Which reminded me. I had a lesson to reschedule with a piano student who had taken on a second job; Wednesday would no longer work. Dusting the flour from my fingers, I picked up the summer camp kitchen's phone and dialed the number she’d given me. A man answered and politely asked me to use a different number, if I had one. Explaining who I was, I apologised--this was the only number I had. “Oh, so you play piano?” Suddenly, he was interested. I braced myself for another wedding gig request. He mentioned something about recording equipment, needing musicians... Discovery Channel... Wait a second, did you say Discovery Channel? Could you repeat that? Who are you, anyway?
As it turns out, this man is on assignment as an “extreme photographer” filming a documentary in Alaska, and he wants to send me some guitar samples to see what I think about accompanying on the piano for some of the background music. Of course, I casually agreed and spelled out my email address. Did I mention that I also play violin?
And this is how I landed an audition to play background music for a Discovery Channel documentary, right there between breakfast and the peanut butter bars. By the way, I can’t think of how many times I’ve sat and heckled the background music for those shows. Ripoff artists, horribly trite and predictable, cheesier than grilled cheese and tomato soup, but less tasty. What was it I always said? “I could do better than that!” Well, now here’s my chance to prove it.
So now you’re probably wondering about the subject matter of this "extreme" documentary. Or perhaps you’ve already guessed, by my previous tales about life on the Kenai Peninsula. Yes, it’s... The Alaskan Brown Bear! Sheesh, you could’ve just filmed me screaming at them in my pj’s the other night if you wanted some good extreme footage. Snore. Bore. I can’t wait to come up with some good brown bear music now.
What a strange turn of events. Well, we don't call it Bizarre Wednesday for nothing.
Which reminds me...
Under the stained glass ceiling grow little shooting stars and cloudberries.
Sitting outside at the coffee shop, she picked up the Friday paper and read, "At 3:59 this afternoon, the sun will reach its northernmost point above the celestial equator..." She looked at her watch.
"This is it guys, look up."
Under mostly cloudy skies, they paused from their coffee and conversation to observe in silence. The sun unseen hung weightless in that special moment between up and down, then softly and surely began the descent toward winter.
If a violinist plays in a forest and no one hears, does she make a sound?
Warmest wishes to you and your happy summer!
Emily Grossman is from Soldotna, Alaska. Biography
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