You might have noticed that I haven’t been posting updates lately. I was stuck in the depths of an academic job search which has since proven successful. I spent a couple of weeks cramming preparation for interview visits, and a couple of weeks going on interview visits. I think that lessons were somewhat irregular while I was gone. With the combination of kids being sick, Hildr’s babysitter and family being sick, and other interruptions, the scheduling didn’t work out.
The job that I was offered is only a few hours away from The Maestro’s cousins. They are slightly older, and are also taking strings lessons. He is excited to be able to go Play with them. When I was there a few weeks ago, they each gave me a concert. Both could play several songs in the First year repertoire, and so far, the Maestro has yet to play more than the proper rhythm for the Twinkle variations. It is interesting to see how his progress is different from theirs. My sister says that different teachers stress different aspects of playing, and theirs is not one who stresses technique. That may not be the word she used; maybe it was precision. The point is, the Maestro is constantly working on holding the bow the right way, sitting the right way, fingering the right way. Sometimes I think that he will never be able to play a full version of “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star, but then I think that when he plays something he calls “Schniggle cumba liiiingo znok flok”, he will play it with precision.
The Maestro has been making progress this whole time, in spite of my lack of posting. He has regularly been making up songs to play, incorporating various things he has learned. Hildegard provided me with a partial list the other day: Flower Dance, Cabbage Dance, Rhody Accompaniment, Grieg rhythm, See the Pretty Flowers, I Love my Cello, the B song, Dinosaur, Earthquake, and the Schubert accompaniment.
He has given me a couple of lessons, or more precisely, he has spent time correcting my technique when I try to play his cello. As discussed previously, he loves to play the Teacher role.
One of the tough things with the Maestro is that things he has to be the one with the ideas. He is a free spirit who would rather Jam than play what you tell him. He often wants to play the Double Bass instead of the Cello because he sees Jazz musicians doing things that you aren’t allowed to do on the Cello. Riley reports that he is starting to put the “Tucka Tucka Stop Stop” rhythm into some of his composed songs, now that it has been long enough since we were on him to pass his rhythms off. Now that it can be his idea, his is interested.
Hildegard is doing a good job of fitting some structure around his impromptus. I really liked today’s lesson in which he brought a suggestion of a song that could be part of the warm-up, and later when she taught him a scale that was connected to another song he liked with “Funny bowing.” The real trick with him is to find what he wants to do anyway, and add something that he needs to learn into it. Whenever we find something that works with that, it works for a while, until he wants to move on to something else. Sometimes it feels like an arms race, trying to match the pedagogy with his interests.
Friday, March 23, 2007
Week 32
Hildegard's Weekly Lesson Summary
Week 32
3-23-07
This week is spring break. I made appointments for Riley and myself at the beauty salon, after which she gently reminded me that I had scheduled them during The Maestro’s lesson time. Oops. We rescheduled the lesson for 8:30 this morning (Friday) so that Elwood could stay home with Hildr before going to work.
The Maestro got a lot of sleep and was at his best. I wasn’t feeling so great myself, but gave my best effort. It took The Maestro a bit of persuading to get his cello out despite his excitement and focused attention. He was having a lot of fun with his miniature bubble-blowing trumpet. I asked Riley if he was nervous. She suggested that no, he was just testing his limits. As The Maestro sat fixed at the door’s entrance, Riley feigned a sigh and said, “Oh well, I guess we shouldn’t have a cello lesson.” I started to strum Julie-O in order to coax him into the room. He gradually worked his way in and, although Riley got out the bow for The Maestro, he took out the cello by himself.
I played bits of songs while The Maestro got his cello out. Then he said, “There’s a song on our Great Symphonies CD. It’s called the Swan.” I asked, “Does it go like this?” and started to play. He said, “Yes. I’d like to play along with you.” I suggested that we could do this after we learned two new songs. He responded, “Maybe we could do that after… I think … that should be one of our warm-ups.” (He’s getting the routine down, isn’t he?) I pointed out to him by showing him the muscles in my hand that big, long songs require stretching so that you don’t hurt yourself.
I tuned his cello and sang each note beforehand. He and Riley both laughed when I sang the low C string. I had realized last Sunday, while sitting next to The Maestro in his child Sunday School music class (taught by Riley) that he responded extremely well to instructions that were disguised as actions in songs. This shouldn’t have been news to me, but it was a reminder that my own technically-based, conservatory training was usurping what teaching techniques would work best with a four-year-old, and especially with The Maestro. In other words, I realized last Sunday that, just like a large number of teachers in this country, I need to talk less and make music more. In fact, for The Maestro, the entire lesson could be one big cello opera.
