Quick update to yesterday’s post. A conversation I had with the Maestro last night before bed.
“How did you like school today?”
“I liked it pretty well. I was scared at the beginning, and I cried.”
“Then what happened?”
“I stopped.”
“Did something happen to help you stop crying?”
“The Genie tried to cheer me up.”
“What did she do?”
“She pretended that a bear was dancing towards me.”
“Was it a stuffed bear?”
“No.”
“Was it a toy bear?”
“Yes, it was.”
“Is the Genie going to be your friend?”
“Yes, she is.”
Thursday, August 31, 2006
Riley's Week 3 Summary
Hildegard-
So, here are a few quick details of this week of practice:
It seems that a little bit of The Maestro's honeymoon phase with his cello has worn off (a little dose of reality is good for me, right?). We've still been practicing 2x/day, except yesterday when, instead of practicing a second time, we ended up at the Dr's office for The Maestro to get 4 stitches on his jaw (totally unrelated to the cello of course…although that would make an interesting story…).
The Maestro is spontaneously singing more frequently, and more on key (as far as my under developed ear for notes can detect). He will sing Twinkle most of the way through, and will "Mississippi Hot Dog" through a line or two of Var. A. The Maestro really likes variety and silliness- so we're always switching the word that we sing after Mississippi. He'll sing a good portion of the parts of the cello. I don't know if any of this progress will show up at our lesson tomorrow, but it's nice to know that things are happening, even if my cello practice this afternoon was with a very musical kitty, instead of a little boy.
He has really loved being allowed to pizzicato, and much of the time can remember which is the C,G, and A strings. He actually hasn't been at all interested in learning letters before last Saturday, but I think as he's been trying to learn which string is which, his interest in learning letters in general has increased.
One isolated time, I held The Maestro's gaze for 10 seconds, but other than that, we are still not making much progress on that front.
The Maestro-Kitty has not been very interested in rest positions or "I Love My Cello", but so for the most part I've been modeling those, and when The Maestro does them, I've tried to be positive about the aspects that are looking good, which is mostly where he puts his hands. We'll keep working on it, and I'm hoping that when he gets so that he's ready for the bow (practice or real), that he'll be able to experience and appreciate why a solid rest position is so important.
I'm looking forward to tomorrow!
-Riley
So, here are a few quick details of this week of practice:
It seems that a little bit of The Maestro's honeymoon phase with his cello has worn off (a little dose of reality is good for me, right?). We've still been practicing 2x/day, except yesterday when, instead of practicing a second time, we ended up at the Dr's office for The Maestro to get 4 stitches on his jaw (totally unrelated to the cello of course…although that would make an interesting story…).
The Maestro is spontaneously singing more frequently, and more on key (as far as my under developed ear for notes can detect). He will sing Twinkle most of the way through, and will "Mississippi Hot Dog" through a line or two of Var. A. The Maestro really likes variety and silliness- so we're always switching the word that we sing after Mississippi. He'll sing a good portion of the parts of the cello. I don't know if any of this progress will show up at our lesson tomorrow, but it's nice to know that things are happening, even if my cello practice this afternoon was with a very musical kitty, instead of a little boy.
He has really loved being allowed to pizzicato, and much of the time can remember which is the C,G, and A strings. He actually hasn't been at all interested in learning letters before last Saturday, but I think as he's been trying to learn which string is which, his interest in learning letters in general has increased.
One isolated time, I held The Maestro's gaze for 10 seconds, but other than that, we are still not making much progress on that front.
The Maestro-Kitty has not been very interested in rest positions or "I Love My Cello", but so for the most part I've been modeling those, and when The Maestro does them, I've tried to be positive about the aspects that are looking good, which is mostly where he puts his hands. We'll keep working on it, and I'm hoping that when he gets so that he's ready for the bow (practice or real), that he'll be able to experience and appreciate why a solid rest position is so important.
I'm looking forward to tomorrow!
-Riley
Wednesday, August 30, 2006
...And the Genie Was There.
The Maestro started Preshool today.
Last night went to visit the school and see his classroom. He did not want to go. He was sure that he didn’t want to attend school, but he did consent to show it to me. So we went. The Gym was noisy with lots of other kids there running, yelling, and riding bikes in circles. There was a nice lady in the gym, handing out helium balloons. Hildr got a blue one from her, and told the lady about the butterflies on her shoes.
One the way to the classroom, we ended up in the library. They have lots of books, obviously, and everything in bright colors. The thing we noticed right away, however, was a set of Anklungs, Indonesian Pitched Rattles. They are made of bamboo, and each one is tuned to a different note. Best of all, no one else knew what they were, and they said we could check them out and take them home for two weeks! Any school that lets you take instruments home must be OK.
We went to his classroom, and I met his teacher, the Genie. The Maestro was happy to learn that there was a large pretend kitchen, filled with food that he can eat because it’s made with sorghum. Hildr liked the footprints on the floor where the kids are supposed to line up to go to the library or the gym. She pointed them out to the Genie, and also pointed out the butterflies on her shoes.
