June 2005

June 26, 2005 03:46

Bowing and low ceiling fans do not mix.

After my most recent lesson, it has become clear to me that I have to remove my ceiling fan from my office, or replace it with one that hugs the ceiling, because it interferes with our bowing.

DM arrives promptly at 9 AM. My husband has her coffee ready in only a minute; he is so supportive, and knows how concerned I am about losing her as my teacher. I can tell she is astonished by his thoughtfulness, but very happy for the coffee. She carries it with her out to the living room, where we have to practice because of the ceiling fan.

I start by telling her that my therapist loves the idea of Alexander Technique. Also, that pizzicato is fine, except for the G string, which requires me to lift my arm too high. As I begin to explain to her about the nerve bundle it is irritating and why, she listens, and then proceeds to tell me a lot more about it, including its name, than my therapist did. Ok, so from now on I do pizzicato on the G string incorrectly until my arm can perform the correct motion.

She is not surprised to hear that one of my chief problems is a general lack of upper-body strength. After all, I have been largely sedentary for months. But I have solved that problem by arranging for sessions with a personal trainer, who also happens to be my therapist's brother. And my husband's kempo sensei.

(The coincidences don't end there, although I didn't mention them to her. My Alexander Technique teacher, who I found on the Internet, uses a dance studio for her lessons. As she gives me directions, I realize it's the studio where my husband and I take ballroom dancing. And our dance instructor there is a good friend of my therapist. And we found each of these people independently. Weird.)

So, we begin. I hold the bow and bounce it like a fishing rod in my hand. Then I hold it and find the point where it will balance in my hand. Now it's time to try to grip it correctly.

First, I point my thumb towards the ceiling, then rotate it and place it in position on the frog - "Like you're placing a dot of paint there with it," DM says. Then, the second finger. Oops, not the pianist's second finger, the VIOLINIST's second finger. Opposite the thumb, second joint, like so. Then the ring finger, like so. Index finger to the first knuckle, like so. Pinky on top, above the back of the frog, like so.

"Excellent," she says, "You must have held a bow in a previous life. But you need to curve your thumb and pinky. If you look down the bow, your hand should look like the curl of a wave." Easier said than done.

Then we begin with some exercises. Pinky pushups. Windshield wiper. Fishing pole. Between spending most of the last 22 years of my life on a computer keyboard, and playing video games, my pinky is pretty strong and the pushups aren't a problem. Even though DM talks about why we are doing all of these, only the pinky pushups make sense right now to me.

"Now, place the bow firmly on the D string, but try to make no sound." Scratch, scritch, ping and it's there. "Draw the bow down." I do, and it makes a wavery, but somewhat recognizable sound. "Now place it on the E string and do the same thing." Screech! Chalk on a blackboard. It's so bad, such an aural clichè, that I laugh uncontrollably.

At this point, I need to rest the shoulder a minute, so we stop for a sip of coffee. (My husband makes great coffee.) In our conversation, she mentions she started taking violin lessons at 7. I ask her if it had been voluntary.

"Oh, yes," she says, smiling, "One day I was watching Captain Kangaroo, and after the introduction was finished, I asked my mom, 'What was that, making the "do do do" sound?" My mom said, 'The violin.' I said, 'I want to do that. I want to play the violin.'"

This is a motivation I understand completely, because I *love* the Captain. I have the intro on iTunes and play it at least once a week. Now I sooooo want to be able to play the "do do do" sound, too.

We go back to it. She shows me how to address the string and slightly turn my wrist as I begin and end the stroke. I practice a few times, with very limited success and lots of wavery noise and screeches. Bowing doesn't hurt, but I can feel that my arm and shoulder are trembling with fatigue. When I tell her I think exhaustion is the biggest problem at the moment, and try to explain what's happening, she listens, then touches the section of my rotator cuff that is experiencing the worst of it, and says, "Of course! I can see it." So she supports the weight of my arm while I try again, and I do better.

My thumb keeps straightening out, as does the pinky. But I get a few reasonable sounds amidst more unpleasant noises. We stop and she shows me some exercises for strengthening my hand and wrist, also my left and right arms, as well as stretches for my hands, neck, arms, and shoulders.

I ask how long I can practice. She says only 10 minutes. Sigh. I say I am finding it easier right now to practice in short sips and maybe I could do a little more if I break it up. Ok, she gives in and says 3 5 minute sessions.

She tells me to keep a practice journal and give her a report the next time she comes. But not to worry about practicing today; the lesson is enough. She puts her coffee cup in the sink, her violin in it's case, and then she's gone.

