Showing Up

Out on my little patio, Room 8 of the Hidden Valley Inn,  looking out at the swimming pool and beyond that, the distant hills. This morning, finished my last class in my two-week run in the sacred space of my old music room, playing music with kids on some of the original six Orff instruments that a parent donated 52 years ago. Instruments that still sound good five decades later while the school garage is filled with computers obsolete after two years.  

Said goodbye again—to that special room in a special school with special people and drove the two and a half hours down to the next sacred space—Hidden Valley Music Seminars. I first came here in 1987, 39 years ago, and shared the teaching with my forever mentor, Avon Gillespie, and others, at the first local Orff Chapter’s Mini-conference Retreat. That began the tradition of gathering here every two years and here we are again, for what I think is our 20^th retreat. I’ve missed some of the more recent Mini-Conferences because of schedule conflicts but have been to at least sixteen of them.

Each one a world unto itself, with more memorable people and music made than I can name. And yet I can name so many of them and so many moments which qualified as sacred. An intensity of emotion and laughter and deep presence and artistic imagination beyond any boundaries that is rare to find in a human lifetime. And yet, time and again, there it was. 

Each one unrepeatable and thus made more notable, remarkable and unforgettable. I’m tempted to list them and evoke their ancestral presence and it would mean a lot to anyone who had been there. But indeed, you just had to be there. 

The depth of that forever presence expanded geometrically when we moved our summer course here in 2012. So alongside the 20 Spring retreats are the 13 other miraculous happenings over two-weeks time instead of just three days. But the sacred cares nothing for clocks. Those three-day retreats—really just a little Friday night, all day and night Saturday and then Sunday morning— are more than enough time to blow the top of your head off. (Emily Dickinson famously said, “If I feel physically as if the top of my head were taken off, I know that is poetry. These are the only ways I know it. Is there any other way?”)

That indeed can happen in solitude with black ink on paper, but perhaps yet more powerfully with the thundering vibrations of drums, xylophones and the human voice in dancing circles with 50 to 100 fellow human beings. The elders are getting concerned that the young teachers aren’t showing up to these events as we used to (and still do!), thinking they can get what they need online. Nope! It ain’t even close! The screen is too flat, the vibrations too distant, the absence of touch and smell and taste mean there’s no place for Soul to enter. You just gotta show up and we’ll take care of the rest. 

So here we go, bringing the ancestral presence of the Ghanaian legacy to a little sacred place nestled in the Carmel Valley. For those who show up, we’ll open with the song Miawoezon and its welcoming text sung by our guest Ghanaian teacher Vodzi: “Thank you for the trouble you took to be here. You are most welcome.”

Re-Retired

My two weeks coming to a close at The San Francisco School and I have to say my energy remains high. I often wonder if I could have made it to 50 years of teaching here and the answer seems to be yes. Of course, two weeks is different from all year and I have to remind myself that subbing requires no report cards, staff meetings, yard duties, defending the school’s culture and character when it seems to be endangered. All factors that indeed led to my decision to “retire.”

 

But in terms of the energy flow between me and the kids I’ve just taught, the full range between three-years-old and 8^th grade, I feel just fine. Nice to wake up planning the next nuance of the next class and look forward to seeing some of the same kids again.

 

And I’m far from done! Tomorrow after my last school class of 5^th graders, I head down to our summer Orff training spot in Carmel Valley to teach at an Orff Mini-conference, back on Sunday, off on Monday to fly to Toronto and then three more weeks of teaching at a different school. So it will be a five-week marathon before I exhale and feel the sensation of retiring again and doing real retirement things like walking in the Yorkshire Dales and biking in the Dolomites, some four weeks without a class plan in sight! 

One of the grand pleasures of being a music teacher free from required material and paint-by-number curriculum is the freedom to teach what you love and choose what you do each day based on what you feel. What song do I need at this moment? What song do the kids need? Does the culture need? 45 minutes from now, I’ll lead a Singing Tim with K-3^rd graders and am thinking about doing a song I’ve never taught at the school—What a Wonderful World. Alongside playing the Louis Armstrong version. That’s what I’m feeling now. 

This.