I got to see the picture taken when the Genie came to our house to meet the Maestro. He wouldn’t come out of him room at all, until the Genie asked to see his Cello. He didn’t talk to the Genie while we were there last night, either. He took Hildr’s balloon instead.
One the way out, we stopped at the library to pick up the Anklung set, and Hildr’s balloon got away from The Maestro and popped on the ceiling. With the noise, and the strange people, and Riley saying he couldn’t play an Anklung until we got to the car, the balloon popping was the last straw. I walked outa crying Maestro in one arm and an octave set of pitched Indonesian rattles in the other. Riley and Hildr went for more balloons.
After he was in the car, with an Anklung in each hand, away from the noise, he was OK. He even told me that he was happy about his school. When Riley got in the car, he wouldn’t tell her that, claiming instead, “I cannot tell you anything!” Well, even transient good feelings are something, I guess. Hildr was just happy with her shoes. They have butterflies on them.
The Maestro tends to avoid change. He gets nervous in situations that he is not familiar with. Is he going to go and spend the whole time hiding under the table? Is he going to come home too wired to be able to handle anything for the rest of the day? What will this do to Cello practices? We don’t know. We feel certain that this is something we need to do, even if we don’t yet know how or why. Logically, there are a number of reasons why it makes sense, but there are just as many things that could cause it to blow up on us.
We made it home, and both kids immediately wanted to go to bed. Well, Hildr was pretending to be an elephant. She was too tired to see straight, but that didn’t keep her from pretending to be an elephant with her eyes closed.
The Maestro didn’t wake up until after I had to leave this morning. I was up early to get ready for class, and to make muffins so he could have a snack at school. His common routine is to wake up with low-blood sugar, immediately quaff a glass of soymilk and watch a video while everything comes to equilibrium inside him. According to Riley, he woke up quiet this morning and came out looking for the Anklungs that I wouldn’t let him sleep with. He sat down and ate a muffin, calmly.
She drove him to school, and delivered him to his classroom.
…time passes… …we wait… …are we crazy? Is this going to be a mess? Is he going to be a mess? Finally it's time for Riley to pick him up for lunch.
The Genie reported that the first hour was rough, then she tried being silly with him. I don’t know exactly what brand of silly she tried, but she got him to laugh, and everything was OK.
The Maestro reported that they sang Itsy-Bitsy Spider. Did they start with story time? No, they didn’t start with a story. Then they did start with a story. No they didn’t. Yes they did, then they didn’t. Then… they started with some books! There was a book with a cat. They went to the gym, and there were double tricycles, with a bench. The Maestro got to ride on the bench seat. No, he didn’t get to peddle. Oh, and the Genie was there.
Riley just called. The Maestro has taken a number of instruments into the blanket fort they built in the living room, and is playing school. I expect that later, if the kids in the blanket-fort school are lucky, they will have Hildegard come to show them her Cello, or a two-week-old kitty will decide to stop farming, and become their teacher, instead.
Lots could still happen, but it looks like this is going to be a good thing. We can practice cello before school, usually, and it looks like he isn’t going to be too wiped out to practice in the afternoons. So he can still do two practices a day. And maybe tomorrow, he’ll get to peddle the tandem tricycle.
Last night went to visit the school and see his classroom. He did not want to go. He was sure that he didn’t want to attend school, but he did consent to show it to me. So we went. The Gym was noisy with lots of other kids there running, yelling, and riding bikes in circles. There was a nice lady in the gym, handing out helium balloons. Hildr got a blue one from her, and told the lady about the butterflies on her shoes.
One the way to the classroom, we ended up in the library. They have lots of books, obviously, and everything in bright colors. The thing we noticed right away, however, was a set of Anklungs, Indonesian Pitched Rattles. They are made of bamboo, and each one is tuned to a different note. Best of all, no one else knew what they were, and they said we could check them out and take them home for two weeks! Any school that lets you take instruments home must be OK.
We went to his classroom, and I met his teacher, the Genie. The Maestro was happy to learn that there was a large pretend kitchen, filled with food that he can eat because it’s made with sorghum. Hildr liked the footprints on the floor where the kids are supposed to line up to go to the library or the gym. She pointed them out to the Genie, and also pointed out the butterflies on her shoes.
I got to see the picture taken when the Genie came to our house to meet the Maestro. He wouldn’t come out of him room at all, until the Genie asked to see his Cello. He didn’t talk to the Genie while we were there last night, either. He took Hildr’s balloon instead.
One the way out, we stopped at the library to pick up the Anklung set, and Hildr’s balloon got away from The Maestro and popped on the ceiling. With the noise, and the strange people, and Riley saying he couldn’t play an Anklung until we got to the car, the balloon popping was the last straw. I walked outa crying Maestro in one arm and an octave set of pitched Indonesian rattles in the other. Riley and Hildr went for more balloons.
After he was in the car, with an Anklung in each hand, away from the noise, he was OK. He even told me that he was happy about his school. When Riley got in the car, he wouldn’t tell her that, claiming instead, “I cannot tell you anything!” Well, even transient good feelings are something, I guess. Hildr was just happy with her shoes. They have butterflies on them.
