Whistler

No, I'm not speaking of the fantastic BC ski location or of the Seven Dwarves, but just whistling. What you do when you put your lips together and blow. You don't hear whistling these days of little plastic blobs stuck in ears and pockets full of small things festooned with buttons and keys clicking away non-stop. The world seems to have forgotten the "instrument" that we all carry around constantly, and can use any time; electricity, micro towers and airwaves, notwithstanding. What made me think of it, a long past recollection, was an old, classic melody I happened to hear today on my sound system. It seemed very familiar and suddenly I realized why that nostalgic memory arose. My mother whistled it. She passed away some time ago and strangely I had forgotten completely how beautifully she whistled tunes. She was no singer, nor am I, but she could whistle songs like a lovely little bird. And on key. The music she chose to whistle, was usually show music, the old romantic kind about lasting love and also, the loss of it. The music I heard that made me remember her whistling, remains nameless but it is one of those things that resonate. Mom was a worker. She was a small, pretty little woman, with great drive and determination. She couldn't sit still but used her hands tirelessly, to make pretty things not only for us, her family, but also for others. She wasn't paid in dollars to do it, but did it for the sheer joy of making friendship something pleasurable and was repaid in kind. While she sewed or baked, did crafts or house chores, she whistled. I don't think she was aware that she was, in fact, whistling. It came naturally for her to whistle while she worked, just like the Seven Dwarves. Warbling, sweet notes came flitting out of her tiny mouth puckered up kiss-like and while her hands flew at whatever task she chose, so did, in same time, the tweets and lilting music. Once in awhile, if she was particularly engrossed in a certain problem to do with a turn of a seam or the basting of a complicated dart, she'd stop momentarily but then, continue on, unaware entirely that she had been in the middle of a passage of complicated notes. When she began again, not a beat was missed. No one mentioned her gift for whistling because lots of people did it in her era. All kids that I knew, tried whistling. Some had a hard time at first but everyone caught on eventually. Whistling is a lost art and could be revived as a valuable, stress relieving tool today. It's free, it's easy and you can do it anywhere, any time. If you know a song, try it. I dare you. Just put your lips together, remember a song and tweet. The real kind.