It's been a long time since I learned a new instrument. (I think the last one was probably the English Horn in 11th grade...) Over the past 6 weeks or so, however, I have been teaching myself to play the guitar. A work team that came in January left extra strings, picks, etc. I asked Alberto if I could have some, and he said yes. So I now temporarily own a dark blue acoustic-electric guitar! This guitar had been sitting in a gig bag (soft case) in our team house for, um, a few years, I think - the first chord I played broke a string, they were so rusty! Luckily, I have a few guitar playing friends, so I got it restrung and started practicing.
My reasons for learning the guitar were as follows:
1. I've always wanted to be able to play guitar.
2. It's much more portable than a keyboard, even the dinky little Casio sitting in my apartment.
3. Somewhere along the line, I got bit by the stereotype bug. I mean, you're not a good missionary unless you can play the guitar, right? Doubtful, but that crept into my mind anyway.
My goal in all of this is to be able to lead worship when we have work teams here this summer. We take them to the beach for an evening of worship, debriefing, and brownies at the end of their week here, and while singing a cappella is fine, singing with a guitar is better!
Learning to play guitar has been an interesting challenge. The physical part - building callouses (which I'm still in the process of), putting my hand in awkward positions, getting my wrists to adjust... I've had a few painful days. The mental part - memorizing chord positions, reading lyrics and chords simultaneously, thinking ahead to what the next chord is and how I need to move. The frustrations of a pianist learning the guitar - I'm used to being able to play any chord I want, being able to play in any key I want, having a pedal to sustain the sound while I move my hands... I'm limited right now to about 10 chords, and I certainly cannot play in any key! Also as a pianist, especially an injured/recovered one, I know my hands pretty well. So when my fingertips hurt or even just feel different than they usually do because of my baby callouses, my gut reaction is to panic - what's wrong? I have to remind myself that I know why they hurt and that it's ok!
Learning the guitar has also been really good for me. It's reminding me of humility and what it's like to learn a completely new skill, which is what my first graders experience almost every day. It's reminding me to have patience with myself and to appreciate the skills I do have - I'm so grateful that I can sit down and play the piano - it seems so easy compared to the guitar! It's teaching me discipline in practicing again - I feel like I shouldn't have lost that only a year and a half out of a conservatory, but if I go a few days without playing, my fingers pay the price! I'm challenging the musical part of my brain again. I'm learning to listen to songs differently as I try to pick up strumming patterns. I've noticed the last few weeks at worship team practice that I can look at Dustin's (the guitar player) hands and (sometimes) know what chord he's playing! Amazing! I'm also spending a lot more time worshipping God - most of the songs I practice are worship songs. And it's fun to look up songs I've been listening to and be able to play them. It's also fun to hear Lauren, every once in a while, tell me that it sounds good - my parents, when I practiced piano, would often yell from the kitchen during a pause, "Sounds good, Em!" A fun little nostalgia moment and a new appreciation for what my parents put up with raising three musical daughters!
So that's what I've been up to in my free time. Any words of encouragement, song requests (ha!), cheater chord tips, etc, send them my way!
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Monday, March 14, 2011
Burning Sugarcane
Here was the view from school on Thursday:
The culprit? Burning sugarcane. Acres and acres of burning sugarcane. Molly and I drove on a motorcycle through the fields of burning cane that afternoon - I felt a little like I was in the forest fire part of Bambi!
On a more serious note, the burning cane is an indicator and reminder of why life is the way it is here in Montellano. The sugarcane factory in Montellano used to be the sole source of employment for Montellano and the surrounding villages like Caraballo. After the government privatized the factory, it went bankrupt and has been shut down for 8 years or so (from what I've been told). The result is a town that has the feel of an old mining town in the US - no jobs, people walking around in a daze because they still think the factory might open, men sitting around playing dominoes all day, idle because there literally is no work. Awhile back I journaled about it:
They're burning the sugarcane tonight. I saw the telltale column of brown smoke today, and now, in the dark, the red haze. I have not, nor do I think I ever will, gotten used to the sweet smell. The smell of unemployment. Of poverty. Of empty wallets and empty bellies. The smell, the ash, the smoke - they should be coming from the factory, not the fields. But the factory sits idle, empty, rusting in the salty humidity. It sits in the center of town as if to mock the people, a constant reminder of what used to be and an unfulfilled promise of what still could be. Rumors fly, year after year, that someone in an air-conditioned office far away wants to reopen the factory. But feeding Haitians and employing the poorest of the poor is hardly a profitable venture. No one wants to buy sugar from Montellano. So they burn the cane. They burn it out of anger, desperation, indignation. And with it they burn a piece of their hope for the restoration of the factory, of jobs, of life. What else can they do?
While they burn, I contemplate. My blessings, my fortune, that I was born in the "right" country. The country that my neighbors dream of, yet equally the country whose policies are forcing those same neighbors to burn the cane. So what do I do, torn between my privileged citizenship and my new-found solidarity with my neighbors? I don't know. But tonight, I will join my neighbors in falling asleep to the smell of burning cane, dreaming that the smell is coming from the factory, and praying that someday soon it will.
The culprit? Burning sugarcane. Acres and acres of burning sugarcane. Molly and I drove on a motorcycle through the fields of burning cane that afternoon - I felt a little like I was in the forest fire part of Bambi!
On a more serious note, the burning cane is an indicator and reminder of why life is the way it is here in Montellano. The sugarcane factory in Montellano used to be the sole source of employment for Montellano and the surrounding villages like Caraballo. After the government privatized the factory, it went bankrupt and has been shut down for 8 years or so (from what I've been told). The result is a town that has the feel of an old mining town in the US - no jobs, people walking around in a daze because they still think the factory might open, men sitting around playing dominoes all day, idle because there literally is no work. Awhile back I journaled about it:
They're burning the sugarcane tonight. I saw the telltale column of brown smoke today, and now, in the dark, the red haze. I have not, nor do I think I ever will, gotten used to the sweet smell. The smell of unemployment. Of poverty. Of empty wallets and empty bellies. The smell, the ash, the smoke - they should be coming from the factory, not the fields. But the factory sits idle, empty, rusting in the salty humidity. It sits in the center of town as if to mock the people, a constant reminder of what used to be and an unfulfilled promise of what still could be. Rumors fly, year after year, that someone in an air-conditioned office far away wants to reopen the factory. But feeding Haitians and employing the poorest of the poor is hardly a profitable venture. No one wants to buy sugar from Montellano. So they burn the cane. They burn it out of anger, desperation, indignation. And with it they burn a piece of their hope for the restoration of the factory, of jobs, of life. What else can they do?
While they burn, I contemplate. My blessings, my fortune, that I was born in the "right" country. The country that my neighbors dream of, yet equally the country whose policies are forcing those same neighbors to burn the cane. So what do I do, torn between my privileged citizenship and my new-found solidarity with my neighbors? I don't know. But tonight, I will join my neighbors in falling asleep to the smell of burning cane, dreaming that the smell is coming from the factory, and praying that someday soon it will.
Valentine's Day
I threw my kids a Valentine's Day party, which in Spanish is "The Day of Love and Friendship." We memorized part of 1 John 4:8 - "Dios es amor." (God is love.) We made a special butterfly craft out of different sized hearts. We played with pink playdough, and we ate pink cookies on special heart napkins. The kids each made two valentines with our memory verse on them; they chose a classmate to give one of their valentines to and took the other one home to give to a family member. They each also got a Dora the Explorer valentine from me! We learned the letter c, because in Spanish C says 'c-c-corazon' (heart) - the perfect phonics lesson for Valentine's Day!
(Remember to click on the picture to enlarge it.)
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