The Maestro tends to avoid change. He gets nervous in situations that he is not familiar with. Is he going to go and spend the whole time hiding under the table? Is he going to come home too wired to be able to handle anything for the rest of the day? What will this do to Cello practices? We don’t know. We feel certain that this is something we need to do, even if we don’t yet know how or why. Logically, there are a number of reasons why it makes sense, but there are just as many things that could cause it to blow up on us.
We made it home, and both kids immediately wanted to go to bed. Well, Hildr was pretending to be an elephant. She was too tired to see straight, but that didn’t keep her from pretending to be an elephant with her eyes closed.
The Maestro didn’t wake up until after I had to leave this morning. I was up early to get ready for class, and to make muffins so he could have a snack at school. His common routine is to wake up with low-blood sugar, immediately quaff a glass of soymilk and watch a video while everything comes to equilibrium inside him. According to Riley, he woke up quiet this morning and came out looking for the Anklungs that I wouldn’t let him sleep with. He sat down and ate a muffin, calmly.
She drove him to school, and delivered him to his classroom.
…time passes… …we wait… …are we crazy? Is this going to be a mess? Is he going to be a mess? Finally it's time for Riley to pick him up for lunch.
The Genie reported that the first hour was rough, then she tried being silly with him. I don’t know exactly what brand of silly she tried, but she got him to laugh, and everything was OK.
The Maestro reported that they sang Itsy-Bitsy Spider. Did they start with story time? No, they didn’t start with a story. Then they did start with a story. No they didn’t. Yes they did, then they didn’t. Then… they started with some books! There was a book with a cat. They went to the gym, and there were double tricycles, with a bench. The Maestro got to ride on the bench seat. No, he didn’t get to peddle. Oh, and the Genie was there.
Riley just called. The Maestro has taken a number of instruments into the blanket fort they built in the living room, and is playing school. I expect that later, if the kids in the blanket-fort school are lucky, they will have Hildegard come to show them her Cello, or a two-week-old kitty will decide to stop farming, and become their teacher, instead.
Lots could still happen, but it looks like this is going to be a good thing. We can practice cello before school, usually, and it looks like he isn’t going to be too wiped out to practice in the afternoons. So he can still do two practices a day. And maybe tomorrow, he’ll get to peddle the tandem tricycle.
Tuesday, August 29, 2006
The Kitty Farmer
The Maestro likes to pretend. He goes through phases of pretending different things. All night last night, and again this morning when we went to the park, he has a new fantasy. He is a two-week-old kitty. He’s a two-week-old kitty who can drive a tractor. He’s a two-week-old kitty who can drive a tractor because he’s a farmer.
He’s a two-week-old kitty who can drive a tractor because he’s a farmer who has cows that need nests built out of grass because they are having baby cows coming out of their tummies soon, and need someplace soft to put the baby calves. I’m a daddy kitty, and Hildr is the baby kitty who can’t drive the tractor yet, because you have to be two-weeks-old to have learned to drive a tractor, obviously.
Hildr thinks it’s great that her older brother is a cat, because we don’t have a real one, and it gives her something to pet gently on the head.
I haven’t figured out yet if he is a kitten-prodigy to have learned to drive a tractor at two weeks, or if that is something that all kitty farmers can do.
Pre-school starts tomorrow…
He’s a two-week-old kitty who can drive a tractor because he’s a farmer who has cows that need nests built out of grass because they are having baby cows coming out of their tummies soon, and need someplace soft to put the baby calves. I’m a daddy kitty, and Hildr is the baby kitty who can’t drive the tractor yet, because you have to be two-weeks-old to have learned to drive a tractor, obviously.
Hildr thinks it’s great that her older brother is a cat, because we don’t have a real one, and it gives her something to pet gently on the head.
I haven’t figured out yet if he is a kitten-prodigy to have learned to drive a tractor at two weeks, or if that is something that all kitty farmers can do.
Pre-school starts tomorrow…
Monday, August 28, 2006
Tattoo and Pink Hair
Keep in mind that I don’t go to the lessons, or really, have many face-to-face conversations with the Teacher. Most things reported here as being said by the Teacher have passed through a series of filters, like playing telephone at summer camp. Hildegard did NOT say that she was a rock star. Her intent was, as I understand, to speculate that perhaps the Maestro had built her up in his mind by pretending to be her, thus increasing the pressure on he put upon himself when it came time to perform. So, let the record show that the Teacher does not consider herself a rock star, tattoo notwithstanding, even if the Maestro does.
I did get a better report of what happened at the lesson, and what is coming next. It turns out that the only things that he did well enough to get a sticker on the chart were: arrive on time, unpack the cello, and pack it up again. Bowing didn’t happen, nor did singing the song. I knew he wouldn’t sing, so that was no big surprise. So new assignments mainly are to build on things he can do in the comfort of his home environment, such as beginning singing Twinkle variations, and add some more steps to the bow. Riley showed me the sticker chart, and pizzicato is actually several steps ahead of the other assignments.
