It’s Saturday. We sit on the edge of the soft chaise lounge upstairs in a room lined with all kinds of stringed instruments in a store called “Elderly Instruments.” Grace balances a blond guitar on her lap.
“This is just my size, ” she says. “I wish I could take lessons.” I smile. “Remember the violin?” She was all excited about the dream of playing it but was overcome by lessons even though her teacher said she did have a gift. We were glad we only rented the instrument for her.
Other folks mill around in this small room. One guy is seated on the bench to our right. He knows how to make music. So does the man seated with his back to us playing a guitar for an audience of two hammered dulcimers that hang on the wall.
I’m feeling claustrophobic. “You know, Grace, I feel a lot more at home in a bookstore. I’ve got the desire to make music, but I just don’t have the gift.”
I’ve left a hammered dulcimer downstairs to be appraised. I bought it years ago from a woman who didn’t have time to play it any more. My great-grandfather played a dulcimer in logging camps, and then he played in Henry Ford’s Old Time Dance Orchestra. So I thought I might keep the tradition alive, maybe play a little in church. The instrument wandered around our house, sometimes set up and ready on a stand, sometimes wrapped in a blanket and hidden in a closet. I’d pull the hammers out every once in a while, but I never learned to play.
I’ve left my harp downstairs, too.
I don’t know when I first had a yen to play one. But about six years back, the urge grew stronger. I excavated the Internet digging for information. My husband drove me to a faraway store where I plucked several possibilities, and I came home with a double-strung Stoney End Lorraine. I couldn’t wait to learn all the fun things I could do with all those strings. I justified my splurge with dreams of playing for hospice patients as a way to use (and not “waste”) my nursing experience. I drove two hours one-way every other week to take lessons.
I loved my teacher. She encouraged me to attend The Harp Gathering 2009 at Sauder Heritage Inn in Archbold, Ohio, and helped me choose some workshops. Everyone was warm and welcoming, but I’d only taken less than a handful of lessons at that point and felt like a turtle in a tree without its shell. I didn’t know a soul and didn’t know how to talk to anyone. I snagged a back row chair in the workshops and pretended to know more than where the F and C strings were or what a gig bag was. Pam Bruner noticed my confusion during her Music Theory Made Simple—Really! Class, and asked if I needed help.
“Oh no. I’m good, ” I chirped. I busied myself writing notes. “The root is what gives a chord its name, ” I scribbled. Yes, I still have all those notes, and I’m amazed at what I learned in spite of myself.
It wasn’t long after that before I let family, finances, and scheduling conflicts trump my lesson days. I tried to work from teach-yourself materials with some success, but without the discipline that comes from having to practice and “perform” for an instructor, I didn’t make much progress. When it came time to practice, I seized the moment to do other things, and I hated having to tune 58 strings. So my lovely harp became another piece of furniture.
In fall of 2011, an aggressive form of brain cancer attacked my mother. When I moved into the hospice home with her, I bagged my harp up and brought it along. I plunked out “Amazing Grace, ” and together we just “noodled” around with it. Another musically-inclined patient down the hall was giddy over this instrument he’d always wanted to try. He liked to come stroke its strings and feel its vibrations.
When Mom died, I packed the harp up and never took it out of its bag again. I’m guessing it was, in part, a grief response. At any rate, that’s how I ended up here in this music shop. The dulcimer needs too much work and will eventually find its way to Goodwill. I leave the harp on consignment—along with a little piece of my heart. Maybe I even leave a little piece of my mother. I wonder if she’d be disappointed.
When we get home, Grace and I pull out the Yamaha keyboard and my old piano books—the ones I’ve kept since I took lessons 40 years ago. We review notes on a staff diagram, and I teach her the keys. She puts a sticky note on middle C.
The next morning in a Lenten small group study called A Journey Home, we’re asked, “Where do you feel least at home?” The answer’s easy for me. Elderly Instruments!
I feel a little like the prodigal son who squandered time and money chasing a dream that was never his—until he finally came to his senses. It’s time to give it up, I tell them. I’ll never be a musician. Just put me in the corner of a library or on a bookstore floor. I’d rather learn to make music with words.
