Cruising the Canyon

A few years ago, my daughter gave me a book called 1,000 Places to See Before You Die. Being an avid traveler, I decided that visiting those destinations was a worthy if impossible goal. So far, I have visited only 30 of the 1,000 places; however, I have discovered a few places in my travels that really should be included on anyone's bucket list even though they are not included in the book. One such place is Chaco Canyon. Recently my husband, our son, and I journeyed to Northwestern New Mexico to view the ancient ruins at Chaco Canyon. We were awestruck!
The ruins are part of ancient Puebloan culture and are located on the Navajo Reservation near Farmington, New Mexico. The site is maintained by the National Park Service, and according to the web site, the roads to the National Historical Park are just barely passable. In fact the web site warns visitors not to rely on GPS devices. After traversing miles and miles of unpaved, bone-rattling roads, we decided that the National Park Service's description of the route was vastly understated. After creeping over washboard quality trails at a maximum of 20 mph, we began to have doubts about our quest to see the ruins. But I am so glad we persevered.
The ruins comprise several Great Houses, which are multi-story stone buildings consisting of hundreds of rooms. The Great Houses date back 1,000 years, and judging from the different styles of masonry in each building, they were constructed over hundreds of years. Even more amazing were the huge circular kivas. They look like modern-day stadiums. No one is exactly sure what took place in the kivas, but experts believe they were possibly used for religious ceremonies.
Walking where those ancient people lived, worked, and celebrated was an experience unequaled in my lifetime. I can't help but speculate on the lives that took place there and admire a culture so advanced that they could build such imposing structures without the aid of modern machinery. If the author of 1,000 Places to See Before You Die ever visits Chaco Canyon, I think she will surely have to revise her book.

Me and My Piano

I am pursuing a life-long dream. No, I am not taking a round-the-world cruise or running the Boston Marathon. I am learning to play the piano. I know that when many people read this, the old adage about old dogs and new tricks will come to mind. In fact, my piano teacher told me before I embarked on this adventure that adults with no prior music training find learning to play the piano very difficult. Well, I never thought it would be easy, but I figured it was now or never. While my youth has faded, I still have a semi-functioning brain, and it could use the exercise.

Speaking of age, the majority of piano players learned during childhood. They can hardly remember a time when they did not know how to play. I was not so fortunate. As a child, I remember longing to take piano lessons, but I was never allowed to do so. The reasons were never very clear to me. Maybe it was religious reasons, maybe it was money, or maybe it was the fact that I am the youngest of eight children, and my parents were reluctant to do for me what they did not do for my older siblings. Probably one reason was that my mother did not drive and had no way to get me to lessons. I would have gladly ridden my bike. Whatever the reason, I grew up feeling like I had missed out on something very basic. So when I had my own children, I made sure that they took piano lessons. Two of my children looked upon the lessons as the gift that I intended it to be, but my other child had a somewhat lower opinion of the whole thing. I still contend that sometime in the future years he will thank me.

When the children grew up and moved away, the piano sat forlornly in my living room collecting dust and knicknacks. Then one day I heard a colleague who is my age talking about taking piano lessons, and I thought, "Why not me?" So I dusted off the piano and called the teacher. This was right before Christmas, and I thought, "Next year, maybe I will be able to play Christmas songs." The following January I started my piano-playing odyssey. And it has been quite a journey.

First, I had to learn to read music, which consists of notes and symbols. Then what was in my brain had to be transferred to my hands. This is where it became tricky. I have two hands, but apparently my left hand had been added to my body only for symmetry because it was totally useless. Nevertheless, my left hand had to be called into action and made to perform independently from my right hand. I needed either to have two brains or to be able to split the one I have. To add to the confusion are all the little symbols that I have to remember. For instance, there are rests. A rest says stop playing for a number of beats. The rests look like panama hats and ink splotches. The length of the rest depends on the size of the splotch or whether the hat is upside down or right side up, which is a lot to translate in the middle of a song.

Interpreting the written music aside, probably the most perplexing thing about playing the piano is the rhythms. I have always been clumsy and nonathletic,so I appear to have no rhythm. However, I have discovered that I do have rhythm living deep inside me. It just takes a monumental effort to get it out. For instance, a couple of weeks ago, I was learning a new song called "Just Struttin' Along." It has a tricky, bluesy kind of rhythm, and as I played the song, I could feel the rhythm inside me, and sometimes during the course of the song, it almost surfaced. Both hands began to fall into the swing of things, at least enough to give me hope.

As for playing Christmas songs--I have played beautiful holiday music the last two Christmases. I may not have always played the music correctly, but my joy and sense of accomplishment were right on key.