One thing I had been concerned about was that he wouldn’t have the patience to keep doing the thing he was asked to do long enough to get to the part he wants to do, which is pluck the thing like Mingus. That, and he’s going to pluck it anyway, in between practicing rest positions. Now that he has been shown the proper technique, he can do it without causing problems for the future. Last night he taught me how to pluck it properly, using the index finger of my bow hand, with my thumb on the edge of the ebony finger-board.
It reminded me of a time about a year ago that he was going through a harp phase. He has seized my bread cooling rack for his harp, and was plucking it. I came by and strummed it one time, and he went into demo-mode, demonstrating to me how a harp is actually plucked and not strummed. A girl we know plays the harp and she had shown him. At the time, I thought my two-year-old was over the top, correcting my technique on playing a cooling rack. He does have a drive to do things the right way, when he can, though.
The other assignment he got was to perform for people whenever he can. We’ll see how that goes…
Oh, and to my knowledge the Teacher doesn’t really have a tattoo. I just made that up.
I did get a better report of what happened at the lesson, and what is coming next. It turns out that the only things that he did well enough to get a sticker on the chart were: arrive on time, unpack the cello, and pack it up again. Bowing didn’t happen, nor did singing the song. I knew he wouldn’t sing, so that was no big surprise. So new assignments mainly are to build on things he can do in the comfort of his home environment, such as beginning singing Twinkle variations, and add some more steps to the bow. Riley showed me the sticker chart, and pizzicato is actually several steps ahead of the other assignments.
One thing I had been concerned about was that he wouldn’t have the patience to keep doing the thing he was asked to do long enough to get to the part he wants to do, which is pluck the thing like Mingus. That, and he’s going to pluck it anyway, in between practicing rest positions. Now that he has been shown the proper technique, he can do it without causing problems for the future. Last night he taught me how to pluck it properly, using the index finger of my bow hand, with my thumb on the edge of the ebony finger-board.
It reminded me of a time about a year ago that he was going through a harp phase. He has seized my bread cooling rack for his harp, and was plucking it. I came by and strummed it one time, and he went into demo-mode, demonstrating to me how a harp is actually plucked and not strummed. A girl we know plays the harp and she had shown him. At the time, I thought my two-year-old was over the top, correcting my technique on playing a cooling rack. He does have a drive to do things the right way, when he can, though.
The other assignment he got was to perform for people whenever he can. We’ll see how that goes…
Oh, and to my knowledge the Teacher doesn’t really have a tattoo. I just made that up.
Saturday, August 26, 2006
Lesson Two!
Today was the Maestro’s second lesson with the Teacher. As I said, he had pretending to be her all week, and had been giving and receiving lessons everyday. I don’t think he had a regular practice all week. The Teacher thought that that might have increased the pressure he felt in actually going to see her and showing her what he had practiced, like she’s become some kind of rock star. She doesn’t eat wheat, and she plays the cello, so really, she IS a rock star. I think he’d feel the pressure regardless of whether he role-played being her or not. The pretending to be her is an effect of that, not a cause.
Apparently, he did a good amount of playing shy at his lesson today. A lesson, after practicing all week, is essentially a performance, and he has some performance anxiety. Hildegard said that this is normal, and that a child who can hold gaze well with someone at home can typically only hold gaze for half as long at a lesson. That sort of thing may be typical, but I think The Maestro is probably more extreme in this regard than most kids. He tends to be more extreme in almost everything…
Anyway, he got a bunch of new homework assignments. From what I gather, he got some more advanced stuff than one usually gets at a second lesson. I’m not sure what exactly, because he was kind of fried when he came home, like he was caught in the afterglow of being taught to pizzacado. The music really got his dopamine flowing, I think. I did gather that he was authorized to move onto plucking, which I hadn’t expected. He also told me that the Teacher has a small toy cello that he wasn’t able to borrow, and has ebony on it. That was the extent of his report to me. Oh, and he said it went “good”.
Riley told me that he is supposed to start singing Twinkle Variation A, and combine his bow into a sequence that ends with him sitting in the right posture. I’m sure that I will hear more tomorrow when it is time for him to give a lesson to Riley. It’s Sunday, so I will be around to watch.
Apparently, he did a good amount of playing shy at his lesson today. A lesson, after practicing all week, is essentially a performance, and he has some performance anxiety. Hildegard said that this is normal, and that a child who can hold gaze well with someone at home can typically only hold gaze for half as long at a lesson. That sort of thing may be typical, but I think The Maestro is probably more extreme in this regard than most kids. He tends to be more extreme in almost everything…
Anyway, he got a bunch of new homework assignments. From what I gather, he got some more advanced stuff than one usually gets at a second lesson. I’m not sure what exactly, because he was kind of fried when he came home, like he was caught in the afterglow of being taught to pizzacado. The music really got his dopamine flowing, I think. I did gather that he was authorized to move onto plucking, which I hadn’t expected. He also told me that the Teacher has a small toy cello that he wasn’t able to borrow, and has ebony on it. That was the extent of his report to me. Oh, and he said it went “good”.
Riley told me that he is supposed to start singing Twinkle Variation A, and combine his bow into a sequence that ends with him sitting in the right posture. I’m sure that I will hear more tomorrow when it is time for him to give a lesson to Riley. It’s Sunday, so I will be around to watch.
