimes, it doesn't even matter to him if we actually have some of the ingredients in the house.Today, in fact, he started to make some delicious vanilla cookies only to discover we had just one egg, not two as the recipe called for, was missing lemon zest and then assembled things a trifle out of order. Disappointment grazed his face as he studied the incredibly flat white blobs willing them to still rise. Sadly, although the hint of vanilla still made the kitchen smell delightful, the cookies (if we actually use the term cookies) looked almost the same as when Christian put them in the oven except for a dark brown edge around the outsides. We decided to sample them together finding it rather difficult to bite through. 

"What are these called again," I said chewing with great effort."
"Vanilla Crisps," Christian answered also expending a rather large effort to eat his treat.
"Well," I said with a wry smile," There are certainly CRISP!"
With that, we both started to giggle and pretty soon were bent over with laughter at the mere thought of Christian offering his special dessert to his Thanksgiving dinner host.
"You should take them as a joke," I gasped! 
Christian shook his head emphatically, "No, I'd be too embarassed if they eat them!"
"No," I frowned," No!! Of course, don't let them eat them!!"
Once again, we collapsed in laughter and I thought what a wonderful Thanksgiving Day it was to be able to laugh with my son!!

So, now Beethoven Boy is downstairs baking pumpkin chocolate chip cookies and we triple checked that he had ALL the ingredients before getting down to task. Christian promises me one if they turn out since I rescued him from using baking powder instead of baking soda. He thought they were similar enough but I reminded him of the white flat cookies from his first batch and finally agreed that it would be better to follow the recipe exactly.

So, now the baking side of things seems to be sorting itself out for future Thanksgiving dinners, I turn my attention for the main course to Beethoven's sister, Malia. My hope for a chef in the family picked up steam when Malia - at age 10 - began watching cooking shows with the same intensity of an Olympic athlete in training. Her attention to detail is unparalleled when watching "Chopped," "Master Chef," or any other Food Network show she could tape without me noticing. In only one year, Malia's vocabulary to describe dishes on the show was quite impressive.
"Mommy," she would note excitedly, "the presentation's a bit off but so long as his flavour profile is still there," OR "That dish was too spicy, it didn't have anything sweet to balance the taste," or my favourite high pitched shriek "JUST GET IT ON THE PLATE!"



I smiled with inner delight, it was evident to me that it was just a matter of time before Malia would transfer her passion for her cooking shows to...well, actually COOKING!! I have been very patient but it has been almost two years, and she still enjoys eating cereal for dinner if she is allowed. The fact that Malia still wants her Dad to pour her milk and cut her cheese slices should perhaps be alarming but I am optimistic that one day, there will be magic happening in the kitchen. At least, Malia certainly suits the old-fashioned Prairie look so the wardrobe aspect is taken care of.

I say we meet again two years from today and hopefully, I will be one step closer to the Thanksgiving dinner of my dreams. However, the one thing I have in spades is Autumn blessings with a wonderful family, two new little weiner dogs (to make a total of four dogs),
 and friends that I have recently reconnected with.



Life is good and I am thankful, extremely THANKFUL! 







Besides, even if Christian and Malia never pull off a spectacular Thanksgiving dinner, I will always have the BEST DINNER MUSIC EVER thanks to my Beethoven Boy and his sister!

HAPPY THANKSGIVING!!

The RACHMANINOFF DILEMMA!!

This will be one of my many posts that will touch upon my son's great love for the composer Rachmaninoff. The video posted above is from a couple years ago when my son, Christian (11)and daughter, Malia (age7) made up a little skit with "Mom's" help to submit to "The Ellen" show. A producer from the Ellen show had already called to speak to the kids about a possible appearance and they were asked to submit a couple more private videos at that point. They had great feedback from the producers but the show was overbooked at the time and we have simply not pursued it. However, we will leave the door open and in the meantime, enjoy this video.

When Christian began private music classes with the renowned Peter Turner, he had a specific goal in his five year old mind that he simply must play the music of Rachmaninoff one day. In the interview with Mr. Turner before lessons officially started, my little boy (all 30 pounds of him) asked most politely and solemnly to the very proper English gentleman as they shook hands hello," Mr. Turner, can you play Rachmaninoff." Without missing a beat, the 86 year old professor seriously answered him, "Christian, my old fingers can't play his music anymore but I can teach Rachmaninoff." Christian grinned and Mr. Turner smiled in return and thus it began.

