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.
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