She doesn't know it, but I am frustrated and discouraged. When I held the bow, there were tiny moments it seemed to float in my hand. It felt ready to begin, as though it were alive, full of eagerness and good will. Like a horse under my reins in my girlhood, it felt as if it would move with me, in joy and pleasure with me, if I held it correctly and signaled the proper command.

But my injury is in the way. And will be for months. I worry, and tell my husband, that my shoulder will never improve enough for me to succeed as a violinist. He reminds me that my therapist was able to measure recent improvement, and give me new exercises. That I'm going to start with the personal trainer and the Alexander Technique. That I'm exhausted. He is right, and, with effort, I regain my perspective.

The restrictions on practice are almost as hard to bear. I can only practice a few minutes at a time, but I can do that more than three times a day. I understand she doesn't want me to burn out, or to injure my arm, but I love practice. On the other hand, she told me during our lesson that she had to take a year off once, because of the effects of over-practice.

I take my violin back into my room and place it and my bow in their case with great reluctance.

Later, after a nap, I sit on my daybed and type on my computer. From time to time, I cast brief, longing glances in the direction of the violin case, as if it were hiding some illicit lover. Finally, after an hour, I set my computer down and step over.

I have practiced enough to bring my violin up onto my shoulder in one easy motion with my left hand. I carefully establish a good stance and my best left hand and arm positions. I wrap my right thumb and fingers around the bow and keep adjusting them over and over, until they fall into place, relax and make the curl of the wave. Then, almost on its own, the bow floats and rises up and sweeps down across the D string. Just once. The note vibrates true in the cool air.

Success. At last. I smile, turn back to the case, and put my violin away for the day.

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June 22, 2005 15:36

A week ago today, I was still in San Jose, helping my friends move. I went home on the 14th, but my husband and I had to go back down on the 15th one last time.

So, on the 15th, when I knew my right shoulder was in no condition for a lesson the next day, I called my violin teacher with fear and trepidation in my heart. She wasn't there, so I left a voice message saying I had to cancel, yet again.

She called back. I'm sure, to begin with, she was going to suggest we discontinue our lessons. She was concerned about my shoulder and about my lack of progress. It wasn't a matter of payment at all, as we had agreed at the start that she would be paid whether a lesson occurred or not. She was very kind, and very concerned for me, but I could see she did not want to continue if the violin were bothering my shoulder, nor if it were going to be a waste of her time and effort.

After much begging and pleading and promises to take the violin to my physical therapist and get his opinion, she agreed to a "let's see" lesson on Monday. The relief was overwhelming, and afterwards, I sat and cried, which I almost never do.

The other agreement was that I would let my arm rest until Monday, and practice only so long as I felt no strain or pain.

I did everything I said I would, and when Monday came, DM showed up at the door. You can't imagine how delighted I was to see her.

We took a step backwards, as it were, and went over everything from the beginning. I could have done better, but I could have done much worse, as well. We decided using the bow might be less stressful for my right shoulder, so she showed me how to rosen it, and said we'd start bowing my next lesson. She also gave me some exercises to help me find the first position on the D and A strings with reliable precision, and said I should do short sessions many times a day. The goal is to be able to go from an open string to the first position precisely, ten times in a row, at least 3 times a day.

This may sound strange, but I actually like doing scales and exercises more than playing tunes right now. Maybe it's because I don't find it as jarring when I make a mistake.

Since Monday morning, I have practiced faithfully a few minutes at a time, many times a day. By tomorrow morning, I'll have at least an hour in, which is significantly more than my previous 15 minutes a day. Although I am not always precise, I am much more confident of those positions than I was before Monday morning.

Also, trying to develop precision has made me realize just how important good, consistent finger, thumb, hand, wrist, arm, shoulder, etc. positions are. Just a tiny change in the position of the wrist or of the neck of the violin on the base knuckle of the index finger is enough to make a previous placement of the index finger-tip on the string go from being true to being flat or sharp.

So my husband put a mirror on the back of my office door, and now I can see what my arm, wrist and thumb look like. I found some excellent photographs of arm, wrist, hand, finger and thumb positioning that are exactly as my teacher requires, which I'm going to put up on the door for comparison.

As promised, I went to my physical therapist. My shoulder has made good progress. I brought my violin, showed him pizzicato, and he said that I couldn't hold my arm as high as one normally would when plucking the G string, as my humerus isn't being pulled back into the proper position yet, and is irritating the major nerve bundle that goes from the neck to the arm.

I also asked him about Alexander technique, which he enthusiastically recommended. Now I need to find an Alexander instructor here in Marin.

Bowing tomorrow! I am so excited!

