Teaching an old dog: B flat on the ukulele

2:41 into this YouTube tutorial, "... Angle that neck, a hard 45 (degrees). Whose the ukulele police to tell you otherwise, right?!"

"Do you play ukulele a lot?" my friend asked me this past Solstice Sunday.
"No...not as much as I'd like to." It was true, distracted or resistant to playing the mahogany beauty she has been safely resting. But, tucked into her case for months. Now that she and I have resumed our love affair, and more reasons for playing chalangalang keep presenting themselves, I challenged myself to play the dreaded B flat chord.

The B flat chord is difficult, for many. It's difficult for me even though my son tried to show me an adapted version that works for him. This morning I found the tutorial above. I'm watching it, and practicing his approach. I especially like the commentary about the 'ukulele police' (too many of them stifled my early attempts). The joyful sounds of ukulele and voice are moving me like fresh water streaming into an ocean of (ancient) salt water. Unzipping the black case, stepping up again, I play and sing for the love of it, and send music across the ocean to an old friend.

Alice Moon, our old friend was Taurus(not Aries, as I was mistaken) She moved energy! I remember sitting in her Waianuenue Street office one day as voices rose next door. She rented space to singer and harpist, and teacher Oona McOuat, and this was a day for voice lessons. Sharing space and talent was something Alice thrived on. She was a Hilo-girl, and sank her roots deeply into this community from her Keaukaha family home and moved energy with the force of the Ram(perhaps she had Aries somewhere in her star chart). We got word of the cancer that would take Alice from Hilo. Our niece Rosie emailed us to tell us.

"She's not too good talking," Rosie wrote, "but here's her address if you'd like to send her a letter."

"I'll write it, and get it in the mail today," I replied. I did write, and mail it.

My chalangalang style with the ukulele has been one where I play without the high chord sound of the B flat. F, C, C7 ... three string chords easily accompany my lower range of voice, at this age. I give it all I've got and that has been enough to just keep playing.

This morning as I sat on the futon singing for Alice, I wanted a little change, a bit more lift, a higher note: the B flat!

Listening and watching the ukulele player in the YouTube I felt a kinship to this man whose obviously run the rapids on more than one occasion. He encouraged me -- fueled me with courage -- to play the ukulele by showing me how to adjust the angle of the neck, the position of the palm, and the knuckles. I heard some tips I'd never known were applicable. From a man who has flexibility issues I could hear the advice. "I'm not an ukulele teacher,..The instrument ought to become one with the body," he says.

This really got me good, "become one with the body." As I played ukulele having fun with friends this weekend the ukulele slipped into my lap from time to time. I had to use my legs to push it into place to keep the strum going. My whole body was playing music!

Old anchors, safety pins tried-and-true are being pulled up as they lele and ho'oholo (fly off, and run) the narrow trails of life's continuation. The precession. Connecting with loved ones through music is giving me comfort. The old dog who believed she no-can, is giving it one more chance to do it a different way.

You know what I mean?

Tuesday morning Rosie emailed, " I don't know if you mailed the letter, but I want to tell you Alice passed Monday." 

I emailed back, "I did mail the letter, and it should arrive Tuesday." I attached a broken heart to the reply, sorry to be late.

Early this morning I got a fresh email from Rosie, "The letter arrived on Monday. Her sister Sarah read it to Alice before she passed. Miracle mail."

Alice, this practice with the B flat? It's for you dear friend, you always found another way! 'E lele 'oe.

Our fondest and deep aloha to the Moon Women in Keaukaha ... Jan, Sarah, Ruth,

Mokihana and Pete 

Oona McOuat has written a lovely tribute to Alice Moon on her blog here. Once again, Alice, you have moved energy from where you are!

Hula, vocalization, legacy, mahu, permeability: Kekuhi and Kaumakaiwa Kanahele

Kekuhi and Kaumakaiwa Kanahele. Watch them in a video interview-performance.
Hover over the image for a quote from that video about 'Permeability' 

On Valentine's Day Eve and Valentine's Day, 2015, Pete and I packed ourselves up, made sure I had a full tank of oxygen, caught a ferry, drove into Seattle prepared and excited to be in the Seattle Town Hall audience with mother and daughter Kekuhi Kanahele and Kaumakaiwa Kanahele. We were headed for two experiences with Kekuhi and Kaumakaiwa. One was a small(er) teaching talkstory event entitled HULA: our world consciousness. The second night, Valentine's Day, was the larger musical venue of dance and music.