I continued to sing instructions to him, repeating the C note, and then singing warm-up instructions (touch your head, touch your knees, touch the fingerboard, etc.) in a C Major slow version of Twinkle. Then our warm-up became a little more complex as I sang “If you’re happy and you know it” with activities including sliding on the string and tapping vs. flapping cello hand fingers. He flaps very well but it is of course trickier to tap right on the fingertips. I had him show Riley his fleshy fingertips. Our last verse was, “If you’re happy and you know it rock and roll.” He started by bouncing the bow and I helped him settle it on the green sticker. After some spotting, I let him rock the bow on his own, which he did quite well and with a pretty good bow hold (oh, we need to focus more on that bent thumb – We’ll have to do some thumbkin songs and other thumb-based activities).
He had a song to play for me. I asked him what it was. He said, “Black Cat Smat Crangk Bangk Klaza Baza Naz Baz.” I said, “Wow, that’s hard to remember every time.” This reminded me of my own childhood, when I would make up a foreign language to speak at people. Riley and I smiled as I said, “All right. Let’s hear it!” And then the creativity and expression set in as The Maestro performed. Rock and roll was featured, as was finger slapping and vibrato on the first finger. Riley said, “Can you throw a B in there for Black Cat?” He obliged and then went back to bowing.
After the Black Cat performance, I suggested one more Happy and you know it version, with Tuckas rolling from the D to the A and back. The Maestro did well. Then he asked, “Are we ready for the swan?” As I explained to him that we had done one song and had another to do, he reached over, smiled, and smacked my bow with his bow. Here’s the reason I use my cheap bow in lessons – I can stay calm at these moments. After hitting my bow, he looked up at me to watch my reaction. I looked at him and said, “Oh dear. If bows get hit they’ll have to go away.” Riley gave an “oh” of her own in unison with mine. The Maestro’s face changed instantly from a smile to a look of sadness mixed with fear. He set his cello down (carefully, I might add) and then skulked quickly out of the room.
We chose to let him be for a minute, taking the opportunity to talk about his progress on the Flower song. Riley reported that they had practiced it with either her doing the fingering or the bowing/plucking to make it easier for him. I was delighted by their efforts.
Just as Riley and I decided that she would go and talk to The Maestro, he started to make cat noises from the other room. Is this a subtle request for emotional encouragement? I was again reminded of my childhood, as I am whenever The Maestro runs out of the room and waits for someone to come and talk with him. I used to do the same thing with my parents – honestly, I think I still do it sometimes – and I truthfully felt like I couldn’t bear the thought of moving a muscle until someone came and gave me emotional encouragement. I don’t know if this is a trained response from years of knowing how to melt my father’s heart and get him to comfort me rather than learning to do it myself, or if I really did need that scaffolding in my zone of proximal emotional development, if you will. One thing I know is that The Maestro definitely has the emotion needed to be a musician.
As Riley talked to The Maestro in the other room I played the G Major Sarabande (fitting, I thought, in preparation for the apology I would soon be receiving). Riley interrupted my playing by saying that The Maestro had something to say. He said, “Sorry.” I told him I forgave him, and asked if we should have more cello lesson. He said yes. Since I had his full attention and humble cooperation I decided to go for the big stuff. I brought up the Flower song, and he and Riley started to show me what they had done. She planned to pluck the string while he put his fingers down. His eyes and mouth twisted as he fought his frustration; this is very difficult for him to do. Riley and I both encouraged him along, telling him he was getting stronger and stronger all the time. When he started to give up I put out my arm to see if he could finger on that (thinking that this would show the finger placement without the necessary step of pressing on the strings). He didn’t quite understand what I meant, and I don’t think Riley did either. Again, too much conservatory thinking and not enough appeal to a 4-year-old whose fine motor skills are still developing. The Maestro started to cry and he said, “Hildegard, I already did it.” He rubbed his eyes. Riley rubbed The Maestro’s back and said, “I know you feel like it’s kind of hard. Let’s just set the timer and try for one minute.” She set the timer and he kept his fingers down. I felt awful – I knew how hard he was trying and I just didn’t have the creativity and know-how to break up the steps into manageable enough ones for him. Again, the conservatory mode was usurping the fun and the songs. I punted and began to tell him that Yo Yo Ma used to get frustrated and had to practice things over and over and then he finally got them. Riley added: “This is how you’ll eventually get to play songs like the Swan.” She reset the timer and we tried again.
A few weeks ago I engaged in a debate with a classmate, who suggested that learning music isn’t always fun and games, and that sometimes it’s just plain hard work. I agreed with him but added that I wanted to save this card as a last resort – that it was up to the teacher to find ways to make learning fun and enjoyable, and that it was a sign of poor pedagogy when the teacher had to say, “You’ll just need to keep practicing” to a student who was obviously trying. And here I was, in my opinion, displaying poor pedagogy. But, little emotional teacher – enough self-pity over your weaknesses. It’s time to get to work inventing creative games and songs to scaffold The Maestro’s left hand development.
