Autumn In America

Ah, Autumn. It's my favorite time of year.

Spending the season here in the US. I was scheduled to be in the UK from September through the new year, but health issues have forced me to remain close to doctors. I am hoping to be able to make it to London by the second week of December.

The temperature isn't particularly cool this year. September gave the impression of a very early Autumn with temperatures dropping. But in early October, the temperature rose a bit and it has remained rather moderate... until the past 3 days. It is finally starting to feel like Autumn.

Regardless of the moderate temperatures, I have been enjoying the traditional foods of the season. I can't seem to get enough pumpkin into my system. A problem I welcome every year.

Nature naturally fluctuates. It cycles in small ways and in large, not only in temperature trends, but in every way. This year, one could say, is "the year of the mouse".

The mouse population is especially large this year. They are everywhere. The hardware stores can't seem to keep a supply of traps on hand. From a distance in the large hardware stores, you can always see a cluster of folks standing in front of the shelf that has the vermin eradication products.

I live next to an open land space, so my property has its share of this years' mousey trend. They are big, they are fat, they are brave, and they are sassy.

I am lucky in the respect that, unlike so many others this year, they have not invaded my house. This may be due to having an abundance of food sources outside. But they are everywhere on my property and completely unafraid of me; which is a little disconcerting.

They are, however, quite fearful of the hawk and owl population. I think the natural predators have been much more successful than I have been in reducing their numbers. I know this because most mornings of the week, there are fresh owl pellets on the deck to greet me. My level of joy regarding their assistance is somewhat tempered by the disgust I feel when I clean up the pellets.

Thanksgiving is much later this year and has made the month feel longer. I like that. I love Thanksgiving; a holiday that is about cooking fabulous food, eating it, and having serious leisure time for 4 days. It's all about reading, playing computer games, watching movies, and napping in front of the fire. It very well could be the smartest thing America has going for it.

On Thanksgiving Friday, I get my Christmas tree and I start listening to, and singing, Christmas music. But until then, it's Autumn. :-)

The Art of the Sing-Along

I receive a newsletter from a ukulele guy named Ralph Shaw. He write newsletters that are often thought provoking. I thought I would share this months offering:

The Art of the Singalong

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The last great group of singers was the World War II generation. They kept the rickety pub pianos vibrating with song and laughter well into the 1980s. But since the pubs were renovated and those cranky pianos cast out along with the battered cigarette machines and charred lampshades we turn our heads only to discover that those old songsters are mostly gone. Some survive, but the ones that do are now into their nineties and unlikely to gather for a singsong at happy hour. As each one passes away so do more memories of that generation's great moments. It was an age when every event was marked with music.

Sure, there are still a few places where one can stand around the piano with like-minded veterans of song - perhaps to croon hits by the likes of Vera Lynn, Bing Crosby or Al Jolson - but they are rare now. One example is Vancouver's Billy Bishop Legion. Their regulars still drink pints and sing songs every Friday until midnight when they all link arms for the final medley. Their pianist, Bea Blackwell, has played an almost unbroken line of weekly singalongs and annual Remembrance Days for many decades.

One obstacle to the modern singalong is that even amongst those who can or would like to sing there is no common repertoire. Let's say we had an opportunity to get together and sing - what then? How would we choose the songs? I can imagine much vying over whether to sing Rock and Roll, Rhythm and Blues, Ragtime, Rockabilly, Reggae, Religious or Rap.

The demise of the family piano is also partly to blame for the decline in singalongs. Once it was the family's entertainment system but now the piano's place has been taken over by the large, black, rectangular void known as the big-screen TV.

Thoughts of all this came very strongly to me recently when I was booked to visit the family home of a prospective client. Her brother had mentioned me to her. She told me,

"My father is going to be ninety years old and he loves to sing and I can't think of a better birthday gift than a family singalong. I hear that you lead singalongs and even do house calls."

This was a misunderstanding and I could see how she had come to this conclusion. Yes, I have been known to entertain in people's homes and yes, I do lead a monthly ukulele get-together, essentially a singalong for strummers. However, a family singalong with people I'd never met was a new idea for me. But I liked the concept and went with it.

Right away I realized that with an age difference of eighty years between oldest and youngest, deciding what to sing would be the first puzzle to solve. My solution was to suggest to my client that she create a songbook especially for the occasion. I emailed to her a number of song suggestions from my own repertoire. Armed with these songs, plus additions of her own, she came up with a selection of ditties. Hopefully they'd cover the tastes of everyone at the party. The book she made was spiral bound and had a picture of her dad on the front. She sent a copy for me to work with.

Before too long I found myself, in the hour before dinner, standing on a fireplace rug leading a boisterous family singalong. It struck me what a rare privilege this was. The ukulele had taken the place of a piano but the unique feeling that comes from a group of voices singing happily together was still there. In unison we crooned, amongst others: Blue Moon, For Me and My Gal, With a Little Help from my Friends, Rubber Duckie and a song with particular meaning for me: Edelweiss.

As we sang of the alpine flower that greets us every morning and whose snow-white petals we urge to blossom and grow forever, I found myself thinking back to past singalongs in my life. Many of the participants are no longer around but I suddenly remembered them clearly. Along with an almost painful ache of nostalgia came a barely remembered sense of tender belonging; a nearly forgotten feeling of warm togetherness that I'm sure used to be more commonplace. My memory suddenly felt sharper and richer thanks to the words and melodies of the songsmiths whose strange powers have the ability to conjure up long neglected senses and recollections.

Every November 11 we are reminded of the phrase: "Lest we forget." As we remember the lost, the brave, and the good let us also spare a thought for the humble singalong whose very presence in our lives gives us something to live for.

© Ralph Shaw 2011