We had hoped the audio record of the small talkstory event would be available to share. 'Aue, oh no, there were technical problems and that recording disappeared. We mourned the loss of that recording because its content was uncommon and powerful. That desire to repeat and re-hear the messages called. 'O kiha i ka lani. 'Owe i ka lani. Nunulu i ka lani. The effects of that night have woven into us, integrating in the na'au the gut the messages work on me, live with me, win me over. Two malama (months) have passed, and I have truly eaten the moons.*

Mahealani on Saturday night

While studying and researching, on the Mahealani Moon with the energy of the Lunar Eclipse vibing through me, I was rewarded with the discovery of this YouTube from Seattle's KEXP FM. An interview and recording with dj Darek Mazzone and Kekuhi and Kaumakaiwa fielding questions, folding exquisite, broadly poetic and cogent replies. Woven between the call and response of the interview were the vocalizations of primal, ancient and contemporary music. That interview and recording was from Friday, February 13, 2015. The mother daughter duo were in the KEXP studio not long before coming to the stage for their Seattle Town Hall presentation of HULA: our world consciousness. My kupuna were listening to my petition to hear the 'ohana for Keaukaha again. I mahalo you, my ancestors. And share the discovery below.

I have listened and watched this video four times over the weekend. It is early morning, Monday, and Hina is still bright in the northwestern sky, a Kulu moon. Hiding behind the tall bodies of the tree 'ohana in the sky of Scorpio's domain. Jupiter is already in the west, still in his retrograde motion the planet of luck will go direct on Wednesday. My astrologer says to be ready to jump forward with exuberance and positivity. Mining that with the spirit of  kilo practitioner I dig through the notes I have made as I listened and studied the mana'o of Kekuhi and Kaumakaiwa.

After their opening 'oli Ke Welina Mai Kei Kekini Lalo and incantation to Kane, Mazzone said, "Tell me everything. Tell me everything about what you guys are doing ... I wanna start with your grandmother. I guess the parallel would be she would be like the Cesar Chavez of Hawaiian Culture." That brought a roar of laughter from the Kanakaoles. Kekuhi begins to reply and describe her grandmother Edith Kanakaole. But a question pure and direct opens the way for the brilliant and esoteric program unfolding. "What is hula ... exactly?"


Kekuhi starts, "Hula is alignment of movement and vocalization. It's an environmental dance."
Kaumakaiwa builds, "It's the synchronistic form of man and nature in communion. Sometimes it parallels and sometimes it intersects. But what you can always see with hula is that awakening of the subconscious through the dance the voice through activating, the exertion of the physical body ... and the experience of transcendence."

The thirty-four minute interview is an education, a full meal deal of an offering and I will listen and dig, awakening more of me each time. It is why I love the dance that is my Hawaiian culture. So many levels and issues of hula, humanity and nature, and the power of the word, and music are encapsulated.  Kaumakaiwa blossoms with "Encapsulating [that] hum into a word ... You invoke the word. You become the word. You become the thing." Her mother punctuates, "And THAT is what our practice is all about. Kaumakaiwa concludes, "That's the basis for all our music."

Enjoy. Make room for a feast. Mahalo e na 'ohana Kanaka'ole o Kanahele.

Making space for voice

This spring in the woods I am wearing electric blue boots (waterproof, winter boots) with fuzzy orange lining and trim of that same vibrant color. My feet are short and wide and my ankles need extra support so shoes are a challenge. When I find a style and brand that works I go for it! The first winter in the woods I found a pair in a size and width that suit me; I've worn them 24/7 for three years. The backs of the boots are frayed from the many ins and outs as I put the boots on, take the boots off. We don't wear shoes or boots inside and to get from one room to another in our world one must go out into the woods.

Those electric blue boots are getting their initiation during the first days of June. Strange time for initiating a pair of winter boots, but they work just fine for me and I say, "thank you." Back inside with my feet bare and my toes freed up I'm happy to be blogging again. The break has done me good and the little gray cells and my navigational tools for crossing borders of the imagination are ripe like the salmon berries. I gobble the ideas like hungry Robin Woman and pin the energy of salmon berry magic to the page to remember them, and pass them along here.

