Tag: Music

It’s a catchy little tune.

I learned it during my 4-H years in Wisconsin.

My children cringed, put hands over their ears, and left the room when I sang it. They were well mannered enough to limit themselves to a face of displeasure if we were visiting my parents and both mother and I launched into it.

Either male children don’t care for that particular foolish song or they didn’t spend enough time in my home state to appreciate it.

I think it’s the latter. They learned plenty of silly melodies and non-traditional words to common melodies. But they never got the hang of this one. Do they not like to sing about emulating a particular species of weasel?

Let’s try it with a visual aid.

All together now —

If you want to be a Badger, just come along with me, by the bright shining light, by the light of the moon; If you want to be a Badger, just come along with me, By the bright shining light of the moon.

What’s not to like??????

My bell stand partner has been to the music store and is all excited.

They have duets. Play one with me. Hand bells and organ – I’ve already talked to our director (she doubles as organist, triples as choir director).

The ability to say “NO” to flattering invitations slips away. We arrange a practice time, arrive on schedule, and lay out the bells. I don’t want to count them. How can such shiny, elegant brass and leather instruments intimidate?

Missed notes, wrong notes, late notes lead to laughter. Begin again. One, two, three, four. Move bells around for easier changes. Again.

Next practice we each miss fewer notes. I mark extra spoons with note notations and practice at home. In my head, as I count, it’s beginning to sound a little like a hymn.

Weeks, then a month goes past. Are we ready? A practice or two with the organ. Yes, it will work. We play from our hiding place in the balcony for a summer service.

More practice. More confidence. More tricks learned to position bells for quick changes. Passages memorized from repetition. (And because page turns come in the middle of the most difficult phrase.)

Courage. Confidence. Circumstance. No hiding for a special service as we give a Thanksgiving duet.  Taunt nerves relax at the end. The same relief remembered from after the first concert with beginning band all those years and miles away.

Would you like to play bells?

I’m flattered and timid at the invitation. Is this a reward for singing in a small church group recently disbanded?

Hand bell groups, usually based in a church, are fun to both watch and listen to. The bells shine, flash, and give off an unexpected array of sounds. Can I do this?

With my courage pushing me forward I report to the first practice of the season. I’ll only have two notes to keep track of. At least that’s what I’ve been telling myself this past week.

Acquaintances point me to the white practice gloves. The director assigns me to my place – the lowest bells of the three octave array. I’ve four to ring – two basic notes and their accidentals. Lowest in the left hand, higher in the right.

Keep the beat. In several places these low notes serve as the bass drum in a band. Dong. Dong. Dong. Then — a run, syncopation, key change — how did I miss the repeat sign?

Stubborn is a family trait. I return the next week. And the next for practice. Then nerves blossom as we walk in front of the congregation for the “special music”.

Trombones go in the front row.

Our director moves among us checking positions, moving a confused band member, re-considering our placement. Then last minute instructions.

Left foot first. Keep distance from person in front. Glance right to keep row straight. Listen to the drum section for the beat. (How could you miss them from their center row?)

The Majorette blows her whistle, raises and lowers the big baton. Off we go.

Left. Right. Left. Boom. Boom. Boom. Listen to the bass drum among the clatter of the snares. A corner, remember the spacing, oh….that was ragged. Stop. Listen. Again. Down the football field, turn, again and again.

Then the street. Parking lot gravel under our white Keds turns to asphalt. Stay in the right lane. Drums on the rim past the hospital. Practice, practice, practice.

Football halftime entertainment. Memorial Day ceremonies. A parade invitation.

We march in heat, cold, and a fine misty rain. After the parade in warm, August rain we pack our instruments and climb into the school bus for the fifteen mile trip home. Wool uniforms scent the air as if we were a flock of damp sheep.

One, two, three, four tap your foot to keep the time.

Time to adjust from piano lesson where a beginning player counts aloud to give each note the proper length. Mental messages go to all the fingers, training them to follow the note on the paper, eye to brain, to finger with aid of mouth.

This is trumpet lesson time. Route the message from paper, to eye, to brain, to lips, lungs, and fingers while the foot taps, taps, taps the steady time.

Wonder of wonders! The dog didn’t go howling away from the early practices.

Over and over, with uneven progress, a simple scale yields to an easy march. Then, a little more as we add a waltz and easy arrangment of a show tune. Ready for beginning band. Playing together. Learning when to keep notes in the background and when to surge to the front. Stay together. Keep the rythmn of the foot the same as the director’s baton.

Cooperation and sportsmanship in music.