Lilred makes her debut

On Tuesday January 11, I finished my third ukulele. This is the one made from Manitoba maple and a cedar fence board I bought at Lowe’s. It was a bit of a pain to make. The Manitoba maple is punky beyond belief and there is quite a bit of superglue holding the wood together. Still, I’m very happy with the instrument. This little instrument is full of surprises. It’s a soprano, one size smaller than the other two ukuleles I’ve made. I thought it would be difficult to get my fingers squished onto the proper frets but it isn’t. I can stretch from the first to the seventh fret without difficulty and I don’t have trouble fitting my fingers onto the small frets near the sound hole. I thought it might have a quiet, subtle, voice but it’s a loud little sucker for its size. It’s easy and fun to play. There are a couple of ‘faces’ on the back of the instrument. It seems to be saying, ‘Hello, I may be small but don’t underestimate me. There’s more than enough spunk in this little package.’ Neither of my other instruments has a name but this one got the name Lilred early on in the process, mostly because of the rich red areas of the wood. Lilred continues to surprise me.

When I realized that the Calgary Retired Teachers’ Art Show was going to take place this year, I decided, just for a laugh, to list my first ukulele for sale. I didn’t expect that anyone would actually buy it and no one did. I also brought Lilred with me to show it to some friends who have been following the progress of the build on Facebook. When I walked in, on the day of the show, carrying a ukulele case, one of the organizers asked me if I would be willing to play a bit. I mumbled that I had just brought it to show friends. Then when a second person asked me I conceded that I might play if I didn’t disturb people and if I could do it in the background. I can play for hours on my own and the minute I know someone is listening I get fumble-fingered. Those years of teaching, those years of drama training, those years of singing? They have no transfer!

I found a corner close to my display table and started plunking away. The first person who spoke to me said that he had heard a sound and kept trying to answer his cell phone. He didn’t seem upset about it and I was glad of that. I played “Side by Side” while he wandered among the paintings. He came back and told me that song reminded him of looking out from his balcony in Victoria when he was in his teens. He said it brought back memories of the sea.

A while later I was part way through Stan Rogers’ ‘Northwest Passage’ when another person approached. She waited until I was finished and then told me of a book she had just finished. I think the title was Erebus. In the book there were references to Rogers’ song and it was in her head for the duration of the book. She said she went between thinking the book was wonderful and wondering how she could possibly keep reading it. In the end it was worth it. We chatted a bit before she thanked me and continued to move among the easels.

One of my favourites to play is ‘The Log Driver’s Waltz’ and I tend to settle into it when I can’t think of anything else to play. I was playing it when I noticed a woman coming down the row of paintings towards me. She was dancing to the music. Her eyes smiled over her mask. I smiled back as she danced down the next row of paintings.

Things were pretty slow when, around noon, I took my turn at the wrapping table. I took a moment to fetch Lilred and began to play. The guy who had first asked me to play was working on the cash. I played a song and gave him the ukulele to examine. He was amazed at the rich reds of the Manitoba maple and after I played a couple of other songs, he commented on how lovely the little instrument sounded.

One of the women working in the same area told me that her mother had a ukulele that would now have been over 100 years old. She said the only thing she wanted from the her mother’s estate was that ukulele but she didn’t know what happened to it. She said growing up she dismissed the little instrument as not being cool and hadn’t paid much attention to it. Then she realized how much she associated the instrument with her mother.

After my stint at the wrapping table, I returned to my corner and played a bit more. Many people smiled as they passed and some of them stopped to say thank you. Some said they appreciated the atmosphere the music created and that they found it calming. My playing is not sophisticated and I made lots of mistakes but music has the ability to reach through imperfect performances to spark memories and to elicit smiles. What a wonderful thing that is.

