I’m still seven sometimes – Part One

Last week while I was teaching penny whistle, in the yurt at Adelbert Farm, I had an experience happen that cracked me wide open.

I was teaching a new tune that had incorporated a new note. After learning the tune, I said I had another new tune that had something to do with the Christmas season and was a favorite to everybody at this time of year – Jingle Bells. “Yaaaaaay!” Excitement was in the air.

After a few minutes of working as a group, I invited them to take a few minutes to work on it themselves. Nate was working hard. Struggling actually. I could see he was really trying to concentrate. Sitting next to him was Alison, blazing through the tune. She also plays the violin, so the penny whistle is easy for her. I think there is music in her head much of the time. To her, learning a new tune is simply something new to accomplish, and not much more than that. Certainly not difficult. However, that is not the case for my little friend, Nate.

Just as I was about to say something to him to affirm his efforts, he took his whistle and bopped Alison on the arm, and said her name in a way that clearly showed he was annoyed. She ignored him, playing phrase after phrase. Really well I might add. Nate bopped her a few more times and just as he was about to bop her again, I reached out to stop him. “Nate, are you frustrated?” I asked him. His eyes immediately filled with tears. Nodding, he said, “Yes.” “Do you think you could tell Alison, with your words, instead of hitting her with the pennywhistle, what you are frustrated about?” He said he couldn’t concentrate, that he was trying but he just couldn’t do it. He then drew his knees up, wrapped his arms around them, and put his head down and the pent up frustrations from weeks of not quite “getting it”, came pouring out. She looked at him there, head down, weeping, as we all did, grasping the situation, and seemed to collect her thoughts.

In the most patient, diplomatic, and loving manner, she spoke. “I know you are frustrated… you’ve hit me before but didn’t use your words… if you’d used your words maybe I’d know why you are frustrated and I could do something about it.” Her eyes then filled with tears… silence. She is seven years old. I could hardly speak while I watched this beautiful unfolding. I got choked up, feeling something akin to her sadness, but different. To my surprise, my seven year old self appeared like a rabbit out of a hat, and now the three of us were all knee deep in this moment. It wasn’t just two children and their teacher. It was simply the three of us, three people, all connected by the present moment. However, what the three of us were feeling was unique to each of us.

Nate looked up, hearing the compassion in her voice as much as the actual words. Then he listened with intention. The other kids just watched, wondering what Scene Two would bring in this small, yet very big, drama playing itself out before their eyes.

What did follow was a wonderful discussion on using words when we’re frustrated and how we all feel that way sometimes.

But what took me by surprise, was the sudden realization of knowing exactly how Nate felt.

More to come in the next post…

Excuse me, what kind of instrument is that?

Last night I was playing at the The Biltmore Estate, in the Winter Garden with Jim, my husband. We have been fortunate for many years to be regular holiday season musicians.

By the third set, a pretty good sized crowd had gathered. We had played several pieces and I was in the moment – the beauty of the music, the grandeur of the House, the lights, the floral decorations (gorgeous!), all of it. I was almost a bit teary after finishing the piece, “In the Bleak Midwinter”, when suddenly a woman pipes up and asks a question. She smiles courteously and says, “Excuse me, what is that instrument you are playing?” Other folks turned their head and looked at her. I could see 25 thought balloons suddenly appearing that were saying in unison, ‘Ummm, hello? Are you serious?’ By the innocent expression on her face, I could tell she was.

Now, when I play this instrument, I get asked pretty frequently what it is.

Sometimes people will guess – a clarinet? An oboe? No, it’s an Irish wooden flute. “Oh really! Okay, thank you!” Sometimes I get this, “Oh, really? A flute? Really?” As if I’m messing with them. Yes, it is. It’s what flutes looked like before the silver system flute came along.

But when I get asked what THIS instrument is...

well, let’s just say the importance of music education in our schools cannot be underestimated. So last night, while I did feel a bit shocked (as did the rest of the Biltmore House guests), I was also challenged not to look at Jim for one microsecond as I knew I would lose it. He made some sort of wisecrack meant for only my ears and I was hard pressed not to burst.

