Confessions of a Wedding Musician Mom

by Jennifer McCoy Blaske

  The ceremony ballroom had tall arched windows with gold valances, and there was a huge crystal chandelier in the center of the high ceiling. Rows of gold chairs with white bustles faced the front of the room which had a slightly raised hardwood platform. The baby grand piano was to the left of the platform.

  I sat down at the piano and started setting everything up. I put the ceremony music in order, making sure each piece was neatly marked with a clip. Then I turned off my phone.

  I was flipping to Canon in D when I heard heels clicking across the floor. Erica Cantrell was heading toward me. Wow, that woman sure walks fast, I thought. I scrambled to my feet, smiled, and tried to look as polished as possible.

  “Are you Heather?” she asked with a barely perceptible smile as she looked down at her clipboard.

  “Yes,” I said. “You must be Erica.”

  She gave a slight nod without looking at me and gestured toward the entrance of the ballroom. “I’ll be standing back there with the bridal party and will signal to you when it’s time to begin the music for seating of mothers and grandmothers. My weddings always begin exactly on time, so be ready.”

  “Got it,” I said, wishing I had something a little more intelligent to say.

  “And then I’ll continue to signal from there for the rest of the processional.” She looked back at her clipboard. “There is no unity candle or sand ceremony, so your next cue is when the officiant announces the couple for the first time, which is when you begin the recessional music.” She unclipped an envelope from her clipboard and handed it to me. “This is for you.”

  “Thank you, Erica,” I said with a big smile. “I’m really happy to finally be …”

  She’d already turned around and was whooshing back the way she’d come.

  Huh, I thought. Well, at least I didn’t make a bad impression. Maybe I can wow her during the ceremony.

  Everything went like clockwork. I began playing the prelude music at 4:30. And, as promised, at exactly 5 Erica signaled to me from the hallway outside the ballroom that the mothers and grandmothers were about to be seated. She signaled me again when the bridesmaids were about to enter the room.

  Thanks to my handy-dandy clips, I was able to flip from song to song without any trouble at all. I managed to play Canon in D while keeping an eye on the bridesmaids and Erica—so that I wouldn’t miss her next cue.

  When the final bridesmaid arrived at her spot and turned to face the guests I was all set to flip to the Bridal March. I looked in Erica’s direction for official approval. No one was there. There were no more bridesmaids in strapless teal gowns carrying tangerine and cream bouquets with teal ribbons walking into the room, and the bride was nowhere in sight. And, even stranger, Erica had vanished.

  I started to panic. Did I do something wrong? Was everyone waiting for me to play the Bridal March? No, wait. Erica would’ve cued me. Wouldn’t she? Or did she mean that she would cue for the processional, but I was supposed to start the music for the bridal entrance myself? I tried to remember her exact words, but she’d come and gone so quickly and she hadn’t said much.

  Was it possible that another bridesmaid was entering and I just didn’t see her? I flitted my eyes around the ballroom, but I didn’t see anything to give me a clue. There was no movement at the entrance, no sign of more teal dresses to come, nothing.

  What was going on? And more importantly, what should I do? Well, there wasn’t much I could do except continue playing Canon in D and hope that something started making sense very soon.

  So continue playing I did. At the same time, I craned my neck and leaned at different angles, trying to catch a glimpse of anything that might give me an indication of what was going on.

  As I was leaning forward, I finally saw Erica. She was crouched on the floor next to another woman. They were both facing a little boy in a tiny suit. Of course—the ring bearer! I couldn’t tell exactly what was happening, but a reasonable guess was that he was refusing to walk down the aisle and Erica and the other woman—his mother, maybe?—were trying, unsuccessfully, to convince him to do his job.

  Okay, now that I knew what was happening, what should I do? I’d been playing Canon in D long enough for seven bridesmaids to enter. How much longer could everyone stand to listen to it? I couldn’t switch to the Bridal March yet. Should I just start playing something else, or would that be awkward?

  I shifted my weight, trying to get a better feel for what was going on. Surely something would happen soon, right? We couldn’t just sit here waiting forever.

  Poor kid, I thought. Maybe they should just give him a break and go on with the ceremony. It’s too bad I can’t help somehow, like try to musically coax him to … Wait a minute. What if … ? No. That’s crazy. Or is it?

  I took another look at the scene in the doorway. Things didn’t appear to be improving. I decided to risk it. I played an arpeggio, changed keys, and dove into a graceful version of … the theme song to Millie Mallard’s Pond of Fun.

  I had no idea if most people would recognize it, or what they would think if they did. And for all I knew, this boy never watched the show, or maybe he even hated it. But I figured it couldn’t be much worse than playing endless rounds of Canon in D.

  As I was starting the second verse—which describes Millie Mallard’s friends Sammy Snail and Tabitha Turtle—I saw the little boy strutting down the aisle. He was holding a satin pillow, smiling, and bobbing his head to the music.

  I couldn’t believe it! It really worked! A simple song had changed everything. An unhappy child was now happy. All the people in the packed room were probably both relieved and amused. And the ceremony could go on.

