“Please tell me what you want from me!” I raged at the pain in my shoulder that I had carried for more than 20 years. I knew there had to be an emotional root to it and I was intent on pulling it out once and for all. I’d shouldered years of pain from spousal abuse and other burdens that eventually resulted in my shoulder literally becoming unhinged in 2005. And here I was in 2025 still piecing myself back together before the holidays.
Buy a drum set, the little voice in my head said in reply.
Huh? I wondered, feeling more than a little frustrated that this was the response to my physical agony. I had done my share of chiropractic, acupuncture, hours of daily weight lifting exercises, frozen shoulder wall exercises, supplements, prayer, meditation, massages and more to resolve the issue. I’d even gone so far as to try to ignore that I had any pain. The result was minimal and temporary relief. So, buy a drum set made absolutely no sense to me at all, as I assumed that meant more agonizing physical movement of my shoulder. Not to mention that it had been 53 years since I had played drums, with the exception of an hour playing an electric drum set which felt horribly lifeless to me. Oh, and not to mention that I was never exactly a virtuoso. In fact, I never even enjoyed playing the drums. I just played them because my Dad wanted me to play them in our family band. So, buy a drum set? I sighed heavily, feeling skeptical. Nevertheless, I shrugged in defeat and picked up my phone. I know better than to ignore the little voice when it speaks to me.
“Hey, Allie, do you have a drum set for sale?” I called my friend while driving into Sedona.
“Uh, yeah, sure,” he said, much to my dismay. It looked like I was cornered by the little voice, as it was much too tempting to buy one of Allie’s kits. I knew it would be a good one, played by a true virtuoso. At least if I didn’t end up playing it, it would warm my heart that my new “coat rack” (which it would likely end up becoming) would at least have sentimental value.
Before I knew it, I was in possession of a bright red Ludwig drum set with two cymbals, two toms, a snare, a bass drum, floor drum, a high hat with no cymbals (waiting on Amazon to deliver high hat cymbals) and two sets of drum sticks. “I doubt I’ll ever break even one of these sticks,” I said to my friend, Ricky, rolling my eyes. He’d helped set up the kit. Pathetically, I discovered that I didn’t even know how to set up the drum set. My brother used to do that part for me when we played gigs. Ricky laughed knowingly.
Good Lord, what have I done? I’m 65 years old, I’m a terrible drummer, my shoulder still hurts, and I don’t even know how to begin playing, I thought. I took comfort in the fact that I didn’t have the high hat cymbals yet, so I already had my first excuse to not play, i.e. my drum set was not complete.
Days later, I stood in the hallway and gazed at the drums that sat unused in my guest bedroom, still waiting for high hat cymbals. I noticed that the sunlight from the window was hitting them in a particularly seductive and beautiful way. The cymbals shimmered, and the red skins on the drums popped like roses in bloom. They lured me in, and I sat down on the stool in the sunlight and picked up the sticks. At first I simply banged each drum and cymbal one time to hear the tones.
Memories of being 12 years old and practicing with my family band were awakened within me. I gazed at the floor drum and remembered driving my Dad crazy by putting my school books on the floor drum so that I could simultaneously do my homework while practicing. I grinned, and something softened in me. Those were actually really wonderful memories.
I hit the small tom in front of me twice with the stick in my left hand, and then attempted to hit it again with the stick in my right hand…but missed and hit the metal rim of the drum instead making a loud, familiar click. A click that was called a rimshot.
Something clicked inside of me simultaneously.
Bomp bomp, click, bomp bomp, click…I played with rhythmic ease.
Memories of my beloved parents, both now in spirit, came back to me. My Mom’s beautiful singing voice…my Dad’s gentle, but persuasive coaching and encouragement as we learned his musical arrangements.
Come they told me pa rum pum pum pum. The words to The Little Drummer Boy floated through my head. I smiled as I continued to play in the spirit of Christmas. Bomp bomp, click, pa rum pum pum pum, bomp bomp, click… Childhood memories of bustling Christmas parties where our musical friends would erupt in spontaneous caroling came rolling like a video my mind, and I could feel the soothing groove accompanying the visuals as I played on.
A few minutes later I set my drum sticks down and stood up. The weight of old burdensome memories had been lifted and replaced with soft, happy ones, like Christmas snowflakes landing gently on my shoulder. My shoulder pain had significantly diminished in those few minutes.
And, the little voice smiled at its job well done.
