I have been worrying lately about the Maestro’s progress. I was home for Thanksgiving this past week, and was there to see him practice. Actually, I was there to see him not practice. He was all set to play other manufactured instruments in a duet while Riley played Pablo, but he wouldn’t show any of the rhythms he needs to demonstrate for Hildegard, and he wouldn’t ever get Carolyn out to play.
I emailed Hildegard this morning about whether he needs his bow to make any more progress. Something needs to change. This is how I put it in my email:
“It is open for debate whether that change needs to come from us having new ideas of ways to help him practice without pushing him, or if he would want to practice new things if he had his bow. I feel like Riley and I are out of ideas, and am leaning toward giving the bow a try. He does know two of the rhythms, and I imagine that he feels like he knows riding on my motorcycle, even if he hasn't demonstrated it yet.”
Hildegard emailed me back, saying that he has demonstrated 3 of the 4 rhythms, and that she is sure he will get the last one by the time she goes home for Christmas. She had more to say about it than that, but the gist of it was that he is super close, and we shouldn’t worry.
He had his lesson today, and I don’t know exactly what happened. I know that it didn’t go well. I gathered that he reverted to his cat persona, and licked her. There was a Sharpie marker that made someone feel sick from the fumes, and no one was happy by the time it was over.
Riley feels like the Maestro is back to testing the limits of what is acceptable. A couple of months ago, he had to come home early from a lesson because he wouldn’t stop meowing, and cats don’t get cello lessons. He was much better after that. Last week’s lesson didn’t finish well, and this week was further down-hill. I guess it is time to get tough on something. I guess this makes it REALLY not the week to just give him his bow.
Wednesday, November 29, 2006
Monday, November 20, 2006
Pablo?
Riley has a cello now. Hildegard checked it out from the school “for her research”. A friend of hers at work fixed some broken parts, and she replaced a couple strings, I think. It looks a little beat-up, like a cello you check out of the music department commissary might, but has a great sound.
Riley is thinking of calling it either Gregory, or Pablo. She thinks she should call it Gregory, but wants to call it Pablo. I’m not sure I understand where the dilemma comes from, but there you go.
They are going to have lessons Saturday mornings.
Riley is thinking of calling it either Gregory, or Pablo. She thinks she should call it Gregory, but wants to call it Pablo. I’m not sure I understand where the dilemma comes from, but there you go.
They are going to have lessons Saturday mornings.
Wednesday, November 15, 2006
Week 14
Lesson Day: 11/15/06
Riley and The Maestro had an excellent practice week. Although the “Death and the Maiden” didn’t seem to go over in his last lesson, it was a hit at home. I think it helped for him to listen to the CD a lot and get it in his head. I need to make sure that Riley and The Maestro are practicing their Twinkle rhythms along with the CD as well. I’m pretty sure they are, but this should really work for The Maestro.
When he gets his bow, the first step should be for Riley to keep it separate from the cello, so it can act as a “carrot” for other practice steps. Then Riley can bow on his cello with his hand on hers, and then eventually switch to put his hand on the bow – but we’ll have to make sure that he has a lot of supervision at first and sticks to official rhythms (Twinkle rhythms or names), plus the “wiggly sirens” he has yet to learn. I’m hoping to get to this point before I leave in 3 weeks.
We started the lesson with The Maestro showing me some things he practiced at home. Ski jumps and knuckle knocks are looking great, especially with the bow hand. Riley pumped the air out of her cheeks with each of his knocks, which brought out a delightful smile and increased motivation from The Maestro.
There was some squirminess and silliness at the beginning of the lesson, and it appeared that The Maestro was testing his limits. I think I could have used a little more Love and Logic with him myself, but decided to let Riley do the disciplining and I could do the cello teaching (this is a controversial topic between different Suzuki teachers). After he called me a “bummer,” Riley’s comment “We’d have to leave our cello lesson if you talk that way” worked quite well today. I think it worked because that “threat” has been reality before. He knows she’s serious about leaving a lesson.
