“Do you know what time it is, Nana?” Devon asked as thunder rumbled and rain fell. “It’s music time!”
Kathy and I have learned that 5:20 p.m. to 5:50 p.m. is not an ideal time for beginning swim lessons in an outdoor pool during a Massachusetts’ summer. Thunderstorms already wiped out two of Devon’s seven lessons and a third took place in the rain.
No matter. Devon, two weeks from Age 4, goes with the flow, or, more often, creates her own. “Music time” at our house usually means breaking out the Putumayo Cuban Jazz CD, grabbing the pillow case of instruments, and pulling red doggie, little doggie and bear from behind the couch (hey, every musician needs a dance partner).
We’ve got drums, tambourine, cymbals, a triangle, castanets, a xylophone, marimbas and other stuff (we’re multi-talented instrumentalists at our house). When music time starts they all get dumped on the rug beside the “dance floor,” and we set to work making somewhat rhythmic noise.
Today Devon had us fashion a curtain from a sheet for the imaginary audience. And when I left the room for a few minutes she and Kathy had refashioned it into a music tent with the help of two chairs.
“Ada (that’s me),” she said. “You have to take your shoes off to get in the tent.”
I negotiated sticking them out the tent door instead and we banged and rattled away.
Then it was time for full spins, a shoulder lift and a little salsa before driving back to mom’s. If Devon missed her swim lesson she didn’t let on.
There’s nothing quite like being a grandparent — even if the living room needs a little help when our little whirlwind departs.