Tag: learning

A Music Miracle: Life Changing Lesson Guest Post from The Crazy Life of a Writing Mom

Posted on August 24, 2011 by Jennifer Wolfe

I’m very excited to feature a guest blogger today – Elisa from The Crazy Life of a Writing Mom has written a special memoir post that I know my readers will really enjoy…but it’s not just about writing today! Elisa is a musician and a mom, and has managed to write a memoir, too! Be sure to stop by her blog and experience her life as she “…vow(s) … to write one hilarious, embarrassing, or otherwise outrageous moment each day for 365 days straight.” Amazing!

What was the best day of your life? Just think about it. Sure you might consider your wedding day, a birthday, the day your kids were born, the day you joined the circus, or when you got a divorce . . . But if you had to pick one day–a life-changing one that you’d relive forever, what would it be?

My day would be ten years ago, back when I was a homeless street musician in Hawaii.

(Cade and Elisa 2000)

Now don’t go picturing me with missing teeth, holey pants and one of those “will work for food” signs. I was a classy homeless person. On the begger’s scale from one to ten, I . . . was a nine!

Anyway, my husband Cade and I woke up in “Homeless Park,” at least that’s what the inhabitants called it. That was the only area where the cops let us sleep. If they caught locals sleeping on the beach or on the Waikiki strip at night, they’d poke you with their night sticks.

A ton of Vietnam Vets, dreamers and poets slept near us in “Homeless Park.” I used my violin case as a pillow because if I didn’t guard it, I worried it might get stolen like Cade’s guitar had the night before. I woke early with a kink in my neck. It wasn’t cold, Hawaii rarely was, and the scents around always brought life to my eyes.

I saw some native Hawaiians and got scared. They were big and strong. They always seemed to be following us. I imagined their faces turning menacing and that made me worry. The Vets had told us not to mess with the “Hawaiian Gang,” that they hated people like us. I shook Cade, “Wake up. We need to go. How much money do we have left?”

He slowly sat up. Sand and grass fell from his hair. After digging through his pockets he turned to me. “Two dollars. The rest of the money was in my guitar case.”

My head sagged just a bit because I didn’t know how I’d earn enough to buy him another guitar. Sure we were amazing together–but a violin by itself wasn’t even loud.

We went to the Waikiki strip after that. It was early, which was perfect. Street performing is just like fishing, it’s better in the early morning and late night. I set up my case. I’m sure I looked worse than Jonah the day he got thrown up (but still a 9 on the homeless scale). I combed a hand through my hair and swore I’d still play with dignity. My stomach rumbled even though I didn’t want to care. Cade put the two dollars into my ratty case. He kissed me on the cheek and told me to “knock ’em dead.” The scruffy hair on his chin scratched my face and I smiled even though we had nothing except each other.

A few tourists walked past as Cade rested against a store window. He put his big hands into his faded pockets and looked as if he owned the world. My violin fit easily on my shoulder, before I closed my seven-teen-year-old eyes and played.

Here’s a sample of our music: The Fifth Side

Anyway, I thought about Cade as I played, how I’d left Utah to be with him; how I wouldn’t change it even for some mashed potatoes and gravy. The sweet notes swam around me. I remembered hot meals then, the kind that warm your heart and belly. I figured if I pretended to be full, I really would be. But that didn’t work, so I played loud and hard. A long, long time passed. I played through breakfast and lunch, but when I put my violin to my side, hardly any money filled the case.

“You wanna get dinner?” Cade asked. “We can split a burger and fries at McDonald’s.”

So, that’s what we did.

At first the food tasted like sawdust. I didn’t know how we’d make enough to buy a guitar. “Cade I hardly made a dime. We had over two-hundred dollars in that guitar case and now we have nothing.”

He squeezed my hand. “We still have each other. Maybe we’re supposed to learn something from this.”

We went back to the strip. I played through the dinner rush. It got dark and just when I thought things couldn’t get worse, the “Hawaiian Gang” started walking toward us. They were rough and mean-looking. They had tattoos, piercing and ukuleles! I wanted to run, but I wouldn’t let them take my spot. I played then like my arm was on fire. I moved to the music and danced to the rhythm. I guess I did something to catch their attention and everyone else’s because a crowd came.

As I played, tourists and the “Hawaiian Gang” gawked at me. Cade stepped closer, obviously getting nervous. One Hawaiian leaned next to a tree. One stood to my left. Another guy sat on a bench. That’s when each of them put their instrument at playing position and joined in with my song.

What happened next was a miracle. We jammed. The notes came smooth and quick. I forgot about the money filling my case. I just closed my eyes and thought about how amazing God is. I opened my eyes at one point and Cade smiled so big. I swear tears almost filled his eyes as he motioned toward my feet. When I looked into the violin case, not only money rested there, but food and drinks did too.

I quit playing shortly after that. We met all the Hawaiians and found out they’d been watching over us since the day we came to the strip. “This can be a dangerous island,” one guy said, the biggest angel I’ve ever seen.

I kept trying to give them a good portion of the money, but they wouldn’t take any of it. They said we needed it more than they did. And just before leaving, they told us about a kid who was selling his guitar for $20.

Cade and I took the food from the case (some orange juice and a loaf of banana bread). We ate and walked to a sandbar that had surfaced in the ebbing waves. We stayed there for hours, talking about how amazing life is. The night was ethereal, so unreal I wouldn’t mind repeating it forever.

All we had was about fifty bucks, my violin, God and each other. And that was enough.