My instinct as a teacher was to have The Maestro first pluck the “Death and the Maiden” (hereafter called DATM) pattern without listening to the music, but I trusted Riley’s suggestion to go with the music first. This was a good choice – he wouldn’t even bring up his cello into playing position until the music started.
Riley got down on her knees and lovingly helped The Maestro figure out strings for the copy game. She provided several pats on the back and affirmative words. That seemed to really help him stay focused.
With a lot of encouragement from both of us, he showed me each of his cello fingers by number. At first, as he struggled a little bit and talked off-topic about my cello endpin. Each time I would try to bring him back to focus on his fingers he would again get off topic. I thought about my DSI readings and how children can escape into language when the motor task is too difficult. In order to help him sense each finger a little more easily, I gently rubbed the base knuckle of the finger I was asking him to show me. That seemed to help a little. I’ll have to remember to help him with that a little bit next time rather than simply sticking my hand out and waiting for a response. Smaller steps.
As promised, I showed The Maestro my endpin after he showed me each of his cello fingers. Then I asked him to show me a rhythm, which didn’t go over so well. He tried to lick my practice bow and Riley responded by asking him again if he was ready for the end bow. He got serious and then showed me a Tucka rhythm (with an extra note at the beginning and about 3 extra notes at the end). The Rocket chant went the best ever, most likely with thanks to the fact that my college students performed it for him last Friday.
The Maestro showed me an excellent bow hold, so I showed him the “The Maestro Elwood” rhythm. His face showed delight at the same time his hand went up to cover his right ear. He asked for faster and faster, so I showed him the “The Maestro K. Elwood” rhythm, as well as the “Matthias” rhythm (one of his friends). Mom tapped out the rhythm on his lap along with me as I played.
Wow, what an attention span today. After the rhythms we brought out the cello again. Some more testing of limits by putting the feet up on his cello. As I was thinking about how to get him on task, Riley found the answer by pointing to a picture of Pablo Casals in my studio. The three of us studied how his feet were flat on the floor. The lesson ended with The Maestro making a wonderful C shape (with the bow hand first and then with the cello hand), and then touched his 4th finger on his treble clef sticker.
At the end of the lesson [33:00] The Maestro played with Mini-Chester. It’s interesting to watch how this little toy gradually loses its excitement as The Maestro becomes more proficient on the real cello.
Riley and The Maestro had an excellent practice week. Although the “Death and the Maiden” didn’t seem to go over in his last lesson, it was a hit at home. I think it helped for him to listen to the CD a lot and get it in his head. I need to make sure that Riley and The Maestro are practicing their Twinkle rhythms along with the CD as well. I’m pretty sure they are, but this should really work for The Maestro.
When he gets his bow, the first step should be for Riley to keep it separate from the cello, so it can act as a “carrot” for other practice steps. Then Riley can bow on his cello with his hand on hers, and then eventually switch to put his hand on the bow – but we’ll have to make sure that he has a lot of supervision at first and sticks to official rhythms (Twinkle rhythms or names), plus the “wiggly sirens” he has yet to learn. I’m hoping to get to this point before I leave in 3 weeks.
We started the lesson with The Maestro showing me some things he practiced at home. Ski jumps and knuckle knocks are looking great, especially with the bow hand. Riley pumped the air out of her cheeks with each of his knocks, which brought out a delightful smile and increased motivation from The Maestro.
There was some squirminess and silliness at the beginning of the lesson, and it appeared that The Maestro was testing his limits. I think I could have used a little more Love and Logic with him myself, but decided to let Riley do the disciplining and I could do the cello teaching (this is a controversial topic between different Suzuki teachers). After he called me a “bummer,” Riley’s comment “We’d have to leave our cello lesson if you talk that way” worked quite well today. I think it worked because that “threat” has been reality before. He knows she’s serious about leaving a lesson.
My instinct as a teacher was to have The Maestro first pluck the “Death and the Maiden” (hereafter called DATM) pattern without listening to the music, but I trusted Riley’s suggestion to go with the music first. This was a good choice – he wouldn’t even bring up his cello into playing position until the music started.
