Smiling While Singing

The smile won’t quit. It’s coming up from my toes.

Never mind the nerves that spike at the thought of being heard out loud. I don’t even cringe so much at notes that aren’t exactly on pitch. I’m just so tickled to be putting into sharable format some of the songs that have come into my head over the years.

Bless the good and generous hearts of my friends Barry & Lynn, who support my noodling with vocals at the microphone in their basement, while Barry noodles accompaniments, with precision, playfulness and a musicality that flows and flows. Some of these tunes he’s never previously heard! How does he do that?

On my last visit with the grandie, while driving her home from school, she asked for a particular CD she and I enjoy listening to. It’s Loudon Wainwright, III singing his Recovery Album version of Be Careful There’s a Baby in the House - on a compilation CD gift from my friend Robin.

I said, “D! I took all the music into the house. Sorry, I don’t have any CDs in the car… well, except this one in my bag, that I recorded in my friend’s studio.”

“Put it in, Gra’Moose!”

There were two songs on that CD: I Cry for the Children and Running Through Green Forests. I popped it into the player, and turned up the volume.

When the second song finished, I popped it out.

From the back seat, D said, “Gra’Moose, there are tears in my eyes and I don’t know why.”

Uh, oh, I thought... that first one is a doozy... it really is a sad song... I hope I haven’t scarred her for life.

“Is that really you, Gra’Moose?”

“Yes, Miss D, I’ve written a whole bunch of songs.”

“Well, where are they? Why are there only two?”

“That’s all I’ve recorded so far, D. I’m working on recording some more.”

Silence.

“Play it again, please.”

I did. 

She was quiet for a long time at the end of Running Through Green Forests. All we could hear was the traffic swishing by on the freeway. In the rear-view mirror, I saw her wiping her cheeks with the backs of her hands. We rode in stillness a few more minutes.

As we turned onto the off ramp, I began singing “Be careful, there’s a baby in the house…” and D sang along, gleefully anticipating her favorite lyric: "All that cootchie, cootchie coo is a lotta poo poo… when you spread it on that thick."

Like her Auntie Sid, who memorized song lyrics instantaneously, from nursery school onward, Miss D seems to know all the words to mostly all the songs I’ve ever sung to her, and the lyrics to songs she and her mama listen to on the long trip to school and back. She’s five! How does she do that?

CDs are the “known” source of music to my granddaughter. Apart from her neighbor Liza and me playing guitars at her birthday parties or at Halloween, I’m not sure whether or not D has ever been to a live performance of music of any kind. I’ll have to ask her mama.

Recording a small album in the sharable CD format, just for her, is one of my goals. 

When she was three years old, I sang some of her favorite lullabies directly into the computer and sent the sound files, so my daughter could play them on her smart phone.

CDs have currency, validity and substance. You can carry them with you and play them in the car.

Miss D, next time, what I record in my generous friend’s studio is for YOU!

With gigantic thanks to L & B… gigantic thanks and a smile that starts in my toes and just won’t quit! They seem to know I'm on the right path.

Muscle Memory, Camp Memories

Sitting in the dining hall Saturday, after all the families have gone to their cabins for the night, a fellow counselor and I share songs and play our guitars. 

She has been playing for a few years, and brings classical violin training with her. Jo retains the finger placement configuration suitable for the fretless violin, and is struggling to find the dropped-wrist needed for the wider guitar neck. Vibrant, youthful, well-traveled, and extremely wonderful with kids, Jo is enthusiastic about LIFE. During rest hour earlier, when we were plucking out some tunes together, I gave over my old guitar to a teen named T, who is learning to play. With encouragement, patience, and skill, Jo taught T some new chords, while I tended to an errand. Teacher and student were beaming when I returned. One of my greatest joys is sharing new skills with kids, especially those who want to learn guitar. This beat-up ol' nursery school teacher guitar has some mileage on it. So does its owner! 

I notice as I play Saturday at rest hour and later in the evening, that the oldest muscle memory tracks laid down in my brain are easiest to access: classical Spanish guitar riffs, old blues licks, and some of the finger pluck arpeggio chords that usually accompany Celtic ballads remain. What hasn't stuck so well is the sequencing of chords for some of my favorites to sing, like Inch By Inch, Row By Row,  or Let It Be.  I can tell when a chord needs to change, but to which other chord is not as clear, thus Jo and I keep trying to find the right ones for these two songs. Neither of us seems to have the required hand strength for the barred chords. (Using your  index finger over all the strings on the fret-board while playing a chord with the rest of the fingers below that pointer finger, is called a barred chord and it modulates the chord to higher and higher pitches depending on where you place the barre.) It takes a fair amount of muscle oomph! Eventually, we figure it out and I write the chords over the words to Inch By Inch for her. She's able to play it later for her group in the garden! One of the kids knows all the words from having sung it at school. She finds the chords for Let It Be in her stack of songs on paper. We play and sing it well together, harmonies and all!

