Erin is in Montreal, checking out the McGill music faculty and falling in love with the city all over again. She was there for a week in 2008 on an exchange trip and loved it then. This time her perspective is different. She’s not there for a visit; she’s looking to live there, and soon.
Last night we managed to chat for a while on-line. She’s had two lessons. Liked both teachers a lot, but loved one of them, and thought she was “adorable.” The French accent probably didn’t hurt. It sounds like they connected really really well. Both teachers basically told her she’d have no trouble getting into the performance program and that she should focus on trying to win scholarships. She got some input on her recital performance pieces and on general posture and technique and tone stuff. She has one more lesson with another teacher today, as well as the McGill open house to attend. It was lucky good timing for this trip that the open house happens this weekend. Hopefully she’ll get some helpful information and impressions from that. Though the real money for her is in the personal and artistic connection she thinks she might be able to forge with a teacher there. So far things are looking very good on that count.
She’s dreaming of an apartment. A small funky somewhat scuzzy one in a run-down building within a few miles of the university, near a metro station, that she can paint “blue and purple and chalkboard,” and fill with IKEA furniture, tea, an espresso machine and strings of LED lights. She’s using whiney “pleeeeeeases” with far to many e’s to ask if she can possibly live in Montréal next year, during her last pre-university year, as soon as she finishes her high school coursework. Did I mention she’s fallen in love with the city? I was already entertaining thoughts of an arrangement of some sort in Calgary, but Montreal is so darned far away. Soooooooo darned far. (This issue just cries out for strings of repeated vowels.)
Four years ago I wrote about how, in raising our kids, we’ve tended to compress or entirely skip many of the intermediate stages. We’ve let the kids stay little and dependent for as long as they’d like, and then let them be independent and autonomous as soon as they’re ready. But (gulp!) does this translate into letting my country bumpkin move more than 4000 kilometres away at age 17 to a city of a million and half, completely on her own and without the support of a university environment? I don’t know ….