Aboriginal Innocence

Personal Essay 5/20/09





A violin is not just an instrument; it is something that is used to express feelings, emotion, style, and personality. When I chose my violin, it wasn’t just, go to the violin shop and pick one out. There were so many violins to choose from, each one a little bit different.

I would depart from Strings (a group in the Vermont Youth Orchestra Association (VYOA)) to the violin shop in Burlington, every Saturday and play five violins, decide to take two home, and choose a few bows to take with them. Each bow made every violin sound so different; changing the tone, and affecting the way I played the instrument in many ways. There are so many varieties of sound, which one to choose was difficult.

When a person plays a violin, it may sound completely different to them than the people around them. Having the sound reverberate through your whole body is a very different sensation than what the people who listen experience.

My friend Gina and I were looking for new violins together. We had both made a big jump in our skill level and had also outgrown our smaller violins. Sometimes we would be put in a small room off to the side of the shop and play the violins together. Other times we would go into separate rooms. The rooms would be equipped with stands and royal looking chairs. There would be tables with choices of rosin and shoulder rests laying on them, and racks for the trial violins to be placed on while they were waiting for their turn to be played.

Together, we played, it seemed, hundreds of violins, some the same and some different. But even when we both played the same instrument, we each sounded very different. That was the beauty of being in the process together. We each brought our unique style to the instrument.

Figuring this out was what helped me pick out my violin. I learned that a violin that one person had, wasn’t necessarily the best one for me. Each violin sounds different when you play it, but it also feels different. Some have longer finger boards or the strings are closer together. The body can be thin or wide, and the bridge is always a unique shape to fit the violin. Even the strings underneath your fingertips feel unique when your fingers are flying up and down the finger board.

This was the most interesting thing about the whole process for me. When I played one violin verses the other, I was astounded by how different they felt. I really liked the one I picked out, the way it felt when I played it, and how its tone flowed with undulating ease. It was a red/rusty color, and small darkened marks and scratches covered the body. The chin rest was raised higher than normal and the bridge was unusually big.

When I came to my decision, I was very unsure of it. It was a big step in quality and price, and being such a large investment I wanted to be sure I made the right choice. I wasn’t convinced I was ready to acquire this instrument. The violin was very old, its maker was Benzinger, and was made in Germany in 1898. Something about it having a history that was so long creeped me out a little. Who had owned it in those past years? When had they owned it? Why did they pass it on?

I took the violin home after finally purchasing it and played it for many people. After a while, I started to get used to it. I began to love the tone. When I went into a large space that echoed, I could play my heart out. No matter how many mistakes I made the tone never seemed to falter.

Then my annual audition for the VYOA came. This violin was what helped me through the piece I played. The song was significantly harder compared to what I had been playing, and I only had a short amount of time to learn it. Tone has never seemed to be my problem. Reading music and hitting accidentals (a variation of a note that does not belong in the key of the song) is more of a challenge for me.

I felt like I really bonded with this violin while struggling to learn the piece. I started to listen to my dynamics: when to play soft or loud; if there was need for a crescendo or not. I explored different bowing techniques that affected the sound. I would self correct the mistakes I made, and write notes in my music to remind myself of them.

I also became familiar with the finger board, where the notes were on it, and when to hit them. I made a big step in my awareness of music, tone, and sound relating to the violin. The way I was able to play this Vivaldi piece, with clarity, and perfection was something I had never done.

To top everything off, I actually began to like playing classical music. This was a big milestone in the path I have traveled playing the violin. I now realize that I have my own style and put my own twist into the way I play.

Throughout the whole process of picking out my violin, I had the input and advice of the employees of the violin shop. Kathy, the owner of the store, helped me with my choice. She said I would want a violin that I could grow into, one that wouldn’t hold my ability back because of its quality. I feel now that this violin has taken me so far since this time a year ago when I bought it, yet I still have much room to grow.

Kathy would help me choose which violins to bring home, while throwing in little comments about what Gina’s opinions were on specific violins and which ones she brought home. Oftentimes, I would find myself wishing I had brought those home, unsure of my ability to make choices and decide for myself.