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June 14, 2005 01:50

I have missed THREE lessons now, and have not practiced at all for almost three weeks. The good news is my time is now my own again, and I'm going to practice, practice, practice.

Helping our friends move a very large house packed to the absolute brim with things many people would consider junk, violins have disappeared from my life, outside of the radio. Except they were playing metal, punk, and grunge. Oh, and Neil Diamond. Since the 2nd of June, I have yearned for my violin, but it would never survive intact through the move.

A drought of violins. None to play, no lessons, no one to talk to about them, no opportunity to listen to them, no time for more than a very occasional quick scan of violinist.com....

And then, Sunday night, magic happens. My nephew, who kindly volunteered to help, has been cleaning out the garage, which is a fate worse than death and a testimony to his affection for me. About 6 PM, when we are sitting in the upstairs of the house, packing, exhausted, grimy, and sneezing from dust, he walks up the stairs carrying something in his hands as though it is very precious and frail. Just like he used to carry butterflies, baseball cards, and flowers, a very long time ago.

I recognize it immediately. An old violin case! How could that be? No one in the family was remotely musical. No one had ever mentioned violins.

But there the case is in his hands, riddled with dry rot, obviously broken beyond repair. Could there be a violin in there? If so, would it be intact?

My friend Laura, seeing the damage and almost in tears, says over and over, "That must be Grandpa's lost violin."

My nephew brings it to me, and I gently open the case. No need to unlatch it or worry about rusted hinges. It has split completely around about an inch from the top. So I just lift the top, parts of which crumble in my hands.

The velvet lining has long ago rotted away, leaving red tatters hanging here and there. The inside is littered with debris. I turn the top over in my hands. Lo and behold, the bow is still attached and in one piece! Taking it out of the case, I see it was put away with the horsehair still taut. It looks in excellent condition, with only a single hair detached.

"Look, the bow is intact. This part, the frog, is made of ebony with mother-of-pearl inlays. Isn't it pretty?" I show it to Laura, and she smiles a little. The first smile I have seen on her haunted, weary face in many days.

Carefully, I loosen the hair and put the bow aside. I say nothing to her, but wonder if being stored taut has ruined the bow for performance.

"Laura, there is a lot of dry rot in the case. The violin may not be in very good condition." I try to keep her from getting her hopes up too high, and she nods, unable to speak.

Beneath the debris is a piece of green velvet, shaped roughly like a violin. The bits of rotted wood and sawdust lie so thick that I fear they are all that remains of her grandfather's violin. Using both hands, I lift the cloth out with trepidation. Crumbs of wood shake off onto the floor.

But underneath, still in the case, the violin is whole. The strings are older than Eden, all squiggly and loose. The bridge has fallen over. But the violin is whole.

Using two hands, I raise it slowly from the case. Laura leans forward and touches it with infinite tenderness, the same tenderness I saw her use when first touching her newborn son in the delivery room, almost 5 years ago. Finally, tears fall from her eyes, she laughs softly, her shoulders heave - from joy, stress, grief old or new... I don't know, I don't know. But the tension in her shoulders eases; her hands relax and stop shaking for the first time since she picked us up at the airport.

Other than one long crack that I think can be repaired, and lots of grime, scratches and nicks, the violin is in good condition. The fingerboard, pegs, and chin rest are ebony, and the tailpiece seems to be rosewood with a mother of pearl inlay. It's certainly old, and reminds me of the descriptions I've read online of violins produced in Germany in the late 1800s. Not that I know enough to tell, one way or the other.

"It's in pretty good shape, I think. Here's a crack, but I think it can be repaired. I'm going to my luthier next week for a new chin rest and I can take it to them for an assessment, if you'd like me to." Other than to my husband, I haven't mentioned my violin to a single soul, but desperate times require desperate measures, and I want her to have confidence in me. She deserves some joy, some emotional gain out of all the wreck that surrounds her.

"Would you? Do you think it can be played again? I must call Aunt Bonnie now."

Come to find out, it was during Aunt Bonnie's move to the West Coast that the violin was lost. And her brother, Laura's father, had been asking for it. Not to play, none of them could, but for sentiments' sake.

While Laura talks to her aunt, I loosen the E string, the only one tight at all, and stand the bridge upright. Tightening them all a bit, I go back to the A string, and try to tune it. Believe it or not, I had been carrying my electronic tuner around with me in my purse, and sneaking in a few seconds of listening to A, here and there, for pitch-training.

Well, grandpa's violin won't tune for me the way my own lovely does, and I'm afraid to hurt it, so I loosen the strings again, and examine the body closely. I can't see a label inside, but on the back, scratched into the varnish right below the nose is a faint name. O. Raettig, looks like to me.

