Morris Kit

Day 333: The trappings of Morris dance are unusual, to say the least. Dancers wear costumes which reflect specific regions, but nearly all include a hat lavishly decorated with flowers or ribbons and the traditional bell-pads which give the dance its character. The latter are worn on the shins and sound the rhythm loudly during the vigorous dance. Musical instruments used in Morris may include accordion, concertina, recorder, penny whistle and fiddle among others. By knowing how to play an instrument, dancers can trade places with musicians when they get tired.

Years ago, I inherited my mother's concertina. At the time, I didn't feel I could devote myself to learning another instrument, so I passed it along to a friend whose husband took to it readily. Now that I'm becoming involved in Morris, I decided to give it another whirl and bought one as my September Morn present-to-self. It arrived just a couple of days ago, and already I am playing simple one-note tunes and the occasional chord (sometimes accidentally). The bellows are still quite stiff at this point, but a break-in period was to be expected for a new instrument. However, there's one problem I can't resolve: you just can't dance and play at the same time!

Solstice Greetings To All!

Day 69: Since the Solstice will occur at an hour when any right-minded person should be entertaining visions of sugarplums, I will take this opportunity to wish my friends and readers the joys of the day. In any event, the occasion has been ushered in with a fall of snow: winter has arrived a few hours early to the party, and by all estimates, will probably overstay its welcome. For now, however, I am delighted by the storybook scene outside my window, as visually traditional of the season as Currier and Ives. Let it snow! Here in my snug domain, I will dance the holly and the mistletoe. The Light is returning! Dark nights swiftly go!

Divisions On A Ground

Day 69: There were six of us, just enough that the more experienced musicians could carry those who were less adept at recorder, and we played a range of instruments from tenor to sopranino. Bruce wanted a bass, but our stringent budget wouldn't allow. Oh, but of the lot of us, he deserved one! Bruce was without a doubt the most proficient player among us and surprisingly, he was the only member of our group who couldn't read a note of music, committing to memory his part as I played it for him or improvising his own accompaniments. We called ourselves "The CPR Consort," a joking reference to the Cheap Plastic Recorders our troupe carried while strolling through neighborhoods of Olympia, wandering minstrels spreading Christmas cheer. The better wooden instruments were reserved for indoor performance, unsuited for use in the cold and moist winter conditions of the Pacific Northwest. Under my direction, we played at malls, at hospitals and at retirement homes, and the same six of us (give or take the occasional member) doubled as "The Dozemary Singers," costumed in period dress to present an a capella selection of lesser-known mediaeval Christmas songs.

It seems to me that those were simpler times. Carolers could wander the streets without fear of being pelted with snowballs, rocks or being taunted or mugged. It was considered rude for performers to ask for payment, but if a homeowner offered you hot cider or cookies, you accepted them with a gracious "thank you" and rewarded his kindness with another piece. You sang or played for the joy of making music, for raising the spirits of your listeners, for the feeling of community and good will engendered by giving of your talent. When your music was made manifest by mist rising before your face or curling like smoke from the recorder, when your fingers grew creaky with the cold and your tremolos were unintentional, you nevertheless found it hard to say, "Enough, I want to go somewhere warm."

To my way of thinking, today's world could use some old-fashioned "CPR" to put the warmth back in Christmas, to give it heart.