With the timer reset, The Maestro said, “Hildegard, I want you to do the Swan now.” Riley said, “After we do this. You can do it, buddy. Just show us your best.” The three of us worked together. Riley placed his fingers, I kept his elbow wing up and put weight down on his fingers, and Riley plucked the strings. The Flower Song was accomplished with the three of us working together. I then told him that, with practice, he would soon be able to play it all by himself. I said, “You are getting so strong!” Then, remembering T. C.’s advice that children prefer to have parts of their bodies talked to rather than their whole person (focusing evaluation on technical effort rather than on personal worth), I took his hand in mine and said, “Fingers, you are getting so strong.”
Our hands squeezed gently and then we played the Swan. He immediately started with vibrato. Since we had not played this piece before, he spent a lot of time watching me before choosing an action. He giggled with glee twice in the middle of our performance, but for the most part his facial and body expressions matched my musical phrasing. He said, “Again!” I explained that I needed to rest before playing it again (it was very early and I truthfully wasn’t warmed up).
I asked him what Yolanda and Emily had played for him the other night that he wanted to learn. He said, “The song with all the funny bowing.” I thought for a moment, and realized he was referring to the Vivaldi Double Concerto. I played measures 19-23 for him, and he smiled. Riley noted that I kept my bow right in the middle of the green and yellow dots. I told him (admittedly with an agenda in mind) that Yolanda and Emily learned how to play this song by first learning a scale. I had him imitate my fingers (no pressure, and no mention that this was the Flower Song in reverse) as I climbed up the scale. Contrary to what some pedagogues suggest, The Maestro showed much less resistance to fingering an ascending scale than to fingering a descending one. I showed him how 4th finger D and open D are octaves (we had talked about octaves with his piano). As I repeated the two D’s, I broke out singing Purple Haze to my own accompaniment, totally off key but having fun. The Maestro liked it at first but then, when I got a little wild, he lost interest and said, “Not that song.” Riley caught on to the fact that the scale was the Flower Song, and asked about it. Thinking (perhaps incorrectly) that this would discourage The Maestro from trying to playing a scale, I started to play the octave D’s to distract him while we talked. It worked; The Maestro yelled, “Hey, let’s play the whole song.” Back to Vivaldi then. I had told him the scale would lead to Vivaldi, and he hadn’t forgotten. I played a mixture of the top and bottom parts of the duet (whichever was more interesting), and The Maestro jammed along, his expressions yet again matching each musical style of the piece.
I stopped in the middle and showed him how, in his favorite bowing part (mm. 19-23), my fingers tapped the strings to facilitate the open strings that followed fingered notes. Riley noted that I was fingering a sort of scale. The Maestro added, “I want to play that.” Riley suggested that we could do grinding scales. The Maestro didn’t like this – he said it was too loud. While I showed Riley a way to break the scale into “finger, bow, go” The Maestro imitated me by flapping his fingers on the strings. Boy, his fingering progress is gradual but it nevertheless is gradual progress.
The Maestro sat patiently while Riley and I talked about the etymology of “cello” from “violoncello” and then we played the first part of the Vivaldi again. During measures 19-22, he tapped his fingers on the string – not the right fingers, but definitely the right motion. This second time around, his motions became even more imitative of mine, and his bowing started to imitate mine as well. Riley asked if I had a recording of the Vivaldi. Of course I do – in my home town. But I know where to get one!
I started to tell Riley that Yolanda and Emily had won several competitions with this song, winning bow rehairs and concert tickets. He said that he would like concert tickets. I started to look at what else we would do today, not realizing that we had already been going nearly 40 minutes. When he looked disinterested in further activities, I asked him if he would like to bow. He stood and said, “Thank you for teaching me.” As we put our cellos away Riley told me that they had been practicing the cabbage song. I started making up verses while plucking the accompaniment.
After the lesson, Riley hurried out to the car to relieve Elwood at home. As The Maestro started to get in the car, he stopped, turned around, and said, “We didn’t play Mini-Chester!” Riley told him that we would have to hurry to get back so Daddy could go. He started to sob. I told him to take a deep breath and come over so I could tell him a secret. He came close, and I told him I would bring Mini-Chester to his house tonight at dinner time.” While still crying, he said, “I would like that very much.” The crying continued as he got in the car and they drove away.
Week 32
3-23-07
This week is spring break. I made appointments for Riley and myself at the beauty salon, after which she gently reminded me that I had scheduled them during The Maestro’s lesson time. Oops. We rescheduled the lesson for 8:30 this morning (Friday) so that Elwood could stay home with Hildr before going to work.
The Maestro got a lot of sleep and was at his best. I wasn’t feeling so great myself, but gave my best effort. It took The Maestro a bit of persuading to get his cello out despite his excitement and focused attention. He was having a lot of fun with his miniature bubble-blowing trumpet. I asked Riley if he was nervous. She suggested that no, he was just testing his limits. As The Maestro sat fixed at the door’s entrance, Riley feigned a sigh and said, “Oh well, I guess we shouldn’t have a cello lesson.” I started to strum Julie-O in order to coax him into the room. He gradually worked his way in and, although Riley got out the bow for The Maestro, he took out the cello by himself.