Yelling at your neighbours

Every day new cases of Covid 19 crop up and every day calls on our reserves of energy. It’s so easy to get into the ‘should’ mindset these days.  No question, there are things we all should be doing: following the instructions given by those who know about epidemics, washing our hands, checking in with each other, and ignoring the folks who tell us that 5 G networks are causing the corona virus outbreaks. I’m not talking about that kind of should.  I’m talking about the ‘shoulds’ we tell ourselves: I should clean out the garage, go through my filing cabinet, get at the mound of mending sitting beside the sewing machine. There are bigger ‘shoulds’ that nag us even more: I should volunteer at the food bank; I should be doing more. We are all, as I read in an article the other day, feeling a bit ‘wobbly.’ There is no one way to do what is best. We do what we can and what we have energy to do. and that looks different for each of us.

            People and organizations are reaching out in many different ways to help make this experience manageable. Museums are offering virtual tours. People are posting amusing videos as never before and local restaurants are offering lower prices on curbside pickup orders. Musicians whose gigs have been cancelled are posting their music online.  Today I watched a kitchen party from various places in Nova Scotia.  Someone took footage from each contributor and edited it so people made music together while remaining apart.

            People are finding ways to connect by doing small things for each other. We had dinner with friends using Skype the other night. We laughed and chatted and commented on each other’s menus. It was a ton of fun and nobody had to drive anywhere.  We’re going to do that again. Children are making art on the sidewalks and people are posting drawings and cut-outs on their windows to give their neighbours something cheery to look at and, perhaps, to look forward to when they are out walking.

In the last few days I have noticed another phenomenon that seems to be gaining in popularity: yelling at your neighbours.  When I’ve been out walking, I’ve noticed people having conversations loudly from quite a distance away. I’ve been involved in a few of these myself. It may not be as elegant as Italians singing to each other from their balconies, but it will keep the vocal cords in shape so that Canadians, who are of such a mind, will be able to go right back to yelling during hockey games when hockey can be played again. It’s not subtle communication and there’s a kind of naughty freedom to carrying on a conversation at the top of one’s voice. So, let’s keep opening our doors and yelling at each other across lawns and from front steps and sidewalks. As long as there is good humour and kindness in the yelling, I’m all for it.

The Boy (Girl) Who Cried Wolf

Probably you have heard the cautionary tale.  A boy rushes into his village crying, "Wolf, wolf, the wolf is coming!"  Everyone runs for cover only to discover there is no wolf. He does this so often that when he actually sees a wolf approaching the village his cries go unheeded.

Sometimes I feel a little like the boy who cried wolf. I get excited by possibilities and decide then and there that I'm going to write a book on teaching techniques, or become an expert on picture framing, or learn marquetry, or become a life coach, or publish a children's book. The problem is I don't end up doing most of these things. That doesn't stop me from talking enthusiastically about what I intend to do and, when I'm talking about it, it's all consuming. Somehow the brilliant plan gets set aside. Something more interesting comes along.  I get bogged down in the  complexity of the task and stop because I don't know what to do next or it takes too much energy to persevere through the icky bits.

I have been trying to cut tight dovetails for twelve years now. I seem to either cut plumb or cut at right angles to the face of the board. I don't seem to be able to do both at the same time and both are required for a tight joint. I've been learning to play piano for seven years and the progress is similarly slow. I can play the notes correctly or I can play in tempo. Doing both at the same time is
fundamental to making music.

Although I'm similarly stuck in both pursuits I feel very differently about them. With the dovetails I can shrug, put them away and try again tomorrow or throw them across the shop and not return to them for months. I enjoy the process of sawing or planing for its own sake. Of course I want to end up with beautiful results but if I don't, I mostly have fun anyway. Since I can remember I have always wanted to work with wood.

Piano is different. I've never particularly wanted to play the piano but a great opportunity to learn came along and I took it. The contentment in the practice in the shop is not there with piano. I want the hands to get out of the way and just do what needs to be done to make music. I have little patience when they play wrong notes or stop when the music should continue. I know I could improve with time and practice but I lack the will to push through. It's time to let go.