Thinking about different people being drawn to different sounds and hearing the contrast between the sound of two people playing the same violin brought an idea to mind. While I thought through which violin I should get (and wishing Gina and I could get the same one, to be sure we both had the best), I realized a big thing that would help me decide which one to choose: pick the right one for me.

Everybody is given a chunk of life to play with and twist as they want. Everybody shapes that chunk of life completely different to fit their style to how they like things to be. Different is not better or worse, just different.

Think of it like this, two bakers are given the same amount of cookie dough from the same recipe. When the product is finished and the cookies are made, they look completely different. They are different shapes and sizes, they are decorated differently, and may even be cooked to a different texture. Then they do the same thing with a different recipe.

Each baker puts a twist on the way the cookies from each batch are made, to fit their style. That is what a violinist does when they pick up an instrument, and put their own twist into the original tone of the violin. Each baker may have liked one recipe over the other because of the way their final product turned out.

Gina and I may be handed the same violin to play, or piece of dough to shape, but the way we add dynamics to the tone, or the way we ice it can be completely different.

Personal Essay 3/12/08

The Power of Spirit

“People you love you’ll never lose”

When I was seven years old, my grandma passed away. To tell you the truth, I wasn’t expecting it until she was on bed rest in the small hospital in Elizabethtown, N.Y.

My mom and I had started going over to her house to clean it every weekend. Though I didn’t know it, it was because she couldn’t. She wasn’t in deathly condition so I didn’t realize how sick she really was.

When I got out on holiday break, we went over to her house. She ended up in the hospital and we stayed by her side. We went back to her house every night to get a little sleep before returning to the hospital the next morning.

When Christmas came, she was still pushing through life with a stiff upper lip. Christmas had always been her favorite holiday. I think she was determined to live through one more in her lifetime.

The next day when my aunt and I came back from shopping and putting a Christmas wreath on her family grave, my uncle came out of the house. His words still ring clearly in my ears, “Mother Mary passed away this afternoon.” All the adults in the family called her that. It was like her sir name, the way everybody showed respect.

I was so sad when we got to the hospital I wouldn’t even go into the room. The idea of seeing my spunky and willful grandmother’s body without her in it was just weird. I remember peeking through the door and seeing a thin wisp of gray hair blowing softly in the wind of a blowing fan.

Now, every Christmas my mom goes shopping with me for my Christmas outfit. She says, “My mom led me right to it,” in a knowing and curious way. The outfit is always one that grandma would have loved. We know she’s watching over us and guiding us wherever we go.

The spirit is a powerful thing. My grandma’s spirit was a very individual one. She was full of determination. I can still feel her spunkiness beside me even though her body is long gone. She guides my family and watches over us like a guardian angel.

Grandma was a character and a willful woman. Her body was ready to die sooner than she was, so it pushed on knowing she would never forgive it if it didn’t. As I said earlier in the story, the holidays were her favorite time of the year. She lived to see one more white Christmas. When she let go the next day, we knew she was ready. I think she was content with leaving at that time.

I think the spirit goes on after the body has deceased. It may linger near loved ones, or maybe it passes on to the spirit world, ready to leave this hectic world behind. Who knows for sure where we go. One thing I know is that we are not just physical beings. All of us are body, mind and soul.

The love one shares never leaves, even when the physical body is gone. Though I was deeply sad when she died, I know my grandmother will never truly be gone, for my memories of her still shine brightly!

TEN YEARS OLD

FIVE YEARS OLD

These are the lyrics to songs I wrote with my Dad.

I Love My Kitties So Much
I love my kitties so much
I could hold them all day long.
Just like my mama
just like my papa
love to hold me.

I love my kitties so much
I could play with them
all day long.
I wish they wouldn’t hide from me
oleoleoshun free.

Please come out from
wherever you are
oh come out from
wherever you are.
We’ll play together all day long
then we’ll play hide and seek
once more.

I love my kitties so much
I could hold them all day long.
Just like my mama
just like my papa
love to hold me.

