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Racket

January 30th, 2010 · No Comments

I don’t remember why or how it got there, but we’ve had a pot in the living room this week.

Carmen sits in it.  David suggests we can use it to keep pet fish.  And we can use it to make a terrific racket.

A racket.  Maybe that’s why I brought it out.  Last week David was drumming on a cardboard box with his drumsticks; I sent him outside to drum to his heart’s content.  He said he wanted a crash cymbal (he calls it, “cymbal on a stick with a screw on top”) and so I brought out a thin-walled pot.  Close enough.  A couple of days later I realized we had a pot sitting on our balcony, and brought it inside.

For some reason I didn’t put it away, and it just got mixed up with the water table (now officially a “sensory table” since it’s been full of rice all winter) and farm animals and blocks and everything else.  One day during lunch David realized he could wear it on his head to great effect.  (Why does he always come up with these ideas when he’s supposed to be EATING?)

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Carmen saw that I snuck up on him with the camera, so she wanted to play with the pot, too.  Are you people done with your lunch?

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Thursday morning the pot was still around.  It made it to the rice and had been used for filling and dumping and as a hazard for the hand-sized tractors half-buried in the grains.  My mom called; she was off from work and getting ready for a visit with her doctor later in the afternoon.  As we talked David skipped to the basket of musical instruments.  I paid no attention until the music started.  I held the phone in one hand and grabbed the camera with the other.

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I liked the crescendo at the end there, David.  Nice touch.

My mom says that when my uncle turned six, my grandmother bought him a drum set.  I don’t remember the photograph well but I can imagine two snare drums, the crash cymbal, the foot drum.  The smiling boy and the rolled-up jeans.  I laugh.  First, my grandmother really was a saint.  Second, I realize my uncle has been playing drums (the big-boy kind, now) in garages, living rooms, and not-entirely-soundproofed upstairs rooms for more than half a century.

I need to find better earplugs.

Imitating dancing violinists on PBS.  Wanting to pick up a cello and double bass at the violin shop when we’ve just come in to swap out a bow.*  Banging rhythms out on the kitchen trash can, dining room table, the chairs, the dinner dishes, the wall, the couch.  Singing and banging on the bathroom door when he’s supposed to be going potty.  Using drumsticks on the pots and pans that Matt can’t find when he wants to cook some greens.

What is this?  Is this how it starts?  And where will it go?

* From a message I sent to a friend earlier in the week:

The other day we were at the shop and they asked for a cello. And they way they said it, it was like we were at the store and we on a whim decided to pick up a pound of bananas. Like, hey, let’s get a cello.

They also want a double bass. A really, really big one. They figured they could stand on a chair to play it.

Tags: Arts · Dynamic Duo

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