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Buy the xylophone!

I just played “When the Saints Go Marching In” and “God Bless America” on my new xylophone – an early birthday present to myself. 

It’s been over four decades since I played the xylophone in middle school and the ninth grade of high school. When I joined the percussion section in the sixth grade I was the only one who could read music because I’d had piano lessons, so I was told to play the bells – or glockenspiel. Later in the ninth grade, I carried a xylophone in marching season and played it in concert season, too. After that I became the conducting drum major for marching band and tried different instruments during concert season. My xylophone experience was short, but I loved it. 

In Austin I was reminded how much I loved it when I tried out a marimba class with Joel Laviolette. I felt like a kid again and I’ve wanted a xylophone since then. But when’s a good time to buy a xylophone? It doesn’t really fit in the budget. This month I made it happen. 

I also thought of things like “What’s the point? Where does it lead?” HA! Like everything has to be commercialized and monetized. I dropped that idea and I know the point is creativity and play. 

A few recent articles about the power of learning and playing music or singing also motivated me. 

Also, since last summer I’ve focused on songwriting as a creative outlet. I’ve mainly worked on lyrics, and now I can also pick out melodies on my xylophone. 

I’m already loving the physicality of it – standing, striking the keys, reading the music and losing myself in the music making. 

If you’re not quite ready to buy the xylophone or other instrument, you might check with your local library to see if they have instruments in their “library of things.” 

I love this great line in The Artist’s Way by Julia Cameron: “But do you know how old I will be by the time I learn to really play the piano / act / paint / write a decent play? Yes… the same age you will be if you don’t.”

Happy New Year and I hope you find ways to explore your creativity, too! 

Our Daily Art

“We may regret our circumstances – and no doubt many of us should. But the way toward a fuller life in the arts must come by way of each person’s daily experience.”

– William Stafford

Writing prompt:

Where is the art or creativity in your daily experience? Where is the joy? Can you see a way to create more room for art and joy in everyday life? What would that look like?

Dancing a “Good Life”

In the photo I’m nine years old and wearing one of my favorite recital costumes from dance class. I keep it on my fridge to remind me of the pleasure I get from dancing and the confident joy of my younger self. 

Currently both my writing voice and my physical fitness level are wobbly. I’m out of shape. My current writing project is shifting and nowhere near ready to share publicly. I’d like to connect more around writing, but I haven’t been writing anything I could share. 

While writing morning pages recently, I had a big epiphany and remembered that it’s simple. I do what I love and write about it. My current passion is dance and fitness in general. So I’ll be sharing my journey. 

In a nice moment of synchronicity, on the same day as my epiphany, my morning devotion book shared the affirmation “As I trust myself, I create my perfect body.” And pointed out the power of the journal for “practicing the steps in front of the mirror.”

I’m comforted by returning to dance and other types of fitness. Dancing has been a big part of my life at times and is my preferred movement practice or exercise. Outdoor walks are for meandering and soaking in nature. The treadmill is dreadful unless I’m watching something on my tablet to pass the time – which feels like checking out or disassociating from the exercise. 

I’m currently doing the Nia Technique through the app NiaOnDemand. I choose a routine based on my intuition, energy level and mood. Sometimes I like to revisit a routine I know well or have done before. The body remembers, and I find myself remembering steps even if I’ve only done that routine once. I also don’t pressure myself to finish a routine if I’m feeling tired or distracted. I choose to dance, it’s not a demand I make of myself. 

While I’d love to do a live class, there aren’t any Nia classes nearby. To find a Nia teacher near you visit NiaNow.com. Nia combines dance, martial arts and mindfulness. Here’s an official description: 

Nia is based on the intelligent design of the body. Each workout combines mindfulness and dynamic movement – leaving you energized, mentally clear, and emotionally balanced.

Nia workouts combine 52 simple moves with dance arts, martial arts, and healing arts to energize and enliven well-being in 60 minutes – body, mind, emotion, and spirit.

Nia is non-impact, practiced barefoot, and adaptable to individual needs and abilities. Nia classes are taught by licensed Nia teachers and trainers in dozens of countries and languages across the world.

Nia has been a part of my life for over twenty years. I began doing Nia in Charleston, then trained as a teacher there, and taught for a few months in Columbia, SC, before I moved to Austin back in 2007. There were so many great teachers in Austin, and I had a full time job, so I decided to enjoy being a student. 

My childhood was full of dance classes in ballet, tap, jazz and modern dance. My family also square danced. I still recall most of the cheerleading dance routine from the one year in middle school that I was a cheerleader. 

Nia has two slogans I love and hope to emulate: “the Joy of Movement” and “Through Movement We Find Health.” I also like that the word abundance has dance in it. I know the joy of movement will reverberate into other areas of my life. 