Singing and playing strike me as a "use it or lose it" proposition. Where have I been? Why don't I pull out my friend, the stringed critter, more often and just noodle? Perhaps the proposed move to a new home where I won't, at first, be working with clients, may support more doodley doo time at the piano, guitar and Djembé drum. Playing brings such pleasure.

During the days here at "Jack's Camp" in Livermore, I accompany two young ones who sing Mary Had a Little Lamb for opening Campfire Friday night, and I've been strumming and leading songs for the group of siblings to which I've been assigned as a support counselor. Two MFTs lead the kids in activities designed to encourage them to let their hair down on the topic of family life when you have a sibling who has a brain tumor. Apart from some nods to "hating" a brother or sister, or "hating my whole family, because all we do is fight," the most letting down of hair I see comes from simply being themselves while hanging out with adults who hold unconditional regard and presence, and getting to play with kids their own age who have similar challenges.

My favorite extended moment happens on a hike. Two "bored by a dumb game" nine year olds in our group and I explore the hard-packed dirt path, while the rest of the group settles on a low cement wall to play "Telephone." The path is riddled with insect tunnels. We marvel at the intricacy of the branching holes. There's mistletoe hanging from the oaks. The two young women love the feel of the leathery leaves which they knock down by throwing twigs at the green cluster. We figure out north, south, east, and west based on the time of day and our shadows. A family of deer trot by. Laughter, hawk screeches, and sounds of the game from a short distance away lend a reassuring counterpoint to our leisurely explorations and observations. Life is complex. You'd never know that underneath this smooth, worn path in the ancient oak and pine forest there's so much going on! 

Grateful to be part of it.

Blackberry Wind Part I and Part II

Part One:

When Miss D was 1 year and 2 months old, the 3rd day of August rolled around. 

It was the day of THE BIG MOVE. Mama, Gran’Pun, Auntie Sid, and Uncle Mister Grady Pants were moving Mama Mosa’s things and Miss D’s things out of the big Sky Street house into the cozy Silver Blvd. house. 

Close to the new house, Gra’Moose pushed Miss D in her stroller all around the new neighborhood and all the way up Maple Street to the tippy tippy top. 

On the way up the steep hill, Gra’Moose kept singing songs, trying to catch her breath between verses. As the hill got steeper and steeper, the songs got shorter and shorter. Gra’Moose zigged and she zagged up that hill. She pulled and she pushed the stroller up that hill. She told Miss D all that was in her heart, and about the hopes she had that this new home would be filled with love and sunshine, maybe some cats and much happiness. She talked about the adventures they would have exploring the new neighborhood.

Gra’Moose didn’t know it, but somewhere on that long walk up the hill, while she was singing and talking and walking, zigging and zagging, zagging and zigging, and walking and talking and singing, Miss D fell fast asleep in her stroller. It was a hot August day, but a cool breeze came up Maple Street from the valley below cooling them both. 

Near the top of the hill, on the south side of the road, was a huge patch of BLACK BERRY BUSHES. “Oh, D, Look at all these ripe black berries!” Said Gra’Moose and she  kneeled down and saw that Miss D’s eyes were shut and that her sweet head had drooped to one side. She propped her head up with the little soft calico horse and let the stroller rest safe against the curb with the brake on. 

Then Gra’Moose began to pick black berries. She tasted many and she put some in the snack tub which was no longer full of raisins and nuts. She put berries in her hat and in a small blanket. She even emptied D’s water cup and filled that with black berries! There were so MANY black berries and they were so sweet and good. Gra’Moose didn’t think the birds would mind sharing some. She rested all of the black berries on the shade canopy of the stroller and filled the pockets of her pants and blouse with even MORE black berries. Only when there was no more room for any more black berries inside her, or on the shade canopy, did she release the brake and begin the long walk back down the hill toward the new house.

Miss D continued to sleep soundly as her Gra’Moose held fast to the stroller and walked down and down and down.  Gra’Moose was so happy to be with D and to have found sweet black berries for the whole family to enjoy after their long day of moving, that her spirits soared and she began to feel lighter and lighter and lighter on her feet. Soon she felt so light that she could no longer feel her feet slap, slap, slapping against the pavement. She saw that the stroller also lifted off the road. The breeze caught the shade canopy and the hem of Gra’Mooses’ blouse and up they floated... up and out over the entire valley! D looked wide eyed and wide awake now! She and Gra’Moose smiled into one another’s eyes and looked down. They saw the white castle on the hill, they saw Jordan Park, they saw Peter’s house next door and Ana and Summer out walking with their mama Marie. They saw Kay and Niedra who lived across the street. Only they didn’t yet know any of the names of the folks who would become their friends, or anything yet about D’s new neighborhood. They simply marveled at all the things this lovely wind revealed to them.

Oh, what a glorious wind. It blew them over the rooftops and over the back yard of the new house and dropped them gently down right next to the sand box on the grass with a soft thump.

All the black berries tumbled out of their containers - even out of the blanket, and all Gra’Moose’s pockets. They tumbled and rumbled, rumbled and tumbled along the walk-way and up the steps to a big white pail on the deck near the kitchen door. 