Riley got down on her knees and lovingly helped The Maestro figure out strings for the copy game. She provided several pats on the back and affirmative words. That seemed to really help him stay focused.
With a lot of encouragement from both of us, he showed me each of his cello fingers by number. At first, as he struggled a little bit and talked off-topic about my cello endpin. Each time I would try to bring him back to focus on his fingers he would again get off topic. I thought about my DSI readings and how children can escape into language when the motor task is too difficult. In order to help him sense each finger a little more easily, I gently rubbed the base knuckle of the finger I was asking him to show me. That seemed to help a little. I’ll have to remember to help him with that a little bit next time rather than simply sticking my hand out and waiting for a response. Smaller steps.
As promised, I showed The Maestro my endpin after he showed me each of his cello fingers. Then I asked him to show me a rhythm, which didn’t go over so well. He tried to lick my practice bow and Riley responded by asking him again if he was ready for the end bow. He got serious and then showed me a Tucka rhythm (with an extra note at the beginning and about 3 extra notes at the end). The Rocket chant went the best ever, most likely with thanks to the fact that my college students performed it for him last Friday.
The Maestro showed me an excellent bow hold, so I showed him the “The Maestro Elwood” rhythm. His face showed delight at the same time his hand went up to cover his right ear. He asked for faster and faster, so I showed him the “The Maestro K. Elwood” rhythm, as well as the “Matthias” rhythm (one of his friends). Mom tapped out the rhythm on his lap along with me as I played.
Wow, what an attention span today. After the rhythms we brought out the cello again. Some more testing of limits by putting the feet up on his cello. As I was thinking about how to get him on task, Riley found the answer by pointing to a picture of Pablo Casals in my studio. The three of us studied how his feet were flat on the floor. The lesson ended with The Maestro making a wonderful C shape (with the bow hand first and then with the cello hand), and then touched his 4th finger on his treble clef sticker.
At the end of the lesson [33:00] The Maestro played with Mini-Chester. It’s interesting to watch how this little toy gradually loses its excitement as The Maestro becomes more proficient on the real cello.
Sunday, November 12, 2006
Riley Joins Up Too
Hildegard and Riley have been doing a lot of talking this week about the possibility of Riley taking Cello lessons also. They have become best-friends-forever, and Hildegard wants to give her lessons "just for fun". Riley had a lot of deep thinking, analyzing, worrying over it, and decided finally to go ahead. She has never had musical training of any sort before, and is a little nervous.
Here is what Hildegard had to say about it.
This past Sunday (11/12/06) I discovered that Riley had a sincere interest in learning the cello. Although I haven’t ever required a mother to learn the cello as well, I have taught a couple of adults and was excited by the thought of doing this. I wonder how Riley’s playing the cello will motivate The Maestro. Will it increase, or decrease? Or not make any difference? The two mothers I taught before experienced increased motivation in their children, but both cases had teenage daughters who were already quite far along. We’ll have to think about how to go about this, but I think for sure Riley’s lessons should be her own experience, distinctly separate from his. The rest will fall into place.
Here is what Hildegard had to say about it.
This past Sunday (11/12/06) I discovered that Riley had a sincere interest in learning the cello. Although I haven’t ever required a mother to learn the cello as well, I have taught a couple of adults and was excited by the thought of doing this. I wonder how Riley’s playing the cello will motivate The Maestro. Will it increase, or decrease? Or not make any difference? The two mothers I taught before experienced increased motivation in their children, but both cases had teenage daughters who were already quite far along. We’ll have to think about how to go about this, but I think for sure Riley’s lessons should be her own experience, distinctly separate from his. The rest will fall into place.