For more information on Elisa’s upcoming memoir, please visit The Golden Sky (My Journal About Zeke) or her blog The Crazy Life of a Writing Mom .

http://www.pasta-recipes.com

Jennifer Wolfe

Jennifer Wolfe, a writer-teacher-mom, is dedicated to finding the extraordinary in the ordinary moments of life by thinking deeply, loving fiercely, and teaching audaciously. Jennifer is a Google Certified Educator, Hyperdoc fanatic, and a voracious reader. Read her stories on her blog, mamawolfe, and grab free copies of her teaching and parenting resources.

The House of Learning

Posted on July 22, 2011 by Jennifer Wolfe

When I was younger, I spent heaps of time at the Yolo CountyLibrary on 14th Street.

I wasn’t an overly outgoing child, and frequently found a refuge in the children’s room. Walking in felt like entering a beige space of tranquility and organization. Built in 1969, it had a feel of neutrality, newness and comfort to my elementary sensibilities. I remember during the summer months the librarian- Mrs. Sekerak, the lovely white haired figurehead- used to prepare a reading challenge. There weren’t any fancy awards, or large cash prizes-what I remember is it was a place to record what you read, and challenge yourself to push ahead. And she was always there, ready to lead us in the right direction.

Naively, one summer I believed that I could start at “A” and read all the books in the children’s section. How many of us have done this? Systematically I would pull the books, write my name on the card and hand it to the librarian for check out. Nothing to scan, beep or navigate under a laser-just a simple index card that promised I would return.

Needless to say, I never made it all the way around to “Z”. I don’t recall quite where I got sidetracked, but I’m sure it was along the lines of ‘Betsy-Tacy”, “Misty of Chincoteague”, or “Mr. Popper’s Penguins” (yes, it was a book before a movie).

As a young adult, my trips to the library mostly involved sequestering in the carrels of Cal at Moffitt Library, deep into my required readings. Emerson, Byron, Bronte, Hawthorne, Hemingway, Morrison, Walker filled my days and nights. Occasionally I would venture towards Hargrove Music Library for a change of pace-the thumping of African drum beats and strains of choral music added to the aggregation of themes running through my brain.

As a parent, I’m back in Davis, although not much about the library is as it was in the 1970s. The architecture of functionality of 2011 involves the sophistication of the times. Patrons are delighted with cool color tones, textured surfaces, and sparkling digital stations. Divisions are established for children, teens and adults, each space catering to delight the occupants with comfy chairs, computers, performance stages, and study areas to match any style. Rowling, Riordan, Westerfield, and Meyers have arrived, supplementing the classics I loved so well. Long gone are the index cards, returns run by automation before one even walks through the doors. Librarians-yes, they’re still there-now more as ‘troubleshooters to technology’. Sadly, I don’t think my kids nor I even know their names.

Circulating through this space, I think about how much libraries have meant to me. I think of the stories, the comfort, the learning I have received and still rely on as a highlight to my day. I watch the children balancing stacks of picture books, smiles on their faces. I watch the teens on their laptops, reading and studying. I watch the grownups searching for the latest DVD or CD to take home on a Friday night. I watch the newcomers to Davis searching for the best learning tools. I watch the homeless looking for a cool place to bide their time or browse the internet. I watch myself as a young girl, believing that if I just started at the beginning I could automatically make my way to ‘z’, with nothing to stop her.

What I’ve learned is that life doesn’t operate on a Dewey Decimal system. Beautiful, frustrating, and magical things disrupt us over and over again. And that’s OK. What I’m still learning is that the learning happens, no matter what system it’s assembled in.

Would we want it any other way?

Jennifer Wolfe

The Beginning of the Blog

Posted on June 27, 2011 by Jennifer Wolfe

This photo is one of my very favorites of my children. It was taken when Lily was three, and Cameron only a month old. When I think of my children in my ‘mind’s eye’, this is how I see them. Although it’s been nearly 12 years, I still see them at this stage in their life–full of wonder, trust, and love.

Not to say that all that is gone now, but as they’ve grown taller (than me), matured, and have begun moving through their lives, some of that childish innocence has gotten pushed back into my memory. Still to me, mamawolfe, I see them as in this image. Ready for what the world has to show them, ready to be wrapped in loving arms, ready to be embraced by life’s experiences.

I remember wondering how I was going to navigate motherhood with two babies. The delivery nurse warned my mother that women like me ‘had a hard time’ because we were used to being in control. I was sure that wouldn’t be the case. As it turned out, my daughter wasn’t the easiest infant-everything had to be ‘just so’-maybe a little bit of nurture mixed in with nature? Luckily before Cameron was born she turned into a wonderful, independent toddler. The ‘terrible twos’ were non-existent in our house. My son, born a bit premature, was thankfully a ‘goo-ball’ of delight. He loved to be held and cuddled any old way, which turned out to be my saving grace. Somehow, I muddled through infancy and toddlerhood.

What I’ve learned is that motherhood isn’t something that you can program, or plan, or predict. It just is. When I tried to make things happen the way the books, or the friends, or the family said they should be I was miserable. When I gave in to motherhood and stopped trying to control, everything usually went much more smoothly. What I’m still learning is that as my children grow, mature, and become independent, I need to remember them as they are in my ‘mind’s eye’, and not try to mold them into what I think they should be. I need to give in to motherhood, even with teenagers, and hopefully, things will go smoothly.

So far, it’s been pretty darn great.