The Arms Race

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.

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 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 25

Hildegard's Lesson Summary for this week

Week 25

1/31/07

The Maestro walked in the door today and held up a paper French horn and piccolo that he had colored pink, and pasted to cardboard to keep sturdy. After he took his shoes off he immediately ran toward me to hug my legs. After I touched his back he tugged at my legs and said, "I'm pulling you down." It had been days since I had been over to his house to visit with him and play with him on the ground. I told him I had missed him, and then picked him up, singing "Once there was a Snowman" with him, raising and lowering us both together as the snowman got "tall, tall, tall" and "small, small, small," respectively. Then I told him that we could play on the floor after his cello lesson. At this he ran into the studio, but without his cello.

Hildegard: "What do you need for a cello lesson?"

The Maestro said nothing, but ran out to get his cello. While I tuned The Maestro got wiggly, running first around the studio, then around his chair, and then out of the room. I told him I had something to show him. Riley told him to get out his last wiggles, and then he came back into the studio. I had placed markers on the activity chart, and I asked him to count how many markers there were for each activity. One warm-up, two review activities, three new songs, and four "The Maestro songs." He looked excited, but then yelled: "I needa pee! I needa pee!" He ran to the bathroom. Riley whispered to me, "You're quite special. That's the first time he's taken himself to the toilet in, like, a week."

After the bathroom trip, we tightened our bows. I told them I had something to show them about tightening the bow that I had just learned that day, and I would show them after the lesson. We forgot all about this by the end of the lesson. (In truth, after I mentioned learning something, I realized that I would have to take the bow apart to show them, and I worried that The Maestro might want to take his bow apart forever more after seeing me do it). I'll show Riley at her lesson and let her decide if we should show him.

I asked Riley to give The Maestro a choice of warm-ups. She offered him a choice between ski jumps, "up like a rocket," or knuckle knocks. He ignored the question and sawed away at his cello, with the bow in the left hand. (Granted, he kept his bow scrubs in the "bow zone" and kept the bow at a "T"). I thought as I observed this that The Maestro is not a fan of warm-ups; they're "old news" and he perhaps can't see their relevance to cello playing. Note to self: Even though he's just barely four years old, The Maestro loves explanations and will work harder if he knows the purpose behind the activity. When The Maestro refused to give an answer, Riley chose for him: "OK, I guess it's 'up like a rocket' then." The Maestro prepared his bow hold with excellent detail to the placement of each finger – first with the left hand and then with the right (as Riley and I often do, even when The Maestro scrubs away with two sticks or some other type of pretend violin/viola of his own creation that he picks up and starts to "play," I asked him which hand was his bow hand and he instantly made the switch).

The Maestro started to bounce the bow on the strings.

Riley: "Oh, it's time for 'up like a rocket.'"

The Maestro: "But I don't want 'up like a rocket.'"

Riley: "Oh, but I gave you three choices and you didn't choose, so I chose for us."

Hildegard: "Up like a rocket, down like the rain…"

The Maestro joined in, with a smile so tense that his neck veins bulged. He yelled out a few of the words "rocket, choo choo, round, sun" with a voice I can only describe as a "tough guy." He was agreeable yet obviously not thrilled.

After the song I asked Riley to check both of our thumbs. Mine was a little tense (it didn't spring), and The Maestro's was put back into place. I announced that we would then do a review. The Maestro started to scrub away, louder and louder as Riley tried to give him his review choices. In the meantime, I observed that his scrubbing included two "Tucka tucka stop stop" rhythms, the first one using second finger(!) [he has never been shown this in a lesson] by the neck (third position, although he doesn't know it as such), and the second using first finger just a few inches below the end of the fingerboard. This boy is going to learn cello despite his teacher and mother. I thought to myself: "Forget the formality; let the boy play!" With this in mind, I decided to move his "The Maestro songs" to earlier in the lesson. I don't know if this was a good idea or not (more on this below).

The second review song was new to me. Riley had decided to use the song "Baby Bumblebee" to have him pluck his "B" on the A string. Old idea (therefore review), but a new way of practicing it. Brilliant. The Maestro grinned and moved his body as she sang, plucking the B with umph (almost a Bartok pizzicato, in fact).

As stated above, I let The Maestro play a "The Maestro song" before going to the three new songs I had ready to teach him. New to my observations was a left hand pizzicato above the nut, which produced a high, bright sound that made The Maestro smile. As he bounced the bow on the strings and created a slapping sound, I mentioned that this was called "col legno." I didn't explain more yet – I don't think I want him to know quite yet that people actually play with the stick of the bow in more modern music – but he was excited to learn that it had a name (I figured as much; he loves instrumental terminology, and regularly uses words like "valve," "reed," "bell," "ferrule," "mouthpiece," and "purfling.")

When it was time for him to learn his first new song, I opened the cupboard to find tennis balls. In the meantime, The Maestro scrubbed on his bow by himself with a somewhat nice bow hold and a flexible wrist.