Apparently this woman has come this far in life without ever seeing one. Now it was me that wanted to ask, "Really?" But of course I didn't - I just smiled and said, "A flute!" She smiled back and said, "Thank you! Merry Christmas!" And that, was that... :)

Stepping into the unknown

That’s what everyday feels like these days. It’s both exciting and scary. And it feels exactly like what I am supposed to be doing. That, in itself, is grace. And that grace is not just comforting and reassuring, but my lifeline these last eleven months. Especially to the worry-wart part of me that gets completely wigged out by the fact that there isn’t more paying gigs on the calendar. Not yet anyways. I’m all about affirming these days. Everyday. It keeps me going in the face of fear and this walk of faith that “this”, this not knowing what is around the corner, is mine to do.

And while I can’t see around the corner, I know I am somewhere on that curve. The one that guarantees change, the one that doesn’t know what I will find or discover or create or do.

It’s completely scary and it’s also knowing that all is well. This is the first time in my life where I have decided to call the shots.

Last May, after nearly five months of recuperating from hand surgery where I was not able to teach or play music, I made a decision to give up my Kindermusik studio after almost eleven years of teaching. It was so difficult - I adored teaching, little children, the communities of parents and kids, the laughter and the bonds, witnessing children realize and know they are musical beings. I felt such joy being a partner with parents in this setting.

It was also crystal clear - I was exhausted. And I knew it was time to honor the creative aspects of me that had been feeling ignored for way…too…long.

Let the chips fall where they may. I’m ready. If I’m going to empower others, I must first empower myself. I know that even on the rainy days, respite from the rain really isn’t that far down the road. If it sounds a little bit Pollyanna, bear with me. It’s the walk I know I’m supposed to be on. And I’m on it. ON it! All is well. All will be well. All is well.

Where’s the Music for Thanksgiving?

Tomorrow is Thanksgiving and today I thought how little music there is that celebrates our cherished Thanksgiving holiday. What I am hearing on pop radio (when my 18 year old daughter is in the car or I am shopping in the store and have no access to NPR or my CDs) is unfortunately, a Christmas muzak play list. Already.

I love Thanksgiving so much because it’s all about gratitude and rituals, traditions and simplicity. And yet, there is so little music that celebrates it.

I find it a shame that the holiday that follows it a whole month later on down the road, is beginning to be heard all over the place. Sigh… So I did a little research today and was sadly disappointed to see that when I plugged in “Thanksgiving & music” into the google browser, what came up were mostly links to Charlie Brown. I persevered though, and found a jewel, which I’ll share with you at the end of this post.

When I think of the music that is officially about this holiday, free of all things material, I can think of only a handful of pieces.

One is the song, “Over The River and through the Woods,” considered the unofficial anthem of Thanksgiving and mistakenly, often associated with Christmas. It was written by Lydia Maria Child, as a poem in 1844, to celebrate her childhood memories of visiting her grandfather’s home for Thanksgiving. I was so fascinated by this woman researching this, that I’ve put her writings on my list of “things to read down the road” list. She was a novelist, journalist, teacher and wrote extensively about the need to eliminate slavery. Unfortunately, her political views caused her to lose a lot of popularity amongst her readers.

My husband Jim, reminded me of “Alice’s Restaurant”, which never occurred to me. Do you have to have been a teenager in the 60’s, or a guitar player for this piece to occur to you? He is both those things and I’m not. When I googled it on YouTube, I read the following post underneath the video: “I have listened to or played this song every year on Thanksgiving for the last 20 years. It's one of those goofy traditions that I treasure. Thanks for the years of smiles, Arlo!” I love this guy’s tradition…. J

Another piece is an instrumental, and if you’ve ever watched “A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving”, then you know the one I’m referring to. The Vince Guaraldi Trio made it famous and you can find it on YouTube.

I kept looking and began to find all sorts of things, some pretty awful and some pretty wonderful. To my delight, I discovered something out there that was “a new one on me” - Johnny Cash singing on an episode of the Dr. Quinn Medicine Woman TV show from years ago. I watched him singing and looking at June Carter Cash, and well, while it was a little syrupy, it was lovely, as well!

My find at the end of the day was Mary Chapin Carpenter’s, “Thanksgiving Song”, which is on her “Come Darkness, Come Light: Twelve Songs of Christmas” album.

You can be the judge on the images used in the video, but at its core? THIS is what I want to be hearing and singing for this Thanksgiving. And being in the music, really gets me in that sacred, grateful place.

May you feel deeply grateful for all that is in your life.

Happy Thanksgiving to you all.