With a kaplink, kaplank kasplat, all the blackberries jumped, or were they blown by the strong wind(?), into the big white pail. 

Gra’Moose lifted Miss D up out of her stroller, opened the back door and brought the pail of blackberries in with them. Just as the back door closed, they heard the front door bell ring. 

“Halooo!” they recognized Mama Mosa’s voice. 

Together, D and her Gra’Moose opened the door to welcome the tired moving crew.

“Won’t you please come in and have some blackberries?” D invited her mama Mosa, her Auntie Sid, her Gran’Pun and her Uncle Mister Grady Pants.

They sat and ate the delicious blackberries until they all had purple tongues and purple chins and purple fingers from all those sweet, sweet blackberries from the top of Maple Street. 

D said, “Mama, I had a dream about flying over our new neighborhood. A strong wind showed us that this will be a house full of love and sunshine, maybe some cats and much, much happiness.”

And so it is!

Part Two:

Devlyn at four, flies through the door a whirlwind of coiled energies

She climbs in the car, we’re off, but not far, in search of sweet wild blackberries

At the top of ol’ Maple we park and are able to see where the stand used to be

Alas it’s diminished, its fruit nearly finished by birds, squirrels and people like me.

A man of near eighty with tummy quite weighty tells of the recent hack back

Of the huge stand of berries - some big as cherries - all pulled before ripening to black

The neighbor was tired of what was required to get at the berries through thorns

With gloves on, he hacked and pulled the whole tract out like a bull by the horns.

For the folks on that hill, it’d been such a thrill to eat them; they missed them a lot

The old gent recounted a tale which we doubted of the Blackberry Fairy named Dot

“She lives in the bush, gives each berry a push to the sun so it ripens to purple

If you pick ‘em too soon or dried up like a prune, a gigantic resounding  Burp’ll

Come belching up from, your tender tum tum so better let unripe ones rest...”

Just then a small fairy hurled a wee berry putting belief to the test

With hands on her hips and a scold on her lips, she turned her wee head to the gent,

“I don’t make them ripen, the sun does the striping,” she said with a fairy accent,

“My job’s to sweeten, not push or beat them, so get it straight when you tell the story!”

The gent gave a bow, put a hand to his brow "Give me pardon, dear fairy, I implore ye."

The old gent and I saw Miss D eye Fairy Dot, D's eyes full of wonder

Wind whipped D's skirt. I heard her blurt, “Hey, I’m floating!” then we heard thunder! 

My blouse caught the breeze and quick as you please the wind lifted me and the gent

Up over the trees, we all bent our knees  wonderin' what this strange weather meant.

Back down on the ground, with eyes big and round the fairy was waving her wand

With a look wild and fierce and a wail that could pierce the depths of the deepest fish pond,

The fairy kept waving her wand, we were braving the wildest of winds as we flew

Over rooftop and tree, large birds were we three, enjoying the incredible view.

On, over the forest, hearing sweet birdie chorus, we floated on this magic breeze

We looked down and saw such wonders with awe eventually landing with ease

On the lawn where D lives, near the sand toys and sieves. The sky was lit-up with pure gold

D and I walked the gent home while he talked of how the fairy was bold

To keep us aloft, give a landing so soft that not one of us wanted to stop

Her magic was strong he said on the long walk up the rise to the top

We puffed up that hill to the berry stand still it looked more barren than bare

On closer inspection we noticed a section where the brambles and thorns gave way

Three bowls full of berries, were left by the fairy not one of us knew what to say

We looked all around, but heard not a sound, so we blew the sweet fairy some kisses

Thank you, Dot Fairy,  these lovely Blackberries fulfill all of our fondest wishes.

And thanks for the ride, where-EVER you hide, know that we three are plum grateful

We hope you may know that we three hope to grow even more for next year's plate-full.

Ta-ta and farewell, we're under your spell and bid you a fond adieu.

Good night and sweet dreams, dance on moonbeams the blackberry wind loves you too!

Wi Fi Spider

I wondered what to call that too-hickey high up on the wall in one of the break-out rooms here at Mercy Center. One of my colleagues named it: It's a Wi-Fi Spider. It looks like a smoke alarm - white plastic disk with several six inch arms sticking out of it at odd angles.

Sitting under it for the past two days while triads of students practice on each other their new skills as Somatic Experiencing Practitioners, I have felt a-buzz and more tired at the end of the day. Is it the emanations? Tempting to blame technology.

I'm also tempted to say I could live with out the wi-fi-spi-dee… but then I wouldn't get to share the blog, write inane things to friends or play Farmville on FaceBook (JOKE!)

What DID we do before the internet?

Well, I remember camp fires and late night games of Kick the Can. Weiner roasts and reading aloud or alone. 

What I loved about the world before so much buzz and info zinging across the airwaves and THROUGH me, was the quiet.

Here at the retreat center, there is also much of that. Away from Spidee, there's the sound of crickets. In the distance, an occasional dog or coyote punctuates the velvet night. 

What a privilege it is to support the students' learning. What a thrill to keep learning new stuff about how humans heal.

Thanks for reading!