I played bits of songs while The Maestro got his cello out. Then he said, “There’s a song on our Great Symphonies CD. It’s called the Swan.” I asked, “Does it go like this?” and started to play. He said, “Yes. I’d like to play along with you.” I suggested that we could do this after we learned two new songs. He responded, “Maybe we could do that after… I think … that should be one of our warm-ups.” (He’s getting the routine down, isn’t he?) I pointed out to him by showing him the muscles in my hand that big, long songs require stretching so that you don’t hurt yourself.
I tuned his cello and sang each note beforehand. He and Riley both laughed when I sang the low C string. I had realized last Sunday, while sitting next to The Maestro in his child Sunday School music class (taught by Riley) that he responded extremely well to instructions that were disguised as actions in songs. This shouldn’t have been news to me, but it was a reminder that my own technically-based, conservatory training was usurping what teaching techniques would work best with a four-year-old, and especially with The Maestro. In other words, I realized last Sunday that, just like a large number of teachers in this country, I need to talk less and make music more. In fact, for The Maestro, the entire lesson could be one big cello opera.
I continued to sing instructions to him, repeating the C note, and then singing warm-up instructions (touch your head, touch your knees, touch the fingerboard, etc.) in a C Major slow version of Twinkle. Then our warm-up became a little more complex as I sang “If you’re happy and you know it” with activities including sliding on the string and tapping vs. flapping cello hand fingers. He flaps very well but it is of course trickier to tap right on the fingertips. I had him show Riley his fleshy fingertips. Our last verse was, “If you’re happy and you know it rock and roll.” He started by bouncing the bow and I helped him settle it on the green sticker. After some spotting, I let him rock the bow on his own, which he did quite well and with a pretty good bow hold (oh, we need to focus more on that bent thumb – We’ll have to do some thumbkin songs and other thumb-based activities).
He had a song to play for me. I asked him what it was. He said, “Black Cat Smat Crangk Bangk Klaza Baza Naz Baz.” I said, “Wow, that’s hard to remember every time.” This reminded me of my own childhood, when I would make up a foreign language to speak at people. Riley and I smiled as I said, “All right. Let’s hear it!” And then the creativity and expression set in as The Maestro performed. Rock and roll was featured, as was finger slapping and vibrato on the first finger. Riley said, “Can you throw a B in there for Black Cat?” He obliged and then went back to bowing.
After the Black Cat performance, I suggested one more Happy and you know it version, with Tuckas rolling from the D to the A and back. The Maestro did well. Then he asked, “Are we ready for the swan?” As I explained to him that we had done one song and had another to do, he reached over, smiled, and smacked my bow with his bow. Here’s the reason I use my cheap bow in lessons – I can stay calm at these moments. After hitting my bow, he looked up at me to watch my reaction. I looked at him and said, “Oh dear. If bows get hit they’ll have to go away.” Riley gave an “oh” of her own in unison with mine. The Maestro’s face changed instantly from a smile to a look of sadness mixed with fear. He set his cello down (carefully, I might add) and then skulked quickly out of the room.
We chose to let him be for a minute, taking the opportunity to talk about his progress on the Flower song. Riley reported that they had practiced it with either her doing the fingering or the bowing/plucking to make it easier for him. I was delighted by their efforts.
Just as Riley and I decided that she would go and talk to The Maestro, he started to make cat noises from the other room. Is this a subtle request for emotional encouragement? I was again reminded of my childhood, as I am whenever The Maestro runs out of the room and waits for someone to come and talk with him. I used to do the same thing with my parents – honestly, I think I still do it sometimes – and I truthfully felt like I couldn’t bear the thought of moving a muscle until someone came and gave me emotional encouragement. I don’t know if this is a trained response from years of knowing how to melt my father’s heart and get him to comfort me rather than learning to do it myself, or if I really did need that scaffolding in my zone of proximal emotional development, if you will. One thing I know is that The Maestro definitely has the emotion needed to be a musician.