Review:

“Good Life” – Dance Break 
Time: 5 minutes
Teacher and choreographer: Ann Christiansen
Music: “Good Life” by Vargo

This five-minute dance break will have you singing “Good Life” all day! I love this routine for the familiar steps and simplicity of the moves. I’m not able to keep up with the cha-cha-cha’s and I honor my body’s current fitness level and skip them. I still get a great dance in and I especially love the dramatic ending move. 

My Ancestors

“Writing with the Ancestors” (SomaticWriting.com) was the perfect class for me in January. It is a tough month because my mother and sister have passed, and both of their birthdays are in January. My mother passed away in January, and my birthday is in January. 

Also, I’ve had family on my mind because my great-niece is having a baby this summer. Since this is the first child born since my mother has passed, I felt the pressure to do something matriarchal. In my family, that usually meant something crocheted as my mother was an avid crocheter. Thankfully the baby will inherit other baby blankets because my crochet skills are very slow. A blanket would not be done by the time the baby gets here, or, frankly, gets to college.

The idea though, that immediate matriarchal feeling, left me awash in thoughts of family and ancestors and what we give each other – materially and otherwise. And, how I’m someone else’s ancestor and what will I leave for them?  

Continue reading “My Ancestors” →

New Year’s Eve Memories

Raoul was my dentist, but also instantly become my friend at my first appointment when he said, “I love your writing.” As a local columnist known to be a feminist activist, it was not something I heard a lot from men in Charleston, South Carolina in the late 90s. What a surprise to find a dentist who took the role of arts patron to the next level and had fun doing it. Raoul supported the arts by attending art events, but also by constantly promoting the arts as part of his daily routine. He never spent money on advertising for his dental practice. Instead he invested in a killer sound system and an incredible collection of independent music and jazz. His office’s walls were a revolving art gallery for local artists. While playing fabulous music he relayed the details of the artists’ bios and ticket info for upcoming shows of musicians and actors while pulling teeth and filling cavities.

I always think of him on New Year’s Eve and rowdy nights he would have loved – the whole city partying and fun people joining and leaving our party. It’s been years since he died in a car wreck. And, even though I knew him in another city, I miss him in the odd way that, in other years, would lead me to forget for a buzzed moment he’s gone, and I would expect him to burst in to join the party.

“Raoul is cool,” was the recommendation from my intern at the film production company where I worked. But cool had no value to me when talking about dentists. I was looking for gentle and generous with N2O to get me through some dental challenges. Raoul was that, too. He’d crank up the gas, take my music request and close the door, leaving me alone to chill. The patient rooms were cozy and private in a gorgeous 1800s house in downtown Charleston. He’d come back a few minutes later and say in a goofy, announcer-like voice, “You know that Dean. The only kind of pain she likes is champagne.” If I laughed, I was “under” enough for him to work. He always gave me champagne for my birthday.

In spite of how cool Raoul was, I still wasn’t the best patient. Between my having no tolerance for pain, being really claustrophobic, and going through an angst-ridden-writer phase, I was amazed our friendship survived our patient/dentist experiences. At one particularly grumpy appointment he told me his plans for a fun afternoon. I rolled my eyes at his schedule – he didn’t work on Wednesday afternoons and took off Fridays. I said with obvious jealousy, “Nice life.” He said quietly and kindly, “Yep, I made it that way. That’s the cool thing about your life.  You get to do whatever you want to with it.”

His statement was a gentle nudge, just when I needed it. And I appreciated that he knew me well enough to tell me in a way I could truly hear it. Another kind act he did was to always leave me a voice mail rambling about what he loved about my new column every month. I admired his marvelous attention to the joyful details of life: beautiful art, great music, wonderful conversation, and always looking for a way to make a party just a little better.

On New Year’s Eve 1999 in Charleston, a group of friends gathered at his office for champagne before walking with flasks in our pockets and purses to the harbor to see the fireworks. The pineapple drop (the S.C. symbol of friendship) was beside a parking lot, almost a block from the water with police tape keeping the crowd a safe distance from the water’s edge. Our group stood against the tape, wanting to be closer to the water, the harbor – the beautiful, magical point where the locals like to say the East Cooper and West Ashley Rivers meet to form the Atlantic Ocean. I remember this moment so clearly years later: Raoul looking around at the cops who were distracted by the descending pineapple, then simply lifting the yellow tape and smiling. And with no need for words, just a simple gesture from our fearless leader, our party ran across the dark lot towards the water’s edge. The fireworks exploded in the sky and fell towards the water where the gorgeous bursts of color doubled in the reflection, and the crowd followed us.

Every New Year’s Eve I’m farther away from that magical night, and I raised my glass with my usual champagne toast, “May all your pain be champagne!” And I thankfully toasted this memory – the firework’s pink, white and yellow glow lighting Raoul’s smiling face after he’s just led another crowd to more fun. Not just a toast, but a loud crowd’s cheers rolling over the harbor as we welcomed a new year, a new century, a new millennium bound to be marvelous –  because we would make it that way.