Carpal tunnel syndrome happens most often, shocking, in the hand you eat and write and throw with. For most people it's their right. These days its the side of the computer with the mouse. This summer I've felt the strain on my tendons build up quicker than ever before because for the first time in my life it is my job to sit still on a computer for as long as I want, planning lessons. Teacher stuff. IT's tedious, but far more enjoyable than actually teaching. This little glow comes into my heart everytime I think of a new way to present vocabulary or grammar, or a new way to split the class into teams. That idealism comes back for a couple minutes with every lesson I plan. Soon after is the bone crushing despair that comes with realizing this student or that student, will do this or that which will bring the whole activity crashing down and then I realize why I like planning so much more than implementing.
But! This is all beside the point. I break up the plans (sluggishly written, at a pace of one per 45 minutes) with writing my own stuff, stuff like blogs or poems or self analysis or letters. The less I write the less I think and if I think nothing for a whole day then I feel stupid, thus, lots of writing. Anyway, by about noon, I start feeling the strain in my right hand …
Luckily for my right hand, strumming guitar does not take too much effort. Holding down chords does. Lefty does chords!
Kitty is my guitar, so named by Josh Riese because she is Kitty Kat Red. Josh Cross gave me her two and a half years ago for Christmas, and it was love at first sight. All her accents are a creamy color that accents on the red in a way that invokes lacquered pin up girls from the 50s. She has all nice metal strings that tune easily and hold their tuning for a long time. She has small wear spots where I hold her down or hold her up most often, she picks up and reverberates a bit at certain pitches of my voice even when she's in her case.
When Josh gave me her, and gave me lessons and encouragement for a year, I often got frustrated and worked on specific chord changes on repeat until I cried. Josh would put her down and tell me I was improving, he could hear it etc. I never believed him. When I left for Moldova I left Kitty behind, thinking I would be so busy bringing democracy to another nation I wouldn't be able to play. I was wrong. Between tutoring, teaching and planning there are gaps of space and time that I wander around the village or clean things or watch movies or stare at the chickens or play hide and seek with Lulu. It's a rough life, I know, and something was missing.
Elise brought Kitty to England when we met last month and I brought her from England to Balatina. I've been playing again for a week and was shocked at how much muscle memory there was in my fingers. After relooking up some chord structures, I was strumming away almost as well as I was before the year interim. Difference: Now I can look up new songs and just start playing at already half the strength! Never would this have happened in Shepherdstown. I'd get screwed up over it and curse my fingers. Did my hand become more dextrous with all the lesson planning? Was the winter so hard that my standards have significantly lowered, allowing for relaxation?
I asked Jeremy once when I would get it, when would I make any progress. He told me I'd wake up one day and be able to transfer between chords. What a guru he turned out to be! Only took me a year of not touching the thing!
Maybe the air of Moldova has something to do with it. For all it turns my boogers strange colors, and gives me constant headaches, Moldovans love music more than Americans love McDonalds. Kittys a new darling in the family. There has always been singing for no apparent reason at most dinners, in Moldovan, Romanian, Russian and Ukrainian. Kareoke is a must for every party. They don't call it kareoke, and it's a profession. When I bring up the concept they look at me like I'm stupid and say, “but it's not humorous, it's joyful, everybody does it.”
The first time anyone sees Kitty, they exclaim over her existence. Then they exclaim over her redness. Then they exclaim over my hidden talents. (I've sung here twice in public, both times The Star Spangled Banner, verse 1) They ask to touch her, to strum her. I let them of course, it's so cute how excited they get. They try a couple things, tentatively, I ask if they want lessons (horror of horrors to the world, Erika teaching guitar!) and they shake their heads.
When school starts I have two students in mind to ask if they want earnest lessons. Mostly this will consist of me letting them come over and practice in my room while I read. There is one guitar in the whole village, no teacher, and tons of enthusiasm.
