Houston, we have progress!

We can do Mississippi Stop-Stop -- or a reasonable approximation thereof -- on all four strings now. We've got a passable bowhold, and the bow even stays between bridge and fingerboard. We're practically professional. To anyone who hasn't lived in a household with a nascent violinist, the following will probably be excruciating; to be honest, I can't believe my own parents lived through this stage three times, but I'll tell you, this is music to this novice violin teacher's ears.




Dr. Suzuki's rolling over in his grave, but we'll be on to Vivaldi soon enough.

Note, too, the tragic overzealousness [or undertrainedness] of the hair-shredder, er, stylist to whom I entrusted Dylan's innocent little head when we were stateside. For the record, I most emphatically did NOT ask for a buzz cut, and further, they need to train people that the one-inch guard on the electric clippers does NOT leave an inch of hair. At least my looks-like-she-used-the-lawnmower haircuts are free. Sheesh.

Up like a rocket...

I decided that one of the better things I could impart to my kids now that I have some extra time on my hands is a little of the violining that consumed such a huge chunk of my own childhood. I've played a lot in my life, but I've never taught anyone else so I've been attempting to dredge from distant memory all the cool games my violin teachers used to do when my siblings and I were learning to play now decades (gasp!) ago. "Up Like a Rocket" was one that I actually remembered the words to, and D. has, er, taken off with it as a means of practicing his bowhold. Here he is this morning; you have to picture the "up like a rocket" part that didn't make it onto the video...




And note, of course, that we always enjoy violin more in our jammies...