Drumming in Dementiaville, Part One

Through an enormous expenditure of effort and resources, modern science is coming to the same conclusions the ancients knew from immediate experience: that life is inexorably rhythmic.

-- Layne Redmond,

in When the Drummers Were Women:
a Spiritual History of Rhythm

I read Layne Redmond's book more than 12 years ago, having been attracted to drumming eons before then. Even so, I didn't get around to taking up the djembe drum until the first of this year. Well, okay, I had one class last December -- but no drum to practice on, so that hardly counts.

The djembe drum has since inserted itself firmly into my days. Its roots are anchored in the bedrock of my soul, and it appears that I'll be a drumming diva for life.

Romeo followed in my djembe shoes...sort of. He was a reluctant drummer and wasn't impressed when I recited some of the health benefits of drumming. He didn't seem to care that a few minutes of drumming could reduce stress (well, okay, he didn't have any -- other than listening to me drum), boost his immune system, stimulate his circulation, or give a great massage to the left and right sides of his brain. I thought the idea of a brain workout would have enticed him, the possibility of coaxing his dementia to the background. But no luck.

Finally, reserving the best for last, I told him about the drum meditations we did in class. He's been a meditator since early adulthood and perked up at the mention of the word "mediation." I ran with it, knowing that his attention would be with me as long as I kept talking about drumming as it related to meditation.

"Romeo, at the end of every class we play the same rhythm over and over again, for 10 minutes or so."

"What for?"

"Well, first, it's fun. Second, you know that alpha brain waves are produced when people meditate..."

"Yes."

"That happens during drumming, too."

He picked up my drum and said, "Show me what to do."

The rest, as they say, is history. Actually, not quite. From the beginning, Romeo insisted on learning to play the djembe properly (did I mention it's a hand drum?). But he had trouble remembering how and where to hit the djembe, how to hold his hands and fingers, how to make the sounds for the bass, tone, and slap notes on the drum. I realized it didn't matter. He just needed to hit the thing. The sound that came from it didn't matter -- he just needed to hit the thing. To receive the health benefits from the drum, to meditate with the drum, he just needed to hit the thing.

After a time, Romeo was able to let go of his need to "get it right," and so he played the drum nearly every day for about 10-15 minutes. On several occasions, he played it for 40 minutes. He used random hand patterns (if you could call them that), hitting the drum first with his right hand and then switching to his left when he got tired, then back to his right again. Sometimes when he complained of his arm being tired, he didn't think to switch hands, so I suggested he use his other hand for a while. With a "eureka" look on his face (courtesy of dementia), he would change hands and keep on keeping a beat of sorts and acknowledged that drumming was good indeed.

Once Romeo was no longer able to live at home, after his fall and hospital stay, after he was discharged to the nursing home, his djembe days ended. But his drumming days weren't over.

To be continued in my next post...