As January blows in a tidal wave of Omicron here in California and across the nation, I am blowing out—and trying to keep time with my slippered, WFH foot: one and two and three and four and one and two and three and four. After almost forty years, I’m learning to play the flute again. 

It’s not like I was a prodigy the first time. Like most people who played an instrument in the middle school band and took a few lessons, I quit without a second thought. I thought the flute was a pain—practicing got in the way of my preferred 1983 activities, like working on my bangs, hanging out at the arcade and watching MTV.

During the first wave of the pandemic, inspired by all the baking and crafting, I purchased a flute, but only picked it up once or twice. During 2020, my main escape ended up being writing essays and painting badly. I called it “hate paint.” When working from home, schooling from home and watching the fabric of our democracy fray from home simply got to be too much, I’d grab my paintbrushes and flee to the backyard, wildly slopping streaks of orange and yellow and blue paint onto the side of our garage. It wasn’t pretty. Hate paint wasn’t about creating anything—it was about getting the yuck that was inside me out where it couldn’t hurt anyone.

Finally the vaccine came, then boosters and a few months of getting back into the world, adjusting gratefully to our new normal. Kids went back to school and did dances and soccer games and recitals and we all gingerly stepped back in, gun shy but grateful. In fact, before this most recent surge, we were able to celebrate my daughter’s 18th birthday, my husband’s 50th and even the winter holidays with our small extended family. Each occasion was extra special; we were keenly aware that we were lucky to be out in the world, hugging, laughing, breathing the same air with the people we loved, without the fear of getting anyone sick.

Then, Omicron.

I am not as angry this time, though I probably should be since there’s lots to be angry about and it’s a privilege not to be. Instead, this round, maybe it’s the exhaustion but I find myself searching for joy wherever I can find it, like oxygen. This time, it’s not about getting something out, it’s about bringing light in. My fifteen-year old son Finn, who re-discovered the piano during the first wave, has taken to the drum set a neighbor kindly passed along to him, his enthusiasm luring my daughter back to the piano and my husband to the guitar with renewed passion. A few weeks ago, all of this music led me to unpack the flute and order an elementary school music manual: “Essential Elements for Band, Flute Book 1.”  It was delivered last week and already I’m up  to page 7, which means I’ve remembered how to play four notes and taught myself one new one: E flat. Thanks to the manual and more concentration than I’ve had to garner in awhile, I now have a repertoire—”Hot Cross Buns,” “London Bridge” and “Clair De Lune.” I am primed and ready to play a three-minute set for an audience of preschoolers, but it doesn’t matter because the only person I’m playing for now is me.

Playing an instrument makes your brain happier than even just listening to music, which is great for your mental health too. Playing makes for better communication skills, less anxiety and decreased agitation.

If all of this makes you think you should dig out your old middle school flute (or trumpet, clarinet, tuba) the research agrees with you: playing an instrument makes your brain happier than even just listening to music, which is great for your mental health too. Playing makes for better communication skills, less anxiety and decreased agitation.

We can all use that right about now.

And even though it’s been just a week or so, when I take a break from work, stand up and play a couple notes from “A-Tisket A-Tasket,” I have to say, I do feel better. The counting, the focus, the mastery of even a tiny thing seems medicinal. Yoga but without the sweat. Heart lifting. So, go on and do it, take out that old, neglected instrument. I think you’ll find it’s got more to offer you now than it ever did in middle school.

Geralyn Broder Murray is a Northern California-based writer whose work has appeared in Newsweek, USA Today and Shondaland. www.GeralynBMurray.com @GeralynBMurray

Almost everyone knows those actors of the 1950’s and 60’s who rose to fame and fortune on Broadway, on the silver screen and on network television. Marilyn Monroe, Ethel Merman, Elizabeth Taylor, Doris Day, Lucille Ball, and Carol Burnett just to list a few, became household names to millions of Americans. Their lives, open to public scrutiny, were often punctuated with rocky marriages, substance abuse, and in some cases, suicide. They lived in luxurious Bel Air mansions or extravagant New York penthouses, and were instantly recognized when they went out in public. But what about the thousands of actors who never became “stars”; those talented people who worked on the sidelines as auxiliary characters and made a modest living in a variety of movie and television roles, but whose names are not recognized by the public? 

Think of the expendable crew member on Star Trek who is killed by alien lasers, the invisible doorman on “Rhoda,” the annoying customer in Marty’s butcher shop, Pharaoh’s general in “The Ten Commandments,” or the human resources director on “The Big Bang Theory.”  All are necessary roles in the flow of the show, but rarely do these hardworking actors receive the recognition they so rightly deserve.

During a recent trip to Los Angeles, my wife and I had the opportunity to meet one of these unsung heroes of the entertainment industry, Ms. Helen Geller, a feisty 94-year-old veteran of Hollywood’s Golden age. 

During a recent trip to Los Angeles, my wife and I had the opportunity to meet one of these unsung heroes of the entertainment industry, Ms. Helen Geller. We had the honor of being guests of this feisty 94-year-old veteran of Hollywood’s Golden age. She lives in the Pico-Robertson neighborhood in a one-story home that is reminiscent of a 1950’s sitcom. Every available surface is lined with tchotchkes and every wall is plastered with photographs and awards. Helen welcomed us with open arms. Our accommodations consisted of a wood-paneled bedroom filled with souvenirs from every decade starting from 1940. Hats, dresses and furniture from the 40’s, LP’s and photograph albums from the 50’s and 60’s, a non-working boom box from the 1970’s, VHS tapes from the 1980’s, DVD’s and CD’s from the 90’s and a very out of place flat-panel TV that might only be a few years old.