I love my kitties so much
I could play with them
all day long.
I wish they wouldn’t hide from me
oleoleoshun free.

Please come out from
wherever you are
oh come out from
wherever you are.
We’ll play together all day long
then we’ll play hide and seek
once more.

Juneau Boy
Juneau Boy, you were so shiny
Juneau Boy, you were so black.
Juneau Boy, you were so silly
Juneau Boy, you were so true.

When I’m feeling lost or lonely
all I need do is hold fast
to my memories of you.
Juneau Boy, you’re my anchor
my good friend, in heaven.

Juneau Boy, you keep me smilin’
thinking about the way you’d
flatten your little nose.
Juneau Boy, you keep me healthy
how you could gobble down
everything green, lord knows.

When I’m feeling lost or lonely
all I need do is hold fast
to my memories of you.
Juneau Boy, you’re my anchor
my good friend, in heaven.

Thank you for being in my life.
Thank you for helping me
through the long nights.
Now you’re my guardian angel
to my delight.

Juneau Boy, I can see you now
sittin’ on Grandma’s lap.
Luna’s at her feet
and she’s yappin’ with
Uncle Matt.

When I’m feelin’ lost or lonely
all I need do is hold fast
to my memories of you.
Juneau Boy, you’re my anchor
my good friend, in heaven.

Juneau Boy, you were so shiny
Juneau Boy, you were so black.
Juneau Boy, you were so silly
Juneau Boy, you were so true.

When I’m feeling lost or lonely
all I need do is hold fast
to my memories of you.
Juneau Boy, you’re my anchor
my good friend, in heaven.

Thank you for being in my life.
Thank you for helping me
through the long nights.
Now you’re my guardian angel
to my delight.

Powderpuff
Powderpuff, Powderpuff
you’re a stand-up girl.
Powderpuff, Powderpuff
you’re a precious girl.
Where d’ya get those tiny paws?
How d’ya get those
long, sharp claws?
Where d’ya get those golden eyes?
How d’ya get your tail to
puff up and rise?

Powderpuff, Powderpuff
you’re a funny girl.
Powderpuff, Powderpuff
you’re a soft, soft girl.
Where d’ya get that sweet meow?
How come you always want to be
fed, right now?
Where d’ya get that
rough, rough tongue?
How d’ya get to be so worried
so young?

Powderpuff, Powderpuff
you’re a stand-up girl.
(Except when you’re
hiding under the sofa).
Powderpuff, Powderpuff
you’re a precious girl.
How d’ya get so skilled
at catchin’ bugs?
How come you don’t like
gettin’ hugs?
Why don’t you tell that
ol’ orange Tom Cat
to start behavin’ like a neighbor
instead of a bullying rat?

Powderpuff, Powderpuff
you’re a funny girl.
Powderpuff, Powderpuff
you’re a sweet, sweet girl.
How come you scratch the floor
next to your food?
Why don’t you cover up
your pee and your poo?
How you doing with your
brother Skit?
You must be feelin’ fortunate
except for that occasional nip?

Powderpuff, Powderpuff
though you don’t catch mice.
Powderpuff, Powderpuff
we think you’re very nice.

Skit
Skit’s our buddy boy
the buddy boy of
bounce and buoyancy.
He’s a dancer and a prancer
and so cute besides
so cute (so cute)
he’s irresistibly cute.

His belly is so soft
his bells are always ringing.
He’s the steadiest guy around
even though he’s
always springing
from window to window.

Always on the go
jumping from ledge to ledge
he’s Mr. Fuzziwig
he’s Mr. Underfoot
he’ll trip you up, just to share
his understanding.

Oh, Skit’s our Buddy Boy
he’s our bouncing
bundle of joy.

Skit’s our buddy boy
the buddy boy
of bounce and buoyancy.
He’s a dancer and a prancer
and so cute besides
so cute (so cute)
he’s irresistibly cute.

If your attention ever wanders
from the papers on your desk
he’s there to show the way.
Mr. Smackdab In Themiddle;
it helps to be able to read
between his paws.