As Riley talked to The Maestro in the other room I played the G Major Sarabande (fitting, I thought, in preparation for the apology I would soon be receiving). Riley interrupted my playing by saying that The Maestro had something to say. He said, “Sorry.” I told him I forgave him, and asked if we should have more cello lesson. He said yes. Since I had his full attention and humble cooperation I decided to go for the big stuff. I brought up the Flower song, and he and Riley started to show me what they had done. She planned to pluck the string while he put his fingers down. His eyes and mouth twisted as he fought his frustration; this is very difficult for him to do. Riley and I both encouraged him along, telling him he was getting stronger and stronger all the time. When he started to give up I put out my arm to see if he could finger on that (thinking that this would show the finger placement without the necessary step of pressing on the strings). He didn’t quite understand what I meant, and I don’t think Riley did either. Again, too much conservatory thinking and not enough appeal to a 4-year-old whose fine motor skills are still developing. The Maestro started to cry and he said, “Hildegard, I already did it.” He rubbed his eyes. Riley rubbed The Maestro’s back and said, “I know you feel like it’s kind of hard. Let’s just set the timer and try for one minute.” She set the timer and he kept his fingers down. I felt awful – I knew how hard he was trying and I just didn’t have the creativity and know-how to break up the steps into manageable enough ones for him. Again, the conservatory mode was usurping the fun and the songs. I punted and began to tell him that Yo Yo Ma used to get frustrated and had to practice things over and over and then he finally got them. Riley added: “This is how you’ll eventually get to play songs like the Swan.” She reset the timer and we tried again.
A few weeks ago I engaged in a debate with a classmate, who suggested that learning music isn’t always fun and games, and that sometimes it’s just plain hard work. I agreed with him but added that I wanted to save this card as a last resort – that it was up to the teacher to find ways to make learning fun and enjoyable, and that it was a sign of poor pedagogy when the teacher had to say, “You’ll just need to keep practicing” to a student who was obviously trying. And here I was, in my opinion, displaying poor pedagogy. But, little emotional teacher – enough self-pity over your weaknesses. It’s time to get to work inventing creative games and songs to scaffold The Maestro’s left hand development.
With the timer reset, The Maestro said, “Hildegard, I want you to do the Swan now.” Riley said, “After we do this. You can do it, buddy. Just show us your best.” The three of us worked together. Riley placed his fingers, I kept his elbow wing up and put weight down on his fingers, and Riley plucked the strings. The Flower Song was accomplished with the three of us working together. I then told him that, with practice, he would soon be able to play it all by himself. I said, “You are getting so strong!” Then, remembering T. C.’s advice that children prefer to have parts of their bodies talked to rather than their whole person (focusing evaluation on technical effort rather than on personal worth), I took his hand in mine and said, “Fingers, you are getting so strong.”
Our hands squeezed gently and then we played the Swan. He immediately started with vibrato. Since we had not played this piece before, he spent a lot of time watching me before choosing an action. He giggled with glee twice in the middle of our performance, but for the most part his facial and body expressions matched my musical phrasing. He said, “Again!” I explained that I needed to rest before playing it again (it was very early and I truthfully wasn’t warmed up).
I asked him what Yolanda and Emily had played for him the other night that he wanted to learn. He said, “The song with all the funny bowing.” I thought for a moment, and realized he was referring to the Vivaldi Double Concerto. I played measures 19-23 for him, and he smiled. Riley noted that I kept my bow right in the middle of the green and yellow dots. I told him (admittedly with an agenda in mind) that Yolanda and Emily learned how to play this song by first learning a scale. I had him imitate my fingers (no pressure, and no mention that this was the Flower Song in reverse) as I climbed up the scale. Contrary to what some pedagogues suggest, The Maestro showed much less resistance to fingering an ascending scale than to fingering a descending one. I showed him how 4th finger D and open D are octaves (we had talked about octaves with his piano). As I repeated the two D’s, I broke out singing Purple Haze to my own accompaniment, totally off key but having fun. The Maestro liked it at first but then, when I got a little wild, he lost interest and said, “Not that song.” Riley caught on to the fact that the scale was the Flower Song, and asked about it. Thinking (perhaps incorrectly) that this would discourage The Maestro from trying to playing a scale, I started to play the octave D’s to distract him while we talked. It worked; The Maestro yelled, “Hey, let’s play the whole song.” Back to Vivaldi then. I had told him the scale would lead to Vivaldi, and he hadn’t forgotten. I played a mixture of the top and bottom parts of the duet (whichever was more interesting), and The Maestro jammed along, his expressions yet again matching each musical style of the piece.
I stopped in the middle and showed him how, in his favorite bowing part (mm. 19-23), my fingers tapped the strings to facilitate the open strings that followed fingered notes. Riley noted that I was fingering a sort of scale. The Maestro added, “I want to play that.” Riley suggested that we could do grinding scales. The Maestro didn’t like this – he said it was too loud. While I showed Riley a way to break the scale into “finger, bow, go” The Maestro imitated me by flapping his fingers on the strings. Boy, his fingering progress is gradual but it nevertheless is gradual progress.
The Maestro sat patiently while Riley and I talked about the etymology of “cello” from “violoncello” and then we played the first part of the Vivaldi again. During measures 19-22, he tapped his fingers on the string – not the right fingers, but definitely the right motion. This second time around, his motions became even more imitative of mine, and his bowing started to imitate mine as well. Riley asked if I had a recording of the Vivaldi. Of course I do – in my home town. But I know where to get one!
