You better believe it

It's my first lesson with Margaret Harshaw.

Eyes twinkling with mischief, she places my hands on the back of her neck, takes a deep breath—and while opening her jaw wide, distends her neck to immense proportions. Releasing my hands, she looks me straight in the eye and says: "The vertebrae must separate! Now you do that!"

Years later, I am at the Listening Centre in Toronto having my ears tuned up. Halfway through the process, I stand up during a morning two-hour session with the stunning realization that my spine has elongated tremendously, and aches with a hurt-so-good feeling. Turning my head to the left and right, I can feel my skull is in a very different place. The muscles surrounding every bone in my spine have stretched both up and down, which leaves me with the uncanny feeling that someone has pulled my head back and up away from my torso.

I close my eyes and am back in the voice studio. Miss Harshaw's hands are on the back of my neck and I hear her say: "You better believe it."

Photo: Margaret Harshaw, 1957.