Community

Where did the time go? I can't believe I completely missed writing a blog entry last week. Every year, the second week of December fills with school requirements, holiday performances, colds and flu; and every year I'm surprised.

Every year, too, I feel slightly depressed at this time, feeling the gap between the shining stores, bouncing TV ads, and ever-present requests by strangers and friends alike to have a merry holiday. I sat down yesterday and thought about the reason for the season in addition to its religious expression. Two experiences I had this past Saturday came to mind. That day I sang with SWEET Theater's caroling group (formerly the Piccola Carolers of Opera Piccola) at the Temescal Holiday Stroll on Telegraph Avenue. One of our singers was sick (didn't I mention winter colds already?), so the three of us in our 1890 hats and capes caroled in the small neighborhood shopping area between 51st and 49h Streets.

We sang inside Ruby's Garden and Peet's Coffee. We sang for a long line in the Post Office to wild applause. We sang for two little boys and a mom with a baby in a stroller outside the hair salon. Each time, some looked up from a laptop or from where they stood and smiled. Some stopped and listened, some sang along. And some said, "that was beautiful." The wonder of this random musical exchange with strangers on the street cannot be explained. But when we crossed Telegraph Avenue, something even more magical happened. A reggae band was playing outside of the cafe/restaurant, and we couldn't sing our traditional carols near their amplified sound. We stopped to listen a moment. Their rhythm sounded like the rhythm of the words, "jingle bells." So I started singing that carol to their melody. Instantly Jo Parks and Steven Gary(amazing bass and tenor) began improvising in perfect reggae style and in perfect harmony. For ten minutes, the three of us jammed with the four musicians, twisting and turning and echoing riffs back and forth while coffee drinkers peered out the window smiling and shoppers danced. Who can explain why I felt joy then? Was it a letting go, a connecting, a celebration?

Two hours later I returned to the same corner on Telegraph to meet some students in my Chorus/Voice class from Oakland Technical High School. The class practices about six times per month after school, like a club. After warming up and putting on our scarves, Santa hats and reindeer antlers, we began our caroling stroll on the same route I had just walked with our Victorian trio. Students had brought relatives and friends to listen; we gave many of them hats too, so our 10 singers sang with 15 teenagers, moms and younger siblings following.

Again, the magic happened that defies media stereotypes and replicates a tradition associated with past centuries. The hour we spent was not Glee, was not American Idol or America's Got Talent. Our motley group sang on the street for passersby in the same way that groups of neighbors used to go outside at the holidays and sing outside houses. The chorus of beginning singers can't sing in parts yet. They sang in unison in clear, young, quiet voices, faces concentrating on remembering the words. But strangers who passed by stopped to listen, because they were moved by the innocent hearts of these shy 14 to 17 year old singers, expressed in their courageous singing.

The thing I will remember most happened inside a small store called Sagrada, a beautiful warm shop with a glowing Christmas tree, stacks of colorful books and softly lit pictures on the walls. We needed a quiet place away from traffic to sing "Silent Night" and the store owner kindly invited us in, crowding between the displays. Kai, our student guitarist, sat on a wooden straight backed chair and started the song, focusing on each careful note. Nereida and Kenya sang the solos and the chorus joined the second time through. "Silent night, holy night, all is calm, all is bright." The large group that followed us inside grew completely still and quiet, even the toddlers. For those two minutes in that hushed space we were one, a listening feeling community: the season.