Teamwork

My husband and I enjoy ferreting out music that is not likely to be found on the Top 20 list. We follow leads from such sources as the Prairie Home Companion show to Amazon’s “customers who bought this item also…” As we listened to the sound track of a movie this past week, I was startled by a background instrumental that I was sure couldn’t be authentic. The sound was that of a pump organ. After checking the CD information, my suspicions were confirmed. The instrument I was enamored with was, indeed, an old-fashioned pump organ.

I was immediately transported back to the musty smelling basement of my grandmother’s house. Buried amongst the old National Geographic magazines, World Book Encyclopedias and dusty jars of home canned peaches was a beleaguered, but glorious, pump organ. My cousins, my sisters and I were fascinated with its possibilities and also challenged by its technical demands. The only way the sound could be produced was to create an airflow from the continuous pumping of the pedals. Because we were young and therefore, rather short in stature, we were unable to reach the pedals and play the keyboard at the same time.  This, of course, required teamwork. One child was relegated to pushing the ponderous pedals with all their might while the other prodigy played the keyboard with a virtuosity that only a mother could love. I don’t remember how we decided who would play what part and for how long. I do remember, however, that we somehow worked it out. The haunting sounds still ring in my ears and I long for a chance to play an old-fashioned pump organ again. I think I am tall enough now to play and pump the pedals at the same time.

It strikes me that we have lost some of our interdependence with one another. Technology has not only made it possible to play any instrument we desire with the touch of a button, but we are also able to do so without the help of any other human being. I’m not saying this is a bad thing, but I do wonder if it is all good. I would have preferred to play that pump organ all by myself so I could create the sounds I wanted, unencumbered by the need to stop and take my turn pedaling. Tag teaming my way through a song, however, taught me that the world was not all about me. I learned that taking turns was a part of life. I learned that making music with a pump organ was a collaborative effort. I started tuning the art of compromise and negotiation. And, yes, I discovered that disagreements happen wherever two or three are gathered.

Our fast food, high speed, instant gratification world has fueled our insatiable appetite for me-ness. Wanting to do things our way is as old as Goldilocks and the Olympics. I, for one, am glad that I found a song with a pump organ droning in the background so I can be reminded of a time when I needed other human beings to make music.