But then, in February 2015, the dream began to harp at me again, first like a dripping tap and then like a warm spring morning serenade. I dared to speak it “out loud” on Facebook. “I’m thinking about getting another harp, ” I posted. This led to a long conversation with the “Queen of Harps, ” Denise Grupp-Verbon, about harps and harping. Just one week later on March 7, I was sitting in her house two hours away in another state having my first lesson. I went home with a rental harp.
I visit Denise (and her dog, Millie) once a month now. It’s become a Saturday morning date time with my husband—four hours together in the car and lunch. Denise and I also meet in between via FaceTime—so two lessons a month. I’m more motivated to practice, and I only have to tune 30 strings.
I hadn’t planned to attend The Harp Gathering 2015, which, by the way, is Denise and her husband Mike’s “baby.” But I registered late and then almost backed out at the last minute. My husband and I arrived so late Friday that I missed the first two workshops. We had just enough time to grab dinner under the Great Oak Tree before the first concert with TAPESTRY and Frank Voltz.
We sat near the front, and while I studied how their fingers massaged strings, the music massaged my spirit. I felt the week’s stress melt right through my chair.
The next afternoon I carried my harp downstairs to Martha Gallagher’s Story Harping workshop. She asked us what story surrounded our coming.
“I almost didn’t come, ” I said. I told how just four nights before, my grand-girl Grace had called in a panic. I told how I’d tried to run through a muddy field in the rain, like in a dream where we make no progress. I told how I’d seen the billowing smoke, heard the front window explode and saw flames roar through the opening. I told how I didn’t know if my daughter and her girls were trapped in there when nobody answered my screams. I told how my daughter and both girls had lost almost all their possessions and had moved in with us. I told how hard it was to leave for a few days of harp therapy. When I listened to other stories, I realized we were making music with our words and that our harps could accompany us.
I registered early for The Harp Gathering 2016, in part because I’ve learned no matter what fire I might be facing then, I’ll find some healing there. I’m also looking forward to sitting in the front row, to participating in Lynda Kuckenbrod’s beginner jam, to being inspired by Louise Trotter’s ageless fingers, to being able to talk a little harp, to maybe even winning a new harp. I can’t wait to hug old and new friends.
It will be like coming home.
Essay originally published in the Spring 2016 issue of The Folk Harp Journal. Photo by liz west, Creative Commons, via Flickr. Post by Sandra Heska King.
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Maureen says
I think it’s great you play the harp, Sandra!
A professional musician who plays the harp for the National Symphony is part of a chamber music group that gives mostly free 1-hour concerts, sometimes in a private home, here in Arlington. The group is fabulous.
String players or would-be players might be interested in Strumstick. I met the man who makes and sells the instruments at a fine craft show. The instruments are easy to carry and a lot of fun and well-made. (I gave my son one as a gift.) Look up Strumstick.com
Sandra Heska King says
Maybe one day I’ll be good enough (and grief-eased enough) to play sometimes in a hospice home.
That Strumstick looks fun. I actually have two harps now–the one I rent for lessons and a smaller one I bought from my teacher (I named her Blossom–the harp, not the teacher) that’s a little more portable but not big enough for lessons. I hope to eventually add guitar buttons and a strap to stroll with it. 🙂
Bethany R. says
What a lovely piece, Sandra. Your great-grandfather played a dulcimer in logging camps? That sounds like a poetry prompt.
I love your way of expressing yourself:
“I’d only taken less than a handful of lessons at that point and felt like a turtle in a tree without its shell.”
“I realized we were making music with our words and that our harps could accompany us.”
Beautiful to watch your desire to play the harp ebb and flow. Isn’t it interesting how some things connected with pain can still be redeemed, so to speak, and bring a fresh kind of life?
Sandra Heska King says
Bethany, you are an encourager of the highest caliber. I’m honored to barista with you. 🙂
Yes, my great-grandfather played a dulcimer in the camps. He and my great-grandmother were cooks, if I understand it right. My dad still has that dulcimer. Grandpa used to carry it around wrapped in a piece of burlap. Dad gave it to me when I first thought I might want to learn to play, but he’d refinished it and the wood is too dry to attempt tuning. It hangs on his wall, and will eventually hang on mine. My dad also has the console dulcimer Grandpa played in the orchestra. I think Henry bought it for him. They are the inspiration for the novel I’ve worked on, picked up, laid down. Maybe when life calms down a bit, I’ll be able t get back to it. I managed to write somewhat of a prologue for Ann and Charity’s class and haven’t gotten back to any of it.
