Wap Wap

I was abused as a child.  By the piano. 

My sister and I, and all of our unsuspecting cousins, were forced by our mothers, to take piano lessons.  From Aunt Verda.  I believe I can speak for all of us:  We hated it.

Note:  Aunt Verda was Donnie’s grandmother, my great-aunt, my mother’s aunt, my grandfather’s sister.  She was also a master pianist.  She was exceptional.

So, it was not Aunt Verda we disliked…it was the mere fact that we had to take piano lessons.  We would have much rather been doing anything else. 

Aunt Verda and Uncle Don (both in their mid to late 80’s at the time) lived in a beautiful, old house on North Nevada in the Old North End of Colorado Springs.  And, their house was HOT.  Literally.  The thermostat was kept around 97 degrees or so.  On piano lesson day, every Monday, if my memory serves me…we would creak up the front stairs to the front door, open it quietly, because there was bound to be another pupil finishing up their weekly torture session behind the curtained, closed French Doors that led from the waiting area at the base of the majestic stairs (that led to great exploration…more on that later), to the living room/piano room where Aunt Verda’s TWO grand pianos were placed at a 90 degree angle to each other.  And, where the other French Door in the house led to the outside back yard (and wasn’t curtained…more on that later, too.)

My sister and I would sit, heart in throat, outside those curtained doors until Aunt Verda let out some poor child and beckoned one of US in.  I don’t exactly remember who of the two of us went in first for our 30 minute lesson, but most likely it was my sister.  She is younger, and as her older sister, I usually felt it my God-given duty to boss her around and make her do the yucky things first.

So, in she would go, swallowed up into the semi-darkness of the piano room by the French Doors.  I hoped to no end that Aunt Verda would forget and leave the curtains at least semi-askew so I could get a spying glimpse of my sister, long blond scraggly (she hated for my mom to brush it) hair and all going through her dreaded half hour piano lesson. 

Curtain Crack Never Happened.

So, on to other things:  I would, silent-as-a-mouse, sneak upstairs and go through bathroom drawers.  (This is the first time I am confessing this to my extended family, Anne and Donnie, I’m sorry you have to hear it here.)  My favorite thing was to go into Aunt Verda’s upstairs bathroom and try on her jewelry.  She must not have had her ears pierced because every single huge, jewel toned, ornate piece of costume jewelry earring was a clip on.  That made it much easier for me to try them on.  Thank you Aunt Verda.

From the bathroom, I’d make my rounds to the sunroom off of her bedroom.  That was where the singing Coke bottle resided.  It was some kind of a plastic Coke bottle that you could turn on and hear music.  Which I did, every Monday.  I think it was a radio.

From there, I’d sneak back downstairs and out through the strawberry wallpapered kitchen to the back yard where I would sit on Uncle Don’s stick sharpener.  So, that’s probably not what it was, but that’s what I used it for.  It was one of those old stationary bike looking things, but the only wheel…the front wheel…was a big round wheel-shaped stone.  As you peddled, the stone would spin and if you held a stick to the stone, you could sharpen it. 

I wonder if Uncle Don ever wondered why there were so many dangerously shaped sticks in his back yard? 

And, another perk to my travels around her house…from the back yard, you could see in through the back French Doors (uncurtained, remember) and SPY on your unsuspecting sister.  Thankful it wasn’t you, but knowing you were up next and better get in there before Aunt Verda figured out you had escaped the premises.

So, get back in there, sit in the waiting room, and act cute and studious as the French Doors threw up your sister and sucked you in.

Well, Aunt Verda was in the Golden Years of her life at that point, loved to drink warm Cokes, chew ice, and chase fire engines.  Those are some of the reasons she said she lived so long.  But, being in her Golden Years, she had much drooping skin.  As we lucky ladies will all get sooner or later. 

And, Aunt Verda had Wap Wap. 

What, the heck, you may ask, is Wap Wap?

To fully demonstrate this to yourself, go a large mirror.  Expose one of your arms from the hand to the neck.  Stick your arm out 90 degrees to the side.  With your other hand, wiggle the skin that is between your armpit and your elbow, on the bottom side of your arm.  If it flaps when it is wiggled, you have Wap Wap.

Aunt Verda had MAJOR Wap Wap.  Piano was her excercise of choice, not strengthening her triceps.

My sister, now older (ie. in her 20’s), was coaching a high school sports team some years ago.  She shouted to one of the players and pointed forcefully, with full right arm outstretched, where she wanted the player to go.  And, quickly gasped, and withdrew her arm into her side. 

SHE had Wap Wap. 

She began pointing like a chicken.  Upper arm held tightly against her side and forearm indicating the direction of the point.

The Animal Whisperer, known by me for very strong arms and not a trace of Wap Wap, had wrist surgery last October.  His right wrist was casted and splinted for a couple of months, causing the muscles of his right arm to fade away into nothingness. 

He now has Wap Wap.

My mom, who works out all the time, is in a constant battle with Wap Wap.

I will not divulge whether I have it or not.  But you might have noticed, it seems to be genetic.

