Do You Have This Problem?

It's Your Move (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

My birthday is next week and I may change my opinion that getting older necessarily means getting better. I notice more chinks in my memory lately, and a lot of wobbling, stumbling, and halting. About the only thing that I still claim to find improvement in is caring and concern. I am more sensitive to emotions and value insights and understanding more now than I ever have before.

I continue to remember people and incidents from my past with alarming detail, mostly things that would cause me distress or embarrassment. Many of these momentary flashes are from my childhood. I often view myself as a clumsy or inept child. The memory belies my parents' stories of my intelligence, but it just as often, causes me to appreciate them and their love for me. 

I remember the houses that were important: Grandmother's house, Auntie's house, the house we lived in, the neighbors' houses. I remember the features that were extravagant to my mind, like stairs, or porches, or windows. It's amazing that now those features are no big deal, but then they were remarkable.

I remember some of those houses, as I grew up, lost much of their charm. When they began to decline or needed a paint job, my thrill and regard for them declined, too. I'm not sure whether it was the decline of the house or my expanding idea of what was good or exciting. Maybe that's just the way life is.

Learning The Old Lessons Over

The title of this blog is damning. Just because I'm getting older doesn't mean I'm getting better. It sometimes means I've learned new stuff or found a new obsession or formed a new habit, but nothing in that means I'm actually better. It's my goal to improve as I age, and that is what I expect. That it's happening is yet to be realized.

Maybe I'm just resigned to the whole process, and acceptance is the best I can hope for. Maybe not. Sometimes I get a new grip on the rope. This week I've been reading literature for writers and reviewing the lessons I learned 40 or 50 years ago, and some of it sets something on fire in my mind or soul. Maybe there's time to get better yet.

At least I have a new yearning to write better and more, to be consistent, to be precise and do it better. I guess the proof will come when I follow through.  

Winding Down

Dr Pepper bottle (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Getting older is getting better again. I went to the doctor and got very good news. I'll get my last mammogram this week! I don't know why I resented that thing so much. I just knew that was not a problem that affects me, and I hated to do it. The doctor said that the recommendations have been revised and seventy five is now the new cut-off. She even gave me the option of not doing it this time, but with the promise of no-more, I'll give it a grand good-bye. 

I also got more good news: My blood work showed that I have very good control of my A1C. If you have diabetes, this is the one that promises that you blood sugar is not destroying your kidneys and you retina. I'd really like to keep those parts that help me stay independent and active.

I was also very glad that the A1C also showed the reason for a good reading on the cholesterol and triglycerides. I have recently given up bread and Dr. Pepper. I assume the dietary changes are being reflected in my numbers. It's a good thing because I couldn't deal with the side effects of the medication. Maybe I shouldn't say I gave them up. I don't keep a stash of Dr. Pepper in the cabinet and rarely eat bread. I can drink a DP when we go out and I can still have a piece of toast with my eggs now and then, so it's not like I'm deprived.

In other areas I'm also getting better as I get older. I'm alone most of the time, but I have made some friends at church and I go to Bible study on Thursday. I spend some time in prayer every day. I eat breakfast with my kids that live here on Sunday morning. My income is reduced which prompts me to be more careful with money and do a better job with my budget.

I read new poets and get a wider exposure to artistic and intellectual pursuits. At least I'm learning new names and forms. I don't really like some of those forms, but it's good for me to understand them. I'm not at all sure that learning new things keeps me young, but it does keep me abreast of what's going on. I don't really like to be considered the East Texas red-neck hick, though that is essentially what I am. Small town-back woods girl come to the Valley late in life, just here to wind down. This is true, but I want to have fun in the process.

On Going Home

English: After the hedge-cutter. The lane from Newton Valence to Selborne (Gracious Street when it reaches Selborne) just after a visit by the hedge-cutter. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I went home to visit most of my kids last week. It was really good to see them. I do love them, but going to see them is hard. First it costs money for the plane ticket. Then I have to be housed and fed. There is also a real problem with deciding who to stay with and how to use the time. I'm usually pretty sure they don't want their schedules disrupted by my visit, even though they are gracious.
I get the feeling sometimes that I'm not understanding the messages. They want to see me, but they don't know what to do with me. I'm not relevant to their lives in the way I was before. It's sort of the same with me. I don't really have any command of their lives or play a defining role in the day to day business of life.