Music will always be a part of my life and even as I let piano go another idea takes shape.  I want to return to making door harps but I want to make the bodies differently. Making them from large thick pieces of wood means there is a lot of waste. What if I could make the bodies of door harps more like guitar bodies?  I have started to learn about building guitars. Of course I'll break a lot of wood and the burn pile will grow in leaps and bounds but what if I could develop some of the skills of a luthier and what if I could, then, make a concert ukulele for myself? The dream takes hold and I wonder if I could become skilled enough to make ukuleles for others to enjoy. What if this is a way to combine my love of music with my love of woodworking?

So stay tuned. Down the road we both may be able to laugh at another of Marian's crazy schemes but maybe, just maybe I will one day produce an instrument I'm proud of and, maybe just maybe, I'll be able to build more than one. In the meantime I hear the siren song of possibility and door harps are waiting to be built.

Just another Christmas Eve

It's Christmas Eve once again.  Christmas seems to be coming around faster each year. Anyone else notice that? Christmas is a time when I slow down a bit and think of all the people who are important in my life. I appreciate those of you who constantly encourage me to keep at this blog irregular as it is. Thanks for reading it and letting me know that what I say is worth saying.

To those of you who get an ear-full every so often. Thanks for listening to me. I live my life with my mouth open and can't imagine how I'd survive without your ears. To those of you with whom I laugh, I hope we will always be able to find amusement in life.

To those of you who teach me music, thank you for your patience with my stubborn fingers and my brain that is slow to memorize.

To those of you with whom I sing, thanks for making music with me and for steering me in the right direction when I get totally off the track, either note-wise or with the order of things. 

Some of the earliest Christmases I remember include singing. My grandfather had a grand piano in his living room.  He didn't play but it was his dream to own a grand piano.  My mother played Christmas carols and I sat beside her on the piano bench and sang.  At later Christmases, after I joined the junior choir, I remember walking through the snowy night to the church carrying my choir gown which was white with a giant maroon bow.  I thought it was the coolest thing ever.  The junior choir led the processional from the basement, where we got organized, up the stairs and into the sanctuary. The processional hymn was always "Once in Royal David's City."  There was no sermon on Christmas Eve.  The minister's wife told a story instead.  Later I learned that the minister's wife used to start looking for stories at the beginning of January.  I don't remember any specific plot-line but there was a sense of magic that came to a climax with the dimming of the lights and the singing of "Silent Night."

When I was in grade 8 I had music vocal from Marilyn Perkins and singing became even more important to me.  By that time there was quite a gap between what Marilyn was teaching us in school and what the choir leader at church was expecting.  As soon as I could persuade my dad to let me,  I stopped going to St. Matthew's United Church and began going to Scarboro United where Marilyn was the choir leader. I began attending the late service on Christmas Eve at Scarboro.  It was a communion service and I have a strong image of my parents walking up the aisle to take communion standing side by side while I watched from the choir. By that time things were pretty chilly between them but for that moment the chill was gone.

When I worked in Banff I missed a year of singing in the church choir but I drove home Christmas Eve before nightfall and was in the pew for the late service.  I was in the pews rather than the choir loft on one other Christmas Eve when I had such a bad cold I could hardly talk.

Since Richard and I have been married, we have always been in the choir loft on Christmas Eve. When we have traveled at Christmas, which hasn't been often, we have chosen to fly on Christmas Day rather than miss the late service. In a few hours we will, once again, sit in the loft and sing and, as I look out at the families who have come together tonight, I will think of  my friends and family: those I see often, those I see seldom, those whom I have rediscovered after many years, those who have known me for decades, those who have become friends more recently and those who are here in body no longer. I will think of Marilyn who gave the gift of music to so many, and of my mother who played the piano all those years ago.  I will think of the Jorgensens' where, for many Christmases, we sang carols around the piano.  And I will think of each of you who give me the gifts of music, laughter and friendship throughout the year.

So on this night,  please know that my life is rich with the gifts you give and for that I am grateful.  May peace be with you. Shalom.  Namaste. As-salamu alaykum.