Amy hinkelman says
Thank you for sharing this moving piece, Sandra! You express what has happened to me so beautifully. I have accumulated instruments also. They sit around and collect dust while holding memories and pieces of my heart. I always promise myself that one day I will play again. I am holding on to them as symbols of hope. I believe that one day I will be able to devote time to them again. Thank you for the encouragement to prioritize the music that longs to be released from my heart.
Sandra Heska King says
Amy! I don’t remember seeing you here at Tweetspeak before. If I’ve missed you, forgive me. If it’s your first time, welcome! Thanks for reading and sharing a piece of your own story.
This is my fourth time trying to respond to your comment with a long comment, but for some reason, my computer just keeps shutting down in the middle of it, so I’ll make this one short.
Short of setting aside lesson times, I set a goal of practicing just 15 minutes a day. Some days I miss altogether, but I’ve found that the act of sitting down often extends itself.
So dust off one of those instruments and sit down to “piddle” around with one. Stoke that hope.
Diana Trautwein says
Oh, sweet Sandy!! THIS IS A STUNNING PIECE! Thank you for telling it all so well, through your unique, poetic voice.
Sandra Heska King says
Diana! I miss you. I need a hug!
Martha Orlando says
Sandy, your writing is poetic and absolutely remarkable. I love this memoir of your journey with the harp. You have reminded me that I really ought to get my guitar back out on a daily basis, just to stay in practice, and to remember how important music has always been in my life.
Thank you, dear one, for your inspiration! Blessings!
Sandra Heska King says
Martha, thank you for the ways you always encourage me. Yes, get that guitar out. Leave it out where it’s easy to grab to strum for just 5 minutes–and it will probably extend to 15. Do it.
Rick Maxson says
Sandra, I enjoyed Charity’s writing class I took with you and you do make music with words. I wish you the best with your harp. They are beautiful instruments. I liked the way you described listening to the music at The Harp Gathering:
“We sat near the front, and while I studied how their fingers massaged strings, the music massaged my spirit. I felt the week’s stress melt right through my chair.”
It’s this feeling that makes us wish we could provide this to others.
I can identify with this piece. I took piano lessons and I understand that instrument, but other stringed instruments seem baffling to me. I highly respect those who have mastered one of these instruments.
Sandra Heska King says
How did I miss responding to this? I loved taking that class with you, too, Rick. And thanks so much. I returned the rental harp when I found out we were moving. I now own three of my own and will soon start lessons again.
June says
Good morning, Sandra! I often think of you on Saturday mornings, and miss your link up. I’m so glad I popped over today to see what you were up to. I love this piece. I can relate to so much of what you shared, even though I’ve never owned or played an instrument in my life! Unless you count those little plastic flutes we had as kids, lol. I’ve always been drawn to the harp, and it is a dream of mine to learn to play one day. There are things I’ve set aside since my dad passed away last year, things too close to the memory and grief. The grief will always be there, I think, but there is another part of me that is able to begin picking up the memories. I’m glad you’re playing again. Maybe you’ll share a short piece on ig sometime 🙂 Blessings to you.
Sandra Heska King says
Hi, June. I’m sorry I missed your comment in a timely fashion. I hope you’ll chase after that dream. There are so many teachers available to help, even with online lessons. And even though we’ve moved now to Florida, I can still continue with my teacher. I won’t make the Harp Gathering this year, but I’m participating in a Virtual Harp Summit right now–several days of workshops and concerts. Another great way to stay inspired.
Megan Willome says
I think we writers need non-writerly creative endavors to refresh us. I think you’ve found yours. Mine was doing “Into the Woods.”
Sandra Heska King says
I hope I’ve found “it.” I tend to dive head-on into lots of creative endeavors that have eventually fizzled. At least there’s enough of an investment in this one now that I feel I *have* to justify it. 🙂
You know what the “woods” makes me think of now… 😉
Simply Darlene says
Sandra, like Rick, I so enjoyed the TSP poetry essay class — and look how you rock this piece! The manner in which you weave in and out of the present, the past, and the future is terrifical, seamless, and beautyFull.
Sandra Heska King says
I’m Darlene-dry. I’m hankering to take another class together.