Walking in the Rain

The Seattle Saga continued on Wednesday to a most wonderful guest teaching to two 5^th grade classes at the Bush School. Julianna Cantarelli Vita, a most wonderful human being and Orff teacher from Brazil, had done a project on my Jazz, Joy & Justice book with these kids choosing a chapter and reporting on it. So here was a chance for them to interview the author (me) and their questions and comments were so intelligent and thought-provoking. It really was one of the first times I got to talk to kids directly about these stories (also at Havergal College, a school in Toronto) and how I wish I could do it more. And how I wonder why more of the Orff teachers I’ve trained don’t invite me! (Hint, hint). After some time to chat, I taught a Ghana xylophone piece to one group and a jazz roots piece to the other and that was equally delightful, the “joy” part of the social justice equation. 

 

I met Julianna for dinner that night and she brought me laminated photos with little notes of thanks from the kids and I laughed out loud at the one from Nora, who thanked me and wrote “P.S. I asked the good question.” (See center of photo below). Yet another affirmation that kids, like all of us, yearn to be seen, heard and remembered. Whoever I teach, my hope is to do exactly that and to give them the opportunities to do things that help me remember them. Like the girl who played the bass bars so well on Boom Chick a Boom, another who made up a great new riff in the piece, the boy who had a killer feel on the ride cymbal. Whether it was yesterday’s class or the reunion with the students I taught 40 years ago and still could tell them stories about their memorable moments, it seems like an intricate piece of what I’m meant to do here on this planet.

From the school, it was an afternoon at the Nordic Museum celebrating Iceland, Denmark, Norway, Sweden and Finland, all places I’ve worked in and toured and thoroughly enjoyed. I have at least one lasting friendship in each of the five, with particularly strong connections with Iceland and Finland. These cultures got off to a questionable start with Vikings raiding and marauding their merry way around Northern Europe, but now are distinct for their impressive common values: a commitment to social justice, an abiding respect for nature, an intellectual curiosity, and an openness to new ideas. And the museum reflected all that as it celebrated both people and practices. 

 

Driving back home, we passed the impressive Fremont Troll. It invoked some nostalgia for those earlier days with my young grandchildren, both of whom loved the story I never tired of telling, The Three Billy Goats Gruff. A good metaphor for the blustering Repugnatan trolls going after the people who simply want to cross a bridge to feed themselves without causing harm to anyone. But the clever people keep deferring the troll’s greedy unsatiable appetite for dominance and violence until he finally meets the goat big enough to show him who’s who and the troll’s true heart of cowardice is revealed as he runs into the hills, never to return. The 7 million who took to the streets at the No Kings rallies and the recent election victories are good signs that we are growing into the Big Billy Goat Gruff that can send the trolls packing. 

The next morning, Karen and I walked with umbrellas in the rain to head downtown, me heading for the MoPop Museum to see an exhibit titled: Never Turn Back: 400 Years of Black Music (the highlight a map drawn of Jazz in Harlem in 1932) and her to the Chihuly Glass Sculpture exhibit. While walking, we passed many native Seattlelites walking without umbrellas, raincoats or head-covering, as if they had a special arrangement with the rain that it would simply fall around them. Our host Laura had planned to go to her twice-weekly rowing/skulling meet-up, but the weather proved too harsh and she ended up finding us and picking us up. After our respective museum tours, we walked to her car to be taken to the airport. For the few hundred yards (still raining) to get there, I kept my umbrella closed. When I arrived at the car, I didn’t feel soaked through. After five days in this vibrant city, I had become an honorary Seattlelite!