Friday, August 25, 2006
Meet The Teacher.
The Maestro and I don’t eat Wheat.
The Maestro has a number of sensory regulation issues, such as being auditory defensive. Essentially, this means that he doesn’t like noise, and that he doesn’t tune things out like most people do. There are several other things that are related, like not liking to wear blue jeans (scratchy pants) or any clothes at all, if he can help it.
Removing Gluten (from wheat, oats, rye, barley) and Casein (a dairy protein) from his diet has seemed to help a lot.* So I have taken up gluten-free baking. My first blog is actually about that, which you can find with Google and “baking with Jowar”. Myself, I just find that I feel much better and require less sleep when I don’t eat gluten.
One night in June, we were working on a home renovation project when the phone rang. A lady from New Germany named Hildegard, who has celiac disease, was starting a Sabbatical at the University. Hildegard is a member of our church, and wanted to talk about the availability of Gluten-free bread for communion. We had already worked a system out for the Maestro and me, so she could just sit with us on Sundays.
It turns out that her sabbatical is to start a Ph.D. in orchestra conducting, and she is a cello player and strings teacher. This is definitely someone whom the Maestro could get along with. Not only does she have her very own cello, but she has the same answer he does to his favorite question for new people, “Do you eat wheat?”
Shortly after getting set up here, Hildegard went home for a few weeks and we decided that the Maestro needed cello lessons. We were concerned about how he would handle lessons, (see previous posts) and Hildegard already knew him, and would be going in with eyes open. I emailed her this:
“So, I have a couple of questions for you. First, are you planning to or interested in having a cello student this year? I understand that you are here to do a number of things, and that teaching cello may not be one of them. In the event of not being available to teach [The Maestro], you had said that a good teacher would be able to teach him how he needed to learn. Do you have any suggestions for recognizing such a teacher?”
She emailed back that she had the day before realized that she needed to have a student regardless of not having time for one, and that she had been telling her family about this boy she had met who loved music so… If we were serious, we should read at least two of some books she recommends.** Sometimes, things come together in such a way that going along somehow seems inescapable. Like that, Hildegard became The Teacher.
The Maestro loves playing “The Teacher”. The Maestro has built an apartment for the Teacher in his room that he goes to for his lessons everyday. Carolyn stays in our room between practice sessions, and he starts each “lesson” with a trip to New Germany to get his cello. Riley has set a rule that she gets to be the Teacher at least every other time, because the Maestro had been wanting to give her the lesson every time. Yesterday they had only two lessons, but they were each double lessons, with each of them taking a turn to be Hildegard.
One funny thing about him pretending to be the Teacher is that it helps him get dressed. I mentioned that he doesn’t like to wear clothes around the house. But, you don’t have a cello lesson in your underwear, and you certainly don’t give a lesson that way. The other night, after playing in the wading pool in the back yard, he told me he wanted to play “The Teacher”. I said that was OK, and he got upset because he couldn’t, because he needed clothes!
A new lesson tomorrow. Riley has a few questions.
*(See A.M. Knivsberg, Nutritional Neuroscience, 2002 Vol. 5 (4), pp. 251–261, Nutritional Neuroscience, 2003 Vol. 6 (1), pp. 19–28, and references therein for explanation.)
**"Nurtured by Love" by S. Suzuki
"Ability Development from Age Zero" by S. Suzuki
"They're Rarely too Young and Never too Old to Twinkle" by K. Slone
"Helping Parents Practice" by E. Sprunger
Riley's Week 2 Summary
Hildegard,
I really don't think we'll always be so high maintenance, but because we are new at the practice business, I wanted to e-mail you and give you a more in depth report on our practice endeavors from this week. Of course, I don't expect an e-mail response, but I hope it will help you to help us steer our practices in the right direction. I don't have a clear sense of how much correction on technique The Maestro can handle from me, so I've really tried to keep it pretty positive. The Maestro, of course, supplies everything with a huge dose of imagination.
Some interesting notes:
We start and end every practice with the bows. At first The Maestro's bows were restrained in form, like yours, but after repeating that over and over for 3 days, The Maestro must have decided it was more fun to do "the deepest of bows", because now he is bowing low to the group and pops his hands up behind him. I haven't commented on this, but I make sure to keep modeling the standard bow.
You've continued to be a consistent figure in his imaginative play (he has constructed your "apartment" out of pillows sandwiched between the foot of his bed and his dresser). Currently, at our practices, he always wants to pretend to be you, but I've made up the rule that I have to get to be The Teacher every other time. Since we have the cello out practicing about 3 times a day, I'd reasoned that if I'm only determining the order we do things half of the time, it probably doesn't hurt a ton. (Unbeknownst to you, you took me to a concert hall today and kept saying, "There's lots to do and see in a concert hall, even with no concert.") The Maestro has gotten used to calling you The Teacher, and has firmly decided that cello lessons and practices can only happen when he's fully clothed (good, huh?)
Thus far in The Maestro's life, he hasn't been very comfortable singing,. I would guess it will be quite awhile before he'll sing at lessons. At home, if we turn the "I love my cello" song into a game, leaving blanks, or singing "I love my The Maestro very much, I play him every day…", he'll say or sing up to about half the words.
