Thursday, February 7, 2013
Bell: an anecdote
The day before yesterday, I took the children to the Rubin Museum on 17th Street for a kids' art workshop. They played with blocks, listened to a story, sort of looked at a bunch of paintings of Buddha, and made pasta necklaces. At the end, the art educator (who was wearing these fab tweed sweatpants with charmeuse pockets, maybe Zara) invited each child to ring a small Tibetan bell with a mallet, as a sort of valediction. When my older son rang the bell, she pulled her head back and looked startled. "That was a lovely ring," she said to him. "That might be the best ring I have ever heard." At first I thought nothing of this, but then one of the dads standing nearby said to my son, "Whoa. How did you do that? That was an amazing sound. So clear." And when I glanced around the room, I saw that the other adults in the room had all turned their heads to look at my son, all wearing the same startled look as the art educator. Apparently, my son had produced a marvelous tone, something magical enough to stop the room in its tracks. Strangely, though, I had noticed nothing special at all. It was not until a few minutes later that I even realized quite what had happened, and by that time my older son was running full-tilt down the sidewalk, leader of a small pack of shrieking children, and it was too late to ask him about how he had rung the bell.