Hildegard: "When you give your bow to your mom, I will give you a tennis ball." He kept playing (although a little softer). I held the ball in my hand and Riley held out her hand for the bow. The Maestro handed her the bow and I placed a ball in his left hand. I turned around to get my cello. The Maestro puffed up his cheeks with air and bounced the ball on his cheek in what appears to be the "I like apple pie" rhythm – but with one extra bounce at the end. Coincidence?

I taught him to slide it up and down the fingerboard. Remembering that The Maestro likes explanations, I showed him how the ball helps him have a nice hand shape and makes his left arm loose. He seemed to appreciate the first explanation but the second lost him. Too complicated? Too long of an explanation? As he slid the ball up the fingerboard, he performed a ski jump at the end.

Hildegard: "Was that a ski jump I saw?"

The Maestro did another (surprisingly – often he'll stop as soon as you make mention of him doing something you would want him to do)

I asked Riley to do the bow while he did the tennis ball.

The Maestro: "I want to do the bow and the tennis ball."

I should have known better than to offer for someone else to work his beloved bow for him. He performed sliding and bowing quite proficiently together. This was two steps in one, and I was delighted and surprised.

At a break in sound, I showed The Maestro how it was easier to do when his scroll was by his head (I moved the cello closer to his ear as I said this). In the meantime, The Maestro dropped the ball and I caught it. This "game" delighted him, so he dropped it again after I handed it to him.

Hildegard: "Oh, if we drop the ball we'll have to put it away because it might hurt the bridge." The Maestro held on to the ball.

For the next review, Riley gave The Maestro a choice of "I like apple pie" or "Roll to the cool string." He didn't speak, but started to slap the strings in rhythm.

Riley: "Oh, I guess it's 'I like apple pie.'"

Riley gave him a choice of using his bow hand or cello hand. He chose bow hand, and The Maestro and Riley performed one of these nearly perfectly (he slowed up just a little in the middle).

Riley: "Now let's do it with the cello hand."

The Maestro: "I'm tired." He crossed his wrists on his cello and put his head down.

Riley: "Oh, ok, let's do it with our cello hand and then I bet we can do something else." This time he was not nearly as successful. He got off on "apple" and stayed off, looking at me and slapping in one spot without showing any effort in trying to get back on with us.

I gave him a choice of doing another "The Maestro song" or learning a new song. He chose a new song. I told him the song is "THIS big" (holding out my arms) and I would teach him just a "little bitty part" (holding my finger and thumb less than an inch apart). I asked him to smile if he knew the song and to hold out his tongue if he didn't. I plucked the first part to "Eine Kleine Nachtmusik," which I knew he knew from one of his videos (I had watched it with Hildr when she and I stayed home sick and the rest of the family went to an orchestra concert for The Maestro's birthday) . He covered his ears and grinned at the same time. His smile seemed to be the same smile he often gives before saying, "You're so silly!" I sang "I like balloons, I like I like balloons" and his smile widened. I showed him how to put his fourth finger on the D string. He showed a gorgeous hand shape, which he lost once he started to pizzicato. I showed him how keeping his "chicken wing" up would help him keep the weight down. Too much - he started to "slap bass."

Hildegard: "As soon as it's quiet I'll show you how to do the pizzicato." He quieted down and I showed him one more time. This was enough for him. He stood up and turned around as I took his cello and demonstrated to Riley once more.

I started to ask The Maestro if he wanted to do another "The Maestro song," but I knew he was tired and I wanted to show him the Cabbage song. I told him again that we would learn "just a little bitty bitty part of the song" that didn't yet use the cello. I stood behind him, holding his arms up in the air and swinging him from side to side. D was upright, G was to the right, and A was to the left. Of course he doesn't know this yet, and he didn't seem to have enough stamina to sit through me playing it, but he's learning the bass part to the fiddle song "Boil them cabbage down." I'll teach it to Riley on Saturday so we can play it as a duet. Knowing The Maestro and taking a page from the Dalcroze approach, I figured having him first learn the spatial motion with his body would help him later be able to remember all of the notes in order. He smiled through the whole song. We did it twice, and that was enough for him. He got wiggly despite his smiles, and then went over to his cello and put in the endpin. He was through for the day. I told him I was proud of him, and we had a final bow.

We can take so much for granted now that used to be quite an effort to get The Maestro to do. It's always a delight to see him play his "own thing" on the cello and to watch his mind and body at work, free from outside pressure. Now it's so fun to see that he's picking up little bits of songs each week. This is definitely not the linear learning approach I personally would have wanted it to be, but I'm getting a real delight as I observe The Maestro learn the cello in his own special way. This experience is unique to The Maestro and not like I would have imagined it, but my word! The Maestro is really learning to play the cello.

After the lesson was over and we left the studio, The Maestro pulled at me again to get me to play on the floor with him. I wrestled with him a bit (he pinned me quite soundly) and then told him he ought to hurry home to get Ellie, who was at the babysitter's. I was quite impressed with how he was able to differentiate play time from cello lesson time. I think having the special "cello lesson room" helps with this, but he's also a bright boy.

