Once upon a time ago, I left my dream college on a leave of absence because college did not make sense to me. Viet Nam was raging, Civil Rights workers were being murdered, bras were being burned, drugs were all over the place and I had no idea where I fit in or who I wanted to be.
I found a job at the Laconia State School in New Hampshire, thinking that I would help others and find my way. I was injured while there, and while in recovery in a Boston hospital, I met a doctor whose wife was the director of a progressive preschool in the area. My credentials were questionable but Ann Davidoff looked me in the eye and took me on as a head teacher for four-year-olds. I had not known that this small school was a nook for the children of Boston intelligentia. Noam Chomsky’s son Harry, was in my class, as were several children whose grandparents lived in their homes after surviving the holocaust in prison camps.
Giant brains in little bodies and massive fears running around my classroom. My answer was music. We gathered in a circle on the floor, with my guitar on my lap and I would sing. Soon we had ducks flapping wings and frogs jumping off of lily pads, and tales of long ago being listened to while closing sleepy eyes. Magic happened. Miracles. My guitar and I, not stellar musically, but together a team.
Life moved us forward. I moved away, married, became a mother, engaged in theater as an actress, a voice, a backstage dresser, a coach and then created my own little theater company.
The guitar took a back seat and eventually found a new home.
During these months of lockdown and assuming the role of Mamgee (Welsh for grandmother), a small voice inside of me has been calling. I made the announcement several weeks before my birthday that I wanted a guitar. Mutterings from friends, “If anyone can manifest a guitar, it is you”.
Her name is Joy. I am in love. My fingers, not having strummed or plucked or finger picked one string for fifty years seem to know exactly what to do. My voice is wobbly but clearing and the songs from Donovan, Joni Mitchell, Joan Baez, Gord Lightfoot, Sesame Street, Mister Rogers, and more musicals than one can name, are all flooding back with stories and images in my mind’s eye that are pure delight.
Thank you, Angel that sparked this knowing, and thank you, Friends that listened and surprised me, and thank you Joy, for all that lies ahead with new sharing and FUN.