We shared the old memories and laughed about old jokes, but the new and future things are built around their children and their jobs. It made me sad that I'm no longer included.

Perspectives on Getting Old

English: Betty White at the premiere for The Proposal (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

On the subject of "Getting Old," everybody is an expert. No matter what your age is, you are growing older everyday. Even if you don't qualify as old now, you are still headed in that direction. You have preconceptions about what it means to get old and you have anxiety about how your body and your brain will make the transition to "old."

The advertising world is thrilled with it. The commercials for anti-aging creams and face-lifts reveals the staunch army of people ready to help you defy the aging that is already happening. There was a notable French woman who lived to be 122. Betty White at 92 gamely pushes on. I really enjoyed her show called "Off their Rockers" with a large cast of old people who hoaxed younger and more gullible people on camera. I'm sure the poor victims were adequately compensated. But it was fun to watch the old folks get one over on the younger, more able generation. It's wonderful to see the collapse of confidence and arrogance in the younger more vibrant target when the old codgers and old biddies got away with the trick. 

Does getting old make you mean and cantankerous? Maybe. Maybe just occasionally when you need to remember that once you gave old people the short end of the stick and discounted them as having a voice and feelings. Maybe helping old people to reclaim their value and dignity is a worthwhile endeavor.

Genealogy Is A Chance to Try Again

Genealogy is fun. I like to find the stories and evidence of the people who came before me. I like to rummage around in the attic of my ancestors and see where they lived and what was going on in their lives and their locations. Sometimes I find little gems of glistening purity that ties me to them, and sometimes I find a scoundrel hiding behind four wives and 9 children and not a divorce in sight. 

Oh, yes, I have to claim Cambell as a forebear. It does not fill me with pride that he blazed a trail, and I have not followed in his footsteps, but his first wife was a gem. She raised that mob of children he left when he went in search of other prey, or other wives. She sounds like the pioneer wife we read about in history books and family memorabilia, who "held her word and kept her troth/and cleared the forest and tamed the wild/ and gave the breast to the new born child."*

Genealogy may mark family traits and traditions you want to claim or those you would like to change. I have found both. I like the association I find in my family history with the people who farmed and moved west, at least as far as Texas.They were hardworking pioneers, and with the exception of Campbell, honest and faithful. Even Campbell was a farmer, but I don't know how successful he was at it. His wife did pretty well for herself. 

Getting older is sort of a stimulus to researching the family roots. Now I have grandchildren that engage in the history projects in school, and I am an expert for their study. It's kinda nice to have all this knowledge and power. Of course, I have to be honest about Campbell.


*Quote from John Brown's Body by Stephen Vincent Benet  

How Do Fractals Work?

 

This is an example of a fractal.

 

 

Here you have the definition of a fractal: 
"A fractal is a never-ending pattern. Fractals are infinitely

complex patterns that are self-similar across different scales. They

are created by repeating a simple process over and over in an

ongoing feedback loop."

 I found this definition on the Fractal Foundation.org website. I still don't know what that means except that it is a beautiful and arresting design. The array I found of these is astounding. Study this  one, and there are many of them, reminds me of other ways I believe fractals are an  important visual symbol. To view other examples click here.

The point I am aiming at is the beauty in a life filled with repeated acts of love or kindness. People who practice random acts of love and kindness see a pattern developing that is comparable to the fractal. They find the patterns to include small details as well as the wide sweeping events in their lives.

A fractal may begin with the little stuff, but if it is consistent across a life, the repeated design carries justice, love, faithfulness and joy. Of course repeated acts of deception and evil form a recognizable pattern too, but it may reveal chaos and bitterness.

Consider what kind of pattern you are creating. Do you like the way it looks in small matters? It's just the same in the big things as it is in the details.

Remember, as you get older the patterns are more evident. It may be hard to change your fractal if you wait too long.

Generativity--The Key to Successful Aging

I notice I haven't mentioned Stage Development lately. When you are facing the prospect of getting old, Stage Development is very important. Stage Development is relegated to childhood and youth when you get to the advanced years; at least, that's our perception, but the truth is there are stages that are only becoming evident now because we haven't had enough people who are old enough to demonstrate them. As the "Greatest Generation" has entered into these later stages the researchers have given names to new stages. I kinda like that. It makes me feel like I'm still viable and interesting. It gives me a new adventure to explore.