Happy Birthday Maestro

As I have mentioned before, The Maestro likes novelty, but only if it is routine.  This makes cello practice a challenge sometimes, because he would rather play than practice.   Our favorite eastern musical philosophers might say that play and practice are not different, but The Maestro doesn't care about Eastern Philosophy much.

 

The most efficacious technique so far has been the puppets coming to visit during practice time.  As with everything else, it has run its course.   I had to leave for a week to visit my parents recently, and when I got back, he was done with the puppets.

 

This past week, enough people involved were sick that there was no lesson.  The main event last week was the Maestro's fourth birthday.   The Maestro has changed in the past year, that even now I am sometimes agast at how he handles things sometimes.  I started to write this post a week ago, and ended up writing a food blog post instead.  He is the same, yet not the same. 

 

He still loves music- that is for sure.  While I was in Canada, he asked Riley if he would still have his cello after he dies.   When she tried to explain that he couldn't take it all with him when he dies, he started to cry and yelled "But I LOVE my cello!"  His lack of enthusiasm for practicing is not to be confused with wanting to give up cello lessons, apparently.

 

For his birthday, our friend who is the Bassist in the City Symphony gave up comp. tickets for their annual family concert.   Before-hand, the Music Shop put on an instrument petting zoo that I took him to.  He got to play a 1/10^th size violin – complete with good cello bow hold, the zoo-keeper pointed out – a French Horn, Clarinet, Trombone, Guitar, and Flute.   He had some problems getting a sound out of the Flute, but finally succeeded.  He wanted to take a closer look at the Cellos, but we needed to get home to get Riley.   Hildr and Hildegard were both sick, so they camped out and kept each other company whilst Hildr enjoyed and Hildegard tried to avoid analyzing a Little Einstein video.

 

The concert was great.  My experience with concerts has been that they often expose you to music that you wouldn't choose to listen to on your own, and that there is often a good reason for me to make that choice.   So, I was delighted to learn that they would be doing Winter from Vivladi's Four Seasons, as well as Smetna's Moldau, two pieces I really enjoy.  It turned out that the music was organized around a theme of visiting places through sound, kind of like a musical world tour.  We also enjoyed Ferde Grofe's Sunrise, from the Grand Canyon Suite, and Morning on the Ranch, by Aaron Copeland, from The Red Pony Suite.   I didn't care for the Rainforest of Puerto Rico, which may be why I can't remember what it was called.

 

The concert was about 15 minutes too long for the Maestro, but he sat well.  The longer it went, the quieter he got, actually.   At the beginning, he would point out all the instruments when they played, and ask questions like "What is making that sound?"  I would point something out to him, like "Do you hear the trumpets?"   He would either say yes and smile, or ask "Where ARE the trumpets?"  I at first thought that he wanted their physical location, but no, he wanted to know where the sound was.   When they played again, I could say "There they are!"  He already knew that they were in front of the Timpani.   The more tired he became, the further back he sat in his chair and the less he talked.  He was particularly interested in the percussion section.   They make great sounds, without a readily recognizable timbre.  Besides which, they are often small, and hard to see.

 

When the concert was over, we went on-stage to talk to Bass Player and her family.  Bass Player's husband is Celiac Faculty Member, and their daughter, Princess, is in the Maestro's class at pre-school.   While I was in Canada, they came over to play, and did a Bass-flute duet for the Maestro.  Cool people.  They had a set of CDs for the Maestro, and we got to take a closer look at some of the percussion instruments as they were being put away.  The Maestro has been listening to Tubby the Tuba ever since. 

 

 

Checklist

Riley's email update to Hildegard about progress this week.

I'm making up a computer spreadsheet with our practice items. It's time to whittle down the list a little bit, so I was thinking of having "toes tickle". Beginning bow, use foot chart, come off the chart. They have become so routine that I don't think I need to check them off. I was thinking of having a "warm up" spot on the checklist. Would you consider knuckle knocks, ski jumps, bird wings, "up like a rocket" and rock and roll to be warm up? Some of these have lost their appeal, or aren't much of a challenge, so maybe I can come up with a way to reinvent them… Are there others that I'm not thinking of? Sirens, and the "I like apple pie" slap base are still a stretch for Evan, so I was thinking of having those in a diff. section. How do you feel about me leaving plucking to Death and the Maiden off the chart for now, based on what we'd previously discussed? Our progress on last weeks assignments has been mixed: moderate with "I like apple pie" and have gotten resistance on "roll to the cool string". He is now up to 105 bow holds with his real bow. His four fingers are staying more and more in their place as he saws, but his dear thumb still reverts right to its tight hold on the whatchamacallit (nice huh? The thing with the "moon")

Back in Town

Hildegard came back Friday.  Riley and the kids picked her up at the Shuttle depot, while I hurried home to make sure the dinner didn't burn.   After dropping her things off at her apartment, they all came home and we had dinner.  Hildr was pretty excited that Hildegard was at our house.   I know this because she kept dancing around the living room, saying "'Cited!  'Cited!"