Well, that short memorable exchange shaped the next few years of Christian's life. Every week, we would arrive midday to the teacher's quaint, immaculate home and Christian would have a glorious lesson on a beautiful Yamaha grand piano. I was given a chair in the teaching room so I might sit and take notes so Mr. Turner could move about the room.  Besides Christian, who learned to read music before his English, could benefit at home if I knew what he was supposed to work on. A distinguished teacher myself, I found myself in awe watching the master at work. Parenting a gifted musical prodigy was extremely daunting and righting the "RIGHT TEACHER" was essential.

"I don't suppose," Mr. Turner would say with a touch of a sigh "that YOU, Christian could play that Sonatina a little quicker just so it dances?" and  would then frown for effect as he continued "BUT, it would be difficult to keep those sixteenths tidy."
Christian would respond immediately taking the dare and playing a delightfully faster, yet tidy version of the piece. Other times, Mr. Turner (who had grown up singing in various choirs) would sing the piece, making up words that fit the rhythm...nonsense really. but then Christian would copy the graceful lilt and Mr. Turner would clap his hands with joy. Each piano lesson would start and end with a hug and I felt at peace knowing Christian's great musical talent was being shaped and nurtured with love. In fact, after only four months together, Christian wrote his grade 2 RCM exam (at age five) and received the second highest mark (94) in Canada for that year.

THIS was one parenting decision that definitely came out right and not just because of the incredible mark but more importantly, because of the incredible joy!!





I could write pages on this extraordinary relationship but I am going to concentrate on their mutual goal today and that was eventually having fingers long enough, trained enough, musical enough to play the great Rachmaninoff. Christian would examine his fingers daily and sigh dramatically about his small fingers and despaired that they may never grow.

So, this concern and worry over his hands continued as Christian grew older but one story remains clearly etched in my mind and it will be the one I share with you today. Christian was about eight years old and was playing pieces at this point that were grade seven/eight level. I was in the kitchen when I heard him start to cry in the other room during the middle of his practice. Christian, always my little "Beethoven," walked in the kitchen and didn't bother to wipe away the tears that was streaming down his face.

"Mommy, HOW COULD YOU?!!!" he asked obviously upset through his tears.

"How could I what?" I responded quietly, perplexed by Christian's question.

"HOW COULD YOU MARRY DADDY KNOWING HIS HANDS WERE SO SMALL AND HIS FINGERS WERE FAT? WHY DID YOU MARRY HIM?"

I tried, I truly tried to contain the laughter that roared through my belly because this small boy standing before me with his tear stained face was sincerely upset and quite furious.

"But honey," as I tried to hide my giggles, because I knew as a mother, it was MY JOB TO CONSOLE MY SON who was quite grumpy as he glared at me. However, it was soon apparent that no matter what attributes of his father I was trying to share with Christian, none mattered at the moment. He finally cut me off, his heart obviously broken....

"NOW" Christian said with great emphasis, "NOW, I'll NEVER BE ABLE TO PLAY RACHMANINOFF," and stormed off to his room in a new torrent of tears.

Sharing this story with my husband when he got home from work didn't exactly receive a belly laugh but more a reaction of shock and dismay.

"Well, I said carefully," Christian wasn't really thinking about you in general, just your hands specifically." I held my husband's hands up for inspection and couldn't help but gasp just a little bit.''

"Oh My, I said a bit concerned,"

My husband  almost spat the words out "My fingers ARE FAT and STUBBY and then added sadly, "AND SO ARE MY DADS."
"YIKES," I tried to hide my true emotions because I had never examined his hands this closely and frankly was nervous that Christian would be right and his fingers would never be long enough to play Rachmaninoff.

It was an awkward moment and I felt sad for my husband both because we had hurt his feelings and also that he had been born with small hands.

"Well," I spoke cautiously. "WE can hope that Christian's hands will grow bigger than yours."

"Yes," said my now grumpy husband, "He is only eight after all, surely his hands will still grow."


AND THEY HAVE!! CHRISTIAN, at age 13, has beautiful long tapered fingers, BIG HANDS and he can play RACHMANINOFF. It is beautiful, glorious and when I hear Christian play music from this composer, I feel as though I have glimpsed the beauty of heaven.



Hopefully, you can hear this 15 second link....of course, it is Rachmaninoff.

Parenting a gifted boy certainly came with a list of challenges and this particular demand, being completely out of my control, could only be determined in time. But thankfully, God had a plan to bless Christian with exquisite piano fingers that could handle any Rachmaninoff piece imaginable. With young "Beethoven's" temperament, it was indeed the right decision!