Highlight of the week, courtesy of Adelbert Farm

On Wednesday mornings, I get dressed very differently than I do to teach on Monday or Tuesdays. I put on my old jeans, my hiking boots, pack my extra penny whistles and head out to Adelbert Farm in Fairview. The drive takes me 25 – 30 minutes, depending on the weather, and how far down the eight mile stretch of road I get before I’m stuck behind the garbage truck, which then really slows me down, from 35 mph to even slower. Initially, it made me nuts. Now, after eight weeks, I’ve come to appreciate the opportunity to slow down… in driving my car, in my life, and being able to authentically embrace the “be here now” principle. Old Fort Road, that leads to the farm, is lovely. It’s waaaaay out in the country, windy (which forces me to actually drive at the speed limit), and yes, it really is eight…miles...long.

This weekly opportunity I get to slow down in my life, is also when I get to teach the penny whistle to a group of homeschoolers, ages 7-9. It is by far, one of my most favorite hours of the week. I just finished week 8 last week and I have come to appreciate each child and the journey they are on with me. I notice how easy this instrument is for some, how difficult it is for others. Some of them practice a lot. Some of them don’t pick it up outside our lesson together. But during our half hour together, there is not a more relaxed and happy bunch than us. Right now they are learning to play basic nursery rhyme songs. Because they learned them when they were just babies and toddlers, the melodies are ingrained in the brain (I love how that rhymes!), which makes learning how to play the melodies with fingers on a new instrument pretty doable pretty quickly… for the most part. Because next week is Thanksgiving, we reviewed at our lesson yesterday, several pieces to perform at next weeks’ celebratory “Thanksgiving Hike/Art-Music-Drama Presentation/Lunch” event for families.

Within 20 minutes of our lesson, (and only EIGHT lessons at that!), they played Hot Cross Buns in two keys, Mary Had A Little Lamb in two keys, Row Row Row Your Boat, London Bridge, I’m A Little Teapot, Shave and a Haircut….Shampoo! and lastly, Baa Baa Black Sheep. Nine pieces of music. Nine! Two of the kids who practice pretty regularly and play other instruments as well, wanted to play the most recent piece I’d taught at the last lesson, something outside the world of Nursery Rhymes – Michael Row the Boat Ashore. They nailed it after just one week. I was blown away. After the lesson, Willa wanted to play me a piece she’d worked out by herself, something very big these days on the radio - Stereo Heart by Gym Class Heroes… Her pal, Harrison, smiled and said, “Oh I love that! It’s my favorite piece right now.” He proceeded to play it right along with her, in perfect time and rhythm and phrasing. She had just taught it to him the previous week.

After just two months, these kids had become quite comfortable on the whistle playing nine nursery rhymes and then, a new song, something unfamiliar about Michael and his rowing the boat ashore. I’d like to think they were becoming empowered, confident, more skilled, more excited. But I’m not sure what was brewing inside their heads and spirits. What I do know is that they were able to figure out on their own, to improvise, noodle around and have fun. I watched them play that song they love hearing on the radio while looking at one another, smiling, giggling at times, and wanting to do it again and again. I was so happy for them. And it made me happy. Today I realized that those two minutes of them showing me what they could do, was my happy moment of the day. It made me realize deeply again, what power there is when we are feeling the joy of being in the music.

Getting stuck behind the garbage truck these last eight weeks, anxious to arrive on time, was all worth this moment. And I’m willing to get stuck behind that truck every Wednesday morning from here on out. What a delight to witness children discovering the music inside themselves.

Eight lessons, nine nursery rhymes and a folk song… Music of the heart just rolled on out of those two kids, like a cup that runneth over. Imagine if you stuck with something for eight weeks, what would birth itself in you?

Andrew in Lilongwe, Malawi on St. Patrick's Day

My son, Andrew, posted this two weeks ago, the day after St. Patrick's Day. This is just a portion of his post. For those of you who don't know, he received a fulbright fellowship to pursue his project, Stories of Aids through music. I thought I'd try and recap, but I couldn't edit it without you missing the amazing images I had as I read it.......Photos were taken by his girlfriend, Kaitlin Houlditch-Fair. His blog is http://fulbright.mtvu.com/author/andrewmagill/

....The first school was a Catholic school of 350 young children. As soon as we walked in hundreds of children flooded in with chairs and in a frenzy assembled the haphazard rows, each one vying to put their chair closest to the stage. The Catholic parish priest, a charming Irish ex-pat of 40 years in Malawi explained to them in Chichewa what each instrument was and we all obliged him by giving little impromptu demos of what we played: accordion, bodhran (Irish frame drum), wooden flute, guitar, and fiddle. Two of the lads got up to dance the St. Patrick’s Day set dance and the kids were beside themselves. So naturally we invited them up to dance. For our last two sets I struggled to find space to bow as the stage began to fill with more and more little bodies flailing, kicking up dust, and screaming in their tiny sopranos. By the end we were literally all standing on our chairs wheezing on the dust being kicked up by hundreds of legs.