When I was little one of the toys I relished as a girl was the phonograph. We didn't own one but my cousins did. My cousins would visit and sometimes spend the night while their mother worked. She worked at a record store, Thayer's Music in Honolulu. Along with a phonograph my cousins brought records, story records. Records, music and story easily transported me into worlds not yet known. I imagined and though it would be years before I found my own, I would learn that I had a voice. Those early records, and the time spent listening, really listening was priming me.

Writer Terry Tempest Williams said this about receiving her first voice lesson. In a talk given in Bellingham, Washington, Williams spoke about her parents and their influence on her (and her brother's) life. Williams was addressing the audience and speaking about her book When Women Were Birds. The link below takes you to the presentation. She says about her mother's influence as voice teacher "Mother had her own intensity but it was contained." Williams then describes how she and her brother sat in front of the phonograph and listened to the orchestra and narration of Peter and the Wolf. "We were introduced to the distinctive voice of each character...Within those 30 minutes I receized my first tutorial on voice. All of us has one, and each voice is distinct."

In a serendipitous connection with Terry Tempest Williams (whose books I admit to not yet reading) I inhaled the common influence of music ... making space for voice. Knowing how music can feed us the oxygen of inspiration. The mana necessary to grow where we are planted at the time to make use of space and transcend it, and time as well. Reopening my blog feels like freedom to me. Freedom opens up space in my lungs and fuels my heart to feed me 'ea ... sovereignty. The voices of fiction that tinker with my imagination love the feel of my feel in fuzzy orange lined electric boots. In those boots, my feet are ageless and agile. "Reality is what it is, but perception is King," my astrologer Satori wrote that the other day and I love repeating it. "However you frame reality creates your experience and the mind and senses are key."

And the electric blue and orange boots ... What you think?

Terry Tempest Williams http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=suPndViGWko

Listen … with your whole body … LISTEN RESPECTFULLY

R . E. S. P. E. C. T.

Sister Aretha is singing to me in The Kitchenette. R.E.S.P.E.C.T. I rock across the floor with her and dance in sock-covered feet glorious rhythm, the music takes me through the morning. My list of things to do gets done, and I have some fun. Pete's getting so close to hanging the two-piece Dutch front door. Adjustments need to be made; hanging a door is tricky. I am so lucky to live with an artist like this man. "Don't worry honey, things are going to be okay. Don't let these little things rattle you." A shim here, a shave there. He's right, I rattle a lot if left to my own devices. So, to get that rattle out I'm here at the keys taking a break from cleaning and clearing the kitchen part of the kitchenette. A nice nibble of 71% dark soy lecithin free chocolate is helping, too. I feel the welling of tears bubble and somehow they find a comfortable exit ... perhaps that is one of the exit strategies writers have always taken. Fingertips press to the shaft of the quill; then to the fountain pen; typewriter key; computer keyboard. R.E.S.P.E.C.T...

The process of moving is like hanging a door; it takes adjusting, a shim here, a shave there. We'll be moving into a smaller than The Kitchenette space and only the things we love and need will live inside VARDOFORTWO. I know those adjustments will be made, in time. Today, I focus on cleaning and clearing so I can move the table I use for sewing and cutting into the room. I clean the kitchen, sort through dishes, pots and my stack of clothes and make room. There's a progressive to this whole art project of vardo making and tiny space living. Taken out of place, or too far in advance, the art is rushed and perhaps like watercolor everything smears or become rattled. Living simply is an art project of an exquisite sort. I get to meet my old genetic memory of life with a clutter and stacker mother ... and decide if this isn't just one more of those adjustments that needs a little shim or shave. It's a journey and we love it.

We have shadow on the sidewalk so that means there's some sunshine out there. A batch of milk paint for the door can be mixed and a first coat applied to the raw oak door. It's part of the do list today, and now that I've done a bit of successful Fingertip Exit Strategy, there's room for a little more on the do list.

Hope your day is a little do, a little exit strategy that suites you and above it all, hope Sister Aretha sings a lot of R.E.S.P.E.C.T. into the day.

Aloha, Mokihana