Thursday, December 27, 2012

word: stridulous



 

stridulous

\ STRIJ-uh-luhs \  , adjective;
1. Also, strid·u·lant . Making or having a harsh or grating sound.
2. Pathology . Pertaining to or characterized by stridor.

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                A harsh, grating screech filled the small room as the young boy drew his bow roughly along the strings of his violin.  Amelia resisted the urge to cringe at the sound, instead offering a warm, encouraging smile.
                “That was a very…nice first try Derrick.”  She said.  The boy gave a wide smile at the compliment, his missing baby teeth making his mouth look like a mini piano keyboard.  “But maybe you should try to be a bit gentler with your bow.”
                “How come?” Derrick asked, his smile turning into a quizzical line.
                “Because the violin likes it when you’re gentle.”  She said, bracing herself for the inevitable question.
                “Why?”  The boy asked.  Amelia smiled through her frustration.  She had been teaching music to children for almost ten years, and that one question never failed to show itself in just about every lesson.  She knew the response by heart.
                “Because when you move the bow along the strings too hard, you hurt it.  That’s why it was screaming like that.  But when you move it lightly, you’re tickling it.  The music is the violin laughing.”  She said.  It was like clockwork for her.  And it usually worked.  The results were never perfect, but it was a start.  Her job was to get the students making sounds instead of noise.  Actual music would come later.
                Derrick thought about her words for a bit.  Amelia was just glad he was one of the nicer kids that would at least try to do what she said.  Some of the meaner kids would actually press on the strings harder after she said that.  The results were not pleasant, and the harsh noises could even border on painful sometimes.
                “But when I pluck the strings you say to do that harder.”  Derrick said.
                Amelia had started the violin lessons by teaching the students pizzicato, which was playing by plucking the strings instead of using the bow.  It got them used to handling the instrument, but some of the more inquisitive or compassionate students found fault with that once she gave her tickle reason for lightening up on the bow.  Like her previous response, she had this one memorized to the point where she could recite it in her sleep.
                “Well, you know when you’re really tired in the morning and your mommy has to come in and nudge you awake?  Plucking the strings is kind of like that.  So the harder you pluck them, the easier it is to wake up the violin.  Then it likes to be tickled by the bow.”  She said. 
She knew it was completely inaccurate, even with what she was trying to do, but it would work until Derrick understood enough about music to know what was actually happening.  Until then, she would try to make music more appealing to him in the same way she always did.  By telling students the violin had feelings and likes and dislikes, she hoped to make music more enjoyable by making it seem less like a chore and more like being with a good friend.  It had its difficulties, but she also noticed that it tended to make students more willing to play that those taught in a more conventional manner.  Of course, that may have just been because of her own bias showing her only the successes, but she didn’t much care about such things.  Derrick, one of the five violin students this year, seemed to be shaping up to be another of her successes.
                He looked at the violin intently for a bit, then smiled.  He nodded his understanding of her words.  He raised the instrument up to his chin and began another attempt at the A note.  Again, the sharp, grating screech filled the room.  However, it wasn’t quite as bad as it had been the first time.  Amelia smiled through the buzzing in her ear.  He might turn out well enough, but it would take quite some time, just as it had with all her previous students.  It was what kept her going really. 
                “Better.”  She said.  The boy looked up and smiled his big, gapped toothed grin.  He churned out another horrendously grating note.  The only thought that ran through Amelia’s head as he tried to play were: ‘this is going to take awhile’.
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I used to play the violin in school.  My teacher didn't say things like this to me though.  Also, music! 

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