Friday, November 10, 2006
Heading to Class
Week 14
On Friday, Nov. 10, The Maestro, his mom, and his little sister came to observe my string methods class at school. The college students were as delighted by The Maestro as he was by them. They had been prepared beforehand with practice bows, and performed all the steps that The Maestro has been learning, including the Rocket Chant. Getting trumpet players to wave their arms and chant “round and round like the great big sun” is really something, but they were more than willing to do it for The Maestro’s sake. After they performed all of the rhythms on their practice bows, they were allowed to get out their real bows and play the same rhythms. Riley and I had hoped that this would help The Maestro see where he was headed in his cello progression. At the end of the class, I had them perform “Ode to Joy” and all the Twinkle variations for The Maestro. He hid away, which surprised me, but Riley explained later that it was too loud for him. At the end each of the students told The Maestro what their major instrument was. He nodded with understanding as they named the trumpet, bassoon, clarinet, trombone, and tuba. I asked him which was bigger, a euphonium or a tuba. He responded, “A sousaphone.”
That night the Elwoods invited me over for dinner. As I played with The Maestro and his little sister, I took opportunities here and there to talk about “first finger” or to tap out various Twinkle rhythms. After dinner I read The Maestro two bedtime stories. He chose the books. One was about a marching band, and the other about a Suzuki violin student. As I read the Suzuki book I changed the words to talk more about his own lessons, and what he would be doing in the future if he kept practicing.
On Friday, Nov. 10, The Maestro, his mom, and his little sister came to observe my string methods class at school. The college students were as delighted by The Maestro as he was by them. They had been prepared beforehand with practice bows, and performed all the steps that The Maestro has been learning, including the Rocket Chant. Getting trumpet players to wave their arms and chant “round and round like the great big sun” is really something, but they were more than willing to do it for The Maestro’s sake. After they performed all of the rhythms on their practice bows, they were allowed to get out their real bows and play the same rhythms. Riley and I had hoped that this would help The Maestro see where he was headed in his cello progression. At the end of the class, I had them perform “Ode to Joy” and all the Twinkle variations for The Maestro. He hid away, which surprised me, but Riley explained later that it was too loud for him. At the end each of the students told The Maestro what their major instrument was. He nodded with understanding as they named the trumpet, bassoon, clarinet, trombone, and tuba. I asked him which was bigger, a euphonium or a tuba. He responded, “A sousaphone.”
That night the Elwoods invited me over for dinner. As I played with The Maestro and his little sister, I took opportunities here and there to talk about “first finger” or to tap out various Twinkle rhythms. After dinner I read The Maestro two bedtime stories. He chose the books. One was about a marching band, and the other about a Suzuki violin student. As I read the Suzuki book I changed the words to talk more about his own lessons, and what he would be doing in the future if he kept practicing.
Thursday, November 09, 2006
Week 13
Week 13
11-9-06
The Maestro had a tricky time focusing at the beginning of his lesson. He didn’t look me in the eyes much, and needed help getting his cello out. I asked Riley to bring a visual timer they use at home, with the intention to motivate him to sit for 15 minutes by teaching him a song after that point.
The Maestro was very interested as I tuned his cello with the tuning pegs. I taught him “bird wings” but he wasn’t willing to demonstrate. Perhaps he couldn’t see how this would help him with his cello playing. Ski jumps and knuckle knocks went very well with the bow hand, but he wasn’t ready to show me the cello hand. I asked him if his cello hand was shy, and he said, “Yeah, it’s always shy.”
The copy game still works marginally for The Maestro. I haven’t determined if it is hard for him or if he’s just not interested. Sometimes he’ll do it right on except to add a note, while other times he’s quite off with all the strings. I do remember him delightfully saying, “I did it!” a couple of times in early lessons, which makes me think there is some tricky element to it for him, which might encourage the goofiness.
As soon as we switched to the practice bow, The Maestro started to squirm. Is it the motor skill requirement, or the fact that it’s not a real bow, or both? Riley sang “Curious George,” which I think they sang at home while his fingers climbed up the practice bow. After she finished, The Maestro immediately ran out of the room. I couldn’t detect any reason for this except perhaps that he would next be asked to perform. Riley encouraged him to come back in by reminding him that I had a song to teach him at the end of the lesson. I pointed to the timer and showed him how long it was until then.
