Trying to Stay in Step

I heard the the thump on the porch and we looked at each other – in the universal language of marriage that says – did you hear/see/feel that too? It works for small earthquakes, and distant car crashes, the water heater gurgling or the ice maker dumping into its bucket. In this case, we both agree – cat.  The house resonates with noises. The ice maker sounds like fractured drum roll, the heater kicking in - pushing air through a nearby duct resembles a shimmering cymbal.

We live in a big drum. Foot falls vibrate through the 118 year old floors. The stairs creak with every rhythmic step. Floorboards sing and sigh under my feet. Laying in bed, I can hear when my husband is walking through the great room, into the foyer, up the sturdy oak stairs to the landing, up the more flexible pine stairs to the second floor. The bedroom door resists the push but nudges open with a sudden rimshot. Ah, daily morning coffee in bed. I am blessed.

My life seems to be all about rhythm but musical rhythm is the one thing I truly lack. My internal metronome (if I have one) is faulty. It was painfully obvious early on with piano lessons at age six. Tempo meant nothing to me. My mind would wander off in the middle of a measure. The metronome was this cool thing you could wind up and pretend it's a guy tipping over in the wind. I never progressed beyond the “B” book. I can play the first page of a Chopin waltz and Color My World by Chicago. I'm always up for a good round of Heart and Soul or Chopsticks and that's about it. Still. 

At seven I started on the flute and that went much better. There were 4 generations of flautists behind me, so there must be some helpful DNA embedded in my body. But, a steady rhythm still remained elusive. While my mother would iron dad's shirts in the kitchen, she'd constantly critique my practice.

“You're rushing! Dear, you're rushing, slow down.”
"Now you're dragging."
“No, that part has a rest at the end of that measure.”
"You need to keep count!"

At school, I had other students around me to keep pace with, a conductor to watch, and I hoped my tone & musicality made up for my deficits. I was usually first chair, but I bombed so bad at conducting, I'm sure my band teachers were well aware of my disability.

My disability - my inability.

I saw a short video shared on Facebook of a girl playing the fiddle and tapping out rhythms with her feet. Sounds hokey, but she is brilliant, just fucking brilliant. I am so insanely jealous of people with that kind of talent. One of my children became a drum major – she has an excellent sense of rhythm and understanding of music structure – another flautist too. My son – he's a natural drummer. I can play any music for him and he can mimic the percussion and elaborate on the beat in patterns I could never come up with in my wildest dreams. Even if I can beat it out with my hands, it typically falls apart within a couple measures. I will have forgotten how it goes. I'll be lost. 

I took up tap-dancing in high school. I'm sure my classmates hated to dance near me. I took it again as an adult. Nope. Still no rhythm. Ballet class was better, we typically danced to the melody line rather than the percussion. It was easier to fudge. Now I'm doing bellydance and it's back to rhythms. Sometimes I emerge from class feeling pretty good, other times, I feel the pain behind the phrase “two left feet”.  What I know is right in my head, does not get translated to my extremities.

I'm working on retraining myself and I think I'm making progress. Last spring I started dancing everyday, actually every night, in the kitchen, to KPOP music - like this. (Mata Aeruhi by Junho). I also jog/walk/run/dance/sashay on the treadmill to KPOP.  I put it all my music on shuffle and challenge myself to keep in exact time to the music. I take notes on what works, what doesn't. I record how many minutes per song and what my MPH is for that tune. I note how I emotionally respond to it and whether it would be suitable to use during a 5 or 10K race. I zil to the music as I'm treadmilling – using finger cymbals to pick out suitable beats while I'm moving. KPOP reignited my love for dance.  I hand-drum on the steering wheel at every stop light.   If people who have had massive strokes can relearn how to walk and talk, surely I can tap into my inner metronome.  Music that resonates helps.

___________

I do have moments of pure, connected, rhythmic bliss. It's easier under the influence. The cares of my life are momentarily set aside and I can focus on

the moment,

this beat,

that emphasis,

a climax in the music. (Insomnia)

It's dark in my kitchen that late at night. The lights are off, but I can see a dim reflection of myself in the windows. I shine blue from the time on the microwave. I ripple in the wavy glass.

Dancing only for myself. The beat. The rhythm. It's working. I sweat joyfully. My life doesn't need to get any better than this.

______

If you had asked my 7 year old self what I wanted to be when I grew up,  I would have said ballerina.  I recall staging elaborate ballets in my bedroom.  I rearranged the furniture to create a backstage. I hung blankets to create a curtain.  I wore old frilly slips that resembled a tutu.  I invited friends and family to watch me hurl my uninhibited self around the room to prove that I really was Coppélia or the dying swan, or Giselle.

If you had asked my 14 year old self, I would have said flute player. Practicing in the tiled bathroom sounded like a great concert hall.  I imagined grand scenarios where I would be pulled from the orchestra ranks to stand in for an ailing Jean-Pierre Rampal.  The music world would be stunned by my sensitive handling of difficult passages.  I would be offered a record deal and travel the world.

Neither one of these aspirations had a snowball's chance in hell of coming true without an accurate, internal metronome.

________

I started dancing recently with a partner.  I care for my 6 month old grandson in the evenings.  I dance him to sleep in the dark of the kitchen.  We start with something fast to distract from his sore gums, then something moderate for the drone of a steady beat, and progress to something slow to invite the sandman.  He leans into me, pressing his ear against the heartbeat in my neck.  The little arm that wrapped around me falls limp. He drifts asleep quickly, but I continue to dance with him - it feels good.  We have a connection.  I reach him through the rhythm.

_____

Tonight will be the longest of the year.  The changing of the seasons is subtle in SoCal, but if you are perceptive, you can see it in the changing light of the sky. I can hear it when the distant train horn sounds clearer in the crisper air.  We smell it baking pumpkin pies or the aroma of chicken soup for a nasty cold.  

My house creaks and settles in around me on colder nights, like a dog circling its bed trying to find the right spot to sleep.  Life's rhythms, simple and complex, circle around me -  trying to stay in step.