His belly is so soft
his bells are always ringing.
He’s the steadiest guy around
even though he’s
always springing
from window to window.

Oh, Skit’s our Buddy Boy
he’s our bouncing
bundle of joy.

Turtle, Turtle
Turtle, Turtle
Turtle, Turtle
I see you basking around
in the sun for hours.
Cozying up in a box
for a long winter’s nap.
Singing your insistent song
at dinner.
My you’re quite the alpha cat.

Turtle, Turtle
Turtle, Turtle
You and brother Juneau love
anything green
broccoli, peas and even
string beans.
You’re so cute, you’re the cat
of my dreams, when you
cuddle so close beside me.

Turtle, Turtle
Turtle, Turtle
Teasing all the doggies
in the neighborhood.
Daring them to catch you
if they only could.
Climbing up the trees
taunting them with ease.
Won’t you come inside
so the barking might cease?

Turtle, Turtle
Turtle, Turtle
You and brother Juneau love
anything green
broccoli, peas and even
string beans.
You’re so cute, you’re the cat
of my dreams, when you
cuddle so close beside me.

Here are some cat stories I wrote when I was seven.

My Cats
I have a cat Skit and a cat Peeds!
They are playful.
I love them.
They are as cozy as a
Bracelet made of chenille.
I love them.

Just Born
One early spring day, the little kittens
that just got born were snuggled up
in the pieces of hay.
They were so cute!
Just snuggled up.
All three of them.
They were just so cute!
They were as big
as my hand.
Oh, they were so cute!
They were born in my
Aunt and uncle’s barn.
I was the first one to know
what they looked like.
They were too fragile to touch.

The Barn
The horses were rustling
under the hay loft.
The cats were running
around the hay loft.
Powderpuff was stuck
behind a board!
She would not let me help her.
My mom had to help her
instead of me.
They are so cute!

The Big Hay Bales
Cars rushed down the street.
Meanwhile the kittens were taking
their nap.
A truck came into the driveway
and a person got out of the truck.
He was my uncle.
He had come to check on the animals.
He checked on everybody
except the cats.
He thought all the cats were asleep.
But somebody was awake.
It was Skit.
He had found some bales of hay.
He started to climb on them.
He got so interested that he fell off.
He stood up and got right back on
the hay again!

The Ferry Trip
I wanted a cat.
So my dad arranged to
pick up Skit and Powderpuff
at my Uncle’s barn in Elizabethtown.
On the ferry trip back to Vermont
Powderpuff spit-up.
The waves were too big I guess.
When the ferry arrived at the ferry dock
Powderpuff felt a bit better.
Meanwhile my dad was driving off the ferry dock
to go home!!

A New Home
Once Skit and Powderpuff
got home and in the house,
they began to explore.
They explored everything!
Their new house was very interesting.

Too Cute
They were too cute.
I couldn’t stand it!
I hugged and kissed
and hugged and kissed them.
Powderpuff couldn’t stand it
and she got a little nervous around me.
So whenever I went to pick her up
or pet her she ran away from me.
I stopped picking her up
and I started petting her only.
Over time she started to trust me again.
Now we have a good relationship.

Mr. Underfoot
Skit got a little annoying to my father
because he was always under foot.
He would be under foot when he
wanted to eat or to go outside.
My father nick named him
‘Mr. Underfoot’.
I nicknamed Powderpuff ‘Peets’
because she’s so cute and it’s
such a cute name to say.
My father nicknamed Powderpuff
‘The Housekeeper’ because she’s
always fussing about how tidy
her eating area is.
We also call Skit ‘Skitamarinkadoo’!
Sometimes we call the cats
Mr. And Mrs. Underfoot
even though they are brother and sister.

The Cats and Brigid
My friend Brigid loves the cats too.
She plays with them almost every day.
We pretended that Skit was Simba
and that we were Simba’s parents.
We made him a grass bed outside.
It was so much fun.
Brigid and I draw tons of pictures of the cats
and take tons of photographs of them too.

