My grandmother (my father’s mother) loved to sing while she cooked. Folk songs, church songs, musical theater numbers, whatever popular songs were on the radio at the time – that’s what she sang throughout the day as she did her daily housework. Because it was the 1980’s, I’d hear Linda Ronstadt and Barbara Streisand, Dolly & Kenny mixed in with church hymns. My favorite time of year was Christmas. My aunt played at the piano (and later me), while Gramma, my other aunts, my dad, uncle, and cousins sang in four-part harmony. It felt casual in her house, yet magical to think that our own voices together could make such wonderous music together.
Simple pleasures: campfire songs. There was Jim Croce, Bob Dylan, my dad and his cousins bellowing out “Mr. Bojangles” after a couple of beers. Gramma liked the folk tunes: Red River Valley, Shenendoah, Edelweiss. She’d sing silly songs too, songs I’d only heard in Betty Boop cartoons, old-fashioned, from a time two generations before me. She’d sing “shoe fly pie and apple pan dowdie makes your eyes light up and your tummy say howdee.” These lyrics were famously amusing to my siblings and me. This one she’d sing while mixing up dough and peeling apple skins. Later, while we at it, ice cream dripping down our chins.
After my grandmother died, I asked my dad what songs she had sung to him as a little boy. He remembered “Nature Boy,” the old Nat King Cole song.
Today, I listened to a podcast from Jeralyn Glass about the healing effects of humming. Even without knowing words or melody to a song, the sound of a simple hum tells the body to create more oxygen and less cortisol (the stress hormone). After a headache, I hum various pitches to make the place in my forehead that hurts, vibrate some. This is, I know from my studies as a Certified Clinical Musician, a type of entrainment. One of the most fascinating stories of entrainment is that of Dutch scientist Christiian Huygens in 1665. His is a famous of example of how two clock pendulums swinging in different began to match in rhythm. In the case of this century’s old science experiment, two inanimate objects have proven that they can synch up in rhythmic time. In my case, I apply my humming voice like salve to sooth the physical pain.
I hum after the most painful part of my headache has subsided. I move my hum up and down in pitch and volume until it finds a match on the left side of my head. In that place, the hum replaces the witless state of my mind with a gentle touch.
Lately, I have gotten into the habit of playing the radio a lot in the kitchen while I cook and my son plays other side of the room. We keep one another company with the radio songs of my choice (new harp tracks, jazz, classical, the local independent station that plays roots, rock & soul) or his requests – soundtracks to Studio Ghibli or Star Wars movies. I haven’t been singing as much.
After my headache and humming episode, I feel inspired to sing. When my son gets home from school I hum “Nature Boy.” Then, I lazily find the words. Maybe I can remember them? Knowing the words doesn’t really seem to matter while humming. Nature Boy is a short song with a melancholy feel.
My son asks, “What song is that?”
I tell him it’s a song whose notes sound sad, but the words are about a magical boy. The lyrics have a beautiful message about life. The word for that is bittersweet. Bitter for the way the song sounds, but sweet because of the message in the words: “the greatest thing you’ll ever learn is just to love, and be loved in return.”