After a little more squirming on the floor, Riley suggested that they show me “Stucka Stucka help-help,” where Riley pretends to get stuck in the door, pulled out by The Maestro in the first Twinkle rhythm. His whole body leaned back and forward with the beat. Riley had turned a fine motor skill into a gross motor skill in order to help him internalize and then perform the rhythm in what is most likely an easier way for him. As a reward for this rhythm “performance,” I had him help me bow that rhythm with my cello and my bow. Riley first modeled the activity for him by placing her hand on mine and “going for a ride,” but he actually imitated along with us. Then he placed his hand on mine. I could sense his excitement at this activity, feeling his grip get tighter on my hand and his arm try to take over the control of the bow. I kept physical control while providing him choices about which string we should play and at which sticker we should start each time.
The lesson ended with the song I had promised to teach him. I played a “Death and the Maiden” CD for him (Emerson SQ). He was in the process of pointing to something before the music started, and when the music played his index finger jerked back a little but stayed suspended in air as his jaw dropped and his eyes doubled in size. He listened intently, swaying his head at one point. After we listened to a short excerpt twice through, I showed him 4 notes to pluck along with the CD, landing on the first beat of each of the first four measures. As he was asked to copy along, his attention shifted dramatically and he got squirmy. Riley took the cello and demonstrated for him, imitating me. It seemed to me beforehand that this would be an easy task for The Maestro, but Riley and I decided that she would have to break it down for him at home.
He listened to the music as it continued, and as I started to talk over the music Riley immediately reached for the CD player to shut out what was most likely sensory overload not only for The Maestro but for her as well. She had allowed me to get up and turn it off every time before, but was quick to jump in this time. Orchestra teachers learn to tune out a lot of extra noise – this is not necessarily a good thing.
A couple of big motivators today. We’ll see how things progress.
11-9-06
The Maestro had a tricky time focusing at the beginning of his lesson. He didn’t look me in the eyes much, and needed help getting his cello out. I asked Riley to bring a visual timer they use at home, with the intention to motivate him to sit for 15 minutes by teaching him a song after that point.
The Maestro was very interested as I tuned his cello with the tuning pegs. I taught him “bird wings” but he wasn’t willing to demonstrate. Perhaps he couldn’t see how this would help him with his cello playing. Ski jumps and knuckle knocks went very well with the bow hand, but he wasn’t ready to show me the cello hand. I asked him if his cello hand was shy, and he said, “Yeah, it’s always shy.”
The copy game still works marginally for The Maestro. I haven’t determined if it is hard for him or if he’s just not interested. Sometimes he’ll do it right on except to add a note, while other times he’s quite off with all the strings. I do remember him delightfully saying, “I did it!” a couple of times in early lessons, which makes me think there is some tricky element to it for him, which might encourage the goofiness.
As soon as we switched to the practice bow, The Maestro started to squirm. Is it the motor skill requirement, or the fact that it’s not a real bow, or both? Riley sang “Curious George,” which I think they sang at home while his fingers climbed up the practice bow. After she finished, The Maestro immediately ran out of the room. I couldn’t detect any reason for this except perhaps that he would next be asked to perform. Riley encouraged him to come back in by reminding him that I had a song to teach him at the end of the lesson. I pointed to the timer and showed him how long it was until then.
After a little more squirming on the floor, Riley suggested that they show me “Stucka Stucka help-help,” where Riley pretends to get stuck in the door, pulled out by The Maestro in the first Twinkle rhythm. His whole body leaned back and forward with the beat. Riley had turned a fine motor skill into a gross motor skill in order to help him internalize and then perform the rhythm in what is most likely an easier way for him. As a reward for this rhythm “performance,” I had him help me bow that rhythm with my cello and my bow. Riley first modeled the activity for him by placing her hand on mine and “going for a ride,” but he actually imitated along with us. Then he placed his hand on mine. I could sense his excitement at this activity, feeling his grip get tighter on my hand and his arm try to take over the control of the bow. I kept physical control while providing him choices about which string we should play and at which sticker we should start each time.
