Relationship

I just spontaneously recorded a 33-minute Podcast without a single written word in front of me on the subject of relationship in education. Some good stories and worthy thoughts in there that deserve some airing here, but too much work at the moment. The gist of it is that amidst all the difficult details of mastering the craft of teaching, none is more important than the relationship between you and your students. No “perfect lesson” can reach them if not delivered with a wink and a nod and a smile that lets each child know— “I see you. I like you. I admire you. Thanks for being here with me.”

 

This was the punch line of my Children’s Demonstration at the Orff Conference, the feeling I had yesterday singing Holiday Songs with 2^nd and 3^rd graders in a local school, the delight I had today jamming with Middle School students I’ve been helping out on the killer grooves of Take Five and Oye Como Va. From kids I had first met, to kids I sing with just 3 or 4 times a year, to kids I know better working with them 10 to 15 times during the year, the ground we all walk—and dance on— is the ground of loving relationship. One that’s already in motion before anyone walks in the door because of the simple fact that I love kids— their energy, their curiosity, their quirkiness, their freedom of expression. The table is set before the meal is served and the love feast proceeds from the first morsel to the last spoonful of dessert. 

 

That’s all I’ll say for now. Meanwhile, check out the Podcast next Monday.

 

 

Still Climbing

Yesterday I played piano and led a group singing with 50 elders at a new place for me, The Sequoias Home for Senior Living in Portola Valley. As music can do, people I had just met felt like old friends before the hour was up and at the end, amongst the sincere gratitude for the event so many expressed, it turned out that three of the people were grandparents of children I had taught at The San Francisco School. 

 

Today, I began with my usual morning meditation, bowl of oatmeal, Solitaire game, wrote a bit and then played 10 Preludes and Fugues by Bach, uplifted as always by the genius of his complex thought. A crostic puzzle and then drop off the car for a tune up, walk 3.5 miles home and later 3.5 miles back to pick it up. A dinner of a celery soup I had made along with salad and Tartinne’s hearty oatmeal bread. 

, 

These are just some of the routines that have become the way I spend my days, not because I read some article that told me that if I do this, I’ll get that. But in fact, I did read an article yesterday titled “When Does Your Brain Hit Its Peak?” Near the end, under the subheading “Keeping the Brain at Its Best” by Kristina Wright, she asserts—not unsurprisingly— that “lifestyle plays a major role in maintaining brain health." And then goes on to list the specifics: Amongst them are "regular exercise (like brisk walking), nutrition, mental engagement like learning new skills, entertaining new ideas and tackling puzzles, practicing music and language, maintaining community involvement, adequate sleep and meditation.” Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam! You might imagine my satisfaction as I mentally ticked off the list, having paid attention to just about every single thing on it. And I can testify that, as mentioned in a previous post, my mind (and heart and somewhat my body) doesn’t feel like yesterday’s museum piece, but is actively climbing to tomorrow’s next possibility. 

 

The article went on to acknowledge that “certain aspects of the brain— like mental agility, how quickly we can reason, adapt or learn new information, peaks relatively early, often in the late teens to early 20s”. She calls this “fluid intelligence.” But when it comes to the “integration of knowledge, empathy and problem-solving—the ability to balance logic with perspective—the real peak likely comes later, in our 50s, 60s or beyond.” She calls this “crystalized intelligence.” And goes on to suggest that “if fluid intelligence gives us speed, crystallized intelligence provides depth.”

 

In short, she suggests that different aspects of intelligence hit their peaks at different ages. She acknowledges that “a 25-year-old may be able to master a new app more quickly, but a 60-year-old may approach a difficult decision with deeper understanding and better judgment.” Though she never uses the word “wisdom,” that latter set of skills is a good working definition of it. 

 

In perhaps the most revealing part of the article, she says that “younger adults usually rely more on one hemisphere for specific tasks while older adults often use both sides.” And I put this next sentence in bold: “Researchers believe that this shift helps compensate for slower processing speed and declining neural efficiency, allowing older adults to maintain cognitive performance.”

Eureka! Both my daughters began beating me at the word game Boggle when they were around 11 years old and continue to soundly defeat me. However, I have often pleaded for extra time, feeling that I could eventually discover many of the words they did, but I just can’t match their speed. Now I know why!! My new learning difference involved processing in both hemispheres at once and I believe all future games should take into account my neurodivergence. If they refuse, I will accuse them of ageism and take them to court! Wish me luck!

 

Meanwhile, I’m singing in one school tomorrow, teaching in another the next day, playing piano at the Jewish Home for the Aged the next, keeping my brain firing and heart opening with multiple community engagements while playing intricate music, improvising while I play, sitting down to write about it later and then cooking a new soup I’ve never made before —Greek lemon soup, to be specific. Still moving up the mountain— and the view is marvelous.

