Music to my Ears

I’m sitting at the dinner table in front of the computer organizing a volunteer list for a school fundraiser. Miren hastily removes the remnants of dinner from the table as she sings the alto part from a piece her class is working on in chorus. The periodic clang of dishes falling into the dishwasher and the careless toss of the flatware into the dishwasher’s basket punctuate the repetitive phrase, “Lift up your voice, alleluia, raise your song to the glorious sky”.

I begin to compose an e-mail to my list of volunteers, orange juice and muffins on my mind when Lise begins her evening piano practice. Smiling, I pause and filter out the kitchen noise to enjoy the piece that Lise clearly also enjoys. She plays it through three times. Not only is the piece lovely but it is underscored by her desire to practice and her interest in learning to play the piano. She no longer needs me to direct her to practice or to oversee her efforts. The next piece must be new. The notes come slowly and insecurely. The beat is unsteady. This I know not because of an acute perception on my part but because of the continuous “one, two, three, four” that resonates from upstairs. Craig counts aloud as he strums the guitar on beats two and four, changing chords on every fourth beat.

If determination plays a factor in mastering an instrument then Craig will soon serenade us with intricate arrangements of campfire favorites in no time. Currently, however, Craig has reaped the benefits of only two guitar lessons and I am enjoying his adeptness at chord changes and steady beats.

The computer cursor blinks in anticipation but the screen remains blank as I struggle through the cacophony of music coming from all areas of the house. And not to be outdone, Rem rides through the house on his push car (his “vroom”) shouting his latest favorite Kindermusik song, Lukey’s Boat. He’s well versed in the first two lines but attempts to venture past “Aha, me boys!” somehow circles him back to the beginning. What impresses me is Rem’s persistent contentedness in singing two lines over and over again. Without pause. With amazing projection.
I no longer listen with admiration to the layers of musical aspirations floating through the house but only hear the collective symphonic result: NOISE!

Many times I have pondered how my life’s moments would benefit from a musical score that could follow me around. Not necessarily original compositions (I’d find myself arguing to the air with things like: A country song at the birth of my baby? Really?) I often thought Brahms a fitting accompanist to my life. I’d even go for the too-familiar pieces (but not the lullaby). I would happily walk through the park with Rem to one of the appropriate Four Seasons by Vivaldi.

A musical score could change the current mood of the entire family. Chopin’s nocturnes infusing the air around us would bring a contemplative joy to all of our faces as we folded laundry or prepared dinner. A passing kiss in the doorway just as the piano and strings first begin to crescendo in Rachmaninoff’s Rhapsody on a Theme by Paganini would certainly heighten our more amorous meeting that evening when the entire piece would play.

Who would not like to hike down a footpath along a rambling stream in the Smokies to Copeland’s Appalachian Spring? (IPods do not have the same affect.) A lecture to the children about recent behaviors with Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata building in support might instill a severity to the situation that the Dragon Tales theme song playing on the television set fails to impart. Joplin’s Maple Leaf Rag, I am certain, would accentuate Rem’s off beat exuberance in his daily play. I’d certainly enjoy his marches around the park with a pinecone and a stick in his hands more with John Philip Sousa blaring around us.

Sometimes I try to create such an atmosphere. I am not above kitsch, especially at Christmas and I insist on directing scenes for our family to partake in. We decorate the Christmas tree with the lights dimmed, a fire blazing in the fireplace, hot apple cider sending bursts of spicy scents toward us from the stove and a carefully chosen score. Something like Bach’s Christmas Oratorio. Within minutes Craig needs more light to see what he’s doing and the kids beg for Burl Ives wishing them a "Holly Jolly Christmas.”

One by one the family members move on. The kitchen is tidy and a book calls to Miren. Lise closes her music books and stacks them messily on the piano before heading to the shower. Rem drives by an empty clothes basket and decides to make a fire. The concentration of finding toys, clothes and temporarily abandoned materials (like school books, cell phones, wallets and car keys) and throwing them into the clothes basket silences his circular singing. Even Craig’s chord strumming ends. He’ll no doubt want to show me his sore fingers.

A musical score does play through the course of our day. Sometimes in the lyrical conversations, the rise and fall of voices; in the adagios and allegros of everyday life; in the beautiful pianissimo of a moon-lit deck at mid-night. It’s not quite what I imagined and at times is almost unbearable in terms of decibels, but the layers are beautiful and if I compile this into a larger piece of music – the composition certainly reflects our current family life and the music resonates with life, our life. The bonfire topples. Craig’s footsteps sound on the slate stairs. I finish my e-mail.