Wolf Tone

Dreamer rosins the bow
then embraces his cello,
coaxing another note
toward music . . . Aiiiii . . .

Seems novice and concert cellist alike must confront The Dreaded Wolf Tone.

Most cellos have one. The better the cello, the worse the wolf. Plus, it can move around depending on barometric pressure. The cacophony varies from one string to the next, one instrument to the next.

Shrill, chronic, pulsating,
sometimes howling—
it’s a rapid wuh-wuh-wuh-wuh:
a sonic collision: frequencies
from a single note
CLASH
with those amplified
by the soundboard . . .

Think, dissonance. An acoustic body at war with itself.

Solution?

Dreamer buys a Wolf Eliminator, designed to do its corrective work between bridge and tailpiece. Two parts, three easy steps:

1. Position small rubber sleeve, encasing affected string (with a little breathing room).
2. Snug sleeve into companion tube.
3. Tighten set screw to pinch string, dampening specific frequencies.

PLACEMENT IS CRUCIAL: Dreamer’s marvelous teacher guides the process.

“Keep it snug but still moveable.”

Which sounds a lot like faith.

And . . . long-term love.

Still, turns out The Eliminator (unlike The Terminator) can only manage, never eradicate, the problem. Musicians use the gadget but also learn to work with the flaw, varying their approach through bow speed as well as pressure exerted.

And here it comes—the personal parallel.

In a bad-vibe way, the wolf tone mirrors the rapid, pervasive Myoclonic jerking in Dreamer’s muscles, a neurological condition with no remedy. Yet. Aggravating and exhausting, the erratic movements hamper his stability, physically and emotionally.

Perhaps a personalized wolf tone plagues you or someone you love. Even though you’ve prayed and prayed and prayed for an answer.

When God forgoes eliminating our suffering,
perhaps whatever control we have is enough.

Come dark-thirty, when my psyche starts howling (how do I help Dreamer endure?), working crossword puzzles reminds me I can manage one small square at a time. Plus, the methodical process of elimination often reveals an elusive answer.

Today, already afflicted for hours, Dreamer says, “My brain’s telling me, ‘Go for a walk.’”

En route, half-desperate, we sound something like this:

“Thanks, God, for this private trail . . . for your presence with us . . . for fabulous weather . . . and a good dog . . . who’s not silting himself muck-black in the creek . . .”

AND LO, the jerks come slower. Then fewer. Then pause.

And I remember reading this:

Recent brain research shows
facing anxiety while giving thanks
stimulates the hypothalamus,
which . . . (drum roll, please) . . .
overrides the reactive amygdala,
easing fight-flight-or-freeze urgency.

So here we are: emergency sidelined for now; a gentle emergence cuing up harmony.

Like shared pleasures: hot water, a roof, croissants, lilies . . .

Dear Self:
1. Recall your position in Christ (breathing room, built in!).
2. Snug yourself closer, knowing you are companioned.
3. Tighten focus, syncing breath with gratitude.

Prime the heart like the pump it is . . . and we generate whole lists.

Echoes, perhaps, of a rosined bow
caressing a tightly wound string,
coaxing forth song
and delicate, ringing overtones.

Friends, no matter what jerks us around, breathing room remains.

May we live attuned to hope and to one another, becoming a psalm.

What’s your go-to hack for offsetting internal clamor?

P.S. The Wolf Eliminator works like a miniature tuned-mass damper, often used to reduce dangerous vibrations in bridges or tall buildings.

Photo by Sabrina Wendl on Unsplash

You might enjoy this, from the archives: Memo from the Wild