Hildegard's Lesson Summary for this week
Week 25
1/31/07
The Maestro walked in the door today and held up a paper French horn and piccolo that he had colored pink, and pasted to cardboard to keep sturdy. After he took his shoes off he immediately ran toward me to hug my legs. After I touched his back he tugged at my legs and said, "I'm pulling you down." It had been days since I had been over to his house to visit with him and play with him on the ground. I told him I had missed him, and then picked him up, singing "Once there was a Snowman" with him, raising and lowering us both together as the snowman got "tall, tall, tall" and "small, small, small," respectively. Then I told him that we could play on the floor after his cello lesson. At this he ran into the studio, but without his cello.
Hildegard: "What do you need for a cello lesson?"
The Maestro said nothing, but ran out to get his cello. While I tuned The Maestro got wiggly, running first around the studio, then around his chair, and then out of the room. I told him I had something to show him. Riley told him to get out his last wiggles, and then he came back into the studio. I had placed markers on the activity chart, and I asked him to count how many markers there were for each activity. One warm-up, two review activities, three new songs, and four "The Maestro songs." He looked excited, but then yelled: "I needa pee! I needa pee!" He ran to the bathroom. Riley whispered to me, "You're quite special. That's the first time he's taken himself to the toilet in, like, a week."
After the bathroom trip, we tightened our bows. I told them I had something to show them about tightening the bow that I had just learned that day, and I would show them after the lesson. We forgot all about this by the end of the lesson. (In truth, after I mentioned learning something, I realized that I would have to take the bow apart to show them, and I worried that The Maestro might want to take his bow apart forever more after seeing me do it). I'll show Riley at her lesson and let her decide if we should show him.
I asked Riley to give The Maestro a choice of warm-ups. She offered him a choice between ski jumps, "up like a rocket," or knuckle knocks. He ignored the question and sawed away at his cello, with the bow in the left hand. (Granted, he kept his bow scrubs in the "bow zone" and kept the bow at a "T"). I thought as I observed this that The Maestro is not a fan of warm-ups; they're "old news" and he perhaps can't see their relevance to cello playing. Note to self: Even though he's just barely four years old, The Maestro loves explanations and will work harder if he knows the purpose behind the activity. When The Maestro refused to give an answer, Riley chose for him: "OK, I guess it's 'up like a rocket' then." The Maestro prepared his bow hold with excellent detail to the placement of each finger – first with the left hand and then with the right (as Riley and I often do, even when The Maestro scrubs away with two sticks or some other type of pretend violin/viola of his own creation that he picks up and starts to "play," I asked him which hand was his bow hand and he instantly made the switch).
The Maestro started to bounce the bow on the strings.
Riley: "Oh, it's time for 'up like a rocket.'"
The Maestro: "But I don't want 'up like a rocket.'"
Riley: "Oh, but I gave you three choices and you didn't choose, so I chose for us."
Hildegard: "Up like a rocket, down like the rain…"
The Maestro joined in, with a smile so tense that his neck veins bulged. He yelled out a few of the words "rocket, choo choo, round, sun" with a voice I can only describe as a "tough guy." He was agreeable yet obviously not thrilled.
After the song I asked Riley to check both of our thumbs. Mine was a little tense (it didn't spring), and The Maestro's was put back into place. I announced that we would then do a review. The Maestro started to scrub away, louder and louder as Riley tried to give him his review choices. In the meantime, I observed that his scrubbing included two "Tucka tucka stop stop" rhythms, the first one using second finger(!) [he has never been shown this in a lesson] by the neck (third position, although he doesn't know it as such), and the second using first finger just a few inches below the end of the fingerboard. This boy is going to learn cello despite his teacher and mother. I thought to myself: "Forget the formality; let the boy play!" With this in mind, I decided to move his "The Maestro songs" to earlier in the lesson. I don't know if this was a good idea or not (more on this below).
The second review song was new to me. Riley had decided to use the song "Baby Bumblebee" to have him pluck his "B" on the A string. Old idea (therefore review), but a new way of practicing it. Brilliant. The Maestro grinned and moved his body as she sang, plucking the B with umph (almost a Bartok pizzicato, in fact).
As stated above, I let The Maestro play a "The Maestro song" before going to the three new songs I had ready to teach him. New to my observations was a left hand pizzicato above the nut, which produced a high, bright sound that made The Maestro smile. As he bounced the bow on the strings and created a slapping sound, I mentioned that this was called "col legno." I didn't explain more yet – I don't think I want him to know quite yet that people actually play with the stick of the bow in more modern music – but he was excited to learn that it had a name (I figured as much; he loves instrumental terminology, and regularly uses words like "valve," "reed," "bell," "ferrule," "mouthpiece," and "purfling.")
When it was time for him to learn his first new song, I opened the cupboard to find tennis balls. In the meantime, The Maestro scrubbed on his bow by himself with a somewhat nice bow hold and a flexible wrist.