One of the things I have repeatedly tried to guide The Maestro on is sitting toward the front edge of his seat. At first, he didn't believe me. At one practice we talked a little bit about how sitting forward on the seat gives our knees room to grab on tight to the cello. It's been a tiny bit better, but I still seems like physically he doesn't feel stable sitting on the edge.
We are working on the focusing exercise. Once The Maestro made it to a 7 and I really praised him for it, but most of the time we are at about 2-4 seconds.
I really don't think we'll always be so high maintenance, but because we are new at the practice business, I wanted to e-mail you and give you a more in depth report on our practice endeavors from this week. Of course, I don't expect an e-mail response, but I hope it will help you to help us steer our practices in the right direction. I don't have a clear sense of how much correction on technique The Maestro can handle from me, so I've really tried to keep it pretty positive. The Maestro, of course, supplies everything with a huge dose of imagination.
Some interesting notes:
We start and end every practice with the bows. At first The Maestro's bows were restrained in form, like yours, but after repeating that over and over for 3 days, The Maestro must have decided it was more fun to do "the deepest of bows", because now he is bowing low to the group and pops his hands up behind him. I haven't commented on this, but I make sure to keep modeling the standard bow.
You've continued to be a consistent figure in his imaginative play (he has constructed your "apartment" out of pillows sandwiched between the foot of his bed and his dresser). Currently, at our practices, he always wants to pretend to be you, but I've made up the rule that I have to get to be The Teacher every other time. Since we have the cello out practicing about 3 times a day, I'd reasoned that if I'm only determining the order we do things half of the time, it probably doesn't hurt a ton. (Unbeknownst to you, you took me to a concert hall today and kept saying, "There's lots to do and see in a concert hall, even with no concert.") The Maestro has gotten used to calling you The Teacher, and has firmly decided that cello lessons and practices can only happen when he's fully clothed (good, huh?)
Thus far in The Maestro's life, he hasn't been very comfortable singing,. I would guess it will be quite awhile before he'll sing at lessons. At home, if we turn the "I love my cello" song into a game, leaving blanks, or singing "I love my The Maestro very much, I play him every day…", he'll say or sing up to about half the words.
One of the things I have repeatedly tried to guide The Maestro on is sitting toward the front edge of his seat. At first, he didn't believe me. At one practice we talked a little bit about how sitting forward on the seat gives our knees room to grab on tight to the cello. It's been a tiny bit better, but I still seems like physically he doesn't feel stable sitting on the edge.
We are working on the focusing exercise. Once The Maestro made it to a 7 and I really praised him for it, but most of the time we are at about 2-4 seconds.
Tuesday, August 22, 2006
Carolyn
Here is the Maestro's Cello. The Teacher went to the instrument rental shop Friday, and 
found it for us. Of the Shops in town, only one had any cellos smaller than 1/2 size. The Maestro needs a 1/8th. When she went in to take a look, she asked if they had any Eastmans, and was promptly laughed at. Apparently, Eastman is THE brand of cello, and its ridiculous to think you can ask for an Eastman, and just get it. It seems to me the clerk thought that is like ordering a medium-rare Bison steak at Arby's. I'm not sure the rental shop wants to be compared to Arby's, but the clerk was the one who laughed at the idea of an Eastman, not the Teacher.
found it for us. Of the Shops in town, only one had any cellos smaller than 1/2 size. The Maestro needs a 1/8th. When she went in to take a look, she asked if they had any Eastmans, and was promptly laughed at. Apparently, Eastman is THE brand of cello, and its ridiculous to think you can ask for an Eastman, and just get it. It seems to me the clerk thought that is like ordering a medium-rare Bison steak at Arby's. I'm not sure the rental shop wants to be compared to Arby's, but the clerk was the one who laughed at the idea of an Eastman, not the Teacher.It turns out that they had exactly 0ne Cello in 1/8th scale, and it was an Eastman in Pristine condition. It is beautiful. When Hildr looks at it, she points to the grain, and in her 14 month-old patois blurts out "Water!" It certainly is a step or dozen above some rental Cellos we've seen at concerts around town.
The Maestro was especially excited to have a bow with actual horsehair, and a block of Rosin. He has an old, decrepit violin he plays with that I have glued back together more times than I can count. The corresponding bow has three hairs remaining at this point. He blames the fact that he cannot get a sound from the thing on needing Rosin for his three bow hairs, so he was particularly happy to have a good bow with Rosin. That is part of the reason it was soooo tragic that the Teacher took his bow. One of the most essential parts of what he had dreamed of had just been confiscated.
I'm keeping my fingers crossed that he decides to sing "I love my cello" soon, so he can get his bow back. Unfortunately, he has never liked singing for people. At all of the concerts at the library that we go to, when the performer gets the kids to sing along, he is always the only one not singing. Sometimes you can catch him singing to himself, but if he knows that you noticed, he usually stops. He's a player, not a singer.