Sometimes something appears that captures everything you care about. Everything condensed into one powerful expression that needs no elaboration. Just this. It can be a song, a poem, a painting, a piece of music. It might be a sunset or floating in the lake or a gathering of all the people you love. In my case, it might be a music class that I want to wrap up with a bow and show to the world: “Here it is. Every single thing that is important.” Like the chorus rehearsal I just observed this morning with my brilliant colleague, Sofia Lopez-Ibor. Everything we would hope for a child, for a human being— intelligence, responsiveness, connection, joy, beauty, laughter, imagination—manifest in three short activities/ songs.    I think it’s important that each of us notice these things when we are graced with their presence. Share them as we will, though in full knowledge that my “this” that sets my heart soaring and soul singing and goosebumps rising may leave you cold. And yours may miss me in the same way. But still we notice them and speak them out loud, both to confirm the North Star of our moral, aesthetic, intellectual life and to let others know this is who we are and this is where we stand.    So alongside Sofia’s class was a video link she sent me that is a capital THIS!!! When I responded with “OMG!” she wrote back, “I know you very well, Goodkin!” Indeed, she does and I her, as we both follow the same North Star that makes these four minutes the essential expression of everything we care about.    Here's how I wrote about it on Facebook and at the bottom is the link to the video:  This. Nothing makes me happier or more hopeful. It is a reminder of everything worthy that we are encouraged to forget. Amongst these needed truths:    1)   To rise to power does not mean abandoning your humanity.   2)   No one is so important that they shouldn’t take time to sing with and tell stories to children.    3)   No one is so proud that they shouldn’t ask for help getting up from the floor.    4)   We had intelligence, heart and morality at the top for 8 years. Then a horrific second act with a welcome intermission and back again worse than ever, all of us squirming in our seats waiting for the curtain to close.    5)   Obama’s companion in joyful connection with young children is the leading actor in the 3rdact to come that promises a happier ending.    PS  I propose that instead of these absurd pseudo-debates during election years that all candidates have to publicly sing songs with and read stories to preschool children. Then let the kids decide who’s worthy.    PSS The video was tagged as “hilarious.” I object. It is not “cute entertainment,” but a profound Gospel-worthy reminder, “Unless ye become as little children…” Not childish, an adult throwing tantrums, but childlike—filled with a beautiful innocence, sense of wonder and natural compassion.   https://youtu.be/ahaX3y5lzg4?si=tmdMqbQGjzNWyVNI

Homecoming

The first thing I do each morning, as per agreement with my wife, is to empty the dish drainer before the rest of the day starts. And so a few years back, I wrote a poem about it.

 

Homecoming

 

Each night they spend in exile.

 

Each morning I return them to their home.

 

Lift the pots from the dish drainer and put them on the shelf.

     Carry the spoons to their drawer, 

            the bowls to join their nested siblings,

                    tuck the knives in their slots. 

 

 

Each day I teach, it’s the same.

      Carrying the children on the wings of song

              back to where they belong.

The Two Adventures

Michael Meade, that wise old storyteller and spokesperson for the Soul, wrote these words in a recent Blog: 

 

“… the deep psyche has a better design than the ego’s plan, the family’s requirements, or the culture’s map. 

 

That sentence already stopped me in my tracks. My parents were generous in granting me the freedom to follow my own calling, but it clearly was different from what they and my aunts and uncles and eventually cousins chose to do and think. Those iconic books of my late teens—Walden, Catcher in the Rye, Catch 22, The Autobiography of Malcolm X, How Children Fail, The Wisdom of Security, for starters, made it clear that the path I was seeking was not to be found on my mainstream culture’s map. The ego’s plan took more time to put in its proper place and is described by Meade as “the first adventure that involves the pursuit of happiness and the recognition that comes from outer accomplishments.”An apt description of my life from young adult to past middle age.

 

But that’s not the end of the story. If we’re alert and luck to live long enough “the second adventure of life involves the fulfillment of the inner longings and hidden destiny of the soul…it aims at a path that leads beyond the concerns of the daily world, yet it is of great importance for the continuance of that world… It involves stepping off the common pathways and going off the map that others have given us. The second adventure leads to the pursuit of wisdom, the kind of transcendent knowledge that enlivens individual life, nourishes genuine community, and helps re-create culture.”