 

After dinner, I asked the Maestro if he wanted to play his Cello for Hildegard, and he did.  He had his whole ambivalent nervous enthusiasm thing going on, in which he really wants to do something and gets upset if you talk about not having it happen, but drags his feet and gets distracted by anything when he needs to do something to get ready.   When we finally got Carolyn out, he was happy to show off many of the things he had been working on.

 

Hildegard was as impressed as I had hoped she would be.  After she read him his three bed-time stories and he was down for the night, we talked for quite a long time about what is going well, and why we think so.   The main thing is not that any one thing has made such great progress that it is ready to be passed off.  The main thing we are all excited about is that everything (qualifying talks with Riley and Hildegard are sure to follow that superlative) is making baby-step progress.

 

Practices are like real practices now, where noticeable progress is made.  Twice on Friday, in the afternoon when it was time for dinner and in the evening when it was time for bed, he had to stop a lengthy cello practice before he was ready.   He feels like he is making real music now, and it gives him more patience with receiving correction and suggestion on how to do things better.

 

The puppets are really making a huge difference.  He is really a natural teacher himself, you know.   He likes to stop people in the hallway at church or at school so he can tell them about bassoons or the Bach suite he was listening to.  He doesn't suffer fools gladly, and if you want him to tell you something that he figures you already know like which number finger that is, he plays games instead.   Now puppets, on the other-hand, have never had any music lessons before, so he is incredibly patient to explain and demonstrate anything they ask.  Finally he has a curious audience that allows him to show off everything he has learned.  This is the first time, really, that anything has worked for reviewing.   He loves pointing out to Dog or Snake what his fingers are doing.

 

The other thing that Hildegard pointed out, that we hadn't thought of, was his creativity in "composing" new songs.   A couple of weeks ago a friend gave us a copy of Disney's Fantasia.  For anyone who hasn't seen Fantasia recently, it is essentially a classical music concert by the Philadelphia Symphony Orchestra, with an animated storyline.   One scene that had particularly impressed the Maestro was one with Dinosaurs in an Earthquake.  He wanted to know why the ground was doing that.   I tried to explain why earthquakes happen, but he wouldn't believe in plate tectonics.  We had to get several books from the library to get the details right, with good pictures, before he believed me.   Then he started stopping people he saw to tell them "There are earthquakes in California!"   He started playing an earthquake song on his cello.  Sometimes he will explain before he starts what all of the parts are, such as "When I play on my D string, that means the rocks are falling down."   I think that the earthquake song has shown up in every practice this week.

 

It seems to me that music as an artistic expression of a non-musical event, like an earthquake, is pretty advanced abstract thinking for an almost four-year-old.   Granted, he got the idea from watching Fantasia, but he did get the idea, and he uses it to come up with his own expression.   The earthquake song is his most advanced piece, and involves bow circles, playing on multiple strings, and often has spiccato and cello or left-hand pizzicato.

 

Riley also has him playing the dinosaur song, which is long slow bowing on the C and G strings.  This is good for moving his elbow, and for tone.   We have a dinosaur puppet that absolutely loves this song and requests it every time.  Friday he was excited to show us "That grating sound" in the dinosaur song.   I hadn't seen this before.  Earlier, he had liked to show me how he could get his string to spin by pulling slow on a bow.   Riley had borrowed some Bach cello suites transcribed for Bass in which a few of the notes were really low and rumbling, almost like grating.   He decided that he wanted to duplicate this and figured out how to get it to happen by pushing quite hard on the string with his bow.  It really sounds not good to me, like something is going to shake apart.   He was very excited and demonstrated this several times.  Afterwards, I asked Hildegard if that was a good thing, because she had complimented him on it.   She said that it is too much, and he will need to back off it.  It is too much of a good thing that it is often hard to get kids to do, so doing it too much at this point is really not a problem.

 

Things are going pretty well, I'd say.

Puppet Friends Come to Visit

It seems like my hope for the Maestro's practices this week is holding true.  A friendly fireman finger puppet came to practice Monday; Tuesday it was a mouse and a snake.  Another new puppet friend came to practice today.  It sounds like Riley is maintaining variety while trying to ride this puppet shtick while it will still work.  The Maestro told me today that he likes having visitors come to his cello practices, so it sounds like a good plan to me.

 

The Maestro really likes to use him imagination.  On Sunday he came into my room and starting telling me about his friend Spack.   Spack is a girl amd is a teenager who can drive.  She is taller than another friend of ours, and she lives in the Western United States.  Sometimes she drives to our town to visit other people, not us.  Sometimes she flies here, though, on an airplane.   When she is in town she comes over to play, and they play Bow and Arrow, and she watches him shoot targets.  He came up with all of this, and Spack isn't really real in our world.   He made all of that up and told it to me with a straight face.  After all that, why would giving a concert to a dog puppet be a big deal at all?