I started to tell Riley that Yolanda and Emily had won several competitions with this song, winning bow rehairs and concert tickets. He said that he would like concert tickets. I started to look at what else we would do today, not realizing that we had already been going nearly 40 minutes. When he looked disinterested in further activities, I asked him if he would like to bow. He stood and said, “Thank you for teaching me.” As we put our cellos away Riley told me that they had been practicing the cabbage song. I started making up verses while plucking the accompaniment.
After the lesson, Riley hurried out to the car to relieve Elwood at home. As The Maestro started to get in the car, he stopped, turned around, and said, “We didn’t play Mini-Chester!” Riley told him that we would have to hurry to get back so Daddy could go. He started to sob. I told him to take a deep breath and come over so I could tell him a secret. He came close, and I told him I would bring Mini-Chester to his house tonight at dinner time.” While still crying, he said, “I would like that very much.” The crying continued as he got in the car and they drove away.
Week 26
Hildegard's weekly lesson summary
Week 26
2-7-07
I wasn’t surprised at all that today was not the greatest lesson. In fact, I would have been more surprised if it had been great. First of all, last week was absolutely incredible, both in the lesson and many visits to The Maestro’s home. The Maestro had several great learning opportunities and musical time with me. Second of all, The Maestro has a cold today. Third, I had a concert last night, which The Maestro and Riley attended, meaning that we are all a bit tired today. We did manage to learn a few things so I feel good about that.
The Maestro seemed much more interested in my cello case than in getting out his own cello. He pointed to several items asking, “What is that?” After three or four times I asked him directly, “Would you like a lesson today, or would you not like a lesson?” He said yes, but didn’t move. Riley explained to him that maybe he could hear more about my case after the lesson.
The Maestro had a difficult time holding on to things today. Carolyn was dropped three times in the lesson. The first time looked almost like a deliberate toss on the floor. Riley and I were sure to mention the importance of holding Carolyn carefully and to check for cracks each time it gets bumped. The Maestro ran out of the room, first stopped by Riley, who whispered to him to get his wiggles out before returning. He came back, picked up the cello, and got ready.
I introduced the “mirror game” as a warm up today. We did this several weeks ago, but The Maestro’s attention span was much longer today, as was his ability to use fine motor skills. He imitated my use of my isolated index fingers as well as my isolated pinkies touching the bridge (although I pointed with only my pinkies, he actually challenged himself more by using his index fingers and pinkies, keeping the middle fingers tucked).
The Maestro asked to do “Tucka tucka stop stop” for the review piece. He took great care to place his fingers on the bow. I attribute our time with the practice bow and with 100 bow holds to this strength in his posture. The feet are well placed thanks to Riley’s motivation of free play time being contingent upon flat feet. We do need to work on keeping him tucked (Riley has recently added this requirement for a fourth minute). Riley and I should try coming around from the back and placing the cello in place (he leans forward to the right).
The Maestro played several Tuckas in a row, even using his first finger on various stickered notes. This is a new skill I’ve seen him use in the last week since my guitar playing – I wonder if Riley saw it earlier than that. I praised him for this and told him that once I saw him doing a second finger. I left it at that, hoping he would try it on his own in his free play. Anyway, for the record, we had a distinct part of the first Twinkle variation in there. (B to A).
Riley asked The Maestro to do the tennis ball sirens for his second review. He hesitated and scrubbed away on his cello. I asked him if he would like to play tennis balls alone, or with me. He ignored me and played on. He even ignored Riley’s more intriguing question: “Would you like to do a solo or a duet?” He continued to scrub away. I lifted his bow off the string, telling him it wasn’t time for a “The Maestro song” yet (which he didn’t like – he said “Yes!” with an angry tone). I ignored this, looked him in the eyes, and asked my question again. In a very soft voice he said he would like us to play together.
As we played I became aware of just how low his head was bowing. I asked Riley to pull my head in various directions with a make-believe puppet string. The Maestro liked watching this, but when I asked if he would like to play, he said no. He did agree to pull my head twice with an imaginary string. I’m not surprised that The Maestro didn’t want to cooperate with someone “manipulating” him. We will need to find a way to get him to keep a good alignment. The “one minute for tucking” idea is a great one, but he only tucks for a moment before playing.
When it was time for the “The Maestro Song” I suggested that we stop after two minutes and reassess whether The Maestro had maintained his feet stance and his tuck. If he had, then he should be able to continue. The Maestro didn’t appear to quite understand what I was getting at, and Riley tried to explain it to him. I think he realized that it wouldn’t be in his favor because he ran out of the room. (The trick will be to make him feel like – and, actually recognize – that this is in his favor). Riley said, “Oh, we don’t want to be done. Do you?” Riley and I stayed in the room and didn’t chase after him. After five seconds he ran back in and sat down. I suppose he decided it was better to do two minutes than none at all. The “The Maestro Song” was quite uneventful. He did a few pizzicatos and placed his finger on various fingerboard spots, with slow and meticulous playing (quite focused on fine motor skills – hooray for that). He stopped at two minutes and seemed finished. We didn’t talk about going on for two more minutes (was that a mistake? He just simply didn’t look interested).