  Millie Mallard and her friends had helped save the day. And I’d finally managed to do something impressive in front of Erica Cantrell. I was so excited I could barely keep from grinning through the entire ceremony.

  After I played the recessional, the guests filed out and headed to the reception room. My work here was done. I gathered my things and practically bounced across the ballroom floor and down the hall.

  Before I left, I wanted to say goodbye to Erica and tell her that I enjoyed working with her. She might even want to thank me for helping out and we’d have a quick laugh together as two wedding professionals bonding over an amusing incident, I thought.

  I saw her in the hallway outside the reception. She was still holding her clipboard, watching the guests as they mingled and slowly made their way inside the room.

  “Erica, I know you’re busy, but I just wanted to say a quick goodbye before I leave,” I said. “I’m so glad the song worked. I guess we lucked out on that one.”

  She looked annoyed. “What song?”

  “During the processional,” I said, surprised that she didn’t know what I was talking about. “The ring bearer finally came down the aisle when I played the theme song from Millie Mallard’s Pond of Fun. He must like that show as much as my kids did when they were younger.”

  “Oh, that,” Erica said. She leaned toward me and lowered her voice. “I keep telling couples not to involve kids in the ceremony, but they never listen. They think it’ll be sooo cute.” She rolled her eyes. “So what happens? Not only does the precious child hold up the entire ceremony, but now we all have to listen to kiddie songs. I work hard to get these weddings just right.” She grimaced and looked into the reception room as she bobbed her head back and forth and pointed her index finger at people in the distance, counting. “I don’t appreciate having my work ruined by some little kid.”

  I was speechless. Not that it mattered, because it didn’t look like Erica was interested in anything I had to say.

  As I watched Erica jot something down on her precious clipboard, I realized she was indeed the president of Madison Wedding and Event Professionals, and the owner of Magical Moments Event Planning, but she was not a nice person. She cared less about the actual people whose weddings she was planning than she did about making herself look good. She cared less about forming relatio
nships with her colleagues and more about charming people who would help serve her interests.

  Erica Cantrell was not someone I would want planning my wedding. In fact, she was not someone I particularly wanted to work with again. And I certainly didn’t need her help or approval.

  “Well,” I said, although I doubted she was listening, “I’m just glad that I could be part of their special day.” And with that, I turned around and proudly walked down the hallway toward the front of the building.

  The ring bearer was sitting on a couch in the lobby with a couple of boys a little older than him. They were laughing, poking each other, and just generally acting silly. I gave them a big smile before I pushed open the double doors and handed my parking ticket to the valet so I could head home to my family.

  Chapter Seventeen

  In early May Stephanie and I were sitting on her back patio at table with an umbrella. She was sorting through a big bin of art supplies in her lap, and I had my usual diet soda in hand. The kids were at a nearby picnic table on the grass, wrapping rubber bands around trays.

  “So something really cool happened yesterday,” I said to Stephanie. “I got an email from the chorus teacher at Streams High School. She said she got my name from someone named Meg Caldwell.”

  “Who’s Meg Caldwell?” Stephanie was pulling bottles of squeeze paint out of her bin one by one and setting them on the table.

  “That’s what I couldn’t figure out at first. But when I read it the second time I realized it was Mrs. Caldwell, the chorus teacher I subbed for that day. Remember?”

  “Sure,” Stephanie said. “Hey kids, go ahead and put on your aprons and goggles, and then come get your paints.” She turned back to me. “So did she want you to sub for her chorus class too?”

  “No, even better,” I said as all four kids came over to the patio and grabbed bottles of different colored squeeze paint. “She said she needed an accompanist for her spring chorus concert in two weeks and wanted to see if I could do it. I guess Mrs. Caldwell was impressed with whatever the kids told her about me.”

  “Hey, that’s great.” Stephanie tied her hair back into a ponytail and picked up a floral apron. “Are you joining us?” she asked as she slid a pair of plastic goggles onto her head and stood up.

  “I think I might just be a spectator for this one.”

  “Okay. Just let us know if you change your mind.” She put her apron on, grabbed a pile of white paper, and walked over to the kids’ table. “Did you guys get plenty of paint all over your rubber bands?”

  “Yup,” Angela said.

  “And on our hands,” said Danny as he and Trevor held them up as proof.

  “Perfect. Now just hang on a minute while I slide the papers onto your trays,” said Stephanie. “Okay, ready?”

  “Ready!” all four kids called out.

  “And … go!” Stephanie yelled.

  They started snapping the rubber bands and paint of all colors went flying everywhere. All five of them were shrieking and laughing.

  “Um … this paint is washable, right?” I asked as a big orange blob flew through the air and landed on the edge of the patio.

  “Sure!” Stephanie yelled as she pulled back one of Katie’s rubber bands as far as it would go and let it pop.

  “Come join us Mommy!” called Angela. She already had green paint smeared in her hair.

  “Thanks, but I’ll just watch,” I called back. “I’m not sure that this is exactly my thing. It looks like fun, though.”