The Housekeeper
Every single morning
we would hear
scritch scratch, scritch scratch
when Powderpuff was eating her food.
She liked to have her area clean.
So the next Saturday
I cleaned up her whole eating area
spic and span.
But the next morning
scritch scratch, scritch scratch.
I guess she just needed to clean herself.

Alarm Clock
Every morning Skit and Powderpuff
wake my dad up at 5:00 A.M.
Skit sits on his chest and purrs
while pawing at his chin.
Powderpuff sits beside him and purrs
while licking his arm with her
sandpaper tongue until it hurts!
Then Skit jumps on top of the window’s
little ledge and jumps down
on top of the bed while
Powderpuff scratches the picture hanging on the wall
right next to his head.
They don’t stop they’re ‘alarming’ behavior
until Papa gets up
to feed them.

Indoors and Outdoors
Skit is crazy about being outside.
But he also is a bit of a tenderfoot
especially when it’s cold or raining.
He also likes to check up on his food
and make sure his sister Powderpuff
doesn’t eat too much.
He goes in and out and in and out
and in and out all day long.
My dad’s nickname for himself is
‘The Doorman.’

The Playground
Skit and Powderpuff love to play
around the house.
It’s like a playground for them.
They play on my loft in my bedroom.
They jump on top of the railing
and walk about.
They look out the window and watch for
birds and squirrels and bugs.
They sunbathe on the sofa and
get warm under the living room lamps.
They sleep on top of the kitchen cabinets
and on top of my dad’s tool shelves near the back door.
Skit and Powderpuff think the whole house is
one big playground!

Letting Go of Furniture
Powderpuff and Skit need to scratch.
They scratch the carpets in the living room
and the carpet on my bedroom loft.
They scratch the glass on the picture frames.
They scratch the litter in their litter box.
They scratch themselves
and sometimes they scratch me,
though not on purpose.
Most of all they like to scratch the living room furniture,
especially the sofa.
Both arms of the sofa are shredded to pieces.
We tried to keep them from
scratching the furniture
by spraying them with a water bottle.
But we couldn’t be around all day.
Finally my dad said one day
‘I think we have to let go of the furniture.’
Now we don’t worry about it.

Here are some poems I wrote in 4th grade.

Puppy
Cute, cuddly, bouncy
Joyful, funny, lovable
Huggable sweetheart Aussie.

Someday
Someday, I will have a log cabin.
Someday, I will have a horse barn.
Someday, I will have kids.
Someday, my dog will have adorable puppies.
Someday, I will care for little ones.
Someday, I will stop pollution.
Someday, I will live in a world with no war.

Stars
So, so far away, shimmering in the black sky
Looking down at earth.

Swift River
Flowing so smoothly around every rock and bend
Clean, clear, cool and cold.

May
Here comes May
Springing right into action
Whirling round, bringing little ones to life.
Hopping away
May is a short stout bunny rabbit
Leaving a new worn path
For June to tumble right in.

Summer
S, Is for swim, swim, swim
U, Unkindly hot
M, Magical moonlit walks by a riverside
M, Madly wild parties and bonfires
E, Exciting vacations
R, Raggedy, wet and dirty people
eating dinner after a long day of gardening.

Tomatoes
I have inhaled
the tomatoes
that were
on your plate
and which
you were probably saving
for your last bite.
I’m sorry.
They were so tempting
so luscious
and so juicy.

Beyond
What is beyond our galaxy?
Could there be another planet
so different than ours
or is there a clone planet out there
containing life
exactly like ours.
What is beyond our universe?
Is it really just nothingness or is it another realm?
Could it be that there is something
something beyond what we can see?

Pibble
There once was a dog named Pibble
Who loved to eat all of his kibble.
When he stuffed it down
He looked like a clown
And never again took a nibble.

These are colored pencil renderings of photos taken after the school play. (2009)

My Beautiful Australian Shepherds!






