Commentary: I'll be your audience

I grew up in a musical household. The longer it's been since I lived with that pack of musicians, the more amazing it feels. It was, however, not at all amazing when I lived with them. It was pleasant, sure, but nothing special. We get used to what we're used to. It was basic and ordinary to have two pianos in the living room. Typical to have my father's double-bell euphonium in the attic. Maybe it was in the attic; it could have lived there – his trombone could have lived next to it up there, too. Other instruments Dad played: guitar, trumpet, recorder – this last not very often. But those pianos ... My older younger brother played the trumpet, too. He doesn't play the horn anymore – but now he has five or six guitars of various ages and sizes. And he sings/practices weekly in a quartet they call The Bourbon Boys. Like me, my sister took piano lessons but stopped before I did. For a while, she played the violin. She also sang. And she's kept singing. For years, she has directed her own women's choir (mountainmelody.org). She also sings with a couple of other smaller groups. I took piano and grumbled about practicing most of the time. My attitude: Gimme a book, please, over almost anything else. But I let myself learn to read music – it was just necessary in that house. Mother played the piano, too, but needed music in front of her. Like I do. The youngest in the family? He inhaled the piano. I hope you understand what I mean. Early on in his involvement, his brother raced to Dad to tattle on him: "He's not looking at the music sheet when he's playing," he complained. True. Jim caught and tamed the tune (which tune? Geez, name one ...) and was noodling around, trying this, then that, making the music his. He was – oh gee, what? Maybe 7? Later, he also played the double bass. Still does. And he's always played the piano. For years, it's been a gift to listen to him. Especially when Dad was alive – the two of them would jam on the living room pianos, tickling those ivories, grinning and thrilling at what they could do together. When I was younger, I took the fact of musicians around me for granted. Yes, I admired them and appreciated their skill but figured it was no big deal. I don't think that anymore. Any time I realize someone can kick a tune around, I get chills. I stop and listen. I pay attention. I'm a good audience member. I may be the only audience member, but I hope not. I want more than just myself listening – I also want to catch the eye of anyone else listening. I mention my musical past because recently it came back clearly, but slowly. Drinking coffee and reading at a Depoe Bay table two Mondays ago, I finally became aware of music in the air ... somewhere close. I stood and approached the back room. And there they were, the Gold Country Strummers (goldcountrystrummers.org), one of Auburn's several ukulele groups. Turns out they meet and play from 10 a.m. to noon on Mondays. These 17 musicians, led by John Pontious, were having a serious – yet enthusiastic – time, strumming and singing together. You may roll your eyes at the mention of ukuleles. Oh big deal, you may mutter. They're just humble instruments. But it's like a bunch of bees, or an ant colony. Little things by themselves, sure. Put them together? It's a community. And the more members in any community, the stronger they can be. Delightful, too. I stood in the doorway for a song and a half, occasionally joined too briefly by another curious listener. I really didn't want to attract attention to myself, thus distracting one or another, so after applauding and thanking, I moved back to a table. But a closer one this time. At a (closer) table, I listened to how these musicians worked together, happily charming each other and charming those who let themselves get caught by them. And then they started singing "Splish Splash I Was Takin' a Bath," and I couldn't stay where I was. I stood behind new member Karen Kotoske – also new to Auburn. She was playing and singing, and because I saw the words, I sang, too. And I thought about what I was doing. I was their audience, just like when I was growing up. The enjoyer, the one paying attention ... at least, when I didn't have my nose in a book. And this time, I wasn't taking their skill for granted. How wonderful, I finally realized. It's a good (great!) thing to create, to perform, write, act. A great thing to strum well and happily. But don't you need someone to do this for? Don't you need enthusiastic ears and eyes, smiles to see, gasps and chuckles to hear? The more hands to applause, the better. I'll be your audience. I'll provide the hands to applaud. I'll delight in your skill and admire you. And I'll thank you for impressing me and making me happy. Susan Rushton's opinion column appears regularly in the Auburn Journal. Her email is goldcountrydenizens@gmail.com.