Behold the Handmaid

Lorena Schnebly started the whole thing.

In December of 2006 Lorena was asked to sing a solo for the Christmas program in our ward sacrament meeting. She looked for some music that seemed like just the right thing, and she asked me for ideas, but she just couldn't find what she wanted.

Finally one day she asked me to come over for dinner and a visit; and while I was there she said she'd had a song in her head that she thought she could use for the Christmas program. She'd written the words out, and annotated the melody, and wanted to know if I could write a piano accompaniment and a small choir part. I'd always thought I'd like to write music, but had never really done anything like this before. Still, I said I'd give it a try.

The choir part and a small ornament to the accompaniment popped into my head right away. After that it took a couple of days to figure out and write out the whole thing. I was a little nervous to play it for her, but she loved it! Now she had her solo, but we had to present it to the choir so they could learn their little bit. They loved it too! We had our Christmas song, In Her Heart, a lullaby for Mary, with most of the text being based from scripture.

After Christmas was all over with, Lorena came to me and said she couldn't get it out of her mind to make a second song, using the idea of Mary witnessing the crucifixion and reflecting back on the lullaby she sang to the baby Jesus. She had no ideas for melody or words as yet, but she asked me to think about it. One day, as I was making my bed, the first lines of melody and lyrics came to my head. So I wrote it down, and pretty soon had the entire melody and probably 2/3 of the lyrics—plus some outlined ideas for lyrics—for the whole piece. I played it for Lorena and she really liked it, so I went back to the piano to come up with an accompaniment, while she worked on some of the missing lyrics. The accompaniment for this one was more difficult at first. But soon our Pieta was completed.

As I worked on Pieta, I thought that now we had the birth and crucifixion of Christ—from Mary's perspective—but we really needed a piece to talk about the triumph of the resurrection. And soon the idea evolved into making a series of pieces, sketches of the Savior's life as his mother saw it.

The next piece to be worked on was In the Morning, the resurrection piece (the title was taken from Psalms 30:5 "Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning."). At first I only had a few basic, incomplete ideas for it, so I asked Lorena to work on it too. She came up with the first part of it, and from there I was able to bring it to life. It was a HUGE piece—beginning with sorrowing, turning to a kind of almost timid happiness, and finally to a triumphant realization of what had happened—full of fanfares and hallelujahs. Very big. It was also the most difficult to work out, the one I felt I'd put the most of my own effort—and the smallest bit of "inspiration"—into.

I felt like we could have stopped with the three pieces and had a really nice set. But Lorena wanted to continue with the idea of the four sketches. She came up with words and a melody for Jesus' growing up and ministry, A Man All His Own. Unfortunately, the melody echoed another song too closely, so I took it in hand and changed it. I found out later that Lorena was a little upset with me for not including her more in that song. But it was written at a time when she just wasn't available to work with me very much, and now we were on a deadline—we had asked to be able to perform the entire piece as a ward fireside at the end of May 2007, and we were still writing A Man All His Own at the beginning of April.

The last piece, Behold the Handmaid, was easy. It popped into my head, I wrote the music and most of the lyrics (asking for Lorena's help with words when I got stuck), and then we rearranged it together for a reprise at the end of the whole program.

Once all the music was written, Lorena and I got together to write out a narrative to go between each piece and tie it all together. And we had decided to put all the pieces together in an art book, with drawings for the title page of each individual piece, so we asked church members, family and friends to do the artwork for us.

When the music/art books were done we soon realized that we just wouldn't be able to get enough choir support from just our ward. So went to our stake presidency and asked if we could do it as a stake Christmas fireside in December 2007. (There are several wards in a stake, so even though a ward choir might only have four to fifteen members, we could probably get a decent stake choir.) The stake presidency reluctantly agreed to it; reluctant because they thought we wouldn't get much choir participation or get a good turnout to see the performance.

I won't give you all the details of getting approval to do the program, advertising for it, putting together a stake art show to go with it, and working with the choir. I will tell you that we had an astounding turn-out. At our first practice we had 72 choir members show up, in addition to the four soloists and the women's trio we'd auditioned for the five songs. We ended with about 60 singers, the soloists and trio, and four men to do the narrations. There were about 500 to 700 people in attendance to watch the performance. That is really incredible for a stake fireside—even one done at Christmas time. And I think it was well received. It was such an amazing experience to see and hear our music come to life.