 

He had gotten pretty good at holding his feet in the right spot on the carpet and having his bow hold adjusted.   The emphasis this week is on maintaining a proper bow hold while playing.  When he saws on his cello, Riley noticed that he almost immediately shifts his thumb over so he can hold it more tightly.   Yesterday the mouse wanted to see him keep a good bow hold for a quick count of ten.  The snake wanted to see a good bow hold for a slow count of ten.  

 

Tonight I asked the Maestro how his practice went and he said it was good, good.   Riley said that it went really good, good.  He held his good bow hold for a good long time with springy curved fingers and thumb.  This is good.   The tighter you hold your bow the worse your tone is, as I understand it.  Hildegard gets back this weekend, and we are hoping that he can maintain a good hold while playing for extended stretches by the time she gets back.

Week 17

Week 17

 

12-6-06

 

After such a disappointing week last week, Riley and I were both determined to help The Maestro have an enjoyable and productive lesson today. During a fit of insomnia a few nights ago I came up with a game idea ("I'm silly" to fit with the 4 ^th Twinkle Variation rhythm) and a song (A-D ostinato pattern to accompany me playing "Go Tell Aunt Rhody"). The Maestro was especially fidgety today, but we managed through Love & Logic and a lot of incentives to keep him on task and on his chair. Licking things is still an issue. Riley clarified for him that the lesson rule meant no licking wooden things or people. I agreed. So, The Maestro very "obediently" avoided licking people, cellos, and anything else wooden, and instead repeatedly licked his vinyl chair and the carpet floor. We'll have to specify that more in the future. We were both quite devastated last week when he abruptly gave the closing bow in the middle of the lesson, demonstrating that he was finished for the day. For that reason, I think both Riley and I were so concerned about having him enjoy the lesson today that we gave in to a few more discipline issues than we would have really liked.

 

I told The Maestro I had a game to teach him if he could show me five things he had learned in his past lessons. This took some doing to keep him motivated, but he did it. I gave him a strip of paper for each thing he showed me. Not the greatest incentive, but I was desperate and grabbed whatever I could see. After receiving [three?] pieces of paper he said, "I don't like pieces of paper." As I started to get discouraged, Riley said, "Oh, but you like games. And this is how you get to play a game." That worked.

 

The "I'm silly" game went considerably well. We moved the slider on his rhythm stick (a.k.a. the "tucka bow" and now the "silly stick") in rhythm while saying "I'm silly," then stopped and did something silly. This included me making chicken noises, Riley balancing the rhythm stick on her nose, and The Maestro falling on the floor. The plan was to get him to move the rhythm stick 3 times and then stop. The silly activity was enough motivation to get him to stop. Hooray!

 

Typically I will show The Maestro something new in a lesson and he will do it once only, until Riley comes up with various practice strategies at home to get him to make it routine. We managed a few rounds of "I'm silly," so I felt good about it. I asked him a couple of times if he wanted to keep playing or learn a new song. Finally he expressed a desire to learn the song. I had hoped that he would pluck along, but he didn't. However, thinking this might be the case, I had asked Riley to bring her cello along and play with The Maestro. She and I played a duet of "Go Tell Aunt Rhody" with her plucking the ostinato pattern, while The Maestro "jammed" with random pizzicato using both hands. I could be wrong, but I think out of the corner of my eye I saw Riley get slightly weepy during the song. I'll have to ask her about that.

 

12-8-06

 

Today I went over to the Elwood's for a while. The Maestro and Riley had just finished their cello practice, which went "OK," according to Riley. They had practiced the Silly rhythm with Toobers & Zots & Oobles. Riley demonstrated what they had done, and I suggested that they add a "What?" to the "I'm silly," in antiphonal dialogue between child and mother.

 

While The Maestro played I went over to ask him how to do the rhythm with his Toober, and I actually did one rhythm myself. He said to me, "I would like you to go away." I told him I wouldn't play with him then, and went into the kitchen to talk to Riley. I should have told him, "It hurts my feelings when you say…" but it didn't come to mind. He has never expressed that sentiment before – in fact, being able to play with me has been a good incentive for him in the past. I have a feeling that this expression came because I had pushed him too much by trying to get him to do the rhythm again.

 

About an hour later we got back together and played. After I had done something on the silly side, he said, "You're so silly!" I immediately grabbed his rhythm stick and performed "I'm silly!" Riley was there and suggested that, if The Maestro could do the rhythm 3 times [right?], she and I would swing him. The antiphonal dialogue of The Maestro's "I'm silly" and Riley's "What?" went without a hitch, and I watched with elation as The Maestro performed rhythm 4 of 4. Finally!!!!!! The moment just happened so naturally, but in my heart I reflected on the past 17 weeks of lessons, hoping and praying and working so hard to get him to this point. Riley and I shared a quick smile as we took The Maestro up to swing him, she holding his hands and I holding his feet, swinging him to the "I'm silly" rhythm and stopping his body with Riley's body on "what." He performed the rhythm again when Eric arrived home from work. Tomorrow morning he'll come for a mini lesson, and maybe… just maybe… he will go home with a bow.