 

 

The Eldest Elder

No, this is not a post about me at the recent AOSA Conference amidst the twenty, thirty and forty year olds. There's something else afoot here. 

It’s a new month and there seems to be an intriguing shift in the winds always circling in my mind. Without any conscious decision on my part, many of the recent posts have been about commerce, neighborhoods, local involvement. Preparing for a new role hosting an annual Inner Sunset Neighborhood Trolley Ride, I decided to bone up on local history in the seven or so blocks that make up my local shopping district. 

 

When I first moved to San Francisco in 1973, I lived in and around the Haight for my first nine years or so, not so far away from where I am now. But because I spent so much time wandering around Golden Gate Park, I often stepped out of the park at 9^th and Lincoln and walked through this charming little business district. So when I moved close to 2^nd and Irving, just three blocks from the start of the stores around 5^th and Irving, I already was quite familiar with the neighborhood and often frequented the various stores. 

 

I’ve been trying to recall what all those stores used to be, with the help of my wife and a treasured 1985 newspaper clipping she found tucked into one of her journals. Between us both, we came up with 25 different places we used to frequent in the “gone but not forgotten” category. Restaurants, cafes, bakeries, markets, bookstores, record stores, a 5 & 10 Cent Store, a stationary store, a remarkable video store and more. 

 

Then we came up with another 15 or so places that are still open and I decided to make a project of finding out more about them. So today I walked out, little notebook in hand, and popped into store after store to ask them what they knew about their place’s history—when it was founded, who came before, whatever they knew if their place had been renamed when a new owner took over, etc. Everyone without exception was eager to talk and share what they knew. 

 

And what did I discover? Places still here that began in the 1960’s included Pierre’s Auto Repair, Donut World, the Post Office and a bizarre little place called Oriental Art Treasures with mostly little pins that cost between $4 and $9 that I always expected was some kind of front for something suspicious or illegal. The woman I spoke to seemed old enough to be the original owner. 

 

In the 1970’s came the Yellow Submarine sandwich shop, Pasquale’s Pizza and the On the Run shoe store. The 80’s included the Beanery coffee shop, an animal hospital, a bar called The Wishing Well that later (2004) became The Fireside and possibly Art’s Café (to be confirmed—it was closed today).

I suspect that the Bank of America on the corner of 9^th and Irving and the Reliable Rexal Drugstore harked back to the 70’s or earlier, but B of A just closed last year and the drug store just last month! So these are the businesses still open and running.

 

But the piece de resistance was a bar I have passed thousands of times and never once stepped inside. In some ways, it’s not a big surprise as I’m not an ongoing patron of bars. Except during sports playoffs and I do remember thinking about going there when my go-to Yancey’s was too crowded. But somehow never did. I was always charmed by the name, “The Little Shamrock,” especially as it recalled my good friend Mary Shamrock. But in 50 years of wandering around the neighborhood, I never went in once.

 

Until today. And I discovered that in the competition for the oldest and most venerable business establishment in my neighborhood, I was astonished to discover that this bar was founded in (drum roll here!)— 1893!!!!! It’s 132 years old!!! And in all that time, there have only been THREE OWNERS!!! I wandered around looking at the memorabilia on the walls and talking with Kate, the animated bartender. How did I miss this? 

 

At their 105^th celebration, they had a poster that read:

 

Join us as we celebrate taking your money and destroying your marriages and getting you so goddamn drunk you couldn’t quite make it to work the next day—while we profited— for 105 years!

 

Well, that’s an honest confession! 

 

So there you have it, a mysterious coming together of things I’ve always cared about— character, community, humor, longevity, service, history. Put together in a different package than usual for me. It certainly keeps things interesting!

Almost December

Today I wore my winter coat that hangs unused most of the year in the closet. I put on gloves as temperatures in San Francisco hovered in the 40’s. Our lone heater in the hallway chugged away most of the day and the house is still cool. It’s dark by 5:15 and we’re eating dinners by candlelight. Winter is a comin’ in.

 

I also played my full repertoire of Christmas carols and winter songs to set the tone in our local English teahouse. The lot on 7^th Avenue filled with pumpkins a month ago is now filled with trees. The lights are coming up on the apartments, though the big tree at the entrance to Golden Gate Park is not yet lit— that annual ceremony is still a week away. And tonight I got my first Christmas Card via e-mail. “In November?!” I thought, and then realized it came from my Australian friends Margie and Paul, where it’s already December. 