But since that evening of the fireside,I have often wondered if the music was really that good. I mean, I know it was good, but was it that good? I remember about a year later, driving home alone one night and listening to classical radio. They were playing Rachmaninoff's Rhapsody on a Theme by Paganini, and it had gotten to the wonderful, lyrical piano, 18th variation (you can hear it in the movie Somewhere in Time—it's probably the most famous variation in that piece) and the melodies and the harmonies in it are just so incredible and so beautiful. I hadn't been thinking of my music at all, but as I heard that wonderful piece by Rachmaninoff I suddenly thought of our Behold the Handmaid suite, and wondered, was it really any good?

I don't aspire to be a Rachmaninoff, or to have the greatness of really any other composer, old or new; and I didn't aspire to it while we were writing the music, either. But our music seemed good while Lorena and I were in the throes of writing it and getting it performed. We'd both always wanted to write music, but never been . . . inspired? . . . with anything; and now, suddenly, music was just flowing from us. So it was very exciting. I think it was good music, but every now and then I wonder, "How good was it? Were we just caught up in the excitement of the whole thing, or was it really, actually good?"

I suppose I'll never really know. But I'd love to be able to hear it performed again and see what I think.

Another Piano Story

Wow! I'm just full of these!

Bruce and I first met at the piano—want to hear about that?

On Friday, March 2, 1984 I was suffering through some kind of teenage trauma and decided I just did not want to go to school that day. I couldn't just go sluff at home because Vovis would be there; and, besides, I had a big test in my 3rd period AP American History class. So, instead, I spent the day feeling sorry for myself in the Seminary building (I did go take my test, though). Well, my Seminary teacher was concerned that I was sitting around all day instead of going to my classes (very uncharacteristic of me), so he asked me to stay after school and talk with him. When the school day ended and I was waiting for my teacher I thought I'd play the piano a little (no surprise), but this tall guy came in and beat me to it; he sat down at the piano first. So I went and sat by him (also very uncharacteristic of me). I guess we said hi, and he asked me if I played. I said, "A little." So he played some stuff; he said he liked chords and chord progressions (or something like that). I told him I knew a cool song that was nothing but big chords and I played a simple Chopin Prelude for him (Op. 28 No. 20—which really is simply a cool progression of chords). And then he had to go catch his bus. As he left the room the teacher called out, "Bye, Bruce!" Now I knew his name. I kind of looked out for Bruce in the halls at school after that, but our paths didn't cross. Really, I don't know what I would have done if our paths had crossed; he wouldn't have known me and I'd have been too shy to talk to him.

Fast forward to August, 1984. I was getting registered for my senior year in high school. One of the classes I'd signed up for was not going to work out, and my counselor was desperately trying to find anything that would work in my schedule that I might be remotely interested in. Finally she asked if I played an instrument; I said piano, and she suggested orchestra. I was a little skeptical; I'd never really considered it before since I didn't play violin (or any stringed instrument). But she talked me into it, "They'd be happy to have a good pianist!"

On the first day of school that year Bruce was there, in the orchestra class, in the violin section. I was 99-percent sure I recognized him and when the teacher took roll I knew he was the same Bruce I'd met briefly last March. Through a strange turn of events both band and orchestra had been scheduled for the same time. It must have been fate; Karma; destiny! While the school was working out the scheduling, we orchestra kids spent some time getting to know each other a little. Now Bruce and I really met each other (more than a ten-word conversation).

Throughout the year I would often go into the band room to find Bruce sitting at the grand piano. Sometimes I wondered if he was waiting to talk to me, or if he just wanted to play the piano; either way, I got to talk to him a little. I had work-release for the second half of each school day, so I went to classes until lunch time and then I was free to go home. I just skipped lunch and then stayed in the band room practicing the piano for the rest of the school day. When Bruce found that out (by the second half of the school year), he started coming back to talk with me after he ate lunch. Sometimes we sat at the grand piano and talked, sometimes on the floor, sometimes under the piano; we just talked and talked and became better and better friends. Sometimes he skipped his next class as we chatted; occasionally I'd go his seminary class (his next class period) with him. I was starting to realize that he really did like me and not just the piano. :-)

In the early spring our class went to play in the State Orchestra Festival (some kind of competition between schools). We girls got dressed in our formal, black dresses; the boys in black slacks, white shirts and ties; and we waited in the band room until everyone was ready go. I'd made my own dress; it was in the required black: a long, full skirt with a chiffon overlay and a deep ruffle. The fitted bodice had chiffon sleeves, off the shoulders. (I had a gorgeous neck and shoulders and I knew it, and—contrary to all the lessons in modesty I'd ever had—I wasn't afraid to show them off. Chalk that up to dance lessons.) When Bruce saw me in my dress, he just said, "Wow!" I could tell it was a sincere, spontaneous, and heartfelt "Wow". That was the best compliment I've ever gotten! (Bruce has since told me that I looked like I was going to a party while everyone else looked like they were dressed for a funeral.)