I gave him a choice between the Zubin Cabbage song, the Pizzicato Cabbage song, and the Crab song. Unsurprisingly, he chose Zubin. For this song, he played with his bow on the D string (quite a tricky thing for him to maintain – his arm and elbow need to be a bit higher). I asked him to hold the bow on the green spot and not start until I said, “ready, get set…” This was challenging for a boy who wanted to play (I must admit I could picture a scene from my childhood, where my brother would place a piece of meat on a dog’s nose and require the dog to hold it there). I think with practice he’ll get that. Riley helped him bow on the D string, which was good so he would get the idea of the song. I fingered the notes for “Bile them Cabbage Down” while they bowed. It was slow but this will be good for future steps.
I asked The Maestro which song he wanted to do next. He put his endpin in while saying, “Next week.” Riley asked him if he would like to learn one more song to practice this week. He said nothing, but the cello dropped out of his left hand and slid to the floor. From his look of shock, it appears that this drop was unintentional. While Riley and I looked at each other with a raised eyebrow, The Maestro said, “Let’s turn it over…. Don’t see any cracks to me.”
The Maestro was obviously done. I stood in a final bow position without mentioning bowing. The Maestro didn’t catch my hint, but knelt on the floor. Riley leaned over and whispered in his ear, “Let’s thank Hildegard for this lesson by doing our bow.” The Maestro stood up, but lost his balance and took the cello with him. Riley helped him stand. His eyes widened and he exposed all of his teeth. He stood facing me, but instead of bowing chomped with his jaw. Riley again whispered in his ear, “Thank you for…” Then he bowed just fine. As he strummed his cello I realized the C had fallen out of tune. I tuned it and Riley asked him to put the cello away while she loosened nook schnook (the bow). The Maestro placed the cello in the case but left it unzipped. Riley: “Is the cello ready to go in the car?” The Maestro: “No.” Riley (laughing): “What needs to happen?” The Maestro: “Zip.” He turned to the cello and zipped it up.
Today he wanted to play Mini-Chester. His bowing and fingering were so strong that he knocked the bridge out three times. I commented that he’s getting so strong at cello playing that maybe he has outgrown Mini-Chester. He didn’t quite understand. I told him that he was too big for Mini-Chester and needed a big cello now. Riley said, “It’s a good thing you have a big cello!”
The Maestro packed up and walked out the door without saying good bye. Since he’s four I won’t read too much into this, but I know we were both quite tired and he was feeling sick.
Ah well, he learned a few new things today. And I’m sure learning a lot about teaching.
[Two hours later: Riley emailed to tell me that The Maestro fell asleep on the way home from the lesson. She had to wake him up when she got to the store. I’m not surprised – poor guy!]
Week 26
2-7-07
I wasn’t surprised at all that today was not the greatest lesson. In fact, I would have been more surprised if it had been great. First of all, last week was absolutely incredible, both in the lesson and many visits to The Maestro’s home. The Maestro had several great learning opportunities and musical time with me. Second of all, The Maestro has a cold today. Third, I had a concert last night, which The Maestro and Riley attended, meaning that we are all a bit tired today. We did manage to learn a few things so I feel good about that.
The Maestro seemed much more interested in my cello case than in getting out his own cello. He pointed to several items asking, “What is that?” After three or four times I asked him directly, “Would you like a lesson today, or would you not like a lesson?” He said yes, but didn’t move. Riley explained to him that maybe he could hear more about my case after the lesson.
The Maestro had a difficult time holding on to things today. Carolyn was dropped three times in the lesson. The first time looked almost like a deliberate toss on the floor. Riley and I were sure to mention the importance of holding Carolyn carefully and to check for cracks each time it gets bumped. The Maestro ran out of the room, first stopped by Riley, who whispered to him to get his wiggles out before returning. He came back, picked up the cello, and got ready.
I introduced the “mirror game” as a warm up today. We did this several weeks ago, but The Maestro’s attention span was much longer today, as was his ability to use fine motor skills. He imitated my use of my isolated index fingers as well as my isolated pinkies touching the bridge (although I pointed with only my pinkies, he actually challenged himself more by using his index fingers and pinkies, keeping the middle fingers tucked).
The Maestro asked to do “Tucka tucka stop stop” for the review piece. He took great care to place his fingers on the bow. I attribute our time with the practice bow and with 100 bow holds to this strength in his posture. The feet are well placed thanks to Riley’s motivation of free play time being contingent upon flat feet. We do need to work on keeping him tucked (Riley has recently added this requirement for a fourth minute). Riley and I should try coming around from the back and placing the cello in place (he leans forward to the right).
