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.