Generatively is one of the advanced stages in the original set of developmental tasks. When you get old and have mastered your craft you need to pass on the lessons you learned. Mentors are valuable to our society, and the young and ignorant benefit from our knowledge. The last stage according to Erik Erikson is the dichotomy between integrity and despair and gives us the opportunity to leave the world better than we found it. Entering this stage means we can enjoy ourselves and foster the next generation. In old age we can study the things we forgot about earlier, read the books, watch the movies and go to the fairs without guilt or shame.

My husband died a few years ago, so I'm making this journey alone. Well, not quite; I remember him and enjoy the activities I think he would revel in. When school starts in the fall I am going to offer to be a mentor for kids who need help in understanding poetry, conjugating verbs and writing a coherent sentence. I hope that challenges me. I'd really like to teach a class in kite building, too. And making bread. There are some things I can do and would love to share with people who want to learn. Getting older is getting better. So am I!

Just One Good Nights Sleep!

I have had trouble going to sleep lately. I have adopted the habit of getting up after an hour when sleep does not come and doing something to try to entice the blessed slumber. I have read, made lists of groceries and household jobs, and written in the blog. It's not a guarantee, but sometimes it helps when I go back to bed.

I have done a little research to find out what I'm doing wrong. If you don't have sleep apnea or narcolepsy, the internet resources are not much help. They give the same advice your grandmother would: Avoid spicy foods, take a warm bath, establish reasonable bedtime rituals, read calming literature, and relax by turning off the TV.

My research did emphasize the disruptive nature of anxiety and stress, and I have tried to eliminate these negative factors from my life. But it's not always something I can control. My daughter expects to have surgery soon. That is a stressor and I can't do anything about it. My son was in jail recently--another stressor that is beyond my control.

I also have a daughter who is trying to help me with transportation to Dr. appointments and other critical issues. But talk about stress! Of course she is a 'take charge ' person. I think she has become the mother in this situation and I am the stubborn child. I love her dearly, but my frustration is sometimes more apparent than I intend it to be. Sometimes our interactions replay in my mind while I am trying to go to sleep. Now I have visions of the stress meter dial rising to explosion level, and sleep is the farthest thing from my mind.

I suppose the advice is still the same--forgive and reframe, get over it and start over, use the calming recitation to rid my mind of the anger or bitterness, move forward. Of course she is young and does not really understand old age. I wish I didn't.

Alzheimer''s Disease--What's the Risk?

There are some risks to getting older that don't include getting better. Alzheimer's Disease is one of them. The early signs of Alzheimer's Disease are so vague and general that I'm sure I have it. The problem with attending to the early warning signs is that they are so minor they are normal for anyone at any age. Do you ever forget an appointment or the name of an acquaintance? Of course you do. My 18 year-old granddaughter does too.  Until the signs cause disruption in your life and activity, there is nothing a doctor can recommend, no treatment is appropriate until the signs or symptoms cause a problem. There are other dementia's that cause similar problems to Alzheimer's Disease. CJD or Creutzfeldt-Jakob is a more rapid onset and decline and causes death quickly. Pick's Disease was classified and identified before Alzheimer's Disease, but there is a distinction: Pick's Disease causes a change in personality before the problems with memory or cognition occur.    

When I was in school one of the professors told us that if we lived long enough, we would get Alzheimer's. I think he was almost right. I think the correct way to make that prediction is if we live long enough we will have some diminished brain capacity in some area of functioning because of loss of brain cells. It could begin with Parkinson's Disease which causes loss of function due to loss of dopamine cells. Alzheimer's Disease begins with loss of acetylcholine cells. Pick's Disease is caused by loss of cell function, similar to Alzheimer's and Parkinson, perhaps, in the hippocampus.            
The 'bottom line' assures us that as we get older we lose some of the cells of the central nervous system. We may show decline in reasoning and logic or we may lose skills or talents that were already well established. Either way it is less noticeable when we are younger and have lost fewer brain cells, but as we continue to age the symptoms may reveal a pattern that will give the doctor a handle that allows him to name you condition. Some of these conditions have medications that may help for a while.