The Festival was OK. One of the girls in our class had to go up to the University of Utah right after we performed and since Bruce had brought a car she asked him to drive her up there. I have to admit I was a little jealous—but not for long! Bruce's friend, Allen, asked if he could go with for the ride but Bruce said, no, he'd rather go by himself. Then he turned to me and asked if I'd like to go with them. OK. I was a tiny bit embarrassed and felt kind of bad for Allen, but I was very glad he wanted me to go (as opposed to spending time alone with another girl).

As the year rolled on I was wishing Bruce would ask me on a date some time before school ended. During one of our lunch conversations he told me he couldn't decide who to ask to Senior Ball; I had a good suggestion for him, but didn't have the nerve to say it. He finally did ask me to Junior Prom a couple months later—that was a fun date! But that's a story for another time.

The Piano and Me, part 2

By the time I graduated from high school I was an excellent pianist. I still had my job at the dance studio—I played for LeAnn about three hours a night, four nights a week. I was still taking piano lessons and I practiced formally about three hours a day; I also played with the school orchestra and I played just for enjoyment as well. I played the piano a lot! It was rare that I would see a piano and not stop to play it. When friends came over to my house they often asked me to play for them; they knew my repertoire—which was extensive (I could memorize a piece easily and quickly back then)—and they would frequently request songs. I was glad to play for them, because I loved playing the piano.

Well, the summer after I graduated from high school my family went to Arizona to visit my two brothers, Wendell and Mark, who live near Phoenix. Neither of them owned a piano and I was suffering from major withdrawal. One day we went to the mall with Wendell and Amy, his wife. As we entered the main drag of the mall, Hallelujah! The first thing I saw was a piano store! So I told Amy I wanted to play the piano, and she said to go ask the salesman; I did. He said it was all right as long as I didn’t stay too long. So I sat at one of the grand pianos, and tried to decide what I should play. There were so many fun pieces! Finally I wondered out loud, “What should I play?” The man said, “Bach’s Toccata and Fugue in D minor.” That was a piece I’d been considering, having spent much of the last year learning it; so I played it. I was pretty oblivious to my surroundings once I started playing, and was surprised when I finished to be applauded by a large crowd of people standing behind me. Then my mom started telling me to play one piece after another, which I was glad to do. I probably spent an hour or so there, entertaining the shoppers (yes, and myself) before we went on with our own shopping. Amy told me later, “You should have seen that guy’s (the salesman’s) jaw drop!”

But here’s what strikes me as funny: I took that salesman completely at face value. It didn’t occur to me that kids who knew no music but “Chopsticks” probably came and asked him if they could play one of the pianos—probably daily. So it didn’t occur to me that he probably didn’t really want me to come and play; he was probably letting me play because he had to be nice. I was used to friends requesting songs from me (as I said before)—and Toccata and Fugue was a very popular request—so it didn’t occur to me that the man was probably being sarcastic when he told me to play a very difficult piece. I just took him at face value, and that’s what I played. About the time my concert ended, someone in the “audience” suggested that I should get a job at the mall demonstrating the pianos daily. I said thanks, and went on my merry, innocent way. I only heard later from Amy and my mom that the salesman was kind of crabby about the whole thing; maybe I had embarrassed him (which is too bad because that certainly wasn’t my intent). I was just playing the piano for my own enjoyment, unaware of the fact that in asking me to play such a difficult piece this salesman was making a kind of snotty request, probably hoping I'd go away quickly. But I can get a little chuckle out of the whole thing because I was naïve and oblivious to any sarcasm. And I did enjoy playing that piano!

Well, I don’t play the piano nearly so much any more. Being married with eight children, and having a house to take care of takes precedence over constantly sitting at the piano. And that's OK with me; it should be that way. People who hear me play now think I’m very good—and I am. But they should have heard me when I was teenager! It used to make me a little sad to think how good I was and compare that to now. Sometimes I do get frustrated playing because my fingers aren’t as nimble as they were (OK, sometimes they feel like big, fat sausages—but a little practice works that out). It can be a little frustrating, practicing and having ten or twenty other little fingers get in the way of mine—although that doesn't happen as much as it used to. I just don't really practice much any more—beyond playing for church.

But you know, the piano isn’t my great love any more. I still love music and I don’t want to lose my skill completely; but I don't really think I will. Every now and then I'll sit and play for fun; try to learn something new. But now I have other loves that surpass the piano; and that’s a good thing. Anyway, I still have my fun music stories to think of. And it was fun!