  “It’s awesome!” Danny yelled as he angled his tray and snapped a rubber band right at Trevor.

  “Can I have another piece of paper?” Katie asked.

  “Yup, there’s plenty,” said Stephanie. “Here, let me just slide this one out and put it down over here. Okay, you’re all set.”

  “Come on Mommy!” Angela called again. “You should at least try it.”

  I watched her laugh as she plucked a couple of rubber bands and let them snap. Danny was running across the grass trying to dodge some paint that was flying right at him.

  I quickly slid on an apron and goggles and went running through the grass to join them.

  * * *

  As the start of the next school year approached I was thinking about everything that had changed over the past year. I was also reminded of one special person.

  I decided to see if I could find her. I knew now that teaching was really hard, and often thankless. She deserved to know what a difference she’d made in my life.

  August 25

  Dear Mrs. Casey,

  Do you remember me? My name was Heather Collins and you were my piano teacher for many years while I was growing up.

  I was able to find you through the magic of the Internet, but wanted to take the time to write you a handwritten note instead of just emailing you.

  I currently live in Madison with my husband Steve and our two kids. Angela is about to start fourth grade and Danny will be in second grade.

  These past twelve months have been pretty exciting for me and my family. Not only have I started playing the piano again for the first time in years, but I’m actually working as a musician now. So far I’ve played for five weddings and am already booked to play for three more this fall and winter. It was pretty challenging at first, but I’m getting the hang of it the more I do it.

  What’s also exciting is that this school year I will be working as a part-time choral accompanist for two of the high schools in our district. This is perfect because I can work during the hours my own kids are in school. I’m also looking forward to getting to know the high school kids that I’ll be working with.

  I wanted to thank you for all the years you taught and encouraged me. When I was a kid I didn’t think much of it, but now I’m starting to realize what an important role you had in my life and how much that means to me, even all these years later.

  I imagine that being a teacher is a lot like being a mother: You do the best you can, sometimes you feel like you’re doing a terrible job, and you often wonder if the work you do makes any difference at all.

  I want to assure you that, yes, it does.

  Heather Collins Hershey

  * * *

  Steve and I were sitting at a picnic table one afternoon.

  “Come on, kids,” I called to the playground. “We’re gonna eat now.”

  Danny leaped off his swing in mid-air. Angela dragged her heels on the ground for a few seconds before hopping off hers.

  “This was a good idea, to come to the park today,” Steve said as we watched the kids running toward us. “It’s going to start getting too cold for the park soon.”

  And the kids will be too old for playing at the playground soon, or relatively soon, at least, I thought. In a few years they’ll be spending their Saturdays going out with their friends, or working at their part-time jobs, or doing their homework—not going on a picnic with their parents and swinging on the swings together. It was hard to believe, but I knew it was true.

  Danny climbed up on the bench next to Steve. “What’s for lunch?” he asked as he slipped into the seat.

  “Nothing fancy,” I said, opening the picnic basket and arranging the food and bottles of water on the table. “Just turkey sandwiches and grapes.”

  Danny grabbed a few grapes and stuffed them in his mouth.

  “Mommy! Daddy!” Angela waved her arms to get our attention. “Did you know I learned how to do a cartwheel this week? Abby showed me how during recess. Look!” She pointed her toe, scrunched up her face in concentration, and then did her best cartwheel.

  Her feet barely got off the ground. It looked more like a squat with a bounce.

  Steve and I exchanged amused looks.

  “Here, let me do it again!” She turned another something-that-wasn’t-quite-a-cartwheel, then stood up with her arms raised above her head. “Ta-da!”

  “Very nice,” I said.

  She sat down and took her sandwich out of the bag, obviously very pleased
with herself. “I think I’m going to be a gymnast when I grow up.”

  “And I’m gonna be a fireman,” Danny said with his mouth full.

  I looked at my son and daughter happily munching away. It was as if I was looking at them for the first time. They were each so different—and so special—in their own ways. I didn’t know if they’d ever become a gymnast or a fireman. But I hoped that, whatever they chose to pursue, they would always retain the joy that I saw in their faces in that moment.

  I reached across the table and took Steve’s hand in mine. I smiled at him before I turned back to the kids. “We think that’s great,” I said. “And we’ll always be here cheering for both of you.”

  Thank you

  Thank you so much for taking the time to read this book.

  If you enjoyed it, I would really appreciate it if you left a review on Amazon. It doesn’t have to be long. Even just 2-3 sentences would mean a lot to me.

  Thanks again!

  About the Author

  Jennifer McCoy Blaske has been published over fifteen times in six different magazines and also has an essay included in the book anthology Humor for a Teacher’s Heart. She has been playing the piano for weddings and other events in the Atlanta area since 2009. She has fairly simple pleasures, including hanging out with her family, knitting and coloring, and watching reruns of Seinfeld, The Simpsons, and The Big Bang Theory.

  Website/Blog:

  www.PianoJenny.com

  Facebook:

  https://www.facebook.com/jennifer.m.blaske