The sound of handbell choirs from around the state filled the Spirit bank Spirit center today. And while the crowd of about 100 people who came to hear the final outcome of the HOURS of practice today at 3 o’clock was small, it didn’t take away from the beauty of the music or the sense of accomplishment felt by those who arrived at 8 a.m. and began getting ready for a full day of instruction. There were big bells and little bells, mallets and chimes, 8th notes and quarter notes and fermatas and fortes.
Getting used to the many facets of playing the bells has been a challenge for me. My music “education” ended when I dropped out of band in 9th grade when most of the cute boys did (my main reason for being in it). So that was roughly 40 years ago. When I was asked by a lady at Church if I could read music, I thought she meant the words….not the notes. Actually I knew what she meant and knowing the All Good Boys Do Fine and FACE treble staff I thought I could wing it. Boy was I shocked when I show up and have the Bass Clef totally foreign to me) and an entirely different scale to learn. All Cows Eat Grass may be a good way to remember the space on the bass scale, and good boys do fine always for the lines; but tell that to a 52 year old mind that has never had to play that scale before. Reciting All Cows Eat Grass after every note to figure out if I was supposed to play didn't work...slowed practice down to snails pace while everyone waited for me!
When I first started playing, the handbell director, Keith, who is absolutely awesome, was sooooooooooo patient with me. He even brought me colored music tape and marked my notes with it for the first few months. Next up, I had to learn how to count time. Also very important. Then I had to learn how to actually ring the bell, something I still struggle with. He gave me a tip saying pretend you have a glass of wine in your hand and you raise it up and back down in a fluid motion without spilling it. Well, after about the 3rd glass while practicing it I didn’t care about technique. I had to switch to pretending I had a glass of water in a wine glass that I didn’t want to spill!!
Once that was finally accomplished, or at least passable, I had to start paying attention to things like forte and mezzo forte and pianissimo or something like that which indicate how loud to ring the bell. That was a challenge in itself.
I still don’t know what piazza means. I thought he was saying we were having pizza after practice. And I got my feeling hurt once when he called me a retard. Well, he didn’t call me that, he said I needed to do that. Slight misunderstanding.
The bell ringers on each side of me, both accomplished musicians practically had to tie their hands behind their backs to control the urge to grab my bells and play them for me sometimes.
And after a year of playing, I haven’t even attempted the chimes. Lord, help me when I decide I can move on to those. Especially on songs that require you do both bells and chimes. I will look like I'm having a seizure trying to pick up the right one and the right note.
Just picking up the right bell at the right time and ringing it at the right speed and the right level of sound can stress me to the max at times. Yet I always walk away from practice feeling very proud of myself as little by little, baby step by baby step I am becoming a bona fide bell ringer.
And so, I thank my fellow ringers who hung with me as I re-trained myself not to say damn or shit when I missed a note (doesn’t go over big in Church…especially during a performance.) I stifled that with a grimace which eventually I learned to stifle with a blank expression and an "I meant to do that attitude."
Today, there was one song that stole my heart and caused me to choke back tears. It wasn’t the song though “Beautiful Savior” did bring back fond memories of childhood Church experience. It was the ringers. As the row of retirees from a Sr. Living center filed into the row and picked up their chimes and played their heart out, my heart went out to them. I hope that 20-30 years from now, I’m still ringing.
It was a rather touching sight to see these determined and proud older folks praising God through their song.
My feet are killing me, my back feels like someone beat it with a bat, my head is throbbing from all that concentration, my stomach is unsettled from having to eat lunch at lighting speed to get back to practice on time. But I’d do it again. And will next year God willing.
I may not be using a talent that comes naturally, but I am giving it my best shot. With this “ring” I thee praise.
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