The lesson ended with the song I had promised to teach him. I played a “Death and the Maiden” CD for him (Emerson SQ). He was in the process of pointing to something before the music started, and when the music played his index finger jerked back a little but stayed suspended in air as his jaw dropped and his eyes doubled in size. He listened intently, swaying his head at one point. After we listened to a short excerpt twice through, I showed him 4 notes to pluck along with the CD, landing on the first beat of each of the first four measures. As he was asked to copy along, his attention shifted dramatically and he got squirmy. Riley took the cello and demonstrated for him, imitating me. It seemed to me beforehand that this would be an easy task for The Maestro, but Riley and I decided that she would have to break it down for him at home.
He listened to the music as it continued, and as I started to talk over the music Riley immediately reached for the CD player to shut out what was most likely sensory overload not only for The Maestro but for her as well. She had allowed me to get up and turn it off every time before, but was quick to jump in this time. Orchestra teachers learn to tune out a lot of extra noise – this is not necessarily a good thing.
A couple of big motivators today. We’ll see how things progress.
Tuesday, November 07, 2006
Look, I'm a lead balloon!
As some of you know, I have three blogs: a work blog, a food blog, and a cello lesson blog. I usually keep these three separate, because foodies don't usually care so much about the problems of academia, academics tend to eat what they want, and my three-year-old's music has little to do with what I am baking or working on at school. This post is going on both my work blog and my food blog because it deals with both, plus some of my academic friends might have this problem. What the heck, I guess I'll put it on the cello blog too, just for kicks.
I feel like crap.
I don't have celiac disease. I don't have celiac disease, officially. I don't have celiac disease the way so many of you have it. I thought. Perhaps I am wrong.
My son, the Maestro, has sensory-integration disfunction, sensory-processing disorder, or a bunch of other names for something that means he is really touchy about a number of things. Sound is an easy example to explain. He can't handle noise, but he loves music. He would be the kid upstairs drumming and singing into the karaoke machine. Anyone else's noise drives him up the wall, or at least makes him want to slam himself against the wall. I think music is an ordered form of controlled noise like auditory methadone. He doesn't like dissonance, perhaps because it feels disordered to him, and "hurts his feelings".
Earlier this year, we found some literature on the link between autism and certain proteins, including gluten. Sensory Integration Disfunction is present it a lot of autism cases, so after consultation with SciFinder, we decided to give it a try. We took the Maestro off gluten and casein, and it has made a huge difference in his ability to control his reactions to sensory input.
I live pretty far from the rest of my family, and have missed most of them going off wheat. My Mom doesn't eat wheat, and all of my siblings either don't eat it, or have kids who don't or shouldn't. My Mom had told me several times that I should give it a try, but how do you "try" going off wheat? It is everywhere, in everything.
So, suddenly I have a kid who needs to eat something else. Sorghum, or Jowar, flour is a good substitute, if you can learn how to handle it, hence the Gluten-free blog. So I gave it a try myself, and felt a lot better. I hadn't really felt sick, but I was tired a lot. I fell asleep in a lot of group meetings and seminars. I went off wheat, and I stopped being tired all the time. That was good enough for me, I was going wheat-free for good.
We're pretty strict with the Maestro's diet. We watch out for modified food starch and barley malt and dextrose for him. I have always had a problem with oats, and now wheat. I haven't been concerned about traces of gluten in what I ate, however. The rest of my family claims that they feel OK eating spelt, oats and rye, so it must just be a wheat issue with us.
I have always had an iron stomach. I throw up every 10 years or so. If Riley or the kids get the stomach flu and are turning themselves inside out all over the house, I tend to feel a little queasy, but no more than that. I can't be a celiac. The Maestro and my little sister Rai both had the blood tests, which came out negative. It's not celiac disease in my family.
Yesterday, I didn't bring enough lunch to work, and got hungry in the afternoon. So I went to the store on the corner and bought a snack. Hmmm. Nestle's Crunch (with Caramel). Tasty.
About ten minutes later, I was sitting at my computer when my brain did a little flip-flop in my skull. My head hurts. My back hurts. I feel weak and trembly. My head, where it doesn't hurt, feels kind of like a lead balloon --heavy and hollow at the same time.