 

12-09-06

 

One major milestone accomplished! The Maestro went home with his real bow today. I don't know which of the three of us was the most excited about it, but I'll say for myself that it was better than Christmas.

 

Last night, after The Maestro performed his final rhythm, Riley and I made dinner in the kitchen and chatted about our "game plan" for today. It was important for me to have The Maestro connect his receipt of the bow with his performance of rhythms. I wanted to give him some sort of visual representation for each rhythm, such as a card with pictures, but Riley suggested that I play each rhythm on the CD for him. That made sense to me but seemed a little labor-intensive and potentially distracting to The Maestro. After some brainstorming, we decided to have me play each rhythm for him on my cello. Of course.

 

Things went almost completely without a hitch. The Maestro was squirmy at first, but was happy to play the "I'm silly" game. He did the rhythm 6 times (2 separate plus 4 in a row) and got swung 6 times (quite by chance, 4 in a row plus 2 in a row). Afterward, I told him that I would give him 4 guesses to see what I had for him, and I would play my cello to give him hints. I asked him what the first rhythm was that he learned, and he said clearly, "Tucka tucka stop-stop." I played the opening to Twinkle for him, using this rhythm. Afterward I asked him what the next rhythm was. He got squirmy, so I mentioned that he was guessing what his present was. That immediately got him back in his seat. He mentioned next that he had learned "Peanuts," which I pointed out to him was also "I'm silly," and added while I played Twinkle for him that the variation started, " Silly, I'm silly." He guessed "Run doggie" next, and I played it for him. He couldn't think of the remaining rhythm, so I gave him a hint, after which he said, "Riding on my motorcycle."

 

Note: The Maestro learned to perform these rhythms in a different order than is presented in the books and on the CDs, but when he was asked to recall them he did so in the proper order. That speaks to the difference in brain processing and motor skills, but it also reminds me that these activities and songs are sequenced so that often more challenging skills are followed by easier skills in order to push the child a little and then allow the child to celebrate and feel confident by learning something easier. We went out of order from the book but went in the order that seemed to work best for The Maestro as well as his mom.

 

After performing this final rhythm for him, I got out a wrapped present and we unwrapped it together. He opened it up, and held the bow in his hand for a minute without saying anything. I asked him what it was. He beamed, carefully ran his fingers along the stick, and said, "My real bow." We all took in the moment. Then, Riley rubbed his back and said, "You earned it!" at the same second that I patted his shoulders and said, "You did all your rhythms and got your bow." He was one smiling boy.

 

As he stood up to get his cello, he said, "Now I know how to play vibrato with my real bow!" He remembered to tighten the bow without a reminder from us. He has certainly been taking in what we have shown him with my and Riley's bows.

 

The remainder of the lesson was a delight. Every ounce of squirmy energy went right into playing his cello. What a sight – even Carter Brey doesn't emote as much as The Maestro does. I used the Elwood's red timer to keep track of amounts that he could "jam" versus amounts of time that he would receive instruction on how to hold the bow. Two minutes of each was the plan, but The Maestro was actually quite cooperative in learning how to hold the bow and we didn't have to spend much time watching the clock. I think the red timer will come in handy after the honeymoon period has again worn off (dare I even bring that up right now?). As I write this I realize that I've resorted to the clock watching paradigm, something teachers should try and avoid because they should keep the pedagogical strategies interesting and motivational in their own right. However, the question is not about motivating him to play the cello; it is about motivating him to sit and follow instruction before he can play the cello again. Nevertheless, I need to keep those instructions interesting and fun as well.

 

After a particular bouncy bow in his "jam session" I mentioned that he was doing sautillé bowing. He immediately bounced the bow and said, "This is my spidiccato!" He had apparently learned about spiccato from a violin show at the library. As he bounced high and started to whap the strings, I reached for the bow to stop him while Riley calmly asked "the teacher" what such bouncing might do to the cello. I explained that it could hurt the cello, and this was all the motivation The Maestro needed to bounce gently.

 

The Maestro favored the C string because, as I note later, that's how his arm angle was set up. I don't know if Riley noted my attention to spinning strings or a beautiful tone, something that will later become crucial in his instruction. In our particular method of instruction, nothing is more important than creating a beautiful tone, since a performer's tone expresses the character of the player himself, both in a musical and a spiritual way.

 

I played "Go Tell Aunt Rhody" with him while he jammed (he wasn't quite ready to let go of the bow to do the ostinato pizzicato A and D; using the bow will be a good "carrot" for practicing the pizzicato activities and learning to finger).