 

The half-century plus of going off the map into the less-traveled roads of three authentic practices—Orff, Zen and Jazz—has certainly enlivened my individual life and sought to do the same for others. All three have blossomed in the fertile soil of community and sought to create and enrich community wherever I may be. And all three have something to offer a re-envisioning of a healing, healthful, joyful and sustainable culture. All have required some small measure of sacrifice, exile and difficulty of constantly swimming upstream, but the rewards have been far greater than the challenges. And continue to be.

 

After another gratifying day at school, going from the fresh, joyful, confidence of the 3-year-olds to more-cautious-to-take-risks 8^th graders, but willing to follow my strategies to unleash their jazz improvisational selves (and with great results in a mere 15 minutes!), I’m feeling how the two adventures of my life are joined at the hip. The willful accomplishments of my younger years always fertilized communities and enriched many children’s and teacher’s (but realistically, not necessarily all!) lives and did their best to create a culture with depth and heart. Especially teaching back in my old music room, side-by-side at Singing Time again with Sofia, I don’t feel a clear before or after or massive wood door dividing the two adventures. It’s all one glorious yellow brick road with the promise of Oz in each step of the way. 

Off I go again tomorrow, happily skipping down the road with the children opening our hearts, nourishing our brains and bolstering our courage. A grand adventure indeed!

 

Instructions for My Funeral

In 36 years of meeting once every two weeks, each meeting with a particular theme, the Men’s Group I’m in has covered a lot of territory. In one meeting back in 2010, we all wrote “Instructions for our Funeral.” Yesterday, we took to the stage of the Memorial Service for our eldest, Bernie Weiner, to read his poem. (See Feb. 15 post Little Man Clapping for more about Bernie). Returning home, I searched for my poem from that meeting and actually found it. Here it is, with an addendum I added yesterday:

 

To start with, the music.

 

Lots of it and don’t hold back. Some suggestions:

 

1.    Ockeghem’s Requiem, for starters. I know it's obscure, but there's a story there.

 

2.    Some Bach somewhere—organ or piano. Maybe play my 8th grade record of Prelude and Fugue in D minor. If someone can find a turntable.

 

3.     Some Georgia-Sea Island style or spirituals group singing with a soulful leader. 

             But keep Jesus out of it. You can say Spirit instead.

 

4.     Somewhere there has to be some Bulgarian bagpipe. And then people will say, 

              “So THAT’S what it’s supposed to sound like!”

 

5.     Of course, some jazz. Get someone to sing Haunted Heart with a jazz trio. Maybe Tenderly and the crowd singing along on Over the Rainbow.

 

6.    If people are going to beat their breasts, might us well put it to a beat and get some body music going!

 

7.    Balinese gamelan optional. Samba or New Orleans style for the recessional. 

 

As for the people, invite all the kids and teachers I’ve taught.  Make everyone check their cell phones at the door.

               Encourage some copious weeping freely vented. 

No embarrassment. Let it rip. 

    No polite veneers or turn to your neighbor with a friendly handshake 

and forced smile.

    No crap about going to a better place to rest. 

Show some rage at the brutal hand of death.

The acceptance of its loving embrace can come later.

 

And of course, humor. 

Laugh, cry, they're kissin' cousins. Let ‘em both loose!! 

Fall into each other’s arms. Hug freely and sincerely. 

 

Eat well. Dance. Flirt.  Talk to me. Tell stories. All of them. 

(Well, maybe not all. Discretion will still have its place when I’m gone.)

 

Let it go on to the wee hours of the morning.

Don’t schedule other appointments, 

unless it’s the last night for the Misfits/ Some Like It Hot 

          double feature at the Castro Theater. 

          In which case, by all means go and eat popcorn on my behalf.

 

These some first thoughts. I’ll get back to you with the details.

 

Or not.

 

—Dec. 5, 2010

 

ADDENDUM: 2026

• If anyone arrives in a Waymo, do not let them in.

 

• If someone reads a eulogy created by Chatgpt, interrupt them immediately and 

    firmly, but gently, escort them off of the stage and out onto the street. 

 

Why I Love Children

My first of two weeks subbing back at The San Francisco School ended yesterday and there wasn’t a trace of a TGIF feeling. I entered the weekend uplifted, energized, ready for more. Why? What is it precisely that I love so much about kids and the grand privilege of teaching them?