I think my family already thinks I'm on the down hill slide. I deny and lie a lot about how I'm doing. I just want to conceal embarrassing situations so people don't stare and giggle when I stagger by. I try not to participate in things that prove how far I've gone down the other side of the hill.

On the other hand, if I laugh about it, I can drown out the gigglers.

Which Generation?

I have become enamored with the time and events of the Second World War, with the time period and people who inhabited it. I guess the time span is a little more than the four years from 1941-1945. Historians look at as beginning with the Depression from 1929 to about 1950. I think of it as 1936 till I graduation high school about 1954. For Europe the War started in 1939 and Hitler's power was significant by 1933.

Tom Brokaw called it "The Greatest Generation." I look at it as a great generation. I am a product of that time and those events. I am not quite old enough to be included, just a Johnny-come-lately to the party or the depression or the war.

I reflect on the period in old movies and historical presentations about the depression and the war. They were phenomenal people. I remember my parents and the other adults that represented my world--aunts, uncles, family friends--who were the important people to me. I remember the ones who went to war and the ones who stayed home to operate the businesses and teach school and farm the land. We laughed about "meatless Tuesday" at the grocery store. The meat market was not in operation on Tuesdays. The butcher's counter was cleaned and spotless, but the saw and knives were stored pristine, and the cooler kept the meat safe until another day.  

Mama kept her ration stamps in a leather wallet to purchase sugar, meat, and other essentials that were in short supply. She was very proud that I qualified as a person but I didn't eat very much. It gave her and Daddy a little buffer in the usual allowance for two people.

Mama volunteered to help with some projects sponsored by the Red Cross and other agencies in town. I was very envious because I wasn't allowed in their meetings. I thought it was very short-sighted of them. Daddy worked at the bank, the only one in town. He received a commendation for selling War Bonds. I was impressed.

I think about the time and the people as just the way things were during my childhood until I see it set against the Holocaust, the devastation of Europe, and the changes that came after the War was over. The Atomic Bomb marked our world forever with the power of nuclear fusion. Of course I heard about it in 1945, but it took a long time for me to understand what it meant in the larger context. Maybe all of us were charged with a more challenging view of the world. Maybe I'm still learning it.  

A Day To Remember

English: “Surrender of Santa Anna” by William Huddle (1847–92), 1886 The painting "Surrender of Santa Anna" by William Huddle, shows the Mexican strong-man surrendering to a wounded Sam Houston. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

April 21 is A Day to Remember. I think I was counting it April 19, but I was wrong. Today is the anniversary of the Day in which 910 scruffy Texans beat 1200 Mexican troops in a short battle at San Jacinto and gave Texas freedom from Mexico. It's a day for Texans to claim and reverence. The Battle of the Alamo is the one everyone remembers. Even John Wayne celebrated it. But the Battle of San Jacinto is the one that counts in the record books and in the historical record.

This hallowed day is one to remember and to brag about. That's something Texas has a reputation for--bragging. We are a proud land and people. And we share a proud history. It's one I have claimed for my own. My ancestors were here in the early days, growing crops, raising cattle, buying and selling horses, building towns and families, making progress and putting down roots. I am so proud to have this heritage and to pass it to my children.

This is something that doesn't loose its luster as I get older. I am prouder of my Texas ancestry now than ever. I'm a Texan all year round, and life long. It's something that I'll never get over.  

Have You Made Your Vision Board?

On a TV Talk Show hosted by Steve Harvey the subjects were encouraged to make a board with visual reminders of their goals and aspirations. I think I've done it in a class or Vacation Bible School, or Girl Scouts. It was fun, but even then I didn't put it on the wall and meditate on it. I understand the principle and impact such a present stimulus is to keeping your goals in the forefront of your thoughts.

On the other hand, my goals are better fixed in my mind than any board made from magazine advertisements could ever match. My imagination carries those dreams and my heart beats with the rhythm of them daily.

The fact is, I'm old, so most of my dreams have been fulfilled or abandoned. The ones I still cherish are a permanent fixture in my 
existence so there is little chance that a Vision Board would enhance my efforts or the realization of long held dreams. 

More and more now I want to make a memory board to celebrate past victories and accomplishments. I want to remember the good times and enjoy the successes of earlier times. I do have another goal--I want to finish well. John Wesley talked about "a good death." I want that to be my final effort. Leaving 'em smiling. 