That afternoon we went to a school where we played for 400+ boys in their school yard. Again we did our little instrument demos. Again we gave them several sets of rousing good tunes. This time, some of the students got up and played us a song, a hip-hop rap about HIV/AIDS awareness and responsible sex. The age ranges here were from about 5 to 15 and the older boys were clearly kings of their school… dancing and singing this song about HIV as hundreds of smaller faces cheered them on. The boy strumming the guitar had literally never played a real guitar but played it with surprising facility. Evidently he had fashioned himself a two-string guitar out of scrap parts and fishing line at home and was giddy at the opportunity to hold a real guitar. By our last set of Irish tunes the boys had descended on us and we felt as if we were at the center of a mosh pit. Imagine 400 boys bursting with excitement all clamoring for a front row patch of grass to dance to the music we were playing. By the time we left the Irish contingent had achieved celebrity status. It was all I could do to hold on to my fiddle as the boys mobbed each one of us in delight......

I try to imagine the excitement, looking at the sea of smiles, and hear the roar of "Bring it on!" from these boys in the picture. There's so much music in these boys that have yet to be birthed in ways they have not dreamed possible... yet. Every child should be able to go crazy with the power of music and what it can stir deep within the spirit. I am delighted Andrew was able to share the moment with these beautiful boys...and I smile thinking of the many more moments he hopes to share with them, and others like them.

Being willing to sound bad

Brenda, a friend of mine, posted on Facebook awhile back, “that in order to be good at something, you have to first be willing to be bad at it for quite a while”…

About a week before I had stumbled onto this post, I’d already committed to playing the ukelele for 15 minutes a day. I wanted to eventually get to the point where I could say with complete authenticity, “Yes, I CAN play the ukelele!”

I was “showing up” everyday to play, and was just beginning to realize how far I needed to travel to get to that place of being able to play - not kind of play, but really play. And I realized that there’s a looooong way between those two places.

I began to feel a tad defeated because I’m a perfectionist, and that nagging voice began blabbering away in my head. I remembered when I tried to learn to play the guitar light years ago, at age 12, and my fingers were crying after just a few minutes of making chords. So I gave up. I had been playing the flute and piano for a couple of years, and those instruments didn’t inflict pain on me, only the desire to keep on playing and nailing the pieces of music I was working on. But the guitar? Mmm mmmm. There was a huge absence of desire to press on and accomplish the mastering. So I let the guitar go, and it was a bittersweet decision.

For so many of us who’ve put down an instrument during our childhood or teenage years, for whatever reason, we often end up regretting it.

So back to the ukelele and Brenda’s post…I’d put in my fifteen minutes of practice for the day, complete with oven timer, whose annoying beep-beep-beep also congratulates me that I have accomplished my little ukelele music goal for the day. Those familiar thoughts from the sixth grade again began to take over – My fingers are hurting. This is gonna take forever. FOREVER…..blah blah blah.

To get out of that negative self talk in my head, I sat down at the computer so I could conveniently escape those rants in my head for a bit and check out who is doing what on Facebook. I’m reading, scanning, skimming and then bam, I read Brenda’s post. I chant this to myself several times – “in order to be good at something, you have to first be willing to be bad at it for quite a while”… Wow. Her words stick like peanut butter on toast and I realize she's dead on right about this.

I’ve been mulling this over many times in the last couple weeks and for me, the biggest challenge is the willing part. I have to be willing to sound bad, go slow, make a zillion mistakes, make the chord changes sloppily and badly. I have to be willing to sound badly. I have to be willing to accept that I sound badly. By being willing to be great at sounding bad, I can be a teeny bit better in another week. And in the week after that. And when my contra dance band, Fly By Night, gets together a month from now for its first rehearsal with me playing my ukelele on some Old Time tunes, I might just have a helluva great time.

And no doubt, I will not only be proud of myself for having been so good at willing to sound bad, that eventually, I will be able to see there is definitely the possibility to sound good. Maybe even pretty good! Now THAT fuels me on right now to pick up my very cute, little ukelele. For fifteen minutes. Just for today.

Thank you, Brenda.