 

A few things come to mind based on the last few days (and the last 50 years):

 

• Fertile imagination and fresh thought: As I do, I didn’t simply play the Old King Glory game with the five-year-olds, but used it as a way to go away from their home (a colored carpet square) and back moving to the song without touching others and understanding the phrasing in order to get back on time. But always my mind thinks, “How else can we do this?” and I challenged them with many variations: Forwards, backwards, fast, slow, high, low, tiptoe, giant steps, jumping, galloping, skipping happily, stomping angrily, etc., etc., etc. 

 

One of them raised his hand with great excitement and said, “I have an idea! Let’s do all of them!!!” Meaning in one trip away and back, do each of them in the short 24-beat-song-length. I could have said, “That will never work!” but following his enthusiasm, I said, “Okay! Let’s try it!” Of course, it was sheer chaos, but I loved that his active mind was thinking and that he was fearless in suggesting it. And speaking of…

 

• Fearlessness: I gave the 2^nd graders a challenging little jazz arrangement that I usually reserve for older grades and they grabbed it by the tail, swung it around and played it perfectly with great energy and a swingin’ rhythm. Then I gave a couple of hints as to how to improvise a jazz solo— like start on the high A and find your own path down to the low A (in the La pentatonic scale) and dang if they didn’t come up with fabulous little solos! All jumped in with uninhibited confidence and the result was spectacular. 

 

At the beginning of class, I also had to run to another room to grab a missing instrument and gave them the assignment of memorizing the poem the piece was based on while I was gone. The words were written on the board and when I came back, they all were turned the other way reciting it flawlessly. 

 

• Working Well with Others: After playing the piece, those second graders had to choreograph a little dance to the stanza they had memorized and within three minutes, were ready to perform. Their ability to jump into the deep water and come up with something so quickly and effortlessly is light years beyond most adult committee work I’ve witnessed. 

 

• Determination: I set the 6^th graders on a fast-riding horse of a complex xylophone piece from Ghana and then watched as they got thrown off and immediately mounted again, each time with a better sense of how to keep their balance and only an occasional tip from me. And then the reward—the moment when the music clicked and they felt the thrill of the ride. 

 

• Fun, Fun, Fun: In my short time with them, I decided to play one of my old favorite games with the 5^th graders called Stations. Groups of three have to think of a combination of words that begin with a certain letter and silently act it out while I play the piano. All of the above came into play—their fearlessness, ability to work together, determination to come up with something aesthetically pleasing and boundless imagination in both their string of words (“Tina Turner teaching Tai-Chi to Turtles while tap-dancing on a tightrope”) and the ways they used their bodies together to create the scene.

 

I could go on. And luckily, I will go on next week and add the 8^th graders and 3-year-olds to my schedule. But you see why children are so far superior to adults. Not a one, left to themselves, is consulting a rule book to decide what to do or praying to a deity for success or choosing not to work and play together with another child who looks different than them. Not a one is refusing to consider an idea or thinking their idea is not worthy or is rejecting the notion that ideas are important. Not a one is worried about acting silly or how their body looks or afraid to try something new (like a jazz solo). 

 

Of course, some of that changes naturally when the teen years kick in and what Nature has in mind there is another investigation altogether. And some of the young children are already getting tied up in knots by religious indoctrination, traumatic family situations, the toxic leaking of more-confused-than-ever adult culture. Their body’s energy and elegance, their mind’s grand intelligence and curiosity, the Spirit and Soul’s sense of wonder and connection with the natural world is being de-railed by adult-approved electronic addiction, the full 360-degree radiance of their child spirit chopped down and splintered and narrowed by all of the above. Not to mention schools accenting all the wrong things, like dead facts and dull tests and meaningless answers to unimportant questions. 

But I’m here to testify that at The San Francisco School, that marvelous institution that miraculously has kept the thread of intellect, imagination, community and humanitarian promise unbroken, it is a supreme pleasure to spend time with each and every child there. And as testified in other posts, I get the same feeling from many of the other schools where I’m fortunate to guest-teach. 

 

Instead of TGIF, I’m feeling CWUM—can’t wait until Monday!