Crunch contains crisped rice (rice flour, sugar, barley malt, traces of wheat gluten). All the celiac bloggers are saying "Why did you eat that?!! That's so stupid! Of course you are going to feel like crap!" Um, I don't have celiac disease, I am just wheat sensitive? Um, I guess not. If I don't have celiac disease, officially, I guess I need to eat like I do. And no, I am not about to start eating in order to do the gluten challenge sufficient for an endoscopy, so don't even suggest it. The blood test would come out negative, just like for the rest of my family, so that isn't likely to be any more helpful.
I had hoped I would feel better when I woke up this morning, but I don't. Oh, and my iron stomach feels a little queasy this morning.
Did you know that one in between 100 and 133 people have celiac disease, depending on where you get your statistics. This ranks it up with hyper-tension with numbers. That is the statistic for people who don't know they have it. You may be that one person who has celiac disease and doesn't know it. Head-aches? Tired or sick a lot? Digestive problems that no one can explain? Weird persistent rashes? Joint problems? Some subset of those? It's worth looking into. A whole generation of doctors didn't study anything about it in medical school, so you basically have to tell them about it. If you think you have it, you should get tested for it before going off gluten, if you care about an official diagnosis. Gee, this would have been a good post for celiac awareness month, wouldn't it?
It may be you. Because it sure isn't me. I don't have celiac disease. I'm just wheat sensitive, right?
Oh, I feel like crap.
Saturday, November 04, 2006
Hold it there!
Hildegard was over for dinner the other night, as I mentioned. Riley had had a tough day, and ended up confessing some of her darkest cello-related fears. The problem, these days, is that the Maestro doesn't sit with his cello. Why does he need to sit with his cello, you ask? Well, right now, he doesn't.
He has been practicing his bow holds with the practice bow. He has been doing some singing and note matching. He has been practicing his Twinkle rhythms. There are a lot of things that he needs to practice, without his cello.
The problem is really one of planning for the future. When he gets his real bow, it'll be time to sit with his cello for practices again. He is going to get his bow, and there will be a natural upswing in his interest, relative to playing viola with sticks. Unfortunately, everytime he has been more excited about practicing, it has eventually regressed to the mean.
Riley, with her gifted perfectionism, tends to think that if she handles it right this time, the Maestro will stay excited about practicing. Because, of course, the Maestro's interest is directly related to what Riley does. Actually, there is enough to that that I can't be completely sarcastic about it. If you push him, he pushes back. But really, it is in the end up to the boy, and there is only so much credit or blame we can take.
Hildegard's question on the topic was, "What do you hope to get out of cello lessons?" Suzuki philosophy is that music practice is for character development. It's very Zen, and as we all know, attachment to our expectations leads to suffering. All practice -in anything- is for character development. Chemistry practice, biking practice, meditation practice. All for the good of the boy. If he ends up playing in an orchestra someday, that's just a side-product of good practice. Peace of mind is a side-product of good practice, also, and no less important, as far as a good buddhist is concerned. In fact, peace of mind is more important.
So, if he doesn't sit with his cello as often as we want, it may be bad practice from the perspective of getting first chair. It may be valuable, if incremental, progress towards good character with peace of mind, however.
So, what is my goal? What is Riley's goal? What do we want out as a result of the investment of time and money? Riley tends to feel obligated to get a return on the investment of everyone who is helping pay for lessons. She can let go of her own attachments and expectations, sure, but she feels responsibility to hold on to the expectations she imagines that our families have.
Hildegard didn't say all of this, of course. She just asked what we would be doing with the time, if we weren't putting it into lessons. Her guess was some other character developing thing, hopefully leading to peace of mind. Because good Suzuki practice is the same as good life practice. It's all about the moment we are in, empty of both the hopes and fears of the future. It is incremental progress from where we are at.
He has been practicing his bow holds with the practice bow. He has been doing some singing and note matching. He has been practicing his Twinkle rhythms. There are a lot of things that he needs to practice, without his cello.