Helen Gould was born in Rochester, New York on November 6, 1927. She was the twin sister of Herbert Gould and the youngest of eight children. Her name was never recorded on her original birth certificate. Instead, the document lists her name as simply “Baby Girl Gould” and she explained that many of her friends still call her Bee-Gee to this day. After much discussion between her siblings, who decided that their new sister’s name must also begin with “H,” they eventually chose Helen. In Rochester, Helen had fond memories of George Eastman, founder of the famed Eastman Kodak Company. According to Helen, Eastman would provide shoes, free dental care and even new violins to the less fortunate citizens of the area. Summers were often spent in a “Communist” camp in Canada where campers would receive free room and board in exchange for learning Communist doctrine and folk songs.

The family packed up the car and made the journey along Route 66 to Los Angeles in 1936. Helen’s first “gig” in acting was when she performed a singing and dancing act with her twin brother in a school amateur contest. As a child actor, she had bit parts in a couple of B-movie Westerns starring Gene Autry and Smiley Burnette. “All we had to do was sit on the fence of the corral and smile,” Helen explained. She attended Hollywood High School and graduated from Los Angeles Community College. 

Helen was part of the “Meglin Kiddies,” a well-known troupe of acting, music and dance performers, consisting of children up to the age of 16. The acting and dance studio would provide players for many well-known motion pictures and radio shows, and graduates included Shirley Temple, Jane Withers, Jackie Cooper and Judy Garland.  

Helen was a huge fan of actress and singer Deanna Durbin. One Sunday evening in November 1936, Helen’s family got tickets to the “Texaco Town” radio show starring Eddie Cantor. One of the guest stars on the show was thirteen-year-old Deanna Durbin. When Deanna sang in her beautiful operatic voice, Helen was enthralled. She has seen and re-seen every Durbin movie and is a lifelong member of the Deanna Durbin Society. 

Helen performed at the Mayfair Supper Club where she was known as the “French Chanteuse.” The opening act was a young comedian by the name of Dick Van Dyke. At the Mayfair she would belt out tunes made famous by Edith Piaf (“La Vie en Rose”) and Nat King Cole (“Darling,” “Je Vous Aime Beaucoup”). Although she never learned to speak the language, she was able to sing the tunes with perfect pronunciation and a very believable French accent. During our stay with Helen, she enchanted us with her versions of those songs. 

Helen was active in the Hollywood dating society, but she adamantly refused to succumb to “couch casting”. She turned down a leading role in a film when the director asked her to come to Palm Springs with him. She met the love of her life, Irving Geller, on a blind date. Helen had been working as a Navel Material Inspector and one of her co-workers, Pauline, was Irving’s sister-in-law. Pauline arranged the introductions. Irving had served under General Patton as a machine gunner and was a recipient of the Purple Heart. This was quite a contrast with his day job as a violinist and Associate Concertmaster of the Los Angeles Philharmonic. Together they had two children, Valerie, a world class first-chair violinist and maestra, and Paul, a production manager in the entertainment and music industry.  Their marriage lasted until Irving’s death in 2011.

Helen was active in the Hollywood dating society, but she adamantly refused to succumb to “couch casting”. She turned down a leading role in a film when the director asked her to come to Palm Springs with him.

Helen’s resume includes acting on radio, live theatre and television. She performed in “The Tale of the Allergist’s Wife” alongside Valerie Harper. She played Yente the Matchmaker in countless runs of “Fiddler on the Roof” and sang “A Gal’s Got To Do What A Gal’s Got To Do”, as Hazel Hunt in the West Coast premiere of the musical “Radio Gals” at the Pasadena Playhouse. She was in the cast of the summer stock production of “The Music Circus” at the Broadway Sacramento Theatre.

You may have seen Helen as a patient on the TV series “ER” or the comedy “Scrubs.” She was often cast as a habit-wearing nun, and her most memorable role was playing Sister Joselia in an episode of “Frasier.” She also appeared in such popular shows as “The Nanny”, “Will and Grace” and “The Practice.” Helen was Grandma Tessie in the short-lived sitcom “Bette” starring Bette Midler. She recently appeared as a mischievous granny in a Pizza Hut commercial. 

Helen wrote and performed a couple of parody songs: “Shonda on a Honda” about an observant Jewish girl who rides her motorcycle through the streets of Brooklyn and “High Colonics,” a tune about being on the receiving end of a dreaded enema. She was happy to perform these ditties for us during our visit with her. She is able to converse in perfect Yiddish and she enjoys listening to Klezmer music.

At 94 years old, Helen has retired from the stage and screen. She continues to entertain family and friends and we spent a very enjoyable week reminiscing about her acting days, the people she met and the stories of a Hollywood from long ago. I sat with Helen as we watched old movies on Turner Classic Movies and reruns of the “Dick Van Dyke Show” and “I Love Lucy” on the Decades channel. Helen was able to share valuable insights and colorful anecdotes about almost every scene. Every morning we would prepare Helen’s special drink, which she called a “Baverka,” made from caramel coffee creamer and boiling water. In the evening we would join her for some Manischewitz Elderberry wine. We were privileged to meet this wonderful lady from Hollywood’s golden age and hope we can be here to celebrate her 100th birthday.

Paul J. Starr is a recently retired systems analyst who has lived his entire life in Montréal, Canada. On Sunday mornings he is “living the dream,” hosting a two-hour Internet radio show featuring music from the 50s and 60s called “Judy’s Diner.”