The First Time I Saw Ruby
A musty, green crate appears out of a door. A little brown nose looks up at me with a big smile on her face. I open the silver crate door and a bouncing ball of Ruby red fuzz comes bursting out yipping, yapping, whimpering and licking me. Little nails slipping all over the tiled airport floor, puppy slobber all over my face, little warm paws on my lap, soiled newspaper in the crate. A happy puppy all around me who couldn’t be cuter or better then she is. A high stepping little lopsided eared dog trotting next to me and looking up at me. Ruby is the best dog in the whole wide world!!

Slavery is a part of American history, even if it is not one to be proud of. Though we treated blacks horribly 200 years ago, it is amazing to see how far we have come today, to have an African American president.

When blacks were enslaved, each slave owner had their own ways of treating them, some better than others. Some “masters” would try to keep families together and lessen the whippings and other cruelties placed on the slaves. Others were as harsh as can be and didn’t allow any slack to be given by the overseers.

One thing that struck me as the most horrible thing when we read the slave accounts and newspaper clippings was how most owners just sold and traded these living beings, splitting families up and advertising them as if they were a garden tool (which was what most slave owners thought of their overworked employees). The well being of these people was overlooked and what mattered to them seemed irrelevant.

I was amazed that people could just sit by and watch as a whole basin full of cramped babies waiting to be nursed by their working mothers was rained upon so hard that they all drowned, and not a person would blink an eye. Instead of letting the young mothers take a short amount of time to rescue the young ones that would have one day been able working bodies for a plantation (or “merchandise” for the rich ones to sell), they were forced to watch their kin suffer and die. The slave owners seem to have been very dense, not thinking that if they treated their slaves properly they might get more motivated work out of them, and they would have more workers too.

Slaves were the opposite of the way they were perceived to be. Many pretended to be stupid. In return for their acting, they got useful information that could help them keep family and friends safe. Slaves that worked within close contact of important people would play dumb and their masters would feel comfortable saying important things around them thinking that they couldn’t comprehend the information being said.

On the contrary, the slaves understood every word and could get inside information that was useful. In one case we read about, a woman who overheard her master saying he was thinking of selling two specific persons, was able to inform these two slaves of their future of being sold. This enabled them to quickly depart from the plantation and run, most likely north.

Another benefit of playing stupid was that if you didn’t perform your work to a spiffy degree the overseer or master would overlook the lack of perfection, attributing it to your low IQ, not that you were just being sloppy.

I didn’t realize how ruthless slave owners were when it came to retrieving runaway slaves. When their slaves would escape, they would track them with “Negro Dogs” that were trained to track runaway slaves. They could sniff them out by shed skin cells. But the escaping blacks had again demonstrated cunning, with methods of spreading their scent in many directions misleading the dogs tracking abilities. They would zigzag through fields and travel through water to throw off the traveling slave hunters and the ruthless dogs.

With their African heritage, these dark skinned people were able to use their knowledge within the plant world to cure all sorts of injuries, ailments, and sicknesses with plants that grew along the Underground Railroad while they traveled from station to station heading north through the wilderness. They would move from the southern plantations they worked on, up to Canada, stopping at the secret hideaways that were a safe-home to stock up on food and rest, in order to be ready for the next stretch of the journey.

These houses that belonged to many New Englanders are still here today. If you travel to certain parts of Vermont, you can meander through the homes of the long gone Underground Railroad conductors.

Slavery, segregation, and racism are all parts of our past, but as I said before, we have come very far from enslaving humans with a different skin pigment than others. Still, our past is not erased. There is still some racism. This was apparent when the 2008 elections came around and you heard stories on the news about people being against a man because of the color of his skin.

But even though that was going on throughout the last presidential election, I think that the reason some fought so hard for Barack Obama to win was because of our history. We needed a new start and this man seemed to be the one to help us. He was fresh. Electing a black man was an enormous mile stone in our country’s history.

Our country went from enslaving people with dark skin and treating them as if they were inferior, to looking up to a man with dark skin; electing him to help lead our country, and be the one who helps us move forward and gain back world respect.

I think that the U.S. electing a black president is such a big event because slavery existed. Without that part of our history, the skin color of a person wouldn’t or shouldn’t seem relevant, just that they are a good person who wants to do what is right.