Category Archives: Manu

Manu and the Pachelbel Canon

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About a week ago, my daughter was walking Baby Manu around, humming the Pachelbel Canon. I started improvising the second melody line and soon we were switching back and forth, not paying too much attention to exactly what we were doing, but it didn’t matter. We were both having fun and Manu was transfixed. I noticed that even at a few days old, he responded strongly to music, and that singing could be as effective as motion in calming him. Since I’m still recovering from my broken collar bone and can’t walk the baby around yet, singing has been my go-to in trying to subvert that fussy time where he’s needing (but not quite able) to go down for a nap, or waiting those few crucial moments for his Mom to be ready for his next feeding. It doesn’t really matter what I sing, and often I just make up on-the-spot raps about Manu’s moment du jour, tapping his foot or hand to keep the rhythm. No matter what I do, he’s usually pleasantly distracted, and lately, he’s beginning to smile and laugh. It’s great to have an appreciative and responsive audience.

Of course in our family, it’s sometimes difficult to separate the enjoyment of music from future expectations. At only ten weeks old, Manu’s already been praised for conducting the tinny version of the Pachelbel Canon that accompanies the rocking of his baby swing, reaching his hand longingly at the piano when his mother plays with the baby on her lap, and responding with an interest that seems to go far beyond his developmental age to a violin solo. “He’s the sixth generation,” my mother exclaims proudly, as she forwards the video to the relatives in our extended musical family.

And when I see a picture like this, I realize that yes, I would feel joy in watching my grandchild learn the piano–or any musical instrument–but not out of any need to perpetuate the generations of my family’s musicality. Only because music is a heartbeat within us that, like any creative pursuit, amplifies our inner knowing and makes us more attuned to everything around us.

 

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Gratitude, Mourning, and Alice’s Restaurant

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Sometimes it’s hard for me to get into Thanksgiving, even though as a Jew, it at least feels more inclusive than the hoopla around Christmas. Yet, the holiday is still problematic, especially as we find ourselves needing to let go of the old elementary school story of the Pilgrims and Indians sitting down at the table together and sharing a big feast–perhaps a moment in our common history, but certainly not where the tragic plot ended.

So, as I attempt to pull off small bits of our family dinner menu (cooking one-handed is not easy), I expect to again be listening to the livestream of the United American Indians of New England National Day of Mourning from Plymouth. Here’s a snippet of a poem I wrote last year on that topic.

….earlier I listened

to indigenous speakers lamenting loss of their land,
made a pastry with cranberries

harvested from the place pilgrims landed,
wondered what truth in bogs,

in magenta juices
spilling onto the oven’s bottom,

refusing to be smothered
by my pale and doughy crust?

And I think this cartoon I saw on Facebook also needs some contemplation as we think about what is happening right now to immigrants in our country, the Governor of Texas going so far as to call for the National Guard to shoot immigrants on site.

But on to gratitude: One of the many things I’m grateful for is  that my ancestors were able to escape pogroms and come to this country to build a new life. That is my wish for those now facing death threats, gang violence, war, climate devastation, and other pressing issues who are now seeking to cross our borders.

Thanksgiving to me is also all about Arlo Guthrie’s, Alice’s Restaurant, which we used to search for on the car radio when we drove from Massachusetts to my parents home in New York City every Thanksgiving morning. Hilarious and uplifting in its snarky sarcasm, the best message I take home from Arlo is that we don’t need to accept that status quo, even as we do feel gratitude. I look forward to sharing this family tradition with my grandchild, Manu who will be spending his first Thanksgiving with us tomorrow.

So, whatever y’all do or don’t do to celebrate this fourth Thursday in November, I hope that as the song comes around again on the guitar, you’ll think about gratitude, and mourning, and hope for those in search of a better world.

 

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