The Teacher wanted him to name his Cello. After a number of trial names through Saturday afternoon, he decided on Carolyn. According to him, that is the PERFECT Cello name. Of course, since he pretends to be the Teacher so often, Carolyn spends a good portion of her time pretending to be the Teacher's Cello. I think she doesn't mind though.
He needs the Teacher
Previously, I said that “There is only so long that a kid can go around telling people that he wants to be a musician and a conductor when he grows up before you have to consider putting him in lessons of some kind. I mean real lessons, not just buying him a recorder and trying to teach him fingerings.”
When we started talking seriously about having lessons, one of our concerns was how he would adapt to having a teacher rein in his style. The boy has spent so much energy watching artists play that he has very clear ideas of how things should be done. When playing a wooden spoon “cello” he likes to shake his head like Yo-Yo, and when he plays a “double bass” he slaps it, and twirls it around like he’s a Beatnik. He puffs his cheeks like Dizzy, and makes faces like Zubin. He’s learned from the Masters.
Unfortunately, most of what he has learned from the Masters is what a stylish performance looks like to a three-year-old. He doesn’t know yet what goes into making it sound like that. Unless a teacher can rein him in, he’ll be like the novice singer who shakes their jaw to get some “vibratto”. It’s an approximation, but it isn’t the real thing.
Now he has the Teacher telling him how to sit, what to do with his body, where and how to play notes. We talked to him over and over before his first lesson Saturday, about the Teacher taking his bow. He knew it would happen, but I don’t think he really BELIEVED it would happen. It was almost lunchtime when he got home, so his blood-sugar was low, which makes it hard for him to deal with adversity. In this case, he bawled all the way home, and half-way through a cup of juice. After he was calmed down, he mused about it most of the day. “WHY did she have to take my bow?” He sure seemed broken hearted. Of course, that hasn't stopped him from wanting to practice twice as often as his teacher recommended.
By Sunday, he had come to terms with it. His favourite way to practice is to give us lessons. He shows us how to bow to start and finish a lesson, the various rest positions, how to sit. There is a song he is working on, “I love my cello” that ends with him plucking the strings. He doesn’t like to sing it, but he sure enjoys the Pizzacado ending. He even explained to me why he had to take away my cello bow, so I would be able learn the things I need to learn before I can play “Twinkle, Twinkle…”.
If he is going to become the musician that he wants to become, shaking his head like Yo-Yo, he needs to start with the components that allow that intensity. He needs to hold the cello between his knees so it is solid as he starts to use the bow on it. He needs someone who will enforce the step-by-step aspect of learning, in a way that I can’t do. I’m not removed from him enough to be able to stick wax in the end of a recorder so it won’t play, and make him finger through three blind mice when he wants to turn it sideways and make it a piccolo.
It’s the third day since his lesson, and Riley, who is the one who practices with him, already has questions about how to keep the balance between allowing him to move on so he doesn’t get bored, and holding him back so he gets the basics more solid. He has started to embellish the bowing that he could do perfectly the day before. Yesterday he was bowing all the way to the floor, with wide hand waving. He can do it the right way, but it isn’t as much fun. “I am ready to learn”, indeed. Good thing she can ask the Teacher. If he was learning to play a recorder from the dollar store, who could we ask? The clerk there doesn’t know.
When we started talking seriously about having lessons, one of our concerns was how he would adapt to having a teacher rein in his style. The boy has spent so much energy watching artists play that he has very clear ideas of how things should be done. When playing a wooden spoon “cello” he likes to shake his head like Yo-Yo, and when he plays a “double bass” he slaps it, and twirls it around like he’s a Beatnik. He puffs his cheeks like Dizzy, and makes faces like Zubin. He’s learned from the Masters.
Unfortunately, most of what he has learned from the Masters is what a stylish performance looks like to a three-year-old. He doesn’t know yet what goes into making it sound like that. Unless a teacher can rein him in, he’ll be like the novice singer who shakes their jaw to get some “vibratto”. It’s an approximation, but it isn’t the real thing.
Now he has the Teacher telling him how to sit, what to do with his body, where and how to play notes. We talked to him over and over before his first lesson Saturday, about the Teacher taking his bow. He knew it would happen, but I don’t think he really BELIEVED it would happen. It was almost lunchtime when he got home, so his blood-sugar was low, which makes it hard for him to deal with adversity. In this case, he bawled all the way home, and half-way through a cup of juice. After he was calmed down, he mused about it most of the day. “WHY did she have to take my bow?” He sure seemed broken hearted. Of course, that hasn't stopped him from wanting to practice twice as often as his teacher recommended.
By Sunday, he had come to terms with it. His favourite way to practice is to give us lessons. He shows us how to bow to start and finish a lesson, the various rest positions, how to sit. There is a song he is working on, “I love my cello” that ends with him plucking the strings. He doesn’t like to sing it, but he sure enjoys the Pizzacado ending. He even explained to me why he had to take away my cello bow, so I would be able learn the things I need to learn before I can play “Twinkle, Twinkle…”.