Meanwhile, Laura is trying to convince her aunt to come back and see it. Her aunt is exhausted from moving herself the previous weekend, and then helping Laura pack for the last two days. She is excited, but doesn't want to get back up. When I mention the signature to Laura and she passes it on, Aunt Bonnie says she'll be there shortly.

While we are waiting, I look in the box again. There is an unused (I think) bridge, an old cellophane envelope for a D string, and three music books. The D string envelope is for "The Perfection Violin String". "Made of the very best Material".

Two of the books are promotional items. And, I kid you not, one is for snake oil. Yes, it really is from a company that sells patent medicines, the star of which is Hamlins Wizard Oil!

Hamlins has a cure for all ills. If Wizard Oil won't do you, then you can try Wizard Stomach & Blood Regulator, Wizard Cold Tablets, Wizard Liver Whips, Wizard Cough Cordial, or, if you have "ailments peculiar to women", you might want to try Old Virginia Herb Tea.

I could write an entire blog entry on this book. The cover is red and black. In the middle is an elephant dressed up as a doctor with top hat, sitting on an old wooden office chair, holding a bottle of Wizard Oil in its trunk. On the back is a bottle of Wizard Oil, with the phrase "Directions in " in English, German, Swedish, Norwegian, Danish, Italian, Polish, Czech (I think), Spanish, and French. The book contains "Songs as sung by the Wizard Oil Concert Companies giving free concerts from wagons drawn by four or six horses."

I must scan Hamlin in, make a PDF of it, and put it online. It is a work of art. And it has given me a time frame, of sorts, as it contains testimonials dated 1912 and 1913.

The other book has no cover, but also no patter, and many more songs, courtesy of the Sharples Cream Separator Co., West Chester, PA. Both books contain old favorites, like "Old Kentucky Home" and "Suwanee River". Sharples seems to be fond of Gaelic folk songs like "Annie Laurie", "Robin Adair", and "Flow Softly, Sweet Afton". On the other hand, Hamlin's offers "Bridal Chorus from Lohegrin".

By the time we look through both of them, Aunt Bonnie arrives. We turn to the third. I'm too ignorant to know the correct name for the kind of book it is, but I'll describe it as an old music composition notebook with a stiff blue cover. Later I see it is a "No. 10 - 12 lines", "Monarch Brand" sold by the Carl Fischer Company. We open it up and Aunt Bonnie (a very excitable lady) screams, "That's my grandmother's writing! I'd know it anywhere!"

Evidently Laura's great-grandmother was a pianist and played in concerts, although what that really means I don't know, and don't think they do, either. Could she have been a member of a "Wizard Oil Concert Company"?

What has great-grandma put in her book? "I Praise Him for Morning" and other old-fashioned hymns. A march from Wagner. "Roman Races - H. Lincoln" gives us a date, as I found the original sheet music for sale online with a copyright of 1914. "Mardi Gras" by Opler gives us another date, as it is really "While We Danced At The Mardi Gras" by John Mercer and Alfred Opler and was published in 1931. "Springtime in the Rockies" - yet another date, this was written for the Carmen Miranda movie, "Springtime in the Rockies", released in 1942. "Yankee Doodle Dandy" and "Jingle Bells".

At this point, Laura and Aunt Bonnie are both jumping up and down like excited school girls. They look at the signature. Could it be N. Raettig? That would be great-grandma. No, it is definitely O. Raettig.

Can the crack really be repaired? Do we need a new case? Is there some way to hang it up for display? Can we find out how old it is, who made it? Can it be fixed by Christmas, so we can give it to Laura's dad as his Christmas gift?

"We'll have to see," I say, "I'll do my best."

"This is one of the best days of my life," Aunt Bonnie says.

"It's almost worth all of this," says Laura, and I know she is talking about a lot more than just the packing.

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June 1, 2005 19:18

I've been in Maine for a nephew's wedding for eight days. I brought my violin and I haven't been able to practice once. My family is close, I don't get home often and all of my nephews and nieces, and their children want Auntie Debby and Uncle Bob's attention. We've been leaving at 9 AM and getting back to our hotel at midnight every night.

Just when I think I'm going to be able to go home and spend lots of time with my violin, my godson's mom calls from California and says they are losing their home and would I please come down as soon as I get in. She's picking my husband and I up at the airport, taking him home, and taking me back with her for comfort and packing.

There goes my lesson Friday, and any hope of practicing who knows how many more days.

In desperation, I ordered Janice Tucker Rhoda's "The ABCs of Violin for the Absolute Beginner", and the accompanying CD. It was my thought that listening to the CD while following in the book would be something, anyway.

The course of true love never does run smooth.

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