 

The Maestro's preparatory 100 bow holds on the pretend bow did wonders; he had a soft, bent thumb and placed his fingers quite well. The 2^nd finger goes half on the metal, half on the hair; the first finger on the green treble clef (he chose the sticker); the "moon" (mother of pearl dot) goes between his 3 ^rd and 4^th fingers. Riley suggested that we cut a corn pad in half so he would know how to place his thumb (it has to be cut in half, of course, because the thumb spot narrows and widens with respective loosening and tightening of the bow).

 

Next I taught The Maestro to play jiggle sirens. He really liked this, but struggled to find the D string with his bow and finger. We showed him "Rock and Roll" on the bridge, and I showed Riley how his elbow angle (NOT shoulder) will raise and lower as he changes strings. They will practice both of these things at home.

 

At one point today The Maestro said, "I wanted to wait longer for my bow, but now I got my real bow." I'm not sure what he meant by this... (inside joke to Riley), although I can imagine a lot of different scenarios.

 

I'm so glad for this video camera so I can watch everything again. While I was watching his bow hand, setting it up, and talking to him about his practice routine, I absolutely missed the fact that his first finger was on the first finger sticker, doing a relaxed arm vibrato better than most of my Book 3 students can do. I've had a few students pick up vibrato on their own without any instruction from me, but never before they had played their first song! I'll have to look at that sometime in real life – although I'll have to tread carefully on the subject. Maybe that can be his little secret for a while until he can play Twinkle. We'll see how it goes.

 

At one point in the lesson The Maestro said, "If you stop this I'll be angry." I asked him how he might say that a little more nicely, and helped him to say, "I'm really having fun." Since he was obviously behaviorally ready for more, and since I'll be gone for Christmas and won't be able to teach him for three weeks, I didn't give it a second thought when The Maestro asked for a corn pad to be put on his cello neck so he would know where to put his fingers (he has seen the corn pad on Riley's cello). In addition to the thumb corn pad, I put stickers (of his choice, of course) on each spot for his fingers. The second most exciting moment of the lesson for me was when I looked up and saw all of the fingers on his left hand nicely and strongly curved, placed on each of the stickers.

 

As the lesson came to a close, I asked The Maestro to consider naming his bow. He named it "Gor Gur" (or something like that). The Maestro began to loosen his bow without anyone reminding him to do so. Riley asked if they could borrow a recording of Beethoven's 5 ^th Symphony, which The Maestro wanted to hear. I made the mistake of saying that I didn't like my recording. The Maestro said in a defensive voice, "I like it!" I had to explain that the recording itself was kind of funny because they used gut strings and old instruments, and the sound didn't ring out quite as much.

 

The Maestro and I gave a final bow with our cellos and bows, with the bow tip pointing to the ground. After the lesson he brought in his pretend trombone that he had made last night.

 

 

Holiday Round-up

We are on our second week without Hildegard.  After the semester ended, she flew home for Christmas, leaving us bereft of both her company and organized cello lessons.   The kids miss her terribly.  For the first few days after she left, I would come home from work and Hildr would give me her usual grinning "Daddy Home!"   She would then follow with "'Dard Home?"  No, Honey.  Hildegard isn't coming over today.

 

She had a video that she lent to us to use in lieu of lessons -- Zen and the Art of Cello Teaching, or something like that.   I suppose I should go look it up for the exact title, but my feet are warm where I am.  I would say it's a series of video-taped cello lessons a lady is giving a young girl.   Rather than having his own lesson, The Maestro gets to watch someone else's.  The Maestro has enjoyed it.  The first time he watched some of it, he was amazed that the ski jumps and knuckle knocks (two exercises designed to train his cello hand to move up and down the fingerboard) were legitimate exercises.   From his incredulous reaction, it seems he thought Hildegard had made them up to distract him while he waited for his real bow.  If they are on a video, however, they must be really real.   Funny boy.

 

Riley has gotten organized with a chart to check of what he works on everyday.  She has had vestigial versions of this before, but now that he has his real bow, she needs to keep track of his 500 demonstrated bow holds before Hildegard can check it off.   With keeping track of the 100 holds on the practice bow, she tried several versions of motivating sticker charts, including 100 glow-in-the-dark stars he could put up in his room.   All this was despite his consistent lack of motivation by sticker charts.  Since he has to show 500 this time, there is no way he can keep track of the stickers or stars or coloured-in saxophone cutouts.   She marks them down in her book, and also keeps track of whether he did knuckle knocks, or ski jumps, or slap bass, or whatever.  I think he is somewhere above 50 bow holds this week.

 

Friday we went to a friend's annual Christmas party/Concert.  Everyone invited is supposed to demonstrate a talent.   The first year I did a chemical demonstration (a clock reaction), Riley read a story and the Maestro did an impromptu demonstration of his conducting skills.   A number of people there were taking violin lessons and Riley has always credited their violin performances with starting the Maestro on his musical quest.  I disagree, but that is another post, I suppose.   Last year, I was sick, so I didn't do my own talent, but Riley gave a slide show of portraits she had taken.  I did do a brief trumpet duet with the Maestro so he could show off his "High" and "Low" notes.   A coworker of mine gave the Maestro his trumpet, and he played High notes with the bell up in the air, and low notes with the trumpet pointing down to the floor.   Then he borrowed a toy M-16 assault rifle and turned it into a bassoon for a number of months.  We finally returned it, in time for this year's party.

