Out-take from the homefront:
“Now she wants to learn the saxophone.”
Outwardly, my left hand signals “Thumb’s up!” ..... while opposite fingers are crossed "good luck" behind my back.
I’m curious. Did you ever play a musical instrument? Do you still play?
Long before I came along, momma played piano. Daddy studied the violin. Factor in one child … you can guess the rest.
Like it was yesterday, I recall my folks’ phone call, promising a “big surprise.”
Yessssss …. a horse!
I was practically doing pirouettes – my mind leap-frogging to time spent riding “Flicka” across the high mesa.
“Dismayed” doesn’t begin to describe my feelings when the big surprise turned out to be a piano. I despised it on sight. My tutor ~ and that pesky violin ~ fared no better. But at 8 years old, does one have a choice?
|Summer Camp 1961|
Ironic, but these days, I’m married to The Music Man. While he no longer plays professionally, DH adores tinkering. His results seem effortless.
Sooner or later it had to happen. A few weeks ago I ventured to DH’s sanctum. Assuming a seat at the keyboard, I glared at the keyboard.
Squiggles and symbols on sheet music bear no more resemblance than say, the Russian alphabet.
I like to think my memory’s keen, but this????
Somewhere along the way a large chunk of my brain cells simply EVAPORATED.
Regrets? I’m still trying to sort it out.
Meanwhile, I’m happy to live out my days as the designed applause-maker.