Skip to main content

Playing Cards

My daughter was messing around on her grandmother's piano yesterday and I noticed that she very methodically lined up the cards first and then "played" to them.  After a short spurt of "music", she would re-arrange the cards and substitute some of them for new ones.  Musical playing cards.  Of course.  52 notes, a multitude of combinations that produce a whole new range of melodies.  You just have to learn a new set of notes.  What songs would they combine to create? Which card would be your favourite? Which suit? Hmmm, hmmm, hmmm. Makes me want to play a hand. How about you?  I can picture myself clutching a handful of cards as I fall to sleep, a sleep that brings a dream of lullabies I haven't heard yet.
Labels:

Comments

  1. introphoto2/13/2012 5:58 pm

    This is such a beautiful idea. It kind of reminds me of John Cage's work as well - our idea of music being re-arranged by say silence, or in this case, playing a hand of cards. Beautiful image, I love it. Sheilah

    ReplyDelete
  2. MotherOfGooses2/13/2012 7:32 pm

    thanks for letting me know about John Cage, Sheilah. I checked him out a little. Fascinating. I found this youtube video of a recent version of his 4'33 and it makes you think about finding/expressing music through silence in the age of the blackberry.
    http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fPZYyq8LoxA
    it's hard to give over to that silence! xo erin

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

A Small Craft

I accompanied my mother-in-law to an appointment this week. On the paper, preparing her for the appointment, it invited her bring along something to read or a small craft. As soon as I heard about this invitation to bring a small craft into an otherwise austere waiting area, my mind started to do bouncing somersaults in many different directions. Googly eyes? Glue gun? Feathers? Play clay? Friendship braclets?
4 comments
Read more

Bringing her back

 As the first anniversary finally passed, I exhaled.  The sadness still nibbled away at the edges, but not clawing deep into my chest like it had been with varying degrees of ferocity in the twelve months previously.  She died in early summer, so I plunged into ocean and lakes and ate fruit straight from the plant.  The grief became softer, the folk songs carried me along in the potato patch we planted in therapy. But then, I started to miss her.  The deep grief kept her so close and now as the pressure eased, so did her presence.  I held my breath and decided to be really sad this morning just to see her face.  To sit in her prescence.  My breath became jagged as I cried for her, for us.   This Taylor Swift cover  by Marc Maron broke me right open this morning.  Here's to staying broken open enough to keep your loved ones close. And then, I walked into her garden. The garden she envisionied, planted over and over and still pre...
Post a Comment
Read more

The words coming out of my mouth

  These days I wear a mask. I don't wear a mask all of the time, only when I am indoors or unavoidably up close with people who I don't usually interact with.  I wear one when I am ordering things, or buying things or attempting to enjoy some form of public entertainment.  I cannot rely on reading others lips. My lips are hidden. We ask each other to repeat.  We move our eyes or our whole heads to try and enunciate more clearly.  I say fewer words, more carefully chosen words behind the mask. Sometimes that is helpful, sometimes that just causes more confusion. I walked into the woods. I did not need a mask.  I only saw a few other people and they were distanced. Masks were unnecessary. After so much talking and not talking and avoiding talking out loud I am forced to examine when I speak and when I choose not to. This is not a bad thing since I can be an insufferable chatter box, just a new thing for my brain to adjust itself to. When I am not standing aro...
2 comments
Read more