 

This year I was sick again (my annual holiday tradition, it seems) so I passed off my Gluten-free brownies as my talent.   Hildr skipped around the room while people performed, saying "Dancing… Dancing… Dancing…" and showed off her dress.  I think her talent is acting cute.   The Maestro and Riley played their cellos.  The Maestro showed rest position, some knuckle knocks, and "Rock and Roll", wherein he lifts his elbow to roll his bow to the higher strings.   Then, while Riley played Twinkle, he jammed.  At the conclusion, they both stood with their cellos and bowed together to thunderous applause.

At this point, Hildr had stopped dancing and wanted to explore upstairs.  She turned 18 months last week, and it was past her bedtime, so I was impressed that she had lasted that long.   Besides, she wanted some "Pink! Juice!" from the kitchen.  Apparently, after we left, the youngest performer there did "Tuck-a Tuck-a Stop Stop" on her violin.   This will become relevant momentarily.  The violin performance, I mean, not the juice.  The juice was "Licious!" though.

 

Sunday, Riley tried to get the Maestro excited for a cello practice by having him show me what he had learned.   This has never gone well.  I rarely see him have a cello practice at all, and even then, it is never one the Riley considers a good one.  So I was sitting, waiting for him to get out his cello, then to settle into his chair.  Then he didn't want to get a good bow hold.  Then he was rolling of the floor showing me one of his "tricks".   It occurred to me that he was actually working very hard to avoid showing me anything that he could do, so I went to the bathroom instead.

 

As soon as I left, I started to hear cello sounds from the other room.  From in the bathroom, it's hard to tell who is doing what.   Sometimes Riley plucks or bows on Carolyn and has the Maestro tell her what she is doing.  When it sounded like the practice was over, I came out and Riley told me the he had done "Tuck-a Tuck-a Stop Stop" on Carolyn!   So far, he had only done random sawing, or an occasional long, drawn out note.  He asked me if I had heard him play "Tuck-a Tuck-a Stop Stop", and I had heard someone play it, so I told him I had.  Then I put my hand on his shoulder and told him that I was very happy with his playing, and was really proud of him.   It was just like something out of the last five minutes of a sitcom.  You should have seen his face light up when I told him I was proud of him.

 

Riley thinks that The Maestro was motivated to do a genuine Twinkle Variation rhythm because he saw another kid did one as a performance.   I think it was sort of like a group lesson for him.  There are so many advantages to having Hildegard as the teacher; the fact that he is her only student this year and doesn't have group lessons to go to IS a disadvantage, it seems.

 

I guess it was in the book "Helping Parents Practice" that Edmund Sprunger talks about how kids so really, really don't want to disappoint their parents that it sometimes paralyzes them.   The doi9ssaz9azaa9aaAAZZXZS XSDCSS SQQsAaaqsqqwq q qqhb Maestro has some of that going on, I think, because he never wants to show me anything, but is clearly interested in my opinion of what he does.   (Hildr helped me with that last sentence)  Today, I found a way to kind of short circuit his fear of disappointing me, I think.   What I ended up seeing was the best practice I think I have ever witnessed.

 

The Maestro has been sick since Christmas Eve, and has taken a nap nearly everyday.  This is quite rare for a boy who is usually so driven to do whatever he is doing that he can't stop for meals or bathroom breaks.   You know he is tired when he says things like "I'm tired.  I want to take a nap."  Yesterday I had to wake him up from his nap, and it wasn't going well.   He and Hildr got into an argument about a puppet that they had been playing with earlier, so I got out another puppet, Dog.  In an earlier attempt to get the Maestro's brain waves straightened out, I had turned on his Cello music listening CD, and he started telling Dog about the Cello and the songs that he knew.   Dog asked him if he knew "Run Doggie", which is one of the Twinkle variations, and coincidently Dog's favourite song.  The Maestro said that he did know it, and he knew lots of other songs.

 

After dinner, The Maestro had a Cello practice, and I got Dog out again to be his audience.  I may be somewhat intimidating for him, but he had a great time showing Dog everything on his list, including a rough version of "Run Doggie".  In addition to "Run Doggie" and "Tuck-a Tuck-a Stop Stop", he did knuckle knocks, ski jumps, slap bass, sirens and rock and roll.   For the most part, he kept his feet on the carpet where they were supposed to be, and he did the "Up Like a Rocket…" song with his bow.  I haven't seen that in at least a month.   It was easily the best practice I have ever seen him do, without question. 

 

It will be interesting to see how many times giving a concert to a puppet works for him.  Will he be willing to demonstrate things to other puppets once he decides the Dog knows everything?   We have a whole drawer of puppets…

 

After he was done, he and Dog had a wrestling match.