Easter--New Every Year

Christmas is the holiday that gets all the press about forgiveness, love, new chances, and starting over, but Easter is the one with the track record. Easter represents new birth, new life, forgiveness, and sacrifice. Easter is new every year, too.  We remember and rehearse the events and reclaim both the death and resurrection. And then we also re-claim our own forgiveness and walk in new life.

Every year this is an exciting, new experience; every year I come to Maundy Thursday, Black Friday and Holy Saturday with renewed terror and Easter Sunday with deeper joy and celebration. You'd think it would get old with the same hymns and scriptures, but resurrection life never loses it value. Every year I have grown in my understanding of God's love and deepened in my appreciation of the meaning of forgiveness.

It would be easy to get caught up in preparations, the egg dying and the clothes buying, the company and the dinner, but sacrifice and renewal is the main act. Easter Sunday brings release from the fear and dread of sin. It also provides an opportunity to look beyond death and enter new levels of joy with my risen Lord.  And I must remember that the joy is not in the day or the season or the Church service, but in my relationship with my Savior.

How to Beat The Blahs

Getting old has some unsuspected pitfalls. Perpetual idleness is a trap. It has some severe consequences that lead to worse problems.
I blame myself for feeling idle, useless, and unproductive. The cure for these problems is purposeful activity. Whining and excuses don't improve this picture, but there are some factors that contribute to the condition. I no longer drive. I blame this for much of my inactivity. (Don't whine.) 

The real cure lies in focusing on filling time with challenging and meaningful activity. Learn something new. Read a classic you never read before. Explore a subject you have avoided: physics or astronomy. 

I write this like it's advice to others who rare facing this boring extreme, but it's really realizations I have embraced. I may still watch the mind-numbing fare offered on TV, but when that becomes a drag, I do know the cure. I can read Winston Churchill or G. K. Chesterton or study calculus or work out, even just a pleasant walk beats boredom. Just do something, anything will do.

Did You Know That Today Is Pi Day?

I didn't, but now I'm enjoying that I even know what pi is. Oh, by the way, today is also Albert Einstien's birthday. Since he was a brilliant and renowned physicist and mathematician I think is an appropriate day to remember him and pi.

Pi is the ratio of the radius of a circle to the circumference. Aren't you impressed that I know that? Don't be. It took a very good teacher several years of algebra to impart that to my brain.

One of the exciting things about this being Pi Day is that it has all kinds of facts associated with it. For instance, Pi is an irrational number. That means it is an infinitely repeating decimal. It never decides on what it's value is. Maybe that's not the way to state it. 3.14 may be as close as it can get.

I'd be a little more certain of things if it was pie day. Pies are more common in my experience than pi.
 

I Love to Remember!

Sometimes remembering is hard. Sometimes I remember things that make me sad. Or shame me. Or overwhelm me. I remember when I was in the first grade, my mother was Santa Claus for my class. I don't guess she did it for any other classes. I felt very special that she did it for mine.

I didn't say anything to anybody, but I knew as soon as she gave me whatever she had as gifts for everybody. She had gotten the suit from somewhere and was covered completely by the wig and the red suit. But when I took the candy or trinket, I saw her rings. She wore a large opal ring that was very distinctive; I didn't say anything to her or the other kids until I got home. She thought she had fooled me. She didn't think about the rings, I guess. But it was a kind of secret we shared that made me feel very proud and honored to have her do this for my friends. 

Memories have special significance to each of us, and enjoying the memory gives the same special feeling the original event carried. Oh, I love to remember!

How Old Are You?

I pride myself on being truthful, but I really lie a lot. When people ask me how I'm doing, I say "Fine." That's a lie. I can't remember appointments or deadlines. Maybe I'm not doing so well.

In 1983 I went back to school to finish my degree. At the time, I said I had to do it immediately because dementia and Alzheimer's were nipping at my heels. By the end of 1886 I finished my Bachelor's and Master's degrees. I comforted myself that I had outrun the evil demons of old age, but I wasn't nearly as old then as I am now, and I'm still running. They are gaining on me though. The stroke has slowed me down some, and I ache more and forget more.