The Piano and Me

Some of my favorite memories about myself are connected with music. In fact they are of me playing the piano, specifically. So I’ll tell you about them:

The first one was when I was about 13 years old. I was taking piano lessons from a lady named Annette. I was a pretty good pianist by then—I knew that I could play anything I wanted to. (I don't know that quite so much now.) So in addition to my regular piano lesson I decided I would learn the first movement of Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata as a surprise for my teacher. I had ulterior motives: I wanted her to teach me the second and third movements. Anyway, I worked on it for quite a while, learning the notes and fingering; but more importantly, deciding exactly how I wanted the dynamics to sound—where it should be louder or softer, what notes to emphasize, etc. Finally I was happy with it; after my next piano lesson I told Annette that I had a piece for her to listen to. I played it as I’d practiced and she sat very quietly and still through the whole piece. After I finished she was quiet a bit longer, then she said softly, “That was perfect.”

Wow! What a great moment.

When I was 14 years old I got a job as a ballet pianist at a dance studio. (As a side note, my first paycheck was about $82. Pretty exciting for a 14-year-old!) I also took dance lessons there; so between my piano skills and my knowledge of ballet I think I did a very good job. I worked there until I graduated from high school.

Well, occasionally LeAnn (the teacher) would have “stretch days” where she had her students do a lot of stretching and not much of anything else. A lot of us really liked stretch days, but the one exercise most of the students hated was doing the splits. So when it was time to do the splits LeAnn would always ask me to play a funeral dirge—just a slow piece of music appropriate for stretching to. One day I decided that, for a joke, I would learn a real funeral dirge to play the next time she asked for one. Of course it had to be very recognizable as a funeral piece, so I chose Chopin’s Marche Funèbre, Op. 35 (the one they use in cartoons a lot). It took me a few weeks to work it up, and by the time I was ready LeAnn went through a non-stretching spell, so I had to bide my time for a while.

Finally, one day she instructed the students to do the splits; she turned to me and said, “Loralee, a funeral dirge.” I was ready. The class was standing in fifth position, ready to go; LeAnn set the tempo, “Port de bras, one; two...” And I began playing the funeral march. I hadn’t even finished the first measure when LeAnn started laughing—I mean really laughing; and the more I played the more she laughed. She laughed so hard that the little girls who were on the floor in the splits started laughing too. She laughed so hard that she had to go sit down on her chair at the front of the class; and then she laughed so hard that she fell off the chair! Even better was when she had the next class do the same exercise and I played the same piece. The result was almost the same—except that this time she didn’t fall off of her chair. My joke was a tremendous success! And I still laugh when I think of it!

Another story:

In September of 1985, soon after I graduated from high school, I performed a solo piano recital. My teacher, Cheryl, suggested that I should do one and so we spent most of the year preparing for it. (I don't know why I agreed to do it; I always froze up when I played in recitals.) Anyway, I learned and memorized four pieces of music: part of a suite by Handel (five short pieces); Beethoven’s Sonata Pathetique, Op. 1; Polichinelle by Rachmaninoff, and the Overture to Guarany by Carlos Gomes, a Brasilian composer (that one I learned for my mom). I practiced these pieces for at least three hours a day; I could play any of them flawlessly. I loved playing and I'd frequently stop at any place there was a piano—the mall, the church, friends' houses, etc, and play one or more of my songs—all from memory and all perfectly. Unfortunately in our preparations Cheryl and I didn’t factor in nerves. I could play all day knowing that people just happened to be able to hear me; but to have an audience there just specifically to listen to me was another story. So the actual recital didn’t go as well as we'd hoped it would.

I was nervous to begin with, and then a short way into the first piece I made a mistake. So I got even more nervous and things just snowballed from there; I made mistake after mistake and even forgot small passages. The audience (mostly family and friends) loved it anyway and told me how great it was. I thought they were just being very nice to me. We had tape-recorded the recital, but I didn’t want to hear all my horrendous mistakes, and just put the tape away. It wasn’t until about a year later that I actually listened to that recital. And you know, it wasn’t really so bad—in fact, it was really good! I definitely did not play as well as I could have, but it wasn’t nearly as horrible as I had thought either.

Anyway I was in my mom’s house listening to that tape on a summer day when my brother Gregory came over. He heard the music through the window as he came up to the house and he called to me, “Don’t you wish you played that well?” I was surprised! I told him that it was me playing and he said, “Oh, sure!” All right; OK, I was pretty naïve. I really believed that he didn't realize that it was a tape of me playing the piano. Looking back, I’m pretty sure he did know; but it was still a nice compliment.

Well, I have one more really good piano story to tell, but this is already a really long blog so you'll just have to wait in breathless anticipation until I tell it to you. I'm sure you are on the edge of your seats, but you will just have to wait!