I’m sitting at the computer, finishing my bowl of chicken stew while surfing the web. Drummer is in the basement playing the bass (he started learning a few weeks ago). He plays completely by ear. Can’t read a note of music yet.
As Drummer improvises downstairs and I read a friend’s blog upstairs, I detect the beginning notes of Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony. Then I hear, “Mom, can you open the door?” I do, and Drummer’s at the bottom of the steps.
He plays the first four notes–BUM, BUM, BUM, bum. “How does it go after that?” I la-la-la-la the measure. “Hold on.” He searches for the next note. I hold it out till he finds it.
For the next twenty minutes or so, I’m perched at the top of the stairs, he’s kneeling at the bottom, and we work our way through Beethoven’s masterpiece–me holding a note here and there, him searching, me pointing up or down or stopping and saying things like, “It goes down a third” (funny, Drummer doesn’t know where Middle C is, but he instinctively understands what a third means). We laugh in between tries.
Ikuni comes in the kitchen and starts rummaging through the refrigerator. I tell her the chicken stew is done and in the crock pot. Gamer appears.
“Why does no one tell me when the food is ready?” he asks.
I answer, “I got sidetracked.”
“Being a tuning fork,” Ikuni adds.
Drummer plays the whole first part. “Amazing,” he says.
And he’s so right.