Saturday 20 October 2007

Dissolving tonality single handed

There's been an outbreak of advanced naughtiness in reception, a bit like bird flu but far more serious. To combat the symptoms - excessive giggling and fidgeting - the teachers have taken to playing a little game with the children, with the aim of getting them into the music room so quietly that I - allegedly - don't notice until I turn round and am theatrically amazed by the unexpected sight of 25 children, arranged neatly in rows, almost hysterical with suppressed mirth.

The great thing about this game is that, with only a small amount of mime to suggest the rapid onset of profound deafness and advanced memory loss, I can pretend not to see the children for up to five minutes which cuts the lesson by a sixth with a minimal amount of effort on my part. Now, just before half term, I have an increasingly strong temptation not to see them at all for the entire 30 minutes and then leave. So far, I've resisted the urge. Instead, I bring down the big drum that rarely makes it downstairs on account of its size and noise, which makes the teachers jump and stops the children concentrating on spelling tests.

I ask for volunteers to try it out and every hand goes up. I survey them all, trying and failing not to enjoy the desperate looks on the faces of the children. One of the keenest, hands flapping, accompanied by cries of "Ooh, ooh, ooh," is Jodie, owner of a larger than average mouth which is always set at full gape, the better to aid her tongue's relentless search for a tasty leftover morsel of breakfast cereal; on the other, Jordan, ("Please, Mrs Phillistine,") whose presence, thanks to the ripping sound caused by the constant fastening and refastening of the velcro strap of his shoes is always audible. Conscious that, as two of the school's most irritating children, they are rarely chosen to do anything, I am overcome with a rare fit of compassion, and choose them both.

Feeling beautiful, at least inside, I arrive home, put some pasta on to boil and decide to get in a bit of piano practice.

My hands approach scales with all the alacrity of a very stupid and reluctant student being compelled to master a notoriously difficult language, like Mandarin. As they stumble up the piano, periodically barging into each other or one of the black notes, like a couple of drunks, I think how much I would have liked to meet Mahler. The books say that he left it to Berg and Shoenberg to complete the dissolution of tonality. If he'd just hung on a hundred years or so, he could, with complete confidence, have turned the job over to me.

Rushing back to the kitchen, I rescue the pasta which has stuck to the bottom of the pan and, in its few remaining millimeters of water, is now waving gently in surrender, like fronds of unlikely looking seaweed in a fast evaporating rock pool.

7 comments:

Irene said...

You really do the English language justice, even while murdering piano music and innocent spaghetti strands. I love the way you toss your verbs around. I'd be a verb or an adjective in your household any day.

Around My Kitchen Table said...

I love children at the age where you can act surprised and they buy it! My little niece (just four) found a whoopie cushion the other day and we all had to go through the charade of pretending we didn't know she'd put it on our chair. The delight on her face as we all in turn plonked ourselves down on it was priceless. Even great-grandma, aged 86 was not exempt from the game.

Motheratlarge said...

Lovely description of the pasta. I'll never look at a pan of the stuff the same way again. There'll be comfort even when I've overcooked it, because I'll think, 'Ah, yes, fronds of seaweed in fast-evaporating rock pool'. And it'll be alright.

Iota said...

Jodie and Jordan. One day they'll be famous musicians, and you'll see them interviewed on some hugely impressive chat show, and they'll say, in unison, "We would never have started on this path if it hadn't been for Mrs Phillistine giving us a turn on the big drum when we were in reception". You'll smile happily. I know you will.

Omega Mum said...

Sweet I: Glad you enjoyed it - and will pass your thanks to all the verbs, too.

AroundMKT: Was great-grandma OK? That incident surely merits a post on its own - and look forward to reading it.

M@L: Of course, the difficulty is getting the children to view it in the same way rather than complaining at length about your cooking.

Iota: It's a lovely thought. If only I were worthy of it.

Marie said...

LOLOLOL - I do this all the time too!! Just wanted to say hi and how uch I enjoy your blog! :D :D :D

Omega Mum said...

emmcee: Very glad you're enjoying it. Thanks for visiting.