A great deal of what is written here is unknown to my friends as it is some of the history from my past. Heaven has musically gifted some of us. At an early age the blest among us are able to bring forth actual melodies from keyboard, horn, or stringed instruments without lessons. Then, there are people like me; the wannabes who just can't seem tobe's.
My first chosen instrument was the piano. My grandmother had been a piano teacher; perhaps some of her talent
had rubbed off on me. But, either she didn't have enough to spare me a few grains, or, I wasn't able to absorb much more than a watered-down version of Chop Sticks. After many lessons I was barely able to pound out a fairly adequate rendition of Mary Had a Little Lamb.
Somehow, my parents figured they could make better use of the hundreds of dollars that the piano teacher could and I was left in musical limbo.
Either my mother or my dad must have felt there had to be some musical talent in there some place because the steel guitar came next. this time it was group lessons. I loved the twangy, electric whine of that instrument and gave it my all, the louder the better.
It was the teacher who ended those happy . I heard her tell my mom she didn't feel this was the instrument for me.and it was better to stop now before there was any injury to the other students. I had no idea what she meant. They were an unhealthy bunch anyway. Their eyes watered every time I played.
While still in grade school I begged to try the drums and was denied on general principles; or, as Dad said to Mom, "This house is not big enough for me, YOUR daughter and any percussion instruments."
Musically, it was a long, dry spell. There was only one time of temptation as an adult when the thought of playing the saxaphone appealed to me. Then, I heard my brother-in-law--who plays a mean sax himself--say; after not playing for awhile, "I've lost my lip."
While it is true, I'm always trying to lose weight, I would prefer not to lose it in the lip area. so....
I was almost music-less until this year, when I became interested in the violin, and mentioned it to a couple of my daughters. What I didn't tell them was that I was renting one to see if I liked it.
The experience was daunting in the extreme, unfruitful, and artistically deadly. The only sound I could produce with a fiddle was the soprano-pitched squeal of a high-powered race car skidding out on a curve. I couldn't wait to get it back to the rental store, and certainly never wanted to see another violin, or even a picture of one.
A few weeks after that friends and relatives gave me a surprise birthday party. My children had pooled their money and bought me the most wonderful gift they could think of giving me. I have seldom seen them so tickled. They could hardly wait for me to open the package. Two of them were actually jumping up and down. "You're going to love it, Mom!"
Of course it was a violin.
Guess who will learn to play the violin or die trying.