Anyway, you do the test.  Do you have Wap-Wap?  All over the country today, women and me alike will be pointing laterally in the mirror to see if there is any unanticipated skin movement. 

May the force be with you.

And, As a note to you mothers who subject your kids to piano lessons, take it easy on them.  They are truly suffering.  Or, pay them to practice.  That’s what my mom did…$1 for 15 minutes.  Sorry mom, I had to let the truth be told.

–  The Goat Cheese Lady

About The Goat Cheese Lady

I am Lindsey. At first I was a city girl. Growing up, the closest thing I had to farm animals were a cat and a cockatiel. In 2009, Herbert (my husband) and I bought our first milk goat and I instantly became an urban farmgirl, attempting to balance city and farm life..before I knew “urban homesteading” was a thing. That’s when we began The Goat Cheese Lady Farm, hence The Goat Cheese Lady blog you’re visiting now. After moving to the country in 2014, I embarked on life as a rural farmgirl. We continued teaching farm and cheesemaking classes, raising more goats and began construction on our cheese creamery. But life had other plans and in 2017, we decided that, due to financial and health issues, we had to close the farm for business. No more classes, no more creamery, a lot less milking. We went back to off farm jobs, I as an Occupational Therapist, Herbert in construction with his business, D&A Home Remodeling. At that point, I made a silent promise to myself that I would corral my entrepreneurial mind and focus on a job for a year. Well, it has been a year and I am back. Not to classes, cheese, soap or lotion, but back to writing. I love it. I’m not sure where it will lead me, but that’s where I’m starting. I’ll continue to write as The Goat Cheese Lady for now, and whatever the future holds, I’ll let you know. Our two boys are 14 and 11 and continue to be louder than my sister and I ever were. We have two dogs, Montaña and Flash, a cat, Jumpy, a flock of chickens and three goats. Yes, we still have Lucy, the goat who helped us start it all and was milked by over 1,000 people. She’s retired but still the boss. Chocolate provides enough milk for our family with some to spare for the dogs. Soccer friends, school friends, coyotes and mice are frequent visitors. There are way too many flies and every so often we see an owl. I’m glad you’re here. Sometimes you’ll laugh out loud, other times you’ll be inspired to appreciate the small things. My hope is that, over your morning cup of coffee or your afternoon work break, you’ll enjoy the antics and inspiration that are my daily life. Lindsey
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8 Responses to Wap Wap

  1. Melanie says:

    We’ve always called Wap Wap, Lunch-Lady Arms…..Wap Wap is much more kind and yes, I’m afraid I have them.

  2. I meant to respond to this blog shortly after you wrote it… life got in the way. Never the less, we had it way worse than you! Our parents put the piano down in the dark basement with the spiders, jumping bugs and rats (I’m certain there were rats even though my Mother denies it). We had to practice down there all alone, barely able to see the sheet music, afraid to put our feet near the floor and watching for spiders & jumping bugs that might be stalking us. We pretty much just sat and cried during each ‘practice’ session wondering what we did to deserve this kind of punishment. Grandmother (Aunt Verda to you) would say at every lesson, you have natural talent and could be great if you would practice. I would think please don’t tell my mother to torcher me again! I discovered much later in life that Grandmother wasn’t actually threatening me with torcher, she was simply living in a state of wishful thinking that at least one family member would follow in her footsteps. She said the same thing to everyone in the family. I find it hard to believe that all the kids, grandkids, neices, nephews, grand neices and grand nephews all had ‘natural talent’.

    On the topic of wap wap:
    I can’t believe… well actually I can… that you outed nearly everyone in the family with their wap wap status and then declined to divulge your own!

    • Well, Don, you’re right. I shouldn’t have been so selfish. Here is my wap-wap status: I have hardly any. Thanks to lots of yoga and goat milking. However, I AM genetically linked to all of the aforementioned wap-wappers, so will, no doubt, get it. And, I’ll appreciate every cell of it as it will indicate my age and my amount of age associated wisdom. Yes, by the time I have plenty of wap-wap, I’m sure I’ll be incredibly wise.


  3. Shannon says:

    Oh my friend of many years. I loved your piano lessons and recitals!! You and I “investigating” Aunt Verda’s house was always a new adventure. That kitchen…and the strawberry’s. What a beautiful home we got to enjoy and those piano’s…so beautiful! You made me smile thinking of those days. As I laid in bed, I did the Wap Wap test and I too have them! :o)

  4. Melina says:

    I’m having flashbacks! Only for me it was Aunt Ethel, and she had a nasty Siamese cat named Blue Eyes who stretched out on the piano bench and dared you to put your hand down next to him. He would make typical Siamese noises, hiss and give you a pop on the hand with unsheathed claws. She would giggle “Oh now, Blue Eyes” and leave him there. I hated piano lessons!
    And wap-wap? Yeah, got that. I think there’s a cosmetic procedure for it, but who wants a scar running the length of your upper arm? Keep telling yourself goat milking will tighten it up.

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