It's beginning to feel a bit like Christmas

At last.

The last concerts were last week.

The Soul Train singers bravely sang, not only in English , but also improvising a wee bit, in a soulful way, and without looking at their lyrics. I belong to the egalitarian school of music where I make sure everybody gets to sing a little solo which corresponds with their skill level rather than piling it all onto one singer. There were too many of my other singing students for them to sing individually, so we performed “these boots are made for walking”, all together, with great gusto, and, of course, wearing boots. Another carol concert nearly got cancelled in the snow, but Mysweet was persuaded to drive me there and back with the lure of mince pies.

And the last class with my autistic musicians was this morning.

We were in party mood, chocolate Father Christmas’s were handed out, the keyboard played Jingle Bells virtually on its own, and we danced to an absolutely awful French classic called Petit Papa Noël, which I will be happy to put back in the sheet music cupboard until next year. The Boy who says Oui (who is in fact 22 years old), was not there since, being a victim of over excitement he had to go home early yesterday. He had been shouting and yelling so much that even a spell in the quiet room had failed to calm him. Apparently being at home doesn’t help much either because he rampages through the house looking for anything wrapped in sparkly paper and has at it.

As for me, well I am going downstairs from the chilly office to thaw out my feet in front of the fire, put my nice warm laptop on my knees and have a look to see what you are all up to…

Merry Christmas everyone!

The boy who just says oui

...was agitated when I arrived for the music class.
He is a large, slow moving and usually placid teenager. He is very gentle and the other students like to come and place their palms on his cheek.
His habits lead him unerringly, as though on tram rails, through the routines of Thursdays. He is never hurried but he always heads straight to the music room and sits in his chair the moment I place it in position. He waits patiently as I try to get the two others into the room and persuade them to sit still. Sometimes he claps his hands together sharply and listens to the echoes in the room and grins.
But this Thursday, he hurried towards me when I went to collect them at the meeting room.
He stopped in front of me, his face uncomfortably close.
He gestured behind him with his thumb.
And then he mimed steering the wheel of a car.
He placed his thumb on his cheek and gestured forward.
And he made a triangular shape with his hands.
He continued to mime driving a car to me with increasing agitation.
The carer explained to me that yesterday he had been out in the car and they had been for a long walk. And tomorrow he is going in the car to see his family at his house.
But he wants to get in the car now and go now.
I tell him that it is music time and when we make up the songs we will do one for him about visiting home.
Next to the music room is an area with art materials.
I put the chairs into position and he takes my hand and leads me to the art area and shows me a beautiful mosaic of the sea and a dolphin in delicate shades of blue.
It is a present for his mother.
He takes me back there three times to show me before he can settle to music.
We sing a song about home and presents and mums.