Now I try to avoid the reminders of my age and disabilities. To help overcome the problems caused by the stroke, I do physical therapy. I don't know that it's doing much good. I had just about gotten back to walking like I'm supposed to when I started it, and I really hate it. It requires me to do things that hurt and things I can't do. Of course, theoretically, it strengthens the weak muscles. But they are the ones that hurt.

I console myself that I'm still doing what I want to, but that's a lie too, sometimes. If I could still do what I want to I wouldn't need the physical therapy. Age really is relative. I have a friend who is 92. She does as well in general activities as I do. My daughter Carol is 49 and she is far more limited in life-style and general activity than I am, but her problems stem from her arthritis. It's all relative. What do I need to do? What could I do if I tried harder?

Interest, enthusiasm, concern, and joy may be more important than age in determining what I can do. Or what I may accomplish. Remember, it ain't over til it's over.

 

More About Dulcimers

The Mountain Dulcimer seems to be a truly American instrument. I thought they came over on the boat with early pioneers, but it looks like the pioneers created them as a simpler instrument and easier to play than the classic violin of European origin. The Appalachian region is known for their Scotch-Irish melodies and dances; the dulcimers were someone's attempt to produce an instrument that took less formal training to play. Family and community groups adapted the traditional melodies, and a new musical tradition was born. The dulcimer was traditionally a parlor instrument because of it's softer sound and ease of transport, unlike the piano.

J. Edward Thomas of Knott County, Kentucky began building and selling them about 1880. Others took up the craft and a new American tradition was born. There are not many still in existence that were built before about 1880--at least it would be a rarity--and possibly very valuable. Jethro Amburgey made dulcimers that were distributed by his relative Jean Ritchie, a Kentucky musician,  and her partner George Pickow. Jean and George were performers who participated in the folk music revival of the 1950's and 60's. They eventually began producing and selling instruments, too. Jethro was a woodworking instructor in the Hindman Settlement School. The instrument became familiar to audiences during the Folk Music Revival. Other influential builders of mid-1960s included Homer Ledford, Lynn McSpadden, A. W. Jeffreys and Joellen Lapidus. Michael and Howard Rugg formed a company called Capritaurus, the first to mass produce dulcimers. They introduced a system of geared tuners making the instrument easier
for players  to tune. 

The Mountain or Appalachian Dulcimer is similar in tone and potential to some Middle Eastern instruments and even some ancient ones, such as the zither and lute, but it is a distinctly American creation. I hope for a return to softer sounds of music in which the melody is still distinct without the harsh and grinding sounds common in modern music.        

The dulcimer has acquired a following worldwide and now festivals are held in the United Kingdom, Ireland, and Canada.   
More information about Dulcimers: 

McSpadden Duclimerss
Warren A. May, Wood Worker
 

Dulcimers Are Fun

                                                                            
My friend invited me to a rehearsal of her Dulcimer group today. I went even though I am neither talented nor knowledgeable concerning the instrument. The group was composed of 25 or so musicians. Three of us were just there to listen. I thought the others who did not play might be wives or drivers for some of the players. I tried not to get in the way. Most of the instruments looked similar to the picture, but some were of different kinds of wood and some were different sizes.

The music was melodious and soft--no rock or hip-hop here. I could imagine a guitar or violin in the mix. The players were seated  in a circle with a music stand in front of them and  the instrument resting on their knees. Old country favorites such as "Red River Valley" and "Buffalo Gals" spoke to my memories of Sunday afternoon in a shady yard. Nobody in my family played a dulcimer, but I remember visiting Ms. Gal Walker sitting on the porch or around the table in the kitchen. After a while Ms. Gal would go to the piano and start to play softly. The men on the porch might come in to hear better and the kids playing dominos would give up their game. She'd play a few choruses, then somebody would join in and sing. No, I'd never been to a dulcimer concert before, but this seemed to be something I remembered from an earlier time. This belonged to a southern house with a wide front porch and 8 or 10 pecan trees. Men in a huddle under one tree and the women in a clutch by the door with kids scattered around. The story-tellers had run out of breath and it was time to say so long with a little music. Sunday afternoon was winding down and the dulcimer music blessed me with good memories for the night. 

I don't know the official name, but this is a dulcimer, too.

Today was Wednesday. Funny how memories don't care what day it really is.

 If you want to know more, try this  http://gaylehaynesgettingoldergettingbetter.blogspot.com/2015/01/more-about-dulcimers.html