If he is going to become the musician that he wants to become, shaking his head like Yo-Yo, he needs to start with the components that allow that intensity. He needs to hold the cello between his knees so it is solid as he starts to use the bow on it. He needs someone who will enforce the step-by-step aspect of learning, in a way that I can’t do. I’m not removed from him enough to be able to stick wax in the end of a recorder so it won’t play, and make him finger through three blind mice when he wants to turn it sideways and make it a piccolo.
It’s the third day since his lesson, and Riley, who is the one who practices with him, already has questions about how to keep the balance between allowing him to move on so he doesn’t get bored, and holding him back so he gets the basics more solid. He has started to embellish the bowing that he could do perfectly the day before. Yesterday he was bowing all the way to the floor, with wide hand waving. He can do it the right way, but it isn’t as much fun. “I am ready to learn”, indeed. Good thing she can ask the Teacher. If he was learning to play a recorder from the dollar store, who could we ask? The clerk there doesn’t know.
Monday, August 21, 2006
Here we go
The Maestro finally got his cello. If you don’t know the Maestro, you should. People always ask us who he gets his musical interest from, me or Riley. The answer is, really, that he came up with it himself. I come from a pretty musical family, and took piano lessons for years. I also played trumpet in the band, and learned to sing. None of that, however, leads to having a son who can name, describe, and pick out by sound all of the instruments in the orchestra by the time he turns three. I’d pick a younger age as the cut-off for that, but it took him several months to reliably differentiate the oboe, the clarinet, and the English horn.
All of this, he came up with by himself. Riley and I have been continually stretched to answer his questions. What IS that part of the violin called? What is a Flugel Horn, anyway? He really is amazing. He loves to watch concert videos, and listen to the radio. While he was still two, he called me at work, pretending to be Zubin Mehta. How many people even know who Zubin Mehta is? Everywhere he goes, he takes some object that has become an instrument to him, and people who know him simply assume now that he has that coat hanger because it makes music for him.
My favourite story was the day he took a round sieve, taped to a toy broom handle, to church. Some people thought that maybe it was a banjo, but they were wrong. He politely explained that is was a BANJ, which is like a Bass Banjo. It plays lower notes than a banjo, and has seven strings. I know, from living with the Maestro, that a standard Banjo has only five strings. A Banj, apparently, has seven. Oh, and a Banj doesn’t really exist; he invented it for the day. I think he was justifying to himself the longer than normal length of the neck, compared to the body of the instrument. A longer neck means longer, bigger strings, hence a Bass Banjo.
There is only so long that a kid can go around telling people that he wants to be a musician and a conductor when he grows up before you have to consider putting him in lessons of some kind. I mean real lessons, not just buying him a recorder and trying to teach him fingerings. He plays with “instruments” of all kinds, but comes back most often to the string family, and the bassoon. Bassoons are problematic, being approximately twice as tall has he is. Strings are built down to 1/16th scale, so the physical limitations of being only three aren’t quite so insurmountable. He picked the cello to learn first. Of course, once he learns the cello, he said, he wants to learn the violin, then viola, and then the bass.
We had been reading a book on gifted children called, “Some Of My Best Friends Are Books”, about how reading can help children meet their emotional and intellectual needs. The idea that gifted children, my gifted children, have intellectual needs, and that the opportunity to meet these intellectual needs can have strong consequences on their emotional growth, was something that I had not considered before. Is there a part of the Maestro that will feel incomplete if his chance to be a musician consists of carrying around PVC pipes fastened together with elastic bands and calling the collection a bassoon? Being smart and interested in music is one thing. Feeling like a musician trapped inside a little body that can only pretend is another thing. What is really going on inside him when he has taken wooden spoons and is using them to play cello along with Vivaldi? Is he playing a game, or is he coming as close as he can to touching the picture he sees of himself inside?
There are people who are willing to answer that question for me. He’s only three, they say. It’s a phase, they say. I did Suzuki lessons, but I didn’t start until much later, they say. But THEY don’t know the Maestro, do they? They don’t go to the library looking for CDs, because their three-year-old has been asking for a clarinet concerto for a week now. They don’t have three-year-olds that would call them out for putting on the oboe CD and telling him it is a clarinet concerto. I do.
So I don’t know. I do know that we won’t find out if we don’t take the chance. I will be watching to see if he can look his teacher in the eye for ten seconds. I will watch to see if he can hold the cello between his knees while in rest position. Later, I will watch to see if he holds his bow properly, and if he keeps his elbow up. But, I will also be watching to see if he holds his head differently, if he plays by himself differently, how he relates to the self-portrait in his head differently. I don’t know how I will know these things. I don’t know if I will know these things. The criteria are more subjective that the sticker chart his teacher has.
Yesterday I came home from a meeting and instead of running out and demanding my attention, as is his wont, he continued what he was doing with play food inside a cardboard box. I went into his room to see what he was doing. He looked up at me and said “I’m listening to my music.” He had on the Suzuki Cello volume 1 CD. Three days ago, it was cello music. Today it was HIS music. I feel like something in how he listens has changed for him since we brought the cello home. Am I attaching more significance to that than what it deserves? Maybe. Time will tell. He did seem more centered than usual, if that word has any real meaning in this western society. But if that word doesn’t have any real meaning here, I think that Shinichi would still know what I mean. And he would approve.
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