The Maestro played several Tuckas in a row, even using his first finger on various stickered notes. This is a new skill I’ve seen him use in the last week since my guitar playing – I wonder if Riley saw it earlier than that. I praised him for this and told him that once I saw him doing a second finger. I left it at that, hoping he would try it on his own in his free play. Anyway, for the record, we had a distinct part of the first Twinkle variation in there. (B to A).
Riley asked The Maestro to do the tennis ball sirens for his second review. He hesitated and scrubbed away on his cello. I asked him if he would like to play tennis balls alone, or with me. He ignored me and played on. He even ignored Riley’s more intriguing question: “Would you like to do a solo or a duet?” He continued to scrub away. I lifted his bow off the string, telling him it wasn’t time for a “The Maestro song” yet (which he didn’t like – he said “Yes!” with an angry tone). I ignored this, looked him in the eyes, and asked my question again. In a very soft voice he said he would like us to play together.
As we played I became aware of just how low his head was bowing. I asked Riley to pull my head in various directions with a make-believe puppet string. The Maestro liked watching this, but when I asked if he would like to play, he said no. He did agree to pull my head twice with an imaginary string. I’m not surprised that The Maestro didn’t want to cooperate with someone “manipulating” him. We will need to find a way to get him to keep a good alignment. The “one minute for tucking” idea is a great one, but he only tucks for a moment before playing.
When it was time for the “The Maestro Song” I suggested that we stop after two minutes and reassess whether The Maestro had maintained his feet stance and his tuck. If he had, then he should be able to continue. The Maestro didn’t appear to quite understand what I was getting at, and Riley tried to explain it to him. I think he realized that it wouldn’t be in his favor because he ran out of the room. (The trick will be to make him feel like – and, actually recognize – that this is in his favor). Riley said, “Oh, we don’t want to be done. Do you?” Riley and I stayed in the room and didn’t chase after him. After five seconds he ran back in and sat down. I suppose he decided it was better to do two minutes than none at all. The “The Maestro Song” was quite uneventful. He did a few pizzicatos and placed his finger on various fingerboard spots, with slow and meticulous playing (quite focused on fine motor skills – hooray for that). He stopped at two minutes and seemed finished. We didn’t talk about going on for two more minutes (was that a mistake? He just simply didn’t look interested).
I gave him a choice between the Zubin Cabbage song, the Pizzicato Cabbage song, and the Crab song. Unsurprisingly, he chose Zubin. For this song, he played with his bow on the D string (quite a tricky thing for him to maintain – his arm and elbow need to be a bit higher). I asked him to hold the bow on the green spot and not start until I said, “ready, get set…” This was challenging for a boy who wanted to play (I must admit I could picture a scene from my childhood, where my brother would place a piece of meat on a dog’s nose and require the dog to hold it there). I think with practice he’ll get that. Riley helped him bow on the D string, which was good so he would get the idea of the song. I fingered the notes for “Bile them Cabbage Down” while they bowed. It was slow but this will be good for future steps.
I asked The Maestro which song he wanted to do next. He put his endpin in while saying, “Next week.” Riley asked him if he would like to learn one more song to practice this week. He said nothing, but the cello dropped out of his left hand and slid to the floor. From his look of shock, it appears that this drop was unintentional. While Riley and I looked at each other with a raised eyebrow, The Maestro said, “Let’s turn it over…. Don’t see any cracks to me.”
The Maestro was obviously done. I stood in a final bow position without mentioning bowing. The Maestro didn’t catch my hint, but knelt on the floor. Riley leaned over and whispered in his ear, “Let’s thank Hildegard for this lesson by doing our bow.” The Maestro stood up, but lost his balance and took the cello with him. Riley helped him stand. His eyes widened and he exposed all of his teeth. He stood facing me, but instead of bowing chomped with his jaw. Riley again whispered in his ear, “Thank you for…” Then he bowed just fine. As he strummed his cello I realized the C had fallen out of tune. I tuned it and Riley asked him to put the cello away while she loosened nook schnook (the bow). The Maestro placed the cello in the case but left it unzipped. Riley: “Is the cello ready to go in the car?” The Maestro: “No.” Riley (laughing): “What needs to happen?” The Maestro: “Zip.” He turned to the cello and zipped it up.
Today he wanted to play Mini-Chester. His bowing and fingering were so strong that he knocked the bridge out three times. I commented that he’s getting so strong at cello playing that maybe he has outgrown Mini-Chester. He didn’t quite understand. I told him that he was too big for Mini-Chester and needed a big cello now. Riley said, “It’s a good thing you have a big cello!”
The Maestro packed up and walked out the door without saying good bye. Since he’s four I won’t read too much into this, but I know we were both quite tired and he was feeling sick.
Ah well, he learned a few new things today. And I’m sure learning a lot about teaching.
[Two hours later: Riley emailed to tell me that The Maestro fell asleep on the way home from the lesson. She had to wake him up when she got to the store. I’m not surprised – poor guy!]
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