 

It feels like just yesterday that we carried the each-year-larger-and-heavier Norfolk pine from our lightwell deck, that I dug out the Holiday CD’s that hide behind the row of jazz CD’s, that we brought the lights and ornaments up from the basement. This year, for perhaps the first time ever, my wife and I will be alone on Christmas morning. The past five years the grandkids have come down and we go on to Palm Springs and either celebrate Christmas here in San Francisco before the drive down or celebrate in Palm Springs. But having just come down for Thanksgiving, they’ll stay in Portland. So we’re wondering if it’s worth all the re-decorating, especially with no presents under the tree. 

 

I suspect that tradition will win out, though interesting that as Mr. Ritual and Ceremony, I’m even entertaining the idea of letting it go. But so it is. The kids grow up and then the grandkids and we both are long gone from the kids at school and without their wide-eyed visions of sugarplums, the Season takes on another face. We’ve seen every worthy Christmas movie many times over and the songs don’t reach as deep as they once did. We’ve stopped going to the annual Revels show and never were die-hard Nutcracker or Handel’s Messiah afficionados. The annual family newsletter folded inside of a card and slowly put in envelopes and hand-addressed is now a group e-mail sent just by me. 

 

But I suspect that nevertheless, we will persist. To be continued…

Far and Near

As the very nature of this travel Blog makes clear, I take a great deal of pleasure in traveling around this great big, beautiful world. I never get tired of seeing new places, eating new foods, meeting new people from cultures radically different from my own. While also getting to do what I love—teach—and share things that are often useful to the teachers who come to my workshops. And then the added perk of seeing friends who have become my international family— Kofi, Prosper, Mandana, Werner, Cao Li, Mayumi, Estevao, Uira, aniDa, Zuhkra, Melonko and dozens more with names quite different from my more local friends Don, Bob, James, Mary, Susan, Sarah. 

 

But in addition to travel, I also love staying put in my cozy house in my sweet little Inner Sunset neighborhood and figuring out how I can be of use here. In the past couple of days, I helped my daughter move, played piano at the Jewish Home and then at the SIP tearoom. This week I’ll sing songs with kids at New Traditions Elementary School, continue to help prepare 8^th graders at Children’s Day School for their upcoming concert and be the tour guide/ songleader at a local event where folks ride in an open-air trolley around the neighborhood. In a couple of weeks, I’ll host and lead the 43^rd neighborhood caroling party. 

 

It also feels good to simply walk around the neighborhood and sometimes run into folks I know. To buy bread at Tartinne’s, a calendar at Green Apple books, some bagels at Posh Bagels, oatmilk at the 5^thAvenue Market and orzo at Luke’s Grocery—all of which I did today walking home from playing Holiday Songs at SIP tearoom.

 

It's fine to play golf or take up pickleball or resume gardening and such when you retire, but for me, I like the feeling of still being of use, be it teaching teachers in China, Brazil or Austria or playing music that soothes or uplifts people in my own neighborhood. I don’t want to look back at my life’s work as if it were a museum piece. While I can and where I can and with whomever I can, I want to keep doing the work that feels real to me and useful for others.

 

As Marge Piercy wrote in her last lines of her poem To Be of Use: 

 

Hopi vases that held corn, are put in museums

but you know they were made to be used.

The pitcher cries for water to carry

And a person for work that is real.

 

PS If you’re local or coming to town on December 20^th, come on over to SIP Tearoom at 6:30 and come sing carols with us! I’ll be there. 

 

Advice to Young Teachers

At the far end of a long career, I think often about what useful advice I might pass on to the teachers coming up. Though music teachers are most often my audience, what follows can apply to teachers in any subject. And the first piece of advice is to know both your subject and your subjects—ie, kids!

 

The poet David Whyte speaks of getting his degree in Marine Biology and then going to the Galapagos Islands to work. He quickly discovered that the wildlife he encountered there hadn’t read the textbooks. They were not behaving according to plan!

 

Every teacher who gets an education degree and finally arrives in the classroom discovers the exact same phenomenon— the kids didn’t read the textbooks! For some inexplicable reason, they weren’t complying with your perfect lesson plan. Imagine that! 

 

So now your real teacher-training begins, class after class of stupendous failures and surprising successes. When people who complete my Level III Orff training and are “Orff-Certified Teachers” often ask what their next step is—a Music Ed Masters or PhD program/ year-long study at The Orff Institute/ additional certification in Kodaly or Dalcroze?—I tell them that any of that might be fine, but if they really want to become the best teachers they can be, the answer is simple: Teach kids for at least ten years. Ideally from 3-year- olds to 8^th grade. Everything you need to know about teaching can be learned by teaching. 

 

But not automatically so. To ensure true development, I suggest three habitual practices.