Hildegard: "When you give your bow to your mom, I will give you a tennis ball." He kept playing (although a little softer). I held the ball in my hand and Riley held out her hand for the bow. The Maestro handed her the bow and I placed a ball in his left hand. I turned around to get my cello. The Maestro puffed up his cheeks with air and bounced the ball on his cheek in what appears to be the "I like apple pie" rhythm – but with one extra bounce at the end. Coincidence?
I taught him to slide it up and down the fingerboard. Remembering that The Maestro likes explanations, I showed him how the ball helps him have a nice hand shape and makes his left arm loose. He seemed to appreciate the first explanation but the second lost him. Too complicated? Too long of an explanation? As he slid the ball up the fingerboard, he performed a ski jump at the end.
Hildegard: "Was that a ski jump I saw?"
The Maestro did another (surprisingly – often he'll stop as soon as you make mention of him doing something you would want him to do)
I asked Riley to do the bow while he did the tennis ball.
The Maestro: "I want to do the bow and the tennis ball."
I should have known better than to offer for someone else to work his beloved bow for him. He performed sliding and bowing quite proficiently together. This was two steps in one, and I was delighted and surprised.
At a break in sound, I showed The Maestro how it was easier to do when his scroll was by his head (I moved the cello closer to his ear as I said this). In the meantime, The Maestro dropped the ball and I caught it. This "game" delighted him, so he dropped it again after I handed it to him.
Hildegard: "Oh, if we drop the ball we'll have to put it away because it might hurt the bridge." The Maestro held on to the ball.
For the next review, Riley gave The Maestro a choice of "I like apple pie" or "Roll to the cool string." He didn't speak, but started to slap the strings in rhythm.
Riley: "Oh, I guess it's 'I like apple pie.'"
Riley gave him a choice of using his bow hand or cello hand. He chose bow hand, and The Maestro and Riley performed one of these nearly perfectly (he slowed up just a little in the middle).
Riley: "Now let's do it with the cello hand."
The Maestro: "I'm tired." He crossed his wrists on his cello and put his head down.
Riley: "Oh, ok, let's do it with our cello hand and then I bet we can do something else." This time he was not nearly as successful. He got off on "apple" and stayed off, looking at me and slapping in one spot without showing any effort in trying to get back on with us.
I gave him a choice of doing another "The Maestro song" or learning a new song. He chose a new song. I told him the song is "THIS big" (holding out my arms) and I would teach him just a "little bitty part" (holding my finger and thumb less than an inch apart). I asked him to smile if he knew the song and to hold out his tongue if he didn't. I plucked the first part to "Eine Kleine Nachtmusik," which I knew he knew from one of his videos (I had watched it with Hildr when she and I stayed home sick and the rest of the family went to an orchestra concert for The Maestro's birthday) . He covered his ears and grinned at the same time. His smile seemed to be the same smile he often gives before saying, "You're so silly!" I sang "I like balloons, I like I like balloons" and his smile widened. I showed him how to put his fourth finger on the D string. He showed a gorgeous hand shape, which he lost once he started to pizzicato. I showed him how keeping his "chicken wing" up would help him keep the weight down. Too much - he started to "slap bass."
Hildegard: "As soon as it's quiet I'll show you how to do the pizzicato." He quieted down and I showed him one more time. This was enough for him. He stood up and turned around as I took his cello and demonstrated to Riley once more.
I started to ask The Maestro if he wanted to do another "The Maestro song," but I knew he was tired and I wanted to show him the Cabbage song. I told him again that we would learn "just a little bitty bitty part of the song" that didn't yet use the cello. I stood behind him, holding his arms up in the air and swinging him from side to side. D was upright, G was to the right, and A was to the left. Of course he doesn't know this yet, and he didn't seem to have enough stamina to sit through me playing it, but he's learning the bass part to the fiddle song "Boil them cabbage down." I'll teach it to Riley on Saturday so we can play it as a duet. Knowing The Maestro and taking a page from the Dalcroze approach, I figured having him first learn the spatial motion with his body would help him later be able to remember all of the notes in order. He smiled through the whole song. We did it twice, and that was enough for him. He got wiggly despite his smiles, and then went over to his cello and put in the endpin. He was through for the day. I told him I was proud of him, and we had a final bow.
We can take so much for granted now that used to be quite an effort to get The Maestro to do. It's always a delight to see him play his "own thing" on the cello and to watch his mind and body at work, free from outside pressure. Now it's so fun to see that he's picking up little bits of songs each week. This is definitely not the linear learning approach I personally would have wanted it to be, but I'm getting a real delight as I observe The Maestro learn the cello in his own special way. This experience is unique to The Maestro and not like I would have imagined it, but my word! The Maestro is really learning to play the cello.
After the lesson was over and we left the studio, The Maestro pulled at me again to get me to play on the floor with him. I wrestled with him a bit (he pinned me quite soundly) and then told him he ought to hurry home to get Ellie, who was at the babysitter's. I was quite impressed with how he was able to differentiate play time from cello lesson time. I think having the special "cello lesson room" helps with this, but he's also a bright boy.