The problem is really one of planning for the future. When he gets his real bow, it'll be time to sit with his cello for practices again. He is going to get his bow, and there will be a natural upswing in his interest, relative to playing viola with sticks. Unfortunately, everytime he has been more excited about practicing, it has eventually regressed to the mean.
Riley, with her gifted perfectionism, tends to think that if she handles it right this time, the Maestro will stay excited about practicing. Because, of course, the Maestro's interest is directly related to what Riley does. Actually, there is enough to that that I can't be completely sarcastic about it. If you push him, he pushes back. But really, it is in the end up to the boy, and there is only so much credit or blame we can take.
Hildegard's question on the topic was, "What do you hope to get out of cello lessons?" Suzuki philosophy is that music practice is for character development. It's very Zen, and as we all know, attachment to our expectations leads to suffering. All practice -in anything- is for character development. Chemistry practice, biking practice, meditation practice. All for the good of the boy. If he ends up playing in an orchestra someday, that's just a side-product of good practice. Peace of mind is a side-product of good practice, also, and no less important, as far as a good buddhist is concerned. In fact, peace of mind is more important.
So, if he doesn't sit with his cello as often as we want, it may be bad practice from the perspective of getting first chair. It may be valuable, if incremental, progress towards good character with peace of mind, however.
So, what is my goal? What is Riley's goal? What do we want out as a result of the investment of time and money? Riley tends to feel obligated to get a return on the investment of everyone who is helping pay for lessons. She can let go of her own attachments and expectations, sure, but she feels responsibility to hold on to the expectations she imagines that our families have.
Hildegard didn't say all of this, of course. She just asked what we would be doing with the time, if we weren't putting it into lessons. Her guess was some other character developing thing, hopefully leading to peace of mind. Because good Suzuki practice is the same as good life practice. It's all about the moment we are in, empty of both the hopes and fears of the future. It is incremental progress from where we are at.
Friday, November 03, 2006
100!! 100!! 100!!
It's been a long week.
Last Saturday, we had our piano tuned. We bought this piano for $25, which basically covered the cost of the ad and hauled it home in the back of a friend's truck. Before we adopted it, it had lived in a coat closet for eight years,; and who knows where how often it had been played before that. As you can imagine, it was significantly out of tune.
The Father of one of the Maestro's classmates at school is a piano tuner, and he was happy to take some time with it. Parts of it were a half step off, which made for an interesting sound, you can be sure. The pins are all in good shape, and he said it is a $500-800 piano, all told. He tuned it twice, and it now sounds like a piano that needs to be tuned, which is actually a huge improvement.
The Maestro and I had to leave during the process. The periodic banging of one note was driving him mad. As we drove to my lab, I asked him how the noise makes him feel. He said that it hurts his feelings. I asked how his body felt, and he said it was good. So, loud noises hurt his feelings. The Maestro is three, so hurt feelings don't carry the same meaning for him of being offended that it does for me. I think he means that his response to loud noises is emotional. Riley says that noise makes her feel frantic.
We got to 100 bow-holds! The Maestro has a pair of cousins a few years older than he is that are taking cello and violin lessons. It took him about three minutes to figure out that he ought to learn to play the viola so they could have a good trio when we move next door to them. He's been walking around all week with some kind of viola, usually two sticks or a piece of PVC pipe. Riley has simply had to say "Is that your bow hand?" and he would adjust to a proper bow-hold. We've even been able to get him to play the Tuck-a rhythm on his "viola" a few times.
This week his ancient violin bow lost its last three hairs.
The night before his lesson, Riley came down with what appears to be food poisoning, and we had to postpone the lesson until today. Fridays are really not good days for lessons, even mini-lessons, and even lessons at Hildegard's office on campus. He is usually tired, and likes to show-off to her friends a little too much. Tomorrow wasn't going to work, however. Hildegard was coming for dinner tonight, and experience has shown that lessons before a social engagement work better than lessons soon after one.
The report I got was that he showed her one phrase of Tuck-a rhythm, and then was more interested in showing her his home-made bass. He's moved on from the viola…
Oh, and we don't have any plans to move next door to his cousins. That's the plan he came up with, all by himself.
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