 

1)  Watch the children. When they’re happy, wholly engaged, musically successful, moving expressively, you’re doing something right. Follow that track! When they’re confused, bored, inexpressive, unhappy, something’s off. Which leads to:

 

2)  Pretend it’s your fault. No matter how hard you’ve planned the “perfect lesson,” kids won’t always follow your script. When things go awry, it could be that they hadn’t eaten breakfast, are not fully awake for their first period class, came in from recess mad at classmates who cheated in the game. It could be that their parents have never praised them, that other teachers have broken their confidence, that therapists have prescribed drugs that dampen their spirit, that there are unspoken traumas lodged in their bodies. It could be the particular chemistry of a particular class or the moon cycle or the daily news. You can’t control any of that. 

 

But if you pretend that it’s your fault (and some— or much— of it might be), that you moved too fast in your sequence or too slow or picked a piece that doesn’t resonate with them or you let your own fight with your partner last night leak into your class, then you have the perfect grist for the mill to improve your teaching. No extra shame or self-blame needed. Just adjust and re-adjust and see what happens. And know that you will never get it perfect. After 50 years of teaching, you may try out a new activity with the first class and make all the necessary mistakes that you immediately correct when the second class comes in.

 

3)  What else can we do? These are the five words that will keep teaching fresh and vibrant, help protect you from burn-out and boredom. It’s what distinguishes the teacher who teaches for thirty years from the teacher who teaches one year thirty times. 

 

Some people might teach kids for a few years and then move “up” to become university professors teaching young teachers or writing books about how to teach. For me, everything I teach to teachers came—and still comes—directly from the work with the children. Five years retired from teaching kids at my school, I could rest on my laurels and continue to teach teachers drawing from the vast repertoire I developed for over four decades. But here I am still teaching kids here, there and everywhere and still coming up with new ideas for old activities, new pieces, new stories as to how the kids responded. 

 

It's a wonderful life. And if you follow my advice, it could be yours! :-)

 

Sam and Heidi

Growing up back in the bygone days of the 1950’s, supermarkets were just taking hold. On Elmora Avenue in Elizabeth, not too from my home in Roselle, New Jersey, was an A & P my mother occasionally shopped at. But mostly she went to the fish market, the meat market, Dugan’s bakery, Goodman’s Deli and Sam and Andy’s produce market. (Milk was delivered to our milkbox on the side of the house.) Whenever I went with her to Sam and Andy’s, Sam would select a ripe peach or juicy apple or tangy pear for me to eat while my Mom shopped and they chatted about their families and the latest news. I never did meet Andy, but Sam was always jovial and alongside the necessary shopping and my gifted treat was the pleasure of friendly conversation. Business with a face and a smiling one at that.

 

Down at the end of Sheridan Avenue where I lived was a small little cluster of shops and almost all with a name. I spend my 25 cents allowance at Debby and Irv’s, buying candy and comic books. I got my haircut at Jack’s, but then switched to Nick’s because his lollipops were better. There was Lorraine's Pharmacy (though don’t think I ever met Lorraine) and Burt’s Hardware, run by the father of my classmate Arlene. Commerce was not just consumption, but also conversation and community. 

 

Fast forward some 25 years to me as a young parent in San Francisco. There was another shopping district five blocks away on Irving Street and there were still shops with names—Pasquale’s Pizza, Noah’s Bagels, Art’s Café, Uncle Gaylord’s Ice Cream, Heidi’s Bakery. Never met Pasquale, Noah, Art or Uncle Gaylord. But Heidi was a charming Austrian woman who, like Sam, always gave a little treat to my two daughters when we shopped there. 

 

In light of the corporate takeover in all corners of our culture, those days feel far behind us. But there is a resurgence in Farmer’s Markets where you come to recognize and greet the farmers at your favorite stalls. San Francisco still has the tradition of the corner store and though it has changed hands three times since we’ve lived here, the one a block from our house is still thriving. The 5th Avenue market, equivalent of Sam and Andy’s, is now run by two friendly young men and a quick conversation while checking out is par for the course. 

 

My next podcast is titled “R Is for Relationship” and though the theme is about education and how the teacher’s rapport with the students is more essential than the expertly crafted curriculum and the “perfect” lesson, the necessity for warm human contact in every avenue of human endeavor is irrefutable. We have sold out soul to the devil of big business, opting for the cheap and convenient and over-stocked gigantic mega-stores in faceless malls with people we will rarely come to know who also know little about the goods they are selling, a dynamic well-captured in the classic film You’ve Got Mail. Many don’t even go to the Mall, preferring home deliveries from an Amazon driver they will never meet. 

 

It’s a Faustian bargain, for as the culture more and more centers around the impersonal, we grow increasingly lonely and disconnected. We might ride in the driverless Waymo car to the supermarket where we opt for the self-check-out and then have lunch at a restaurant where we order from our phone and a robot serves us. And then pay a lot of money for a Zoom therapy session and wonder why we feel so alone and isolated. 

 

I can feel Sam and Heidi rolling over in their graves.